The Complete Works of

JOHN LOCKE

(1632-1704)

Contents

The Books

AN ESSAY CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING

A LETTER CONCERNING TOLERATION, 1689

A SECOND LETTER CONCERNING TOLERATION

A THIRD LETTER FOR TOLERATION

A FOURTH LETTER FOR TOLERATION

TWO TREATISES OF GOVERNMENT

SOME CONSIDERATIONS ON THE CONSEQUENCES OF THE LOWERING OF INTEREST AND THE RAISING OF THE VALUE OF MONEY

FURTHER CONSIDERATIONS CONSIDERING RAISING THE VALUE OF MONEY

SHORT OBSERVATIONS ON A PRINTED PAPER, ENTITLED FOR ENCOURAGING THE COINAGE OF SILVER MONEY IN ENGLAND, AND AFTER FOR KEEPING IT THERE

SOME THOUGHTS CONCERNING EDUCATION

THE REASONABLENESS OF CHRISTIANITY, AS DELIVERED IN THE SCRIPTURES

A VINDICATION OF THE REASONABLENESS OF CHRISTIANITY

A SECOND VINDICATION OF THE REASONABLENESS OF CHRISTIANITY

A PARAPHRASE AND NOTES ON THE EPISTLES OF ST. PAUL TO THE GALATIANS, 1 AND 2 CORINTHIANS, ROMANS, EPHESIANS

SOME THOUGHTS ON THE CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING

MISCELLANEOUS WORKS

The Letters

MISCELLANEOUS LETTERS OF JOHN LOCKE

The Poetry

THE POEMS OF JOHN LOCKE

The Biographies

THE LIFE OF JOHN LOCKE by Pierre des Maizeaux

JOHN LOCKE by Leslie Stephen

© Delphi Classics 2017

Version 1

The Complete Works of

JOHN LOCKE

By Delphi Classics, 2017

COPYRIGHT

Complete Works of John Locke

First published in the United Kingdom in 2017 by Delphi Classics.

© Delphi Classics, 2017.

All rights reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form other than that in which it is published.

ISBN: 978 1 78656 076 6

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The Books

Wrington, Somerset, approximately twelve miles from Bristol – Locke’s birthplace

John Locke was born on 29 August 1632, in a small thatched cottage by the church in Wrington.

AN ESSAY CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING

THE SECOND EDITION TEXT

This important essay analyses the foundation of human knowledge and understanding. First appearing in 1689, the text describes the mind at birth as a blank slate, filled later through experience. Divided into four books, the essay was one of the principal sources of empiricism in modern philosophy, influencing many enlightenment philosophers, such as David Hume and George Berkeley.

The first book refutes the rationalist notion of innate ideas. Locke allows that some ideas are in the mind from an early age, but argues that such ideas are furnished by the senses starting in the womb: for instance, differences between colours or tastes. If we have a universal understanding of a concept like sweetness, it is not because this is an innate idea, but because we are all exposed to sweet tastes at an early age. One of Locke’s fundamental arguments against innate ideas is the very fact that there is no truth to which all people attest.

Book II sets out Locke’s theory of ideas, including his distinction between passively acquired simple ideas, such as “red,” “sweet,” “round,” etc., and actively built complex ideas, such as numbers, causes and effects, abstract ideas, ideas of substances, identity and diversity. Locke also distinguishes between the truly existing primary qualities of bodies, like shape, motion and the arrangement of minute particles, and the secondary qualities that are “powers to produce various sensations in us” such as “red” and “sweet.” These secondary qualities, Locke claims, are dependent on the primary qualities. He also offers a theory of personal identity, offering a largely psychological criterion. The third book is concerned with language and the fourth and final book considers knowledge, including intuition, mathematics, moral philosophy, natural philosophy, faith and opinion.

Many of Locke’s views were harshly criticised by rationalists and empiricists alike. In 1704 the rationalist Gottfried Leibniz wrote a response in the form of a chapter-by-chapter rebuttal, titled New Essays on Human Understanding. Leibniz was critical of a number of Locke’s views, including his rejection of innate ideas, his skepticism about species classification, and the possibility that matter might think, among other things. Leibniz thought that Locke’s commitment to ideas of reflection in An Essay Concerning Human Understanding ultimately made him incapable of escaping the nativist position or being consistent in his empiricist doctrines of the mind’s passivity. The empiricist George Berkeley was equally critical of Locke’s views. Berkeley’s most notable criticisms of Locke were first published in A Treatise Concerning the Principles of Human Knowledge. Berkeley held that Locke’s conception of abstract ideas was incoherent and led to severe contradictions. He also argued that Locke’s conception of material substance was unintelligible, a view which he also later advanced in the Three Dialogues Between Hylas and Philonous. At the same time, Locke’s work provided crucial groundwork for future empiricists such as David Hume.

The first edition’s title page

John Locke by Herman Verelst, 1689 — completed the year of publication of ‘An Essay Concerning Human Understanding’

CONTENTS

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THOMAS, EARL OF PEMBROKE

THE EPISTLE TO THE READER

INTRODUCTION.

BOOK I. NEITHER PRINCIPLES NOR IDEAS ARE INNATE

CHAPTER I. NO INNATE SPECULATIVE PRINCIPLES.

CHAPTER II. NO INNATE PRACTICAL PRINCIPLES

CHAPTER III. OTHER CONSIDERATIONS CONCERNING INNATE PRINCIPLES, BOTH SPECULATIVE AND PRACTICAL.

BOOK II. OF IDEAS

CHAPTER I. OF IDEAS IN GENERAL, AND THEIR ORIGINAL.

CHAPTER II. OF SIMPLE IDEAS.

CHAPTER III. OF SIMPLE IDEAS OF SENSE.

CHAPTER IV. IDEA OF SOLIDITY.

CHAPTER V. OF SIMPLE IDEAS OF DIVERS SENSES.

CHAPTER VI. OF SIMPLE IDEAS OF REFLECTION.

CHAPTER VII. OF SIMPLE IDEAS OF BOTH SENSATION AND REFLECTION.

CHAPTER VIII. SOME FURTHER CONSIDERATIONS CONCERNING OUR SIMPLE IDEAS OF SENSATION.

CHAPTER IX. OF PERCEPTION.

CHAPTER X. OF RETENTION.

CHAPTER XI. OF DISCERNING, AND OTHER OPERATIONS OF THE MIND.

CHAPTER XII. OF COMPLEX IDEAS.

CHAPTER XIII. COMPLEX IDEAS OF SIMPLE MODES: — AND FIRST, OF THE SIMPLE MODES OF IDEA OF SPACE.

CHAPTER XIV. IDEA OF DURATION AND ITS SIMPLE MODES.

CHAPTER XV. IDEAS OF DURATION AND EXPANSION, CONSIDERED TOGETHER.

CHAPTER XVI. IDEA OF NUMBER.

CHAPTER XVII. OF INFINITY.

CHAPTER XVIII. OTHER SIMPLE MODES.

CHAPTER XIX. OF THE MODES OF THINKING.

CHAPTER XX. OF MODES OF PLEASURE AND PAIN.

CHAPTER XXI. OF POWER.

CHAPTER XXII. OF MIXED MODES.

CHAPTER XXIII. OF OUR COMPLEX IDEAS OF SUBSTANCES.

CHAPTER XXIV. OF COLLECTIVE IDEAS OF SUBSTANCES.

CHAPTER XXV. OF RELATION.

CHAPTER XXVI. OF CAUSE AND EFFECT, AND OTHER RELATIONS.

CHAPTER XXVII. OF IDENTITY AND DIVERSITY.

CHAPTER XXVIII. OF OTHER RELATIONS.

CHAPTER XXIX. OF CLEAR AND OBSCURE, DISTINCT AND CONFUSED IDEAS.

CHAPTER XXX. OF REAL AND FANTASTICAL IDEAS.

CHAPTER XXXI. OF ADEQUATE AND INADEQUATE IDEAS.

CHAPTER XXXII. OF TRUE AND FALSE IDEAS.

CHAPTER XXXIII. OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS.

BOOK III. OF WORDS

CHAPTER I. OF WORDS OR LANGUAGE IN GENERAL.

CHAPTER II. OF THE SIGNIFICATION OF WORDS.

CHAPTER III. OF GENERAL TERMS.

CHAPTER IV. OF THE NAMES OF SIMPLE IDEAS.

CHAPTER V. OF THE NAMES OF MIXED MODES AND RELATIONS.

CHAPTER VI. OF THE NAMES OF SUBSTANCES.

CHAPTER VII. OF PARTICLES.

CHAPTER VIII. OF ABSTRACT AND CONCRETE TERMS.

CHAPTER IX. OF THE IMPERFECTION OF WORDS.

CHAPTER X. OF THE ABUSE OF WORDS.

CHAPTER XI. OF THE REMEDIES OF THE FOREGOING IMPERFECTIONS AND ABUSES OF WORDS.

BOOK IV. OF KNOWLEDGE AND PROBABILITY SYNOPSIS OF THE FOURTH BOOK.

CHAPTER I. OF KNOWLEDGE IN GENERAL.

CHAPTER II. OF THE DEGREES OF OUR KNOWLEDGE.

CHAPTER III. OF THE EXTENT OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE.

CHAPTER IV. OF THE REALITY OF KNOWLEDGE.

CHAPTER V. OF TRUTH IN GENERAL.

CHAPTER VI. OF UNIVERSAL PROPOSITIONS: THEIR TRUTH AND CERTAINTY.

CHAPTER VII. OF MAXIMS.

CHAPTER VIII. OF TRIFLING PROPOSITIONS.

CHAPTER IX. OF OUR THREEFOLD KNOWLEDGE OF EXISTENCE.

CHAPTER X. OF OUR KNOWLEDGE OF THE EXISTENCE OF A GOD.

CHAPTER XI. OF OUR KNOWLEDGE OF THE EXISTENCE OF OTHER THINGS.

CHAPTER XII. OF THE IMPROVEMENT OF OUR KNOWLEDGE.

CHAPTER XIII. SOME FURTHER CONSIDERATIONS CONCERNING OUR KNOWLEDGE.

CHAPTER XIV. OF JUDGMENT.

CHAPTER XV. OF PROBABILITY.

CHAPTER XVI. OF THE DEGREES OF ASSENT.

CHAPTER XVII. OF REASON.

CHAPTER XVIII. OF FAITH AND REASON, AND THEIR DISTINCT PROVINCES.

CHAPTER XIX. OF ENTHUSIASM.

CHAPTER XX. OF WRONG ASSENT, OR ERROR.

CHAPTER XXI. OF THE DIVISION OF THE SCIENCES.

Portrait of David Hume by Allan Ramsay, 1754

Portrait of Berkeley by John Smybert, 1727

Quam bellum est velle confiteri potius nescire quod nescias, quam ista effutientem nauseare, atque ipsum sibi displicere. — Cic. De Natur. Deor. 1. i.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THOMAS, EARL OF PEMBROKE

AND MONTGOMERY, BARON HERBERT OF CARDIFF LORD ROSS, OF KENDAL, PAR, FITZHUGH, MARMION, ST. QUINTIN, AND SHURLAND;

LORD PRESIDENT OF HIS MAJESTY’S MOST HONOURABLE PRIVY COUNCIL; AND LORD LIEUTENANT OF THE COUNTY OF WILTS, AND OF SOUTH WALES.

MY LORD,

This Treatise, which is grown up under your lordship’s eye, and has ventured into the world by your order, does now, by a natural kind of right, come to your lordship for that protection which you several years since promised it. It is not that I think any name, how great soever, set at the beginning of a book, will be able to cover the faults that are to be found in it. Things in print must stand and fall by their own worth, or the reader’s fancy. But there being nothing more to be desired for truth than a fair unprejudiced hearing, nobody is more likely to procure me that than your lordship, who are allowed to have got so intimate an acquaintance with her, in her more retired recesses. Your lordship is known to have so far advanced your speculations in the most abstract and general knowledge of things, beyond the ordinary reach or common methods, that your allowance and approbation of the design of this Treatise will at least preserve it from being condemned without reading, and will prevail to have those parts a little weighed, which might otherwise perhaps be thought to deserve no consideration, for being somewhat out of the common road. The imputation of Novelty is a terrible charge amongst those who judge of men’s heads, as they do of their perukes, by the fashion, and can allow none to be right but the received doctrines. Truth scarce ever yet carried it by vote anywhere at its first appearance: new opinions are always suspected, and usually opposed, without any other reason but because they are not already common. But truth, like gold, is not the less so for being newly brought out of the mine. It is trial and examination must give it price, and not any antique fashion; and though it be not yet current by the public stamp, yet it may, for all that, be as old as nature, and is certainly not the less genuine. Your lordship can give great and convincing instances of this, whenever you please to oblige the public with some of those large and comprehensive discoveries you have made of truths hitherto unknown, unless to some few, from whom your lordship has been pleased not wholly to conceal them. This alone were a sufficient reason, were there no other, why I should dedicate this Essay to your lordship; and its having some little correspondence with some parts of that nobler and vast system of the sciences your lordship has made so new, exact, and instructive a draught of, I think it glory enough, if your lordship permit me to boast, that here and there I have fallen into some thoughts not wholly different from yours. If your lordship think fit that, by your encouragement, this should appear in the world, I hope it may be a reason, some time or other, to lead your lordship further; and you will allow me to say, that you here give the world an earnest of something that, if they can bear with this, will be truly worth their expectation. This, my lord, shows what a present I here make to your lordship; just such as the poor man does to his rich and great neighbour, by whom the basket of flowers or fruit is not ill taken, though he has more plenty of his own growth, and in much greater perfection. Worthless things receive a value when they are made the offerings of respect, esteem, and gratitude: these you have given me so mighty and peculiar reasons to have, in the highest degree, for your lordship, that if they can add a price to what they go along with, proportionable to their own greatness, I can with confidence brag, I here make your lordship the richest present you ever received. This I am sure, I am under the greatest obligations to seek all occasions to acknowledge a long train of favours I have received from your lordship; favours, though great and important in themselves, yet made much more so by the forwardness, concern, and kindness, and other obliging circumstances, that never failed to accompany them. To all this you are pleased to add that which gives yet more weight and relish to all the rest: you vouchsafe to continue me in some degrees of your esteem, and allow me a place in your good thoughts, I had almost said friendship. This, my lord, your words and actions so constantly show on all occasions, even to others when I am absent, that it is not vanity in me to mention what everybody knows: but it would be want of good manners not to acknowledge what so many are witnesses of, and every day tell me I am indebted to your lordship for. I wish they could as easily assist my gratitude, as they convince me of the great and growing engagements it has to your lordship. This I am sure, I should write of the UNDERSTANDING without having any, if I were not extremely sensible of them, and did not lay hold on this opportunity to testify to the world how much I am obliged to be, and how much I am,

MY LORD,

Your Lordship’s most humble and most obedient servant,

JOHN LOCKE

2 Dorset Court, 24th of May, 1689

THE EPISTLE TO THE READER

READER,

I have put into thy hands what has been the diversion of some of my idle and heavy hours. If it has the good luck to prove so of any of thine, and thou hast but half so much pleasure in reading as I had in writing it, thou wilt as little think thy money, as I do my pains, ill bestowed. Mistake not this for a commendation of my work; nor conclude, because I was pleased with the doing of it, that therefore I am fondly taken with it now it is done. He that hawks at larks and sparrows has no less sport, though a much less considerable quarry, than he that flies at nobler game: and he is little acquainted with the subject of this treatise — the UNDERSTANDING — who does not know that, as it is the most elevated faculty of the soul, so it is employed with a greater and more constant delight than any of the other. Its searches after truth are a sort of hawking and hunting, wherein the very pursuit makes a great part of the pleasure. Every step the mind takes in its progress towards Knowledge makes some discovery, which is not only new, but the best too, for the time at least.

For the understanding, like the eye, judging of objects only by its own sight, cannot but be pleased with what it discovers, having less regret for what has escaped it, because it is unknown. Thus he who has raised himself above the alms-basket, and, not content to live lazily on scraps of begged opinions, sets his own thoughts on work, to find and follow truth, will (whatever he lights on) not miss the hunter’s satisfaction; every moment of his pursuit will reward his pains with some delight; and he will have reason to think his time not ill spent, even when he cannot much boast of any great acquisition.

This, Reader, is the entertainment of those who let loose their own thoughts, and follow them in writing; which thou oughtest not to envy them, since they afford thee an opportunity of the like diversion, if thou wilt make use of thy own thoughts in reading. It is to them, if they are thy own, that I refer myself: but if they are taken upon trust from others, it is no great matter what they are; they are not following truth, but some meaner consideration; and it is not worth while to be concerned what he says or thinks, who says or thinks only as he is directed by another. If thou judgest for thyself I know thou wilt judge candidly, and then I shall not be harmed or offended, whatever be thy censure. For though it be certain that there is nothing in this Treatise of the truth whereof I am not fully persuaded, yet I consider myself as liable to mistakes as I can think thee, and know that this book must stand or fall with thee, not by any opinion I have of it, but thy own. If thou findest little in it new or instructive to thee, thou art not to blame me for it. It was not meant for those that had already mastered this subject, and made a thorough acquaintance with their own understandings; but for my own information, and the satisfaction of a few friends, who acknowledged themselves not to have sufficiently considered it.

Were it fit to trouble thee with the history of this Essay, I should tell thee, that five or six friends meeting at my chamber, and discoursing on a subject very remote from this, found themselves quickly at a stand, by the difficulties that rose on every side. After we had awhile puzzled ourselves, without coming any nearer a resolution of those doubts which perplexed us, it came into my thoughts that we took a wrong course; and that before we set ourselves upon inquiries of that nature, it was necessary to examine our own abilities, and see what OBJECTS our understandings were, or were not, fitted to deal with. This I proposed to the company, who all readily assented; and thereupon it was agreed that this should be our first inquiry. Some hasty and undigested thoughts, on a subject I had never before considered, which I set down against our next meeting, gave the first entrance into this Discourse; which having been thus begun by chance, was continued by intreaty; written by incoherent parcels; and after long intervals of neglect, resumed again, as my humour or occasions permitted; and at last, in a retirement where an attendance on my health gave me leisure, it was brought into that order thou now seest it.

This discontinued way of writing may have occasioned, besides others, two contrary faults, viz., that too little and too much may be said in it. If thou findest anything wanting, I shall be glad that what I have written gives thee any desire that I should have gone further. If it seems too much to thee, thou must blame the subject; for when I put pen to paper, I thought all I should have to say on this matter would have been contained in one sheet of paper; but the further I went the larger prospect I had; new discoveries led me still on, and so it grew insensibly to the bulk it now appears in. I will not deny, but possibly it might be reduced to a narrower compass than it is, and that some parts of it might be contracted, the way it has been writ in, by catches, and many long intervals of interruption, being apt to cause some repetitions. But to confess the truth, I am now too lazy, or too busy, to make it shorter. I am not ignorant how little I herein consult my own reputation, when I knowingly let it go with a fault, so apt to disgust the most judicious, who are always the nicest readers. But they who know sloth is apt to content itself with any excuse, will pardon me if mine has prevailed on me, where I think I have a very good one. I will not therefore allege in my defence, that the same notion, having different respects, may be convenient or necessary to prove or illustrate several parts of the same discourse, and that so it has happened in many parts of this: but waiving that, I shall frankly avow that I have sometimes dwelt long upon the same argument, and expressed it different ways, with a quite different design. I pretend not to publish this Essay for the information of men of large thoughts and quick apprehensions; to such masters of knowledge I profess myself a scholar, and therefore warn them beforehand not to expect anything here, but what, being spun out of my own coarse thoughts, is fitted to men of my own size, to whom, perhaps, it will not be unacceptable that I have taken some pains to make plain and familiar to their thoughts some truths which established prejudice, or the abstractedness of the ideas themselves, might render difficult. Some objects had need be turned on every side; and when the notion is new, as I confess some of these are to me; or out of the ordinary road, as I suspect they will appear to others, it is not one simple view of it that will gain it admittance into every understanding, or fix it there with a clear and lasting impression. There are few, I believe, who have not observed in themselves or others, that what in one way of proposing was very obscure, another way of expressing it has made very clear and intelligible; though afterwards the mind found little difference in the phrases, and wondered why one failed to be understood more than the other. But everything does not hit alike upon every man’s imagination. We have our understandings no less different than our palates; and he that thinks the same truth shall be equally relished by every one in the same dress, may as well hope to feast every one with the same sort of cookery: the meat may be the same, and the nourishment good, yet every one not be able to receive it with that seasoning; and it must be dressed another way, if you will have it go down with some, even of strong constitutions. The truth is, those who advised me to publish it, advised me, for this reason, to publish it as it is: and since I have been brought to let it go abroad, I desire it should be understood by whoever gives himself the pains to read it. I have so little affection to be in print, that if I were not flattered this Essay might be of some use to others, as I think it has been to me, I should have confined it to the view of some friends, who gave the first occasion to it. My appearing therefore in print being on purpose to be as useful as I may, I think it necessary to make what I have to say as easy and intelligible to all sorts of readers as I can. And I had much rather the speculative and quick-sighted should complain of my being in some parts tedious, than that any one, not accustomed to abstract speculations, or prepossessed with different notions, should mistake or not comprehend my meaning.

It will possibly be censured as a great piece of vanity or insolence in me, to pretend to instruct this our knowing age; it amounting to little less, when I own, that I publish this Essay with hopes it may be useful to others. But, if it may be permitted to speak freely of those who with a feigned modesty condemn as useless what they themselves write, methinks it savours much more of vanity or insolence to publish a book for any other end; and he fails very much of that respect he owes the public, who prints, and consequently expects men should read, that wherein he intends not they should meet with anything of use to themselves or others: and should nothing else be found allowable in this Treatise, yet my design will not cease to be so; and the goodness of my intention ought to be some excuse for the worthlessness of my present. It is that chiefly which secures me from the fear of censure, which I expect not to escape more than better writers. Men’s principles, notions, and relishes are so different, that it is hard to find a book which pleases or displeases all men. I acknowledge the age we live in is not the least knowing, and therefore not the most easy to be satisfied. If I have not the good luck to please, yet nobody ought to be offended with me. I plainly tell all my readers, except half a dozen, this Treatise was not at first intended for them; and therefore they need not be at the trouble to be of that number. But yet if any one thinks fit to be angry and rail at it, he may do it securely, for I shall find some better way of spending my time than in such kind of conversation. I shall always have the satisfaction to have aimed sincerely at truth and usefulness, though in one of the meanest ways. The commonwealth of learning is not at this time without master-builders, whose mighty designs, in advancing the sciences, will leave lasting monuments to the admiration of posterity: but every one must not hope to be a Boyle or a Sydenham; and in an age that produces such masters as the great Huygenius and the incomparable Mr. Newton, with some others of that strain, it is ambition enough to be employed as an under-labourer in clearing the ground a little, and removing some of the rubbish that lies in the way to knowledge; — which certainly had been very much more advanced in the world, if the endeavours of ingenious and industrious men had not been much cumbered with the learned but frivolous use of uncouth, affected, or unintelligible terms, introduced into the sciences, and there made an art of, to that degree that Philosophy, which is nothing but the true knowledge of things, was thought unfit or incapable to be brought into well-bred company and polite conversation. Vague and insignificant forms of speech, and abuse of language, have so long passed for mysteries of science; and hard and misapplied words, with little or no meaning, have, by prescription, such a right to be mistaken for deep learning and height of speculation, that it will not be easy to persuade either those who speak or those who hear them, that they are but the covers of ignorance, and hindrance of true knowledge. To break in upon the sanctuary of vanity and ignorance will be, I suppose, some service to human understanding; though so few are apt to think they deceive or are deceived in the use of words; or that the language of the sect they are of has any faults in it which ought to be examined or corrected, that I hope I shall be pardoned if I have in the Third Book dwelt long on this subject, and endeavoured to make it so plain, that neither the inveterateness of the mischief, nor the prevalency of the fashion, shall be any excuse for those who will not take care about the meaning of their own words, and will not suffer the significancy of their expressions to be inquired into.

I have been told that a short Epitome of this Treatise, which was printed in 1688, was by some condemned without reading, because INNATE IDEAS were denied in it; they too hastily concluding, that if innate ideas were not supposed, there would be little left either of the notion or proof of spirits. If any one take the like offence at the entrance of this Treatise, I shall desire him to read it through; and then I hope he will be convinced, that the taking away false foundations is not to the prejudice but advantage of truth, which is never injured or endangered so much as when mixed with, or built on, falsehood. In the Second Edition I added as followeth: —

The bookseller will not forgive me if I say nothing of this New Edition, which he has promised, by the correctness of it, shall make amends for the many faults committed in the former. He desires too, that it should be known that it has one whole new chapter concerning Identity, and many additions and amendments in other places. These I must inform my reader are not all new matter, but most of them either further confirmation of what I had said, or explications, to prevent others being mistaken in the sense of what was formerly printed, and not any variation in me from it.

I must only except the alterations I have made in Book II. chap. xxi.

What I had there written concerning Liberty and the Will, I thought deserved as accurate a view as I am capable of; those subjects having in all ages exercised the learned part of the world with questions and difficulties, that have not a little perplexed morality and divinity, those parts of knowledge that men are most concerned to be clear in. Upon a closer inspection into the working of men’s minds, and a stricter examination of those motives and views they are turned by, I have found reason somewhat to alter the thoughts I formerly had concerning that which gives the last determination to the Will in all voluntary actions. This I cannot forbear to acknowledge to the world with as much freedom and readiness; as I at first published what then seemed to me to be right; thinking myself more concerned to quit and renounce any opinion of my own, than oppose that of another, when truth appears against it. For it is truth alone I seek, and that will always be welcome to me, when or from whencesoever it comes. But what forwardness soever I have to resign any opinion I have, or to recede from anything I have writ, upon the first evidence of any error in it; yet this I must own, that I have not had the good luck to receive any light from those exceptions I have met with in print against any part of my book, nor have, from anything that has been urged against it, found reason to alter my sense in any of the points that have been questioned. Whether the subject I have in hand requires often more thought and attention than cursory readers, at least such as are prepossessed, are willing to allow; or whether any obscurity in my expressions casts a cloud over it, and these notions are made difficult to others’ apprehensions in my way of treating them; so it is, that my meaning, I find, is often mistaken, and I have not the good luck to be everywhere rightly understood.

Of this the ingenious author of the Discourse Concerning the Nature of Man has given me a late instance, to mention no other. For the civility of his expressions, and the candour that belongs to his order, forbid me to think that he would have closed his Preface with an insinuation, as if in what I had said, Book II. ch. xxvii, concerning the third rule which men refer their actions to, I went about to make virtue vice and vice virtue, unless he had mistaken my meaning; which he could not have done if he had given himself the trouble to consider what the argument was I was then upon, and what was the chief design of that chapter, plainly enough set down in the fourth section and those following. For I was there not laying down moral rules, but showing the original and nature of moral ideas, and enumerating the rules men make use of in moral relations, whether these rules were true or false: and pursuant thereto I tell what is everywhere called virtue and vice; which “alters not the nature of things,” though men generally do judge of and denominate their actions according to the esteem and fashion of the place and sect they are of.

If he had been at the pains to reflect on what I had said, Bk. I. ch. ii. sect. 18, and Bk. II. ch. xxviii. sect. 13, 14, 15 and 20, he would have known what I think of the eternal and unalterable nature of right and wrong, and what I call virtue and vice. And if he had observed that in the place he quotes I only report as a matter of fact what OTHERS call virtue and vice, he would not have found it liable to any great exception. For I think I am not much out in saying that one of the rules made use of in the world for a ground or measure of a moral relation is — that esteem and reputation which several sorts of actions find variously in the several societies of men, according to which they are there called virtues or vices. And whatever authority the learned Mr. Lowde places in his Old English Dictionary, I daresay it nowhere tells him (if I should appeal to it) that the same action is not in credit, called and counted a virtue, in one place, which, being in disrepute, passes for and under the name of vice in another. The taking notice that men bestow the names of ‘virtue’ and ‘vice’ according to this rule of Reputation is all I have done, or can be laid to my charge to have done, towards the making vice virtue or virtue vice. But the good man does well, and as becomes his calling, to be watchful in such points, and to take the alarm even at expressions, which, standing alone by themselves, might sound ill and be suspected.

’Tis to this zeal, allowable in his function, that I forgive his citing as he does these words of mine (ch. xxviii. sect. II): “Even the exhortations of inspired teachers have not feared to appeal to common repute, Philip, iv. 8;” without taking notice of those immediately preceding, which introduce them, and run thus: “Whereby even in the corruption of manners, the true boundaries of the law of nature, which ought to be the rule of virtue and vice, were pretty well preserved. So that even the exhortations of inspired teachers,” &c. By which words, and the rest of that section, it is plain that I brought that passage of St. Paul, not to prove that the general measure of what men called virtue and vice throughout the world was the reputation and fashion of each particular society within itself; but to show that, though it were so, yet, for reasons I there give, men, in that way of denominating their actions, did not for the most part much stray from the Law of Nature; which is that standing and unalterable rule by which they ought to judge of the moral rectitude and gravity of their actions, and accordingly denominate them virtues or vices. Had Mr. Lowde considered this, he would have found it little to his purpose to have quoted this passage in a sense I used it not; and would I imagine have spared the application he subjoins to it, as not very necessary. But I hope this Second Edition will give him satisfaction on the point, and that this matter is now so expressed as to show him there was no cause for scruple.

Though I am forced to differ from him in these apprehensions he has expressed, in the latter end of his preface, concerning what I had said about virtue and vice, yet we are better agreed than he thinks in what he says in his third chapter () concerning “natural inscription and innate notions.” I shall not deny him the privilege he claims (), to state the question as he pleases, especially when he states it so as to leave nothing in it contrary to what I have said. For, according to him, “innate notions, being conditional things, depending upon the concurrence of several other circumstances in order to the soul’s exerting them,” all that he says for “innate, imprinted, impressed notions” (for of innate IDEAS he says nothing at all), amounts at last only to this — that there are certain propositions which, though the soul from the beginning, or when a man is born, does not know, yet “by assistance from the outward senses, and the help of some previous cultivation,” it may AFTERWARDS come certainly to know the truth of; which is no more than what I have affirmed in my First Book. For I suppose by the “soul’s exerting them,” he means its beginning to know them; or else the soul’s ‘exerting of notions’ will be to me a very unintelligible expression; and I think at best is a very unfit one in this, it misleading men’s thoughts by an insinuation, as if these notions were in the mind before the ‘soul exerts them,’ i. e. before they are known; — whereas truly before they are known, there is nothing of them in the mind but a capacity to know them, when the ‘concurrence of those circumstances,’ which this ingenious author thinks necessary ‘in order to the soul’s exerting them,’ brings them into our knowledge.

P. 52 I find him express it thus: ‘These natural notions are not so imprinted upon the soul as that they naturally and necessarily exert themselves (even in children and idiots) without any assistance from the outward senses, or without the help of some previous cultivation.’ Here, he says, they ‘exert themselves,’ as , that the ‘soul exerts them.’ When he has explained to himself or others what he means by ‘the soul’s exerting innate notions,’ or their ‘exerting themselves;’ and what that ‘previous cultivation and circumstances’ in order to their being exerted are — he will I suppose find there is so little of controversy between him and me on the point, bating that he calls that ‘exerting of notions’ which I in a more vulgar style call ‘knowing,’ that I have reason to think he brought in my name on this occasion only out of the pleasure he has to speak civilly of me; which I must gratefully acknowledge he has done everywhere he mentions me, not without conferring on me, as some others have done, a title I have no right to.

There are so many instances of this, that I think it justice to my reader and myself to conclude, that either my book is plainly enough written to be rightly understood by those who peruse it with that attention and indifferency, which every one who will give himself the pains to read ought to employ in reading; or else that I have written mine so obscurely that it is in vain to go about to mend it. Whichever of these be the truth, it is myself only am affected thereby; and therefore I shall be far from troubling my reader with what I think might be said in answer to those several objections I have met with, to passages here and there of my book; since I persuade myself that he who thinks them of moment enough to be concerned whether they are true or false, will be able to see that what is said is either not well founded, or else not contrary to my doctrine, when I and my opposer come both to be well understood.

If any other authors, careful that none of their good thoughts should be lost, have published their censures of my Essay, with this honour done to it, that they will not suffer it to be an essay, I leave it to the public to value the obligation they have to their critical pens, and shall not waste my reader’s time in so idle or ill-natured an employment of mine, as to lessen the satisfaction any one has in himself, or gives to others, in so hasty a confutation of what I have written.

The booksellers preparing for the Fourth Edition of my Essay, gave me notice of it, that I might, if I had leisure, make any additions or alterations I should think fit. Whereupon I thought it convenient to advertise the reader, that besides several corrections I had made here and there, there was one alteration which it was necessary to mention, because it ran through the whole book, and is of consequence to be rightly understood. What I thereupon said was this: —

CLEAR and DISTINCT ideas are terms which, though familiar and frequent in men’s mouths, I have reason to think every one who uses does not perfectly understand. And possibly ’tis but here and there one who gives himself the trouble to consider them so far as to know what he himself or others precisely mean by them. I have therefore in most places chose to put DETERMINATE or DETERMINED, instead of CLEAR and DISTINCT, as more likely to direct men’s thoughts to my meaning in this matter. By those denominations, I mean some object in the mind, and consequently determined, i. e. such as it is there seen and perceived to be. This, I think, may fitly be called a determinate or determined idea, when such as it is at any time objectively in the mind, and so determined there, it is annexed, and without variation determined, to a name or articulate sound, which is to be steadily the sign of that very same object of the mind, or determinate idea.

To explain this a little more particularly. By DETERMINATE, when applied to a simple idea, I mean that simple appearance which the mind has in its view, or perceives in itself, when that idea is said to be in it: by DETERMINED, when applied to a complex idea, I mean such an one as consists of a determinate number of certain simple or less complex ideas, joined in such a proportion and situation as the mind has before its view, and sees in itself, when that idea is present in it, or should be present in it, when a man gives a name to it. I say SHOULD be, because it is not every one, nor perhaps any one, who is so careful of his language as to use no word till he views in his mind the precise determined idea which he resolves to make it the sign of. The want of this is the cause of no small obscurity and confusion in men’s thoughts and discourses.

I know there are not words enough in any language to answer all the variety of ideas that enter into men’s discourses and reasonings. But this hinders not but that when any one uses any term, he may have in his mind a determined idea, which he makes it the sign of, and to which he should keep it steadily annexed during that present discourse. Where he does not, or cannot do this, he in vain pretends to clear or distinct ideas: it is plain his are not so; and therefore there can be expected nothing but obscurity and confusion, where such terms are made use of which have not such a precise determination.

Upon this ground I have thought determined ideas a way of speaking less liable to mistakes, than clear and distinct: and where men have got such determined ideas of all that they reason, inquire, or argue about, they will find a great part of their doubts and disputes at an end; the greatest part of the questions and controversies that perplex mankind depending on the doubtful and uncertain use of words, or (which is the same) indetermined ideas, which they are made to stand for. I have made choice of these terms to signify, (1) Some immediate object of the mind, which it perceives and has before it, distinct from the sound it uses as a sign of it. (2) That this idea, thus determined, i.e. which the mind has in itself, and knows, and sees there, be determined without any change to that name, and that name determined to that precise idea. If men had such determined ideas in their inquiries and discourses, they would both discern how far their own inquiries and discourses went, and avoid the greatest part of the disputes and wranglings they have with others.

Besides this, the bookseller will think it necessary I should advertise the reader that there is an addition of two chapters wholly new; the one of the Association of Ideas, the other of Enthusiasm. These, with some other larger additions never before printed, he has engaged to print by themselves, after the same manner, and for the same purpose, as was done when this Essay had the second impression.

In the Sixth Edition there is very little added or altered. The greatest part of what is new is contained in the twenty-first chapter of the second book, which any one, if he thinks it worth while, may, with a very little labour, transcribe into the margin of the former edition.

INTRODUCTION.

1. An Inquiry into the Understanding pleasant and useful.

Since it is the UNDERSTANDING that sets man above the rest of sensible beings, and gives him all the advantage and dominion which he has over them; it is certainly a subject, even for its nobleness, worth our labour to inquire into. The understanding, like the eye, whilst it makes us see and perceive all other things, takes no notice of itself; and it requires and art and pains to set it at a distance and make it its own object. But whatever be the difficulties that lie in the way of this inquiry; whatever it be that keeps us so much in the dark to ourselves; sure I am that all the light we can let in upon our minds, all the acquaintance we can make with our own understandings, will not only be very pleasant, but bring us great advantage, in directing our thoughts in the search of other things.

2. Design.

This, therefore, being my purpose — to inquire into the original, certainty, and extent of HUMAN KNOWLEDGE, together with the grounds and degrees of BELIEF, OPINION, and ASSENT; — I shall not at present meddle with the physical consideration of the mind; or trouble myself to examine wherein its essence consists; or by what motions of our spirits or alterations of our bodies we come to have any SENSATION by our organs, or any IDEAS in our understandings; and whether those ideas do in their formation, any or all of them, depend on matter or not. These are speculations which, however curious and entertaining, I shall decline, as lying out of my way in the design I am now upon. It shall suffice to my present purpose, to consider the discerning faculties of a man, as they are employed about the objects which they have to do with. And I shall imagine I have not wholly misemployed myself in the thoughts I shall have on this occasion, if, in this historical, plain method, I can give any account of the ways whereby our understandings come to attain those notions of things we have; and can set down any measures of the certainty of our knowledge; or the grounds of those persuasions which are to be found amongst men, so various, different, and wholly contradictory; and yet asserted somewhere or other with such assurance and confidence, that he that shall take a view of the opinions of mankind, observe their opposition, and at the same time consider the fondness and devotion wherewith they are embraced, the resolution and eagerness wherewith they are maintained, may perhaps have reason to suspect, that either there is no such thing as truth at all, or that mankind hath no sufficient means to attain a certain knowledge of it.

3. Method.

It is therefore worth while to search out the bounds between opinion and knowledge; and examine by what measures, in things whereof we have no certain knowledge, we ought to regulate our assent and moderate our persuasion. In order whereunto I shall pursue this following method: — First, I shall inquire into the original of those ideas, notions, or whatever else you please to call them, which a man observes, and is conscious to himself he has in his mind; and the ways whereby the understanding comes to be furnished with them.

Secondly, I shall endeavour to show what knowledge the understanding hath by those ideas; and the certainty, evidence, and extent of it.

Thirdly, I shall make some inquiry into the nature and grounds of FAITH or OPINION: whereby I mean that assent which we give to any proposition as true, of whose truth yet we have no certain knowledge. And here we shall have occasion to examine the reasons and degrees of ASSENT.

4. Useful to know the Extent of our Comprehension.

If by this inquiry into the nature of the understanding, I can discover the powers thereof; how far they reach; to what things they are in any degree proportionate; and where they fail us, I suppose it may be of use to prevail with the busy mind of man to be more cautious in meddling with things exceeding its comprehension; to stop when it is at the utmost extent of its tether; and to sit down in a quiet ignorance of those things which, upon examination, are found to be beyond the reach of our capacities. We should not then perhaps be so forward, out of an affectation of an universal knowledge, to raise questions, and perplex ourselves and others with disputes about things to which our understandings are not suited; and of which we cannot frame in our minds any clear or distinct perceptions, or whereof (as it has perhaps too often happened) we have not any notions at all. If we can find out how far the understanding can extend its view; how far it has faculties to attain certainty; and in what cases it can only judge and guess, we may learn to content ourselves with what is attainable by us in this state.

5. Our Capacity suited to our State and Concerns.

For though the comprehension of our understandings comes exceeding short of the vast extent of things, yet we shall have cause enough to magnify the bountiful Author of our being, for that proportion and degree of knowledge he has bestowed on us, so far above all the rest of the inhabitants of this our mansion. Men have reason to be well satisfied with what God hath thought fit for them, since he hath given them (as St. Peter says) [words in Greek], whatsoever is necessary for the conveniences of life and information of virtue; and has put within the reach of their discovery, the comfortable provision for this life, and the way that leads to a better. How short soever their knowledge may come of an universal or perfect comprehension of whatsoever is, it yet secures their great concernments, that they have light enough to lead them to the knowledge of their Maker, and the sight of their own duties. Men may find matter sufficient to busy their heads, and employ their hands with variety, delight, and satisfaction, if they will not boldly quarrel with their own constitution, and throw away the blessings their hands are filled with, because they are not big enough to grasp everything. We shall not have much reason to complain of the narrowness of our minds, if we will but employ them about what may be of use to us; for of that they are very capable. And it will be an unpardonable, as well as childish peevishness, if we undervalue the advantages of our knowledge, and neglect to improve it to the ends for which it was given us, because there are some things that are set out of the reach of it. It will be no excuse to an idle and untoward servant, who would not attend his business by candle light, to plead that he had not broad sunshine. The Candle that is set up in us shines bright enough for all our purposes. The discoveries we can make with this ought to satisfy us; and we shall then use our understandings right, when we entertain all objects in that way and proportion that they are suited to our faculties, and upon those grounds they are capable of being proposed to us; and not peremptorily or intemperately require demonstration, and demand certainty, where probability only is to be had, and which is sufficient to govern all our concernments. If we will disbelieve everything, because we cannot certainly know all things, we shall do much what as wisely as he who would not use his legs, but sit still and perish, because he had no wings to fly.

6. Knowledge of our Capacity a Cure of Scepticism and Idleness.

When we know our own strength, we shall the better know what to undertake with hopes of success; and when we have well surveyed the POWERS of our own minds, and made some estimate what we may expect from them, we shall not be inclined either to sit still, and not set our thoughts on work at all, in despair of knowing anything; nor on the other side, question everything, and disclaim all knowledge, because some things are not to be understood. It is of great use to the sailor to know the length of his line, though he cannot with it fathom all the depths of the ocean. It is well he knows that it is long enough to reach the bottom, at such places as are necessary to direct his voyage, and caution him against running upon shoals that may ruin him. Our business here is not to know all things, but those which concern our conduct. If we can find out those measures, whereby a rational creature, put in that state in which man is in this world, may and ought to govern his opinions, and actions depending thereon, we need not to be troubled that some other things escape our knowledge.

7. Occasion of this Essay.

This was that which gave the first rise to this Essay concerning the understanding. For I thought that the first step towards satisfying several inquiries the mind of man was very apt to run into, was, to take a survey of our own understandings, examine our own powers, and see to what things they were adapted. Till that was done I suspected we began at the wrong end, and in vain sought for satisfaction in a quiet and sure possession of truths that most concerned us, whilst we let loose our thoughts into the vast ocean of Being; as if all that boundless extent were the natural and undoubted possession of our understandings, wherein there was nothing exempt from its decisions, or that escaped its comprehension. Thus men, extending their inquiries beyond their capacities, and letting their thoughts wander into those depths where they can find no sure footing, it is no wonder that they raise questions and multiply disputes, which, never coming to any clear resolution, are proper only to continue and increase their doubts, and to confirm them at last in perfect scepticism. Whereas, were the capacities of our understandings well considered, the extent of our knowledge once discovered, and the horizon found which sets the bounds between the enlightened and dark parts of things; between what is and what is not comprehensible by us, men would perhaps with less scruple acquiesce in the avowed ignorance of the one, and employ their thoughts and discourse with more advantage and satisfaction in the other.

8. What Idea stands for.

Thus much I thought necessary to say concerning the occasion of this inquiry into human Understanding. But, before I proceed on to what I have thought on this subject, I must here in the entrance beg pardon of my reader for the frequent use of the word IDEA, which he will find in the following treatise. It being that term which, I think, serves best to stand for whatsoever is the OBJECT of the understanding when a man thinks, I have used it to express whatever is meant by PHANTASM, NOTION, SPECIES, or WHATEVER IT IS WHICH THE MIND CAN BE EMPLOYED ABOUT IN THINKING; and I could not avoid frequently using it. I presume it will be easily granted me, that there are such IDEAS in men’s minds: every one is conscious of them in himself; and men’s words and actions will satisfy him that they are in others.

Our first inquiry then shall be, — how they come into the mind.

BOOK I. NEITHER PRINCIPLES NOR IDEAS ARE INNATE

CHAPTER I. NO INNATE SPECULATIVE PRINCIPLES.

1. The way shown how we come by any Knowledge, sufficient to prove it not innate.

It is an established opinion amongst some men, that there are in the understanding certain INNATE PRINCIPLES; some primary notions, KOIVAI EVVOIAI, characters, as it were stamped upon the mind of man; which the soul receives in its very first being, and brings into the world with it. It would be sufficient to convince unprejudiced readers of the falseness of this supposition, if I should only show (as I hope I shall in the following parts of this Discourse) how men, barely by the use of their natural faculties may attain to all the knowledge they have, without the help of any innate impressions; and may arrive at certainty, without any such original notions or principles. For I imagine any one will easily grant that it would be impertinent to suppose the ideas of colours innate in a creature to whom God hath given sight, and a power to receive them by the eyes from external objects: and no less unreasonable would it be to attribute several truths to the impressions of nature, and innate characters, when we may observe in ourselves faculties fit to attain as easy and certain knowledge of them as if they were originally imprinted on the mind.

But because a man is not permitted without censure to follow his own thoughts in the search of truth, when they lead him ever so little out of the common road, I shall set down the reasons that made me doubt of the truth of that opinion, as an excuse for my mistake, if I be in one; which I leave to be considered by those who, with me, dispose themselves to embrace truth wherever they find it.

2. General Assent the great Argument.

There is nothing more commonly taken for granted than that there are certain PRINCIPLES, both SPECULATIVE and PRACTICAL, (for they speak of both), universally agreed upon by all mankind: which therefore, they argue, must needs be the constant impressions which the souls of men receive in their first beings, and which they bring into the world with them, as necessarily and really as they do any of their inherent faculties.

3. Universal Consent proves nothing innate.

This argument, drawn from universal consent, has this misfortune in it, that if it were true in matter of fact, that there were certain truths wherein all mankind agreed, it would not prove them innate, if there can be any other way shown how men may come to that universal agreement, in the things they do consent in, which I presume may be done.

4. “What is is,” and “It is possible for the same Thing to be and not to be,” not universally assented to.

But, which is worse, this argument of universal consent, which is made use of to prove innate principles, seems to me a demonstration that there are none such: because there are none to which all mankind give an universal assent. I shall begin with the speculative, and instance in those magnified principles of demonstration, “Whatsoever is, is,” and “It is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be”; which, of all others, I think have the most allowed title to innate. These have so settled a reputation of maxims universally received, that it will no doubt be thought strange if any one should seem to question it. But yet I take liberty to say, that these propositions are so far from having an universal assent, that there are a great part of mankind to whom they are not so much as known.

5. Not on Mind naturally imprinted, because not known to Children, Idiots, &c.

For, first, it is evident, that all children and idiots have not the least apprehension or thought of them. And the want of that is enough to destroy that universal assent which must needs be the necessary concomitant of all innate truths: it seeming to me near a contradiction to say, that there are truths imprinted on the soul, which it perceives or understands not: imprinting, if it signify anything, being nothing else but the making certain truths to be perceived. For to imprint anything on the mind without the mind’s perceiving it, seems to me hardly intelligible. If therefore children and idiots have souls, have minds, with those impressions upon them, THEY must unavoidably perceive them, and necessarily know and assent to these truths; which since they do not, it is evident that there are no such impressions. For if they are not notions naturally imprinted, how can they be innate? and if they are notions imprinted, how can they be unknown? To say a notion is imprinted on the mind, and yet at the same time to say, that the mind is ignorant of it, and never yet took notice of it, is to make this impression nothing. No proposition can be said to be in the mind which it never yet knew, which it was never yet conscious of. For if any one may, then, by the same reason, all propositions that are true, and the mind is capable ever of assenting to, may be said to be in the mind, and to be imprinted: since, if any one can be said to be in the mind, which it never yet knew, it must be only because it is capable of knowing it; and so the mind is of all truths it ever shall know. Nay, thus truths may be imprinted on the mind which it never did, nor ever shall know; for a man may live long, and die at last in ignorance of many truths which his mind was capable of knowing, and that with certainty. So that if the capacity of knowing be the natural impression contended for, all the truths a man ever comes to know will, by this account, be every one of them innate; and this great point will amount to no more, but only to a very improper way of speaking; which, whilst it pretends to assert the contrary, says nothing different from those who deny innate principles. For nobody, I think, ever denied that the mind was capable of knowing several truths. The capacity, they say, is innate; the knowledge acquired. But then to what end such contest for certain innate maxims? If truths can be imprinted on the understanding without being perceived, I can see no difference there can be between any truths the mind is CAPABLE of knowing in respect of their original: they must all be innate or all adventitious: in vain shall a man go about to distinguish them. He therefore that talks of innate notions in the understanding, cannot (if he intend thereby any distinct sort of truths) mean such truths to be in the understanding as it never perceived, and is yet wholly ignorant of. For if these words “to be in the understanding” have any propriety, they signify to be understood. So that to be in the understanding, and not to be understood; to be in the mind and never to be perceived, is all one as to say anything is and is not in the mind or understanding. If therefore these two propositions, “Whatsoever is, is,” and “It is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be,” are by nature imprinted, children cannot be ignorant of them: infants, and all that have souls, must necessarily have them in their understandings, know the truth of them, and assent to it.

6. That men know them when they come to the Use of Reason answered.

To avoid this, it is usually answered, that all men know and assent to them, WHEN THEY COME TO THE USE OF REASON; and this is enough to prove them innate. I answer:

7. Doubtful expressions, that have scarce any signification, go for clear reasons to those who, being prepossessed, take not the pains to examine even what they themselves say. For, to apply this answer with any tolerable sense to our present purpose, it must signify one of these two things: either that as soon as men come to the use of reason these supposed native inscriptions come to be known and observed by them; or else, that the use and exercise of men’s reason, assists them in the discovery of these principles, and certainly makes them known to them.

8. If Reason discovered them, that would not prove them innate.

If they mean, that by the use of reason men may discover these principles, and that this is sufficient to prove them innate; their way of arguing will stand thus, viz. that whatever truths reason can certainly discover to us, and make us firmly assent to, those are all naturally imprinted on the mind; since that universal assent, which is made the mark of them, amounts to no more but this, — that by the use of reason we are capable to come to a certain knowledge of and assent to them; and, by this means, there will be no difference between the maxims of the mathematicians, and theorems they deduce from them: all must be equally allowed innate; they being all discoveries made by the use of reason, and truths that a rational creature may certainly come to know, if he apply his thoughts rightly that way.

9. It is false that Reason discovers them.

But how can these men think the use of reason necessary to discover principles that are supposed innate, when reason (if we may believe them) is nothing else but the faculty of deducing unknown truths from principles or propositions that are already known? That certainly can never be thought innate which we have need of reason to discover; unless, as I have said, we will have all the certain truths that reason ever teaches us, to be innate. We may as well think the use of reason necessary to make our eyes discover visible objects, as that there should be need of reason, or the exercise thereof, to make the understanding see what is originally engraven on it, and cannot be in the understanding before it be perceived by it. So that to make reason discover those truths thus imprinted, is to say, that the use of reason discovers to a man what he knew before: and if men have those innate impressed truths originally, and before the use of reason, and yet are always ignorant of them till they come to the use of reason, it is in effect to say, that men know and know them not at the same time.

10. No use made of reasoning in the discovery of these two maxims.

It will here perhaps be said that mathematical demonstrations, and other truths that are not innate, are not assented to as soon as proposed, wherein they are distinguished from these maxims and other innate truths. I shall have occasion to speak of assent upon the first proposing, more particularly by and by. I shall here only, and that very readily, allow, that these maxims and mathematical demonstrations are in this different: that the one have need of reason, using of proofs, to make them out and to gain our assent; but the other, as soon as understood, are, without any the least reasoning, embraced and assented to. But I withal beg leave to observe, that it lays open the weakness of this subterfuge, which requires the use of reason for the discovery of these general truths: since it must be confessed that in their discovery there is no use made of reasoning at all. And I think those who give this answer will not be forward to affirm that the knowledge of this maxim, “That it is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be,” is a deduction of our reason. For this would be to destroy that bounty of nature they seem so fond of, whilst they make the knowledge of those principles to depend on the labour of our thoughts. For all reasoning is search, and casting about, and requires pains and application. And how can it with any tolerable sense be supposed, that what was imprinted by nature, as the foundation and guide of our reason, should need the use of reason to discover it?

11. And if there were this would prove them not innate.

Those who will take the pains to reflect with a little attention on the operations of the understanding, will find that this ready assent of the mind to some truths, depends not, either on native inscription, or the use of reason, but on a faculty of the mind quite distinct from both of them, as we shall see hereafter. Reason, therefore, having nothing to do in procuring our assent to these maxims, if by saying, that “men know and assent to them, when they come to the use of reason,” be meant, that the use of reason assists us in the knowledge of these maxims, it is utterly false; and were it true, would prove them not to be innate.

12. The coming of the Use of Reason not the Time we come to know these Maxims.

If by knowing and assenting to them “when we come to the use of reason,” be meant, that this is the time when they come to be taken notice of by the mind; and that as soon as children come to the use of reason, they come also to know and assent to these maxims; this also is false and frivolous. First, it is false; because it is evident these maxims are not in the mind so early as the use of reason; and therefore the coming to the use of reason is falsely assigned as the time of their discovery. How many instances of the use of reason may we observe in children, a long time before they have any knowledge of this maxim, “That it is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be?” And a great part of illiterate people and savages pass many years, even of their rational age, without ever thinking on this and the like general propositions. I grant, men come not to the knowledge of these general and more abstract truths, which are thought innate, till they come to the use of reason; and I add, nor then neither. Which is so, because, till after they come to the use of reason, those general abstract ideas are not framed in the mind, about which those general maxims are, which are mistaken for innate principles, but are indeed discoveries made and verities introduced and brought into the mind by the same way, and discovered by the same steps, as several other propositions, which nobody was ever so extravagant as to suppose innate. This I hope to make plain in the sequel of this Discourse. I allow therefore, a necessity that men should come to the use of reason before they get the knowledge of those general truths; but deny that men’s coming to the use of reason is the time of their discovery.

13. By this they are not distinguished from other knowable Truths.

In the mean time it is observable, that this saying that men know and assent to these maxims “when they come to the use of reason,” amounts in reality of fact to no more but this, — that they are never known nor taken notice of before the use of reason, but may possibly be assented to some time after, during a man’s life; but when is uncertain. And so may all other knowable truths, as well as these which therefore have no advantage nor distinction from other by this note of being known when we come to the use of reason; nor are thereby proved to be innate, but quite the contrary.

14. If coming to the Use of Reason were the Time of their Discovery, it would not prove them innate.

But, secondly, were it true that the precise time of their being known and assented to were, when men come to the use of reason; neither would that prove them innate. This way of arguing is as frivolous as the supposition itself is false. For, by what kind of logic will it appear that any notion is originally by nature imprinted in the mind in its first constitution, because it comes first to be observed and assented to when a faculty of the mind, which has quite a distinct province, begins to exert itself? And therefore the coming to the use of speech, if it were supposed the time that these maxims are first assented to, (which it may be with as much truth as the time when men come to the use of reason,) would be as good a proof that they were innate, as to say they are innate because men assent to them when they come to the use of reason. I agree then with these men of innate principles, that there is no knowledge of these general and self-evident maxims in the mind, till it comes to the exercise of reason: but I deny that the coming to the use of reason is the precise time when they are first taken notice of; and if that were the precise time, I deny that it would prove them innate. All that can with any truth be meant by this proposition, that men ‘assent to them when they come to the use of reason,’ is no more but this, — that the making of general abstract ideas, and the understanding of general names, being a concomitant of the rational faculty, and growing up with it, children commonly get not those general ideas, nor learn the names that stand for them, till, having for a good while exercised their reason about familiar and more particular ideas, they are, by their ordinary discourse and actions with others, acknowledged to be capable of rational conversation. If assenting to these maxims, when men come to the use of reason, can be true in any other sense, I desire it may be shown; or at least, how in this, or any other sense, it proves them innate.

15. The Steps by which the Mind attains several Truths.

The senses at first let in PARTICULAR ideas, and furnish the yet empty cabinet, and the mind by degrees growing familiar with some of them, they are lodged in the memory, and names got to them. Afterwards, the mind proceeding further, abstracts them, and by degrees learns the use of general names. In this manner the mind comes to be furnished with ideas and language, the MATERIALS about which to exercise its discursive faculty. And the use of reason becomes daily more visible, as these materials that give it employment increase. But though the having of general ideas and the use of general words and reason usually grow together, yet I see not how this any way proves them innate. The knowledge of some truths, I confess, is very early in the mind; but in a way that shows them not to be innate. For, if we will observe, we shall find it still to be about ideas, not innate, but acquired; it being about those first which are imprinted by external things, with which infants have earliest to do, which make the most frequent impressions on their senses. In ideas thus got, the mind discovers that some agree and others differ, probably as soon as it has any use of memory; as soon as it is able to retain and perceive distinct ideas. But whether it be then or no, this is certain, it does so long before it has the use of words; or comes to that which we commonly call “the use of reason.” For a child knows as certainly before it can speak the difference between the ideas of sweet and bitter (i.e. that sweet is not bitter), as it knows afterwards (when it comes to speak) that wormwood and sugarplums are not the same thing.

16. Assent to supposed innate truths depends on having clear and distinct ideas of what their terms mean, and not on their innateness.

A child knows not that three and four are equal to seven, till he comes to be able to count seven, and has got the name and idea of equality; and then, upon explaining those words, he presently assents to, or rather perceives the truth of that proposition. But neither does he then readily assent because it is an innate truth, nor was his assent wanting till then because he wanted the use of reason; but the truth of it appears to him as soon as he has settled in his mind the clear and distinct ideas that these names stand for. And then he knows the truth of that proposition upon the same ground and by the same means, that he knew before that a rod and a cherry are not the same thing; and upon the same ground also that he may come to know afterwards “That it is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be,” as shall be more fully shown hereafter. So that the later it is before any one comes to have those general ideas about which those maxims are; or to know the signification of those generic terms that stand for them; or to put together in his mind the ideas they stand for; the later also will it be before he comes to assent to those maxims; — whose terms, with the ideas they stand for, being no more innate than those of a cat or a weasel he must stay till time and observation have acquainted him with them; and then he will be in a capacity to know the truth of these maxims, upon the first occasion that shall make him put together those ideas in his mind, and observe whether they agree or disagree, according as is expressed in those propositions. And therefore it is that a man knows that eighteen and nineteen are equal to thirty-seven, by the same self-evidence that he knows one and two to be equal to three: yet a child knows this not so soon as the other; not for want of the use of reason, but because the ideas the words eighteen nineteen, and thirty-seven stand for, are not so soon got, as those which are signified by one, two, and three.

17. Assenting as soon as proposed and understood, proves them not innate.

This evasion therefore of general assent when men come to the use of reason, failing as it does, and leaving no difference between those supposed innate and other truths that are afterwards acquired and learnt, men have endeavoured to secure an universal assent to those they call maxims, by saying, they are generally assented to as soon as proposed, and the terms they are proposed in understood: seeing all men, even children, as soon as they hear and understand the terms, assent to these propositions, they think it is sufficient to prove them innate. For, since men never fail after they have once understood the words, to acknowledge them for undoubted truths, they would infer, that certainly these propositions were first lodged in the understanding, which, without any teaching, the mind, at the very first proposal immediately closes with and assents to, and after that never doubts again.

18. If such an Assent be a Mark of Innate, then “that one and two are equal to three, that Sweetness if not Bitterness,” and a thousand the like, must be inate.

In answer to this, I demand whether ready assent given to a proposition, upon first hearing and understanding the terms, be a certain mark of an innate principle? If it be not, such a general assent is in vain urged as a proof of them: if it be said that it is a mark of innate, they must then allow all such propositions to be innate which are generally assented to as soon as heard, whereby they will find themselves plentifully stored with innate principles. For upon the same ground, viz. of assent at first hearing and understanding the terms, that men would have those maxims pass for innate, they must also admit several propositions about numbers to be innate; and thus, that one and two are equal to three, that two and two are equal to four, and a multitude of other the like propositions in numbers, that everybody assents to at first hearing and understanding the terms, must have a place amongst these innate axioms. Nor is this the prerogative of numbers alone, and propositions made about several of them; but even natural philosophy, and all the other sciences, afford propositions which are sure to meet with assent as soon as they are understood. That “two bodies cannot be in the same place” is a truth that nobody any more sticks at than at these maxims, that “it is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be,” that “white is not black,” that “a square is not a circle,” that “bitterness is not sweetness.” These and a million of such other propositions, as many at least as we have distinct, ideas of, every man in his wits, at first hearing, and knowing, what the names stand for, must necessarily assent to. If these men will be true to their own rule, and have assent at first hearing and understanding the terms to be a mark of innate, they must allow not only as many innate proposition as men have distinct ideas, but as many as men can make propositions wherein different ideas are denied one of another. Since every proposition wherein one different idea is denied of another, will as certainly find assent at first hearing and understanding the terms as this general one, “It is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be,” or that which is the foundation of it and is the easier understood of the two, “The same is not different”; by which account they will have legions of innate propositions of this one sort, without mentioning any other But, since no proposition can be innate unless the ideas about which it is be innate, this will be to suppose all our ideas of colours, sounds, tastes, figure, &c., innate, than which there cannot be anything more opposite to reason and experience. Universal and ready assent upon hearing and understanding the terms is, I grant, a mark of self-evidence; but self-evidence, depending not on innate impressions, but on something else, (as we shall show hereafter,) belongs to several propositions which nobody was yet so extravagant as to pretend to be innate.

19. Such less general Propositions known before these universal Maxims.

Nor let it be said, that those more particular self-evident propositions, which are assented to at first hearing, as that “one and two are equal to three,” that “green is not red,” &c., are received as the consequences of those more universal propositions which are looked on as innate principles; since any one, who will but take the pains to observe what passes in the understanding, will certainly find that these, and the like less general propositions, are certainly known, and firmly assented to by those who are utterly ignorant of those more general maxims; and so, being earlier in the mind than those (as they are called) first principles, cannot owe to them the assent wherewith they are received at first hearing.

20. One and one equal to Two, &c., not general nor useful answered.

If it be said, that these propositions, viz. “two and two are equal to four,” “red is not blue,” &c., are not general maxims nor of any great use, I answer, that makes nothing to the argument of universal assent upon hearing and understanding. For, if that be the certain mark of innate, whatever propositions can be found that receives general assent as soon as heard understood, that must be admitted for an innate proposition as well as this maxim, “That it is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be,” they being upon this ground equal. And as to the difference of being more general, that makes this maxim more remote from being innate; those general and abstract ideas being more strangers to our first apprehensions than those of more particular self-evident propositions; and therefore it is longer before they are admitted, and assented to by the growing understanding. And as to the usefulness of these magnified maxims, that perhaps will not be found so great as is generally conceived, when it comes in its due place to be more fully considered.

21. These Maxims not being known sometimes till proposed, proves them not innate.

But we have not yet done with “assenting to propositions at first hearing and understanding their terms.” It is fit we first take notice that this, instead of being a mark that they are innate, is a proof of the contrary; since it supposes that several, who understand and know other things, are ignorant of these principles till they are proposed to them; and that one may be unacquainted with these truths till he hears them from others. For, if they were innate, what need they be proposed in order to gaining assent, when, by being in the understanding, by a natural and original impression, (if there were any such,) they could not but be known before? Or doth the proposing them print them clearer in the mind than nature did? If so, then the consequence will be, that a man knows them better after he has been thus taught them than he did before. Whence it will follow that these principles may be made more evident to us by others’ teaching than nature has made them by impression: which will ill agree with the opinion of innate principles, and give but little authority to them; but, on the contrary, makes them unfit to be the foundations of all our other knowledge; as they are pretended to be. This cannot be denied, that men grow first acquainted with many of these self-evident truths upon their being proposed: but it is clear that whosoever does so, finds in himself that he then begins to know a proposition, which he knew not before, and which from thenceforth he never questions; not because it was innate, but because the consideration of the nature of the things contained in those words would not suffer him to think otherwise, how, or whensoever he is brought to reflect on them. And if whatever is assented to at first hearing and understanding the terms must pass for an innate principle, every well-grounded observation, drawn from particulars into a general rule, must be innate. When yet it is certain that not all, but only sagacious heads, light at first on these observations, and reduce them into general propositions: not innate but collected from a preceding acquaintance and reflection on particular instances. These, when observing men have made them, unobserving men, when they are proposed to them cannot refuse their assent to.

22. Implicitly known before proposing, signifies that the Mind is capable of understanding them, or else signifies nothing.

If it be said, the understanding hath an IMPLICIT knowledge of these principles, but not an EXPLICIT, before this first hearing (as they must who will say “that they are in the understanding before they are known,”) it will be hard to conceive what is meant by a principle imprinted on the understanding implicitly, unless it be this, — that the mind is capable of understanding and assenting firmly to such propositions. And thus all mathematical demonstrations, as well as first principles, must be received as native impressions on the mind; which I fear they will scarce allow them to be, who find it harder to demonstrate a proposition than assent to it when demonstrated. And few mathematicians will be forward to believe, that all the diagrams they have drawn were but copies of those innate characters which nature had engraven upon their minds.

23. The Argument of assenting on first hearing, is upon a false supposition of no precedent teaching.

There is, I fear, this further weakness in the foregoing argument, which would persuade us that therefore those maxims are to be thought innate, which men admit at first hearing; because they assent to propositions which they are not taught, nor do receive from the force of any argument or demonstration, but a bare explication or understanding of the terms. Under which there seems to me to lie this fallacy, that men are supposed not to be taught nor to learn anything DE NOVO; when, in truth, they are taught, and do learn something they were ignorant of before. For, first, it is evident that they have learned the terms, and their signification; neither of which was born with them. But this is not all the acquired knowledge in the case: the ideas themselves, about which the proposition is, are not born with them, no more than their names, but got afterwards. So that in all propositions that are assented to at first hearing, the terms of the proposition, their standing for such ideas, and the ideas themselves that they stand for, being neither of them innate, I would fain know what there is remaining in such propositions that is innate. For I would gladly have any one name that proposition whose terms or ideas were either of them innate. We BY DEGREES get ideas and names, and LEARN their appropriated connexion one with another; and then to propositions made in such, terms, whose signification we have learnt, and wherein the agreement or disagreement we can perceive in our ideas when put together is expressed, we at first hearing assent; though to other propositions, in themselves as certain and evident, but which are concerning ideas not so soon or so easily got, we are at the same time no way capable of assenting. For, though a child quickly assents to this proposition, “That an apple is not fire,” when by familiar acquaintance he has got the ideas of those two different things distinctly imprinted on his mind, and has learnt that the names apple and fire stand for them; yet it will be some years after, perhaps, before the same child will assent to this proposition, “That it is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be”; because that, though perhaps the words are as easy to be learnt, yet the signification of them being more large, comprehensive, and abstract than of the names annexed to those sensible things the child hath to do with, it is longer before he learns their precise meaning, and it requires more time plainly to form in his mind those general ideas they stand for. Till that be done, you will in vain endeavour to make any child assent to a proposition made up of such general terms; but as soon as ever he has got those ideas, and learned their names, he forwardly closes with the one as well as the other of the forementioned propositions: and with both for the same reason; viz. because he finds the ideas he has in his mind to agree or disagree, according as the words standing for them are affirmed or denied one of another in the proposition. But if propositions be brought to him in words which stand for ideas he has not yet in his mind, to such propositions, however evidently true or false in themselves, he affords neither assent nor dissent, but is ignorant. For words being but empty sounds, any further than they are signs of our ideas, we cannot but assent to them as they correspond to those ideas we have, but no further than that. But the showing by what steps and ways knowledge comes into our minds; and the grounds of several degrees of assent, being; the business of the following Discourse, it may suffice to have only touched on it here, as one reason that made me doubt of those innate principles.

24. Not innate because not universally assented to.

To conclude this argument of universal consent, I agree with these defenders of innate principles, — that if they are innate, they must needs have universal assent. For that a truth should be innate and yet not assented to, is to me as unintelligible as for a man to know a truth and be ignorant of it at the same time. But then, by these men’s own confession, they cannot be innate; since they are not assented to by those who understand not the terms; nor by a great part of those who do understand them, but have yet never heard nor thought of those propositions; which, I think, is at least one half of mankind. But were the number far less, it would be enough to destroy universal assent, and thereby show these propositions not to be innate, if children alone were ignorant of them.

25. These Maxims not the first known.

But that I may not be accused to argue from the thoughts of infants, which are unknown to us, and to conclude from what passes in their understandings before they express it; I say next, that these two general propositions are not the truths that first possess the minds of children, nor are antecedent to all acquired and adventitious notions: which, if they were innate, they must needs be. Whether we can determine it or no, it matters not, there is certainly a time when children begin to think, and their words and actions do assure us that they do so. When therefore they are capable of thought, of knowledge, of assent, can it rationally be supposed they can be ignorant of those notions that nature has imprinted, were there any such? Can it be imagined, with any appearance of reason, that they perceive the impressions from things without, and be at the same time ignorant of those characters which nature itself has taken care to stamp within? Can they receive and assent to adventitious notions, and be ignorant of those which are supposed woven into the very principles of their being, and imprinted there in indelible characters, to be the foundation and guide of all their acquired knowledge and future reasonings? This would be to make nature take pains to no purpose; or at least to write very ill; since its characters could not be read by those eyes which saw other things very well: and those are very ill supposed the clearest parts of truth, and the foundations of all our knowledge, which are not first known, and without which the undoubted knowledge of several other things may be had. The child certainly knows, that the nurse that feeds it is neither the cat it plays with, nor the blackmoor it is afraid of: that the wormseed or mustard it refuses, is not the apple or sugar it cries for: this it is certainly and undoubtedly assured of: but will any one say, it is by virtue of this principle, “That it is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be,” that it so firmly assents to these and other parts of its knowledge? Or that the child has any notion or apprehension of that proposition at an age, wherein yet, it is plain, it knows a great many other truths? He that will say, children join in these general abstract speculations with their sucking-bottles and their rattles, may perhaps, with justice, be thought to have more passion and zeal for his opinion, but less sincerity and truth, than one of that age.

26. And so not innate.

Though therefore there be several general propositions that meet with constant and ready assent, as soon as proposed to men grown up, who have attained the use of more general and abstract ideas, and names standing for them; yet they not being to be found in those of tender years, who nevertheless know other things, they cannot pretend to universal assent of intelligent persons, and so by no means can be supposed innate; — it being impossible that any truth which is innate (if there were any such) should be unknown, at least to any one who knows anything else. Since, if they are innate truths, they must be innate thoughts: there being nothing a truth in the mind that it has never thought on. Whereby it is evident, if there be any innate truths, they must necessarily be the first of any thought on; the first that appear.

27. Not innate, because they appear least, where what is innate shows itself clearest.

That the general maxims we are discoursing of are not known to children, idiots, and a great part of mankind, we have already sufficiently proved: whereby it is evident they have not an universal assent, nor are general impressions. But there is this further argument in it against their being innate: that these characters, if they were native and original impressions, should appear fairest and clearest in those persons in whom yet we find no footsteps of them; and it is, in my opinion, a strong presumption that they are not innate, since they are least known to those in whom, if they were innate, they must needs exert themselves with most force and vigour. For children, idiots, savages, and illiterate people, being of all others the least corrupted by custom, or borrowed opinions; learning and education having not cast their native thoughts into new moulds; nor by superinducing foreign and studied doctrines, confounded those fair characters nature had written there; one might reasonably imagine that in THEIR minds these innate notions should lie open fairly to every one’s view, as it is certain the thoughts of children do. It might very well be expected that these principles should be perfectly known to naturals; which being stamped immediately on the soul, (as these men suppose,) can have no dependence on the constitution or organs of the body, the only confessed difference between them and others. One would think, according to these men’s principles, that all these native beams of light (were there any such) should, in those who have no reserves, no arts of concealment, shine out in their full lustre, and leave us in no more doubt of their being there, than we are of their love of pleasure and abhorrence of pain. But alas, amongst children, idiots, savages, and the grossly illiterate, what general maxims are to be found? what universal principles of knowledge? Their notions are few and narrow, borrowed only from those objects they have had most to do with, and which have made upon their senses the frequentest and strongest impressions. A child knows his nurse and his cradle, and by degrees the playthings of a little more advanced age; and a young savage has, perhaps, his head filled with love and hunting, according to the fashion of his tribe. But he that from a child untaught, or a wild inhabitant of the woods, will expect these abstract maxims and reputed principles of science, will, I fear find himself mistaken. Such kind of general propositions are seldom mentioned in the huts of Indians: much less are they to be found in the thoughts of children, or any impressions of them on the minds of naturals. They are the language and business of the schools and academies of learned nations accustomed to that sort of conversation or learning, where disputes are frequent; these maxims being suited to artificial argumentation and useful for conviction, but not much conducing to the discovery of truth or advancement of knowledge. But of their small use for the improvement of knowledge I shall have occasion to speak more at large, l.4, c. 7.

28. Recapitulation.

I know not how absurd this may seem to the masters of demonstration. And probably it will hardly go down with anybody at first hearing. I must therefore beg a little truce with prejudice, and the forbearance of censure, till I have been heard out in the sequel of this Discourse, being very willing to submit to better judgments. And since I impartially search after truth, I shall not be sorry to be convinced, that I have been too fond of my own notions; which I confess we are all apt to be, when application and study have warmed our heads with them.

Upon the whole matter, I cannot see any ground to think these two speculative Maxims innate: since they are not universally assented to; and the assent they so generally find is no other than what several propositions, not allowed to be innate, equally partake in with them: and since the assent that is given them is produced another way, and comes not from natural inscription, as I doubt not but to make appear in the following Discourse. And if THESE “first principles” of knowledge and science are found not to be innate, no OTHER speculative maxims can (I suppose), with better right pretend to be so.

CHAPTER II. NO INNATE PRACTICAL PRINCIPLES

1. No moral Principles so clear and so generally received as the forementioned speculative Maxims.

If those speculative Maxims, whereof we discoursed in the foregoing chapter, have not an actual universal assent from all mankind, as we there proved, it is much more visible concerning PRACTICAL Principles, that they come short of an universal reception: and I think it will be hard to instance any one moral rule which can pretend to so general and ready an assent as, “What is, is”; or to be so manifest a truth as this, that “It is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be.” Whereby it is evident that they are further removed from a title to be innate; and the doubt of their being native impressions on the mind is stronger against those moral principles than the other. Not that it brings their truth at all in question. They are equally true, though not equally evident. Those speculative maxims carry their own evidence with them: but moral principles require reasoning and discourse, and some exercise of the mind, to discover the certainty of their truth. They lie not open as natural characters engraved on the mind; which, if any such were, they must needs be visible by themselves, and by their own light be certain and known to everybody. But this is no derogation to their truth and certainty; no more than it is to the truth or certainty of the three angles of a triangle being equal to two right ones because it is not so evident as “the whole is bigger than a part,” nor so apt to be assented to at first hearing. It may suffice that these moral rules are capable of demonstration: and therefore it is our own faults if we come not to a certain knowledge of them. But the ignorance wherein many men are of them, and the slowness of assent wherewith others receive them, are manifest proofs that they are not innate, and such as offer themselves to their view without searching.

2. Faith and Justice not owned as Principles by all Men.

Whether there be any such moral principles, wherein all men do agree, I appeal to any who have been but moderately conversant in the history of mankind, and looked abroad beyond the smoke of their own chimneys. Where is that practical truth that is universally received, without doubt or question, as it must be if innate? JUSTICE, and keeping of contracts, is that which most men seem to agree in. This is a principle which is thought to extend itself to the dens of thieves, and the confederacies of the greatest villains; and they who have gone furthest towards the putting off of humanity itself, keep faith and rules of justice one with another. I grant that outlaws themselves do this one amongst another: but it is without receiving these as the innate laws of nature. They practise them as rules of convenience within their own communities: but it is impossible to conceive that he embraces justice as a practical principle who acts fairly with his fellow-highwayman, and at the same time plunders or kills the next honest man he meets with Justice and truth are the common ties of society; and therefore even outlaws and robbers, who break with all the world besides, must keep faith and rules of equity amongst themselves; or else they cannot hold together. But will any one say, that those that live by fraud or rapine have innate principles of truth and justice which they allow and assent to?

3. Objection: though Men deny them in their Practice, yet they admit them in their Thoughts answered.

Perhaps it will be urged, that the tacit assent of their minds agrees to what their practice contradicts. I answer, first, I have always thought the actions of men the best interpreters of their thoughts. But, since it is certain that most men’s practices, and some men’s open professions, have either questioned or denied these principles, it is impossible to establish an universal consent, (though we should look for it only amongst grown men,) without which it is impossible to conclude them innate. Secondly, it is very strange and unreasonable to suppose innate practical principles, that terminate only in contemplation. Practical principles, derived from nature, are there for operation, and must produce conformity of action, not barely speculative assent to their truth, or else they are in vain distinguished from speculative maxims. Nature, I confess, has put into man a desire of happiness and an aversion to misery: these indeed are innate practical principles which (as practical principles ought) DO continue constantly to operate and influence all our actions without ceasing: these may be observed in all persons and all ages, steady and universal; but these are INCLINATIONS OF THE APPETITE to good, not impressions of truth on the understanding. I deny not that there are natural tendencies imprinted on the minds of men; and that from the very first instances of sense and perception, there are some things that are grateful and others unwelcome to them; some things that they incline to and others that they fly: but this makes nothing for innate characters on the mind, which are to be the principles of knowledge regulating our practice. Such natural impressions on the understanding are so far from being confirmed hereby, that this is an argument against them; since, if there were certain characters imprinted by nature on the understanding, as the principles of knowledge, we could not but perceive them constantly operate in us and influence our knowledge, as we do those others on the will and appetite; which never cease to be the constant springs and motives of all our actions, to which we perpetually feel them strongly impelling us.

4. Moral Rules need a Proof, ERGO not innate.

Another reason that makes me doubt of any innate practical principles is, that I think THERE CANNOT ANY ONE MORAL RULE BE PROPOSED WHEREOF A MAN MAY NOT JUSTLY DEMAND A REASON: which would be perfectly ridiculous and absurd if they were innate; or so much as self-evident, which every innate principle must needs be, and not need any proof to ascertain its truth, nor want any reason to gain it approbation. He would be thought void of common sense who asked on the one side, or on the other side went to give a reason WHY “it is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be.” It carries its own light and evidence with it, and needs no other proof: he that understands the terms assents to it for its own sake or else nothing will ever be able to prevail with him to do it. But should that most unshaken rule of morality and foundation of all social virtue, “That should do as he would be done unto,” be proposed to one who never heard of it before, but yet is of capacity to understand its meaning; might he not without any absurdity ask a reason why? And were not he that proposed it bound to make out the truth and reasonableness of it to him? Which plainly shows it not to be innate; for if it were it could neither want nor receive any proof; but must needs (at least as soon as heard and understood) be received and assented to as an unquestionable truth, which a man can by no means doubt of. So that the truth of all these moral rules plainly depends upon some other antecedent to them, and from which they must be DEDUCED; which could not be if either they were innate or so much as self-evident.

5. Instance in keeping Compacts

That men should keep their compacts is certainly a great and undeniable rule in morality. But yet, if a Christian, who has the view of happiness and misery in another life, be asked why a man must keep his word, he will give this as a reason: — Because God, who has the power of eternal life and death, requires it of us. But if a Hobbist be asked why? he will answer: — Because the public requires it, and the Leviathan will punish you if you do not. And if one of the old philosophers had been asked, he would have answered: — Because it was dishonest, below the dignity of a man, and opposite to virtue, the highest perfection of human nature, to do otherwise.

6. Virtue generally approved not because innate, but because profitable.

Hence naturally flows the great variety of opinions concerning moral rules which are to be found among men, according to the different sorts of happiness they have a prospect of, or propose to themselves; which could not be if practical principles were innate, and imprinted in our minds immediately by the hand of God. I grant the existence of God is so many ways manifest, and the obedience we owe him so congruous to the light of reason, that a great part of mankind give testimony to the law of nature: but yet I think it must be allowed that several moral rules may receive from mankind a very general approbation, without either knowing or admitting the true ground of morality; which can only be the will and law of a God, who sees men in the dark, has in his hand rewards and punishments, and power enough to call to account the proudest offender. For, God having, by an inseparable connexion, joined virtue and public happiness together, and made the practice thereof necessary to the preservation of society, and visibly beneficial to all with whom the virtuous man has to do; it is no wonder that every one should not only allow, but recommend and magnify those rules to others, from whose observance of them he is sure to reap advantage to himself. He may, out of interest as well as conviction, cry up that for sacred, which, if once trampled on and profaned, he himself cannot be safe nor secure. This, though it takes nothing from the moral and eternal obligation which these rules evidently have, yet it shows that the outward acknowledgment men pay to them in their words proves not that they are innate principles: nay, it proves not so much as that men assent to them inwardly in their own minds, as the inviolable rules of their own practice; since we find that self-interest, and the conveniences of this life, make many men own an outward profession and approbation of them, whose actions sufficiently prove that they very little consider the Lawgiver that prescribed these rules; nor the hell that he has ordained for the punishment of those that transgress them.

7. Men’s actions convince us, that the Rule of Virtue is not their internal Principle.

For, if we will not in civility allow too much sincerity to the professions of most men, but think their actions to be the interpreters of their thoughts, we shall find that they have no such internal veneration for these rules, nor so full a persuasion of their certainty and obligation. The great principle of morality, ‘To do as one would be done to,’ is more commended than practised. But the breach of this rule cannot be a greater vice, than to teach others, that it is no moral rule, nor obligatory, would be thought madness, and contrary to that interest men sacrifice to, when they break it themselves. Perhaps CONSCIENCE will be urged as checking us for such breaches, and so the internal obligation and establishment of the rule be preserved.

8. Conscience no Proof of any innate Moral Rule.

To which I answer, that I doubt not but, without being written on their hearts, many men may, by the same way that they come to the knowledge of other things, come to assent to several moral rules, and be convinced of their obligation. Others also may come to be of the same mind, from their education, company, and customs of their country; which persuasion, however got, will serve to set conscience on work; which is nothing else but our own opinion or judgment of the moral rectitude or gravity of our own actions; and if conscience be a proof of innate principles, contraries may be innate principles; since some men with the same bent of conscience prosecute what others avoid.

9. Instances of Enormities practised without Remorse.

But I cannot see how any men should ever transgress those moral rules, with confidence and serenity, were they innate, and stamped upon their minds. View but an army at the sacking of a town, and see what observation or sense of moral principles, or what touch of conscience for all the outrages they do. Robberies, murders, rapes, are the sports of men set at liberty from punishment and censure. Have there not been whole nations, and those of the most civilized people, amongst whom the exposing their children, and leaving them in the fields to perish by want or wild beasts has been the practice; as little condemned or scrupled as the begetting them? Do they not still, in some countries, put them into the same graves with their mothers, if they die in childbirth; or despatch them, if a pretended astrologer declares them to have unhappy stars? And are there not places where, at a certain age, they kill or expose their parents, without any remorse at all? In a part of Asia, the sick, when their case comes to be thought desperate, are carried out and laid on the earth before they are dead; and left there, exposed to wind and weather, to perish without assistance or pity. It is familiar among the Mingrelians, a people professing Christianity, to bury their children alive without scruple. There are places where they eat their own children. The Caribbees were wont to geld their children, on purpose to fat and eat them. And Garcilasso de la Vega tells us of a people in Peru which were wont to fat and eat the children they got on their female captives, whom they kept as concubines for that purpose, and when they were past breeding, the mothers themselves were killed too and eaten. The virtues whereby the Tououpinambos believed they merited paradise, were revenge, and eating abundance of their enemies. They have not so much as a name for God, and have no religion, no worship. The saints who are canonized amongst the Turks, lead lives which one cannot with modesty relate. A remarkable passage to this purpose, out of the voyage of Baumgarten, which is a book not every day to be met with, I shall set down at large, in the language it is published in.

Ibi (sc. prope Belbes in Aegypto) vidimus sanctum unum Saracenicum inter arenarum cumulos, ita ut ex utero matris prodiit nudum sedentem. Mos est, ut didicimus, Mahometistis, ut eos, qui amentes et sine ratione sunt, pro sanctis colant et venerentur. Insuper et eos, qui cum diu vitam egerint inquinatissimam, voluntariam demum poenitentiam et paupertatem, sanctitate venerandos deputant. Ejusmodi vero genus hominum libertatem quandam effrenem habent, domos quos volunt intrandi, edendi, bibendi, et quod majus est, concumbendi; ex quo concubitu, si proles secuta fuerit, sancta similiter habetur. His ergo hominibus dum vivunt, magnos exhibent honores; mortuis vero vel templa vel monumenta extruunt amplissima, eosque contingere ac sepelire maximae fortunae ducunt loco. Audivimus haec dicta et dicenda per interpretem a Mucrelo nostro. Insuper sanctum ilium, quern eo loco vidimus, publicitus apprime commendari, eum esse hominem sanctum, divinum ac integritate praecipuum; eo quod, nec faminarum unquam esset, nec puerorum, sed tantummodo asellarum concubitor atque mularum. (Peregr. Baumgarten, 1. ii. c. i. .)

Where then are those innate principles of justice, piety, gratitude, equity, chastity? Or where is that universal consent that assures us there are such inbred rules? Murders in duels, when fashion has made them honourable, are committed without remorse of conscience: nay, in many places innocence in this case is the greatest ignominy. And if we look abroad to take a view of men as they are, we shall find that they have remorse, in one place, for doing or omitting that which others, in another place, think they merit by.

10. Men have contrary practical Principles.

He that will carefully peruse the history of mankind, and look abroad into the several tribes of men, and with indifferency survey their actions, will be able to satisfy himself, that there is scarce that principle of morality to be named, or, rule of virtue to be thought on, (those only excepted that are absolutely necessary to hold society together, which commonly too are neglected betwixt distinct societies,) which is not, somewhere or other, slighted and condemned by the general fashion of whole societies of men, governed by practical opinions and rules of living quite opposite to others.

11. Whole Nations reject several Moral Rules.

Here perhaps it will be objected, that it is no argument that the rule is not known, because it is broken. I grant the objection good where men, though they transgress, yet disown not the law; where fear of shame, censure, or punishment, carries the mark of some awe it has upon them. But it is impossible to conceive that a whole nation of men should all publicly reject and renounce what every one of them certainly and infallibly knew to be a law; for so they must who have it naturally imprinted on their minds. It is possible men may sometimes own rules of morality which in their private thoughts they do not believe to be true, only to keep themselves in reputation and esteem amongst those who are persuaded of their obligation. But it is not to be imagined that a whole society of men should publicly and professedly disown and cast off a rule which they could not in their own minds but be infallibly certain was a law; nor be ignorant that all men they should have to do with knew it to be such: and therefore must every one of them apprehend from others all the contempt and abhorrence due to one who professes himself void of humanity: and one who, confounding the known and natural measures of right and wrong, cannot but be looked on as the professed enemy of their peace and happiness. Whatever practical principle is innate, cannot but be known to every one to be just and good. It is therefore little less than a contradiction to suppose, that whole nations of men should, both in their professions and practice, unanimously and universally give the lie to what, by the most invincible evidence, every one of them knew to be true, right, and good. This is enough to satisfy us that no practical rule which is anywhere universally, and with public approbation or allowance, transgressed, can be supposed innate. — But I have something further to add in answer to this objection.

12. The generally allowed breach of a rule proof that it is not innate.

The breaking of a rule, say you, is no argument that it is unknown. I grant it: but the GENERALLY ALLOWED breach of it anywhere, I say, is a proof that it is not innate. For example: let us take any of these rules, which, being the most obvious deductions of human reason, and conformable to the natural inclination of the greatest part of men, fewest people have had the impudence to deny or inconsideration to doubt of. If any can be thought to be naturally imprinted, none, I think, can have a fairer pretence to be innate than this: “Parents, preserve and cherish your children.” When, therefore, you say that this is an innate rule, what do you mean? Either that it is an innate principle which upon all occasions excites and directs the actions of all men; or else, that it is a truth which all men have imprinted on their minds, and which therefore they know and assent to. But in neither of these senses is it innate. FIRST, that it is not a principle which influences all men’s actions, is what I have proved by the examples before cited: nor need we seek so far as the Mingrelia or Peru to find instances of such as neglect, abuse, nay, and destroy their children; or look on it only as the more than brutality of some savage and barbarous nations, when we remember that it was a familiar and uncondemned practice amongst the Greeks and Romans to expose, without pity or remorse, their innocent infants. SECONDLY, that it is an innate truth, known to all men, is also false. For, “Parents preserve your children,” is so far from an innate truth, that it is no truth at all: it being a command, and not a proposition, and so not capable of truth or falsehood. To make it capable of being assented to as true, it must be reduced to some such proposition as this: “It is the duty of parents to preserve their children.” But what duty is, cannot be understood without a law; nor a law be known or supposed without a lawmaker, or without reward and punishment; so that it is impossible that this, or any other, practical principle should be innate, i.e. be imprinted on the mind as a duty, without supposing the ideas of God, of law, of obligation, of punishment, of a life after this, innate: for that punishment follows not in this life the breach of this rule, and consequently that it has not the force of a law in countries where the generally allowed practice runs counter to it, is in itself evident. But these ideas (which must be all of them innate, if anything as a duty be so) are so far from being innate, that it is not every studious or thinking man, much less every one that is born, in whom they are to be found clear and distinct; and that one of them, which of all others seems most likely to be innate, is not so, (I mean the idea of God,) I think, in the next chapter, will appear very evident to any considering man.

13. If men can be ignorant of what is innate, certainty is not described by innate principles.

From what has been said, I think we may safely conclude that whatever practical rule is in any place generally and with allowance broken, cannot be supposed innate; it being impossible that men should, without shame or fear, confidently and serenely, break a rule which they could not but evidently know that God had set up, and would certainly punish the breach of, (which they must, if it were innate,) to a degree to make it a very ill bargain to the transgressor. Without such a knowledge as this, a man can never be certain that anything is his duty. Ignorance or doubt of the law, hopes to escape the knowledge or power of the law-maker, or the like, may make men give way to a present appetite; but let any one see the fault, and the rod by it, and with the transgression, a fire ready to punish it; a pleasure tempting, and the hand of the Almighty visibly held up and prepared to take vengeance, (for this must be the case where any duty is imprinted on the mind,) and then tell me whether it be possible for people with such a prospect, such a certain knowledge as this, wantonly, and without scruple, to offend against a law which they carry about them in indelible characters, and that stares them in the face whilst they are breaking it? Whether men, at the same time that they feel in themselves the imprinted edicts of an Omnipotent Law-maker, can, with assurance and gaiety, slight and trample underfoot his most sacred injunctions? And lastly, whether it be possible that whilst a man thus openly bids defiance to this innate law and supreme Lawgiver, all the bystanders, yea, even the governors and rulers of the people, full of the same sense both of the law and Law-maker, should silently connive, without testifying their dislike or laying the least blame on it? Principles of actions indeed there are lodged in men’s appetites; but these are so far from being innate moral principles, that if they were left to their full swing they would carry men to the overturning of all morality. Moral laws are set as a curb and restraint to these exorbitant desires, which they cannot be but by rewards and punishments that will overbalance the satisfaction any one shall propose to himself in the breach of the law. If, therefore, anything be imprinted on the minds of all men as a law, all men must have a certain and unavoidable knowledge that certain and unavoidable punishment will attend the breach of it. For if men can be ignorant or doubtful of what is innate, innate principles are insisted on, and urged to no purpose; truth and certainty (the things pretended) are not at all secured by them; but men are in the same uncertain floating estate with as without them. An evident indubitable knowledge of unavoidable punishment, great enough to make the transgression very uneligible, must accompany an innate law; unless with an innate law they can suppose an innate Gospel too. I would not here be mistaken, as if, because I deny an innate law I thought there were none but positive laws. There is a great deal of difference between an innate law, and a law of nature between something imprinted on our minds in their very original, and something that we, being ignorant of, may attain to the knowledge of, by the use and due application of our natural faculties. And I think they equally forsake the truth who, running into contrary extremes, either affirm an innate law, or deny that there is a law knowable by the light of nature, i.e. without the help of positive revelation.

14. Those who maintain innate practical Principles tell us not what they are.

The difference there is amongst men in their practical principles is so evident that I think I need say no more to evince, that it will be impossible to find any innate moral rules by this mark of general assent; and it is enough to make one suspect that the supposition of such innate principles is but an opinion taken up at pleasure; since those who talk so confidently of them are so sparing to tell us WHICH THEY ARE. This might with justice be expected from those men who lay stress upon this opinion; and it gives occasion to distrust either their knowledge or charity, who, declaring that God has imprinted on the minds of men the foundations of knowledge and the rules of living, are yet so little favourable to the information of their neighbours, or the quiet of mankind, as not to point out to them which they are, in the variety men are distracted with. But, in truth, were there any such innate principles there would be no need to teach them. Did men find such innate propositions stamped on their minds, they would easily be able to distinguish them from other truths that they afterwards learned and deduced from them; and there would be nothing more easy than to know what, and how many, they were. There could be no more doubt about their number than there is about the number of our fingers; and it is like then every system would be ready to give them us by tale. But since nobody, that I know, has ventured yet to give a catalogue of them, they cannot blame those who doubt of these innate principles; since even they who require men to believe that there are such innate propositions, do not tell us what they are. It is easy to foresee, that if different men of different sects should go about to give us a list of those innate practical principles, they would set down only such as suited their distinct hypotheses, and were fit to support the doctrines of their particular schools or churches; a plain evidence that there are no such innate truths. Nay, a great part of men are so far from finding any such innate moral principles in themselves, that, by denying freedom to mankind, and thereby making men no other than bare machines, they take away not only innate, but all moral rules whatsoever, and leave not a possibility to believe any such, to those who cannot conceive how anything can be capable of a law that is not a free agent. And upon that ground they must necessarily reject all principles of virtue, who cannot put MORALITY and MECHANISM together, which are not very easy to be reconciled or made consistent.

15. Lord Herbert’s innate Principles examined.

When I had written this, being informed that my Lord Herbert had, in his book De Veritate, assigned these innate principles, I presently consulted him, hoping to find in a man of so great parts, something that might satisfy me in this point, and put an end to my inquiry. In his chapter De Instinctu Naturali, I met with these six marks of his Notitice Communes: — 1. Prioritas. 2. Independentia. 3. Universalitas. 4. Certitudo. 5. Necessitas, i. e. as he explains it, faciunt ad hominis conservationem. 6. Modus conformationis, i.e. Assensus nulla interposita mora. And at the latter end of his little treatise De Religione Laici, he says this of these innate principles: Adeo ut non uniuscujusvis religionis confinio arctentur quae ubique vigent veritates. Sunt enim in ipsa mente caelitus descriptae, nullisque traditionibus, sive scriptis, sive non scriptis, obnoxiae, p.3 And Veritates nostrae catholicae, quae tanquam indubia Dei emata in foro interiori descriptae.

Thus, having given the marks of the innate principles or common notions, and asserted their being imprinted on the minds of men by the hand of God, he proceeds to set them down, and they are these: — 1. Esse aliquod supremum numen. 2. Numen illud coli debere. 3. Virtutem cum pietate conjunctam optimum esse rationem cultus divini. 4. Resipiscendum esse a peccatis. 5. Dari praemium vel paenam post hanc vitam transactam. Though I allow these to be clear truths, and such as, if rightly explained, a rational creature can hardly avoid giving his assent to, yet I think he is far from proving them innate impressions in foro interiori descriptae. For I must take leave to observe: —

16. These five either not all, or more than all, if there are any.

First, that these five propositions are either not all, or more than all, those common notions written on our minds by the finger of God; if it were reasonable to believe any at all to be so written. Since there are other propositions which, even by his own rules, have as just a pretence to such an original, and may be as well admitted for innate principles, as at least some of these five he enumerates, viz. ‘Do as thou wouldst be done unto.’ And perhaps some hundreds of others, when well considered.

17. The supposed marks wanting.

Secondly, that all his marks are not to be found in each of his five propositions, viz. his first, second, and third marks agree perfectly to neither of them; and the first, second, third, fourth, and sixth marks agree but ill to his third, fourth, and fifth propositions. For, besides that we are assured from history of many men, nay whole nations, who doubt or disbelieve some or all of them, I cannot see how the third, viz. “That virtue joined with piety is the best worship of God,” can be an innate principle, when the name or sound virtue, is so hard to be understood; liable to so much uncertainty in its signification; and the thing it stands for so much contended about and difficult to be known. And therefore this cannot be but a very uncertain rule of human practice, and serve but very little to the conduct of our lives, and is therefore very unfit to be assigned as an innate practical principle.

18. Of little use if they were innate.

For let us consider this proposition as to its meaning, (for it is the sense, and not sound, that is and must be the principle or common notion,) viz. “Virtue is the best worship of God,” i.e. is most acceptable to him; which, if virtue be taken, as most commonly it is, for those actions which, according to the different opinions of several countries, are accounted laudable, will be a proposition so far from being certain, that it will not be true. If virtue be taken for actions conformable to God’s will, or to the rule prescribed by God — which is the true and only measure of virtue when virtue is used to signify what is in its own nature right and good — then this proposition, “That virtue is the best worship of God,” will be most true and certain, but of very little use in human life: since it will amount to no more but this, viz. “That God is pleased with the doing of what he commands”; — which a man may certainly know to be true, without knowing what it is that God doth command; and so be as far from any rule or principle of his actions as he was before. And I think very few will take a proposition which amounts to no more than this, viz. “That God is pleased with the doing of what he himself commands,” for an innate moral principle written on the minds of all men, (however true and certain it may be,) since it teaches so little. Whosoever does so will have reason to think hundreds of propositions innate principles; since there are many which have as good a title as this to be received for such, which nobody yet ever put into that rank of innate principles.

19. Scarce possible that God should engrave principles in words of uncertain meaning.

Nor is the fourth proposition (viz. “Men must repent of their sins”) much more instructive, till what those actions are that are meant by sins be set down. For the word peccata, or sins, being put, as it usually is, to signify in general ill actions that will draw punishment upon the doers, what great principle of morality can that be to tell us we should be sorry, and cease to do that which will bring mischief upon us; without knowing what those particular actions are that will do so? Indeed this is a very true proposition, and fit to be inculcated on and received by those who are supposed to have been taught WHAT actions in all kinds ARE sins: but neither this nor the former can be imagined to be innate principles; nor to be of any use if they were innate, unless the particular measures and bounds of all virtues and vices were engraven in men’s minds, and were innate principles also, which I think is very much to be doubted. And therefore, I imagine, it will scarcely seem possible that God should engrave principles in men’s minds, in words of uncertain signification, such as VIRTUES and SINS, which amongst different men stand for different things: nay, it cannot be supposed to be in words at all, which, being in most of these principles very general names, cannot be understood but by knowing the particulars comprehended under them. And in the practical instances, the measures must be taken from the knowledge of the actions themselves, and the rules of them, — abstracted from words, and antecedent to the knowledge of names; which rules a man must know, what language soever he chance to learn, whether English or Japan, or if he should learn no language at all, or never should understand the use of words, as happens in the case of dumb and deaf men. When it shall be made out that men ignorant of words, or untaught by the laws and customs of their country, know that it is part of the worship of God not to kill another man; not to know more women than one not to procure abortion; not to expose their children; not to take from another what is his, though we want it ourselves, but on the contrary, relieve and supply his wants; and whenever we have done the contrary we ought to repent, be sorry, and resolve to do so no more; — when I say, all men shall be proved actually to know and allow all these and a thousand other such rules, all of which come under these two general words made use of above, viz. virtutes et peccata virtues and sins, there will be more reason for admitting these and the like, for common notions and practical principles. Yet, after all, universal consent (were there any in moral principles) to truths, the knowledge whereof may be attained otherwise, would scarce prove them to be innate; which is all I contend for.

20. Objection, Innate Principles may be corrupted, answered.

Nor will it be of much moment here to offer that very ready but not very material answer, viz. that the innate principles of morality may, by education, and custom, and the general opinion of those amongst whom we converse, be darkened, and at last quite worn out of the minds of men. Which assertion of theirs, if true, quite takes away the argument of universal consent, by which this opinion of innate principles is endeavoured to be proved; unless those men will think it reasonable that their private persuasions, or that of their party, should pass for universal consent; — a thing not unfrequently done, when men, presuming themselves to be the only masters of right reason, cast by the votes and opinions of the rest of mankind as not worthy the reckoning. And then their argument stands thus:— “The principles which all mankind allow for true, are innate; those that men of right reason admit, are the principles allowed by all mankind; we, and those of our mind, are men of reason; therefore, we agreeing, our principles are innate”; — which is a very pretty way of arguing, and a short cut to infallibility. For otherwise it will be very hard to understand how there be some principles which all men do acknowledge and agree in; and yet there are none of those principles which are not, by depraved custom and ill education, blotted out of the minds of many men: which is to say, that all men admit, but yet many men do deny and dissent from them. And indeed the supposition of SUCH first principles will serve us to very little purpose; and we shall be as much at a loss with as without them, if they may, by any human power — such as the will of our teachers, or opinions of our companions — be altered or lost in us: and notwithstanding all this boast of first principles and innate light, we shall be as much in the dark and uncertainty as if there were no such thing at all: it being all one to have no rule, and one that will warp any way; or amongst various and contrary rules, not to know which is the right. But concerning innate principles, I desire these men to say, whether they can or cannot, by education and custom, be blurred and blotted out; if they cannot, we must find them in all mankind alike, and they must be clear in everybody; and if they may suffer variation from adventitious notions, we must then find them clearest and most perspicuous nearest the fountain, in children and illiterate people, who have received least impression from foreign opinions. Let them take which side they please, they will certainly find it inconsistent with visible matter of fact and daily observation.

21. Contrary Principles in the World.

I easily grant that there are great numbers of opinions which, by men of different countries, educations, and tempers, are received and embraced as first and unquestionable principles; many whereof, both for their absurdity as well oppositions to one another, it is impossible should be true. But yet all those propositions, how remote soever from reason are so sacred somewhere or other, that men even of good understanding in other matters, will sooner part with their lives, and whatever is dearest to them, than suffer themselves to doubt, or others to question, the truth of them.

22. How men commonly come by their Principles.

This, however strange it may seem, is that which every day’s experience confirms; and will not, perhaps, appear so wonderful, if we consider the ways and steps by which it is brought about; and how really it may come to pass, that doctrines that have been derived from no better original than the superstition of a nurse, or the authority of an old woman, may, by length of time and consent of neighbours, grow up to the dignity of PRINCIPLES in religion or morality. For such, who are careful (as they call it) to principle children well, (and few there be who have not a set of those principles for them, which they believe in,) instil into the unwary, and as yet unprejudiced, understanding, (for white paper receives any characters,) those doctrines they would have them retain and profess. These being taught them as soon as they have any apprehension; and still as they grow up confirmed to them, either by the open profession or tacit consent of all they have to do with; or at least by those of whose wisdom, knowledge, and piety they have an opinion, who never suffer those propositions to be otherwise mentioned but as the basis and foundation on which they build their religion and manners, come, by these means, to have the reputation of unquestionable, self-evident, and innate truths.

23. Principles supposed innate because we do not remember when we began to hold them.

To which we may add, that when men so instructed are grown up, and reflect on their own minds, they cannot find anything more ancient there than those opinions, which were taught them before their memory began to keep a register of their actions, or date the time when any new thing appeared to them; and therefore make no scruple to conclude, that those propositions of whose knowledge they can find in themselves no original, were certainly the impress of God and nature upon their minds, and not taught them by any one else. These they entertain and submit to, as many do to their parents with veneration; not because it is natural: nor do children do it where they are not so taught; but because, having been always so educated, and having no remembrance of the beginning of this respect, they think it is natural.

24. How such principles come to be held.

This will appear very likely, and almost unavoidable to come to pass, if we consider the nature of mankind and the constitution of human affairs; wherein most men cannot live without employing their time in the daily labours of their callings; nor be at quiet in their minds without SOME foundation or principle to rest their thoughts on. There is scarcely any one so floating and superficial in his understanding, who hath not some reverenced propositions, which are to him the principles on which he bottoms his reasonings, and by which he judgeth of truth and falsehood, right and wrong; which some, wanting skill and leisure, and others the inclination, and some being taught that they ought not to examine, there are few to be found who are not exposed by their ignorance, laziness, education, or precipitancy, to TAKE THEM UPON TRUST.

25. Further explained.

This is evidently the case of all children and young folk; and custom, a greater power than nature, seldom failing to make them worship for divine what she hath inured them to bow their minds and submit their understandings to, it is no wonder that grown men, either perplexed in the necessary affairs of life, or hot in the pursuit of pleasures, should not seriously sit down to examine their own tenets; especially when one of their principles is, that principles ought not to be questioned. And had men leisure, parts, and will, who is there almost that dare shake the foundations of all his past thoughts and actions, and endure to bring upon himself the shame of having been a long time wholly in mistake and error? Who is there hardy enough to contend with the reproach which is everywhere prepared for those who dare venture to dissent from the received opinions of their country or party? And where is the man to be found that can patiently prepare himself to bear the name of whimsical, sceptical, or atheist; which he is sure to meet with, who does in the least scruple any of the common opinions? And he will be much more afraid to question those principles, when he shall think them, as most men do, the standards set up by God in his mind, to be the rule and touchstone of all other opinions. And what can hinder him from thinking them sacred, when he finds them the earliest of all his own thoughts, and the most reverenced by others?

26. A worship of idols.

It is easy to imagine how, by these means, it comes to pass that men worship the idols that have been set up in their minds; grow fond of the notions they have been long acquainted with there; and stamp the characters of divinity upon absurdities and errors; become zealous votaries to bulls and monkeys, and contend too, fight, and die in defence of their opinions. Dum solos credit habendos esse deos, quos ipse colit. For, since the reasoning faculties of the soul, which are almost constantly, though not always warily nor wisely employed, would not know how to move, for want of a foundation and footing, in most men, who through laziness or avocation do not, or for want of time, or true helps, or for other causes, cannot penetrate into the principles of knowledge, and trace truth to its fountain and original, it is natural for them, and almost unavoidable, to take up with some borrowed principles; which being reputed and presumed to be the evident proofs of other things, are thought not to need any other proof themselves. Whoever shall receive any of these into his mind, and entertain them there with the reverence usually paid to principles, never venturing to examine them, but accustoming himself to believe them, because they are to be believed, may take up, from his education and the fashions of his country, any absurdity for innate principles; and by long poring on the same objects, so dim his sight as to take monsters lodged in his own brain for the images of the Deity, and the workmanship of his hands.

27. Principles must be examined.

By this progress, how many there are who arrive at principles which they believe innate may be easily observed, in the variety of opposite principles held and contended for by all sorts and degrees of men. And he that shall deny this to be the method wherein most men proceed to the assurance they have of the truth and evidence of their principles, will perhaps find it a hard matter any other way to account for the contrary tenets, which are firmly believed, confidently asserted, and which great numbers are ready at any time to seal with their blood. And, indeed, if it be the privilege of innate principles to be received upon their own authority, without examination, I know not what may not be believed, or how any one’s principles can be questioned. If they may and ought to be examined and tried, I desire to know how first and innate principles can be tried; or at least it is reasonable to demand the MARKS and CHARACTERS whereby the genuine innate principles may be distinguished from others: that so, amidst the great variety of pretenders, I may be kept from mistakes in so material a point as this. When this is done, I shall be ready to embrace such welcome and useful propositions; and till then I may with modesty doubt; since I fear universal consent, which is the only one produced, will scarcely prove a sufficient mark to direct my choice, and assure me of any innate principles.

From what has been said, I think it past doubt, that there are no practical principles wherein all men agree; and therefore none innate.

CHAPTER III. OTHER CONSIDERATIONS CONCERNING INNATE PRINCIPLES, BOTH SPECULATIVE AND PRACTICAL.

1. Principles not innate, unless their Ideas be innate

Had those who would persuade us that there are innate principles not taken them together in gross, but considered separately the parts out of which those propositions are made, they would not, perhaps, have been so forward to believe they were innate. Since, if the IDEAS which made up those truths were not, it was impossible that the PROPOSITIONS made up of them should be innate, or our knowledge of them be born with us. For, if the ideas be not innate, there was a time when the mind was without those principles; and then they will not be innate, but be derived from some other original. For, where the ideas themselves are not, there can be no knowledge, no assent, no mental or verbal propositions about them.

2. Ideas, especially those belonging to Principles, not born with children

If we will attentively consider new-born children, we shall have little reason to think that they bring many ideas into the world with them. For, bating perhaps some faint ideas of hunger, and thirst, and warmth, and some pains, which they may have felt in the womb, there is not the least appearance of any settled ideas at all in them; especially of IDEAS ANSWERING THE TERMS WHICH MAKE UP THOSE UNIVERSAL PROPOSITIONS THAT ARE ESTEEMED INNATE PRINCIPLES. One may perceive how, by degrees, afterwards, ideas come into their minds; and that they get no more, nor other, than what experience, and the observation of things that come in their way, furnish them with; which might be enough to satisfy us that they are not original characters stamped on the mind.

3. Impossibility and Identity not innate ideas

“It is impossible for the same thing to be, and not to be,” is certainly (if there be any such) an innate PRINCIPLE. But can any one think, or will any one say, that “impossibility” and “identity” are two innate IDEAS? Are they such as all mankind have, and bring into the world with them? And are they those which are the first in children, and antecedent to all acquired ones? If they are innate, they must needs be so. Hath a child an idea of impossibility and identity, before it has of white or black, sweet or bitter? And is it from the knowledge of this principle that it concludes, that wormwood rubbed on the nipple hath not the same taste that it used to receive from thence? Is it the actual knowledge of IMPOSSIBILE EST IDEM ESSE, ET NON ESSE, that makes a child distinguish between its mother and a stranger; or that makes it fond of the one and flee the other? Or does the mind regulate itself and its assent by ideas that it never yet had? Or the understanding draw conclusions from principles which it never yet knew or understood? The names IMPOSSIBILITY and IDENTITY stand for two ideas, so far from being innate, or born with us, that I think it requires great care and attention to form them right in our understandings. They are so far from being brought into the world with us, so remote from the thoughts of infancy and childhood, that I believe, upon examination it will be found that many grown men want them.

4. Identity, an Idea not innate.

If IDENTITY (to instance that alone) be a native impression, and consequently so clear and obvious to us that we must needs know it even from our cradles, I would gladly be resolved by any one of seven, or seventy years old, whether a man, being a creature consisting of soul and body, be the same man when his body is changed? Whether Euphorbus and Pythagoras, having had the same soul, were the same men, though they lived several ages asunder? Nay, whether the cock too, which had the same soul, were not the same, with both of them? Whereby, perhaps, it will appear that our idea of SAMENESS is not so settled and clear as to deserve to be thought innate in us. For if those innate ideas are not clear and distinct, so as to be universally known and naturally agreed on, they cannot be subjects of universal and undoubted truths, but will be the unavoidable occasion of perpetual uncertainty. For, I suppose every one’s idea of identity will not be the same that Pythagoras and thousands of his followers have. And which then shall be true? Which innate? Or are there two different ideas of identity, both innate?

5. What makes the same man?

Nor let any one think that the questions I have here proposed about the identity of man are bare empty speculations; which, if they were, would be enough to show, that there was in the understandings of men no innate idea of identity. He that shall with a little attention reflect on the resurrection, and consider that divine justice will bring to judgment, at the last day, the very same persons, to be happy or miserable in the other, who did well or ill in this life, will find it perhaps not easy to resolve with himself, what makes the same man, or wherein identity consists; and will not be forward to think he, and every one, even children themselves, have naturally a clear idea of it.

6. Whole and Part not innate ideas.

Let us examine that principle of mathematics, viz. THAT THE WHOLE IS BIGGER THAN A PART. This, I take it, is reckoned amongst innate principles. I am sure it has as good a title as any to be thought so; which yet nobody can think it to be, when he considers the ideas it comprehends in it, WHOLE and PART, are perfectly relative; but the positive ideas to which they properly and immediately belong are extension and number, of which alone whole and part are relations. So that if whole and part are innate ideas, extension and number must be so too; it being impossible to have an idea of a relation, without having any at all of the thing to which it belongs, and in which it is founded. Now, whether the minds of men have naturally imprinted on them the ideas of extension and number, I leave to be considered by those who are the patrons of innate principles.

7. Idea of Worship not innate.

That GOD IS TO BE WORSHIPPED, is, without doubt, as great a truth as any that can enter into the mind of man, and deserves the first place amongst all practical principles. But yet it can by no means be thought innate, unless the ideas of GOD and WORSHIP are innate. That the idea the term worship stands for is not in the understanding of children, and a character stamped on the mind in its first original, I think will be easily granted, by any one that considers how few there be amongst grown men who have a clear and distinct notion of it. And, I suppose, there cannot be anything more ridiculous than to say, that children have this practical principle innate, “That God is to be worshipped,” and yet that they know not what that worship of God is, which is their duty. But to pass by this.

8. Idea of God not innate.

If any idea can be imagined innate, the idea of GOD may, of all others, for many reasons, be thought so; since it is hard to conceive how there should be innate moral principles, without an innate idea of a Deity. Without a notion of a law-maker, it is impossible to have a notion of a law, and an obligation to observe it. Besides the atheists taken notice of amongst the ancients, and left branded upon the records of history, hath not navigation discovered, in these later ages, whole nations, at the bay of Soldania, in Brazil, and in the Caribbee islands, &c., amongst whom there was to be found no notion of a God, no religion? Nicholaus del Techo, in Literis ex Paraquaria, de Caiguarum Conversione, has these words: Reperi eam gentem nullum nomen habere quod Deum, et hominis animam significet; nulla sacra habet, nulla idola.

And perhaps, if we should with attention mind the lives and discourses of people not so far off, we should have too much reason to fear, that many, in more civilized countries, have no very strong and clear impressions of a Deity upon their minds, and that the complaints of atheism made from the pulpit are not without reason. And though only some profligate wretches own it too barefacedly now; yet perhaps we should hear more than we do of it from others, did not the fear of the magistrate’s sword, or their neighbour’s censure, tie up people’s tongues; which, were the apprehensions of punishment or shame taken away, would as openly proclaim their atheism as their lives do.

9. The name of God not universal or obscure in meaning.

But had all mankind everywhere a notion of a God, (whereof yet history tells us the contrary,) it would not from thence follow, that the idea of him was innate. For, though no nation were to be found without a name, and some few dark notions of him, yet that would not prove them to be natural impressions on the mind; no more than the names of fire, or the sun, heat, or number, do prove the ideas they stand for to be innate; because the names of those things, and the ideas of them, are so universally received and known amongst mankind. Nor, on the contrary, is the want of such a name, or the absence of such a notion out of men’s minds, any argument against the being of a God; any more than it would be a proof that there was no loadstone in the world, because a great part of mankind had neither a notion of any such thing nor a name for it; or be any show of argument to prove that there are no distinct and various species of angels, or intelligent beings above us, because we have no ideas of such distinct species, or names for them. For, men being furnished with words, by the common language of their own countries, can scarce avoid having some kind of ideas of those things whose names those they converse with have occasion frequently to mention to them. And if they carry with it the notion of excellency, greatness, or something extraordinary; if apprehension and concernment accompany it; if the fear of absolute and irresistible power set it on upon the mind, — the idea is likely to sink the deeper, and spread the further; especially if it be such an idea as is agreeable to the common light of reason, and naturally deducible from every part of our knowledge, as that of a God is. For the visible marks of extraordinary wisdom and power appear so plainly in all the works of the creation, that a rational creature, who will but seriously reflect on them, cannot miss the discovery of a Deity. And the influence that the discovery of such a Being must necessarily have on the minds of all that have but once heard of it is so great, and carries such a weight of thought and communication with it, that it seems stranger to me that a whole nation of men should be anywhere found so brutish as to want the notion of a God, than that they should be without any notion of numbers, or fire.

10. Ideas of God and idea of Fire.

The name of God being once mentioned in any part of the world, to express a superior, powerful, wise, invisible Being, the suitableness of such a notion to the principles of common reason, and the interest men will always have to mention it often, must necessarily spread it far and wide; and continue it down to all generations: though yet the general reception of this name, and some imperfect and unsteady notions conveyed thereby to the unthinking part of mankind, prove not the idea to be innate; but only that they who made the discovery had made a right use of their reason, thought maturely of the causes of things, and traced them to their original; from whom other less considering people having once received so important a notion, it could not easily be lost again.

11. Idea of God not innate.

This is all could be inferred from the notion of a God, were it to be found universally in all the tribes of mankind, and generally acknowledged, by men grown to maturity in all countries. For the generality of the acknowledging of a God, as I imagine, is extended no further than that; which, if it be sufficient to prove the idea of God innate, will as well prove the idea of fire innate; since I think it may be truly said, that there is not a person in the world who has a notion of a God, who has not also the idea of fire. I doubt not but if a colony of young children should be placed in an island where no fire was, they would certainly neither have any notion of such a thing, nor name for it, how generally soever it were received and known in all the world besides; and perhaps too their apprehensions would be as far removed from any name, or notion, of a God, till some one amongst them had employed his thoughts to inquire into the constitution and causes of things, which would easily lead him to the notion of a God; which having once taught to others, reason, and the natural propensity of their own thoughts, would afterwards propagate, and continue amongst them.

12. Suitable to God’s goodness, that all Men should have an idea of Him, therefore naturally imprinted by Him, answered.

Indeed it is urged, that it is suitable to the goodness of God, to imprint upon the minds of men characters and notions of himself, and not to leave them in the dark and doubt in so grand a concernment; and also, by that means, to secure to himself the homage and veneration due from so intelligent a creature as man; and therefore he has done it.

This argument, if it be of any force, will prove much more than those who use it in this case expect from it. For, if we may conclude that God hath done for men all that men shall judge is best for them, because it is suitable to his goodness so to do, it will prove, not only that God has imprinted on the minds of men an idea of himself, but that he hath plainly stamped there, in fair characters, all that men ought to know or believe of him; all that they ought to do in obedience to his will; and that he hath given them a will and affections conformable to it. This, no doubt, every one will think better for men, than that they should, in the dark, grope after knowledge, as St. Paul tells us all nations did after God (Acts xvii. 27); than that their wills should clash with their understandings, and their appetites cross their duty. The Romanists say it is best for men, and so suitable to the goodness of God, that there should be an infallible judge of controversies on earth; and therefore there is one. And I, by the same reason, say it is better for men that every man himself should be infallible. I leave them to consider, whether, by the force of this argument, they shall think that every man IS so. I think it a very good argument to say, — the infinitely wise God hath made it so; and therefore it is best. But it seems to me a little too much confidence of our own wisdom to say,— ‘I think it best; and therefore God hath made it so.’ And in the matter in hand, it will be in vain to argue from such a topic, that God hath done so, when certain experience shows us that he hath not. But the goodness of God hath not been wanting to men, without such original impressions of knowledge or ideas stamped on the mind; since he hath furnished man with those faculties which will serve for the sufficient discovery of all things requisite to the end of such a being; and I doubt not but to show, that a man, by the right use of his natural abilities, may, without any innate principles, attain a knowledge of a God, and other things that concern him. God having endued man with those faculties of knowledge which he hath, was no more obliged by his goodness to plant those innate notions in his mind, than that, having given him reason, hands, and materials, he should build him bridges or houses, — which some people in the world, however of good parts, do either totally want, or are but ill provided of, as well as others are wholly without ideas of God and principles of morality, or at least have but very ill ones; the reason in both cases being, that they never employed their parts, faculties, and powers industriously that way, but contented themselves with the opinions, fashions, and things of their country, as they found them, without looking any further. Had you or I been born at the Bay of Soldania, possibly our thoughts and notions had not exceeded those brutish ones of the Hottentots that inhabit there. And had the Virginia king Apochancana been educated in England, he had been perhaps as knowing a divine, and as good a mathematician as any in it; the difference between him and a more improved Englishman lying barely in this, that the exercise of his faculties was bounded within the ways, modes, and notions of his own country, and never directed to any other or further inquiries. And if he had not any idea of a God, it was only because he pursued not those thoughts that would have led him to it.

13. Ideas of God various in different Men.

I grant that if there were any ideas to be found imprinted on the minds of men, we have reason to expect it should be the notion of his Maker, as a mark God set on his own workmanship, to mind man of his dependence and duty; and that herein should appear the first instances of human knowledge. But how late is it before any such notion is discoverable in children? And when we find it there, how much more does it resemble the opinion and notion of the teacher, than represent the true God? He that shall observe in children the progress whereby their minds attain the knowledge they have, will think that the objects they do first and most familiarly converse with are those that make the first impressions on their understandings; nor will he find the least footsteps of any other. It is easy to take notice how their thoughts enlarge themselves, only as they come to be acquainted with a greater variety of sensible objects; to retain the ideas of them in their memories; and to get the skill to compound and enlarge them, and several ways put them together. How, by these means, they come to frame in their minds an idea men have of a Deity, I shall hereafter show.

14. Contrary and inconsistent ideas of God under the same name.

Can it be thought that the ideas men have of God are the characters and marks of himself, engraven in their minds by his own finger, when we see that, in the same country, under one and the same name, men have far different, nay often contrary and inconsistent ideas and conceptions of him? Their agreeing in a name, or sound, will scarce prove an innate notion of him.

15. Gross ideas of God.

What true or tolerable notion of a Deity could they have, who acknowledged and worshipped hundreds? Every deity that they owned above one was an infallible evidence of their ignorance of Him, and a proof that they had no true notion of God, where unity, infinity, and eternity were excluded. To which, if we add their gross conceptions of corporeity, expressed in their images and representations of their deities; the amours, marriages, copulations, lusts, quarrels, and other mean qualities attributed by them to their gods; we shall have little reason to think that the heathen world, i.e. the greatest part of mankind, had such ideas of God in their minds as he himself, out of care that they should not be mistaken about him, was author of. And this universality of consent, so much argued, if it prove any native impressions, it will be only this: — that God imprinted on the minds of all men speaking the same language, a NAME for himself, but not any IDEA; since those people who agreed in the name, had, at the same time, far different apprehensions about the thing signified. If they say that the variety of deities worshipped by the heathen world were but figurative ways of expressing the several attributes of that incomprehensible Being, or several parts of his providence, I answer: what they might be in the original I will not here inquire; but that they were so in the thoughts of the vulgar I think nobody will affirm. And he that will consult the voyage of the Bishop of Beryte, c. 13, (not to mention other testimonies,) will find that the theology of the Siamites professedly owns a plurality of gods: or, as the Abbe de Choisy more judiciously remarks in his Journal du Voyage de Siam, 107/177, it consists properly in acknowledging no God at all. 16. Idea of God not innate although wise men of all nations come to have it.

If it be said, that wise men of all nations came to have true conceptions of the unity and infinity of the Deity, I grant it. But then this,

First, excludes universality of consent in anything but the name; for those wise men being very few, perhaps one of a thousand, this universality is very narrow.

Secondly, it seems to me plainly to prove, that the truest and best notions men have of God were not imprinted, but acquired by thought and meditation, and a right use of their faculties: since the wise and considerate men of the world, by a right and careful employment of their thoughts and reason, attained true notions in this as well as other things; whilst the lazy and inconsiderate part of men, making far the greater number, took up their notions by chance, from common tradition and vulgar conceptions, without much beating their heads about them. And if it be a reason to think the notion of God innate, because all wise men had it, virtue too must be thought innate; for that also wise men have always had.

17. Odd, low, and pitiful ideas of God common among men.

This was evidently the case of all Gentilism. Nor hath even amongst Jews, Christians, and Mahometans, who acknowledged but one God, this doctrine, and the care taken in those nations to teach men to have true notions of a God, prevailed so far as to make men to have the same and the true ideas of him. How many even amongst us, will be found upon inquiry to fancy him in the shape of a man sitting in heaven; and to have many other absurd and unfit conceptions of him? Christians as well as Turks have had whole sects owning and contending earnestly for it, — that the Deity was corporeal, and of human shape: and though we find few now amongst us who profess themselves Anthropomorphites, (though some I have met with that own it,) yet I believe he that will make it his business may find amongst the ignorant and uninstructed Christians many of that opinion. Talk but with country people, almost of any age, or young people almost of any condition, and you shall find that, though the name of God be frequently in their mouths, yet the notions they apply this name to are so odd, low, and pitiful, that nobody can imagine they were taught by a rational man; much less that they were characters written by the finger of God himself. Nor do I see how it derogates more from the goodness of God, that he has given us minds unfurnished with these ideas of himself, than that he hath sent us into the world with bodies unclothed; and that there is no art or skill born with us. For, being fitted with faculties to attain these, it is want of industry and consideration in us, and not of bounty in him, if we have them not. It is as certain that there is a God, as that the opposite angles made by the intersection of two straight lines are equal. There was never any rational creature that set himself sincerely to examine the truth of these propositions that could fail to assent to them; though yet it be past doubt that there are many men, who, having not applied their thoughts that way, are ignorant both of the one and the other. If any one think fit to call this (which is the utmost of its extent) UNIVERSAL CONSENT, such an one I easily allow; but such an universal consent as this proves not the idea of God, any more than it does the idea of such angles, innate.

18. If the Idea of God be not innate, no other can be supposed innate.

Since then though the knowledge of a God be the most natural discovery of human reason, yet the idea of him is not innate, as I think is evident from what has been said; I imagine there will be scarce any other idea found that can pretend to it. Since if God hath set any impression, any character, on the understanding of men, it is most reasonable to expect it should have been some clear and uniform idea of Himself; as far as our weak capacities were capable to receive so incomprehensible and infinite an object. But our minds being at first void of that idea which we are most concerned to have, it is a strong presumption against all other innate characters. I must own, as far as I can observe, I can find none, and would be glad to be informed by any other.

19. Idea of Substance not innate.

I confess there is another idea which would be of general use for mankind to have, as it is of general talk as if they had it; and that is the idea of SUBSTANCE; which we neither have nor can have by sensation or reflection. If nature took care to provide us any ideas, we might well expect they should be such as by our own faculties we cannot procure to ourselves; but we see, on the contrary, that since, by those ways whereby other ideas are brought into our minds, this is not, we have no such clear idea at all; and therefore signify nothing by the word SUBSTANCE but only an uncertain supposition of we know not what, i. e. of something whereof we have no idea, which we take to be the substratum, or support, of those ideas we do know.

20. No Propositions can be innate, since no Ideas are innate.

Whatever then we talk of innate, either speculative or practical, principles, it may with as much probability be said, that a man hath 100 pounds sterling in his pocket, and yet denied that he hath there either penny, shilling, crown, or other coin out of which the sum is to be made up; as to think that certain PROPOSITIONS are innate when the IDEAS about which they are can by no means be supposed to be so. The general reception and assent that is given doth not at all prove, that the ideas expressed in them are innate; for in many cases, however the ideas came there, the assent to words expressing the agreement or disagreement of such ideas, will necessarily follow. Every one that hath a true idea of GOD and WORSHIP, will assent to this proposition, ‘That God is to be worshipped,’ when expressed in a language he understands; and every rational man that hath not thought on it to-day, may be ready to assent to this proposition to-morrow; and yet millions of men may be well supposed to want one or both those ideas to-day. For, if we will allow savages, and most country people, to have ideas of God and worship, (which conversation with them will not make one forward to believe,) yet I think few children can be supposed to have those ideas, which therefore they must begin to have some time or other; and then they will also begin to assent to that proposition, and make very little question of it ever after. But such an assent upon hearing, no more proves the IDEAS to be innate, than it does that one born blind (with cataracts which will be couched to-morrow) had the innate ideas of the sun, or light, or saffron, or yellow; because, when his sight is cleared, he will certainly assent to this proposition, “That the sun is lucid, or that saffron is yellow.” And therefore, if such an assent upon hearing cannot prove the ideas innate, it can much less the PROPOSITIONS made up of those ideas. If they have any innate ideas, I would be glad to be told what, and how many, they are.

21. No innate Ideas in the Memory.

To which let me add: if there be any innate ideas, any ideas in the mind which the mind does not actually think on, they must be lodged in the memory; and from thence must be brought into view by remembrance; i. e. must be known, when they are remembered, to have been perceptions in the mind before; unless remembrance can be without remembrance. For, to remember is to perceive anything with memory, or with a consciousness that it was perceived or known before. Without this, whatever idea comes into the mind is new, and not remembered; this consciousness of its having been in the mind before, being that which distinguishes remembering from all other ways of thinking. Whatever idea was never PERCEIVED by the mind was never in the mind. Whatever idea is in the mind, is, either an actual perception, or else, having been an actual perception, is so in the mind that, by the memory, it can be made an actual perception again. Whenever there is the actual perception of any idea without memory, the idea appears perfectly new and unknown before to the understanding. Whenever the memory brings any idea into actual view, it is with a consciousness that it had been there before, and was not wholly a stranger to the mind. Whether this be not so, I appeal to every one’s observation. And then I desire an instance of an idea, pretended to be innate, which (before any impression of it by ways hereafter to be mentioned) any one could revive and remember, as an idea he had formerly known; without which consciousness of a former perception there is no remembrance; and whatever idea comes into the mind without THAT consciousness is not remembered, or comes not out of the memory, nor can be said to be in the mind before that appearance. For what is not either actually in view or in the memory, is in the mind no way at all, and is all one as if it had never been there. Suppose a child had the use of his eyes till he knows and distinguishes colours; but then cataracts shut the windows, and he is forty or fifty years perfectly in the dark; and in that time perfectly loses all memory of the ideas of colours he once had. This was the case of a blind man I once talked with, who lost his sight by the small-pox when he was a child, and had no more notion of colours than one born blind. I ask whether any one can say this man had then any ideas of colours in his mind, any more than one born blind? And I think nobody will say that either of them had in his mind any ideas of colours at all. His cataracts are couched, and then he has the ideas (which he remembers not) of colours, DE NOVO, by his restored sight, conveyed to his mind, and that without any consciousness of a former acquaintance. And these now he can revive and call to mind in the dark. In this case all these ideas of colours which, when out of view, can be revived with a consciousness of a former acquaintance, being thus in the memory, are said to be in the mind. The use I make of this is, — that whatever idea, being not actually in view, is in the mind, is there only by being in the memory; and if it be not in the memory, it is not in the mind; and if it be in the memory, it cannot by the memory be brought into actual view without a perception that it comes out of the memory; which is this, that it had been known before, and is now remembered. If therefore there be any innate ideas, they must be in the memory, or else nowhere in the mind; and if they be in the memory, they can be revived without any impression from without; and whenever they are brought into the mind they are remembered, i. e. they bring with them a perception of their not being wholly new to it. This being a constant and distinguishing difference between what is, and what is not in the memory, or in the mind; — that what is not in the memory, whenever it appears there, appears perfectly new and unknown before; and what is in the memory, or in the mind, whenever it is suggested by the memory, appears not to be new, but the mind finds it in itself, and knows it was there before. By this it may be tried whether there be any innate ideas in the mind before impression from sensation or reflection. I would fain meet with the man who, when he came to the use of reason, or at any other time, remembered any of them; and to whom, after he was born, they were never new. If any one will say, there are ideas in the mind that are NOT in the memory, I desire him to explain himself, and make what he says intelligible.

22. Principles not innate, because of little use or little certainty.

Besides what I have already said, there is another reason why I doubt that neither these nor any other principles are innate. I that am fully persuaded that the infinitely wise God made all things in perfect wisdom, cannot satisfy myself why he should be supposed to print upon the minds of men some universal principles; whereof those that are pretended innate, and concern SPECULATION, are of no great use; and those that concern PRACTICE, not self-evident; and neither of them distinguishable from some other truths not allowed to be innate. For, to what purpose should characters be graven on the mind by the finger of God, which are not clearer there than those which are afterwards introduced, or cannot be distinguished from them? If any one thinks there are such innate ideas and propositions, which by their clearness and usefulness are distinguishable from all that is adventitious in the mind and acquired, it will not be a hard matter for him to tell us WHICH THEY ARE; and then every one will be a fit judge whether they be so or no. Since if there be such innate ideas and impressions, plainly different from all other perceptions and knowledge, every one will find it true in himself. Of the evidence of these supposed innate maxims, I have spoken already: of their usefulness I shall have occasion to speak more hereafter.

23. Difference of Men’s Discoveries depends upon the different Application of their Faculties.

To conclude: some ideas forwardly offer themselves to all men’s understanding; and some sorts of truths result from any ideas, as soon as the mind puts them into propositions: other truths require a train of ideas placed in order, a due comparing of them, and deductions made with attention, before they can be discovered and assented to. Some of the first sort, because of their general and easy reception, have been mistaken for innate: but the truth is, ideas and notions are no more born with us than arts and sciences; though some of them indeed offer themselves to our faculties more readily than others; and therefore are more generally received: though that too be according as the organs of our bodies and powers of our minds happen to be employed; God having fitted men with faculties and means to discover, receive, and retain truths, according as they are employed. The great difference that is to be found in the notions of mankind is, from the different use they put their faculties to. Whilst some (and those the most) taking things upon trust, misemploy their power of assent, by lazily enslaving their minds to the dictates and dominion of others, in doctrines which it is their duty carefully to examine, and not blindly, with an implicit faith, to swallow; others, employing their thoughts only about some few things, grow acquainted sufficiently with them, attain great degrees of knowledge in them, and are ignorant of all other, having never let their thoughts loose in the search of other inquiries. Thus, that the three angles of a triangle are quite equal to two right ones is a truth as certain as anything can be, and I think more evident than many of those propositions that go for principles; and yet there are millions, however expert in other things, who know not this at all, because they never set their thoughts on work about such angles. And he that certainly knows this proposition may yet be utterly ignorant of the truth of other propositions, in mathematics itself, which are as clear and evident as this; because, in his search of those mathematical truths, he stopped his thoughts short and went not so far. The same may happen concerning the notions we have of the being of a Deity. For, though there be no truth which a man may more evidently make out to himself than the existence of a God, yet he that shall content himself with things as he finds them in this world, as they minister to his pleasures and passions, and not make inquiry a little further into their causes, ends, and admirable contrivances, and pursue the thoughts thereof with diligence and attention, may live long without any notion of such a Being. And if any person hath by talk put such a notion into his head, he may perhaps believe it; but if he hath never examined it, his knowledge of it will be no perfecter than his, who having been told, that the three angles of a triangle are equal to two right ones, takes it upon trust, without examining the demonstration; and may yield his assent as a probable opinion, but hath no knowledge of the truth of it; which yet his faculties, if carefully employed, were able to make clear and evident to him. But this only, by the by, to show how much OUR KNOWLEDGE DEPENDS UPON THE RIGHT USE OF THOSE POWERS NATURE HATH BESTOWED UPON US, and how little upon SUCH INNATE PRINCIPLES AS ARE IN VAIN SUPPOSED TO BE IN ALL MANKIND FOR THEIR DIRECTION; which all men could not but know if they were there, or else they would be there to no purpose. And which since all men do not know, nor can distinguish from other adventitious truths, we may well conclude there are no such.

24. Men must think and know for themselves.

What censure doubting thus of innate principles may deserve from men, who will be apt to call it pulling up the old foundations of knowledge and certainty, I cannot tell; — I persuade myself at least that the way I have pursued, being conformable to truth, lays those foundations surer. This I am certain, I have not made it my business either to quit or follow any authority in the ensuing Discourse. Truth has been my only aim; and wherever that has appeared to lead, my thoughts have impartially followed, without minding whether the footsteps of any other lay that way or not. Not that I want a due respect to other men’s opinions; but, after all, the greatest reverence is due to truth: and I hope it will not be thought arrogance to say, that perhaps we should make greater progress in the discovery of rational and contemplative knowledge, if we sought it in the fountain, IN THE CONSIDERATION OF THINGS THEMSELVES; and made use rather of our own thoughts than other men’s to find it. For I think we may as rationally hope to see with other men’s eyes, as to know by other men’s understandings. So much as we ourselves consider and comprehend of truth and reason, so much we possess of real and true knowledge. The floating of other men’s opinions in our brains, makes us not one jot the more knowing, though they happen to be true. What in them was science, is in us but opiniatrety; whilst we give up our assent only to reverend names, and do not, as they did, employ our own reason to understand those truths which gave them reputation. Aristotle was certainly a knowing man, but nobody ever thought him so because he blindly embraced, and confidently vented the opinions of another. And if the taking up of another’s principles, without examining them, made not him a philosopher, I suppose it will hardly make anybody else so. In the sciences, every one has so much as he really knows and comprehends. What he believes only, and takes upon trust, are but shreds; which, however well in the whole piece, make no considerable addition to his stock who gathers them. Such borrowed wealth, like fairy money, though it were gold in the hand from which he received it, will be but leaves and dust when it comes to use.

25. Whence the Opinion of Innate Principles.

When men have found some general propositions that could not be doubted of as soon as understood, it was, I know, a short and easy way to conclude them innate. This being once received, it eased the lazy from the pains of search, and stopped the inquiry of the doubtful concerning all that was once styled innate. And it was of no small advantage to those who affected to be masters and teachers, to make this the principle of principles, — THAT PRINCIPLES MUST NOT BE QUESTIONED. For, having once established this tenet, — that there are innate principles, it put their followers upon a necessity of receiving SOME doctrines as such; which was to take them off from the use of their own reason and judgment, and put them on believing and taking them upon trust without further examination: in which posture of blind credulity, they might be more easily governed by, and made useful to some sort of men, who had the skill and office to principle and guide them. Nor is it a small power it gives one man over another, to have the authority to be the dictator of principles, and teacher of unquestionable truths; and to make a man swallow that for an innate principle which may serve to his purpose who teacheth them. Whereas had they examined the ways whereby men came to the knowledge of many universal truths, they would have found them to result in the minds of men from the being of things themselves, when duly considered; and that they were discovered by the application of those faculties that were fitted by nature to receive and judge of them, when duly employed about them.

26. Conclusion.

To show HOW the understanding proceeds herein is the design of the following Discourse; which I shall proceed to when I have first premised, that hitherto, — to clear my way to those foundations which I conceive are the only true ones, whereon to establish those notions we can have of our own knowledge, — it hath been necessary for me to give an account of the reasons I had to doubt of innate principles. And since the arguments which are against them do, some of them, rise from common received opinions, I have been forced to take several things for granted; which is hardly avoidable to any one, whose task is to show the falsehood or improbability of any tenet; — it happening in controversial discourses as it does in assaulting of towns; where, if the ground be but firm whereon the batteries are erected, there is no further inquiry of whom it is borrowed, nor whom it belongs to, so it affords but a fit rise for the present purpose. But in the future part of this Discourse, designing to raise an edifice uniform and consistent with itself, as far as my own experience and observation will assist me, I hope to erect it on such a basis that I shall not need to shore it up with props and buttresses, leaning on borrowed or begged foundations: or at least, if mine prove a castle in the air, I will endeavour it shall be all of a piece and hang together. Wherein I warn the reader not to expect undeniable cogent demonstrations, unless I may be allowed the privilege, not seldom assumed by others, to take my principles for granted; and then, I doubt not, but I can demonstrate too. All that I shall say for the principles I proceed on is, that I can only appeal to men’s own unprejudiced experience and observation whether they be true or not; and this is enough for a man who professes no more than to lay down candidly and freely his own conjectures, concerning a subject lying somewhat in the dark, without any other design than an unbiassed inquiry after truth.

BOOK II. OF IDEAS

CHAPTER I. OF IDEAS IN GENERAL, AND THEIR ORIGINAL.

1. Idea is the Object of Thinking.

Every man being conscious to himself that he thinks; and that which his mind is applied about whilst thinking being the IDEAS that are there, it is past doubt that men have in their minds several ideas, — such as are those expressed by the words whiteness, hardness, sweetness, thinking, motion, man, elephant, army, drunkenness, and others: it is in the first place then to be inquired, HOW HE COMES BY THEM?

I know it is a received doctrine, that men have native ideas, and original characters, stamped upon their minds in their very first being. This opinion I have at large examined already; and, I suppose what I have said in the foregoing Book will be much more easily admitted, when I have shown whence the understanding may get all the ideas it has; and by what ways and degrees they may come into the mind; — for which I shall appeal to every one’s own observation and experience.

2. All Ideas come from Sensation or Reflection.

Let us then suppose the mind to be, as we say, white paper, void of all characters, without any ideas: — How comes it to be furnished? Whence comes it by that vast store which the busy and boundless fancy of man has painted on it with an almost endless variety? Whence has it all the MATERIALS of reason and knowledge? To this I answer, in one word, from EXPERIENCE. In that all our knowledge is founded; and from that it ultimately derives itself. Our observation employed either, about external sensible objects, or about the internal operations of our minds perceived and reflected on by ourselves, is that which supplies our understandings with all the MATERIALS of thinking. These two are the fountains of knowledge, from whence all the ideas we have, or can naturally have, do spring.

3. The Objects of Sensation one Source of Ideas

First, our Senses, conversant about particular sensible objects, do convey into the mind several distinct perceptions of things, according to those various ways wherein those objects do affect them. And thus we come by those IDEAS we have of yellow, white, heat, cold, soft, hard, bitter, sweet, and all those which we call sensible qualities; which when I say the senses convey into the mind, I mean, they from external objects convey into the mind what produces there those perceptions. This great source of most of the ideas we have, depending wholly upon our senses, and derived by them to the understanding, I call SENSATION.

4. The Operations of our Minds, the other Source of them.

Secondly, the other fountain from which experience furnisheth the understanding with ideas is, — the perception of the operations of our own mind within us, as it is employed about the ideas it has got; — which operations, when the soul comes to reflect on and consider, do furnish the understanding with another set of ideas, which could not be had from things without. And such are perception, thinking, doubting, believing, reasoning, knowing, willing, and all the different actings of our own minds; — which we being conscious of, and observing in ourselves, do from these receive into our understandings as distinct ideas as we do from bodies affecting our senses. This source of ideas every man has wholly in himself; and though it be not sense, as having nothing to do with external objects, yet it is very like it, and might properly enough be called INTERNAL SENSE. But as I call the other Sensation, so I call this REFLECTION, the ideas it affords being such only as the mind gets by reflecting on its own operations within itself. By reflection then, in the following part of this discourse, I would be understood to mean, that notice which the mind takes of its own operations, and the manner of them, by reason whereof there come to be ideas of these operations in the understanding. These two, I say, viz. external material things, as the objects of SENSATION, and the operations of our own minds within, as the objects of REFLECTION, are to me the only originals from whence all our ideas take their beginnings. The term OPERATIONS here I use in a large sense, as comprehending not barely the actions of the mind about its ideas, but some sort of passions arising sometimes from them, such as is the satisfaction or uneasiness arising from any thought.

5. All our Ideas are of the one or of the other of these.

The understanding seems to me not to have the least glimmering of any ideas which it doth not receive from one of these two. EXTERNAL OBJECTS furnish the mind with the ideas of sensible qualities, which are all those different perceptions they produce in us; and THE MIND furnishes the understanding with ideas of its own operations.

These, when we have taken a full survey of them, and their several modes, and the compositions made out of them we shall find to contain all our whole stock of ideas; and that we have nothing in our minds which did not come in one of these two ways. Let any one examine his own thoughts, and thoroughly search into his understanding; and then let him tell me, whether all the original ideas he has there, are any other than of the objects of his senses, or of the operations of his mind, considered as objects of his reflection. And how great a mass of knowledge soever he imagines to be lodged there, he will, upon taking a strict view, see that he has not any idea in his mind but what one of these two have imprinted; — though perhaps, with infinite variety compounded and enlarged by the understanding, as we shall see hereafter.

6. Observable in Children.

He that attentively considers the state of a child, at his first coming into the world, will have little reason to think him stored with plenty of ideas, that are to be the matter of his future knowledge. It is BY DEGREES he comes to be furnished with them. And though the ideas of obvious and familiar qualities imprint themselves before the memory begins to keep a register of time or order, yet it is often so late before some unusual qualities come in the way, that there are few men that cannot recollect the beginning of their acquaintance with them. And if it were worth while, no doubt a child might be so ordered as to have but a very few, even of the ordinary ideas, till he were grown up to a man. But all that are born into the world, being surrounded with bodies that perpetually and diversely affect them, variety of ideas, whether care be taken of it or not, are imprinted on the minds of children. Light and colours are busy at hand everywhere, when the eye is but open; sounds and some tangible qualities fail not to solicit their proper senses, and force an entrance to the mind; — but yet, I think, it will be granted easily, that if a child were kept in a place where he never saw any other but black and white till he were a man, he would have no more ideas of scarlet or green, than he that from his childhood never tasted an oyster, or a pine-apple, has of those particular relishes.

7. Men are differently furnished with these, according to the different Objects they converse with.

Men then come to be furnished with fewer or more simple ideas from without, according as the objects they converse with afford greater or less variety; and from the operations of their minds within, according as they more or less reflect on them. For, though he that contemplates the operations of his mind, cannot but have plain and clear ideas of them; yet, unless he turn his thoughts that way, and considers them ATTENTIVELY, he will no more have clear and distinct ideas of all the operations of his mind, and all that may be observed therein, than he will have all the particular ideas of any landscape, or of the parts and motions of a clock, who will not turn his eyes to it, and with attention heed all the parts of it. The picture, or clock may be so placed, that they may come in his way every day; but yet he will have but a confused idea of all the parts they are made up of, till he applies himself with attention, to consider them each in particular.

8. Ideas of Reflection later, because they need Attention.

And hence we see the reason why it is pretty late before most children get ideas of the operations of their own minds; and some have not any very clear or perfect ideas of the greatest part of them all their lives. Because, though they pass there continually, yet, like floating visions, they make not deep impressions enough to leave in their mind clear, distinct, lasting ideas, till the understanding turns inward upon itself, reflects on its own operations, and makes them the objects of its own contemplation. Children when they come first into it, are surrounded with a world of new things which, by a constant solicitation of their senses, draw the mind constantly to them; forward to take notice of new, and apt to be delighted with the variety of changing objects. Thus the first years are usually employed and diverted in looking abroad. Men’s business in them is to acquaint themselves with what is to be found without; and so growing up in a constant attention to outward sensations, seldom make any considerable reflection on what passes within them, till they come to be of riper years; and some scarce ever at all.

9. The Soul begins to have Ideas when it begins to perceive.

To ask, at what TIME a man has first any ideas, is to ask, when he begins to perceive; — HAVING IDEAS, and PERCEPTION, being the same thing. I know it is an opinion, that the soul always thinks, and that it has the actual perception of ideas in itself constantly, as long as it exists; and that actual thinking is as inseparable from the soul as actual extension is from the body; which if true, to inquire after the beginning of a man’s ideas is the same as to inquire after the beginning of his soul. For, by this account, soul and its ideas, as body and its extension, will begin to exist both at the same time.

10. The Soul thinks not always; for this wants Proofs.

But whether the soul be supposed to exist antecedent to, or coeval with, or some time after the first rudiments of organization, or the beginnings of life in the body, I leave to be disputed by those who have better thought of that matter. I confess myself to have one of those dull souls, that doth not perceive itself always to contemplate ideas; nor can conceive it any more necessary for the soul always to think, than for the body always to move: the perception of ideas being (as I conceive) to the soul, what motion is to the body; not its essence, but one of its operations. And therefore, though thinking be supposed never so much the proper action of the soul, yet it is not necessary to suppose that it should be always thinking, always in action. That, perhaps, is the privilege of the infinite Author and Preserver of all things, who “never slumbers nor sleeps”; but is not competent to any finite being, at least not to the soul of man. We know certainly, by experience, that we SOMETIMES think; and thence draw this infallible consequence, — that there is something in us that has a power to think. But whether that substance PERPETUALLY thinks or no, we can be no further assured than experience informs us. For, to say that actual thinking is essential to the soul, and inseparable from it, is to beg what is in question, and not to prove it by reason; — which is necessary to be done, if it be not a self-evident proposition But whether this, “That the soul always thinks,” be a self-evident proposition, that everybody assents to at first hearing, I appeal to mankind. It is doubted whether I thought at all last night or no. The question being about a matter of fact, it is begging it to bring, as a proof for it, an hypothesis, which is the very thing in dispute: by which way one may prove anything, and it is but supposing that all watches, whilst the balance beats, think, and it is sufficiently proved, and past doubt, that my watch thought all last night. But he that would not deceive himself, ought to build his hypothesis on matter of fact, and make it out by sensible experience, and not presume on matter of fact, because of his hypothesis, that is, because he supposes it to be so; which way of proving amounts to this, that I must necessarily think all last night, because another supposes I always think, though I myself cannot perceive that I always do so.

But men in love with their opinions may not only suppose what is in question, but allege wrong matter of fact. How else could any one make it an inference of mine, that a thing is not, because we are not sensible of it in our sleep? I do not say there is no SOUL in a man, because he is not sensible of it in his sleep; but I do say, he cannot THINK at any time, waking or sleeping, without being sensible of it. Our being sensible of it is not necessary to anything but to our thoughts; and to them it is; and to them it always will be necessary, till we can think without being conscious of it.

11. It is not always conscious of it.

I grant that the soul, in a waking man, is never without thought, because it is the condition of being awake. But whether sleeping without dreaming be not an affection of the whole man, mind as well as body, may be worth a waking man’s consideration; it being hard to conceive that anything should think and not be conscious of it. If the soul doth think in a sleeping man without being conscious of it, I ask whether, during such thinking, it has any pleasure or pain, or be capable of happiness or misery? I am sure the man is not; no more than the bed or earth he lies on. For to be happy or miserable without being conscious of it, seems to me utterly inconsistent and impossible. Or if it be possible that the SOUL can, whilst the body is sleeping, have its thinking, enjoyments, and concerns, its pleasures or pain, apart, which the MAN is not conscious of nor partakes in, — it is certain that Socrates asleep and Socrates awake is not the same person; but his soul when he sleeps, and Socrates the man, consisting of body and soul, when he is waking, are two persons: since waking Socrates has no knowledge of, or concernment for that happiness or misery of his soul, which it enjoys alone by itself whilst he sleeps, without perceiving anything of it; no more than he has for the happiness or misery of a man in the Indies, whom he knows not. For, if we take wholly away all consciousness of our actions and sensations, especially of pleasure and pain, and the concernment that accompanies it, it will be hard to know wherein to place personal identity.

12. If a sleeping Man thinks without knowing it, the sleeping and waking Man are two Persons.

The soul, during sound sleep, thinks, say these men. Whilst it thinks and perceives, it is capable certainly of those of delight or trouble, as well as any other perceptions; and IT must necessarily be CONSCIOUS of its own perceptions. But it has all this apart: the sleeping MAN, it is plain, is conscious of nothing of all this. Let us suppose, then, the soul of Castor, while he is sleeping, retired from his body; which is no impossible supposition for the men I have here to do with, who so liberally allow life, without a thinking soul, to all other animals. These men cannot then judge it impossible, or a contradiction, that the body should live without the soul; nor that the soul should subsist and think, or have perception, even perception of happiness or misery, without the body. Let us then, I say, suppose the soul of Castor separated during his sleep from his body, to think apart. Let us suppose, too, that it chooses for its scene of thinking the body of another man, v. g. Pollux, who is sleeping without a soul. For, if Castor’s soul can think, whilst Castor is asleep, what Castor is never conscious of, it is no matter what PLACE it chooses to think in. We have here, then, the bodies of two men with only one soul between them, which we will suppose to sleep and wake by turns; and the soul still thinking in the waking man, whereof the sleeping man is never conscious, has never the least perception. I ask, then, whether Castor and Pollux, thus with only one soul between them, which thinks and perceives in one what the other is never conscious of, nor is concerned for, are not two as distinct PERSONS as Castor and Hercules, or as Socrates and Plato were? And whether one of them might not be very happy, and the other very miserable? Just by the same reason, they make the soul and the man two persons, who make the soul think apart what the man is not conscious of. For, I suppose nobody will make identity of persons to consist in the soul’s being united to the very same numerical particles of matter. For if that be necessary to identity, it will be impossible, in that constant flux of the particles of our bodies, that any man should be the same person two days, or two moments, together.

13. Impossible to convince those that sleep without dreaming, that they think.

Thus, methinks, every drowsy nod shakes their doctrine, who teach that the soul is always thinking. Those, at least, who do at any time SLEEP WITHOUT DREAMING, can never be convinced that their thoughts are sometimes for four hours busy without their knowing of it; and if they are taken in the very act, waked in the middle of that sleeping contemplation, can give no manner of account of it.

14. That men dream without remembering it, in vain urged.

It will perhaps be said, — That the soul thinks even in the soundest sleep, but the MEMORY retains it not. That the soul in a sleeping man should be this moment busy a thinking, and the next moment in a waking man not remember nor be able to recollect one jot of all those thoughts, is very hard to be conceived, and would need some better proof than bare assertion to make it be believed. For who can without any more ado, but being barely told so, imagine that the greatest part of men do, during all their lives, for several hours every day, think of something, which if they were asked, even in the middle of these thoughts, they could remember nothing at all of? Most men, I think, pass a great part of their sleep without dreaming. I once knew a man that was bred a scholar, and had no bad memory, who told me he had never dreamed in his life, till he had that fever he was then newly recovered of, which was about the five or six and twentieth year of his age. I suppose the world affords more such instances: at least every one’s acquaintance will furnish him with examples enough of such as pass most of their nights without dreaming.

15. Upon this Hypothesis, the Thoughts of a sleeping Man ought to be most rational.

To think often, and never to retain it so much as one moment, is a very useless sort of thinking; and the soul, in such a state of thinking, does very little, if at all, excel that of a looking-glass, which constantly receives variety of images, or ideas, but retains none; they disappear and vanish, and there remain no footsteps of them; the looking-glass is never the better for such ideas, nor the soul for, such thoughts. Perhaps it will be said, that in a waking MAN the materials of the body are employed, and made use of, in thinking; and that the memory of thoughts is retained by the impressions that are made on the brain, and the traces there left after such thinking; but that in the thinking of the SOUL, which is not perceived in a sleeping man, there the soul thinks apart, and making no use of the organs of the body, leaves no impressions on it, and consequently no memory of such thoughts. Not to mention again the absurdity of two distinct persons, which follows from this supposition, I answer, further, — That whatever ideas the mind can receive and contemplate without the help of the body, it is reasonable to conclude it can retain without the help of the body too; or else the soul, or any separate spirit, will have but little advantage by thinking. If it has no memory of its own thoughts; if it cannot lay them up for its own use, and be able to recall them upon occasion; if it cannot reflect upon what is past, and make use of its former experiences, reasonings, and contemplations, to what, purpose does it think? They who make the soul a thinking thing, at this rate, will not make it a much more noble being than those do whom they condemn, for allowing it to be nothing but the subtilist parts of matter. Characters drawn on dust, that the first breath of wind effaces; or impressions made on a heap of atoms, or animal spirits, are altogether as useful, and render the subject as noble, as the thoughts of a soul that perish in thinking; that, once out of sight, are gone for ever, and leave no memory of themselves behind them. Nature never makes excellent things for mean or no uses: and it is hardly to be conceived that our infinitely wise Creator should make so admirable a faculty as the power of thinking, that faculty which comes nearest the excellency of his own incomprehensible being, to be so idly and uselessly employed, at least a fourth part of its time here, as to think constantly, without remembering any of those thoughts, without doing any good to itself or others, or being any way useful to any other part of the creation. If we will examine it, we shall not find, I suppose, the motion of dull and senseless matter, any where in the universe, made so little use of and so wholly thrown away.

16. On this Hypothesis, the Soul must have Ideas not derived from Sensation or Reflection, of which there is no Appearance.

It is true, we have sometimes instances of perception whilst we are asleep, and retain the memory of those thoughts: but how extravagant and incoherent for the most part they are; how little conformable to the perfection and order of a rational being, those who are acquainted with dreams need not be told. This I would willingly be satisfied in, — whether the soul, when it thinks thus apart, and as it were separate from the body, acts less rationally than when conjointly with it, or no. If its separate thoughts be less rational, then these men must say, that the soul owes the perfection of rational thinking to the body: if it does not, it is a wonder that our dreams should be, for the most part, so frivolous and irrational; and that the soul should retain none of its more rational soliloquies and meditations.

17. If I think when I know it not, nobody else can know it.

Those who so confidently tell us that the soul always actually thinks, I would they would also tell us, what those ideas are that are in the soul of a child, before or just at the union with the body, before it hath received any by sensation. The dreams of sleeping men are, as I take it, all made up of the waking man’s ideas; though for the most part oddly put together. It is strange, if the soul has ideas of its own that it derived not from sensation or reflection, (as it must have, if it thought before it received any impressions from the body,) that it should never, in its private thinking, (so private, that the man himself perceives it not,) retain any of them the very moment it wakes out of them, and then make the man glad with new discoveries. Who can find it reason that the soul should, in its retirement during sleep, have so many hours’ thoughts, and yet never light on any of those ideas it borrowed not from sensation or reflection; or at least preserve the memory of none but such, which, being occasioned from the body, must needs be less natural to a spirit? It is strange the soul should never once in a man’s whole life recall over any of its pure native thoughts, and those ideas it had before it borrowed anything from the body; never bring into the waking man’s view any other ideas but what have a tang of the cask, and manifestly derive their original from that union. If it always thinks, and so had ideas before it was united, or before it received any from the body, it is not to be supposed but that during sleep it recollects its native ideas; and during that retirement from communicating with the body, whilst it thinks by itself, the ideas it is busied about should be, sometimes at least, those more natural and congenial ones which it had in itself, underived from the body, or its own operations about them: which, since the waking man never remembers, we must from this hypothesis conclude either that the soul remembers something that the man does not; or else that memory belongs only to such ideas as are derived from the body, or the mind’s operations about them.

18. How knows any one that the Soul always thinks? For if it be not a self-evident Proposition, it needs Proof.

I would be glad also to learn from these men who so confidently pronounce that the human soul, or, which is all one, that a man always thinks, how they come to know it; nay, how they come to know that they themselves think, when they themselves do not perceive it. This, I am afraid, is to be sure without proofs, and to know without perceiving. It is, I suspect, a confused notion, taken up to serve an hypothesis; and none of those clear truths, that either their own evidence forces us to admit, or common experience makes it impudence to deny. For the most that can be said of it is, that it is possible the soul may always think, but not always retain it in memory. And I say, it is as possible that the soul may not always think; and much more probable that it should sometimes not think, than that it should often think, and that a long while together, and not be conscious to itself, the next moment after, that it had thought.

19. That a Man should be busy in Thinking, and yet not retain it the next moment, very improbable.

To suppose the soul to think, and the man not to perceive it, is, as has been said, to make two persons in one man. And if one considers well these men’s way of speaking, one should be led into a suspicion that they do so. For those who tell us that the SOUL always thinks, do never, that I remember, say that a MAN always thinks. Can the soul think, and not the man? Or a man think, and not be conscious of it? This, perhaps, would be suspected of jargon in others. If they say the man thinks always, but is not always conscious of it, they may as well say his body is extended without having parts. For it is altogether as intelligible to say that a body is extended without parts, as that anything thinks without being conscious of it, or perceiving that it does so. They who talk thus may, with as much reason, if it be necessary to their hypothesis, say that a man is always hungry, but that he does not always feel it; whereas hunger consists in that very sensation, as thinking consists in being conscious that one thinks. If they say that a man is always conscious to himself of thinking, I ask, How they know it? Consciousness is the perception of what passes in a man’s own mind. Can another man perceive that I am conscious of anything, when I perceive it not myself? No man’s knowledge here can go beyond his experience. Wake a man out of a sound sleep, and ask him what he was that moment thinking of. If he himself be conscious of nothing he then thought on, he must be a notable diviner of thoughts that can assure him that he was thinking. May he not, with more reason, assure him he was not asleep? This is something beyond philosophy; and it cannot be less than revelation, that discovers to another thoughts in my mind, when I can find none there myself. And they must needs have a penetrating sight who can certainly see that I think, when I cannot perceive it myself, and when I declare that I do not; and yet can see that dogs or elephants do not think, when they give all the demonstration of it imaginable, except only telling us that they do so. This some may suspect to be a step beyond the Rosicrucians; it seeming easier to make one’s self invisible to others, than to make another’s thoughts visible to me, which are not visible to himself. But it is but defining the soul to be “a substance that always thinks,” and the business is done. If such definition be of any authority, I know not what it can serve for but to make many men suspect that they have no souls at all; since they find a good part of their lives pass away without thinking. For no definitions that I know, no suppositions of any sect, are of force enough to destroy constant experience; and perhaps it is the affectation of knowing beyond what we perceive, that makes so much useless dispute and noise in the world.

20. No ideas but from Sensation and Reflection, evident, if we observe Children.

I see no reason, therefore, to believe that the soul thinks before the senses have furnished it with ideas to think on; and as those are increased and retained, so it comes, by exercise, to improve its faculty of thinking in the several parts of it; as well as, afterwards, by compounding those ideas, and reflecting on its own operations, it increases its stock, as well as facility in remembering, imagining, reasoning, and other modes of thinking.

21. State of a child on the mother’s womb.

He that will suffer himself to be informed by observation and experience, and not make his own hypothesis the rule of nature, will find few signs of a soul accustomed to much thinking in a new-born child, and much fewer of any reasoning at all. And yet it is hard to imagine that the rational soul should think so much, and not reason at all, And he that will consider that infants newly come into the world spend the greatest part of their time in sleep, and are seldom awake but when either hunger calls for the teat, or some pain (the most importunate of all sensations), or some other violent impression on the body, forces the mind to perceive and attend to it; — he, I say, who considers this, will perhaps find reason to imagine that a FOETUS in the mother’s womb differs not much from the state of a vegetable, but passes the greatest part of its time without perception or thought; doing very little but sleep in a place where it needs not seek for food, and is surrounded with liquor, always equally soft, and near of the same temper; where the eyes have no light, and the ears so shut up are not very susceptible of sounds; and where there is little or no variety, or change of objects, to move the senses.

22. The mind thinks in proportion to the matter it gets from experience to think about.

Follow a child from its birth, and observe the alterations that time makes, and you shall find, as the mind by the senses comes more and more to be furnished with ideas, it comes to be more and more awake; thinks more, the more it has matter to think on. After some time it begins to know the objects which, being most familiar with it, have made lasting impressions. Thus it comes by degrees to know the persons it daily converses with, and distinguishes them from strangers; which are instances and effects of its coming to retain and distinguish the ideas the senses convey to it. And so we may observe how the mind, BY DEGREES, improves in these; and ADVANCES to the exercise of those other faculties of enlarging, compounding, and abstracting its ideas, and of reasoning about them, and reflecting upon all these; of which I shall have occasion to speak more hereafter.

23. A man begins to have ideas when he first has sensation. What sensation is.

If it shall be demanded then, WHEN a man BEGINS to have any ideas, I think the true answer is, — WHEN HE FIRST HAS ANY SENSATION. For, since there appear not to be any ideas in the mind before the senses have conveyed any in, I conceive that ideas in the understanding are coeval with SENSATION; WHICH IS SUCH AN IMPRESSION OR MOTION MADE IN SOME PART OF THE BODY, AS MAKES IT BE TAKEN NOTICE OF IN THE UNDERSTANDING.

24. The Original of all our Knowledge.

The impressions then that are made on our sense by outward objects that are extrinsical to the mind; and its own operations about these impressions, reflected on by itself, as proper objects to be contemplated by it, are, I conceive, the original of all knowledge. Thus the first capacity of human intellect is, — that the mind is fitted to receive the impressions made on it; either through the senses by outward objects, or by its own operations when it reflects on them. This is the first step a man makes towards the discovery of anything, and the groundwork whereon to build all those notions which ever he shall have naturally in this world. All those sublime thoughts which tower above the clouds, and reach as high as heaven itself, take their rise and footing here: in all that great extent wherein the mind wanders, in those remote speculations it may seem to be elevated with, it stirs not one jot beyond those ideas which SENSE or REFLECTION have offered for its contemplation.

25. In the Reception of simple Ideas, the Understanding is for the most part passive.

In this part the understanding is merely passive; and whether or no it will have these beginnings, and as it were materials of knowledge, is not in its own power. For the objects of our senses do, many of them, obtrude their particular ideas upon our minds whether we will or not; and the operations of our minds will not let us be without, at least, some obscure notions of them. No man can be wholly ignorant of what he does when he thinks. These simple ideas, when offered to the mind, the understanding can no more refuse to have, nor alter when they are imprinted, nor blot them out and make new ones itself, than a mirror can refuse, alter, or obliterate the images or ideas which the objects set before it do therein produce. As the bodies that surround us do diversely affect our organs, the mind is forced to receive the impressions; and cannot avoid the perception of those ideas that are annexed to them.

CHAPTER II. OF SIMPLE IDEAS.

1. Uncompounded Appearances.

The better to understand the nature, manner, and extent of our knowledge, one thing is carefully to be observed concerning the ideas we have; and that is, that some of them, are SIMPLE and some COMPLEX.

Though the qualities that affect our senses are, in the things themselves, so united and blended, that there is no separation, no distance between them; yet it is plain, the ideas they produce in the mind enter by the senses simple; and unmixed. For, though the sight and touch often take in from the same object, at the same time, different ideas; — as a man sees at once motion and colour; the hand feels softness and warmth in the same piece of wax: yet the simple ideas thus united in the same subject, are as perfectly distinct as those that come in by different senses. The coldness and hardness which a man feels in a piece of ice being as distinct ideas in the mind as the smell and whiteness of a lily; or as the taste of sugar, and smell of a rose. And there is nothing can be plainer to a man than the clear and distinct perception he has of those simple ideas; which, being each in itself uncompounded, contains in it nothing but ONE UNIFORM APPEARANCE, OR CONCEPTION IN THE MIND, and is not distinguishable into different ideas.

2. The Mind can neither make nor destroy them.

These simple ideas, the materials of all our knowledge, are suggested and furnished to the mind only by those two ways above mentioned, viz. sensation and reflection. When the understanding is once stored with these simple ideas, it has the power to repeat, compare, and unite them, even to an almost infinite variety, and so can make at pleasure new complex ideas. But it is not in the power of the most exalted wit, or enlarged understanding, by any quickness or variety of thought, to INVENT or FRAME one new simple idea in the mind, not taken in by the ways before mentioned: nor can any force of the understanding DESTROY those that are there. The dominion of man, in this little world of his own understanding being much what the same as it is in the great world of visible things; wherein his power, however managed by art and skill, reaches no farther than to compound and divide the materials that are made to his hand; but can do nothing towards the making the least particle of new matter, or destroying one atom of what is already in being. The same inability will every one find in himself, who shall go about to fashion in his understanding one simple idea, not received in by his senses from external objects, or by reflection from the operations of his own mind about them. I would have any one try to fancy any taste which had never affected his palate; or frame the idea of a scent he had never smelt: and when he can do this, I will also conclude that a blind man hath ideas of colours, and a deaf man true distinct notions of sounds.

3. Only the qualities that affect the senses are imaginable.

This is the reason why — though we cannot believe it impossible to God to make a creature with other organs, and more ways to convey into the understanding the notice of corporeal things than those five, as they are usually counted, which he has given to man — yet I think it is not possible for any MAN to imagine any other qualities in bodies, howsoever constituted, whereby they can be taken notice of, besides sounds, tastes, smells, visible and tangible qualities. And had mankind been made but with four senses, the qualities then which are the objects of the fifth sense had been as far from our notice, imagination, and conception, as now any belonging to a sixth, seventh, or eighth sense can possibly be; — which, whether yet some other creatures, in some other parts of this vast and stupendous universe, may not have, will be a great presumption to deny. He that will not set himself proudly at the top of all things, but will consider the immensity of this fabric, and the great variety that is to be found in this little and inconsiderable part of it which he has to do with, may be apt to think that, in other mansions of it, there may be other and different intelligent beings, of whose faculties he has as little knowledge or apprehension as a worm shut up in one drawer of a cabinet hath of the senses or understanding of a man; such variety and excellency being suitable to the wisdom and power of the Maker. I have here followed the common opinion of man’s having but five senses; though, perhaps, there may be justly counted more; — but either supposition serves equally to my present purpose.

CHAPTER III. OF SIMPLE IDEAS OF SENSE.

1. Division of simple ideas.

The better to conceive the ideas we receive from sensation, it may not be amiss for us to consider them, in reference to the different ways whereby they make their approaches to our minds, and make themselves perceivable by us.

FIRST, then, There are some which come into our minds BY ONE SENSE ONLY.

SECONDLY, There are others that convey themselves into the mind BY MORE
SENSES THAN ONE.

THIRDLY, Others that are had from REFLECTION ONLY.

FOURTHLY, There are some that make themselves way, and are suggested to the mind BY ALL THE WAYS OF SENSATION AND REFLECTION.

We shall consider them apart under these several heads.

Ideas of one Sense.

There are some ideas which have admittance only through one sense, which is peculiarly adapted to receive them. Thus light and colours, as white, red, yellow, blue; with their several degrees or shades and mixtures, as green, scarlet, purple, sea-green, and the rest, come in only by the eyes. All kinds of noises, sounds, and tones, only by the ears. The several tastes and smells, by the nose and palate. And if these organs, or the nerves which are the conduits to convey them from without to their audience in the brain, — the mind’s presence-room (as I may so call it) — are any of them so disordered as not to perform their functions, they have no postern to be admitted by; no other way to bring themselves into view, and be perceived by the understanding.

The most considerable of those belonging to the touch, are heat and cold, and solidity: all the rest, consisting almost wholly in the sensible configuration, as smooth and rough; or else, more or less firm adhesion of the parts, as hard and soft, tough and brittle, are obvious enough.

2. Few simple Ideas have Names.

I think it will be needless to enumerate all the particular simple ideas belonging to each sense. Nor indeed is it possible if we would; there being a great many more of them belonging to most of the senses than we have names for. The variety of smells, which are as many almost, if not more, than species of bodies in the world, do most of them want names. Sweet and stinking commonly serve our turn for these ideas, which in effect is little more than to call them pleasing or displeasing; though the smell of a rose and violet, both sweet, are certainly very distinct ideas. Nor are the different tastes, that by our palates we receive ideas of, much better provided with names. Sweet, bitter, sour, harsh, and salt are almost all the epithets we have to denominate that numberless variety of relishes, which are to be found distinct, not only in almost every sort of creatures, but in the different parts of the same plant, fruit, or animal. The same may be said of colours and sounds. I shall, therefore, in the account of simple ideas I am here giving, content myself to set down only such as are most material to our present purpose, or are in themselves less apt to be taken notice of though they are very frequently the ingredients of our complex ideas; amongst which, I think, I may well account solidity, which therefore I shall treat of in the next chapter.

CHAPTER IV. IDEA OF SOLIDITY.

1. We receive this Idea from Touch.

The idea of SOLIDITY we receive by our touch: and it arises from the resistance which we find in body to the entrance of any other body into the place it possesses, till it has left it. There is no idea which we receive more constantly from sensation than solidity. Whether we move or rest, in what posture soever we are, we always feel something under us that supports us, and hinders our further sinking downwards; and the bodies which we daily handle make us perceive that, whilst they remain between them, they do, by an insurmountable force, hinder the approach of the parts of our hands that press them. THAT WHICH THUS HINDERS THE APPROACH OF TWO BODIES, WHEN THEY ARE MOVED ONE TOWARDS ANOTHER, I CALL SOLIDITY. I will not dispute whether this acceptation of the word solid be nearer to its original signification than that which mathematicians use it in. It suffices that I think the common notion of solidity will allow, if not justify, this use of it; but if any one think it better to call it IMPENETRABILITY, he has my consent. Only I have thought the term solidity the more proper to express this idea, not only because of its vulgar use in that sense, but also because it carries something more of positive in it than impenetrability; which is negative, and is perhaps more a consequence of solidity, than solidity itself. This, of all other, seems the idea most intimately connected with, and essential to body; so as nowhere else to be found or imagined, but only in matter. And though our senses take no notice of it, but in masses of matter, of a bulk sufficient to cause a sensation in us: yet the mind, having once got this idea from such grosser sensible bodies, traces it further, and considers it, as well as figure, in the minutest particle of matter that can exist; and finds it inseparably inherent in body, wherever or however modified.

2. Solidity fills Space.

This is the idea which belongs to body, whereby we conceive it to fill space. The idea of which filling of space is, — that where we imagine any space taken up by a solid substance, we conceive it so to possess it, that it excludes all other solid substances; and will for ever hinder any other two bodies, that move towards one another in a straight line, from coming to touch one another, unless it removes from between them in a line not parallel to that which they move in. This idea of it, the bodies which we ordinarily handle sufficiently furnish us with.

3. Distinct from Space.

This resistance, whereby it keeps other bodies out of the space which it possesses, is so great, that no force, how great soever, can surmount it. All the bodies in the world, pressing a drop of water on all sides, will never be able to overcome the resistance which it will make, soft as it is, to their approaching one another, till it be removed out of their way: whereby our idea of solidity is distinguished both from pure space, which is capable neither of resistance nor motion; and from the ordinary idea of hardness. For a man may conceive two bodies at a distance, so as they may approach one another, without touching or displacing any solid thing, till their superficies come to meet; whereby, I think, we have the clear idea of space without solidity. For (not to go so far as annihilation of any particular body) I ask, whether a man cannot have the idea of the motion of one single body alone, without any other succeeding immediately into its place? I think it is evident he can: the idea of motion in one body no more including the idea of motion in another, than the idea of a square figure in one body includes the idea of a square figure in another. I do not ask, whether bodies do so EXIST, that the motion of one body cannot really be without the motion of another. To determine this either way, is to beg the question for or against a VACUUM. But my question is, — whether one cannot have the IDEA of one body moved, whilst others are at rest? And I think this no one will deny. If so, then the place it deserted gives us the idea of pure space without solidity; whereinto any other body may enter, without either resistance or protrusion of anything. When the sucker in a pump is drawn, the space it filled in the tube is certainly the same whether any other body follows the motion of the sucker or not: nor does it imply a contradiction that, upon the motion of one body, another that is only contiguous to it should not follow it. The necessity of such a motion is built only on the supposition that the world is full; but not on the distinct IDEAS of space and solidity, which are as different as resistance and not resistance, protrusion and not protrusion. And that men have ideas of space without a body, their very disputes about a vacuum plainly demonstrate, as is shown in another place.

4. From Hardness.

Solidity is hereby also differenced from hardness, in that solidity consists in repletion, and so an utter exclusion of other bodies out of the space it possesses: but hardness, in a firm cohesion of the parts of matter, making up masses of a sensible bulk, so that the whole does not easily change its figure. And indeed, hard and soft are names that we give to things only in relation to the constitutions of our own bodies; that being generally called hard by us, which will put us to pain sooner than change figure by the pressure of any part of our bodies; and that, on the contrary, soft, which changes the situation of its parts upon an easy and unpainful touch.

But this difficulty of changing the situation of the sensible parts amongst themselves, or of the figure of the whole, gives no more solidity to the hardest body in the world than to the softest; nor is an adamant one jot more solid than water. For, though the two flat sides of two pieces of marble will more easily approach each other, between which there is nothing but water or air, than if there be a diamond between them; yet it is not that the parts of the diamond are more solid than those of water, or resist more; but because the parts of water, being more easily separable from each other, they will, by a side motion, be more easily removed, and give way to the approach of the two pieces of marble. But if they could be kept from making place by that side motion, they would eternally hinder the approach of these two pieces of marble, as much as the diamond; and it would be as impossible by any force to surmount their resistance, as to surmount the resistance of the parts of a diamond. The softest body in the world will as invincibly resist the coming together of any other two bodies, if it be not put out of the way, but remain between them, as the hardest that can be found or imagined. He that shall fill a yielding soft body well with air or water, will quickly find its resistance. And he that thinks that nothing but bodies that are hard can keep his hands from approaching one another, may be pleased to make a trial, with the air inclosed in a football. The experiment, I have been told, was made at Florence, with a hollow globe of gold filled with water, and exactly closed; which further shows the solidity of so soft a body as water. For the golden globe thus filled, being put into a press, which was driven by the extreme force of screws, the water made itself way through the pores of that very close metal, and finding no room for a nearer approach of its particles within, got to the outside, where it rose like a dew, and so fell in drops, before the sides of the globe could be made to yield to the violent compression of the engine that squeezed it.

5. On Solidity depend Impulse, Resistance and Protrusion.

By this idea of solidity is the extension of body distinguished from the extension of space: — the extension of body being nothing but the cohesion or continuity of solid, separable, movable parts; and the extension of space, the continuity of unsolid, inseparable, and immovable parts. Upon the solidity of bodies also depend their mutual impulse, resistance, and protrusion. Of pure space then, and solidity, there are several (amongst which I confess myself one) who persuade themselves they have clear and distinct ideas; and that they can think on space, without anything in it that resists or is protruded by body. This is the idea of pure space, which they think they have as clear as any idea they can have of the extension of body: the idea of the distance between the opposite parts of a concave superficies being equally as clear without as with the idea of any solid parts between: and on the other side, they persuade themselves that they have, distinct from that of pure space, the idea of SOMETHING THAT FILLS SPACE, that can be protruded by the impulse of other bodies, or resist their motion. If there be others that have not these two ideas distinct, but confound them, and make but one of them, I know not how men, who have the same idea under different names, or different ideas under the same name, can in that case talk with one another; any more than a man who, not being blind or deaf, has distinct ideas of the colour of scarlet and the sound of a trumpet, could discourse concerning scarlet colour with the blind man I mentioned in another place, who fancied that the idea of scarlet was like the sound of a trumpet.

6. What Solidity is.

If any one asks me, WHAT THIS SOLIDITY IS, I send him to his senses to inform him. Let him put a flint or a football between his hands, and then endeavour to join them, and he will know. If he thinks this not a sufficient explication of solidity, what it is, and wherein it consists; I promise to tell him what it is, and wherein it consists, when he tells me what thinking is, or wherein it consists; or explains to me what extension or motion is, which perhaps seems much easier. The simple ideas we have, are such as experience teaches them us; but if, beyond that, we endeavour by words to make them clearer in the mind, we shall succeed no better than if we went about to clear up the darkness of a blind man’s mind by talking; and to discourse into him the ideas of light and colours. The reason of this I shall show in another place.

CHAPTER V. OF SIMPLE IDEAS OF DIVERS SENSES.

Ideas received both by seeing and touching.

The ideas we get by more than one sense are, of SPACE or EXTENSION, FIGURE, REST, and MOTION. For these make perceivable impressions, both on the eyes and touch; and we can receive and convey into our minds the ideas of the extension, figure, motion, and rest of bodies, both by seeing and feeling. But having occasion to speak more at large of these in another place, I here only enumerate them.

CHAPTER VI. OF SIMPLE IDEAS OF REFLECTION.

Simple Ideas are the Operations of Mind about its other Ideas.

The mind receiving the ideas mentioned in the foregoing chapters from without, when it turns its view inward upon itself, and observes its own actions about those ideas it has, takes from thence other ideas, which are as capable to be the objects of its contemplation as any of those it received from foreign things.

The Idea of Perception, and Idea of Willing, we have from Reflection.

The two great and principal actions of the mind, which are most frequently considered, and which are so frequent that every one that pleases may take notice of them in himself, are these two: —

PERCEPTION, or THINKING; and VOLITION, or WILLING.

The power of thinking is called the UNDERSTANDING, and the power of volition is called the WILL; and these two powers or abilities in the mind are denominated faculties.

Of some of the MODES of these simple ideas of reflection, such as are REMEMBRANCE, DISCERNING, REASONING, JUDGING, KNOWLEDGE, FAITH, &c., I shall have occasion to speak hereafter.

CHAPTER VII. OF SIMPLE IDEAS OF BOTH SENSATION AND REFLECTION.

1. Ideas of Pleasure and Pain.

There be other simple ideas which convey themselves into the mind by all the ways of sensation and reflection, viz. PLEASURE or DELIGHT, and its opposite, PAIN, or UNEASINESS; POWER; EXISTENCE; UNITY mix with almost all our other Ideas.

2. Delight or uneasiness, one or other of them, join themselves to almost all our ideas both of sensation and reflection: and there is scarce any affection of our senses from without, any retired thought of our mind within, which is not able to produce in us pleasure or pain. By pleasure and pain, I would be understood to signify, whatsoever delights or molests us; whether it arises from the thoughts of our minds, or anything operating on our bodies. For, whether we call it; satisfaction, delight, pleasure, happiness, &c., on the one side, I or uneasiness, trouble, pain, torment, anguish, misery, &c., the other, they are still but different degrees of the same thing, and belong to the ideas of pleasure and pain, delight or uneasiness; which are the names I shall most commonly use for those two sorts of ideas.

3. As motives of our actions.

The infinite wise Author of our being, having given us the power over several parts of our bodies, to move or keep them at rest as we think fit; and also, by the motion of them, to move ourselves and other contiguous bodies, in which consist all the actions of our body: having also given a power to our minds, in several instances, to choose, amongst its ideas, which it will think on, and to pursue the inquiry of this or that subject with consideration and attention, to excite us to these actions of thinking and motion that we are capable of, — has been pleased to join to several thoughts, and several sensations a perception of delight. If this were wholly separated from all our outward sensations, and inward thoughts, we should have no reason to prefer one thought or action to another; negligence to attention, or motion to rest. And so we should neither stir our bodies, nor employ our minds, but let our thoughts (if I may so call it) run adrift, without any direction or design, and suffer the ideas of our minds, like unregarded shadows, to make their appearances there, as it happened, without attending to them. In which state man, however furnished with the faculties of understanding and will, would be a very idle, inactive creature, and pass his time only in a lazy, lethargic dream. It has therefore pleased our wise Creator to annex to several objects, and the ideas which we receive from them, as also to several of our thoughts, a concomitant pleasure, and that in several objects, to several degrees, that those faculties which he had endowed us with might not remain wholly idle and unemployed by us.

4. An end and use of pain.

Pain has the same efficacy and use to set us on work that pleasure has, we being as ready to employ our faculties to avoid that, as to pursue this: only this is worth our consideration, that pain is often produced by the same objects and ideas that produce pleasure in us. This their near conjunction, which makes us often feel pain in the sensations where we expected pleasure, gives us new occasion of admiring the wisdom and goodness of our Maker, who, designing the preservation of our being, has annexed pain to the application of many things to our bodies, to warn us of the harm that they will do, and as advices to withdraw from them. But he, not designing our preservation barely, but the preservation of every part and organ in its perfection, hath in many cases annexed pain to those very ideas which delight us. Thus heat, that is very agreeable to us in one degree, by a little greater increase of it proves no ordinary torment: and the most pleasant of all sensible objects, light itself, if there be too much of it, if increased beyond a due proportion to our eyes, causes a very painful sensation. Which is wisely and favourably so ordered by nature, that when any object does, by the vehemency of its operation, disorder the instruments of sensation, whose structures cannot but be very nice and delicate, we might, by the pain, be warned to withdraw, before the organ be quite put out of order, and so be unfitted for its proper function for the future. The consideration of those objects that produce it may well persuade us, that this is the end or use of pain. For, though great light be insufferable to our eyes, yet the highest degree of darkness does not at all disease them: because that, causing no disorderly motion in it, leaves that curious organ unarmed in its natural state. But yet excess of cold as well as heat pains us: because it is equally destructive to that temper which is necessary to the preservation of life, and the exercise of the several functions of the body, and which consists in a moderate degree of warmth; or, if you please, a motion of the insensible parts of our bodies, confined within certain bounds.

5. Another end.

Beyond all this, we may find another reason why God hath scattered up and down several degrees of pleasure and pain, in all the things that environ and affect us; and blended them together in almost all that our thoughts and senses have to do with; — that we, finding imperfection, dissatisfaction, and want of complete happiness, in all the enjoyments which the creatures can afford us, might be led to seek it in the enjoyment of Him with whom there is fullness of joy, and at whose right hand are pleasures for evermore.

6. Goodness of God in annexing pleasure and pain to our other ideas.

Though what I have here said may not, perhaps, make the ideas of pleasure and pain clearer to us than our own experience does, which is the only way that we are capable of having them; yet the consideration of the reason why they are annexed to so many other ideas, serving to give us due sentiments of the wisdom and goodness of the Sovereign Disposer of all things, may not be unsuitable to the main end of these inquiries: the knowledge and veneration of him being the chief end of all our thoughts, and the proper business of all understandings.

7. Ideas of Existence and Unity.

EXISTENCE and UNITY are two other ideas that are suggested to the understanding by every object without, and every idea within. When ideas are in our minds, we consider them as being actually there, as well as we consider things to be actually without us; — which is, that they exist, or have existence. And whatever we can consider as one thing, whether a real being or idea, suggests to the understanding the idea of unity.

8. Idea of Power.

POWER also is another of those simple ideas which we receive from sensation and reflection. For, observing in ourselves that we do and can think, and that we can at pleasure move several parts of our bodies which were at rest; the effects, also, that natural bodies are able to produce in one another, occurring every moment to our senses, — we both these ways get the idea of power.

9. Idea of Succession.

Besides these there is another idea, which, though suggested by our senses, yet is more constantly offered to us by what passes in our minds; and that is the idea of SUCCESSION. For if we look immediately into ourselves, and reflect on what is observable there, we shall find our ideas always, whilst we are awake, or have any thought, passing in train, one going and another coming, without intermission.

10. Simple Ideas the materials of all our Knowledge.

These, if they are not all, are at least (as I think) the most considerable of those simple ideas which the mind has, out of which is made all its other knowledge; all which it receives only by the two forementioned ways of sensation and reflection.

Nor let any one think these too narrow bounds for the capacious mind of man to expatiate in, which takes its flight further than the stars, and cannot be confined by the limits of the world; that extends its thoughts often even beyond the utmost expansion of Matter, and makes excursions into that incomprehensible Inane. I grant all this, but desire any one to assign any SIMPLE IDEA which is not received from one of those inlets before mentioned, or any COMPLEX IDEA not made out of those simple ones. Nor will it be so strange to think these few simple ideas sufficient to employ the quickest thought, or largest capacity; and to furnish the materials of all that various knowledge, and more various fancies and opinions of all mankind, if we consider how many words may be made out of the various composition of twenty-four letters; or if, going one step further, we will but reflect on the variety of combinations that may be made with barely one of the above-mentioned ideas, viz. number, whose stock is inexhaustible and truly infinite: and what a large and immense field doth extension alone afford the mathematicians?

CHAPTER VIII. SOME FURTHER CONSIDERATIONS CONCERNING OUR SIMPLE IDEAS OF SENSATION.

1. Positive Ideas from privative causes.

Concerning the simple ideas of Sensation; it is to be considered, — that whatsoever is so constituted in nature as to be able, by affecting our senses, to cause any perception in the mind, doth thereby produce in the understanding a simple idea; which, whatever be the external cause of it, when it comes to be taken notice of by our discerning faculty, it is by the mind looked on and considered there to be a real positive idea in the understanding, as much as any other whatsoever; though, perhaps, the cause of it be but a privation of the subject.

2. Ideas in the mind distinguished from that in things which gives rise to them.

Thus the ideas of heat and cold, light and darkness, white and black, motion and rest, are equally clear and positive ideas in the mind; though, perhaps, some of the causes which produce them are barely privations, in those subjects from whence our senses derive those ideas. These the understanding, in its view of them, considers all as distinct positive ideas, without taking notice of the causes that produce them: which is an inquiry not belonging to the idea, as it is in the understanding, but to the nature of the things existing without us. These are two very different things, and carefully to be distinguished; it being one thing to perceive and know the idea of white or black, and quite another to examine what kind of particles they must be, and how ranged in the superficies, to make any object appear white or black.

3. We may have the ideas when we are ignorant of their physical causes.

A painter or dyer who never inquired into their causes hath the ideas of white and black, and other colours, as clearly, perfectly, and distinctly in his understanding, and perhaps more distinctly, than the philosopher who hath busied himself in considering their natures, and thinks he knows how far either of them is, in its cause, positive or privative; and the idea of black is no less positive in his mind than that of white, however the cause of that colour in the external object may be only a privation.

4. Why a privative cause in nature may occasion a positive idea.

If it were the design of my present undertaking to inquire into the natural causes and manner of perception, I should offer this as a reason why a privative cause might, in some cases at least, produce a positive idea; viz. that all sensation being produced in us only by different degrees and modes of motion in our animal spirits, variously agitated by external objects, the abatement of any former motion must as necessarily produce a new sensation as the variation or increase of it; and so introduce a new idea, which depends only on a different motion of the animal spirits in that organ.

5. Negative names need not be meaningless.

But whether this be so or not I will not here determine, but appeal to every one’s own experience, whether the shadow of a man, though it consists of nothing but the absence of light (and the more the absence of light is, the more discernible is the shadow) does not, when a man looks on it, cause as clear and positive idea in his mind, as a man himself, though covered over with clear sunshine? And the picture of a shadow is a positive thing. Indeed, we have negative names, to which there be no positive ideas; but they consist wholly in negation of some certain ideas, as SILENCE, INVISIBLE; but these signify not any ideas in the mind but their absence.

6. Whether any ideas are due to causes really private.

And thus one may truly be said to see darkness. For, supposing a hole perfectly dark, from whence no light is reflected, it is certain one may see the figure of it, or it may be painted; or whether the ink I write with makes any other idea, is a question. The privative causes I have here assigned of positive ideas are according to the common opinion; but, in truth, it will be hard to determine whether there be really any ideas from a privative cause, till it be determined, whether rest be any more a privation than motion.

7. Ideas in the Mind, Qualities in Bodies.

To discover the nature of our IDEAS the better, and to, discourse of them intelligibly, it will be convenient to distinguish them AS THEY ARE IDEAS OR PERCEPTIONS IN OUR MINDS; and AS THEY ARE MODIFICATIONS OF MATTER IN THE BODIES THAT CAUSE SUCH PERCEPTIONS IN US: that so we may not think (as perhaps usually is done) that they are exactly the images and resemblances of something inherent in the subject; most of those of sensation being in the mind no more the likeness of something existing without us, than the names that stand for them are the likeness of our ideas, which yet upon hearing they are apt to excite in us.

8. Our Ideas and the Qualities of Bodies.

Whatsoever the mind perceives IN ITSELF, or is the immediate object of perception, thought, or understanding, that I call IDEA; and the power to produce any idea in our mind, I call QUALITY of the subject wherein that power is. Thus a snowball having the power to produce in us the ideas of white, cold, and round, — the power to produce those ideas in us, as they are in the snowball, I call qualities; and as they are sensations or perceptions in our understandings, I call them ideas; which IDEAS, if I speak of sometimes as in the things themselves, I would be understood to mean those qualities in the objects which produce them in us.

9. Primary Qualities of Bodies.

Concerning these qualities, we, I think, observe these primary ones in bodies that produce simple ideas in us, viz. SOLIDITY, EXTENSION, MOTION or REST, NUBMER or FIGURE. These, which I call ORIGINAL or PRIMARY qualities of body, are wholly inseperable from it; and such as in all the alterations and changes it suffers, all the force can be used upon it, it constantly keeps; and such as sense constantly finds in every particle of matter which has bulk enough to be perceived; and the mind finds inseparable from every particle of matter, though less than to make itself singly be perceived by our senses: v.g. Take a grain of wheat, divide it into two parts; each part has still solidity, extension, figure, and mobility: divide it again, and it retains still the same qualities; and so divide it on, till the parts become insensible; they must retain still each of them all those qualities. For division (which is all that a mill, or pestle, or any other body, does upon another, in reducing it to insensible parts) can never take away either solidity, extension, figure, or mobility from any body, but only makes two or more distinct separate masses of matter, of that which was but one before; all which distinct masses, reckoned as so many distinct bodies, after division, make a certain number.

10. [not in early editions]

11. How Bodies produce Ideas in us.

The next thing to be considered is, how bodies operate one upon another; and that is manifestly by impulse, and nothing else. It being impossible to conceive that body should operate on WHAT IT DOES NOT TOUCH (which is all one as to imagine it can operate where it is not), or when it does touch, operate any other way than by motion.

12. By motions, external, and in our organism.

If then external objects be not united to our minds when they produce ideas therein; and yet we perceive these ORIGINAL qualities in such of them as singly fall under our senses, it is evident that some motion must be thence continued by our nerves, or animal spirits, by some parts of our bodies, to the brains or the seat of sensation, there to produce in our minds the particular ideas we have of them. And since the extension, figure, number, and motion of bodies of an observable bigness, maybe perceived at a distance by the sight, it is evident some singly imperceptible bodies must come from them; to the eyes, and thereby convey to the brain some motion; which produces these ideas which we have of them in us.

13. How secondary Qualities produce their ideas.

After the same manner that the ideas of these original qualities are produced in us, we may conceive that the ideas of SECONDARY qualities are also produced, viz. by the operation of insensible particles on our senses. For, it being manifest that there are bodies and good store of bodies, each whereof are so small, that we cannot by any of our senses discover either their bulk, figure, or motion, — as is evident in the particles of the air and water, and others extremely smaller than those; perhaps as much smaller than the particles of air and water, as the particles of air and water are smaller than peas or hail-stones; — let us suppose at present that, the different motions and figures, bulk and number, of such particles, affecting the several organs of our senses, produce: in us those different sensations which we have from the colours and smells of bodies; v.g. that a violet, by the impulse of such insensible particles of matter, of peculiar figures and bulks, and in different degrees and modifications of their motions, causes the ideas of the blue colour, and sweet scent of that flower to be produced in our minds. It being no more impossible to conceive that God should annex such ideas to such motions, with which they have no similitude, than that he should annex the idea of pain to the motion of a piece of steel dividing our flesh, with which that idea hath no resemblance.

14. They depend on the primary Qualities.

What I have said concerning colours and smells may be understood also of tastes and sounds, and other the like sensible qualities; which, whatever reality we by mistake attribute to them, are in truth nothing in the objects themselves, but powers to produce various sensations in us; and depend on those primary qualities, viz. bulk, figure, texture, and motion of parts and therefore I call them SECONDARY QUALITIES.

15. Ideas of primary Qualities are Resemblances; of secondary, not.

From whence I think it easy to draw this observation, — that the ideas of primary qualities of bodies are resemblances of them, and their patterns do really exist in the bodies themselves, but the ideas produced in us by these secondary qualities have no resemblance of them at all. There is nothing like our ideas, existing in the bodies themselves. They are, in the bodies we denominate from them, only a power to produce those sensations in us: and what is sweet, blue, or warm in idea, is but the certain bulk, figure, and motion of the insensible parts, in the bodies themselves, which we call so.

16. Examples.

Flame is denominated hot and light; snow, white and cold; and manna, white and sweet, from the ideas they produce in us. Which qualities are commonly thought to be the same in those bodies that those ideas are in us, the one the perfect resemblance of the other, as they are in a mirror, and it would by most men be judged very extravagant if one should say otherwise. And yet he that will consider that the same fire that, at one distance produces in us the sensation of warmth, does, at a nearer approach, produce in us the far different sensation of pain, ought to bethink himself what reason he has to say — that this idea of warmth, which was produced in him by the fire, is ACTUALLY IN THE FIRE; and his idea of pain, which the same fire produced in him the same way, is NOT in the fire. Why are whiteness and coldness in snow, and pain not, when it produces the one and the other idea in us; and can do neither, but by the bulk, figure, number, and motion of its solid parts?

17. The ideas of the Primary alone really exist.

The particular bulk, number, figure, and motion of the parts of fire or snow are really in them, — whether any one’s senses perceive them or no: and therefore they may be called REAL qualities, because they really exist in those bodies. But light, heat, whiteness, or coldness, are no more really in them than sickness or pain is in manna. Take away the sensation of them; let not the eyes see light or colours, nor the can hear sounds; let the palate not taste, nor the nose smell, and all colours, tastes, odours, and sounds, AS THEY ARE SUCH PARTICULAR IDEAS, vanish and cease, and are reduced to their causes, i.e. bulk, figure, and motion of parts.

18. The secondary exist in things only as modes of the primary.

A piece of manna of a sensible bulk is able to produce in us the idea of a round or square figure; and by being removed from one place to another, the idea of motion. This idea of motion represents it as it really is in manna moving: a circle or square are the same, whether in idea or existence, in the mind or in the manna. And this, both motion and as figure, are really in the manna, whether we take notice of primary, them or no: this everybody is ready to agree to. Besides, manna, by the bulk, figure, texture, and motion of its parts, has a power to produce the sensations of sickness, and sometimes of acute pains or gripings in us. That these ideas of sickness and pain are NOT in the manna, but effects of its operations on us, and are nowhere when we feel them not; this also every one readily agrees to. And yet men are hardly to be brought to think that sweetness and whiteness are not really in manna; which are but the effects of the operations of manna, by the motion, size, and figure of its particles, on the eyes and palate: as the pain and sickness caused by manna are confessedly nothing but the effects of its operations on the stomach and guts, by the size, motion, and figure of its insensible parts, (for by nothing else can a body operate, as has been proved): as if it could not operate on the eyes and palate, and thereby produce in the mind particular distinct ideas, which in itself it has not, as well as we allow it can operate on the guts and stomach, and thereby produce distinct ideas, which in itself it has not. These ideas, being all effects of the operations of manna on several parts of our bodies, by the size, figure, number, and motion of its parts; — why those produced by the eyes and palate should rather be thought to be really in the manna, than those produced by the stomach and guts; or why the pain and sickness, ideas that are the effect of manna, should be thought to be nowhere when they are not felt; and yet the sweetness and whiteness, effects of the same manna on other parts of the body, by ways equally as unknown, should be thought to exist in the manna, when they are not seen or tasted, would need some reason to explain.

19. Examples.

Let us consider the red and white colours in porphyry. Hinder light from striking on it, and its colours vanish; it no longer produces any such ideas in us: upon the return of light it produces these appearances on us again. Can any one think any real alterations are made in the porphyry by the presence or absence of light; and that those ideas of whiteness and redness are really in porphryry in the light, when it is plain IT HAS NO COLOUR IN THE DARK? It has, indeed, such a configuration of particles, both night and day, as are apt, by the rays of light rebounding from some parts of that hard stone, to produce in us the idea of redness, and from others the idea of whiteness; but whiteness or redness are not in it at any time, but such a texture that hath the power to produce such a sensation in us.

20. Pound an almond, and the clear white colour will be altered into a dirty one, and the sweet taste into an oily one. What real alteration can the beating of the pestle make in an body, but an alteration of the texture of it?

21. Explains how water felt as cold by one hand may be warm to the other.

Ideas being thus distinguished and understood, we may be able to give an account how the same water, at the same time, may produce the idea of cold by one hand and of heat by the other: whereas it is impossible that the same water, if those ideas were really in it, should at the same time be both hot and cold. For, if we imagine WARMTH, as it is in our hands, to be nothing but a certain sort and degree of motion in the minute particles of our nerves or animal spirits, we may understand how it is possible that the same water may, at the same time, produce the sensations of heat in one hand and cold in the other; which yet FIGURE never does, that never producing the idea of a square by one hand which has produced the idea of a globe by another. But if the sensation of heat and cold be nothing but the increase or diminution of the motion of the minute parts of our bodies, caused by the corpuscles of any other body, it is easy to be understood, that if that motion be greater in one hand than in the other; if a body be applied to the two hands, which has in its minute particles a greater motion than in those of one of the hands, and a less than in those of the other, it will increase the motion of the one hand and lessen it in the other; and so cause the different sensations of heat and cold that depend thereon.

22. An excursion into natural philosophy.

I have in what just goes before been engaged in physical inquiries a little further than perhaps I intended. But, it being necessary to make the nature of sensation a little understood; and to make the difference between the QUALITIES in bodies, and the IDEAS produced by them in the mind, to be distinctly conceived, without which it were impossible to discourse intelligibly of them; — I hope I shall be pardoned this little excursion into natural philosophy; it being necessary in our present inquiry to distinguish the PRIMARY and REAL qualities of bodies, which are always in them (viz. solidity, extension, figure, number, and motion, or rest, and are sometimes perceived by us, viz. when the bodies they are in are big enough singly to be discerned), from those SECONDARY and IMPUTED qualities, which are but the powers of several combinations of those primary ones, when they operate without being distinctly discerned; — whereby we may also come to know what ideas are, and what are not, resemblances of something really existing in the bodies we denominate from them.

23. Three Sorts of Qualities on Bodies.

The qualities, then, that are in bodies, rightly considered are of three sorts: —

FIRST, The bulk, figure, number, situation, and motion or rest of their solid parts. Those are in them, whether we perceive them or not; and when they are of that size that we can discover them, we have by these an idea of the thing as it is in itself; as is plain in artificial things. These I call PRIMARY QUALITIES.

SECONDLY, The power that is in any body, by reason of its insensible primary qualities, to operate after a peculiar manner on any of our senses, and thereby produce in US the different ideas of several colours, sounds, smells, tastes, &c. These are usually called SENSIBLE QUALITIES.

THIRDLY, The power that is in any body, by reason of the particular constitution of its primary qualities, to make such a change in the bulk, figure, texture, and motion of ANOTHER BODY, as to make it operate on our senses differently from what it did before. Thus the sun has a power to make wax white, and fire to make lead fluid.

The first of these, as has been said, I think may be properly called real, original, or primary qualities; because they are in the things themselves, whether they are perceived or not: and upon their different modifications it is that the secondary qualities depend.

The other two are only powers to act differently upon other things: which powers result from the different modifications of those primary qualities.

24. The first are Resemblances; the second thought to be Resemblances, but are not, the third neither are nor are thought so.

But, though the two latter sorts of qualities are powers barely, and nothing but powers, relating to several other bodies, and resulting from the different modifications of the original qualities, yet they are generally otherwise thought of. For the SECOND sort, viz. the powers to produce several ideas in us, by our senses, are looked upon as real qualities in the things thus affecting us: but the THIRD sort are called and esteemed barely powers, v.g. The idea of heat or light, which we receive by our eyes, or touch, from the sun, are commonly thought real qualities existing in the sun, and something more than mere powers in it. But when we consider the sun in reference to wax, which it melts or blanches, we look on the whiteness and softness produced in the wax, not as qualities in the sun, but effects produced by powers in it. Whereas, if rightly considered, these qualities of light and warmth, which are perceptions in me when I am warmed or enlightened by the sun, are no otherwise in the sun, than the changes made in the wax, when it is blanched or melted, are in the sun. They are all of them equally POWERS IN THE SUN, DEPENDING ON ITS PRIMARY QUALITIES; whereby it is able, in the one case, so to alter the bulk, figure, texture, or motion of some of the insensible parts of my eyes or hands, as thereby to produce in me the idea of light or heat; and in the other, it is able so to alter the bulk, figure, texture, or motion of the insensible parts of the wax, as to make them fit to produce in me the distinct ideas of white and fluid.

25. Why the secondary are ordinarily taken for real Qualities and not for bare Powers.

The reason why the one are ordinarily taken for real qualities, and the other only for bare powers, seems to be because the ideas we have of distinct colours, sounds, &c. containing nothing at all in them of bulk, figure, or motion we are not apt to think them the effects of these primary qualities; which appear not, to our senses, to operate in their production, and with which they have not any apparent congruity or conceivable connexion. Hence it is that we are so forward as to imagine, that those ideas are the resemblances of something really existing in the objects themselves since sensation discovers nothing of bulk, figure, or motion of parts in their production; nor can reason show how bodies BY THEIR BULK, FIGURE, AND MOTION, should produce in the mind the ideas of blue or yellow, &c. But, in the other case in the operations of bodies changing the qualities one of another, we plainly discover that the quality produced hath commonly no resemblance with anything in the thing producing it; wherefore we look on it as a bare effect of power. For, through receiving the idea of heat or light from the sun, we are apt to think IT is a perception and resemblance of such a quality in the sun; yet when we see wax, or a fair face, receive change of colour from the sun, we cannot imagine THAT to be the reception or resemblance of anything in the sun, because we find not those different colours in the sun itself. For, our senses being able to observe a likeness or unlikeness of sensible qualities in two different external objects, we forwardly enough conclude the production of any sensible quality in any subject to be an effect of bare power, and not the communication of any quality which was really in the efficient, when we find no such sensible quality in the thing that produced it. But our senses, not being able to discover any unlikeness between the idea produced in us, and the quality of the object producing it, we are apt to imagine that our ideas are resemblances of something in the objects, and not the effects of certain powers placed in the modification of their primary qualities, with which primary qualities the ideas produced in us have no resemblance.

26. Secondary Qualities twofold; first, immediately perceivable; secondly, mediately perceivable.

To conclude. Beside those before-mentioned primary qualities in bodies, viz. bulk, figure, extension, number, and motion of their solid parts; all the rest, whereby we take notice of bodies, and distinguish them one from another, are nothing else but several powers in them, depending on those primary qualities; whereby they are fitted, either by immediately operating on our bodies to produce several different ideas in us; or else, by operating on other bodies, so to change their primary qualities as to render them capable of producing ideas in us different from what before they did. The former of these, I think, may be called secondary qualities IMMEDIATELY PERCEIVABLE: the latter, secondary qualities, MEDIATELY PERCEIVABLE.

CHAPTER IX. OF PERCEPTION.

1. Perception the first simple Idea of Reflection.

PERCEPTION, as it is the first faculty of the mind exercised about our ideas; so it is the first and simplest idea we have from reflection, and is by some called thinking in general. Though thinking, in the propriety of the English tongue, signifies that sort of operation in the mind about its ideas, wherein the mind is active; where it, with some degree of voluntary attention, considers anything. For in bare naked perception, the mind is, for the most part, only passive; and what it perceives, it cannot avoid perceiving.

2. Reflection alone can give us the idea of what perception is.

What perception is, every one will know better by reflecting on what he does himself, when he sees, hears, feels, &c., or thinks, than by any discourse of mine. Whoever reflects on what passes in his own mind cannot miss it. And if he does not reflect, all the words in the world cannot make him have any notion of it.

3. Arises in sensation only when the mind notices the organic impression.

This is certain, that whatever alterations are made in the body, if they reach not the mind; whatever impressions are made on the outward parts, if they are not taken notice of within, there is no perception. Fire may burn our bodies with no other effect than it does a billet, unless the motion be continued to the brain, and there the sense of heat, or idea of pain, be produced in the mind; wherein consists actual perception.

4. Impulse on the organ insufficient.

How often may a man observe in himself, that whilst his mind is intently employed in the contemplation of some objects, and curiously surveying some ideas that are there, it takes no notice of impressions of sounding bodies made upon the organ of hearing, with the same alteration that uses to be for the producing the idea of sound? A sufficient impulse there may be on the organ; but it not reaching the observation of the mind, there follows no perception: and though the motion that uses to produce the idea of sound be made in the ear, yet no sound is heard. Want of sensation, in this case, is not through any defect in the organ, or that the man’s ears are less affected than at other times when he does hear but that which uses to produce the idea, though conveyed in by the usual organ, not being taken notice of in the understanding, and so imprinting no idea in the mind, there follows no sensation. So that wherever there is sense of perception, there some idea is actually produced, and present in the understanding.

5. Children, though they may have Ideas in the Womb, have none innate.

Therefore I doubt not but children, by the exercise of their senses about objects that affect them in the womb receive some few ideas before they are born, as the unavoidable effects, either of the bodies that environ them, or else of those wants or diseases they suffer; amongst which (if one may conjecture concerning things not very capable of examination) I think the ideas of hunger and warmth are two: which probably are some of the first that children have, and which they scarce ever part with again.

6. The effects of Sensation in the womb.

But though it be reasonable to imagine that children receive some ideas before they come into the world, yet these simple ideas are far from those INNATE PRINCIPLES which some contend for, and we, above, have rejected. These here mentioned, being the effects of sensation, are only from some affections of the body, which happen to them there, and so depend on something exterior to the mind; no otherwise differing in their manner of production from other ideas derived from sense, but only in the precedency of time. Whereas those innate principles are supposed to be quite of another nature; not coming into the mind by any accidental alterations in, or operations on the body; but, as it were, original characters impressed upon it, in the very first moment of its being and constitution.

7. Which Ideas appear first is not evident, nor important.

As there are some ideas which we may reasonably suppose may be introduced into the minds of children in the womb, subservient to the necessities of their life and being there: so, after they are born, those ideas are the earliest imprinted which happen to be the sensible qualities which first occur to them; amongst which light is not the least considerable, nor of the weakest efficacy. And how covetous the mind is to be furnished with all such ideas as have no pain accompanying them, may be a little guessed by what is observable in children new-born; who always turn their eyes to that part from whence the light comes, lay them how you please. But the ideas that are most familiar at first, being various according to the divers circumstances of children’s first entertainment in the world, the order wherein the several ideas come at first into the mind is very various, and uncertain also; neither is it much material to know it.

8. Sensations often changed by the Judgment.

We are further to consider concerning perception, that the ideas we receive by sensation are often, in grown people, altered by the judgment, without our taking notice of it. When we set before our eyes a round globe of any uniform colour, v.g. gold, alabaster, or jet, it is certain that the idea thereby imprinted on our mind is of a flat circle, variously shadowed, with several degrees of light and brightness coming to our eyes. But we having, by use, been accustomed to perceive what kind of appearance convex bodies are wont to make in us; what alterations are made in the reflections of light by the difference of the sensible figures of bodies; — the judgment presently, by an habitual custom, alters the appearances into their causes. So that from that which is truly variety of shadow or colour, collecting the figure, it makes it pass for a mark of figure, and frames to itself the perception of a convex figure and an uniform colour; when the idea we receive from thence is only a plane variously coloured, as is evident in painting. To which purpose I shall here insert a problem of that very ingenious and studious promoter of real knowledge, the learned and worthy Mr. Molineux, which he was pleased to send me in a letter some months since; and it is this:— “Suppose a man BORN blind, and now adult, and taught by his TOUCH to distinguish between a cube and a sphere of the same metal, and nighly of the same bigness, so as to tell, when he felt one and the other, which is the cube, which the sphere. Suppose then the cube and sphere placed on a table, and the blind man be made to see: quaere, whether BY HIS SIGHT, BEFORE HE TOUCHED THEM, he could now distinguish and tell which is the globe, which the cube?” To which the acute and judicious proposer answers, “Not. For, though he has obtained the experience of how a globe, how a cube affects his touch, yet he has not yet obtained the experience, that what affects his touch so or so, must affect his sight so or so; or that a protuberant angle in the cube, that pressed his hand unequally, shall appear to his eye as it does in the cube.” — I agree with this thinking gentleman, whom I am proud to call my friend, in his answer to this problem; and am of opinion that the blind man, at first sight, would not be able with certainty to say which was the globe, which the cube, whilst he only saw them; though he could unerringly name them by his touch, and certainly distinguish them by the difference of their figures felt. This I have set down, and leave with my reader, as an occasion for him to consider how much he may be beholden to experience, improvement, and acquired notions, where he thinks he had not the least use of, or help from them. And the rather, because this observing gentleman further adds, that “having, upon the occasion of my book, proposed this to divers very ingenious men, he hardly ever met with one that at first gave the answer to it which he thinks true, till by hearing his reasons they were convinced.”

9. This judgement apt to be mistaken for direct perception.

But this is not, I think, usual in any of our ideas, but those received by sight. Because sight, the most comprehensive of all our senses, conveying to our minds the ideas of light and colours, which are peculiar only to that sense; and also the far different ideas of space, figure, and motion, the several varieties whereof change the appearances of its proper object, viz. light and colours; we bring ourselves by use to judge of the one by the other. This, in many cases by a settled habit, — in things whereof we have frequent experience is performed so constantly and so quick, that we take that for the perception of our sensation which is an idea formed by our judgment; so that one, viz. that of sensation, serves only to excite the other, and is scarce taken notice of itself; — as a man who reads or hears with attention and understanding, takes little notice of the characters or sounds, but of the ideas that are excited in him by them.

10. How, by Habit, ideas of Sensation are unconsciously changed into ideas of Judgment.

Nor need we wonder that this is done with so little notice, if we consider how quick the actions of the mind are performed. For, as itself is thought to take up no space to have no extension; so its actions seem to require no time but many of them seem to be crowded into an instant. I speak this in comparison to the actions of the body. Any one may easily observe this in his own thoughts, who will take the pains to reflect on them. How, as it were in an instant, do our minds, with one glance, see all the parts of a demonstration, which may very well be called a long one, if we consider the time it will require to put it into words, and step by step show it another? Secondly, we shall not be so much surprised that this is done in us with so little notice, if we consider how the facility which we get of doing things, by a custom of doing, makes them often pass in us without our notice. Habits, especially such as are begun very early, come at last to produce actions in us, which often escape our observation. How frequently do we, in a day, cover our eyes with our eyelids, without perceiving that we are at all in the dark! Men that, by custom, have got the use of a by-word, do almost in every sentence pronounce sounds which, though taken notice of by others, they themselves neither hear nor observe. And therefore it is not so strange, that our mind should often change the idea of its sensation into that of its judgment, and make one serve only to excite the other, without our taking notice of it.

11. Perception puts the difference between Animals and Vegetables.

This faculty of perception seems to me to be, that which puts the distinction betwixt the animal kingdom and the inferior parts of nature. For, however vegetables have, many of them, some degrees of motion, and upon the different application of other bodies to them, do very briskly alter their figures and motions, and so have obtained the name of sensitive plants, from a motion which has some resemblance to that which in animals follows upon sensation: yet I suppose it is all bare MECHANISM; and no otherwise produced than the turning of a wild oat-beard, by the insinuation of the particles of moisture, or the shortening of a rope, by the affusion of water. All which is done without any sensation in the subject, or the having or receiving any ideas.

12. Perception in all animals.

Perception, I believe, is, in some degree, in all sorts of animals; though in some possibly the avenues provided by nature for the reception of sensations are so few, and the perception they are received with so obscure and dull, that it comes extremely short of the quickness and variety of sensation which is in other animals; but yet it is sufficient for, and wisely adapted to, the state and condition of that sort of animals who are thus made. So that the wisdom and goodness of the Maker plainly appear in all the parts of this stupendous fabric, and all the several degrees and ranks of creatures in it.

13. According to their condition.

We may, I think, from the make of an oyster or cockle, reasonably conclude that it has not so many, nor so quick senses as a man, or several other animals; nor if it had, would it, in that state and incapacity of transferring itself from one place to another, be bettered by them. What good would sight and hearing do to a creature that cannot move itself to or from the objects wherein at a distance it perceives good or evil? And would not quickness of sensation be an inconvenience to an animal that must lie still where chance has once placed it, and there receive the afflux of colder or warmer, clean or foul water, as it happens to come to it?

14. Decay of perception in old age.

But yet I cannot but think there is some small dull perception, whereby they are distinguished from perfect insensibility. And that this may be so, we have plain instances, even in mankind itself. Take one in whom decrepit old age has blotted out the memory of his past knowledge, and clearly wiped out the ideas his mind was formerly stored with, and has, by destroying his sight, hearing, and smell quite, and his taste to a great degree, stopped up almost all the passages for new ones to enter; or if there be some of the inlets yet half open, the impressions made are scarcely perceived, or not at all retained. How far such an one (notwithstanding all that is boasted of innate principles) is in his knowledge and intellectual faculties above the condition of a cockle or an oyster, I leave to be considered. And if a man had passed sixty years in such a state, as it is possible he might, as well as three days, I wonder what difference there would be, in any intellectual perfections, between him and the lowest degree of animals.

15. Perception the Inlet of all materials of Knowledge.

Perception then being the FIRST step and degree towards knowledge, and the inlet of all the materials of it; the fewer senses any man, as well as any other creature, hath; and the fewer and duller the impressions are that are made by them; and the duller the faculties are that are employed about them, — the more remote are they from that knowledge which is to be found in some men. But this being in great variety of degrees (as may be perceived amongst men) cannot certainly be discovered in the several species of animals, much less in their particular individuals. It suffices me only to have remarked here, — that perception is the first operation of all our intellectual faculties, and the inlet of all knowledge in our minds. And I am apt too to imagine, that it is perception, in the lowest degree of it, which puts the boundaries between animals and the inferior ranks of creatures. But this I mention only as my conjecture by the by; it being indifferent to the matter in hand which way the learned shall determine of it.

CHAPTER X. OF RETENTION.

1. Contemplation

The next faculty of the mind, whereby it makes a further progress towards knowledge, is that which I call RETENTION; or the keeping of those simple ideas which from sensation or reflection it hath received. This is done two ways.

First, by keeping the idea which is brought into it, for some time actually in view, which is called CONTEMPLATION.

2. Memory.

The other way of retention is, the power to revive again in our minds those ideas which, after imprinting, have disappeared, or have been as it were laid aside out of sight. And thus we do, when we conceive heat or light, yellow or sweet, — the object being removed. This is MEMORY, which is as it were the storehouse of our ideas. For, the narrow mind of man not being capable of having many ideas under view and consideration at once, it was necessary to have a repository, to lay up those ideas which, at another time, it might have use of. But, our IDEAS being nothing but actual perceptions in the mind, which cease to be anything; when there is no perception of them; this laying up of our ideas in the repository of the memory signifies no more but this, — that the mind has a power in many cases to revive perceptions which it has once had, with this additional perception annexed to them, that IT HAS HAD THEM BEFORE. And in this sense it is that our ideas are said to be in our memories, when indeed they are actually nowhere; — but only there is an ability in the mind when it will to revive them again, and as it were paint them anew on itself, though some with more, some with less difficulty; some more lively, and others more obscurely. And thus it is, by the assistance of this faculty, that we are said to have all those ideas in our understandings which, though we do not actually contemplate yet we CAN bring in sight, and make appear again, and be the objects of our thoughts, without the help of those sensible qualities which first imprinted them there.

3. Attention, Repetition, Pleasure and Pain, fix Ideas.

Attention and repetition help much to the fixing any ideas in the memory. But those which naturally at first make the deepest and most lasting impressions, are those which are accompanied with pleasure or pain. The great business of the senses being, to make us take notice of what hurts or advantages the body, it is wisely ordered by nature, as has been shown, that pain should accompany the reception of several ideas; which, supplying the place of consideration and reasoning in children, and acting quicker than consideration in grown men, makes both the old and young avoid painful objects with that haste which is necessary for their preservation; and in both settles in the memory a caution for the future.

4. Ideas fade in the Memory.

Concerning the several degrees of lasting, wherewith ideas are imprinted on the memory, we may observe, — that some of them have been produced in the understanding by an object affecting the senses once only, and no more than once; others, that have more than once offered themselves to the senses, have yet been little taken notice of: the mind, either heedless, as in children, or otherwise employed, as in men intent only on one thing; not setting the stamp deep into itself. And in some, where they are set on with care and repeated impressions, either through the temper of the body, or some other fault, the memory is very weak. In all these cases, ideas in the mind quickly fade, and often vanish quite out of the understanding, leaving no more footsteps or remaining characters of themselves than shadows do flying over fields of corn, and the mind is as void of them as if they had never been there.

5. Causes of oblivion.

Thus many of those ideas which were produced in the minds of children, in the beginning of their sensation, (some of which perhaps, as of some pleasures and pains, were before they were born, and others in their infancy,) if in the future course of their lives they are not repeated again, are quite lost, without the least glimpse remaining of them. This may be observed in those who by some mischance have lost their sight when they were very young; in whom the ideas of colours having been but slightly taken notice of, and ceasing to be repeated, do quite wear out; so that some years after, there is no more notion nor memory of colours left in their minds, than in those of people born blind. The memory of some men, it is true, is very tenacious, even to a miracle. But yet there seems to be a constant decay of all our ideas, even of those which are struck deepest, and in minds the most retentive; so that if they be not sometimes renewed, by repeated exercise of the senses, or reflection on those kinds of objects which at first occasioned them, the print wears out, and at last there remains nothing to be seen. Thus the ideas, as well as children, of our youth, often die before us: and our minds represent to us those tombs to which we are approaching; where, though the brass and marble remain, yet the inscriptions are effaced by time, and the imagery moulders away. The pictures drawn in our minds are laid in fading colours; and if not sometimes refreshed, vanish and disappear. How much the constitution of our bodies are concerned in this; and whether the temper of the brain makes this difference, that in some it retains the characters drawn on it like marble, in others like freestone, and in others little better than sand, I shall here inquire; though it may seem probable that the constitution of the body does sometimes influence the memory, since we oftentimes find a disease quite strip the mind of all its ideas, and the flames of a fever in a few days calcine all those images to dust and confusion, which seemed to be as lasting as if graved in marble.

6. Constantly repeated Ideas can scarce be lost.

But concerning the ideas themselves, it is easy to remark, that those that are oftenest refreshed (amongst which are those that are conveyed into the mind by more ways than one) by a frequent return of the objects or actions that produce them, fix themselves best in the memory, and remain clearest and longest there; and therefore those which are of the original qualities of bodies, viz. solidity, extension, figure, motion, and rest; and those that almost constantly affect our bodies, as heat and cold; and those which are the affections of all kinds of beings, as existence, duration, and number, which almost every object that affects our senses, every thought which employs our minds, bring along with them; — these, I say, and the like ideas, are seldom quite lost, whilst the mind retains any ideas at all.

7. In Remembering, the Mind is often active.

In this secondary perception, as I may so call it, or viewing again the ideas that are lodged in the memory, the mind is oftentimes more than barely passive; the appearance of those dormant pictures depending sometimes on the WILL. The mind very often sets itself on work in search of some hidden idea, and turns as it were the eye of the soul upon it; though sometimes too they start up in our minds of their own accord, and offer themselves to the understanding; and very often are roused and tumbled out of their dark cells into open daylight, by turbulent and tempestuous passions; our affections bringing ideas to our memory, which had otherwise lain quiet and unregarded. This further is to be observed, concerning ideas lodged in the memory, and upon occasion revived by the mind, that they are not only (as the word REVIVE imports) none of them new ones, but also that the mind takes notice of them as of a former impression, and renews its acquaintance with them, as with ideas it had known before. So that though ideas formerly imprinted are not all constantly in view, yet in remembrance they are constantly known to be such as have been formerly imprinted; i.e. in view, and taken notice of before, by the understanding.

8. Two defects in the Memory, Oblivion and Slowness.

Memory, in an intellectual creature, is necessary in the next degree to perception. It is of so great moment, that, where it is wanting, all the rest of our faculties are in a great measure useless. And we in our thoughts, reasonings, and knowledge, could not proceed beyond present objects, were it not for the assistance of our memories; wherein there may be two defects: —

First, That it loses the idea quite, and so far it produces perfect ignorance. For, since we can know nothing further than we have the idea of it, when that is gone, we are in perfect ignorance.

Secondly, That it moves slowly, and retrieves not the ideas that it has, and are laid up in store, quick enough to serve the mind upon occasion. This, if it be to a great degree, is stupidity; and he who, through this default in his memory, has not the ideas that are really preserved there, ready at hand when need and occasion calls for them, were almost as good be without them quite, since they serve him to little purpose. The dull man, who loses the opportunity, whilst he is seeking in his mind for those ideas that should serve his turn, is not much more happy in his knowledge than one that is perfectly ignorant. It is the business therefore of the memory to furnish to the mind those dormant ideas which it has present occasion for; in the having them ready at hand on all occasions, consists that which we call invention, fancy, and quickness of parts.

9. A defect which belongs to the memory of Man, as finite.

These are defects we may observe in the memory of one man compared with another. There is another defect which we may conceive to be in the memory of man in general; — compared with some superior created intellectual beings, which in this faculty may so far excel man, that they may have CONSTANTLY in view the whole scene of all their former actions, wherein no one of the thoughts they have ever had may slip out of their sight. The omniscience of God, who knows all things, past, present, and to come, and to whom the thoughts of men’s hearts always lie open, may satisfy us of the possibility of this. For who can doubt but God may communicate to those glorious spirits, his immediate attendants, any of his perfections; in what proportions he pleases, as far as created finite beings can be capable? It is reported of that prodigy of parts, Monsieur Pascal, that till the decay of his health had impaired his memory, he forgot nothing of what he had done, read, or thought, in any part of his rational age. This is a privilege so little known to most men, that it seems almost incredible to those who, after the ordinary way, measure all others by themselves; but yet, when considered, may help us to enlarge our thoughts towards greater perfections of it, in superior ranks of spirits. For this of Monsieur Pascal was still with the narrowness that human minds are confined to here, — of having great variety of ideas only by succession, not all at once. Whereas the several degrees of angels may probably have larger views; and some of them be endowed with capacities able to retain together, and constantly set before them, as in one picture, all their past knowledge at once. This, we may conceive, would be no small advantage to the knowledge of a thinking man, — if all his past thoughts and reasonings could be ALWAYS present to him. And therefore we may suppose it one of those ways, wherein the knowledge of separate spirits may exceedingly surpass ours.

10. Brutes have Memory.

This faculty of laying up and retaining the ideas that are brought into the mind, several other animals seem to have to a great degree, as well as man. For, to pass by other instances, birds learning of tunes, and the endeavours one may observe in them to hit the notes right, put it past doubt with me, that they have perception, and retain ideas in their memories, and use them for patterns. For it seems to me impossible that they should endeavour to conform their voices to notes (as it is plain they do) of which they had no ideas. For, though I should grant sound may mechanically cause a certain motion of the animal spirits in the brains of those birds, whilst the tune is actually playing; and that motion may be continued on to the muscles of the wings, and so the bird mechanically be driven away by certain noises, because this may tend to the bird’s preservation; yet that can never be supposed a reason why it should cause mechanically — either whilst the tune is playing, much less after it has ceased — such a motion of the organs in the bird’s voice as should conform it to the notes of a foreign sound, which imitation can be of no use to the bird’s preservation. But, which is more, it cannot with any appearance of reason be supposed (much less proved) that birds, without sense and memory, can approach their notes nearer and nearer by degrees to a tune played yesterday; which if they have no idea of in their memory, is now nowhere, nor can be a pattern for them to imitate, or which any repeated essays can bring them nearer to. Since there is no reason why the sound of a pipe should leave traces in their brains, which, not at first, but by their after-endeavours, should produce the like sounds; and why the sounds they make themselves, should not make traces which they should follow, as well as those of the pipe, is impossible to conceive.

CHAPTER XI. OF DISCERNING, AND OTHER OPERATIONS OF THE MIND.

1. No Knowledge without Discernment.

Another faculty we may take notice of in our minds is that of DISCERNING and DISTINGUISHING between the several ideas it has. It is not enough to have a confused perception of something in general. Unless the mind had a distinct perception of different objects and their qualities, it would be capable of very little knowledge, though the bodies that affect us were as busy about us as they are now, and the; mind were continually employed in thinking. On this faculty of distinguishing one thing from another depends the evidence and certainty of several, even very general, propositions, which have passed for innate truths; — because men, overlooking the true cause why those propositions find universal assent, impute it wholly to native uniform impressions; whereas it in truth depends upon this clear discerning faculty of the mind, whereby it PERCEIVES two ideas to be the same, or different. But of this more hereafter.

2. The Difference of Wit and Judgment.

How much the imperfection of accurately discriminating ideas one from another lies, either in the dulness or faults of the organs of sense; or want of acuteness, exercise, or attention in the understanding; or hastiness and precipitancy, natural to some tempers, I will not here examine: it suffices to take notice, that this is one of the operations that the mind may reflect on and observe in itself. It is of that consequence to its other knowledge, that so far as this faculty is in itself dull, or not rightly made use of, for the distinguishing one thing from another, — so far our notions are confused, and our reason and judgment disturbed or misled. If in having our ideas in the memory ready at hand consists quickness of parts; in this, of having them unconfused, and being able nicely to distinguish one thing from another, where there is but the least difference, consists, in a great measure, the exactness of judgment, and clearness of reason, which is to be observed in one man above another. And hence perhaps may be given some reason of that common observation, — that men who have a great deal of wit, and prompt memories, have not always the clearest judgment or deepest reason. For WIT lying most in the assemblage of ideas, and putting those together with quickness and variety, wherein can be found any resemblance or congruity, thereby to make up pleasant pictures and agreeable visions in the fancy; JUDGMENT, on the contrary, lies quite on the other side, in separating carefully, one from another, ideas wherein can be found the least difference, thereby to avoid being misled by similitude, and by affinity to take one thing for another. This is a way of proceeding quite contrary to metaphor and allusion; wherein for the most part lies that entertainment and pleasantry of wit, which strikes so lively on the fancy, and therefore is so acceptable to all people, because its beauty appears at first sight, and there is required no labour of thought to examine what truth or reason there is in it. The mind, without looking any further, rests satisfied with the agreeableness of the picture and the gaiety of the fancy. And it is a kind of affront to go about to examine it, by the severe rules of truth and good reason; whereby it appears that it consists in something that is not perfectly conformable to them.

3. Clearness alone hinders Confusion.

To the well distinguishing our ideas, it chiefly contributes that they be CLEAR and DETERMINATE. And when they are so, it will not breed any confusion or mistake about them, though the senses should (as sometimes they do) convey them from the same object differently on different occasions, and so seem to err. For, though a man in a fever should from sugar have a bitter taste, which at another time would produce a sweet one, yet the idea of bitter in that man’s mind would be as clear and distinct from the idea of sweet as if he had tasted only gall. Nor does it make any more confusion between the two ideas of sweet and bitter that the same sort of body produces at one time one, and at another time another idea by the taste, than it makes a confusion in two ideas of white and sweet, or white and round, that the same piece of sugar produces them both in the mind at the same time. And the ideas of orange-colour and azure, that are produced in the mind by the same parcel of the infusion of lignum nephritmim, are no less distinct ideas than those of the same colours taken from two very different bodies.

4. Comparing.

The COMPARING them one with another, in respect of extent, degrees, time, place, or any other circumstances, is another operation of the mind about its ideas, and is that upon which depends all that large tribe of ideas comprehended under RELATION; which, of how vast an extent it is, I shall have occasion to consider hereafter.

5. Brutes compare but imperfectly.

How far brutes partake in this faculty, is not easy to determine. I imagine they have it not in any great degree, for, though they probably have several ideas distinct enough, yet it seems to me to be the prerogative of human understanding, when it has sufficiently distinguished any ideas, so as to perceive them to be perfectly different, and so consequently two, to cast about and consider in what circumstances they are capable to be compared. And therefore, I think, beasts compare not their ideas further than some sensible circumstances annexed to the objects themselves. The other power of comparing, which may be observed in men, belonging to general ideas, and useful only to abstract reasonings, we may probably conjecture beasts have not.

6. Compounding.

The next operation we may observe in the mind about its ideas is COMPOSITION; whereby it puts together several of those simple ones it has received from sensation and reflection, and combines them into complex ones. Under this of composition may be reckoned also that of ENLARGING, wherein, though the composition does not so much appear as in more complex ones, yet it is nevertheless a putting several ideas together, though of the same kind. Thus, by adding several units together, we make the idea of a dozen; and putting together the repeated ideas of several perches, we frame that of a furlong.

7. Brutes compound but little.

In this also, I suppose, brutes come far short of man. For, though they take in, and retain together, several combinations of simple ideas, as possibly the shape, smell, and voice of his master make up the complex idea a dog has of him, or rather are so many distinct marks whereby he knows him; yet I do not think they do of themselves ever compound them, and make complex ideas. And perhaps even where we think they have complex ideas, it is only one simple one that directs them in the knowledge of several things, which possibly they distinguish less by their sight than we imagine. For I have been credibly informed that a bitch will nurse, play with, and be fond of young foxes, as much as, and in place of her puppies, if you can but get them once to suck her so long that her milk may go through them. And those animals which have a numerous brood of young ones at once, appear not to have any knowledge of their number; for though they are mightily concerned for any of their young that are taken from them whilst they are in sight or hearing, yet if one or two of them be stolen from them in their absence, or without noise, they appear not to miss them, or to have any sense that their number is lessened.

8. Naming.

When children have, by repeated sensations, got ideas fixed in their memories, they begin by degrees to learn the use of signs. And when they have got the skill to apply the organs of speech to the framing of articulate sounds, they begin to make use of words, to signify their ideas to others. These verbal signs they sometimes borrow from others, and sometimes make themselves, as one may observe among the new and unusual names children often give to things in the first use of language.

9. Abstraction.

The use of words then being to stand as outward mark of our internal ideas, and those ideas being taken from particular things, if every particular idea that we take up should have a distinct name, names must be endless. To prevent this, the mind makes the particular ideas received from particular objects to become general; which is done by considering them as they are in the mind such appearances, — separate from all other existences, and the circumstances of real existence, as time, place, or any other concomitant ideas. This is called ABSTRACTION, whereby ideas taken from particular beings become general representatives of all of the same kind; and their names general names, applicable to whatever exists conformable to such abstract ideas. Such precise, naked appearances in the mind, without considering how, whence, or with what others they came there, the understanding lays up (with names commonly annexed to them) as the standards to rank real existences into sorts, as they agree with these patterns, and to denominate them accordingly. Thus the same colour being observed to-day in chalk or snow, which the mind yesterday received from milk, it considers that appearance alone, makes it a representative of all of that kind; and having given it the name WHITENESS, it by that sound signifies the same quality wheresoever to be imagined or met with; and thus universals, whether ideas or terms, are made.

10. Brutes abstract not.

If it may be doubted whether beasts compound and enlarge their ideas that way to any degree; this, I think, I may be positive in, — that the power of abstracting is not at all in them; and that the having of general ideas is that which puts a perfect distinction betwixt man and brutes, and is an excellency which the faculties of brutes do by no means attain to. For it is evident we observe no footsteps in them of making use of general signs for universal ideas; from which we have reason to imagine that they have not the faculty of abstracting, or making general ideas, since they have no use of words, or any other general signs.

11. Brutes abstract not, yet are nor bare machines.

Nor can it be imputed to their want of fit organs to frame articulate sounds, that they have no use or knowledge of general words; since many of them, we find, can fashion such sounds, and pronounce words distinctly enough, but never with any such application. And, on the other side, men who, through some defect in the organs, want words, yet fail not to express their universal ideas by signs, which serve them instead of general words, a faculty which we see beasts come short in. And, therefore, I think, we may suppose, that it is in this that the species of brutes are discriminated from man: and it is that proper difference wherein they are wholly separated, and which at last widens to so vast a distance. For if they have any ideas at all, and are not bare machines, (as some would have them,) we cannot deny them to have some reason. It seems as evident to me, that they do reason, as that they have sense; but it is only in particular ideas, just as they received them from their senses. They are the best of them tied up within those narrow bounds, and have not (as I think) the faculty to enlarge them by any kind of abstraction. 12. Idiots and Madmen.

How far idiots are concerned in the want or weakness of any, or all of the foregoing faculties, an exact observation of their several ways of faultering would no doubt discover. For those who either perceive but dully, or retain the ideas that come into their minds but ill, who cannot readily excite or compound them, will have little matter to think on. Those who cannot distinguish, compare, and abstract, would hardly be able to understand and make use of language, or judge or reason to any tolerable degree; but only a little and imperfectly about things present, and very familiar to their senses. And indeed any of the forementioned faculties, if wanting, or out of order, produce suitable defects in men’s understandings and knowledge.

13. Difference between Idiots and Madmen.

In fine, the defect in naturals seems to proceed from want of quickness, activity, and motion in the intellectual faculties, whereby they are deprived of reason; whereas madmen, on the other side, seem to suffer by the other extreme. For they do not appear to me to have lost the faculty of reasoning, but having joined together some ideas very wrongly, they mistake them for truths; and they err as men do that argue right from wrong principles. For, by the violence of their imaginations, having taken their fancies for realities, they make right deductions from them. Thus you shall find a distracted man fancying himself a king, with a right inference require suitable attendance, respect, and obedience: others who have thought themselves made of glass, have used the caution necessary to preserve such brittle bodies. Hence it comes to pass that a man who is very sober, and of a right understanding in all other things, may in one particular be as frantic as any in Bedlam; if either by any sudden very strong impression, or long fixing his fancy upon one sort of thoughts, incoherent ideas have been cemented together so powerfully, as to remain united. But there are degrees of madness, as of folly; the disorderly jumbling ideas together is in some more, and some less. In short, herein seems to lie the difference between idiots and madmen: that madmen put wrong ideas together, and so make wrong propositions, but argue and reason right from them; but idiots make very few or no propositions, and reason scarce at all.

14. Method followed in this explication of Faculties.

These, I think, are the first faculties and operations of the mind, which it makes use of in understanding; and though they are exercised about all its ideas in general, yet the instances I have hitherto given have been chiefly in simple ideas. And I have subjoined the explication of these faculties of the mind to that of simple ideas, before I come to what I have to say concerning complex ones, for these following reasons: —

First, Because several of these faculties being exercised at first principally about simple ideas, we might, by following nature in its ordinary method, trace and discover them, in their rise, progress, and gradual improvements.

Secondly, Because observing the faculties of the mind, how they operate about simple ideas, — which are usually, in most men’s minds, much more clear, precise, and distinct than complex ones, — we may the better examine and learn how the mind extracts, denominates, compares, and exercises, in its other operations about those which are complex, wherein we are much more liable to mistake. Thirdly, Because these very operations of the mind about ideas received from sensations, are themselves, when reflected on, another set of ideas, derived from that other source of our knowledge, which I call reflection; and therefore fit to be considered in this place after the simple ideas of sensation. Of compounding, comparing, abstracting, &c., I have but just spoken, having occasion to treat of them more at large in other places.

15. The true Beginning of Human Knowledge.

And thus I have given a short, and, I think, true HISTORY OF THE FIRST BEGINNINGS OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE; — whence the mind has its first objects; and by what steps it makes its progress to the laying in and storing up those ideas, out of which is to be framed all the knowledge it is capable of: wherein I must appeal to experience and observation whether I am in the right: the best way to come to truth being to examine things as really they are, and not to conclude they are, as we fancy of ourselves, or have been taught by others to imagine.

16. Appeal to Experience.

To deal truly, this is the only way that I can discover, whereby the IDEAS OF THINGS are brought into the understanding. If other men have either innate ideas or infused principles, they have reason to enjoy them; and if they are sure of it, it is impossible for others to deny them the privilege that they have above their neighbours. I can speak but of what I find in myself, and is agreeable to those notions, which, if we will examine the whole course of men in their several ages, countries, and educations, seem to depend on those foundations which I have laid, and to correspond with this method in all the parts and degrees thereof.

17. Dark Room.

I pretend not to teach, but to inquire; and therefore cannot but confess here again, — that external and internal sensation are the only passages I can find of knowledge to the understanding. These alone, as far as I can discover, are the windows by which light is let into this DARK ROOM. For, methinks, the understanding is not much unlike a closet wholly shut from light, with only some little openings left, to let in external visible resemblances, or ideas of things without: which, would they but stay there, and lie so orderly as to be found upon occasion, it would very much resemble the understanding of a man, in reference to all objects of sight, and the ideas of them.

These are my guesses concerning the means whereby the understanding comes to have and retain simple ideas, and the modes of them, with some other operations about them.

I proceed now to examine some of these simple ideas an their modes a little more particularly.

CHAPTER XII. OF COMPLEX IDEAS.

1. Made by the Mind out of simple Ones.

We have hitherto considered those ideas, in the reception whereof the mind is only passive, which are those simple ones received from sensation and reflection before mentioned, whereof the mind cannot make one to itself, nor have any idea which does not wholly consist of them. As simple ideas are observed to exist in several combinations united together, so the mind has a power to consider several of them united together as one idea; and that not only as they are united in external objects, but as itself has joined them together. Ideas thus made up of several simple ones put together, I call COMPLEX; — such as are beauty, gratitude, a man, an army, the universe; which, though complicated of various simple ideas, or complex ideas made up of simple ones, yet are, when the mind pleases, considered each by itself, as one entire thing, signified by one name.

2. Made voluntarily.

In this faculty of repeating and joining together its ideas, the mind has great power in varying and multiplying the objects of its thoughts, infinitely beyond what sensation or reflection furnished it with: but all this still confined to those simple ideas which it received from those two sources, and which are the ultimate materials of all its compositions. For simple ideas are all from things themselves, and of these the mind CAN have no more, nor other than what are suggested to it. It can have no other ideas of sensible qualities than what come from without [dropped word] the senses; nor any ideas of other kind of operations of a thinking substance, than what it finds in itself. But when it has once got these simple ideas, it is not confined barely to observation, and what offers itself from without; it can, by its own power, put together those ideas it has, and make new complex ones, which it never received so united.

3. Complex ideas are either of Modes, Substances, or Relations.

COMPLEX IDEAS, however compounded and decompounded, though their number be infinite, and the variety endless, wherewith they fill and entertain the thoughts of men; yet I think they may be all reduced under these three heads: — 1. MODES. 2. SUBSTANCES. 3. RELATIONS.

4. Ideas of Modes.

First, MODES I call such complex ideas which, however compounded, contain not in them the supposition of subsisting by themselves, but are considered as dependences on, or affections of substances; — such as are the ideas signified by the words triangle, gratitude, murder, &c. And if in this I use the word mode in somewhat a different sense from its ordinary signification, I beg pardon; it being unavoidable in discourses, differing from the ordinary received notions, either to make new words, or to use old words in somewhat a new signification; the later whereof, in our present case, is perhaps the more tolerable of the two.

5. Simple and mixed Modes of Ideas.

Of these MODES, there are two sorts which deserve distinct consideration: —

First, there are some which are only variations, or different combinations of the same simple idea, without the mixture of any other; — as a dozen, or score; which are nothing but the ideas of so many distinct units added together, and these I call SIMPLE MODES as being contained within the bounds of one simple idea.

Secondly, there are others compounded of simple ideas of several kinds, put together to make one complex one; — v.g. beauty, consisting of a certain composition of colour and figure, causing delight to the beholder; theft, which being the concealed change of the possession of anything, without the consent of the proprietor, contains, as is visible, a combination of several ideas of several kinds: and these I call MIXED MODES.

6. Ideas of Substances, single or collective.

Secondly, the ideas of SUBSTANCES are such combinations of simple ideas as are taken to represent distinct PARTICULAR things subsisting by themselves; in which the supposed or confused idea of substance, such as it is, is always the first and chief. Thus if to substance be joined the simple idea of a certain dull whitish colour, with certain degrees of weight, hardness, ductility, and fusibility, we have the idea of lead; and a combination of the ideas of a certain sort of figure, with the powers of motion, thought and reasoning, joined to substance, make the ordinary idea of a man. Now of substances also, there are two sorts of ideas: — one of SINGLE substances, as they exist separately, as of a man or a sheep; the other of several of those put together, as an army of men, or flock of sheep — which COLLECTIVE ideas of several substances thus put together are as much each of them one single idea as that of a man or an unit.

7. Ideas of Relation.

Thirdly, the last sort of complex ideas is that we call RELATION, which consists in the consideration and comparing one idea with another.

Of these several kinds we shall treat in their order.

8. The abstrusest Ideas we can have are all from two Sources.

If we trace the progress of our minds, and with attention observe how it repeats, adds together, and unites its simple ideas received from sensation or reflection, it will lead us further than at first perhaps we should have imagined. And, I believe, we shall find, if we warily observe the originals of our notions, that EVEN THE MOST ABSTRUSE IDEAS, how remote soever they may seem from sense, or from any operations of our own minds, are yet only such as the understanding frames to itself, by repeating and joining together ideas that it had either from objects of sense, or from its own operations about them: so that those even large and abstract ideas are derived from sensation or reflection, being no other than what the mind, by the ordinary use of its own faculties, employed about ideas received from objects of sense, or from the operations it observes in itself about them, may, and does, attain unto.

This I shall endeavour to show in the ideas we have of space, time, and infinity, and some few others that seem the most remote, from those originals.

CHAPTER XIII. COMPLEX IDEAS OF SIMPLE MODES: — AND FIRST, OF THE SIMPLE MODES OF IDEA OF SPACE.

1. Simple modes of simple ideas.

Though in the foregoing part I have often mentioned simple ideas, which are truly the materials of all our knowledge; yet having treated of them there, rather in the way that they come into the mind, than as distinguished from others more compounded, it will not be perhaps amiss to take a view of some of them again under this consideration, and examine those different modifications of the SAME idea; which the mind either finds in things existing, or is able to make within itself without the help of any extrinsical object, or any foreign suggestion.

Those modifications of any ONE simple idea (which, as has been said, I call SIMPLE MODES) are as perfectly different and distinct ideas in the mind as those of the greatest distance or contrariety. For the idea of two is as distinct from that of one, as blueness from heat, or either of them from any number: and yet it is made up only of that simple idea of an unit repeated; and repetitions of this kind joined together make those distinct simple modes, of a dozen, a gross, a million. Simple Modes of Idea of Space.

2. Idea of Space.

I shall begin with the simple idea of SPACE. I have showed above, cha, that we get the idea of space, both by our sight and touch; which, I think, is so evident, that it would be as needless to go to prove that men perceive, by their sight, a distance between bodies of different colours, or between the parts of the same body, as that they see colours themselves: nor is it less obvious, that they can do so in the dark by feeling and touch.

3. Space and Extension.

This space, considered barely in length between any two beings, without considering anything else between them, is called DISTANCE: if considered in length, breadth, and thickness, I think it may be called CAPACITY. When considered between the extremities of matter, which fills the capacity of space with something solid, tangible, and moveable, it is properly called EXTENSION. And so extension is an idea belonging to body only; but space may, as is evident, be considered without it. At lest I think it most intelligible, and the best way to avoid confusion, if we use the word extension for an affection of matter or the distance of the extremities of particular solid bodies; and space in the more general signification, for distance, with or without solid matter possessing it.

4. Immensity.

Each different distance is a different modification of space; and each idea of any different distance, or space, is a SIMPLE MODE of this idea. Men having, by accustoming themselves to stated lengths of space, which they use for measuring other distances — as a foot, a yard or a fathom, a league, or diameter of the earth — made those ideas familiar to their thoughts, can, in their minds, repeat them as often as they will, without mixing or joining to them the idea of body, or anything else; and frame to themselves the ideas of long, square, or cubic feet, yards or fathoms, here amongst the bodies of the universe, or else beyond the utmost bounds of all bodies; and, by adding these still one to another, enlarge their ideas of space as much as they please. The power of repeating or doubling any idea we have of any distance, and adding it to the former as often as we will, without being ever able to come to any stop or stint, let us enlarge it as much as we will, is that which gives us the idea of IMMENSITY.

5. Figure.

There is another modification of this idea, which is nothing but the relation which the parts of the termination of extension, or circumscribed space, have amongst themselves. This the touch discovers in sensible bodies, whose extremities come within our reach; and the eye takes both from bodies and colours, whose boundaries are within its view: where, observing how the extremities terminate, — either in straight lines which meet at discernible angles, or in crooked lines wherein no angles can be perceived; by considering these as they relate to one another, in all parts of the extremities of any body or space, it has that idea we call FIGURE, which affords to the mind infinite variety. For, besides the vast number of different figures that do really exist in the coherent masses of matter, the stock that the mind has in its power, by varying the idea of space, and thereby making still new compositions, by repeating its own ideas, and joining them as it pleases, is perfectly inexhaustible. And so it can multiply figures IN INFINITUM.

6. Endless variety of figures.

For the mind having a power to repeat the idea of any length directly stretched out, and join it to another in the same direction, which is to double the length of that straight line; or else join another with what inclination it thinks fit, and so make what sort of angle it pleases: and being able also to shorten any line it imagines, by taking from it one half, one fourth, or what part it pleases, without being able to come to an end of any such divisions, it can make an angle of any bigness. So also the lines that are its sides, of what length it pleases, which joining again to other lines, of different lengths, and at different angles, till it has wholly enclosed any space, it is evident that it can multiply figures, both in their shape and capacity, IN INFINITUM; all which are but so many different simple modes of space.

The same that it can do with straight lines, it can also do with crooked, or crooked and straight together; and the same it can do in lines, it can also in superficies; by which we may be led into farther thoughts of the endless variety of figures that the mind has a power to make, and thereby to multiply the simple modes of space.

7. Place.

Another idea coming under this head, and belonging to this tribe, is that we call PLACE. As in simple space, we consider the relation of distance between any two bodies or points; so in our idea of place, we consider the relation of distance betwixt anything, and any two or more points, which are considered as keeping the same distance one with another, and so considered as at rest. For when we find anything at the same distance now which it was yesterday, from any two or more points, which have not since changed their distance one with another, and with which we then compared it, we say it hath kept the same place: but if it hath sensibly altered its distance with either of those points, we say it hath changed its place: though, vulgarly speaking, in the common notion of place, we do not always exactly observe the distance from these precise points, but from larger portions of sensible objects, to which we consider the thing placed to bear relation, and its distance from which we have some reason to observe.

8. Place relative to particular bodies.

Thus, a company of chess-men, standing on the same squares of the chess-board where we left them, we say they are all in the SAME place, or unmoved, though perhaps the chessboard hath been in the mean time carried out of one room into another; because we compared them only to the parts of the chess-board, which keep the same distance one with another. The chess-board, we also say, is in the same place it was, if it remain in the same part of the cabin, though perhaps the ship which it is in sails all the while. And the ship is said to be in the same place, supposing it kept the same distance with the parts of the neighbouring land; though perhaps the earth hath turned round, and so both chess-men, and board, and ship, have every one changed place, in respect of remoter bodies, which have kept the same distance one with another. But yet the distance from certain parts of the board being that which determines the place of the chess-men; and the distance from the fixed parts of the cabin (with which we made the comparison) being that which determined the place of the chess-board; and the fixed parts of the earth that by which we determined the place of the ship, — these things may be said to be in the same place in those respects: though their distance from some other things, which in this matter we did not consider, being varied, they have undoubtedly changed place in that respect; and we ourselves shall think so, when we have occasion to compare them with those other.

9. Place relative to a present purpose.

But this modification of distance we call place, being made by men for their common use, that by it they might be able to design the particular position of things, where they had occasion for such designation; men consider and determine of this place by reference to those adjacent things which best served to their present purpose, without considering other things which, to another purpose, would better determine the place of the same thing. Thus in the chess-board, the use of the designation of the place of each chess-man being determined only within that chequered piece of wood, it would cross that purpose to measure it by anything else; but when these very chess-men are put up in a bag, if any one should ask where the black king is, it would be proper to determine the place by the part of the room it was in, and not by the chessboard; there being another use of designing the place it is now in, than when in play it was on the chessboard, and so must be determined by other bodies. So if any one should ask, in what place are the verses which report the story of Nisus and Euryalus, it would be very improper to determine this place, by saying, they were in such a part of the earth, or in Bodley’s library: but the right designation of the place would be by the parts of Virgil’s works; and the proper answer would be, that these verses were about the middle of the ninth book of his AEneids, and that they have been always constantly in the same place ever since Virgil was printed: which is true, though the book itself hath moved a thousand times, the use of the idea of place here being, to know in what part of the book that story is, that so, upon occasion, we may know where to find it, and have recourse to it for use.

10. Place of the universe.

That our idea of place is nothing else but such a relative position of anything as I have before mentioned, I think is plain, and will be easily admitted, when we consider that we can have no idea of the place of the universe, though we can of all the parts of it; because beyond that we have not the idea of any fixed, distinct, particular beings, in reference to which we can imagine it to have any relation of distance; but all beyond it is one uniform space or expansion, wherein the mind finds no variety, no marks. For to say that the world is somewhere, means no more than that it does exist; this, though a phrase borrowed from place, signifying only its existence, not location: and when one can find out, and frame in his mind, clearly and distinctly the place of the universe, he will be able to tell us whether it moves or stands still in the undistinguishable inane of infinite space: though it be true that the word place has sometimes a more confused sense, and stands for that space which anybody takes up; and so the universe is in a place. The idea, therefore, of place we have by the same means that we get the idea of space, (whereof this is but a particular limited consideration,) viz. by our sight and touch; by either of which we receive into our minds the ideas of extension or distance.

11. Extension and Body not the same.

There are some that would persuade us, that body and extension are the same thing, who either change the signification of words, which I would not suspect them of, — they having so severely condemned the philosophy of others, because it hath been too much placed in the uncertain meaning, or deceitful obscurity of doubtful or insignificant terms. If, therefore, they mean by body and extension the same that other people do, viz. by BODY something that is solid and extended, whose parts are separable and movable different ways; and by EXTENSION, only the space that lies between the extremities of those solid coherent parts, and which is possessed by them, — they confound very different ideas one with another; for I appeal to every man’s own thoughts, whether the idea of space be not as distinct from that of solidity, as it is from the idea of scarlet colour? It is true, solidity cannot exist without extension, neither can scarlet colour exist without extension, but this hinders not, but that they are distinct ideas. Many ideas require others, as necessary to their existence or conception, which yet are very distinct ideas. Motion can neither be, nor be conceived, without space; and yet motion is not space, nor space motion; space can exist without it, and they are very distinct ideas; and so, I think, are those of space and solidity. Solidity is so inseparable an idea from body, that upon that depends its filling of space, its contact, impulse, and communication of motion upon impulse. And if it be a reason to prove that spirit is different from body, because thinking includes not the idea of extension in it; the same reason will be as valid, I suppose, to prove that space is not body, because it includes not the idea of solidity in it; SPACE and SOLIDITY being as distinct ideas as THINKING and EXTENSION, and as wholly separable in the mind one from another. Body then and extension, it is evident, are two distinct ideas. For,

12. Extension not solidity.

First, Extension includes no solidity, nor resistance to the motion of body, as body does.

13. The parts of space inseparable, both really and mentally.

Secondly, The parts of pure space are inseparable one from the other; so that the continuity cannot be separated, both neither really nor mentally. For I demand of any one to remove any part of it from another, with which it is continued, even so much as in thought. To divide and separate actually is, as I think, by removing the parts one from another, to make two superficies, where before there was a continuity: and to divide mentally is, to make in the mind two superficies, where before there was a continuity, and consider them as removed one from the other; which can only be done in things considered by the mind as capable of being separated; and by separation, of acquiring new distinct superficies, which they then have not, but are capable of. But neither of these ways of separation, whether real or mental, is, as I think, compatible to pure space.

It is true, a man may consider so much of such a space as is answerable or commensurate to a foot, without considering the rest, which is, indeed, a partial consideration, but not so much as mental separation or division; since a man can no more mentally divide, without considering two superficies separate one from the other, than he can actually divide, without making two superficies disjoined one from the other: but a partial consideration is not separating. A man may consider light in the sun without its heat, or mobility in body without its extension, without thinking of their separation. One is only a partial consideration, terminating in one alone; and the other is a consideration of both, as existing separately.

14. The parts of space immovable.

Thirdly, The parts of pure space are immovable, which follows from their inseparability; motion being nothing but change of distance between any two things; but this cannot be between parts that are inseparable, which, therefore, must needs be at perpetual rest one amongst another.

Thus the determined idea of simple space distinguishes it plainly and sufficiently from body; since its parts are inseparable, immovable, and without resistance to the motion of body.

15. The Definition of Extension explains it not.

If any one ask me WHAT this space I speak of IS, I will tell him when he tells me what his extension is. For to say, as is usually done, that extension is to have partes extra partes, is to say only, that extension is extension. For what am I the better informed in the nature of extension, when I am told that extension is to have parts that are extended, exterior to parts that are extended, i. e. extension consists of extended parts? As if one, asking what a fibre was, I should answer him, — that it was a thing made up of several fibres. Would he thereby be enabled to understand what a fibre was better than he did before? Or rather, would he not have reason to think that my design was to make sport with him, rather than seriously to instruct him?

16. Division of Beings into Bodies and Spirits proves not Space and Body the same.

Those who contend that space and body are the same, bring this dilemma: — either this space is something or nothing; if nothing be between two bodies, they must necessarily touch; if it be allowed to be something, they ask, Whether it be body or spirit? To which I answer by another question, Who told them that there was, or could be, nothing; but SOLID BEINGS, WHICH COULD NOT THINK, and THINKING BEINGS THAT WERE NOT EXTENDED? — which is all they mean by the terms BODY and SPIRIT.

17. Substance, which we know not, no Proof against Space without Body.

If it be demanded (as usually it is) whether this space, void of body, be SUBSTANCE or ACCIDENT, I shall readily answer I know not; nor shall be ashamed to own my ignorance, till they that ask show me a clear distinct idea of substance.

18. Different meanings of substance.

I endeavour as much as I can to deliver myself from those fallacies which we are apt to put upon ourselves, by taking words for things. It helps not our ignorance to feign a knowledge where we have none, by making a noise with sounds, without clear and distinct significations. Names made at pleasure, neither alter the nature of things, nor make us understand them, but as they are signs of and stand for determined ideas. And I desire those who lay so much stress on the sound of these two syllables, SUBSTANCE, to consider whether applying it, as they do, to the infinite, incomprehensible God, to finite spirits, and to body, it be in the same sense; and whether it stands for the same idea, when each of those three so different beings are called substances. If so, whether it will thence follow — that God, spirits, and body, agreeing in the same common nature of substance, differ not any otherwise than in a bare different MODIFICATION of that substance; as a tree and a pebble, being in the same sense body, and agreeing in the common nature of body, differ only in a bare modification of that common matter, which will be a very harsh doctrine. If they say, that they apply it to God, finite spirit, and matter, in three different significations and that it stands for one idea when God is said to be a substance; for another when the soul is called substance; and for a third when body is called so; — if the name substance stands for three several distinct ideas, they would do well to make known those distinct ideas, or at least to give three distinct names to them, to prevent in so important a notion the confusion and errors that will naturally follow from the promiscuous use of so doubtful a term; which is so far from being suspected to have three distinct, that in ordinary use it has scarce one clear distinct signification. And if they can thus make three distinct ideas of substance, what hinders why another may not make a fourth?

19. Substance and accidents of little use in Philosophy.

They who first ran into the notion of ACCIDENTS, as a sort of real beings that needed something to inhere in, were forced to find out the word SUBSTANCE to support them. Had the poor Indian philosopher (who imagined that the earth also wanted something to bear it up) but thought of this word substance, he needed not to have been at the trouble to find an elephant to support it, and a tortoise to support his elephant: the word substance would have done it effectually. And he that inquired might have taken it for as good an answer from an Indian philosopher, — that substance, without knowing what it is, is that which supports the earth, as take it for a sufficient answer and good doctrine from our European philosophers, — that substance, without knowing what it is, is that which supports accidents. So that of substance, we have no idea of what it is, but only a confused obscure one of what it does.

20. Sticking on and under-propping.

Whatever a learned man may do here, an intelligent American, who inquired into the nature of things, would scarce take it for a satisfactory account, if, desiring to learn our architecture, he should be told that a pillar is a thing supported by a basis, and a basis something that supported a pillar. Would he not think himself mocked, instead of taught, with such an account as this? And a stranger to them would be very liberally instructed in the nature of books, and the things they contained, if he should be told that all learned books consisted of paper and letters, and that letters were things inhering in paper, and paper a thing that held forth letters: a notable way of having clear ideas of letters and paper. But were the Latin words, inhaerentia and substantio, put into the plain English ones that answer them, and were called STICKING ON and UNDER-PROPPING, they would better discover to us the very great clearness there is in the doctrine of substance and accidents, and show of what use they are in deciding of questions in philosophy.

21. A Vacuum beyond the utmost Bounds of Body.

But to return to our idea of space. If body be not supposed infinite, (which I think no one will affirm,) I would ask, whether, if God placed a man at the extremity of corporeal beings, he could not stretch his hand beyond his body? If he could, then he would put his arm where there was before space without body; and if there he spread his fingers, there would still be space between them without body. If he could not stretch out his hand, it must be because of some external hindrance; (for we suppose him alive, with such a power of moving the parts of his body that he hath now, which is not in itself impossible, if God so pleased to have it; or at least it is not impossible for God so to move him:) and then I ask, — whether that which hinders his hand from moving outwards be substance or accident, something or nothing? And when they have resolved that, they will be able to resolve themselves, — what that is, which is or may be between two bodies at a distance, that is not body, and has no solidity. In the mean time, the argument is at least as good, that, where nothing hinders, (as beyond the utmost bounds of all bodies,) a body put in motion may move on, as where there is nothing between, there two bodies must necessarily touch. For pure space between is sufficient to take away the necessity of mutual contact; but bare space in the way is not sufficient to stop motion. The truth is, these men must either own that they think body infinite, though they are loth to speak it out, or else affirm that space is not body. For I would fain meet with that thinking man that can in his thoughts set any bounds to space, more than he can to duration; or by thinking hope to arrive at the end of either. And therefore, if his idea of eternity be infinite, so is his idea of immensity; they are both finite or infinite alike.

22. The Power of Annihilation proves a Vacuum.

Farther, those who assert the impossibility of space existing without matter, must not only make body infinite, but must also deny a power in God to annihilate any part of matter. No one, I suppose, will deny that God can put an end to all motion that is in matter, and fix all the bodies of the universe in a perfect quiet and rest, and continue them so long as he pleases. Whoever then will allow that God can, during such a general rest, ANNIHILATE either this book or the body of him that reads it, must necessarily admit the possibility of a vacuum. For, it is evident that the space that was filled by the parts of the annihilated body will still remain, and be a space without body. For the circumambient bodies being in perfect rest, are a wall of adamant, and in that state make it a perfect impossibility for any other body to get into that space. And indeed the necessary motion of one particle of matter into the place from whence another particle of matter is removed, is but a consequence from the supposition of plenitude; which will therefore need some better proof than a supposed matter of fact, which experiment can never make out; — our own clear and distinct ideas plainly satisfying that there is no necessary connexion between space and solidity, since we can conceive the one without the other. And those who dispute for or against a vacuum, do thereby confess they have distinct IDEAS of vacuum and plenum, i. e. that they have an idea of extension void of solidity, though they deny its EXISTENCE; or else they dispute about nothing at all. For they who so much alter the signification of words, as to call extension body, and consequently make the whole essence of body to be nothing but pure extension without solidity, must talk absurdly whenever they speak of vacuum; since it is impossible for extension to be without extension. For vacuum, whether we affirm or deny its existence, signifies space without body; whose very existence no one can deny to be possible, who will not make matter infinite, and take from God a power to annihilate any particle of it.

23. Motion proves a Vacuum.

But not to go so far as beyond the utmost bounds of body in the universe, nor appeal to God’s omnipotency to find a vacuum, the motion of bodies that are in our view and neighbourhood seems to me plainly to evince it. For I desire any one so to divide a solid body, of any dimension he pleases, as to make it possible for the solid parts to move up and down freely every way within the bounds of that superficies, if there be not left in it a void space as big as the least part into which he has divided the said solid body. And if, where the least particle of the body divided is as big as a mustard-seed, a void space equal to the bulk of a mustard-seed be requisite to make room for the free motion of the parts of the divided body within the bounds of its superficies, where the particles of matter are 100,000,000 less than a mustard-seed, there must also be a space void of solid matter as big as 100,000,000 part of a mustard-seed; for if it hold in the one it will hold in the other, and so on IN INFINITUM. And let this void space be as little as it will, it destroys the hypothesis of plenitude. For if there can be a space void of body equal to the smallest separate particle of matter now existing in nature, it is still space without body; and makes as great a difference between space and body as if it were mega chasma, a distance as wide as any in nature. And therefore, if we suppose not the void space necessary to motion equal to the least parcel of the divided solid matter, but to 1/10 or 1/1000 of it, the same consequence will always follow of space without matter.

24. The Ideas of Space and Body distinct.

But the question being here, — Whether the idea of space or extension be the same with the idea of body? it is not necessary to prove the real existence of a VACUUM, but the idea of it; which it is plain men have when they inquire and dispute whether there be a VACUUM or no. For if they had not the idea of space without body, they could not make a question about its existence: and if their idea of body did not include in it something more than the bare idea of space, they could have no doubt about the plenitude of the world; and it would be as absurd to demand, whether there were space without body, as whether there were space without space, or body without body, since these were but different names of the same idea.

25. Extension being inseparable from Body, proves it not the same.

It is true, the idea of extension joins itself so inseparably with all visible, and most tangible qualities, that it suffers us to SEE no one, or FEEL very few external objects, without taking in impressions of extension too. This readiness of extension to make itself be taken notice of so constantly with other ideas, has been the occasion, I guess, that some have made the whole essence of body to consist in extension; which is not much to be wondered at, since some have had their minds, by their eyes and touch, (the busiest of all our senses,) so filled with the idea of extension, and, as it were, wholly possessed with it, that they allowed no existence to anything that had not extension. I shall not now argue with those men, who take the measure and possibility of all being only from their narrow and gross imaginations: but having here to do only with those who conclude the essence of body to be extension, because they say they cannot imagine any sensible quality of any body without extension, — I shall desire them to consider, that, had they reflected on their ideas of tastes and smells as much as on those of sight and touch; nay, had they examined their ideas of hunger and thirst, and several other pains, they would have found that THEY included in them no idea of extension at all, which is but an affection of body, as well as the rest, discoverable by our senses, which are scarce acute enough to look into the pure essences of things.

26. Essences of Things.

If those ideas which are constantly joined to all others, must therefore be concluded to be the essence of those things which have constantly those ideas joined to them, and are inseparable from them; then unity is without doubt the essence of everything. For there is not any object of sensation or reflection which does not carry with it the idea of one: but the weakness of this kind of argument we have already shown sufficiently.

27. Ideas of Space and Solidity distinct.

To conclude: whatever men shall think concerning the existence of a VACUUM, this is plain to me — that we have as clear an idea of space distinct from solidity, as we have of solidity distinct from motion, or motion from space. We have not any two more distinct ideas; and we can as easily conceive space without solidity, as we can conceive body or space without motion, though it be never so certain that neither body nor motion can exist without space. But whether any one will take space to be only a RELATION resulting from the existence of other beings at a distance; or whether they will think the words of the most knowing King Solomon, ‘The heaven, and the heaven of heavens, cannot contain thee;’ or those more emphatical ones of the inspired philosopher St. Paul, ‘In him we live, move, and have our being,’ are to be understood in a literal sense, I leave every one to consider: only our idea of space is, I think, such as I have mentioned, and distinct from that of body. For, whether we consider, in matter itself, the distance of its coherent solid parts, and call it, in respect of those solid parts, extension; or whether, considering it as lying between the extremities of any body in its several dimensions, we call it length, breadth, and thickness; or else, considering it as lying between any two bodies or positive beings, without any consideration whether there be any matter or not between, we call it distance; — however named or considered, it is always the same uniform simple idea of space, taken from objects about which our senses have been conversant; whereof, having settled ideas in our minds, we can revive, repeat, and add them one to another as often as we will, and consider the space or distance so imagined, either as filled with solid parts, so that another body cannot come there without displacing and thrusting out the body that was there before; or else as void of solidity, so that a body of equal dimensions to that empty or pure space may be placed in it, without the removing or expulsion of anything that was, there.

28. Men differ little in clear, simple ideas.

The knowing precisely what our words stand for, would, I imagine, in this as well as a great many other cases, quickly end the dispute. For I am apt to think that men, when they come to examine them, find their simple ideas all generally to agree, though in discourse with one another they perhaps confound one another with different names. I imagine that men who abstract their thoughts, and do well examine the ideas of their own minds, cannot much differ in thinking; however they may perplex themselves with words, according to the way of speaking of the several schools or sects they have been bred up in: though amongst unthinking men, who examine not scrupulously and carefully their own ideas, and strip them not from the marks men use for them, but confound them with words, there must be endless dispute, wrangling, and jargon; especially if they be learned, bookish men, devoted to some sect, and accustomed to the language of it, and have learned to talk after others. But if it should happen that any two thinking men should really have different ideas, I do not see how they could discourse or argue one with another. Here I must not be mistaken, to think that every floating imagination in men’s brains is presently of that sort of ideas I speak of. It is not easy for the mind to put off those confused notions and prejudices it has imbibed from custom, inadvertency, and common conversation. It requires pains and assiduity to examine its ideas, till it resolves them into those clear and distinct simple ones, out of which they are compounded; and to see which, amongst its simple ones, have or have not a NECESSARY connexion and dependence one upon another. Till a man doth this in the primary and original notions of things, he builds upon floating and uncertain principles, and will often find himself at a loss.

CHAPTER XIV. IDEA OF DURATION AND ITS SIMPLE MODES.

1. Duration is fleeting Extension.

There is another sort of distance, or length, the idea whereof we get not from the permanent parts of space, but from the fleeting and perpetually perishing parts of succession. This we call DURATION; the simple modes whereof are any different lengths of it whereof we have distinct ideas, as HOURS, DAYS, YEARS, &c., TIME and ETERNITY.

2. Its Idea from Reflection on the Train of our Ideas.

The answer of a great man, to one who asked what time was: Si non rogas intelligo, (which amounts to this; The more I set myself to think of it, the less I understand it,) might perhaps persuade one that time, which reveals all other things, is itself not to be discovered. Duration, time, and eternity, are, not without reason, thought to have something very abstruse in their nature. But however remote these may seem from our comprehension, yet if we trace them right to their originals, I doubt not but one of those sources of all our knowledge, viz. sensation and reflection, will be able to furnish us with these ideas, as clear and distinct as many others which are thought much less obscure; and we shall find that the idea of eternity itself is derived from the same common original with the rest of our ideas.

3. Nature and origin of the idea of Duration.

To understand TIME and ETERNITY aright, we ought with attention to consider what idea it is we have of DURATION, and how we came by it. It is evident to any one who will but observe what passes in his own mind, that there is a train of ideas which constantly succeed one another in his understanding, as long as he is awake. Reflection on these appearances of several ideas one after another in our minds, is that which furnishes us with the idea of SUCCESSION: and the distance between any parts of that succession, or between the appearance of any two ideas in our minds, is that we call DURATION. For whilst we are thinking, or whilst we receive successively several ideas in our minds, we know that we do exist; and so we call the existence, or the continuation of the existence of ourselves, or anything else, commensurate to the succession of any ideas in our minds, the duration of ourselves, or any such other thing co-existent with our thinking.

4. Proof that its idea is got from reflection on the train of our ideas.

That we have our notion of succession and duration from this original, viz. from reflection on the train of ideas, which we find to appear one after another in our own minds, seems plain to me, in that we have no perception of duration but by considering the train of ideas that take their turns in our understandings. When that succession of ideas ceases, our perception of duration ceases with it; which every one clearly experiments in himself, whilst he sleeps soundly, whether an hour or a day, a month or a year; of which duration of things, while he sleeps or thinks not, he has no perception at all, but it is quite lost to him; and the moment wherein he leaves off to think, till the moment he begins to think again, seems to him to have no distance. And so I doubt not it would be to a waking man, if it were possible for him to keep ONLY ONE idea in his mind, without variation and the succession of others. And we see, that one who fixes his thoughts very intently on one thing, so as to take but little notice of the succession of ideas that pass in his mind whilst he is taken up with that earnest contemplation, lets slip out of his account a good part of that duration, and thinks that time shorter than it is. But if sleep commonly unites the distant parts of duration, it is because during that time we have no succession of ideas in our minds. For if a man, during his sleep, dreams, and variety of ideas make themselves perceptible in his mind one after another, he hath then, during such dreaming, a sense of duration, and of the length of it. By which it is to me very clear, that men derive their ideas of duration from their reflections on the train of the ideas they observe to succeed one another in their own understandings; without which observation they can have no notion of duration, whatever may happen in the world.

5. The Idea of Duration applicable to Things whilst we sleep.

Indeed a man having, from reflecting on the succession and number of his own thoughts, got the notion or idea of duration, he can apply that notion to things which exist while he does not think; as he that has got the idea of extension from bodies by his sight or touch, can apply it to distances, where no body is seen or felt. And therefore, though a man has no perception of the length of duration which passed whilst he slept or thought not; yet, having observed the revolution of days and nights, and found the length of their duration to be in appearance regular and constant, he can, upon the supposition that that revolution has proceeded after the same manner whilst he was asleep or thought not, as it used to do at other times, he can, I say, imagine and make allowance for the length of duration whilst he slept. But if Adam and Eve, (when they were alone in the world,) instead of their ordinary night’s sleep, had passed the whole twenty-four hours in one continued sleep, the duration of that twenty-four hours had been irrecoverably lost to them, and been for ever left out of their account of time.

6. The Idea of Succession not from Motion.

Thus by reflecting on the appearing of various ideas one after another in our understandings, we get the notion of succession; which, if any one should think we did rather get from our observation of motion by our senses, he will perhaps be of my mind when he considers, that even motion produces in his mind an idea of succession no otherwise than as it produces there a continued train of distinguishable ideas. For a man looking upon a body really moving, perceives yet no motion at all unless that motion produces a constant train of successive ideas: v.g. a man becalmed at sea, out of sight of land, in a fair day, may look on the sun, or sea, or ship, a whole hour together, and perceive no motion at all in either; though it be certain that two, and perhaps all of them, have moved during that time a great way. But as soon as he perceives either of them to have changed distance with some other body, as soon as this motion produces any new idea in him, then he perceives that there has been motion. But wherever a man is, with all things at rest about him, without perceiving any motion at all, — if during this hour of quiet he has been thinking, he will perceive the various ideas of his own thoughts in his own mind, appearing one after another, and thereby observe and find succession where he could observe no motion.

7. Very slow motions unperceived.

And this, I think, is the reason why motions very slow, though they are constant, are not perceived by us; because in their remove from one sensible part towards another, their change of distance is so slow, that it causes no new ideas in us, but a good while one after another. And so not causing a constant train of new ideas to follow one another immediately in our minds, we have no perception of motion; which consisting in a constant succession, we cannot perceive that succession without a constant succession of varying ideas arising from it.

8. Very swift motions unperceived.

On the contrary, things that move so swift as not to affect the senses distinctly with several distinguishable distances of their motion, and so cause not any train of ideas in the mind, are not also perceived. For anything that moves round about in a circle, in less times than our ideas are wont to succeed one another in our minds, is not perceived to move; but seems to be a perfect entire circle of the matter or colour, and not a part of a circle in motion.

9. The Train of Ideas has a certain Degree of Quickness.

Hence I leave it to others to judge, whether it be not probable that our ideas do, whilst we are awake, succeed one another in our minds at certain distances; not much unlike the images in the inside of a lantern, turned round by the heat of a candle. This appearance of theirs in train, though perhaps it may be sometimes faster and sometimes slower, yet, I guess, varies not very much in a waking man: there seem to be certain bounds to the quickness and slowness of the succession of those ideas one to another in our minds, beyond which they can neither delay nor hasten.

10. Real succession in swift motions without sense of succession.

The reason I have for this odd conjecture is, from observing that, in the impressions made upon any of our senses, we can but to a certain degree perceive any succession; which, if exceeding quick, the sense of succession is lost, even in cases where it is evident that there is a real succession. Let a cannon-bullet pass through a room, and in its way take with it any limb, or fleshy parts of a man, it is as clear as any demonstration can be, that it must strike successively the two sides of the room: it is also evident, that it must touch one part of the flesh first, and another after, and so in succession: and yet, I believe, nobody who ever felt the pain of such a shot, or heard the blow against the two distant walls, could perceive any succession either in the pain or sound of so swift a stroke. Such a part of duration as this, wherein we perceive no succession, is that which we call an INSTANT, and is that which takes up the time of only one idea in our minds, without the succession of another; wherein, therefore, we perceive no succession at all.

11. In slow motions.

This also happens where the motion is so slow as not to supply a constant train of fresh ideas to the senses, as fast as the mind is capable of receiving new ones into it; and so other ideas of our own thoughts, having room to come into our minds between those offered to our senses by the moving body, there the sense of motion is lost; and the body, though it really moves, yet, not changing perceivable distance with some other bodies as fast as the ideas of our own minds do naturally follow one another in train, the thing seems to stand still; as is evident in the hands of clocks, and shadows of sun-dials, and other constant but slow motions, where, though, after certain intervals, we perceive, by the change of distance, that it hath moved, yet the motion itself we perceive not.

12. This Train, the Measure of other Successions.

So that to me it seems, that the constant and regular succession of IDEAS in a waking man, is, as it were, the measure and standard of all other successions. Whereof if any one either exceeds the pace of our ideas, as where two sounds or pains, &c., take up in their succession the duration of but one idea; or else where any motion or succession is so slow, as that it keeps not pace with the ideas in our minds, or the quickness in which they take their turns, as when any one or more ideas in their ordinary course come into our mind, between those which are offered to the sight by the different perceptible distances of a body in motion, or between sounds or smells following one another, — there also the sense of a constant continued succession is lost, and we perceive it not, but with certain gaps of rest between.

13. The Mind cannot fix long on one invariable Idea.

If it be so, that the ideas of our minds, whilst we have any there, do constantly change and shift in a continual succession, it would be impossible, may any one say, for a man to think long of any one thing. By which, if it be meant that a man may have one self-same single idea a long time alone in his mind, without any variation at all, I think, in matter of fact, it is not possible. For which (not knowing how the ideas of our minds are framed, of what materials they are made, whence they have their light, and how they come to make their appearances) I can give no other reason but experience: and I would have any one try, whether he can keep one unvaried single idea in his mind, without any other, for any considerable time together.

14. Proof.

For trial, let him take any figure, any degree of light or whiteness, or what other he pleases, and he will, I suppose, find it difficult to keep all other ideas out of his mind; but that some, either of another kind, or various considerations of that idea, (each of which considerations is a new idea,) will constantly succeed one another in his thoughts, let him be as wary as he can.

15. The extent of our power over the succession of our ideas.

All that is in a man’s power in this case, I think, is only to mind and observe what the ideas are that take their turns in his understanding; or else to direct the sort, and call in such as he hath a desire or use of: but hinder the constant succession of fresh ones, I think he cannot, though he may commonly choose whether he will heedfully observe and consider them.

16. Ideas, however made, include no sense of motion.

Whether these several ideas in a man’s mind be made by certain motions, I will not here dispute; but this I am sure, that they include no idea of motion in their appearance; and if a man had not the idea of motion otherwise, I think he would have none at all, which is enough to my present purpose; and sufficiently shows that the notice we take of the ideas of our own minds, appearing there one after another, is that which gives us the idea of succession and duration, without which we should have no such ideas at all. It is not then MOTION, but the constant train of IDEAS in our minds whilst we are waking, that furnishes us with the idea of duration; whereof motion no otherwise gives us any perception than as it causes in our minds a constant succession of ideas, as I have before showed: and we have as clear an idea of succession and duration, by the train of other ideas succeeding one another in our minds, without the idea of any motion, as by the train of ideas caused by the uninterrupted sensible change of distance between two bodies, which we have from motion; and therefore we should as well have the idea of duration were there no sense of motion at all.

17. Time is Duration set out by Measures.

Having thus got the idea of duration, the next thing natural for the mind to do, is to get some measure of this common duration, whereby it might judge of its different lengths, and consider the distinct order wherein several things exist; without which a great part of our knowledge would be confused, and a great part of history be rendered very useless. This consideration of duration, as set out by certain periods and marked by certain measures or epochs, is that, I think, which most properly we call TIME.

18. A good Measure of Time must divide its whole Duration into equal Periods.

In the measuring of extension, there is nothing more required but the application of the standard or measure we make use of to the thing of whose extension we would be informed. But in the measuring of duration this cannot be done, because no two different parts of succession can be put together to measure one another. And nothing being a measure of duration but duration, as nothing is of extension but extension, we cannot keep by us any standing, unvarying measure of duration, which consists in a constant fleeting succession, as we can of certain lengths of extension, as inches, feet, yards, &c., marked out in permanent parcels of matter. Nothing then could serve well for a convenient measure of time, but what has divided the whole length of its duration into apparently equal portions, by constantly repeated periods. What portions of duration are not distinguished, or considered as distinguished and measured, by such periods, come not so properly under the notion of time; as appears by such phrases as these, viz. ‘Before all time,’ and ‘When time shall be no more.’

19. The Revolutions of the Sun and Moon, the properest Measures of Time for mankind.

The diurnal and annual revolutions of the sun, as having been, from the beginning of nature, constant, regular, and universally observable by all mankind, and supposed equal to one another, have been with reason made use of for the measure of duration. But the distinction of days and years having depended on the motion of the sun, it has brought this mistake with it, that it has been thought that motion and duration were the measure one of another. For men, in the measuring of the length of time, having been accustomed to the ideas of minutes, hours, days, months, years, &c., which they found themselves upon any mention of time or duration presently to think on, all which portions of time were measured out by the motion of those heavenly bodies, they were apt to confound time and motion; or at least to think that they had a necessary connexion one with another. Whereas any constant periodical appearance, or alteration of ideas, in seemingly equidistant spaces of duration, if constant and universally observable, would have as well distinguished the intervals of time, as those that have been made use of. For, supposing the sun, which some have taken to be a fire, had been lighted up at the same distance of time that it now every day comes about to the same meridian, and then gone out again about twelve hours after, and that in the space of an annual revolution it had sensibly increased in brightness and heat, and so decreased again, — would not such regular appearances serve to measure out the distances of duration to all that could observe it, as well without as with motion? For if the appearances were constant, universally observable, in equidistant periods, they would serve mankind for measure of time as well were the motion away.

20. But not by their Motion, but periodical Appearances.

For the freezing of water, or the blowing of a plant, returning at equidistant periods in all parts of the earth, would as well serve men to reckon their years by, as the motions of the sun: and in effect we see, that some people in America counted their years by the coming of certain birds amongst them at their certain seasons, and leaving them at others. For a fit of an ague; the sense of hunger or thirst; a smell or a taste; or any other idea returning constantly at equidistant periods, and making itself universally be taken notice of, would not fail to measure out the course of succession, and distinguish the distances of time. Thus we see that men born blind count time well enough by years, whose revolutions yet they cannot distinguish by motions that they perceive not. And I ask whether a blind man, who distinguished his years either by the heat of summer, or cold of winter; by the smell of any flower of the spring, or taste of any fruit of the autumn, would not have a better measure of time than the Romans had before the reformation of their calendar by Julius Caesar, or many other people, whose years, notwithstanding the motion of the sun, which they pretended to make use of, are very irregular? And it adds no small difficulty to chronology, that the exact lengths of the years that several nations counted by, are hard to be known, they differing very much one from another, and I think I may say all of them from the precise motion of the sun. And if the sun moved from the creation to the flood constantly in the equator, and so equally dispersed its light and heat to all the habitable parts of the earth, in days all of the same length without its annual variations to the tropics, as a late ingenious author supposes, I do not think it very easy to imagine, that (notwithstanding the motion of the sun) men should in the antediluvian world, from the beginning, count by years, or measure their time by periods that had no sensible mark very obvious to distinguish them by.

21. No two Parts of Duration can be certainly known to be equal.

But perhaps it will be said, — without a regular motion, such as of the sun, or some other, how could it ever be known that such periods were equal? To which I answer, — the equality of any other returning appearances might be known by the same way that that of days was known, or presumed to be so at first; which was only by judging of them by the train of ideas which had passed in men’s minds in the intervals; by which train of ideas discovering inequality in the natural days, but none in the artificial days, the artificial days, or nuchthaemera, were guessed to be equal, which was sufficient to make them serve for a measure; though exacter search has since discovered inequality in the diurnal revolutions of the sun, and we know not whether the annual also be not unequal. These yet, by their presumed and apparent equality, serve as well to reckon time by (though not to measure the parts of duration exactly) as if they could be proved to be exactly equal. We must, therefore, carefully distinguish betwixt duration itself, and the measures we make use of to judge of its length. Duration, in itself, is to be considered as going on in one constant, equal, uniform course: but none of the measures of it which we make use of can be KNOWN to do so, nor can we be assured that their assigned parts or periods are equal in duration one to another; for two successive lengths of duration, however measured, can never be demonstrated to be equal. The motion of the sun, which the world used so long and so confidently for an exact measure of duration, has, as I said, been found in its several parts unequal. And though men have, of late, made use of a pendulum, as a more steady and regular motion than that of the sun, or, (to speak more truly,) of the earth; — yet if any one should be asked how he certainly knows that the two successive swings of a pendulum are equal, it would be very hard to satisfy him that they are infallibly so; since we cannot be sure that the cause of that motion, which is unknown to us, shall always operate equally; and we are sure that the medium in which the pendulum moves is not constantly the same: either of which varying, may alter the equality of such periods, and thereby destroy the certainty and exactness of the measure by motion, as well as any other periods of other appearances; the notion of duration still remaining clear, though our measures of it cannot (any of them) be demonstrated to be exact. Since then no two portions of succession can be brought together, it is impossible ever certainly to know their equality. All that we can do for a measure of time is, to take such as have continual successive appearances at seemingly equidistant periods; of which seeming equality we have no other measure, but such as the train of our own ideas have lodged in our memories, with the concurrence of other PROBABLE reasons, to persuade us of their equality.

22. Time not the Measure of Motion

One thing seems strange to me, — that whilst all men manifestly measured time by the motion of the great and visible bodies of the world, time yet should be defined to be the ‘measure of motion’: whereas it is obvious to every one who reflects ever so little on it, that to measure motion, space is as necessary to be considered as time; and those who look a little farther will find also the bulk of the thing moved necessary to be taken into the computation, by any one who will estimate or measure motion so as to judge right of it. Nor indeed does motion any otherwise conduce to the measuring of duration, than as it constantly brings about the return of certain sensible ideas, in seeming equidistant periods. For if the motion of the sun were as unequal as of a ship driven by unsteady winds, sometimes very slow, and at others irregularly very swift; or if, being constantly equally swift, it yet was not circular, and produced not the same appearances, — it would not at all help us to measure time, any more than the seeming unequal motion of a comet does.

23. Minutes, hours, days, and years are, then, no more Minutes, Hours, Days, and Years not necessary Measures of Duration. necessary to time or duration, than inches, feet, yards, and miles, marked out in any matter, are to extension. For, though we in this part of the universe, by the constant use of them, as of periods set out by the revolutions of the sun, or as known parts of such periods, have fixed the ideas of such lengths of duration in our minds, which we apply to all parts of time whose lengths we would consider; yet there may be other parts of the universe, where they no more use these measures of ours, than in Japan they do our inches, feet, or miles; but yet something analogous to them there must be. For without some regular periodical returns, we could not measure ourselves, or signify to others, the length of any duration; though at the same time the world were as full of motion as it is now, but no part of it disposed into regular and apparently equidistant revolutions. But the different measures that may be made use of for the account of time, do not at all alter the notion of duration, which is the thing to be measured; no more than the different standards of a foot and a cubit alter the notion of extension to those who make use of those different measures.

24. Our Measure of Time applicable to Duration before Time.

The mind having once got such a measure of time as the annual revolution of the sun, can apply that measure to duration wherein that measure itself did not exist, and with which, in the reality of its being, it had nothing to do. For should one say, that Abraham was born in the two thousand seven hundred and twelfth year of the Julian period, it is altogether as intelligible as reckoning from the beginning of the world, though there were so far back no motion of the sun, nor any motion at all. For, though the Julian period be supposed to begin several hundred years before there were really either days, nights, or years, marked out by any revolutions of the sun, — yet we reckon as right, and thereby measure durations as well, as if really at that time the sun had existed, and kept the same ordinary motion it doth now. The idea of duration equal to an annual revolution of the sun, is as easily APPLICABLE in our thoughts to duration, where no sun or motion was, as the idea of a foot or yard, taken from bodies here, can be applied in our thoughts to duration, where no sun or motion was, as the idea of a foot or yard, taken from bodies here, can be applied in our thoughts to distances beyond the confines of the world, where are no bodies at all.

25. As we can measure space in our thoughts where there is no body.

For supposing it were 5639 miles, or millions of miles, from this place to the remotest body of the universe, (for, being finite, it must be at a certain distance,) as we suppose it to be 5639 years from this time to the first existence of any body in the beginning of the world; — we can, in our thoughts, apply this measure of a year to duration before the creation, or beyond the duration of bodies or motion, as we can this measure of a mile to space beyond the utmost bodies; and by the one measure duration, where there was no motion, as well as by the other measure space in our thoughts, where there is no body.

26. The assumption that the world is neither boundless nor eternal.

If it be objected to me here, that, in this way of explaining of time, I have begged what I should not, viz. that the world is neither eternal nor infinite; I answer, That to my present purpose it is not needful, in this place, to make use of arguments to evince the world to be finite both in duration and extension. But it being at least as conceivable as the contrary, I have certainly the liberty to suppose it, as well as any one hath to suppose the contrary; and I doubt not, but that every one that will go about it, may easily conceive in his mind the beginning of motion, though not of all duration, and so may come to a step and non ultra in his consideration of motion. So also, in his thoughts, he may set limits to body, and the extension belonging to it; but not to space, where no body is, the utmost bounds of space and duration being beyond the reach of thought, as well as the utmost bounds of number are beyond the largest comprehension of the mind; and all for the same reason, as we shall see in another place.

27. Eternity.

By the same means, therefore, and from the same original that we come to have the idea of time, we have also that idea which we call Eternity; viz. having got the idea of succession and duration, by reflecting on the train of our own ideas, caused in us either by the natural appearances of those ideas coming constantly of themselves into our waking thoughts, or else caused by external objects successively affecting our senses; and having from the revolutions of the sun got the ideas of certain lengths of duration, — we can in our thoughts add such lengths of duration to one another, as often as we please, and apply them, so added, to durations past or to come. And this we can continue to do on, without bounds or limits, and proceed in infinitum, and apply thus the length of the annual motion of the sun to duration, supposed before the sun’s or any other motion had its being, which is no more difficult or absurd, than to apply the notion I have of the moving of a shadow one hour to-day upon the sun-dial to the duration of something last night, v. g. the burning of a candle, which is now absolutely separate from all actual motion; and it is as impossible for the duration of that flame for an hour last night to co-exist with any motion that now is, or for ever shall be, as for any part of duration, that was before the beginning of the world, to co exist with the motion of the sun now. But yet this hinders not but that, having the IDEA of the length of the motion of the shadow on a dial between the marks of two hours, I can as distinctly measure in my thoughts the duration of that candle-light last night, as I can the duration of anything that does now exist: and it is no more than to think, that, had the sun shone then on the dial, and moved after the same rate it doth now, the shadow on the dial would have passed from one hour-line to another whilst that flame of the candle lasted.

28. Our measures of Duration dependent on our ideas.

The notion of an hour, day, or year, being only the idea I have of the length of certain periodical regular motions, neither of which motions do ever all at once exist, but only in the ideas I have of them in my memory derived from my senses or reflection; I can with the same ease, and for the same reason, apply it in my thoughts to duration antecedent to all manner of motion, as well as to anything that is but a minute or a day antecedent to the motion that at this very moment the sun is in. All things past are equally and perfectly at rest; and to this way of consideration of them are all one, whether they were before the beginning of the world, or but yesterday: the measuring of any duration by some motion depending not at all on the REAL co-existence of that thing to that motion, or any other periods of revolution, but the having a clear IDEA of the length of some periodical known motion, or other interval of duration, in my mind, and applying that to the duration of the thing I would measure.

29. The Duration of anything need not be co-existent with the motion we measure it by.

Hence we see that some men imagine the duration of of the world, from its first existence to this present year 1689, to have been 5639 years, or equal to 5639 annual revolutions of the sun, and others a great deal more; as the Egyptians of old, who in the time of Alexander counted 23,000 years from the reign of the sun; and the Chinese now, who account the world 3,269,000 years old, or more; which longer duration of the world, according to their computation, though I should not believe to be true, yet I can equally imagine it with them, and as truly understand, and say one is longer than the other, as I understand, that Methusalem’s life was longer than Enoch’s. And if the common reckoning of 5639 should be true, (as it may be as well as any other assigned,) it hinders not at all my imagining what others mean, when they make the world one thousand years older, since every one may with the same facility imagine (I do not say believe) the world to be 50,000 years old, as 5639; and may as well conceive the duration of 50,000 years as 5639. Whereby it appears that, to the measuring the duration of anything by time, it is not requisite that that thing should be co-existent to the motion we measure by, or any other periodical revolution; but it suffices to this purpose, that we have the idea of the length of ANY regular periodical appearances, which we can in our minds apply to duration, with which the motion or appearance never co-existed.

30. Infinity in Duration.

For, as in the history of the creation delivered by Moses, I can imagine that light existed three days before the sun was, or had any motion, barely by thinking that the duration of light before the sun was created was so long as (IF the sun had moved then as it doth now) would have been equal to three of his diurnal revolutions; so by the same way I can have an idea of the chaos, or angels, being created before there was either light or any continued motion, a minute, an hour, a day, a year, or one thousand years. For, if I can but consider duration equal to one minute, before either the being or motion of any body, I can add one minute more till I come to sixty; and by the same way of adding minutes, hours, or years (i.e. such or such parts of the sun’s revolutions, or any other period whereof I have the idea) proceed IN INFINITUM, and suppose a duration exceeding as many such periods as I can reckon, let me add whilst I will, which I think is the notion we have of eternity; of whose infinity we have no other notion than we have of the infinity of number, to which we can add for ever without end.

31. Origin of our Ideas of Duration, and of the measures of it.

And thus I think it is plain, that from those two fountains of all knowledge before mentioned, viz. reflection and sensation, we got the ideas of duration, and the measures of it.

For, First, by observing what passes in our minds, how our ideas there in train constantly some vanish and others begin to appear, we come by the idea of SUCCESSION. Secondly, by observing a distance in the parts of this succession, we get the idea of DURATION.

Thirdly, by sensation observing certain appearances, at certain regular and seeming equidistant periods, we get the ideas of certain LENGTHS or MEASURES OF DURATION, as minutes, hours, days, years, &c.

Fourthly, by being able to repeat those measures of time, or ideas of stated length of duration, in our minds, as often as we will, we can come to imagine DURATION, — WHERE NOTHING DOES REALLY ENDURE OR EXIST; and thus we imagine to-morrow, next year, or seven years hence.

Fifthly, by being able to repeat ideas of any length of time, as of a minute, a year, or an age, as often as we will in our own thoughts, and adding them one to another, without ever coming to the end of such addition, any nearer than we can to the end of number, to which we can always add; we come by the idea of ETERNITY, as the future eternal duration of our souls, as well as the eternity of that infinite Being which must necessarily have always existed.

Sixthly, by considering any part of infinite duration, as set out by periodical measures, we come by the idea of what we call TIME in general.

CHAPTER XV. IDEAS OF DURATION AND EXPANSION, CONSIDERED TOGETHER.

1. Both capable of greater and less.

Though we have in the precedent chapters dwelt pretty long on the considerations of space and duration, yet, they being ideas of general concernment, that have something very abstruse and peculiar in their nature, the comparing them one with another may perhaps be of use for their illustration; and we may have the more clear and distinct conception of them by taking a view of them together. Distance or space, in its simple abstract conception, to avoid confusion, I call EXPANSION, to distinguish it from extension, which by some is used to express this distance only as it is in the solid parts of matter, and so includes, or at least intimates, the idea of body: whereas the idea of pure distance includes no such thing. I prefer also the word expansion to space, because space is often applied to distance of fleeting successive parts, which never exist together, as well as to those which are permanent. In both these (viz. expansion and duration) the mind has this common idea of continued lengths, capable of greater or less quantities. For a man has as clear an idea of the difference of the length of an hour and a day, as of an inch and a foot.

2. Expansion not bounded by Matter.

The mind, having got the idea of the length of any part of expansion, let it be a span, or a pace, or what length you will, CAN, as has been said, repeat that idea, and so, adding it to the former, enlarge its idea of length, and make it equal to two spans, or two paces; and so, as often as it will, till it equals the distance of any parts of the earth one from another, and increase thus till it amounts to the distance of the sun or remotest star. By such a progression as this, setting out from the place where it is, or any other place, it can proceed and pass beyond all those lengths, and find nothing to stop its going on, either in or without body. It is true, we can easily in our thoughts come to the end of SOLID extension; the extremity and bounds of all body we have no difficulty to arrive at: but when the mind is there, it finds nothing to hinder its progress into this endless expansion; of that it can neither find nor conceive any end. Nor let any one say, that beyond the bounds of body, there is nothing at all; unless he will confine God within the limits of matter. Solomon, whose understanding was filled and enlarged with wisdom, seems to have other thoughts when he says, ‘Heaven, and the heaven of heavens, cannot contain thee.’ And he, I think, very much magnifies to himself the capacity of his own understanding, who persuades himself that he can extend his thoughts further than God exists, or imagine any expansion where He is not.

3. Nor Duration by Motion.

Just so is it in duration. The mind having got the idea of any length of duration, CAN double, multiply, and enlarge it, not only beyond its own, but beyond the existence of all corporeal beings, and all the measures of time, taken from the great bodies of all the world and their motions. But yet every one easily admits, that, though we make duration boundless, as certainly it is, we cannot yet extend it beyond all being. God, every one easily allows, fills eternity; and it is hard to find a reason why any one should doubt that he likewise fills immensity. His infinite being is certainly as boundless one way as another; and methinks it ascribes a little too much to matter to say, where there is no body, there is nothing.

4. Why Men more easily admit infinite Duration than infinite Expansion.

Hence I think we may learn the reason why every one familiarly and without the least hesitation speaks of and supposes Eternity, and sticks not to ascribe INFINITY to DURATION; but it is with more doubting and reserve that many admit or suppose the INFINITY OF SPACE. The reason whereof seems to me to be this, — That duration and extension being used as names of affections belonging to other beings, we easily conceive in God infinite duration, and we cannot avoid doing so: but, not attributing to him extension, but only to matter, which is finite, we are apter to doubt of the existence of expansion without matter; of which alone we commonly suppose it an attribute. And, therefore, when men pursue their thoughts of space, they are apt to stop at the confines of body: as if space were there at an end too, and reached no further. Or if their ideas, upon consideration, carry them further, yet they term what is beyond the limits of the universe, imaginary space: as if IT were nothing, because there is no body existing in it. Whereas duration, antecedent to all body, and to the motions which it is measured by, they never term imaginary: because it is never supposed void of some other real existence. And if the names of things may at all direct our thoughts towards the original of men’s ideas, (as I am apt to think they may very much,) one may have occasion to think by the name DURATION, that the continuation of existence, with a kind of resistance to any destructive force, and the continuation of solidity (which is apt to be confounded with, and if we will look into the minute anatomical parts of matter, is little different from, hardness) were thought to have some analogy, and gave occasion to words so near of kin as durare and durum esse. And that durare is applied to the idea of hardness, as well as that of existence, we see in Horace, Epod. xvi. ferro duravit secula. But, be that as it will, this is certain, that whoever pursues his own thoughts, will find them sometimes launch out beyond the extent of body, into the infinity of space or expansion; the idea whereof is distinct and separate from body and all other things: which may, (to those who please,) be a subject of further meditation.

5. Time to Duration is as Place to Expansion.

Time in general is to duration as place to expansion. They are so much of those boundless oceans of eternity and immensity as is set out and distinguished from the rest, as it were by landmarks; and so are made use of to denote the position of FINITE real beings, in respect one to another, in those uniform infinite oceans of duration and space. These, rightly considered, are only ideas of determinate distances from certain known points, fixed in distinguishable sensible things, and supposed to keep the same distance one from another. From such points fixed in sensible beings we reckon, and from them we measure our portions of those infinite quantities; which, so considered, are that which we call TIME and PLACE. For duration and space being in themselves uniform and boundless, the order and position of things, without such known settled points, would be lost in them; and all things would lie jumbled in an incurable confusion.

6. Time and Place are taken for so much of either as are set out by the Existence and Motion of Bodies.

Time and place, taken thus for determinate distinguishable portions of those infinite abysses of space and duration, set out or supposed to be distinguished from the rest, by marks and known boundaries, have each of them a twofold acceptation.

FIRST, Time in general is commonly taken for so much of infinite duration as is measured by, and co-existent with, the existence and motions of the great bodies of the universe, as far as we know anything of them: and in this sense time begins and ends with the frame of this sensible world, as in these phrases before mentioned, ‘Before all time,’ or, ‘When time shall be no more.’ Place likewise is taken sometimes for that portion of infinite space which is possessed by and comprehended within the material world; and is thereby distinguished from the rest of expansion; though this may be more properly called extension than place. Within these two are confined, and by the observable parts of them are measured and determined, the particular time or duration, and the particular extension and place, of all corporeal beings.

7. Sometimes for so much of either as we design by Measures taken from the Bulk or Motion of Bodies.

SECONDLY, sometimes the word time is used in a larger sense, and is applied to parts of that infinite duration, not that were really distinguished and measured out by this real existence, and periodical motions of bodies, that were appointed from the beginning to be for signs and for seasons and for days and years, and are accordingly our measures of time; but such other portions too of that infinite uniform duration, which we upon any occasion do suppose equal to certain lengths of measured time; and so consider them as bounded and determined. For, if we should suppose the creation, or fall of the angels, was at the beginning of the Julian period, we should speak properly enough, and should be understood if we said, it is a longer time since the creation of angels than the creation of the world, by 7640 years: whereby we would mark out so much of that undistinguished duration as we suppose equal to, and would have admitted, 7640 annual revolutions of the sun, moving at the rate it now does. And thus likewise we sometimes speak of place, distance, or bulk, in the great INANE, beyond the confines of the world, when we consider so much of that space as is equal to, or capable to receive, a body of any assigned dimensions, as a cubic foot; or do suppose a point in it, at such a certain distance from any part of the universe.

8. They belong to all finite beings.

WHERE and WHEN are questions belonging to all finite existences, and are by us always reckoned from some known parts of this sensible world, and from some certain epochs marked out to us by the motions observable in it. Without some such fixed parts or periods, the order of things would be lost, to our finite understandings, in the boundless invariable oceans of duration and expansion, which comprehend in them all finite beings, and in their full extent belong only to the Deity. And therefore we are not to wonder that we comprehend them not, and do so often find our thoughts at a loss, when we would consider them, either abstractly in themselves, or as any way attributed to the first incomprehensible Being. But when applied to any particular finite beings, the extension of any body is so much of that infinite space as the bulk of the body takes up. And place is the position of any body, when considered at a certain distance from some other. As the idea of the particular duration of anything is, an idea of that portion of infinite duration which passes during the existence of that thing; so the time when the thing existed is, the idea of that space of duration which passed between some known and fixed period of duration, and the being of that thing. One shows the distance of the extremities of the bulk or existence of the same thing, as that it is a foot square, or lasted two years; the other shows the distance of it in place, or existence from other fixed points of space or duration, as that it was in the middle of Lincoln’s Inn Fields, or the first degree of Taurus, and in the year of our Lord 1671, or the 1000th year of the Julian period. All which distances we measure by preconceived ideas of certain lengths of space and duration, — as inches, feet, miles, and degrees, and in the other, minutes, days, and years, &c.

9. All the Parts of Extension are Extension, and all the Parts of Duration are Duration.

There is one thing more wherein space and duration have a great conformity, and that is, though they are justly reckoned amongst our SIMPLE IDEAS, yet none of the distinct ideas we have of either is without all manner of composition: it is the very nature of both of them to consist of parts: but their parts being all of the same kind, and without the mixture of any other idea, hinder them not from having a place amongst simple ideas. Could the mind, as in number, come to so small a part of extension or duration as excluded divisibility, THAT would be, as it were, the indivisible unit or idea; by repetition of which, it would make its more enlarged ideas of extension and duration. But, since the mind is not able to frame an idea of ANY space without parts, instead thereof it makes use of the common measures, which, by familiar use in each country, have imprinted themselves on the memory (as inches and feet; or cubits and parasangs; and so seconds, minutes, hours, days, and years in duration); — the mind makes use, I say, of such ideas as these, as simple ones: and these are the component parts of larger ideas, which the mind upon occasion makes by the addition of such known lengths which it is acquainted with. On the other side, the ordinary smallest measure we have of either is looked on as an unit in number, when the mind by division would reduce them into less fractions. Though on both sides, both in addition and division, either of space or duration, when the idea under consideration becomes very big or very small, its precise bulk becomes very obscure and confused; and it is the NUMBER of its repeated additions or divisions that alone remains clear and distinct; as will easily appear to any one who will let his thoughts loose in the vast expansion of space, or divisibility of matter. Every part of duration is duration too; and every part of extension is extension, both of them capable of addition or division in infinitum. But THE LEAST PORTIONS OF EITHER OF THEM, WHEREOF WE HAVE CLEAR AND DISTINCT IDEAS, may perhaps be fittest to be considered by us, as the simple ideas of that kind out of which our complex modes of space, extension, and duration are made up, and into which they can again be distinctly resolved. Such a small part in duration may be called a MOMENT, and is the time of one idea in our minds, in the train of their ordinary succession there. The other, wanting a proper name, I know not whether I may be allowed to call a SENSIBLE POINT, meaning thereby the least particle of matter or space we can discern, which is ordinarily about a minute, and to the sharpest eyes seldom less than thirty seconds of a circle, whereof the eye is the centre.

10. Their Parts inseparable.

Expansion and duration have this further agreement, that, though they are both considered by us as having parts, yet their parts are not separable one from another, no not even in thought: though the parts of bodies from whence we take our MEASURE of the one; and the parts of motion, or rather the succession of ideas in our minds, from whence we take the MEASURE of the other, may be interrupted and separated; as the one is often by rest, and the other is by sleep, which we call rest too.

11. Duration is as a Line, Expansion as a Solid.

But there is this manifest difference between them, — That the ideas of length which we have of expansion are turned every way, and so make figure, and breadth, and thickness; but duration is but as it were the length of one straight line, extended in infinitum, not capable of multiplicity, variation, or figure; but is one common measure of all existence whatsoever, wherein all things, whilst they exist, equally partake. For this present moment is common to all things that are now in being, and equally comprehends that part of their existence, as much as if they were all but one single being; and we may truly say, they all exist in the SAME moment of time. Whether angels and spirits have any analogy to this, in respect to expansion, is beyond my comprehension: and perhaps for us, who have understandings and comprehensions suited to our own preservation, and the ends of our own being, but not to the reality and extent of all other beings, it is near as hard to conceive any existence, or to have an idea of any real being, with a perfect negation of all manner of expansion, as it is to have the idea of any real existence with a perfect negation of all manner of duration. And therefore, what spirits have to do with space, or how they communicate in it, we know not. All that we know is, that bodies do each singly possess its proper portion of it, according to the extent of solid parts; and thereby exclude all other bodies from having any share in that particular portion of space, whilst it remains there.

12. Duration has never two Parts together, Expansion altogether.

DURATION, and TIME which is a part of it, is the idea we have of PERISHING distance, of which no two parts exist together, but follow each other in succession; an EXPANSION is the idea of LASTING distance, all whose parts exist together and are not capable of succession. And therefore, though we cannot conceive any duration without succession, nor can put it together in our thoughts that any being does NOW exist to-morrow, or possess at once more than the present moment of duration; yet we can conceive the eternal duration of the Almighty far different from that of man, or any other finite being. Because man comprehends not in his knowledge or power all past and future things: his thoughts are but of yesterday, and he knows not what to-morrow will bring forth. What is once past he can never recal; and what is yet to come he cannot make present. What I say of man, I say of all finite beings; who, though they may far exceed man in knowledge and power, yet are no more than the meanest creature, in comparison with God himself. Finite or any magnitude holds not any proportion to infinite. God’s infinite duration, being accompanied with infinite knowledge and infinite power, he sees all things, past and to come; and they are no more distant from his knowledge, no further removed from his sight, than the present: they all lie under the same view: and there is nothing which he cannot make exist each moment he pleases. For the existence of all things, depending upon his good pleasure, all things exist every moment that he thinks fit to have them exist. To conclude: expansion and duration do mutually embrace and comprehend each other; every part of space being in every part of duration, and every part of duration in every part of expansion. Such a combination of two distinct ideas is, I suppose, scarce to be found in all that great variety we do or can conceive, and may afford matter to further speculation.

CHAPTER XVI. IDEA OF NUMBER.

1. Number the simplest and most universal Idea.

Amongst all the ideas we have, as there is none suggested to the mind by more ways, so there is none more simple, than that of UNITY, or one: it has no shadow of variety or composition in it: every object our senses are employed about; every idea in our understandings; every thought of our minds, brings this idea along with it. And therefore it is the most intimate to our thoughts, as well as it is, in its agreement to all other things, the most universal idea we have. For number applies itself to men, angels, actions, thoughts; everything that either doth exist or can be imagined.

2. Its Modes made by Addition.

By repeating this idea in our minds, and adding the repetitions together, we come by the COMPLEX ideas of the MODES of it. Thus, by adding one to one, we have the complex idea of a couple; by putting twelve units together we have the complex idea of a dozen; and so of a score or a million, or any other number.

3. Each Mode distinct.

The SIMPLE MODES of NUMBER are of all other the most distinct; every the least variation, which is an unit, making each combination as clearly different from that which approacheth nearest to it, as the most remote; two being as distinct from one, as two hundred; and the idea of two as distinct from the idea of three, as the magnitude of the whole earth is from that of a mite. This is not so in other simple modes, in which it is not so easy, nor perhaps possible for us to distinguish betwixt two approaching ideas, which yet are really different. For who will undertake to find a difference between the white of this paper and that of the next degree to it: or can form distinct ideas of every the least excess in extension?

4. Therefore Demonstrations in Numbers the most precise.

The clearness and distinctness of each mode of number from all others, even those that approach nearest, makes me apt to think that demonstrations in numbers, if they are not more evident and exact than in extension, yet they are more general in their use, and more determinate in their application. Because the ideas of numbers are more precise and distinguishable than in extension; where every equality and excess are not so easy to be observed or measured; because our thoughts cannot in space arrive at any determined smallness beyond which it cannot go, as an unit; and therefore the quantity or proportion of any the least excess cannot be discovered; which is clear otherwise in number, where, as has been said, 91 is as distinguishable from 90 as from 9000, though 91 be the next immediate excess to 90. But it is not so in extension, where, whatsoever is more than just a foot or an inch, is not distinguishable from the standard of a foot or an inch; and in lines which appear of an equal length, one may be longer than the other by innumerable parts: nor can any one assign an angle, which shall be the next biggest to a right one.

5. Names necessary to Numbers.

By the repeating, as has been said, the idea of an unit, and joining it to another unit, we make thereof one collective idea, marked by the name two. And whosoever can do this, and proceed on, still adding one more to the last collective idea which he had of any number, and gave a name to it, may count, or have ideas, for several collections of units, distinguished one from another, as far as he hath a series of names for following numbers, and a memory to retain that series, with their several names: all numeration being but still the adding of one unit more, and giving to the whole together, as comprehended in one idea, a new or distinct name or sign, whereby to know it from those before and after, and distinguish it from every smaller or greater multitude of units. So that he that can add one to one, and so to two, and so go on with his tale, taking still with him the distinct names belonging to every progression; and so again, by subtracting an unit from each collection, retreat and lessen them, is capable of all the ideas of numbers within the compass of his language, or for which he hath names, though not perhaps of more. For, the several simple modes of numbers being in our minds but so many combinations of units, which have no variety, nor are capable of any other difference but more or less, names or marks for each distinct combination seem more necessary than in any other sort of ideas. For, without such names or marks, we can hardly well make use of numbers in reckoning, especially where the combination is made up of any great multitude of units; which put together, without a name or mark to distinguish that precise collection, will hardly be kept from being a heap in confusion.

6. Another reason for the necessity of names to numbers.

This I think to be the reason why some Americans I have spoken with, (who were otherwise of quick and rational parts enough,) could not, as we do, by any means count to 1000; nor had any distinct idea of that number, though they could reckon very well to 20. Because their language being scanty, and accommodated only to the few necessaries of a needy, simple life, unacquainted either with trade or mathematics, had no words in it to stand for 1000; so that when they were discoursed with of those greater numbers, they would show the hairs of their head, to express a great multitude, which they could not number; which inability, I suppose, proceeded from their want of names. The Tououpinambos had no names for numbers above 5; any number beyond that they made out by showing their fingers, and the fingers of others who were present. And I doubt not but we ourselves might distinctly number in words a great deal further than we usually do, would we find out but some fit denominations to signify them by; whereas, in the way we take now to name them, by millions of millions of millions, &c., it is hard to go beyond eighteen, or at most, four and twenty, decimal progressions, without confusion. But to show how much distinct names conduce to our well reckoning, or having useful ideas of numbers, let us see all these following figures in one continued line, as the marks of one number: v. g.

Nonillions. 857324

Octillions. 162486

Septillions. 345896

Sextillions. 437918

Quintrillions. 423147

Quartrillions. 248106

Trillions. 235421

Billions. 261734

Millions. 368149

Units. 623137

The ordinary way of naming this number in English, will be the often repeating of millions, of millions, of millions, of millions, of millions, of millions, of millions, of millions, (which is the denomination of the second six figures). In which way, it will be very hard to have any distinguishing notions of this number. But whether, by giving every six figures a new and orderly denomination, these, and perhaps a great many more figures in progression, might not easily be counted distinctly, and ideas of them both got more easily to ourselves, and more plainly signified to others, I leave it to be considered. This I mention only to show how necessary distinct names are to numbering, without pretending to introduce new ones of my invention.

7. Why Children number not earlier.

Thus children, either for want of names to mark the several progressions of numbers, or not having yet the faculty to collect scattered ideas into complex ones, and range them in a regular order, and so retain them in their memories, as is necessary to reckoning, do not begin to number very early, nor proceed in it very far or steadily, till a good while after they are well furnished with good store of other ideas: and one may often observe them discourse and reason pretty well, and have very clear conceptions of several other things, before they can tell twenty. And some, through the default of their memories, who cannot retain the several combinations of numbers, with their names, annexed in their distinct orders, and the dependence of so long a train of numeral progressions, and their relation one to another, are not able all their lifetime to reckon, or regularly go over any moderate series of numbers. For he that will count twenty, or have any idea of that number, must know that nineteen went before, with the distinct name or sign of every one of them, as they stand marked in their order; for wherever this fails, a gap is made, the chain breaks, and the progress in numbering can go no further. So that to reckon right, it is required, (1) That the mind distinguish carefully two ideas, which are different one from another only by the addition or subtraction of ONE unit: (2) That it retain in memory the names or marks of the several combinations, from an unit to that number; and that not confusedly, and at random, but in that exact order that the numbers follow one another. In either of which, if it trips, the whole business of numbering will be disturbed, and there will remain only the confused idea of multitude, but the ideas necessary to distinct numeration will not be attained to.

8. Number measures all Measurables.

This further is observable in number, that it is that which the mind makes use of in measuring all things that by us are measurable, which principally are EXPANSION and DURATION; and our idea of infinity, even when applied to those, seems to be nothing but the infinity of number. For what else are our ideas of Eternity and Immensity, but the repeated additions of certain ideas of imagined parts of duration and expansion, with the infinity of number; in which we can come to no end of addition? For such an inexhaustible stock, number (of all other our ideas) most clearly furnishes us with, as is obvious to every one. For let a man collect into one sum as great a number as he pleases, this multitude how great soever, lessens not one jot the power of adding to it, or brings him any nearer the end of the inexhaustible stock of number; where still there remains as much to be added, as if none were taken out. And this ENDLESS ADDITION or ADDIBILITY (if any one like the word better) of numbers, so apparent to the mind, is that, I think, which gives us the clearest and most distinct idea of infinity: of which more in the following chapter.

CHAPTER XVII. OF INFINITY.

1. Infinity, in its original Intention, attributed to Space, Duration, and Number.

He that would know what kind of idea it is to which we give the name of INFINITY, cannot do it better than by considering to what infinity is by the mind more immediately attributed; and then how the mind comes to frame it.

FINITE and INFINITE seem to me to be looked upon by the mind as the MODES OF QUANTITY, and to be attributed primarily in their first designation only to those things which have parts, and are capable of increase or diminution by the addition or subtraction of any the least part: and such are the ideas of space, duration, and number, which we have considered in the foregoing chapters. It is true, that we cannot but be assured, that the great God, of whom and from whom are all things, is incomprehensibly infinite: but yet, when we apply to that first and supreme Being our idea of infinite, in our weak and narrow thoughts, we do it primarily in respect to his duration and ubiquity; and, I think, more figuratively to his power, wisdom, and goodness, and other attributes which are properly inexhaustible and incomprehensible, &c. For, when we call THEM infinite, we have no other idea of this infinity but what carries with it some reflection on, and imitation of, that number or extent of the acts or objects of God’s power, wisdom, and goodness, which can never be supposed so great, or so many, which these attributes will not always surmount and exceed, let us multiply them in our thoughts as far as we can, with all the infinity of endless number. I do not pretend to say how these attributes are in God, who is infinitely beyond the reach of our narrow capacities: they do, without doubt, contain in them all possible perfection: but this, I say, is our way of conceiving them, and these our ideas of their infinity.

2. The Idea of Finite easily got.

Finite then, and infinite, being by the mind looked on as MODIFICATIONS of expansion and duration, the next thing to be considered, is, — HOW THE MIND COMES BY THEM. As for the idea of finite, there is no great difficulty. The obvious portions of extension that affect our senses, carry with them into the mind the idea of finite: and the ordinary periods of succession, whereby we measure time and duration, as hours, days, and years, are bounded lengths. The difficulty is, how we come by those BOUNDLESS IDEAS of eternity and immensity; since the objects we converse with come so much short of any approach or proportion to that largeness.

3. How we come by the Idea of Infinity.

Every one that has any idea of any stated lengths of space, as a foot, finds that he can repeat that idea; and joining it to the former, make the idea of two feet; and by the addition of a third, three feet; and so on, without ever coming to an end of his additions, whether of the same idea of a foot, or, if he pleases, of doubling it, or any other idea he has of any length, as a mile, or diameter of the earth, or of the orbis magnus: for whichever of these he takes, and how often soever he doubles, or any otherwise multiplies it, he finds, that, after he has continued his doubling in his thoughts, and enlarged his idea as much as he pleases, he has no more reason to stop, nor is one jot nearer the end of such addition, than he was at first setting out: the power of enlarging his idea of space by further additions remaining still the same, he hence takes the idea of infinite space.

4. Our Idea of Space boundless.

This, I think, is the way whereby the mind gets the IDEA of infinite space. It is a quite different consideration, to examine whether the mind has the idea of such a boundless space ACTUALLY EXISTING; since our ideas are not always proofs of the existence of things: but yet, since this comes here in our way, I suppose I may say, that we are APT TO THINK that space in itself is actually boundless, to which imagination the idea of space or expansion of itself naturally leads us. For, it being considered by us, either as the extension of body, or as existing by itself, without any solid matter taking it up, (for of such a void space we have not only the idea, but I have proved, as I think, from the motion of body, its necessary existence,) it is impossible the mind should be ever able to find or suppose any end of it, or be stopped anywhere in its progress in this space, how far soever it extends its thoughts. Any bounds made with body, even adamantine walls, are so far from putting a stop to the mind in its further progress in space and extension that it rather facilitates and enlarges it. For so far as that body reaches, so far no one can doubt of extension; and when we are come to the utmost extremity of body, what is there that can there put a stop, and satisfy the mind that it is at the end of space, when it perceives that it is not; nay, when it is satisfied that body itself can move into it? For, if it be necessary for the motion of body, that there should be an empty space, though ever so little, here amongst bodies; and if it be possible for body to move in or through that empty space; — nay, it is impossible for any particle of matter to move but into an empty space; the same possibility of a body’s moving into a void space, beyond the utmost bounds of body, as well as into a void space interspersed amongst bodies, will always remain clear and evident: the idea of empty pure space, whether within or beyond the confines of all bodies, being exactly the same, differing not in nature, though in bulk; and there being nothing to hinder body from moving into it. So that wherever the mind places itself by any thought, either amongst, or remote from all bodies, it can, in this uniform idea of space, nowhere find any bounds, any end; and so must necessarily conclude it, by the very nature and idea of each part of it, to be actually infinite.

5. And so of Duration.

As, by the power we find in ourselves of repeating, as often as we will, any idea of space, we get the idea of IMMENSITY; so, by being able to repeat the idea of any length of duration we have in our minds, with all the endless addition of number, we come by the idea of ETERNITY. For we find in ourselves, we can no more come to an end of such repeated ideas than we can come to the end of number; which every one perceives he cannot. But here again it is another question, quite different from our having an IDEA of eternity, to know whether there were ANY REAL BEING, whose duration has been eternal. And as to this, I say, he that considers something now existing, must necessarily come to Something eternal. But having spoke of this in another place, I shall say here no more of it, but proceed on to some other considerations of our idea of infinity.

6. Why other Ideas are not capable of Infinity.

If it be so, that our idea of infinity be got from the power we observe in ourselves of repeating, without end, our own ideas, it may be demanded, — Why we do not attribute infinity to other ideas, as well as those of space and duration; since they may be as easily, and as often, repeated in our minds as the other: and yet nobody ever thinks of infinite sweetness or infinite whiteness, though he can repeat the idea of sweet or white, as frequently as those of a yard or a day? To which I answer, — All the ideas that are considered as having parts, and are capable of increase by the addition of an equal or less parts, afford us, by their repetition, the idea of infinity; because, with this endless repetition, there is continued an enlargement of which there CAN be no end. But for other ideas it is not so. For to the largest idea of extension or duration that I at present have, the addition of any the least part makes an increase; but to the perfectest idea I have of the whitest whiteness, if I add another of a less equal whiteness, (and of a whiter than I have, I cannot add the idea,) it makes no increase, and enlarges not my idea at all; and therefore the different ideas of whiteness, &c. are called degrees. For those ideas that consist of part are capable of being augmented by every addition of the least part; but if you take the idea of white, which one parcel of snow yielded yesterday to our sight, and another idea of white from another parcel of snow you see to-day, and put them together in your mind, they embody, as it were, all run into one, and the idea of whiteness is not at all increased and if we add a less degree of whiteness to a greater, we are so far from increasing, that we diminish it. Those ideas that consist not of parts cannot be augmented to what proportion men please, or be stretched beyond what they have received by their senses; but space, duration, and number, being capable of increase by repetition, leave in the mind an idea of endless room for more; nor can we conceive anywhere a stop to a further addition or progression: and so those ideas ALONE lead our minds towards the thought of infinity.

7. Difference between infinity of Space, and Space infinite.

Though our idea of infinity arise from the contemplation of quantity, and the endless increase the mind is able to make in quantity, by the repeated additions of what portions thereof it pleases; yet I guess we cause great confusion in our thoughts, when we join infinity to any supposed idea of quantity the mind can be thought to have, and so discourse or reason about an infinite quantity, as an infinite space, or an infinite duration. For, as our idea of infinity being, as I think, AN ENDLESS GROWING IDEA, but the idea of any quantity the mind has, being at that time TERMINATED in that idea, (for be it as great as it will, it can be no greater than it is,) — to join infinity to it, is to adjust a standing measure to a growing bulk; and therefore I think it is not an insignificant subtilty, if I say, that we are carefully to distinguish between the idea of the infinity of space, and the idea of a space infinite. The first is nothing but a supposed endless progression of the mind, over what repeated ideas of space it pleases; but to have actually in the mind the idea of a space infinite, is to suppose the mind already passed over, and actually to have a view of ALL those repeated ideas of space which an ENDLESS repetition can never totally represent to it; which carries in it a plain contradiction.

8. We have no Idea of infinite Space.

This, perhaps, will be a little plainer, if we consider it in numbers. The infinity of numbers, to the end of whose addition every one perceives there is no approach, easily appears to any one that reflects on it. But, how clear soever this idea of the infinity of number be, there is nothing yet more evident than the absurdity of the actual idea of an infinite number. Whatsoever POSITIVE ideas we have in our minds of any space, duration, or number, let them be ever so great, they are still finite; but when we suppose an inexhaustible remainder, from which we remove all bounds, and wherein we allow the mind an endless progression of thought, without ever completing the idea, there we have our idea of infinity: which, though it seems to be pretty clear when we consider nothing else in it but the negation of an end, yet, when we would frame in our minds the idea of an infinite space or duration, that idea is very obscure and confused, because it is made up of two parts, very different, if not inconsistent. For, let a man frame in his mind an idea of any space or number, as great as he will; it is plain the mind RESTS AND TERMINATES in that idea, which is contrary to the idea of infinity, which CONSISTS IN A SUPPOSED ENDLESS PROGRESSION. And therefore I think it is that we are so easily confounded, when we come to argue and reason about infinite space or duration, &c. Because the parts of such an idea not being perceived to be, as they are, inconsistent, the one side or other always perplexes, whatever consequences we draw from the other; as an idea of motion not passing on would perplex any one who should argue from such an idea, which is not better than an idea of motion at rest. And such another seems to me to be the idea of a space, or (which is the same thing) a number infinite, i. e. of a space or number which the mind actually has, and so views and terminates in; and of a space or number, which, in a constant and endless enlarging and progression, it can in thought never attain to. For, how large soever an idea of space I have in my mind, it is no larger than it is that instant that I have it, though I be capable the next instant to double it, and so on in infinitum; for that alone is infinite which has no bounds; and that the idea of infinity, in which our thoughts can find none.

9. Number affords us the clearest Idea of Infinity.

But of all other ideas, it is number, as I have said, which I think furnishes us with the clearest and most distinct idea of infinity we are capable of. For, even in space and duration, when the mind pursues the idea of infinity, it there makes use of the ideas and repetitions of numbers, as of millions and millions of miles, or years, which are so many distinct ideas, — kept best by number from running into a confused heap, wherein the mind loses itself; and when it has added together as many millions, &c., as it pleases, of known lengths of space or duration, the clearest idea it can get of infinity, is the confused incomprehensible remainder of endless addible numbers, which affords no prospect of stop or boundary.

10. Our different Conceptions of the Infinity of Number contrasted with those of Duration and Expansion.

It will, perhaps, give us a little further light into the idea we have of infinity, and discover to us, that it is NOTHING BUT THE INFINITY OF NUMBER APPLIED TO DETERMINATE PARTS, OF WHICH WE HAVE IN OUR MINDS THE DISTINCT IDEAS, if we consider that number is not generally thought by us infinite, whereas duration and extension are apt to be so; which arises from hence, — that in number we are at one end, as it were: for there being in number nothing LESS than an unit, we there stop, and are at an end; but in addition, or increase of number, we can set no bounds: and so it is like a line, whereof one end terminating with us, the other is extended still forwards, beyond all that we can conceive. But in space and duration it is otherwise. For in duration we consider it as if this line of number were extended BOTH ways — to an unconceivable, undeterminate, and infinite length; which is evident to anyone that will but reflect on what consideration he hath of Eternity; which, I suppose, will find to be nothing else but the turning this infinity of number both ways, a parte ante and a parte post, as they speak. For, when we would consider eternity, a parte ante, what do we but, beginning from ourselves and the present time we are in, repeat in our minds ideas of years, or ages, or any other assignable portion of duration past, with a prospect of proceeding in such addition with all the infinity of number: and when we would consider eternity, a parte post, we just after the same rate begin from ourselves, and reckon by multiplied periods yet to come, still extending that line of number as before. And these two being put together, are that infinite duration we call ETERNITY which, as we turn our view either way, forwards or backward appears infinite, because we still turn that way the infinite end of number, i.e. the power still of adding more.

11. How we conceive the Infinity of Space.

The same happens also in space, wherein, conceiving ourselves to be, as it were, in the centre, we do on all sides pursue those indeterminable lines of number; and reckoning any way from ourselves, a yard, mile, diameter of the earth or orbis magnus, — by the infinity of number, we add others to them, as often as we will. And having no more reason to set bounds to those repeated ideas than we have to set bounds to number, we have that indeterminable idea of immensity.

12. Infinite Divisibility.

And since in any bulk of matter our thoughts can never arrive at the utmost divisibility, therefore there is an apparent infinity to us also in that, which has the infinity also of number; but with this difference, — that, in the former considerations of the infinity of space and duration, we only use addition of numbers; whereas this is like the division of an unit into its fractions, wherein the mind also can proceed in infinitum, as well as in the former additions; it being indeed but the addition still of new numbers: though in the addition of the one, we can have no more the POSITIVE idea of a space infinitely great, than, in the division of the other, we can have the positive idea of a body infinitely little; — our idea of infinity being, as I may say, a growing or fugitive idea, still in a boundless progression, that can stop nowhere.

13. No positive Idea of Infinity.

Though it be hard, I think, to find anyone so absurd as to say he has the POSITIVE idea of an actual infinite number; — the infinity whereof lies only in a power still of adding any combination of units to any former number, and that as long and as much as one will; the like also being in the infinity of space and duration, which power leaves always to the mind room for endless additions; — yet there be those who imagine they have positive ideas of infinite duration and space. It would, I think, be enough to destroy any such positive idea of infinite, to ask him that has it, — whether he could add to it or no; which would easily show the mistake of such a positive idea. We can, I think, have no positive idea of any space or duration which is not made up of, and commensurate to, repeated numbers of feet or yards, or days and years; which are the common measures, whereof we have the ideas in our minds, and whereby we judge of the greatness of this sort of quantities. And therefore, since an infinite idea of space or duration must needs be made up of infinite parts, it can have no other infinity than that of number CAPABLE still of further addition; but not an actual positive idea of a number infinite. For, I think it is evident, that the addition of finite things together (as are all lengths whereof we have the positive ideas) can never otherwise produce the idea of infinite than as number does; which consisting of additions of finite units one to another, suggests the idea of infinite, only by a power we find we have of still increasing the sum, and adding more of the same kind; without coming one jot nearer the end of such progression.

14. How we cannot have a positive idea of infinity in Quantity.

They who would prove their idea of infinite to be positive, seem to me to do it by a pleasant argument, taken from the negation of an end; which being negative, the negation on it is positive. He that considers that the end is, in body, but the extremity or superficies of that body, will not perhaps be forward to grant that the end is a bare negative: and he that perceives the end of his pen is black or white, will be apt to think that the end is something more than a pure negation. Nor is it, when applied to duration, the bare negation of existence, but more properly the last moment of it. But as they will have the end to be nothing but the bare negation of existence, I am sure they cannot deny but the beginning of the first instant of being, and is not by any body conceived to be a bare negation; and therefore, by their own argument, the idea of eternal, Ŕ PARTE ANTE, or of a duration without a beginning, is but a negative idea.

15. What is positive, what negative, in our Idea of infinite.

The idea of infinite has, I confess, something of positive in all those things we apply to it. When we would think of infinite space or duration, we at first step usually make some very large idea, as perhaps of millions of ages, or miles, which possibly we double and multiply several times. All that we thus amass together in our thoughts is positive, and the assemblage of a great number of positive ideas of space or duration. But what still remains beyond this we have no more a positive distinct notion of than a mariner has of the depth of the sea; where, having let down a large portion of his sounding-line, he reaches no bottom. Whereby he knows the depth to be so many fathoms, and more; but how much the more is, he hath no distinct notion at all: and could he always supply new line, and find the plummet always sink, without ever stopping, he would be something in the posture of the mind reaching after a complete and positive idea of infinity. In which case, let this line be ten, or ten thousand fathoms long, it equally discovers what is beyond it, and gives only this confused and comparative idea, that this is not all, but one may yet go farther. So much as the mind comprehends of any space, it has a positive idea of: but in endeavouring to make it infinite, — it being always enlarging, always advancing, — the idea is still imperfect and incomplete. So much space as the mind takes a view of in its contemplation of greatness, is a clear picture, and positive in the understanding: but infinite is still greater. 1. Then the idea of SO MUCH is positive and clear. 2. The idea of GREATER is also clear; but it is but a comparative idea, the idea of SO MUCH GREATER AS CANNOT BE COMPREHENDED. 3. And this is plainly negative: not positive. For he has no positive clear idea of the largeness of any extension, (which is that sought for in the idea of infinite), that has not a comprehensive idea of the dimensions of it: and such, nobody, I think, pretends to in what is infinite. For to say a man has a positive clear idea of any quantity, without knowing how great it is, is as reasonable as to say, he has the positive clear idea of the number of the sands on the sea-shore, who knows not how many there be, but only that they are more than twenty. For just such a perfect and positive idea has he of an infinite space or duration, who says it is LARGER THAN the extent or duration of ten, one hundred, one thousand, or any other number of miles, or years, whereof he has or can have a positive idea; which is all the idea, I think, we have of infinite. So that what lies beyond our positive idea TOWARDS infinity, lies in obscurity, and has the indeterminate confusion of a negative idea, wherein I know I neither do nor can comprehend all I would, it being too large for a finite and narrow capacity. And that cannot but be very far from a positive complete idea, wherein the greatest part of what I would comprehend is left out, under the undeterminate intimation of being still greater. For to say, that, having in any quantity measured so much, or gone so far, you are not yet at the end, is only to say that that quantity is greater. So that the negation of an end in any quantity is, in other words, only to say that it is bigger; and a total negation of an end is but carrying this bigger still with you, in all the progressions your thoughts shall make in quantity; and adding this IDEA OF STILL GREATER to ALL the ideas you have, or can be supposed to have, of quantity. Now, whether such an idea as that be positive, I leave any one to consider.

16. We have no positive Idea of an infinite Duration.

I ask those who say they have a positive idea of eternity, whether their idea of duration includes in it succession, or not? If it does not, they ought to show the difference of their notion of duration, when applied to an eternal Being, and to a finite; since, perhaps, there may be others as well as I, who will own to them their weakness of understanding in this point, and acknowledge that the notion they have of duration forces them to conceive, that whatever has duration, is of a longer continuance to-day than it was yesterday. If, to avoid succession in external existence, they return to the punctum stans of the schools, I suppose they will thereby very little mend the matter, or help us to a more clear and positive idea of infinite duration; there being nothing more inconceivable to me than duration without succession. Besides, that punctum stans, if it signify anything, being not quantum, finite or infinite cannot belong to it. But, if our weak apprehensions cannot separate succession from any duration whatsoever, our idea of eternity can be nothing but of INFINITE SUCCESSION OF MOMENTS OF DURATION WHEREIN ANYTHING DOES EXIST; and whether any one has, or can have, a positive idea of an actual infinite number, I leave him to consider, till his infinite number be so great that he himself can add no more to it; and as long as he can increase it, I doubt he himself will think the idea he hath of it a little too scanty for positive infinity.

17. No complete Idea of Eternal Being.

I think it unavoidable for every considering, rational creature, that will but examine his own or any other existence, to have the notion of an eternal, wise Being, who had no beginning: and such an idea of infinite duration I am sure I have. But this negation of a beginning, being but the negation of a positive thing, scarce gives me a positive idea of infinity; which, whenever I endeavour to extend my thoughts to, I confess myself at a loss, and I find I cannot attain any clear comprehension of it.

18. No positive Idea of infinite Space.

He that thinks he has a positive idea of infinite space, will, when he considers it, find that he can no more have a positive idea of the greatest, than he has of the least space. For in this latter, which seems the easier of the two, and more within our comprehension, we are capable only of a comparative idea of smallness, which will always be less than any one whereof we have the positive idea. All our POSITIVE ideas of any quantity, whether great or little, have always bounds, though our COMPARATIVE idea, whereby we can always add to the one, and take from the other, hath no bounds. For that which remains, either great or little, not being comprehended in that positive idea which we have, lies in obscurity; and we have no other idea of it, but of the power of enlarging the one and diminishing the other, WITHOUT CEASING. A pestle and mortar will as soon bring any particle of matter to indivisibility, as the acutest thought of a mathematician; and a surveyor may as soon with his chain measure out infinite space, as a philosopher by the quickest flight of mind reach it or by thinking comprehend it; which is to have a positive idea of it. He that thinks on a cube of an inch diameter, has a clear and positive idea of it in his mind, and so can frame one of 1/2, 1/4, 1/8, and so on, till he has the idea in his thoughts of something very little; but yet reaches not the idea of that incomprehensible littleness which division can produce. What remains of smallness is as far from his thoughts as when he first began; and therefore he never comes at all to have a clear and positive idea of that smallness which is consequent to infinite divisibility.

19. What is positive, what negative, in our Idea of Infinite.

Every one that looks towards infinity does, as I have said, at first glance make some very large idea of that which he applies it to, let it be space or duration; and possibly he wearies his thoughts, by multiplying in his mind that first large idea: but yet by that he comes no nearer to the having a positive clear idea of what remains to make up a positive infinite, than the country fellow had of the water which was yet to come, and pass the channel of the river where he stood:

‘Rusticus expectat dum defluat amnis, at ille Labitur, et labetur in omne volubilis aevum.’

20. Some think they have a positive Idea of Eternity, and not of infinite Space.

There are some I have met that put so much difference between infinite duration and infinite space, that they persuade themselves that they have a positive idea of eternity, but that they have not, nor can have any idea of infinite space. The reason of which mistake I suppose to be this — that finding, by a due contemplation of causes and effects, that it is necessary to admit some Eternal Being, and so to consider the real existence of that Being as taken up and commensurate to their idea of eternity; but, on the other side, not finding it necessary, but, on the contrary, apparently absurd, that body should be infinite, they forwardly conclude that they can have no idea of infinite space, because they can have no idea of infinite matter. Which consequence, I conceive, is very ill collected, because the existence of matter is no ways necessary to the existence of space, no more than the existence of motion, or the sun, is necessary to duration, though duration uses to be measured by it. And I doubt not but that a man may have the idea of ten thousand miles square, without any body so big, as well as the idea of ten thousand years, without any body so old. It seems as easy to me to have the idea of space empty of body, as to think of the capacity of a bushel without corn, or the hollow of a nut-shell without a kernel in it: it being no more necessary that there should be existing a solid body, infinitely extended, because we have an idea of the infinity of space, than it is necessary that the world should be eternal, because we have an idea of infinite duration. And why should we think our idea of infinite space requires the real existence of matter to support it, when we find that we have as clear an idea of an infinite duration to come, as we have of infinite duration past? Though I suppose nobody thinks it conceivable that anything does or has existed in that future duration. Nor is it possible to join our idea of future duration with present or past existence, any more than it is possible to make the ideas of yesterday, to-day, and to-morrow to be the same; or bring ages past and future together, and make them contemporary. But if these men are of the mind, that they have clearer ideas of infinite duration than of infinite space, because it is past doubt that God has existed from all eternity, but there is no real matter co-extended with infinite space; yet those philosophers who are of opinion that infinite space is possessed by God’s infinite omnipresence, as well as infinite duration by his eternal existence, must be allowed to have as clear an idea of infinite space as of infinite duration; though neither of them, I think, has any positive idea of infinity in either case. For whatsoever positive ideas a man has in his mind of any quantity, he can repeat it, and add it to the former, as easy as he can add together the ideas of two days, or two paces, which are positive ideas of lengths he has in his mind, and so on as long as he pleases: whereby, if a man had a positive idea of infinite, either duration or space, he could add two infinites together; nay, make one infinite infinitely bigger than another — absurdities too gross to be confuted.

21. Supposed positive Ideas of Infinity, cause of Mistakes.

But yet if after all this, there be men who persuade themselves that they have clear positive comprehensive ideas of infinity, it is fit they enjoy their privilege: and I should be very glad (with some others that I know, who acknowledge they have none such) to be better informed by their communication. For I have been hitherto apt to think that the great and inextricable difficulties which perpetually involve all discourses concerning infinity, — whether of space, duration, or divisibility, have been the certain marks of a defect in our ideas of infinity, and the disproportion the nature thereof has to the comprehension of our narrow capacities. For, whilst men talk and dispute of infinite space or duration, as if they had as complete and positive ideas of them as they have of the names they use for them, or as they have of a yard, or an hour, or any other determinate quantity; it is no wonder if the incomprehensible nature of the thing they discourse of, or reason about, leads them into perplexities and contradictions, and their minds be overlaid by an object too large and mighty to be surveyed and managed by them. 22. All these are modes of Ideas got from Sensation and Reflection.

If I have dwelt pretty long on the consideration of duration, space, and number, and what arises from the contemplation of them, — Infinity, it is possibly no more than the matter requires; there being few simple ideas whose MODES give more exercise to the thoughts of men than those do. I pretend not to treat of them in their full latitude. It suffices to my design to show how the mind receives them, such as they are, from sensation and reflection; and how even the idea we have of infinity, how remote soever it may seem to be from any object of sense, or operation of our mind, has, nevertheless, as all our other ideas, its original there. Some mathematicians perhaps, of advanced speculations, may have other ways to introduce into their minds ideas of infinity. But this hinders not but that they themselves, as well as all other men, got the first ideas which they had of infinity from sensation and reflection, in the method we have here set down.

CHAPTER XVIII. OTHER SIMPLE MODES.

1. Other simple Modes of simple Ideas of sensation.

Though I have, in the foregoing chapters, shown how from simple ideas taken in by sensation, the mind comes to extend itself even to infinity; which, however it may of all others seem most remote from any sensible perception, yet at last hath nothing in it but what is made out of simple ideas: received into the mind by the senses, and afterwards there put together, by the faculty the mind has to repeat its own ideas; — Though, I say, these might be instances enough of simple modes of the simple ideas of sensation, and suffice to show how the mind comes by them, yet I shall, for method’s sake, though briefly, give an account of some few more, and then proceed to more complex ideas.

2. Simple modes of motion.

To slide, roll, tumble, walk, creep, run, dance, leap, skip, and abundance of others that might be named, are words which are no sooner heard but every one who understands English has presently in his mind distinct ideas, which are all but the different modifications of motion. Modes of motion answer those of extension; swift and slow are two different ideas of motion, the measures whereof are made of the distances of time and space put together; so they are complex ideas, comprehending time and space with motion.

3. Modes of Sounds.

The like variety have we in sounds. Every articulate word is a different modification of sound; by which we see that, from the sense of hearing, by such modifications, the mind may be furnished with distinct ideas, to almost an infinite number. Sounds also, besides the distinct cries of birds and beasts, are modified by diversity of notes of different length put together, which make that complex idea called a tune, which a musician may have in his mind when he hears or makes no sound at all, by reflecting on the ideas of those sounds, so put together silently in his own fancy.

4. Modes of Colours.

Those of colours are also very various: some we take notice of as the different degrees, or as they were termed shades, of the same colour. But since we very seldom make assemblages of colours, either for use or delight, but figure is taken in also, and has its part in it, as in painting, weaving, needleworks, &c.; — those which are taken notice of do most commonly belong to MIXED MODES, as being made up of ideas of divers kinds, viz. figure and colour, such as beauty, rainbow, &c.

5. Modes of Tastes.

All compounded tastes and smells are also modes, made up of the simple ideas of those senses. But they, being such as generally we have no names for, are less taken notice of, and cannot be set down in writing; and therefore must be left without enumeration to the thoughts and experience of my reader.

6. Some simple Modes have no Names.

In general it may be observed, that those simple modes which are considered but as different DEGREES of the same simple idea, though they are in themselves many of them very distinct ideas, yet have ordinarily no distinct names, nor are much taken notice of, as distinct ideas, where the difference is but very small between them. Whether men have neglected these modes, and given no names to them, as wanting measures nicely to distinguish them; or because, when they were so distinguished, that knowledge would not be of general or necessary use, I leave it to the thoughts of others. It is sufficient to my purpose to show, that all our simple ideas come to our minds only by sensation and reflection; and that when the mood has them, it can variously repeat and compound them, and so make new complex ideas. But, though white, red, or sweet, &c. have not been modified, or made into complex ideas, by several combinations, so as to be named, and thereby ranked into species; yet some others of the simple ideas, viz. those of unity, duration, and motion, &c., above instanced in, as also power and thinking, have been thus modified to a great variety of complex ideas, with names belonging to them.

7. Why some Modes have, and others have not, Names.

The reason whereof, I suppose, has been this, — That the great concernment of men being with men one amongst another, the knowledge of men, and their actions, and the signifying of them to one another, was most necessary; and therefore they made ideas of ACTIONS very nicely modified, and gave those complex ideas names, that they might the more easily record and discourse of those things they were daily conversant in, without long ambages and circumlocutions; and that the things they were continually to give and receive information about might be the easier and quicker understood. That this is so, and that men in framing different complex ideas, and giving them names, have been much governed by the end of speech in general, (which is a very short and expedite way of conveying their thoughts one to another), is evident in the names which in several arts have been found out, and applied to several complex ideas of modified actions, belonging to their several trades, for dispatch sake, in their direction or discourses about them. Which ideas are not generally framed in the minds of men not conversant about these operations. And thence the words that stand for them, by the greatest part of men of the same language, are not understood: v. g. COLTSHIRE, DRILLING, FILTRATION, COHOBATION, are words standing for certain complex ideas, which being seldom in the minds of any but those few whose particular employments do at every turn suggest them to their thoughts, those names of them are not generally understood but by smiths and chymists; who, having framed the complex ideas which these words stand for, and having given names to them, or received them from others, upon hearing of these names in communication, readily conceive those ideas in their minds;-as by COHOBATION all the simple ideas of distilling, and the pouring the liquor distilled from anything back upon the remaining matter, and distilling it again. Thus we see that there are great varieties of simple ideas, as of tastes and smells, which have no names; and of modes many more; which either not having been generally enough observed, or else not being of any great use to be taken notice of in the affairs and converse of men, they have not had names given to them, and so pass not for species. This we shall have occasion hereafter to consider more at large, when we come to speak of WORDS.

CHAPTER XIX. OF THE MODES OF THINKING.

1. Sensation, Remembrance, Contemplation, &c., modes of thinking.

When the mind turns its view inwards upon itself, and contemplates its own actions, THINKING is the first that occurs. In it the mind observes a great variety of modifications, and from thence receives distinct ideas. Thus the perception or thought which actually accompanies, and is annexed to, any impression on the body, made by an external object, being distinct from all other modifications of thinking, furnishes the mind with a distinct idea, which we call SENSATION; — which is, as it were, the actual entrance of any idea into the understanding by the senses. The same idea, when it again recurs without the operation of the like object on the external sensory, is REMEMBRANCE: if it be sought after by the mind, and with pain and endeavour found, and brought again in view, it is RECOLLECTION: if it be held there long under attentive consideration, it is CONTEMPLATION: when ideas float in our mind without any reflection or regard of the understanding, it is that which the French call REVERIE; our language has scarce a name for it: when the ideas that offer themselves (for, as I have observed in another place, whilst we are awake, there will always be a train of ideas succeeding one another in our minds) are taken notice of, and, as it were, registered in the memory, it is ATTENTION: when the mind with great earnestness, and of choice, fixes its view on any idea, considers it on all sides, and will not be called off by the ordinary solicitation of other ideas, it is that we call INTENTION or STUDY: sleep, without dreaming, is rest from all these: and DREAMING itself is the having of ideas (whilst the outward senses are stopped, so that they receive not outward objects with their usual quickness) in the mind, not suggested by any external objects, or known occasion; nor under any choice or conduct of the understanding at all: and whether that which we call ECSTASY be not dreaming with the eyes open, I leave to be examined.

2. Other modes of thinking.

These are some few instances of those various modes of thinking, which the mind may observe in itself, and so have as distinct ideas of as it hath of white and red, a square or a circle. I do not pretend to enumerate them all, nor to treat at large of this set of ideas, which are got from reflection: that would be to make a volume. It suffices to my present purpose to have shown here, by some few examples, of what sort these ideas are, and how the mind comes by them; especially since I shall have occasion hereafter to treat more at large of REASONING, JUDGING, VOLITION, and KNOWLEDGE, which are some of the most considerable operations of the mind, and modes of thinking.

3. The various degrees of Attention in thinking.

But perhaps it may not be an unpardonable digression, nor wholly impertinent to our present design, if we reflect here upon the different state of the mind in thinking, which those instances of attention, reverie, and dreaming, &c., before mentioned, naturally enough suggest. That there are ideas, some or other, always present in the mind of a waking man, every one’s experience convinces him; though the mind employs itself about them with several degrees of attention. Sometimes the mind fixes itself with so much earnestness on the contemplation of some objects, that it turns their ideas on all sides; marks their relations and circumstances; and views every part so nicely and with such intention, that it shuts out all other thoughts, and takes no notice of the ordinary impressions made then on the senses, which at another season would produce very sensible perceptions: at other times it barely observes the train of ideas that succeed in the understanding, without directing and pursuing any of them: and at other times it lets them pass almost quite unregarded, as faint shadows that make no impression.

4. Hence it is probable that Thinking is the Action, not the Essence of the Soul.

This difference of intention, and remission of the mind in thinking, with a great variety of degrees between earnest study and very near minding nothing at all, every one, I think, has experimented in himself. Trace it a little further, and you find the mind in sleep retired as it were from the senses, and out of the reach of those motions made on the organs of sense, which at other times produce very vivid and sensible ideas. I need not, for this, instance in those who sleep out whole stormy nights, without hearing the thunder, or seeing the lightning, or feeling the shaking of the house, which are sensible enough to those who are waking. But in this retirement of the mind from the senses, it often retains a yet more loose and incoherent manner of thinking, which we call dreaming. And, last of all, sound sleep closes the scene quite, and puts an end to all appearances. This, I think almost every one has experience of in himself, and his own observation without difficulty leads him thus far. That which I would further conclude from hence is, that since the mind can sensibly put on, at several times, several degrees of thinking, and be sometimes, even in a waking man, so remiss, as to have thoughts dim and obscure to that degree that they are very little removed from none at all; and at last, in the dark retirements of sound sleep, loses the sight perfectly of all ideas whatsoever: since, I say, this is evidently so in matter of fact and constant experience, I ask whether it be not probable, that thinking is the action and not the essence of the soul? Since the operations of agents will easily admit of intention and remission: but the essences of things are not conceived capable of any such variation. But this by the by.

CHAPTER XX. OF MODES OF PLEASURE AND PAIN.

1. Pleasure and Pain, simple Ideas.

AMONGST the simple ideas which we receive both from sensation and reflection, PAIN and PLEASURE are two very considerable ones. For as in the body there is sensation barely in itself, or accompanied with pain or pleasure, so the thought or perception of the mind is simply so, or else accompanied also with pleasure or pain, delight or trouble, call it how you please. These, like other simple ideas, cannot be described, nor their names defined; the way of knowing them is, as of the simple ideas of the senses, only by experience. For, to define them by the presence of good or evil, is no otherwise to make them known to us than by making us reflect on what we feel in ourselves, upon the several and various operations of good and evil upon our minds, as they are differently applied to or considered by us.

2. Good and evil, what.

Things then are good or evil, only in reference to pleasure or pain. That we call GOOD, which is apt to cause or increase pleasure, or diminish pain in us; or else to procure or preserve us the possession of any other good or absence of any evil. And, on the contrary, we name that EVIL which is apt to produce or increase any pain, or diminish any pleasure in us: or else to procure us any evil, or deprive us of any good. By pleasure and pain, I must be understood to mean of body or mind, as they are commonly distinguished; though in truth they be only different constitutions of the MIND, sometimes occasioned by disorder in the body, sometimes by thoughts of the mind.

3. Our passions moved by Good and Evil.

Pleasure and pain and that which causes them, — good and evil, are the hinges on which our passions turn. And if we reflect on ourselves, and observe how these, under various considerations, operate in us; what modifications or tempers of mind, what internal sensations (if I may so call them) they produce in us we may thence form to ourselves the ideas of our passions.

4. Love.

Thus any one reflecting upon the thought he has of the delight which any present or absent thing is apt to produce in him, has the idea we call LOVE. For when a man declares in autumn when he is eating them, or in spring when there are none, that he loves grapes, it is no more but that the taste of grapes delights him: let an alteration of health or constitution destroy the delight of their taste, and he then can be said to love grapes no longer.

5. Hatred.

On the contrary, the thought of the pain which anything present or absent is apt to produce in us, is what we call HATRED. Were it my business here to inquire any further than into the bare ideas of our passions, as they depend on different modifications of pleasure and pain, I should remark that our love and hatred of inanimate insensible beings is commonly founded on that pleasure and pain which we receive from their use and application any way to our senses though with their destruction. But hatred or love, to beings capable of happiness or misery, is often the uneasiness of delight which we find in ourselves, arising from their very being or happiness. Thus the being and welfare of a man’s children or friends, producing constant delight in him, he is said constantly to love them. But it suffices to note, that our ideas of love and hatred are but the dispositions of the mind, in respect of pleasure and pain in general, however caused in us.

6. Desire.

The uneasiness a man finds in himself upon the absence of anything whose present enjoyment carries the idea of delight with it, is that we call DESIRE; which is greater or less as that uneasiness is more or less vehement. Where, by the by, it may perhaps be of some use to remark, that the chief, if not only spur to human industry and action is UNEASINESS. For whatsoever good is proposed, if its absence carries no displeasure or pain with it, if a man be easy and content without it, there is no desire of it, nor endeavour after it; there is no more but a bare velleity, the term used to signify the lowest degree of desire, and that which is next to none at all, when there is so little uneasiness in the absence of anything, that it carries a man no further than some faint wishes for it, without any more effectual or vigorous use of the means to attain it. Desire also is stopped or abated by the opinion of the impossibility or unattainableness of the good proposed, as far as the uneasiness is cured or allayed by that consideration. This might carry our thoughts further, were it seasonable in this place.

7. Joy.

JOY is a delight of the mind, from the consideration of the present or assured approaching possession of a good; and we are then possessed of any good, when we have it so in our power that we can use it when we please. Thus a man almost starved has joy at the arrival of relief, even before he has the pleasure of using it: and a father, in whom the very well-being of his children causes delight, is always, as long as his children are in such a state, in the possession of that good; for he needs but to reflect on it, to have that pleasure.

8. Sorrow.

SORROW is uneasiness in the mind, upon the thought of a good lost, which might have been enjoyed longer; or the sense of a present evil.

9. Hope.

HOPE is that pleasure in the mind, which every one finds in himself, upon the thought of a probable future enjoyment of a thing which is apt to delight him.

10. Fear.

FEAR is an uneasiness of the mind, upon the thought of future evil likely to befal us.

11. Despair.

DESPAIR is the thought of the unattainableness of any good, which works differently in men’s minds, sometimes producing uneasiness or pain, sometimes rest and indolency.

12. Anger.

ANGER is uneasiness or discomposure of the mind, upon the receipt of any injury, with a present purpose of revenge.

13. Envy.

ENVY is an uneasiness of the mind, caused by the consideration of a good we desire obtained by one we think should not have had it before us.

14. What Passions all Men have.

These two last, ENVY and ANGER, not being caused by pain and pleasure simply in themselves, but having in them some mixed considerations of ourselves and others, are not therefore to be found in all men, because those other parts, of valuing their merits, or intending revenge, is wanting in them. But all the rest, terminating purely in pain and pleasure, are, I think, to be found in all men. For we love, desire, rejoice, and hope, only in respect of pleasure; we hate, fear, and grieve, only in respect of pain ultimately. In fine, all these passions are moved by things, only as they appear to be the causes of pleasure and pain, or to have pleasure or pain some way or other annexed to them. Thus we extend our hatred usually to the subject (at least, if a sensible or voluntary agent) which has produced pain in us; because the fear it leaves is a constant pain: but we do not so constantly love what has done us good; because pleasure operates not so strongly on us as pain, and because we are not so ready to have hope it will do so again. But this by the by.

15. Pleasure and Pain, what.

By pleasure and pain, delight and uneasiness, I must all along be understood (as I have above intimated) to mean not only bodily pain and pleasure, but whatsoever delight or uneasiness is felt by us, whether arising from any grateful or unacceptable sensation or reflection.

16. Removal or lessening of either.

It is further to be considered, that, in reference to the passions, the removal or lessening of a pain is considered, and operates, as a pleasure: and the loss or diminishing of a pleasure, as a pain.

17. Shame.

The passions too have most of them, in most persons, operations on the body, and cause various changes in it; which not being always sensible, do not make a necessary part of the idea of each passion. For SHAME, which is an uneasiness of the mind upon the thought of having done something which is indecent, or will lessen the valued esteem which others have for us, has not always blushing accompanying it.

18. These Instances to show how our Ideas of the Passions are got from Sensation and Reflection.

I would not be mistaken here, as if I meant this as a Discourse of the Passions; they are many more than those I have here named: and those I have taken notice of would each of them require a much larger and more accurate discourse. I have only mentioned these here, as so many instances of modes of pleasure and pain resulting in our minds from various considerations of good and evil. I might perhaps have instanced in other modes of pleasure and pain, more simple than these; as the pain of hunger and thirst, and the pleasure of eating and drinking to remove them: the pain of teeth set on edge; the pleasure of music; pain from captious uninstructive wrangling, and the pleasure of rational conversation with a friend, or of well-directed study in the search and discovery of truth. But the passions being of much more concernment to us, I rather made choice to instance in them, and show how the ideas we have of them are derived from sensation or reflection.

CHAPTER XXI. OF POWER.

1. This Idea how got.

The mind being every day informed, by the senses, of the alteration of those simple ideas it observes in things without; and taking notice how one comes to an end, and ceases to be, and another begins to exist which was not before; reflecting also on what passes within itself, and observing a constant change of its ideas, sometimes by the impression of outward objects on the senses, and sometimes by the determination of its own choice; and concluding from what it has so constantly observed to have been, that the like changes will for the future be made in the same things, by like agents, and by the like ways, — considers in one thing the possibility of having any of its simple ideas changed, and in another the possibility of making that change; and so comes by that idea which we call POWER. Thus we say, Fire has a power to melt gold, i. e. to destroy the consistency of its insensible parts, and consequently its hardness, and make it fluid; and gold has a power to be melted; that the sun has a power to blanch wax, and wax a power to be blanched by the sun, whereby the yellowness is destroyed, and whiteness made to exist in its room. In which, and the like cases, the power we consider is in reference to the change of perceivable ideas. For we cannot observe any alteration to be made in, or operation upon anything, but by the observable change of its sensible ideas; nor conceive any alteration to be made, but by conceiving a change of some of its ideas.

2. Power, active and passive.

Power thus considered is two-fold, viz. as able to make, or able to receive any change. The one may be called ACTIVE, and the other PASSIVE power. Whether matter be not wholly destitute of active power, as its author, God, is truly above all passive power; and whether the intermediate state of created spirits be not that alone which is capable of both active and passive power, may be worth consideration. I shall not now enter into that inquiry, my present business being not to search into the original of power, but how we come by the IDEA of it. But since active powers make so great a part of our complex ideas of natural substances, (as we shall see hereafter,) and I mention them as such, according to common apprehension; yet they being not, perhaps, so truly ACTIVE powers as our hasty thoughts are apt to represent them, I judge it not amiss, by this intimation, to direct our minds to the consideration of God and spirits, for the clearest idea of ACTIVE power.

3. Power includes Relation.

I confess power includes in it some kind of RELATION (a relation to action or change,) as indeed which of our ideas of what kind soever, when attentively considered, does not. For, our ideas of extension, duration, and number, do they not all contain in them a secret relation of the parts? Figure and motion have something relative in them much more visibly. And sensible qualities, as colours and smells, &c. what are they but the powers of different bodies, in relation to our perception, &c.? And, if considered in the things themselves, do they not depend on the bulk, figure, texture, and motion of the parts? All which include some kind of relation in them. Our idea therefore of power, I think, may well have a place amongst other SIMPLE IDEAS, and be considered as one of them; being one of those that make a principal ingredient in our complex ideas of substances, as we shall hereafter have occasion to observe.

4. The clearest Idea of active Power had from Spirit.

Of passive power all sensible things abundantly furnish us with sensible ideas, whose sensible qualities and beings we find to be in continual flux. And therefore with reason we look on them as liable still to the same change. Nor have we of ACTIVE power (which is the more proper signification of the word power) fewer instances. Since whatever change is observed, the mind must collect a power somewhere able to make that change, as well as a possibility in the thing itself to receive it. But yet, if we will consider it attentively, bodies, by our senses, do not afford us so clear and distinct an idea of active power, as we have from reflection on the operations of our minds. For all power relating to action, and there being but two sorts of action whereof we have an idea, viz. thinking and motion, let us consider whence we have the clearest ideas of the powers which produce these actions. (1) Of thinking, body affords us no idea at all; it is only from reflection that we have that. (2) Neither have we from body any idea of the beginning of motion. A body at rest affords us no idea of any active power to move; and when it is set in motion itself, that motion is rather a passion than an action in it. For, when the ball obeys the motion of a billiard-stick, it is not any action of the ball, but bare passion. Also when by impulse it sets another ball in motion that lay in its way, it only communicates the motion it had received from another, and loses in itself so much as the other received: which gives us but a very obscure idea of an ACTIVE power of moving in body, whilst we observe it only to TRANSFER, but not PRODUCE any motion. For it is but a very obscure idea of power which reaches not the production of the action, but the continuation of the passion. For so is motion in a body impelled by another; the continuation of the alteration made in it from rest to motion being little more an action, than the continuation of the alteration of its figure by the same blow is an action. The idea of the BEGINNING of motion we have only from reflection on what passes in ourselves; where we find by experience, that, barely by willing it, barely by a thought of the mind, we can move the parts of our bodies, which were before at rest. So that it seems to me, we have, from the observation of the operation of bodies by our senses, but a very imperfect obscure idea of ACTIVE power; since they afford us not any idea in themselves of the power to begin any action, either motion or thought. But if, from the impulse bodies are observed to make one upon another, any one thinks he has a clear idea of power, it serves as well to my purpose; sensation being one of those ways whereby the mind comes by its ideas: only I thought it worth while to consider here, by the way, whether the mind doth not receive its idea of active power clearer from reflection on its own operations, than it doth from any external sensation.

5. Will and Understanding two Powers in Mind or Spirit.

This, at least, I think evident, — That we find in ourselves a power to begin or forbear, continue or end several actions of our minds, and motions of our bodies, barely by a thought or preference of the mind ordering, or as it were commanding, the doing or not doing such or such a particular action. This power which the mind has thus to order the consideration of any idea, or the forbearing to consider it; or to prefer the motion of any part of the body to its rest, and vice versa, in any particular instance, is that which we call the WILL. The actual exercise of that power, by directing any particular action, or its forbearance, is that which we call VOLITION or WILLING. The forbearance of that action, consequent to such order or command of the mind, is called VOLUNTARY. And whatsoever action is performed without such a thought of the mind, is called INVOLUNTARY. The power of perception is that which we call the UNDERSTANDING. Perception, which we make the act of the understanding, is of three sorts: — 1. The perception of ideas in our minds. 2. The perception of the: signification of signs. 3. The perception of the connexion or repugnancy, agreement or disagreement, that there is between any of our ideas. All these are attributed to the understanding, or perceptive power, though it be the two latter only that use allows us to say we understand.

6. Faculties not real beings.

These powers of the mind, viz. of perceiving, and of preferring, are usually called by another name. And the ordinary way of speaking is, that the understanding and will are two FACULTIES of the mind; a word proper enough, if it be used, as all words should be, so as not to breed any confusion in men’s thoughts, by being supposed (as I suspect it has been) to stand for some real beings in the soul that performed those actions of understanding and volition. For when we say the WILL is the commanding and superior faculty of the soul; that it is or is not free; that it determines the inferior faculties; that it follows the dictates of the understanding, &c., — though these and the like expressions, by those that carefully attend to their own ideas, and conduct their thoughts more by the evidence of things than the sound of words, may be understood in a clear and distinct sense — yet I suspect, I say, that this way of speaking of FACULTIES has misled many into a confused notion of so many distinct agents in us, which had their several provinces and authorities, and did command, obey, and perform several actions, as so many distinct beings; which has been no small occasion of wrangling, obscurity, and uncertainty, in questions relating to them.

7. Whence the Ideas of Liberty and Necessity.

Every one, I think, finds in HIMSELF a power to begin or forbear, continue or put an end to several actions in himself. From the consideration of the extent of this power of the mind over the actions of the man, which everyone finds in himself, arise the IDEAS of LIBERTY and NECESSITY.

8. Liberty, what.

All the actions that we have any idea of reducing themselves, as has been said, to these two, viz. thinking and motion; so far as a man has power to think or not to think, to move or not to move, according to the preference or direction of his own mind, so far is a man FREE. Wherever any performance or forbearance are not equally in a man’s power; wherever doing or not doing will not equally FOLLOW upon the preference of his mind directing it, there he is not free, though perhaps the action may be voluntary. So that the idea of LIBERTY is, the idea of a power in any agent to do or forbear any particular action, according to the determination or thought of the mind, whereby either of them is preferred to the other: where either of them is not in the power of the agent to be produced by him according to his volition, there he is not at liberty; that agent is under NECESSITY. So that liberty cannot be where there is no thought, no volition, no will; but there may be thought, there may be will, there may be volition, where there is no liberty. A little consideration of an obvious instance or two may make this clear.

9. Supposes Understanding and Will.

A tennis-ball, whether in motion by the stroke of a racket, or lying still at rest, is not by any one taken to be a free agent. If we inquire into the reason, we shall find it is because we conceive not a tennis-ball to think, and consequently not to have any volition, or PREFERENCE of motion to rest, or vice versa; and therefore has not liberty, is not a free agent; but all its both motion and rest come under our idea of necessary, and are so called. Likewise a man falling into the water, (a bridge breaking under him,) has not herein liberty, is not a free agent. For though he has volition, though he prefers his not falling to falling; yet the forbearance of that motion not being in his power, the stop or cessation of that motion follows not upon his volition; and therefore therein he is not free. So a man striking himself, or his friend, by a convulsive motion of his arm, which it is not in his power, by volition or the direction of his mind, to stop or forbear, nobody thinks he has in this liberty; every one pities him, as acting by necessity and constraint.

10. Belongs not to Volition.

Again: suppose a man be carried, whilst fast asleep, into a room where is a person he longs to see and speak with; and be there locked fast in, beyond his power to get out: he awakes, and is glad to find himself in so desirable company, which he stays willingly in, i. e. prefers his stay to going away. I ask, is not this stay voluntary? I think nobody will doubt it: and yet, being locked fast in, it is evident he is not at liberty not to stay, he has not freedom to be gone. So that liberty is not an idea belonging to volition, or preferring; but to the person having the power of doing, or forbearing to do, according as the mind shall choose or direct. Our idea of liberty reaches as far as that power, and no farther. For wherever restraint comes to check that power, or compulsion takes away that indifferency of ability to act, or to forbear acting, there liberty, and our notion of it, presently ceases.

11. Voluntary opposed to involuntary.

We have instances enough, and often more than enough, in our own bodies. A man’s heart beats, and the blood circulates, which it is not in his power by any thought or volition to stop; and therefore in respect of these motions, where rest depends not on his choice, nor would follow the determination of his mind, if it should prefer it, he is not a free agent. Convulsive motions agitate his legs, so that though he wills it ever so much, he cannot by any power of his mind stop their motion, (as in that odd disease called chorea sancti viti), but he is perpetually dancing; he is not at liberty in this action, but under as much necessity of moving, as a stone that falls, or a tennis-ball struck with a racket. On the other side, a palsy or the stocks hinder his legs from obeying the determination of his mind, if it would thereby transfer his body to another place. In all these there is want of freedom; though the sitting still, even of a paralytic, whilst he prefers it to a removal, is truly voluntary. Voluntary, then, is not opposed to necessary but to involuntary. For a man may prefer what he can do, to what he cannot do; the state he is in, to its absence or change; though necessity has made it in itself unalterable.

12. Liberty, what.

As it is in the motions of the body, so it is in the thoughts of our minds: where any one is such, that we have power to take it up, or lay it by, according to the preference of the mind, there we are at liberty. A waking man, being under the necessity of having some ideas constantly in his mind, is not at liberty to think or not to think; no more than he is at liberty, whether his body shall touch any other or no, but whether he will remove his contemplation from one idea to another is many times in his choice; and then he is, in respect of his ideas, as much at liberty as he is in respect of bodies he rests on; he can at pleasure remove himself from one to another. But yet some ideas to the mind, like some motions to the body, are such as in certain circumstances it cannot avoid, nor obtain their absence by the utmost effort it can use. A man on the rack is not at liberty to lay by the idea of pain, and divert himself with other contemplations: and sometimes a boisterous passion hurries our thoughts, as a hurricane does our bodies, without leaving us the liberty of thinking on other things, which we would rather choose. But as soon as the mind regains the power to stop or continue, begin or forbear, any of these motions of the body without, or thoughts within, according as it thinks fit to prefer either to the other, we then consider the man as a FREE AGENT again.

13. Wherever thought is wholly wanting, or the power to act or forbear according to the direction of thought, there necessity takes place. This, in an agent capable of volition, when the beginning or continuation of any action is contrary to that preference of his mind, is called compulsion; when the hindering or stopping any action is contrary to his volition, it is called restraint. Agents that have no thought, no volition at all, are in everything NECESSARY AGENTS.

14. If this be so, (as I imagine it is,) I leave it to be considered, whether it may not help to put an end to that long agitated, and, I think, unreasonable, because unintelligible question, viz. WHETHER MAN’S WILL BE FREE OR NO? For if I mistake not, it follows from what I have said, that the question itself is altogether improper; and it is as insignificant to ask whether man’s WILL be free, as to ask whether his sleep be swift, or his virtue square: liberty being as little applicable to the will, as swiftness of motion is to sleep, or squareness to virtue. Every one would laugh at the absurdity of such a question as either of these: because it is obvious that the modifications of motion belong not to sleep, nor the difference Of figure to virtue; and when any one well considers it, I think he will as plainly perceive that liberty, which is but a power, belongs only to AGENTS, and cannot be an attribute or modification of the will, which is also but a power.

15. Volition.

Such is the difficulty of explaining and giving clear notions of internal actions by sounds, that I must here warn my reader, that ORDERING, DIRECTING, CHOOSING, PREFERRING, &c. which I have made use of, will not distinctly enough express volition, unless he will reflect on what he himself does when he wills. For example, preferring, which seems perhaps best to express the act of volition, does it not precisely. For though a man would prefer flying to walking, yet who can say he ever wills it? Volition, it is plain, is an act of the mind knowingly exerting that dominion it takes itself to have over any part of the man, by employing it in, or withholding it from, any particular action. And what is the will, but the faculty to do this? And is that faculty anything more in effect than a power; the power of the mind to determine its thought, to the producing, continuing, or stopping any action, as far as it depends on us? For can it be denied that whatever agent has a power to think on its own actions, and to prefer their doing or omission either to other, has that faculty called will? WILL, then, is nothing but such a power. LIBERTY, on the other side, is the power a MAN has to do or forbear doing any particular action according as its doing or forbearance has the actual preference in the mind; which is the same thing as to say, according as he himself wills it.

16. Powers belonging to Agents.

It is plain then that the will is nothing but one power or ability, and FREEDOM another power or ability so that, to ask, whether the will has freedom, is to ask whether one power has another power, one ability another ability; a question at first sight too grossly absurd to make a dispute, or need an answer. For, who is it that sees not that powers belong only to agents, and are attributes only of substances, and not of powers themselves? So that this way of putting the question (viz. whether the will be free) is in effect to ask, whether the will be a substance, an agent, or at least to suppose it, since freedom can properly be attributed to nothing else. If freedom can with any propriety of speech be applied to power, it may be attributed to the power that is in a man to produce, or forbear producing, motion in parts of his body, by choice or preference; which is that which denominates him free, and is freedom itself. But if any one should ask, whether freedom were free, he would be suspected not to understand well what he said; and he would be thought to deserve Midas’s ears, who, knowing that rich was a denomination for the possession of riches, should demand whether riches themselves were rich.

17. How the will instead of the man is called free.

However, the name FACULTY, which men have given to this power called the will, and whereby they have been led into a way of talking of the will as acting, may, by an appropriation that disguises its true sense, serve a little to palliate the absurdity; yet the will, in truth, signifies nothing but a power or ability to prefer or choose: and when the will, under the name of a faculty, is considered as it is, barely as an ability to do something, the absurdity in saying it is free, or not free, will easily discover itself. For, if it be reasonable to suppose and talk of faculties as distinct beings that can act, (as we do, when we say the will orders, and the will is free,) it is fit that we should make a speaking faculty, and a walking faculty, and a dancing faculty, by which these actions are produced, which are but several modes of motion; as well as we make the will and understanding to be faculties, by which the actions of choosing and perceiving are produced, which are but several modes of thinking. And we may as properly say that it is the singing faculty sings, and the dancing faculty dances, as that the will chooses, or that the understanding conceives; or, as is usual, that the will directs the understanding, or the understanding obeys or obeys not the will: it being altogether as proper and intelligible to say that the power of speaking directs the power of singing, or the power of singing obeys or disobeys the power of speaking.

18. This way of talking causes confusion of thought.

This way of talking, nevertheless, has prevailed, and, as I guess, produced great confusion. For these being all different powers in the mind, or in the man, to do several actions, he exerts them as he thinks fit: but the power to do one action is not operated on by the power of doing another action. For the power of thinking operates not on the power of choosing, nor the power of choosing on the power of thinking; no more than the power of dancing operates on the power of singing, or the power of singing on the power of dancing, as any one who reflects on it will easily perceive. And yet this is it which we say when we thus speak, that the will operates on the understanding, or the understanding on the will.

19. Powers are relations, not agents.

I grant, that this or that actual thought may be the occasion of volition, or exercising the power a man has to choose; or the actual choice of the mind, the cause of actual thinking on this or that thing: as the actual singing of such a tune may be the cause of dancing such a dance, and the actual dancing of such a dance the occasion of singing such a tune. But in all these it is not one POWER that operates on another: but it is the mind that operates, and exerts these powers; it is the man that does the action; it is the agent that has power, or is able to do. For powers are relations, not agents: and that which has the power or not the power to operate, is that alone which is or is not free, and not the power itself. For freedom, or not freedom, can belong to nothing but what has or has not a power to act.

20. Liberty belongs not to the Will.

The attributing to faculties that which belonged not to them, has given occasion to this way of talking: but the introducing into discourses concerning the mind, with the name of faculties, a notion of THEIR operating, has, I suppose, as little advanced our knowledge in that part of ourselves, as the great use and mention of the like invention of faculties, in the operations of the body, has helped us in the knowledge of physic. Not that I deny there are faculties, both in the body and mind: they both of them have their powers of operating, else neither the one nor the other could operate. For nothing can operate that is not able to operate; and that is not able to operate that has no power to operate. Nor do I deny that those words, and the like, are to have their place in the common use of languages that have made them current. It looks like too much affectation wholly to lay them by: and philosophy itself, though it likes not a gaudy dress, yet, when it appears in public, must have so much complacency as to be clothed in the ordinary fashion and language of the country, so far as it can consist with truth and perspicuity. But the fault has been, that faculties have been spoken of and represented as so many distinct agents. For, it being asked, what it was that digested the meat in our stomachs? it was a ready and very satisfactory answer to say, that it was the DIGESTIVE FACULTY. What was it that made anything come out of the body? the EXPULSIVE FACULTY. What moved? the MOTIVE FACULTY. And so in the mind, the INTELLECTUAL FACULTY, or the understanding, understood; and the ELECTIVE FACULTY, or the will, willed or commanded. This is, in short, to say, that the ability to digest, digested; and the ability to move, moved; and the ability to understand, understood. For faculty, ability, and power, I think, are but different names of the same things: which ways of speaking, when put into more intelligible words, will, I think, amount to thus much; — That digestion is performed by something that is able to digest, motion by something able to move, and understanding by something able to understand. And, in truth, it would be very strange if it should be otherwise; as strange as it would be for a man to be free without being able to be free.

21. But to the Agent, or Man.

To return, then, to the inquiry about liberty, I think the question is not proper, WHETHER THE WILL BE FREE, but WHETHER A MAN BE FREE. Thus, I think,

First, That so far as any one can, by the direction or choice of his mind, preferring the existence of any action to the non-existence of that action, and vice versa, make IT to exist or not exist, so far HE is free. For if I can, by a thought directing the motion of my finger, make it move when it was at rest, or vice versa, it is evident, that in respect of that I am free: and if I can, by a like thought of my mind, preferring one to the other, produce either words or silence, I am at liberty to speak or hold my peace: and as far as this power reaches, of acting or not acting, by the determination of his own thought preferring either, so far is a man free. For how can we think any one freer, than to have the power to do what he will? And so far as any one can, by preferring any action to its not being, or rest to any action, produce that action or rest, so far can he do what he will. For such a preferring of action to its absence, is the willing of it: and we can scarce tell how to imagine any being freer, than to be able to do what he wills. So that in respect of actions within the reach of such a power in him, a man seems as free as it is possible for freedom to make him.

22. In respect of willing, a Man is not free.

But the inquisitive mind of man, willing to shift off from himself, as far as he can, all thoughts of guilt, though it be by putting himself into a worse state than that of fatal necessity, is not content with this: freedom, unless it reaches further than this, will not serve the turn: and it passes for a good plea, that a man is not free at all, if he be not as FREE TO WILL as he is to ACT WHAT HE WILLS. Concerning a man’s liberty, there yet, therefore, is raised this further question, WHETHER A MAN BE FREE TO WILL? which I think is what is meant, when it is disputed whether the will be free. And as to that I imagine.

23. How a man cannot be free to will.

Secondly, That willing, or volition, being an action, and freedom consisting in a power of acting or not acting, a man in respect of willing or the act of volition, when any action in his power is once proposed to his thoughts, as presently to be done, cannot be free. The reason whereof is very manifest. For, it being unavoidable that the action depending on his will should exist or not exist, and its existence or not existence following perfectly the determination and preference of his will, he cannot avoid willing the existence or non-existence of that action; it is absolutely necessary that he will the one or the other; i.e. prefer the one to the other: since one of them must necessarily follow; and that which does follow follows by the choice and determination of his mind; that is, by his willing it: for if he did not will it, it would not be. So that, in respect of the act of willing, a man is not free: liberty consisting in a power to act or not to act; which, in regard of volition, a man, has not.

24. Liberty is freedom to execute what is willed.

This, then, is evident, That A MAN IS NOT AT LIBERTY TO WILL, OR NOT TO WILL, ANYTHING IN HIS POWER THAT HE ONCE CONSIDERS OF: liberty consisting in a power to act or to forbear acting, and in that only. For a man that sits still is said yet to be at liberty; because he can walk if he wills it. A man that walks is at liberty also, not because he walks or moves; but because he can stand still if he wills it. But if a man sitting still has not a power to remove himself, he is not at liberty; so likewise a man falling down a precipice, though in motion, is not at liberty, because he cannot stop that motion if he would. This being so, it is plain that a man that is walking, to whom it is proposed to give off walking, is not at liberty, whether he will determine himself to walk, or give off walking or not: he must necessarily prefer one or the other of them; walking or not walking. And so it is in regard of all other actions in our power they being once proposed, the mind has not a power to act or not to act, wherein consists liberty. The mind, in that case, has not a power to forbear WILLING; it cannot avoid some determination concerning them, let the consideration be as short, the thought as quick as it will, it either leaves the man in the state he was before thinking, or changes it; continues the action, or puts an end to it. Whereby it is manifest, that IT orders and directs one, in preference to, or with neglect of the other, and thereby either the continuation or change becomes UNAVOIDABLY voluntary.

25. The Will determined by something without it.

Since then it is plain that, in most cases, a man is not at liberty, whether he will or no, (for, when an action in his power is proposed to his thoughts, he CANNOT forbear volition; he MUST determine one way or the other;) the next thing demanded is, — WHETHER A MAN BE AT LIBERTY TO WILL WHICH OF THE TWO HE PLEASES, MOTION OR REST? This question carries the absurdity of it so manifestly in itself, that one might thereby sufficiently be convinced that liberty concerns not the will. For, to ask whether a man be at liberty to will either motion or rest, speaking or silence, which he pleases, is to ask whether a man can will what he wills, or be pleased with what he is pleased with? A question which, I think, needs no answer: and they who can make a question of it must suppose one will to determine the acts of another, and another to determine that, and so on in infinitum.

26. The ideas of LIBERTY and VOLITION must be defined.

To avoid these and the like absurdities, nothing can be of greater use than to establish in our minds determined ideas of the things under consideration. If the ideas of liberty and volition were well fixed in our understandings, and carried along with us in our minds, as they ought, through all the questions that are raised about them, I suppose a great part of the difficulties that perplex men’s thoughts, and entangle their understandings, would be much easier resolved; and we should perceive where the confused signification of terms, or where the nature of the thing caused the obscurity.

27. Freedom.

First, then, it is carefully to be remembered, That freedom consists in the dependence of the existence, or not existence of any ACTION, upon our VOLITION of it; and not in the dependence of any action, or its contrary, on our PREFERENCE. A man standing on a cliff, is at liberty to leap twenty yards downwards into the sea, not because he has a power to do the contrary action, which is to leap twenty yards upwards, for that he cannot do; but he is therefore free, because he has a power to leap or not to leap. But if a greater force than his, either holds him fast, or tumbles him down, he is no longer free in that case; because the doing or forbearance of that particular action is no longer in his power. He that is a close prisoner in a room twenty feet square, being at the north side of his chamber, is at liberty to walk twenty feet southward, because he can walk or not walk it; but is not, at the same time, at liberty to do the contrary, i.e. to walk twenty feet northward.

In this, then, consists FREEDOM, viz. in our being able to act or not to act, according as we shall choose or will.

28. What Volition and action mean.

Secondly, we must remember, that VOLITION or WILLING is an act of the mind directing its thought to the production of any action, and thereby exerting its power to produce it. To avoid multiplying of words, I would crave leave here, under the word ACTION, to comprehend the forbearance too of any action proposed: sitting still, or holding one’s peace, when walking or speaking are proposed, though mere forbearances, requiring as much the determination of the will, and being as often weighty in their consequences, as the contrary actions, may, on that consideration, well enough pass for actions too: but this I say, that I may not be mistaken, if (for brevity’s sake) I speak thus.

29. What determines the Will.

Thirdly, the will being nothing but a power in the mind to direct the operative faculties of a man to motion or rest as far as they depend on such direction; to the question, What is it determines the will? the true and proper answer is, The mind. For that which determines the general power of directing, to this or that particular direction, is nothing but the agent itself exercising the power it has that particular way. If this answer satisfies not, it is plain the meaning of the question, What determines the will? is this, — What moves the mind, in every particular instance, to determine its general power of directing, to this or that particular motion or rest? And to this I answer, — The motive for continuing in the same state or action, is only the present satisfaction in it; the motive to change is always some uneasiness: nothing setting us upon the change of state, or upon any new action, but some uneasiness. This is the great motive that works on the mind to put it upon action, which for shortness’ sake we will call determining of the will, which I shall more at large explain.

30. Will and Desire must not be confounded.

But, in the way to it, it will be necessary to premise, that, though I have above endeavoured to express the act of volition, by CHOOSING, PREFERRING, and the like terms, that signify desire as well as volition, for want of other words to mark that act of the mind whose proper name is WILLING or VOLITION; yet, it being a very simple act, whosoever desires to understand what it is, will better find it by reflecting on his own mind, and observing what it does when it wills, than by any variety of articulate sounds whatsoever. This caution of being careful not to be misled by expressions that do not enough keep up the difference between the WILL and several acts of the mind that are quite distinct from it, I think the more necessary, because I find the will often confounded with several of the affections, especially DESIRE, and one put for the other; and that by men who would not willingly be thought not to have had very distinct notions of things, and not to have writ very clearly about them. This, I imagine, has been no small occasion of obscurity and mistake in this matter; and therefore is, as much as may be, to be avoided. For he that shall turn his thoughts inwards upon what passes in his mind when he wills, shall see that the will or power of volition is conversant about nothing but our own ACTIONS; terminates there; and reaches no further; and that volition is nothing but that particular determination of the mind, whereby, barely by a thought, the mind endeavours to give rise, continuation, or stop, to any action which it takes to be in its power. This, well considered, plainly shows that the will is perfectly distinguished from desire; which, in the very same action, may have a quite contrary tendency from that which our will sets us upon. A man, whom I cannot deny, may oblige me to use persuasions to another, which, at the same time I am speaking, I may wish may not prevail on him. In this case, it is plain the will and desire run counter. I will the action; that tends one way, whilst my desire tends another, and that the direct contrary way. A man who, by a violent fit of the gout in his limbs, finds a doziness in his head, or a want of appetite in his stomach removed, desires to be eased too of the pain of his feet or hands, (for wherever there is pain, there is a desire to be rid of it,) though yet, whilst he apprehends that the removal of the pain may translate the noxious humour to a more vital part, his will is never determined to any one action that may serve to remove this pain. Whence it is evident that desiring and willing are two distinct acts of the mind; and consequently, that the will, which is but the power of volition, is much more distinct from desire.

31. Uneasiness determines the Will.

To return, then, to the inquiry, what is it that determines the will in regard to our actions? And that, upon second thoughts, I am apt to imagine is not, as is generally supposed, the greater good in view; but some (and for the most part the most pressing) UNEASINESS a man is at present under. This is that which successively determines the will, and sets us upon those actions we perform. This uneasiness we may call, as it is, DESIRE; which is an uneasiness of the mind for want of some absent good. All pain of the body, of what sort soever, and disquiet of the mind, is uneasiness: and with this is always joined desire, equal to the pain or uneasiness felt; and is scarce distinguishable from it. For desire being nothing but an uneasiness in the want of an absent good, in reference to any pain felt, ease is that absent good; and till that ease be attained, we may call it desire; nobody feeling pain that he wishes not to be eased of, with a desire equal to that pain, and inseparable from it. Besides this desire of ease from pain, there is another of absent positive good; and here also the desire and uneasiness are equal. As much as we desire any absent good, so much are we in pain for it. But here all absent good does not, according to the greatness it has, or is acknowledged to have, cause pain equal to that greatness; as all pain causes desire equal to itself: because the absence of good is not always a pain, as the presence of pain is. And therefore absent good may be looked on and considered without desire. But so much as there is anywhere of desire, so much there is of uneasiness.

32. Desire is Uneasiness.

That desire is a state of uneasiness, every one who reflects on himself will quickly find. Who is there that has not felt in desire what the wise man says of hope, (which is not much different from it,) that it being ‘deferred makes the heart sick’; and that still proportionable to the greatness of the desire, which sometimes raises the uneasiness to that pitch, that it makes people cry out, ‘Give me children,’ give me the thing desired, ‘or I die.’ Life itself, and all its enjoyments, is a burden cannot be borne under the lasting and unremoved pressure of such an uneasiness.

33. The Uneasiness of Desire determines the Will.

Good and evil, present and absent, it is true, work upon the mind. But that which IMMEDIATELY determines the will from time to time, to every voluntary action, is the UNEASINESS OF DESIRE, fixed on some absent good: either negative, as indolence to one in pain; or positive, as enjoyment of pleasure. That it is this uneasiness that determines the will to the successive voluntary actions, whereof the greatest part of our lives is made up, and by which we are conducted through different courses to different ends, I shall endeavour to show, both from experience, and the reason of the thing.

34. This is the Spring of Action.

When a man is perfectly content with the state he is in — which is when he is perfectly without any uneasiness — what industry, what action, what will is there left, but to continue in it? Of this every man’s observation will satisfy him. And thus we see our all-wise Maker, suitably to our constitution and frame, and knowing what it is that determines the will, has put into man the uneasiness of hunger and thirst, and other natural desires, that return at their seasons, to move and determine their wills, for the preservation of themselves, and the continuation of their species. For I think we may conclude, that, if the BARE CONTEMPLATION of these good ends to which we are carried by these several uneasinesses had been sufficient to determine the will, and set us on work, we should have had none of these natural pains, and perhaps in this world little or no pain at all. ‘It is better to marry than to burn,’ says St. Paul, where we may see what it is that chiefly drives men into the enjoyments of a conjugal life. A little burning felt pushes us more powerfully than greater pleasure in prospect draw or allure.

35. The greatest positive Good determines not the Will, but present Uneasiness alone.

It seems so established and settled a maxim, by the general consent of all mankind, that good, the greater good, determines the will, that I do not at all wonder that, when I first published my thoughts on this subject I took it for granted; and I imagine that, by a great many, I shall be thought more excusable for having then done so, than that now I have ventured to recede from so received an opinion. But yet, upon a stricter inquiry, I am forced to conclude that GOOD, the GREATER GOOD, though apprehended and acknowledged to be so, does not determine the will, until our desire, raised proportionably to it, makes us uneasy in the want of it. Convince a man never so much, that plenty has its advantages over poverty; make him see and own, that the handsome conveniences of life are better than nasty penury: yet, as long as he is content with the latter, and finds no uneasiness in it, he moves not; his will never is determined to any action that shall bring him out of it. Let a man be ever so well persuaded of the advantages of virtue, that it is as necessary to a man who has any great aims in this world, or hopes in the next, as food to life: yet, till he hungers or thirsts after righteousness, till he FEELS AN UNEASINESS in the want of it, his WILL will not be determined to any action in pursuit of this confessed greater good; but any other uneasiness he feels in himself shall take place, and carry his will to other actions. On the other side, let a drunkard see that his health decays, his estate wastes; discredit and diseases, and the want of all things, even of his beloved drink, attends him in the course he follows: yet the returns of uneasiness to miss his companions, the habitual thirst after his cups at the usual time, drives him to the tavern, though he has in his view the loss of health and plenty, and perhaps of the joys of another life: the least of which is no inconsiderable good, but such as he confesses is far greater than the tickling of his palate with a glass of wine, or the idle chat of a soaking club. It is not want of viewing the greater good: for he sees and acknowledges it, and, in the intervals of his drinking hours, will take resolutions to pursue the greater good; but when the uneasiness to miss his accustomed delight returns, the greater acknowledged good loses its hold, and the present uneasiness determines the will to the accustomed action; which thereby gets stronger footing to prevail against the next occasion, though he at the same time makes secret promises to himself that he will do so no more; this is the last time he will act against the attainment of those greater goods. And thus he is, from time to time, in the state of that unhappy complainer, Video meliora, proboque, deteriora sequor: which sentence, allowed for true, and made good by constant experience, may in this, and possibly no other way, be easily made intelligible.

36. Because the Removal of Uneasiness is the first Step to Happiness.

If we inquire into the reason of what experience makes so evident in fact, and examine, why it is uneasiness alone operates on the will, and determines it in its choice, we shall find that, we being capable but of one determination of the will to one action at once, the present uneasiness that we are under does NATURALLY determine the will, in order to that happiness which we all aim at in all our actions. For, as much as whilst we are under any uneasiness, we cannot apprehend ourselves happy, or in the way to it; pain and uneasiness being, by every one, concluded and felt to be inconsistent with happiness, spoiling the relish even of those good things which we have: a little pain serving to mar all the pleasure we rejoiced in. And, therefore, that which of course determines the choice of our will to the next action will always be — the removing of pain, as long as we have any left, as the first and necessary step towards happiness.

37. Because Uneasiness alone is present.

Another reason why it is uneasiness alone determines the will, is this: because that alone is present and, it is against the nature of things, that what is absent should operate where it is not. It may be said that absent good may, by contemplation, be brought home to the mind and made present. The idea of it indeed may be in the mind and viewed as present there; but nothing will be in the mind as a present good, able to counterbalance the removal of any uneasiness which we are under, till it raises our desire; and the uneasiness of that has the prevalency in determining the will. Till then, the idea in the mind of whatever is good is there only, like other ideas, the object of bare unactive speculation; but operates not on the will, nor sets us on work; the reason whereof I shall show by and by. How many are to be found that have had lively representations set before their minds of the unspeakable joys of heaven, which they acknowledge both possible and probable too, who yet would be content to take up with their happiness here? And so the prevailing uneasiness of their desires, let loose after the enjoyments of this life, take their turns in the determining their wills; and all that while they take not one step, are not one jot moved, towards the good things of another life, considered as ever so great.

38. Because all who allow the Joys of Heaven possible, purse them not.

Were the will determined by the views of good, as it appears in contemplation greater or less to the understanding, which is the state of all absent good, and that which, in the received opinion, the will is supposed to move to, and to be moved by, — I do not see how it could ever get loose from the infinite eternal joys of heaven, once proposed and considered as possible. For, all absent good, by which alone, barely proposed, and coming in view, the will is thought to be determined, and so to set us on action, being only possible, but not infallibly certain, it is unavoidable that the infinitely greater possible good should regularly and constantly determine the will in all the successive actions it directs; and then we should keep constantly and steadily in our course towards heaven, without ever standing still, or directing our actions to any other end: the eternal condition of a future state infinitely outweighing the expectation of riches, or honour, or any other worldly pleasure which we can propose to ourselves, though we should grant these the more probable to be obtained: for nothing future is yet in possession, and so the expectation even of these may deceive us. If it were so that the greater good in view determines the will, so great a good, once proposed, could not but seize the will, and hold it fast to the pursuit of this infinitely greatest good, without ever letting it go again: for the will having a power over, and directing the thoughts, as well as other actions, would, if it were so, hold the contemplation of the mind fixed to that good.

39. But any great Uneasiness is never neglected.

This would be the state of the mind, and regular tendency of the will in all its determinations, were it determined by that which is considered and in view the greater good. But that it is not so, is visible in experience; the infinitely greatest confessed good being often neglected, to satisfy the successive uneasiness of our desires pursuing trifles. But, though the greatest allowed, even everlasting unspeakable, good, which has sometimes moved and affected the mind, does not stedfastly hold the will, yet we see any very great and prevailing uneasiness having once laid hold on the will, let it not go; by which we may be convinced, what it is that determines the will. Thus any vehement pain of the body; the ungovernable passion of a man violently in love; or the impatient desire of revenge, keeps the will steady and intent; and the will, thus determined, never lets the understanding lay by the object, but all the thoughts of the mind and powers of the body are uninterruptedly employed that way, by the determination of the will, influenced by that topping uneasiness, as long as it lasts; whereby it seems to me evident, that the will, or power of setting us upon one action in preference to all others, is determined in us by uneasiness: and whether this be not so, I desire every one to observe in himself.

40. Desire accompanies all Uneasiness.

I have hitherto chiefly instanced in the UNEASINESS of desire, as that which determines the will: because that is the chief and most sensible; and the will seldom orders any action, nor is there any voluntary action performed, without some desire accompanying it; which I think is the reason why the will and desire are so often confounded. But yet we are not to look upon the uneasiness which makes up, or at least accompanies, most of the other passions, as wholly excluded in the case. Aversion, fear, anger, envy, shame, &c. have each their uneasinesses too, and thereby influence the will. These passions are scarce any of them, in life and practice, simple and alone, and wholly unmixed with others; though usually, in discourse and contemplation, that carries the name which operates strongest, and appears most in the present state of the mind. Nay, there is, I think, scarce any of the passions to be found without desire joined with it. I am sure wherever there is uneasiness, there is desire. For we constantly desire happiness; and whatever we feel of uneasiness, so much it is certain we want of happiness; even in our own opinion, let our state and condition otherwise be what it will. Besides, the present moment not being our eternity, whatever our enjoyment be, we look beyond the present, and desire goes with our foresight, and that still carries the will with it. So that even in joy itself, that which keeps up the action whereon the enjoyment depends, is the desire to continue it, and fear to lose it: and whenever a greater uneasiness than that takes place in the mind, the will presently is by that determined to some new action, and the present delight neglected.

41. The most pressing Uneasiness naturally determines the Will.

But we being in this world beset with sundry uneasinesses, distracted with different desires, the next inquiry naturally will be, — Which of them has the precedency in determining the will to the next action? and to that the answer is, — That ordinarily which is the most pressing of those that are judged capable of being then removed. For, the will being the power of directing our operative faculties to some action, for some end, cannot at any time be moved towards what is judged at that time unattainable: that would be to suppose an intelligent being designedly to act for an end, only to lose its labour; for so it is to act for what is judged not attainable; and therefore very great uneasinesses move not the will, when they are judged not capable of a cure: they in that case put us not upon endeavours. But, these set apart the most important and urgent uneasiness we at that time feel, is that which ordinarily determines the will, successively, in that train of voluntary actions which makes up our lives. The greatest present uneasiness is the spur to action, that is constantly most felt, and for the most part determines the will in its choice of the next action. For this we must carry along with us, that the proper and only object of the will is some action of ours, and nothing else. For we producing nothing by our willing it, but some action in our power, it is there the will terminates, and reaches no further.

42. All desire Happiness.

If it be further asked, — What it is moves desire? I answer, — happiness, and that alone. Happiness and misery are the names of two extremes, the utmost bounds whereof we know not; it is what be in itself good; and what is apt to produce any degree of pain be evil; yet it often happens that we do not call it so when it comes in competition with a greater of its sort; because, when they come in competition, the degrees also of pleasure and pain have justly a preference. So that if we will rightly estimate what we call good and evil, we shall find it lies much in comparison: for the cause of every less degree of pain, as well as every greater degree of pleasure, has the nature of good, and vice versa.

43. [ missing]

44. What Good is desired, what not.

Though this be that which is called good and evil, and all good be the proper object of desire in general; yet all good, even seen and confessed to be so, does not necessarily move every particular man’s desire; but only that part, or so much of it as is considered and taken to make a necessary part of HIS happiness. All other good, however great in reality or appearance, excites not a man’s desires who looks not on it to make a part of that happiness wherewith he, in his present thoughts, can satisfy himself. Happiness, under this view, every one constantly pursues, and desires what makes any part of it: other things, acknowledged to be good, he can look upon without desire, pass by, and be content without. There is nobody, I think, so senseless as to deny that there is pleasure in knowledge: and for the pleasures of sense, they have too many followers to let it be questioned whether men are taken with them or no. Now, let one man place his satisfaction in sensual pleasures, another in the delight of knowledge: though each of them cannot but confess, there is great pleasure in what the other pursues; yet, neither of them making the other’s delight a part of HIS happiness, their desires are not moved, but each is satisfied without what the other enjoys; and so his will is not determined to the pursuit of it. But yet, as soon as the studious man’s hunger and thirst make him uneasy, he, whose will was never determined to any pursuit of good cheer, poignant sauces, delicious wine, by the pleasant taste he has found in them, is, by the uneasiness of hunger and thirst, presently determined to eating and drinking, though possibly with great indifferency, what wholesome food comes in his way. And, on the other side, the epicure buckles to study, when shame, or the desire to recommend himself to his mistress, shall make him uneasy in the want of any sort of knowledge. Thus, how much soever men are in earnest and constant in pursuit of happiness, yet they may have a clear view of good, great and confessed good, without being concerned for it, or moved by it, if they think they can make up their happiness without it. Though as to pain, THAT they are always concerned for; they can feel no uneasiness without being moved. And therefore, being uneasy in the want of whatever is judged necessary to their happiness, as soon as any good appears to make a part of their portion of happiness, they begin to desire it.

45. Why the greatest Good is not always desired.`

This, I think, any one may observe in himself and others, — That the greater visible good does not always raise men’s desires in proportion to the greatness it appears, and is acknowledged, to have: though every little trouble moves us, and sets us on work to get rid of it. The reason whereof is evident from the nature of our happiness and misery itself. All present pain, whatever it be, makes a part of our present misery: but all absent good does not at any time make a necessary part of our present happiness, nor the absence of it make a part of our misery. If it did, we should be constantly and infinitely miserable; there being infinite degrees of happiness which are not in our possession. All uneasiness therefore being removed, a moderate portion of good serve at present to content men; and a few degrees of pleasure in a succession of ordinary enjoyments, make up a happiness wherein they can be satisfied. If this were not so, there could be no room for those indifferent and visibly trifling actions, to which our wills are so often determined, and wherein we voluntarily waste so much of our lives; which remissness could by no means consist with a constant determination of will or desire to the greatest apparent good. That this is so, I think few people need go far from home to be convinced. And indeed in this life there are not many whose happiness reaches so far as to afford them a constant train of moderate mean pleasures, without any mixture of uneasiness; and yet they could be content to stay here for ever: though they cannot deny, but that it is possible there may be a state of eternal durable joys after this life, far surpassing all the good that is to be found here. Nay, they cannot but see that it is more possible than the attainment and continuation of that pittance of honour, riches, or pleasure which they pursue, and for which they neglect that eternal state. But yet, in full view of this difference, satisfied of the possibility of a perfect, secure, and lasting happiness in a future state, and under a clear conviction that it is not to be had here, — whilst they bound their happiness within some little enjoyment or aim of this life, and exclude the joys of heaven from making any necessary part of it, — their desires are not moved by this greater apparent good, nor their wills determined to any action, or endeavour for its attainment.

46. Why not being desired, it moves not the Will.

The ordinary necessities of our lives fill a great part of them with the uneasinesses of hunger, thirst, heat, cold, weariness, with labour, and sleepiness, in their constant returns, &c. To which, if, besides accidental harms, we add the fantastical uneasiness (as itch after honour, power, or riches, &c.) which acquired habits, by fashion, example, and education, have settled in us, and a thousand other irregular desires, which custom has made natural to us, we shall find that a very little part of our life is so vacant from THESE uneasinesses, as to leave us free to the attraction of remoter absent good. We are seldom at ease, and free enough from the solicitation of our natural or adopted desires, but a constant succession of uneasinesses out of that stock which natural wants or acquired habits have heaped up, take the will in their turns; and no sooner is one action dispatched, which by such a determination of the will we are set upon, but another uneasiness is ready to set us on work. For, the removing of the pains we feel, and are at present pressed with, being the getting out of misery, and consequently the first thing to be done in order to happiness, — absent good, though thought on, confessed, and appearing to be good, not making any part of this unhappiness in its absence, is justled out, to make way for the removal of those uneasinesses we feel; till due and repeated contemplation has brought it nearer to our mind, given some relish of it, and raised in us some desire: which then beginning to make a part of our present uneasiness, stands upon fair terms with the rest to be satisfied, and so, according to its greatness and pressure, comes in its turn to determine the will.

47. Due Consideration raises Desire.

And thus, by a due consideration, and examining any good proposed, it is in our power to raise our desires in a due proportion to the value of that good, whereby in its turn and place it may come to work upon the will, and be pursued. For good, though appearing and allowed ever so great, yet till it has raised desires in our minds, and thereby made us uneasy in its want, it reaches not our wills; we are not within the sphere of its activity, our wills being under the determination only of those uneasinesses which are present to us, which (whilst we have any) are always soliciting, and ready at hand, to give the will its next determination. The balancing, when there is any in the mind, being only, which desire shall be next satisfied, which uneasiness first removed. Whereby it comes to pass that, as long as any uneasiness, any desire, remains in our mind, there is no room for good, barely as such, to come at the will, or at all to determine it. Because, as has been said, the FIRST step in our endeavours after happiness being to get wholly out of the confines of misery, and to feel no part of it, the will can be at leisure for nothing else, till every uneasiness we feel be perfectly removed: which, in the multitude of wants and desires we are beset with in this imperfect state, we are not like to be ever freed from in this world.

48. The Power to suspend the Prosecution of any Desire makes way for consideration.

There being in us a great many uneasinesses, always soliciting and ready to determine the will, it is natural, as I have said, that the greatest and most pressing should determine the will to the next action; and so it does for the most part, but not always. For, the mind having in most cases, as is evident in experience, a power to SUSPEND the execution and satisfaction of any of its desires; and so all, one after another; is at liberty to consider the objects of them, examine them on all sides, and weigh them with others. In this lies the liberty man has; and from the not using of it right comes all that variety of mistakes, errors, and faults which we run into in the conduct of our lives, and our endeavours after happiness; whilst we precipitate the determination of our wills, and engage too soon, before due examination. To prevent this, we have a power to suspend the prosecution of this or that desire; as every one daily may experiment in himself. This seems to me the source of all liberty; in this seems to consist that which is (as I think improperly) called FREE-WILL. For, during this suspension of any desire, before the will be determined to action, and the action (which follows that determination) done, we have opportunity to examine, view, and judge of the good or evil of what we are going to do; and when, upon due examination, we have judged, we have done our duty, all that we can, or ought to do, in pursuit of our happiness; and it is not a fault, but a perfection of our nature, to desire, will, and act according to the last result of a fair examination.

49. To be determined by our own Judgment, is no Restraint to Liberty.

This is so far from being a restraint or diminution of freedom, that it is the very improvement and benefit of it; it is not an abridgment, it is the end and use of our liberty; and the further we are removed from such a determination, the nearer we are to misery and slavery. A perfect indifference in the mind, not determinable by its last judgment of the good or evil that is thought to attend its choice, would be so far from being an advantage and excellency of any intellectual nature, that it would be as great an imperfection, as the want of indifferency to act, or not to act, till determined by the will, would be an imperfection on the other side. A man is at liberty to lift up his hand to his head, or let it rest quiet: he is perfectly indifferent in either; and it would be an imperfection in him, if he wanted that power, if he were deprived of that indifferency. But it would be as great an imperfection, if he had the same indifferency, whether he would prefer the lifting up his hand, or its remaining in rest, when it would save his head or eyes from a blow he sees coming: it is as much a perfection, that desire, or the power of preferring, should be determined by good, as that the power of acting should be determined by the will; and the certainer such determination is, the greater is the perfection. Nay, were we determined by anything but the last result of our own minds, judging of the good or evil of any action, we were not free.

50. The freest Agents are so determined.

If we look upon those superior beings above us, who enjoy perfect happiness, we shall have reason to judge that they are more steadily determined in their choice of good than we; and yet we have no reason to think they are less happy, or less free, than we are. And if it were fit for such poor finite creatures as we are to pronounce what infinite wisdom and goodness could do, I think we might say, that God himself CANNOT choose what is not good; the freedom of the Almighty hinders not his being determined by what is best.

51. A constant Determination to a Pursuit of Happiness no Abridgment of Liberty.

But to give a right view of this mistaken part of liberty let me ask, — Would any one be a changeling, because he is less determined by wise considerations than a wise man? Is it worth the name of freedom to be at liberty to play the fool, and draw shame and misery upon a man’s self? If to break loose from the conduct of reason, and to want that restraint of examination and judgment which keeps us from choosing or doing the worse, be liberty, true liberty, madmen and fools are the only freemen: but yet, I think, nobody would choose to be mad for the sake of such liberty, but he that is mad already. The constant desire of happiness, and the constraint it puts upon us to act for it, nobody, I think, accounts an abridgment of liberty, or at least an abridgment of liberty to be complained of. God Almighty himself is under the necessity of being happy; and the more any intelligent being is so, the nearer is its approach to infinite perfection and happiness. That, in this state of ignorance, we short-sighted creatures might not mistake true felicity, we are endowed with a power to suspend any particular desire, and keep it from determining the will, and engaging us in action. This is standing still, where we are not sufficiently assured of the way: examination is consulting a guide. The determination of the will upon inquiry, is following the direction of that guide: and he that has a power to act or not to act, according as SUCH determination directs, is a free agent: such determination abridges not that power wherein liberty consists. He that has his chains knocked off, and the prison doors set open to him, is perfectly at liberty, because he may either go or stay, as he best likes, though his preference be determined to stay, by the darkness of the night, or illness of the weather, or want of other lodging. He ceases not to be free; though the desire of some convenience to be had there absolutely determines his preference, and makes him stay in his prison.

52. The Necessity of pursuing true Happiness the Foundation of Liberty.

As therefore the highest perfection of intellectual nature lies in a careful and constant pursuit of true and solid happiness; so the care of ourselves, that we mistake not imaginary for real happiness, is the necessary foundation of our liberty. The stronger ties we have to an unalterable pursuit of happiness in general, which is our greatest good, and which as such, our desires always follow, the more are we free from any necessary determination of our will to any particular action, and from a necessary compliance with our desire, so upon any particular, and then appearing preferable good, till we have duly examined whether it has a tendency to, or be inconsistent with, our real happiness: and therefore, till we are as much informed upon this inquiry as the weight of the matter, and the nature of the case demands, we are, by the necessity of preferring and pursuing true happiness as our greatest good, obliged to suspend the satisfaction of our desires in particular cases.

53. Power to Suspend.

This is the hinge on which turns the LIBERTY of intellectual beings, in their constant endeavours after, and a steady prosecution of true felicity, — That they CAN SUSPEND this prosecution in particular cases, till they have looked before them, and informed themselves whether that particular thing which is then proposed or desired lie in the way to their main end, and make a real part of that which is their greatest good. For, the inclination and tendency of their nature to happiness is an obligation and motive to them, to take care not to mistake or miss it; and so necessarily puts them upon caution, deliberation, and wariness, in the direction of their particular actions, which are the means to obtain it. Whatever necessity determines to the pursuit of real bliss, the same necessity, with the same force, establishes suspense, deliberation, and scrutiny of each successive desire, whether the satisfaction of it does not interfere with our true happiness, and mislead us from it. This, as seems to me, is the great privilege of finite intellectual beings; and I desire it may be well considered, whether the great inlet and exercise of all the liberty men have, are capable of, or can be useful to them, and that whereon depends the turn of their actions, does not lie in this, — That they can suspend their desires, and stop them from determining their wills to any action, till they have duly and fairly examined the good and evil of it, as far forth as the weight of the thing requires. This we are able to do; and when we have done it, we have done our duty, and all that is in our power; and indeed all that needs. For, since the will supposes knowledge to guide its choice, all that we can do is to hold our wills undetermined, till we have examined the good and evil of what we desire. What follows after that, follows in a chain of consequences, linked one to another, all depending on the last determination of the judgment, which, whether it shall be upon a hasty and precipitate view, or upon a due and mature examination, is in our power; experience showing us, that in most cases, we are able to suspend the present satisfaction of any desire.

54. Government of our Passions the right Improvement of Liberty.

But if any extreme disturbance (as sometimes it happens) possesses our whole mind, as when the pain of the rack, an impetuous uneasiness, as of love, anger, or any other violent passion, running away with us, allows us not the liberty of thought, and we are not masters enough of our own minds to consider thoroughly and examine fairly; — God, who knows our frailty, pities our weakness, and requires of us no more than we are able to do, and sees what was and what was not in our power, will judge as a kind and merciful Father. But the forbearance of a too hasty compliance with our desires, the moderation and restraint of our passions, so that our understandings may be free to examine, and reason unbiassed, give its judgment, being that whereon a right direction of our conduct to true happiness depends; it is in this we should employ our chief care and endeavours. In this we should take pains to suit the relish of our minds to the true intrinsic good or ill that is in things; and not permit an allowed or supposed possible great and weighty good to slip out of our thoughts, without leaving any relish, any desire of itself there till, by a due consideration of its true worth, we have formed appetites in our minds suitable to it, and made ourselves uneasy in the want of it, or in the fear of losing it. And how much this is in every one’s power, by making resolutions to himself, such as he may keep, is easy for every one to try. Nor let any one say, he cannot govern his passions, nor hinder them from breaking out, and carrying him into action; for what he can do before a prince or a great man, he can do alone, or in the presence of God, if he will.

55. How Men come to pursue different, and often evil Courses.

From what has been said, it is easy to give an account how it comes to pass, that, though all men desire happiness, yet their wills carry them so contrarily; and consequently, some of them to what is evil. And to this I say, that the various and contrary choices that men make in the world do not argue that they do not all pursue good; but that the same thing is not good to every man alike. This variety of pursuits shows, that every one does not place his happiness in the same thing, or choose the same way to it. Were all the concerns of man terminated in this life, why one followed study and knowledge, and another hawking and hunting: why one chose luxury and debauchery, and another sobriety and riches, would not be because every one of these did NOT aim at his own happiness; but because their happiness was placed in different things. And therefore it was a right answer of the physician to his patient that had sore eyes: — If you have more pleasure in the taste of wine than in the use of your sight, wine is good for you; but if the pleasure of seeing be greater to you than that of drinking, wine is naught.

56. All men seek happiness, but not of the same sort.

The mind has a different relish, as well as the palate; and you will as fruitlessly endeavour to delight all men with riches or glory (which yet some men place their happiness in) as you would to satisfy all men’s hunger with cheese or lobsters; which, though very agreeable and delicious fare to some, are to others extremely nauseous and offensive: and many persons would with reason prefer the griping of an hungry belly to those dishes which are a feast to others. Hence it was, I think, that the philosophers of old did in vain inquire, whether summum bonum consisted in riches, or bodily delights, or virtue, or contemplation: and they might have as reasonably disputed, whether the best relish were to be found in apples, plums, or nuts, and have divided themselves into sects upon it. For, as pleasant tastes depend not on the things themselves, but on their agreeableness to this or that particular palate, wherein there is great variety; so the greatest happiness consists in the having those things which produce the greatest pleasure, and in the absence of those which cause any disturbance, any pain. Now these, to different men, are very different things. If, therefore, men in this life only have hope; if in this life only they can enjoy, it is not strange nor unreasonable, that they should seek their happiness by avoiding all things that disease them here, and by pursuing all that delight them; wherein it will be no wonder to find variety and difference. For if there be no prospect beyond the grave, the inference is certainly right— ‘Let us eat and drink,’ let us enjoy what we delight in, ‘for to-morrow we shall die.’ This, I think, may serve to show us the reason, why, though all men’s desires tend to happiness, yet they are not moved by the same object. Men may choose different things, and yet all choose right; supposing them only like a company of poor insects; whereof some are bees, delighted with flowers and their sweetness; others beetles, delighted with other kinds of viands, which having enjoyed for a season, they would cease to be, and exist no more for ever.

57. [not in early editions]

58. Why men choose what makes them miserable.

What has been said may also discover to us the reason why men in this world prefer different things, and pursue happiness by contrary courses. But yet, since men are always constant and in earnest in matters of happiness and misery, the question still remains, How men come often to prefer the worse to the better; and to choose that, which, by their own confession, has made them miserable?

59. The causes of this.

To account for the various and contrary ways men take, though all aim at being happy, we must consider whence the VARIOUS UNEASINESSES that determine the will, in the preference of each voluntary action, have their rise: —

1. From bodily pain.

Some of them come from causes not in our power; such as are often the pains of the body from want, disease, or outward injuries, as the rack, etc.; which, when present and violent, operate for the most part forcibly on the will, and turn the courses of men’s lives from virtue, piety, and religion, and what before they judged to lead to happiness; every one not endeavouring, or not being able, by the contemplation of remote and future good, to raise in himself desires of them strong enough to counterbalance the uneasiness he feels in those bodily torments, and to keep his will steady in the choice of those actions which lead to future happiness. A neighbouring country has been of late a tragical theatre from which we might fetch instances, if there needed any, and the world did not in all countries and ages furnish examples enough to confirm that received observation: NECESSITAS COGIT AD TURPIA; and therefore there is great reason for us to pray, ‘Lead us not into temptation.’

2. From wrong Desires arising from wrong Judgments.

Other uneasinesses arise from our desires of absent good; which desires always bear proportion to, and depend on, the judgment we make, and the relish we have of any absent good; in both which we are apt to be variously misled, and that by our own fault.

60. Our judgment of present Good or Evil always right.

In the first place, I shall consider the wrong judgments men make of FUTURE good and evil, whereby their desires are misled. For, as to PRESENT happiness and misery, when that alone comes into consideration, and the consequences are quite removed, a man never chooses amiss: he knows what best pleases him, and that he actually prefers. Things in their present enjoyment are what they seem: the apparent and real good are, in this case, always the same. For the pain or pleasure being just so great and no greater than it is felt, the present good or evil is really so much as it appears. And therefore were every action of ours concluded within itself, and drew no consequences after it, we should undoubtedly never err in our choice of good: we should always infallibly prefer the best. Were the pains of honest industry, and of starving with hunger and cold set together before us, nobody would be in doubt which to choose: were the satisfaction of a lust and the joys of heaven offered at once to any one’s present possession, he would not balance, or err in the determination of his choice.

61. Our wrong judgments have regard to future good and evil only.

But since our voluntary actions carry not all the happiness and misery that depend on them along with them in their present performance, but are the precedent causes of good and evil, which they draw after them, and bring upon us, when they themselves are past and cease to be; our desires look beyond our present enjoyments, and carry the mind out to ABSENT GOOD, according to the necessity which we think there is of it, to the making or increase of our happiness. It is our opinion of such a necessity that gives it its attraction: without that, we are not moved by absent good. For, in this narrow scantling of capacity which we are accustomed to and sensible of here, wherein we enjoy but one pleasure at once, which, when all uneasiness is away, is, whilst it lasts, sufficient to make us think ourselves happy, it is not all remote and even apparent good that affects us. Because the indolency and enjoyment we have, sufficing for our present happiness, we desire not to venture the change; since we judge that we are happy already, being content, and that is enough. For who is content is happy. But as soon as any new uneasiness comes in, this happiness is disturbed, and we are set afresh on work in the pursuit of happiness.

62. From a wrong Judgment of what makes a necessary Part of their Happiness.

Their aptness therefore to conclude that they can be happy without it, is one great occasion that men often are not raised to the desire of the greatest ABSENT good. For, whilst such thoughts possess them, the joys of a future state move them not; they have little concern or uneasiness about them; and the will, free from the determination of such desires, is left to the pursuit of nearer satisfactions, and to the removal of those uneasinesses which it then feels, in its want of any longings after them. Change but a man’s view of these things; let him see that virtue and religion are necessary to his happiness; let him look into the future state of bliss or misery, and see there God, the righteous Judge, ready to ‘render to every man according to his deeds; to them who by patient continuance in well-doing seek for glory, and honour, and immortality, eternal life; but unto every soul that doth evil, indignation and wrath, tribulation and anguish.’ To him, I say, who hath a prospect of the different state of perfect happiness or misery that attends all men after this life, depending on their behaviour here, the measures of good and evil that govern his choice are mightily changed. For, since nothing of pleasure and pain in this life can bear any proportion to the endless happiness or exquisite misery of an immortal soul hereafter, actions in his power will have their preference, not according to the transient pleasure or pain that accompanies or follows them here, but as they serve to secure that perfect durable happiness hereafter.

63. A more particular Account of wrong Judgments.

But, to account more particularly for the misery that men often bring on themselves, notwithstanding that they do all in earnest pursue happiness, we must consider how things come to be represented to our desires under deceitful appearances: and that is by the judgment pronouncing wrongly concerning them. To see how far this reaches, and what are the causes of wrong judgment, we must remember that things are judged good or bad in a double sense: —

First, THAT WHICH IS PROPERLY GOOD OR BAD, IS NOTHING BUT BARELY
PLEASURE OR PAIN.

Secondly, But because not only present pleasure and pain, but that also which is apt by its efficacy or consequences to bring it upon us at a distance, is a proper object of our desires, and apt to move a creature that has foresight; therefore THINGS ALSO THAT DRAW AFTER THEM PLEASURE AND PAIN, ARE CONSIDERED AS GOOD AND EVIL.

64. No one chooses misery willingly, but only by wrong judgment.

The wrong judgment that misleads us, and makes the will often fasten on the worse side, lies in misreporting upon the various comparisons of these. The wrong judgment I am here speaking of is not what one man may think of the determination of another, but what every man himself must confess to be wrong. For, since I lay it for a certain ground, that every intelligent being really seeks happiness, which consists in the enjoyment of pleasure, without any considerable mixture of uneasiness; it is impossible any one should willingly put into his own draught any bitter ingredient, or leave out anything in his power that would tend to his satisfaction, and the completing of his happiness, but only by a WRONG JUDGMENT. I shall not here speak of that mistake which is the consequence of INVINCIBLE error, which scarce deserves the name of wrong judgment; but of that wrong judgment which every man himself must confess to be so.

65. Men may err on comparing Present and Future.

(I) Therefore, as to present pleasure and pain, the mind, as has been said, never mistakes that which is really good or evil; that which is the greater pleasure, or the greater pain, is really just as it appears. But, though present pleasure and pain show their difference and degrees so plainly as not to leave room to mistake; yet, WHEN WE COMPARE PRESENT PLEASURE OR PAIN WITH FUTURE, (which is usually the case in most important determinations of the will,) we often make wrong judgments of them; taking our measures of them in different positions of distance. Objects near our view are apt to be thought greater than those of a larger size that are more remote. And so it is with pleasures and pains: the present is apt to carry it; and those at a distance have the disadvantage in the comparison. Thus most men, like spendthrift heirs, are apt to judge a little in hand better than a great deal to come; and so, for small matters in possession, part with greater ones in reversion. But that this is a wrong judgment every one must allow, let his pleasure consist in whatever it will: since that which is future will certainly come to be present; and then, having the same advantage of nearness, will show itself in its full dimensions, and discover his wilful mistake who judged of it by unequal measures. Were the pleasure of drinking accompanied, the very moment a man takes off his glass, with that sick stomach and aching head which, in some men, are sure to follow not many hours after, I think nobody, whatever pleasure he had in his cups, would, on these conditions, ever let wine touch his lips; which yet he daily swallows, and the evil side comes to be chosen only by the fallacy of a little difference in time. But, if pleasure or pain can be so lessened only by a few hours’ removal, how much more will it be so by a further distance to a man that will not, by a right judgment, do what time will, i. e. bring it home upon himself, and consider it as present, and there take its true dimensions? This is the way we usually impose on ourselves, in respect of bare pleasure and pain, or the true degrees of happiness or misery: the future loses its just proportion, and what is present obtains the preference as the greater. I mention not here the wrong judgment, whereby the absent are not only lessened, but reduced to perfect nothing; when men enjoy what they can in present, and make sure of that, concluding amiss that no evil will thence follow. For that lies not in comparing the greatness of future good and evil, which is that we are here speaking of; but in another sort of wrong judgment, which is concerning good or evil, as it is considered to be the cause and procurement of pleasure or pain that will follow from it.

66. Causes of our judging amiss when we compare present pleasure and pain with future.

The cause of our judging amiss, when we compare our present pleasure or pain with future, seems to me to be THE WEAK AND NARROW CONSTITUTION OF OUR MINDS. We cannot well enjoy two pleasures at once; much less any pleasure almost, whilst pain possesses us. The present pleasure, if it be not very languid, and almost none at all, fills our narrow souls, and so takes up the whole mind that it scarce leaves any thought of things absent: or if among our pleasures there are some which are not strong enough to exclude the consideration of things at a distance, yet we have so great an abhorrence of pain, that a little of it extinguishes all our pleasures. A little bitter mingled in our cup, leaves no relish of the sweet. Hence it comes that, at any rate, we desire to be rid of the present evil, which we are apt to think nothing absent can equal; because, under the present pain, we find not ourselves capable of any the least degree of happiness. Men’s daily complaints are a loud proof of this: the pain that any one actually feels is still of all other the worst; and it is with anguish they cry out,— ‘Any rather than this: nothing can be so intolerable as what I now suffer.’ And therefore our whole endeavours and thoughts are intent to get rid of the present evil, before all things, as the first necessary condition to our happiness; let what will follow. Nothing, as we passionately think, can exceed, or almost equal, the uneasiness that sits so heavy upon us. And because the abstinence from a present pleasure that offers itself is a pain, nay, oftentimes a very great one, the desire being inflamed by a near and tempting object, it is no wonder that that operates after the same manner pain does, and lessens in our thoughts what is future; and so forces us, as it were blindfold, into its embraces.

67. Absent good unable to counterbalance present uneasiness.

Add to this, that absent good, or, which is the same thing, future pleasure, — especially if of a sort we are unacquainted with, — seldom is able to counterbalance any uneasiness, either of pain or desire, which is present. For, its greatness being no more than what shall be really tasted when enjoyed, men are apt enough to lessen that; to make it give place to any present desire; and conclude with themselves that, when it comes to trial, it may possibly not answer the report or opinion that generally passes of it: they having often found that, not only what others have magnified, but even what they themselves have enjoyed with great pleasure and delight at one time, has proved insipid or nauseous at another; and therefore they see nothing in it for which they should forego a present enjoyment. But that this is a false way of judging, when applied to the happiness of another life, they must confess; unless they will say, God cannot make those happy he designs to be so. For that being intended for a state of happiness, it must certainly be agreeable to every one’s wish and desire: could we suppose their relishes as different there as they are here, yet the manna in heaven will suit every one’s palate. Thus much of the wrong judgment we make of present and future pleasure and pain, when they are compared together, and so the absent considered as future.

68. Wrong judgment in considering Consequences of Actions.

(II). As to THINGS GOOD OR BAD IN THEIR CONSEQUENCES, and by the aptness that is in them to procure us good or evil in the future, we judge amiss several ways.

1. When we judge that so much evil does not really depend on them as in truth there does.

2. When we judge that, though the consequence be of that moment, yet it is not of that certainty, but that it may otherwise fall out, or else by some means be avoided; as by industry, address, change, repentance, &c.

That these are wrong ways of judging, were easy to show in every particular, if I would examine them at large singly: but I shall only mention this in general, viz. that it is a very wrong and irrational way of proceeding, to venture a greater good for a less, upon uncertain guesses; and before a due examination be made, proportionable to the weightiness of the matter, and the concernment it is to us not to mistake. This I think every one must confess, especially if he considers the usual cause of this wrong judgment, whereof these following are some: —

69. Causes of this.

(i) IGNORANCE: He that judges without informing himself to the utmost that he is capable, cannot acquit himself of judging amiss.

(ii) INADVERTENCY: When a man overlooks even that which he does know. This is an affected and present ignorance, which misleads our judgments as much as the other. Judging is, as it were, balancing an account, and determining on which side the odds lie. If therefore either side be huddled up in haste, and several of the sums that should have gone into the reckoning be overlooked and left out, this precipitancy causes as wrong a judgment as if it were a perfect ignorance. That which most commonly causes this is, the prevalency of some present pleasure or pain, heightened by our feeble passionate nature, most strongly wrought on by what is present. To check this precipitancy, our understanding and reason were given us, if we will make a right use of them, to search and see, and then judge thereupon. How much sloth and negligence, heat and passion, the prevalency of fashion or acquired indispositions do severally contribute, on occasion, to these wrong judgments, I shall not here further inquire. I shall only add one other false judgment, which I think necessary to mention, because perhaps it is little taken notice of, though of great influence.

70. Wrong judgment of what is necessary to our Happiness.

All men desire happiness, that is past doubt: but, as has been already observed, when they are rid of pain, they are apt to take up with any pleasure at hand, or that custom has endeared to them; to rest satisfied in that; and so being happy, till some new desire, by making them uneasy, disturbs that happiness, and shows them that they are not so, they look no further; nor is the will determined to any action in pursuit of any other known or apparent good. For since we find that we cannot enjoy all sorts of good, but one excludes another; we do not fix our desires on every apparent greater good, unless it be judged to be necessary to our happiness: if we think we can be happy without it, it moves us not. This is another occasion to men of judging wrong; when they take not that to be necessary to their happiness which really is so. This mistake misleads us, both in the choice of the good we aim at, and very often in the means to it, when it is a remote good. But, which way ever it be, either by placing it where really it is not, or by neglecting the means as not necessary to it; — when a man misses his great end, happiness, he will acknowledge he judged not right. That which contributes to this mistake is the real or supposed unpleasantness of the actions which are the way to this end; it seeming so preposterous a thing to men, to make themselves unhappy in order to happiness, that they do not easily bring themselves to it.

71. We can change the Agreeableness or Disagreeableness in Things.

The last inquiry, therefore, concerning this matter is, — Whether it be in a man’s power to change the pleasantness and unpleasantness that accompanies any sort of action? And as to that, it is plain, in many cases he can. Men may and should correct their palates, and give relish to what either has, or they suppose has none. The relish of the mind is as various as that of the body, and like that too may be altered; and it is a mistake to think that men cannot change the displeasingness or indifferency that is in actions into pleasure and desire, if they will do but what is in their power. A due consideration will do it in some cases; and practice, application, and custom in most. Bread or tobacco may be neglected where they are shown to be useful to health, because of an indifferency or disrelish to them; reason and consideration at first recommends, and begins their trial, and use finds, or custom makes them pleasant. That this is so in virtue too, is very certain. Actions are pleasing or displeasing, either in themselves, or considered as a means to a greater and more desirable end. The eating of a well-seasoned dish, suited to a man’s palate, may move the mind by the delight itself that accompanies the eating, without reference to any other end; to which the consideration of the pleasure there is in health and strength (to which that meat is subservient) may add a new GUSTO, able to make us swallow an ill-relished potion. In the latter of these, any action is rendered more or less pleasing, only by the contemplation of the end, and the being more or less persuaded of its tendency to it, or necessary connexion with it: but the pleasure of the action itself is best acquired or increased by use and practice. Trials often reconcile us to that, which at a distance we looked on with aversion; and by repetitions wear us into a liking of what possibly, in the first essay, displeased us. Habits have powerful charms, and put so strong attractions of easiness and pleasure into what we accustom ourselves to, that we cannot forbear to do, or at least be easy in the omission of, actions, which habitual practice has suited, and thereby recommends to us. Though this be very visible, and every one’s experience shows him he can do so; yet it is a part in the conduct of men towards their happiness, neglected to a degree, that it will be possibly entertained as a paradox, if it be said, that men can MAKE things or actions more or less pleasing to themselves; and thereby remedy that, to which one may justly impute a great deal of their wandering. Fashion and the common opinion having settled wrong notions, and education and custom ill habits, the just values of things are misplaced, and the palates of men corrupted. Pains should be taken to rectify these; and contrary habits change our pleasures, and give a relish to that which is necessary or conducive to our happiness. This every one must confess he can do; and when happiness is lost, and misery overtakes him, he will confess he did amiss in neglecting it, and condemn himself for it; and I ask every one, whether he has not often done so?

72. Preference of Vice to Virtue a manifest wrong Judgment.

I shall not now enlarge any further on the wrong judgments and neglect of what is in their power, whereby men mislead themselves. This would make a volume, and is not my business. But whatever false notions, or shameful neglect of what is in their power, may put men out of their way to happiness, and distract them, as we see, into so different courses of life, this yet is certain, that morality established upon its true foundations, cannot but determine the choice in any one that will but consider: and he that will not be so far a rational creature as to reflect seriously upon INFINITE happiness and misery, must needs condemn himself as not making that use of his understanding he should. The rewards and punishments of another life which the Almighty has established, as the enforcements of his law, are of weight enough to determine the choice against whatever pleasure or pain this life can show, where the eternal state is considered but in its bare possibility which nobody can make any doubt of. He that will allow exquisite and endless happiness to be but the possible consequence of a good life here, and the contrary state the possible reward of a bad one, must own himself to judge very much amiss if he does not conclude, — That a virtuous life, with the certain expectation of everlasting bliss, which may come, is to be preferred to a vicious one, with the fear of that dreadful state of misery, which it is very possible may overtake the guilty; or, at best, the terrible uncertain hope of annihilation. This is evidently so, though the virtuous life here had nothing but pain, and the vicious continual pleasure: which yet is, for the most part, quite otherwise, and wicked men have not much the odds to brag of, even in their present possession; nay, all things rightly considered, have, I think, even the worse part here. But when infinite happiness is put into one scale, against infinite misery in the other; if the worst that comes to the pious man, if he mistakes, be the best that the wicked can attain to, if he be in the right, who can without madness run the venture? Who in his wits would choose to come within a possibility of infinite misery; which if he miss, there is yet nothing to be got by that hazard? Whereas, on the other side, the sober man ventures nothing against infinite happiness to be got, if his expectation comes not to pass. If the good man be in the right, he is eternally happy; if he mistakes, he is not miserable, he feels nothing. On the other side, if the wicked man be in the right, he is not happy; if he mistakes, he is infinitely miserable. Must it not be a most manifest wrong judgment that does not presently see to which side, in this case, the preference is to be given? I have forborne to mention anything of the certainty or probability of a future state, designing here to show the wrong judgment that any one must allow he makes, upon his own principles, laid how he pleases, who prefers the short pleasures of a vicious life upon any consideration, whilst he knows, and cannot but be certain, that a future life is at least possible.

73. Recapitulation — Liberty of indifferency.

To conclude this inquiry into human liberty, which, as it stood before, I myself from the beginning fearing, and a very judicious friend of mine, since the publication, suspecting to have some mistake in it, though he could not particularly show it me, I was put upon a stricter review of this chapter. Wherein lighting upon a very easy and scarce observable slip I had made, in putting one seemingly indifferent word for another that discovery opened to me this present view, which here, in this second edition, I submit to the learned world, and which, in short, is this: LIBERTY is a power to act or not to act, according as the mind directs. A power to direct the operative faculties to motion or rest in particular instances is that which we call the WILL. That which in the train of our voluntary actions determines the will to any change of operation is SOME PRESENT UNEASINESS, which is, or at least is always accompanied with that of DESIRE. Desire is always moved by evil, to fly it: because a total freedom from pain always makes a necessary part of our happiness: but every good, nay, every greater good, does not constantly move desire, because it may not make, or may not be taken to make, any necessary part of our happiness. For all that we desire, is only to be happy. But, though this general desire of happiness operates constantly and invariably, yet the satisfaction of any particular desire CAN BE SUSPENDED from determining the will to any subservient action, till we have maturely examined whether the particular apparent good which we then desire makes a part of our real happiness, or be consistent or inconsistent with it. The result of our judgment upon that examination is what ultimately determines the man; who could not be FREE if his will were determined by anything but his own desire, guided by his own judgment.

74. Active and passive power, in motions and in thinking.

True notions concerning the nature and extent of LIBERTY are of so great importance, that I hope I shall be pardoned this digression, which my attempt to explain it has led me into. The ideas of will, volition, liberty, and necessity, in this Chapter of Power, came naturally in my way. In a former edition of this Treatise I gave an account of my thoughts concerning them, according to the light I then had. And now, as a lover of truth, and not a worshipper of my own doctrines, I own some change of my opinion; which I think I have discovered ground for. In what I first writ, I with an unbiassed indifferency followed truth, whither I thought she led me. But neither being so vain as to fancy infallibility, nor so disingenuous as to dissemble my mistakes for fear of blemishing my reputation, I have, with the same sincere design for truth only, not been ashamed to publish what a severer inquiry has suggested. It is not impossible but that some may think my former notions right; and some (as I have already found) these latter; and some neither. I shall not at all wonder at this variety in men’s opinions: impartial deductions of reason in controverted points being so rare, and exact ones in abstract notions not so very easy especially if of any length. And, therefore, I should think myself not a little beholden to any one, who would, upon these or any other grounds, fairly clear this subject of LIBERTY from any difficulties that may yet remain.

75. Summary of our Original ideas.

And thus I have, in a short draught, given a view of OUR ORIGINAL IDEAS, from whence all the rest are derived, and of which they are made up; which, if I would consider as a philosopher, and examine on what causes they depend, and of what they are made, I believe they all might be reduced to these very few primary and original ones, viz. EXTENSION, SOLIDITY, MOBILITY, or the power of being moved; which by our senses we receive from body: PERCEPTIVITY, or the power of perception, or thinking; MOTIVITY, or the power of moving: which by reflection we receive from OUR MINDS.

I crave leave to make use of these two new words, to avoid the danger of being mistaken in the use of those which are equivocal.

To which if we add EXISTENCE, DURATION, NUMBER, which belong both to the one and the other, we have, perhaps, all the original ideas on which the rest depend. For by these, I imagine, might be EXPLAINED the nature of colours, sounds, tastes, smells, and ALL OTHER IDEAS WE HAVE, if we had but faculties acute enough to perceive the severally modified extensions and motions of these minute bodies, which produce those several sensations in us. But my present purpose being only to inquire into the knowledge the mind has of things, by those ideas and appearances which God has fitted it to receive from them, and how the mind comes by that knowledge; rather than into their causes or manner of Production, I shall not, contrary to the design of this Essay, see myself to inquire philosophically into the peculiar constitution of BODIES, and the configuration of parts, whereby THEY have the power to produce in us the ideas of their sensible qualities. I shall not enter any further into that disquisition; it sufficing to my purpose to observe, that gold or saffron has power to produce in us the idea of yellow, and snow or milk the idea of white, which we can only have by our sight without examining the texture of the parts of those bodies or the particular figures or motion of the particles which rebound from them, to cause in us that particular sensation, though, when we go beyond the bare ideas in our minds and would inquire into their causes, we cannot conceive anything else to be in any sensible object, whereby it produces different ideas in us, but the different bulk, figure, number, texture, and motion of its insensible parts.

CHAPTER XXII. OF MIXED MODES.

1. Mixed Modes, what.

Having treated of SIMPLE MODES in the foregoing chapters, and given several instances of some of the most considerable of them, to show what they are, and how we come by them; we are now in the next place to consider those we call MIXED MODES; such are the complex ideas we mark by the names OBLIGATION, DRUNKENNESS, a LIE, &c.; which consisting of several combinations of simple ideas of DIFFERENT kinds, I have called mixed modes, to distinguish them from the more simple modes, which consist only of simple ideas of the SAME kind. These mixed modes, being also such combinations of simple ideas as are not looked upon to be characteristical marks of any real beings that have a steady existence, but scattered and independent ideas put together by the mind, are thereby distinguished from the complex ideas of substances.

2. Made by the Mind.

That the mind, in respect of its simple ideas, is wholly passive, and receives them all from the existence and operations of things, such as sensation or reflection offers them, without being able to MAKE any one idea, experience shows us. But if we attentively consider these ideas I call mixed modes, we are now speaking of, we shall find their origin quite different. The mind often exercises an ACTIVE power in making these several combinations. For, it being once furnished with simple ideas, it can put them together in several compositions, and so make variety of complex ideas, without examining whether they exist so together in nature. And hence I think it is that these ideas are called NOTIONS: as they had their original, and constant existence, more in the thoughts of men, than in the reality of things; and to form such ideas, it sufficed that the mind put the parts of them together, and that they were consistent in the understanding without considering whether they had any real being: though I do not deny but several of them might be taken from observation, and the existence of several simple ideas so combined, as they are put together in the understanding. For the man who first framed the idea of HYPOCRISY, might have either taken it at first from the observation of one who made show of good qualities which he had not; or else have framed that idea in his mind without having any such pattern to fashion it by. For it is evident that, in the beginning of languages and societies of men, several of those complex ideas, which were consequent to the constitutions established amongst them, must needs have been in the minds of men before they existed anywhere else; and that many names that stood for such complex ideas were in use, and so those ideas framed, before the combinations they stood for ever existed.

3. Sometimes got by the Explication of their Names.

Indeed, now that languages are made, and abound with words standing for such combinations, an usual way of GETTING these complex ideas is, by the explication of those terms that stand for them. For, consisting of a company of simple ideas combined, they may, by words standing for those simple ideas, be represented to the mind of one who understands those words, though that complex combination of simple ideas were never offered to his mind by the real existence of things. Thus a man may come to have the idea of SACRILEGE or MURDER, by enumerating to him the simple ideas which these words stand for; without ever seeing either of them committed.

4. The Name ties the Parts of mixed Modes into one Idea.

Every mixed mode consisting of many distinct simple ideas, it seems reasonable to inquire, Whence it has its unity; and how such a precise multitude comes to make but one idea; since that combination does not always exist together in nature? To which I answer, it is plain it has its unity from an act of the mind, combining those several simple ideas together, and considering them as one complex one, consisting of those parts; and the mark of this union, or that which is looked on generally to complete it, is one NAME given to that combination. For it is by their names that men commonly regulate their account of their distinct species of mixed modes, seldom allowing or considering any number of simple ideas to make one complex one, but such collections as there be names for. Thus, though the killing of an old man be as fit in nature to be united into one complex idea, as the killing a man’s father; yet, there being no name standing precisely for the one, as there is the name of PARRICIDE to mark the other, it is not taken for a particular complex idea, nor a distinct species of actions from that of killing a young man, or any other man.

5. The Cause of making mixed Modes.

If we should inquire a little further, to see what it is that occasions men to make several combinations of simple ideas into distinct, and, as it were, settled modes, and neglect others, which in the nature of things themselves, have as much an aptness to be combined and make distinct ideas, we shall find the reason of it to be the end of language; which being to mark, or communicate men’s thoughts to one another with all the dispatch that may be, they usually make SUCH collections of ideas into complex modes, and affix names to them, as they have frequent use of in their way of living and conversation, leaving others which they have but seldom an occasion to mention, loose and without names that tie them together: they rather choosing to enumerate (when they have need) such ideas as make them up, by the particular names that stand for them, than to trouble their memories by multiplying of complex ideas with names to them, which they seldom or never have any occasion to make use of.

6. Why Words in one Language have none answering in another.

This shows us how it comes to pass that there are in every language many particular words which cannot be rendered by any one single word of another. For the several fashions, customs, and manners of one nation, making several combinations of ideas familiar and necessary in one, which another people have had never an occasion to make, or perhaps so much as take notice of, names come of course to be annexed to them, to avoid long periphrases in things of daily conversation; and so they become so many distinct complex ideas in their minds. Thus ostrakismos amongst the Greeks, and proscriptio amongst the Romans, were words which other languages had no names that exactly answered; because they stood for complex ideas which were not in the minds of the men of other nations. Where there was no such custom, there was no notion of any such actions; no use of such combinations of ideas as were united, and, as it were, tied together, by those terms: and therefore in other countries there were no names for them.

7. And Languages change.

Hence also we may see the reason, why languages constantly change, take up new and lay by old terms. Because change of customs and opinions bringing with it new combinations of ideas, which it is necessary frequently to think on and talk about, new names, to avoid long descriptions, are annexed to them; and so they become new species of complex modes. What a number of different ideas are by this means wrapped up in one short sound, and how much of our time and breath is thereby saved, any one will see, who will but take the pains to enumerate all the ideas that either REPRIEVE or APPEAL stand for; and instead of either of those names, use a periphrasis, to make any one understand their meaning.

8. Mixed Modes

Though I shall have occasion to consider this more at-large when I come to treat of Words and their use, yet I could not avoid to take thus much notice here of the NAMES OF MIXED MODES; which being fleeting and transient combinations of simple ideas, which have but a short existence anywhere but in the minds of men, and there too have no longer any existence than whilst they are thought on, have not so much anywhere the appearance of a constant and lasting existence as in their names: which are therefore, in this sort of ideas, very apt to be taken for the ideas themselves. For, if we should inquire where the idea of a TRIUMPH or APOTHEOSIS exists, it is evident they could neither of them exist altogether anywhere in the things themselves, being actions that required time to their performance, and so could never all exist together; and as to the minds of men, where the ideas of these actions are supposed to be lodged, they have there too a very uncertain existence: and therefore we are apt to annex them to the names that excite them in us.

9. How we get the Ideas of mixed Modes.

There are therefore three ways whereby we get these complex ideas of mixed modes: — (1) By experience and OBSERVATION of things themselves: thus, by seeing two men mixed wrestle or fence, we get the idea of wrestling or fencing. (2) By INVENTION, or voluntary putting together of several simple ideas in our own minds: so he that first invented printing or etching, had an idea of it in his mind before it ever existed. (3) Which is the most usual way, by EXPLAINING THE NAMES of actions we never saw, or motions we cannot see; and by enumerating, and thereby, as it were, setting before our imaginations all those ideas which go to the making them up, and are the constituent parts of them. For, having by sensation and reflection stored our minds with simple ideas, and by use got the names that stand for them, we can by those means represent to another any complex idea we would have him conceive; so that it has in it no simple ideas but what he knows, and has with us the same name for. For all our complex ideas are ultimately resolvable into simple ideas, of which they are compounded and originally made up, though perhaps their immediate ingredients, as I may so say, are also complex ideas. Thus, the mixed mode which the word LIE stands for is made of these simple ideas: — (1) Articulate sounds. (2) Certain ideas in the mind of the speaker. (3) Those words the signs of those ideas. (4) Those signs put together, by affirmation or negation, otherwise than the ideas they stand for are in the mind of the speaker. I think I need not go any further in the analysis of that complex idea we call a lie: what I have said is enough to show that it is made up of simple ideas. And it could not be but an offensive tediousness to my reader, to trouble him with a more minute enumeration of every particular simple idea that goes to this complex one; which, from what has been said, he cannot but be able to make out to himself. The same may be done in all our complex ideas whatsoever; which, however compounded and decompounded, may at last be resolved into simple ideas, which are all the materials of knowledge or thought we have, or can have. Nor shall we have reason to fear that the mind is hereby stinted to too scanty a number of ideas, if we consider what an inexhaustible stock of simple modes number and figure alone afford us. How far then mixed modes, which admit of the various combinations of different simple ideas, and their infinite modes, are from being few and scanty, we may easily imagine. So that, before we have done, we shall see that nobody need be afraid he shall not have scope and compass enough for his thoughts to range in, though they be, as I pretend, confined only to simple ideas, received from sensation or reflection, and their several combinations.

10. Motion, Thinking, and Power have been most modified.

It is worth our observing, which of all our simple ideas have been MOST modified, and had most mixed ideas made out of them, with names given to them. And those have been these three: — THINKING and MOTION (which are the two ideas which comprehend in them all action,) and POWER, from whence these actions are conceived to flow. These simple ideas, I say, of thinking, motion, and power, have been those which have been most modified; and out of whose modifications have been made most complex modes, with names to them. For ACTION being the great business of mankind, and the whole matter about which all laws are conversant, it is no wonder that the several modes of thinking and motion should be taken notice of, the ideas of them observed, and laid up in the memory, and have names assigned to them; without which laws could be but ill made, or vice and disorders repressed. Nor could any communication be well had amongst men without such complex ideas, with names to them: and therefore men have settled names, and supposed settled ideas in their minds, of modes of actions, distinguished by their causes, means, objects, ends, instruments, time, place, and other circumstances; and also of their powers fitted for those actions: v.g. BOLDNESS is the power to speak or do what we intend, before others, without fear or disorder; and the Greeks call the confidence of speaking by a peculiar name, [word in Greek]: which power or ability in man of doing anything, when it has been acquired by frequent doing the same thing, is that idea we name HABIT; when it is forward, and ready upon every occasion to break into action, we call it DISPOSITION. Thus, TESTINESS is a disposition or aptness to be angry.

To conclude: Let us examine any modes of action, v.g. CONSIDERATION and ASSENT, which are actions of the mind; RUNNING and SPEAKING, which are actions of the body; REVENGE and MURDER, which are actions of both together, and we shall find them but so many collections of simple ideas, which, together, make up the complex ones signified by those names.

11. Several Words seeming to signify Action, signify but the effect.

POWER being the source from whence all action proceeds, the substances wherein these powers are, when they [lost line??] exert this power into act, are called CAUSES, and the substances which thereupon are produced, or the simple ideas which are introduced into any subject by the exerting of that power, are called EFFECTS. The EFFICACY whereby the new substance or idea is produced is called, in the subject exerting that power, ACTION; but in the subject wherein any simple idea is changed or produced, it is called PASSION: which efficacy, however various, and the effects almost infinite, yet we can, I think, conceive it, in intellectual agents, to be nothing else but modes of thinking and willing; in corporeal agents, nothing else but modifications of motion. I say I think we cannot conceive it to be any other but these two. For whatever sort of action besides these produces any effects, I confess myself to have no notion nor idea of; and so it is quite remote from my thoughts, apprehensions, and knowledge; and as much in the dark to me as five other senses, or as the ideas of colours to a blind man. And therefore many words which seem to express some action, signify nothing of the action or MODUS OPERANDI at all, but barely the effect, with some circumstances of the subject wrought on, or cause operating: v.g. CREATION, ANNIHILATION, contain in them no idea of the action or manner whereby they are produced, but barely of the cause, and the thing done. And when a countryman says the cold freezes water, though the word freezing seems to import some action, yet truly it signifies nothing but the effect, viz. that water that was before fluid is become hard and consistent, without containing any idea of the action whereby it is done.

12. Mixed Modes made also of other Ideas than those of Power and Action.

I think I shall not need to remark here that, though power and action make the greatest part of mixed modes, marked by names, and familiar in the minds and mouths of men, yet other simple ideas, and their several combinations, are not excluded: much less, I think, will it be necessary for me to enumerate all the mixed modes which have been settled, with names to them. That would be to make a dictionary of the greatest part of the words made use of in divinity, ethics, law, and politics, and several other sciences. All that is requisite to my present design, is to show what sort of ideas those are which I call mixed modes; how the mind comes by them; and that they are compositions made up of simple ideas got from sensation and reflection; which I suppose I have done.

CHAPTER XXIII. OF OUR COMPLEX IDEAS OF SUBSTANCES.

The mind being, as I have declared, furnished with a great number of the simple ideas, conveyed in by the senses as they are found in exterior things, or by reflection on its own operations, takes notice also that a certain number of these simple ideas go constantly together; which being presumed to belong to one thing, and words being suited to common apprehensions, and made use of for quick dispatch are called, so united in one subject, by one name; which, by inadvertency, we are apt afterward to talk of and consider as one simple idea, which indeed is a complication of many ideas together: because, as I have said, not imagining how these simple ideas CAN subsist by themselves, we accustom ourselves to suppose some SUBSTRATUM wherein they do subsist, and from which they do result, which therefore we call SUBSTANCE.

2. Our obscure Idea of Substance in general.

So that if any one will examine himself concerning his notion of pure substance in general, he will find he has no other idea of it at all, but only a supposition of he knows not what SUPPORT of such qualities which are capable of producing simple ideas in us; which qualities are commonly called accidents. If any one should be asked, what is the subject wherein colour or weight inheres, he would have nothing to say, but the solid extended parts; and if he were demanded, what is it that solidity and extension adhere in, he would not be in a much better case than the Indian before mentioned who, saying that the world was supported by a great elephant, was asked what the elephant rested on; to which his answer was — a great tortoise: but being again pressed to know what gave support to the broad-backed tortoise, replied — SOMETHING, HE KNEW NOT WHAT. And thus here, as in all other cases where we use words without having clear and distinct ideas, we talk like children: who, being questioned what such a thing is, which they know not, readily give this satisfactory answer, that it is SOMETHING: which in truth signifies no more, when so used, either by children or men, but that they know not what; and that the thing they pretend to know, and talk of, is what they have no distinct idea of at all, and so are perfectly ignorant of it, and in the dark. The idea then we have, to which we give the GENERAL name substance, being nothing but the supposed, but unknown, support of those qualities we find existing, which we imagine cannot subsist SINE RE SUBSTANTE, without something to support them, we call that support SUBSTANTIA; which, according to the true import of the word, is, in plain English, standing under or upholding.

3. Of the Sorts of Substances.

An obscure and relative idea of SUBSTANCE IN GENERAL being thus made we come to have the ideas of PARTICULAR SORTS OF SUBSTANCES, by collecting SUCH combinations of simple ideas as are, by experience and observation of men’s senses, taken notice of to exist together; and are therefore supposed to flow from the particular internal constitution, or unknown essence of that substance. Thus we come to have the ideas of a man, horse, gold, water, &c.; of which substances, whether any one has any other CLEAR idea, further than of certain simple ideas co-existent together, I appeal to every one’s own experience. It is the ordinary qualities observable in iron, or a diamond, put together, that make the true complex idea of those substances, which a smith or a jeweller commonly knows better than a philosopher; who, whatever SUBSTANTIAL FORMS he may talk of, has no other idea of those substances, than what is framed by a collection of those simple ideas which are to be found in them: only we must take notice, that our complex ideas of substances, besides all those simple ideas they are made up of, have always the confused idea of something to which they belong, and in which they subsist: and therefore when we speak of any sort of substance, we say it is a thing having such or such qualities; as body is a thing that is extended, figured, and capable of motion; spirit, a thing capable of thinking; and so hardness, friability, and power to draw iron, we say, are qualities to be found in a loadstone. These, and the like fashions of speaking, intimate that the substance is supposed always SOMETHING BESIDES the extension, figure, solidity, motion, thinking, or other observable ideas, though we know not what it is.

4. No clear or distinct idea of Substance in general.

Hence, when we talk or think of any particular sort of corporeal substances, as horse, stone, &c., though the idea we have of either of them be but the complication or collection of those several simple ideas of sensible qualities, which we used to find united in the thing called horse or stone; yet, BECAUSE WE CANNOT CONCEIVE HOW THEY SHOULD SUBSIST ALONE, NOR ONE IN ANOTHER, we suppose them existing in and supported by some common subject; which support we denote by the name substance, though it be certain we have no clear or distinct idea of that thing we suppose a support.

5. As clear an Idea of spiritual substance as of corporeal substance.

The same thing happens concerning the operations of the mind, viz. thinking, reasoning, fearing, &c., which we concluding not to subsist of themselves, nor apprehending how they can belong to body, or be produced by it, we are apt to think these the actions of some other SUBSTANCE, which we call SPIRIT; whereby yet it is evident that, having no other idea or notion of matter, but something wherein those many sensible qualities which affect our senses do subsist; by supposing a substance wherein thinking, knowing, doubting, and a power of moving, &c., do subsist, we have as clear a notion of the substance of spirit, as we have of body; the one being supposed to be (without knowing what it is) the SUBSTRATUM to those simple ideas we have from without; and the other supposed (with a like ignorance of what it is) to be the SUBSTRATUM to those operations we experiment in ourselves within. It is plain then, that the idea of CORPOREAL SUBSTANCE in matter is as remote from our conceptions and apprehensions, as that of SPIRITUAL SUBSTANCE, or spirit: and therefore, from our not having, any notion of the substance of spirit, we can no more conclude its non-existence, than we can, for the same reason, deny the existence of body; it being as rational to affirm there is no body, because we have no clear and distinct idea of the substance of matter, as to say there is no spirit, because we have no clear and distinct idea of the substance of a spirit.

6. Our ideas of particular Sorts of Substances.

Whatever therefore be the secret abstract nature of substance in general, all the ideas we have of particular distinct sorts of substances are nothing but several combinations of simple ideas, co-existing in such, though unknown, cause of their union, as makes the whole subsist of itself. It is by such combinations of simple ideas, and nothing else, that we represent particular sorts of substances to ourselves; such are the ideas we have of their several species in our minds; and such only do we, by their specific names, signify to others, v.g. man, horse, sun, water, iron: upon hearing which words, every one who understands the language, frames in his mind a combination of those several simple ideas which he has usually observed, or fancied to exist together under that denomination; all which he supposes to rest in and be, as it were, adherent to that unknown common subject, which inheres not in anything else. Though, in the meantime, it be manifest, and every one, upon inquiry into his own thoughts, will find, that he has no other idea of any substance, v.g. let it be gold, horse, iron, man, vitriol, bread, but what he has barely of those sensible qualities, which he supposes to inhere; with a supposition of such a substratum as gives, as it were, a support to those qualities or simple ideas, which he has observed to exist united together. Thus, the idea of the sun, — what is it but an aggregate of those several simple ideas, bright, hot, roundish, having a constant regular motion, at a certain distance from us, and perhaps some other: as he who thinks and discourses of the sun has been more or less accurate in observing those sensible qualities, ideas, or properties, which are in that thing which he calls the sun.

7. Their active and passive Powers a great part of our complex Ideas of Substances.

For he has the perfectest idea of any of the particular sorts of substances, who has gathered, and put together, most of those simple ideas which do exist in it; among which are to be reckoned its active powers, and passive capacities, which, though not simple ideas, yet in this respect, for brevity’s sake, may conveniently enough be reckoned amongst them. Thus, the power of drawing iron is one of the ideas of the complex one of that substance we call a loadstone; and a power to be so drawn is a part of the complex one we call iron: which powers pass for inherent qualities in those subjects. Because every substance, being as apt, by the powers we observe in it, to change some sensible qualities in other subjects, as it is to produce in us those simple ideas which we receive immediately from it, does, by those new sensible qualities introduced into other subjects, discover to us those powers which do thereby mediately affect our senses, as regularly as its sensible qualities do it immediately: v. g. we immediately by our senses perceive in fire its heat and colour; which are, if rightly considered, nothing but powers in it to produce those ideas in US: we also by our senses perceive the colour and brittleness of charcoal, whereby we come by the knowledge of another power in fire, which it has to change the colour and consistency of WOOD. By the former, fire immediately, by the latter, it mediately discovers to us these several powers; which therefore we look upon to be a part of the qualities of fire, and so make them a part of the complex idea of it. For all those powers that we take cognizance of, terminating only in the alteration of some sensible qualities in those subjects on which they operate, and so making them exhibit to us new sensible ideas, therefore it is that I have reckoned these powers amongst the simple ideas which make the complex ones of the sorts of substances; though these powers considered in themselves, are truly complex ideas. And in this looser sense I crave leave to be understood, when I name any of these POTENTIALITIES among the simple ideas which we recollect in our minds when we think of PARTICULAR SUBSTANCES. For the powers that are severally in them are necessary to be considered, if we will have true distinct notions of the several sorts of substances.

8. And why.

Nor are we to wonder that powers make a great part of our complex ideas of substances; since their secondary qualities are those which in most of them serve principally to distinguish substances one from another, and commonly make a considerable part of the complex idea of the several sorts of them. For, our senses failing us in the discovery of the bulk, texture, and figure of the minute parts of bodies, on which their real constitutions and differences depend, we are fain to make use of their secondary qualities as the characteristical notes and marks whereby to frame ideas of them in our minds, and distinguish them one from another: all which secondary qualities, as has been shown, are nothing but bare powers. For the colour and taste of opium are, as well as its soporific or anodyne virtues, mere powers, depending on its primary qualities, whereby it is fitted to produce different operations on different parts of our bodies.

9. Three sorts of Ideas make our complex ones of Corporeal Substances.

The ideas that make our complex ones of corporeal substances, are of these three sorts. First, the ideas of the primary qualities of things, which are discovered by our senses, and are in them even when we perceive them not; such are the bulk, figure, number, situation, and motion of the parts of bodies; which are really in them, whether we take notice of them or not. Secondly, the sensible secondary qualities, which, depending on these, are nothing but the powers those substances have to produce several ideas in us by our senses; which ideas are not in the things themselves, otherwise than as anything is in its cause. Thirdly, the aptness we consider in any substance, to give or receive such alterations of primary qualities, as that the substance so altered should produce in us different ideas from what it did before; these are called active and passive powers: all which powers, as far as we have any notice or notion of them, terminate only in sensible simple ideas. For whatever alteration a loadstone has the power to make in the minute particles of iron, we should have no notion of any power it had at all to operate on iron, did not its sensible motion discover it: and I doubt not, but there are a thousand changes, that bodies we daily handle have a power to cause in one another, which we never suspect, because they never appear in sensible effects.

10. Powers thus make a great Part of our complex Ideas of particular Substances.

POWERS therefore justly make a great part of our complex ideas of substances. He that will examine his complex idea of gold, will find several of its ideas that make it up to be only powers; as the power of being melted, but of not spending itself in the fire; of being dissolved in AQUA REGIA, are ideas as necessary to make up our complex idea of gold, as its colour and weight: which, if duly considered, are also nothing but different powers. For, to speak truly, yellowness is not actually in gold, but is a power in gold to produce that idea in us by our eyes, when placed in a due light: and the heat, which we cannot leave out of our ideas of the sun, is no more really in the sun, than the white colour it introduces into wax. These are both equally powers in the sun, operating, by the motion and figure of its sensible parts, so on a man, as to make him have the idea of heat; and so on wax, as to make it capable to produce in a man the idea of white.

11. The now secondary Qualities of Bodies would disappear, if we could discover the primary ones of their minute Parts.

Had we senses acute enough to discern the minute particles of bodies, and the real constitution on which their sensible qualities depend, I doubt not but they would produce quite different ideas in us: and that which is now the yellow colour of gold, would then disappear, and instead of it we should see an admirable texture of parts, of a certain size and figure. This microscopes plainly discover to us; for what to our naked eyes produces a certain colour, is, by thus augmenting the acuteness of our senses, discovered to be quite a different thing; and the thus altering, as it were, the proportion of the bulk of the minute parts of a coloured object to our usual sight, produces different ideas from what it did before. Thus, sand or pounded glass, which is opaque, and white to the naked eye, is pellucid in a microscope; and a hair seen in this way, loses its former colour, and is, in a great measure, pellucid, with a mixture of some bright sparkling colours, such as appear from the refraction of diamonds, and other pellucid bodies. Blood, to the naked eye, appears all red; but by a good microscope, wherein its lesser parts appear, shows only some few globules of red, swimming in a pellucid liquor, and how these red globules would appear, if glasses could be found that could yet magnify them a thousand or ten thousand times more, is uncertain.

12. Our Faculties for Discovery of the Qualities and powers of Substances suited to our State.

The infinite wise Contriver of us, and all things about us, hath fitted our senses, faculties, and organs, to the conveniences of life, and the business we have to do here. We are able, by our senses, to know and distinguish things: and to examine them so far as to apply them to our uses, and several ways to accommodate the exigences of this life. We have insight enough into their admirable contrivances and wonderful effects, to admire and magnify the wisdom, power and goodness of their Author. Such a knowledge as this which is suited to our present condition, we want not faculties to attain. But it appears not that God intended we should have a perfect, clear, and adequate knowledge of them: that perhaps is not in the comprehension of any finite being. We are furnished with faculties (dull and weak as they are) to discover enough in the creatures to lead us to the knowledge of the Creator, and the knowledge of our duty; and we are fitted well enough with abilities to provide for the conveniences of living: these are our business in this world. But were our senses altered, and made much quicker and acuter, the appearance and outward scheme of things would have quite another face to us; and, I am apt to think, would be inconsistent with our being, or at least wellbeing, in the part of the universe which we inhabit. He that considers how little our constitution is able to bear a remove into part of this air, not much higher than that we commonly breathe in, will have reason to be satisfied, that in this globe of earth allotted for our mansion, the all-wise Architect has suited our organs, and the bodies that are to affect them, one to another. If our sense of hearing were but a thousand times quicker than it is, how would a perpetual noise distract us. And we should in the quietest retirement be less able to sleep or meditate than in the middle of a sea-fight. Nay, if that most instructive of our senses, seeing, were in any man a thousand or a hundred thousand times more acute than it is by the best microscope, things several millions of times less than the smallest object of his sight now would then be visible to his naked eyes, and so he would come nearer to the discovery of the texture and motion of the minute parts of corporeal things; and in many of them, probably get ideas of their internal constitutions: but then he would be in a quite different world from other people: nothing would appear the same to him and others: the visible ideas of everything would be different. So that I doubt, whether he and the rest of men could discourse concerning the objects of sight, or have any communication about colours, their appearances being so wholly different. And perhaps such a quickness and tenderness of sight could not endure bright sunshine, or so much as open daylight; nor take in but a very small part of any object at once, and that too only at a very near distance. And if by the help of such MICROSCOPICAL EYES (if I may so call them) a man could penetrate further than ordinary into the secret composition and radical texture of bodies, he would not make any great advantage by the change, if such an acute sight would not serve to conduct him to the market and exchange; if he could not see things he was to avoid, at a convenient distance; nor distinguish things he had to do with by those sensible qualities others do. He that was sharp-sighted enough to see the configuration of the minute particles of the spring of a clock, and observe upon what peculiar structure and impulse its elastic motion depends, would no doubt discover something very admirable: but if eyes so framed could not view at once the hand, and the characters of the hour-plate, and thereby at a distance see what o’clock it was, their owner could not be much benefited by that acuteness; which, whilst it discovered the secret contrivance of the parts of the machine, made him lose its use.

13. Conjecture about the corporeal organs of some Spirits.

And here give me leave to propose an extravagant conjecture of mine, viz. That since we have some reason (if there be any credit to be given to the report of things that our philosophy cannot account for) to imagine, that Spirits can assume to themselves bodies of different bulk, figure, and conformation of parts — whether one great advantage some of them have over us may not lie in this, that they can so frame and shape to themselves organs of sensation or perception, as to suit them to their present design, and the circumstances of the object they would consider. For how much would that man exceed all others in knowledge, who had but the faculty so to alter the structure of his eyes, that one sense, as to make it capable of all the several degrees of vision which the assistance of glasses (casually at first lighted on) has taught us to conceive? What wonders would he discover, who could so fit his eyes to all sorts of objects, as to see when he pleased the figure and motion of the minute particles in the blood, and other juices of animals, as distinctly as he does, at other times, the shape and motion of the animals themselves? But to us, in our present state, unalterable organs, so contrived as to discover the figure and motion of the minute parts of bodies, whereon depend those sensible qualities we now observe in them, would perhaps be of no advantage. God has no doubt made them so as is best for us in our present condition. He hath fitted us for the neighbourhood of the bodies that surround us, and we have to do with; and though we cannot, by the faculties we have, attain to a perfect knowledge of things, yet they will serve us well enough for those ends above-mentioned, which are our great concernment. I beg my reader’s pardon for laying before him so wild a fancy concerning the ways of perception of beings above us; but how extravagant soever it be, I doubt whether we can imagine anything about the knowledge of angels but after this manner, some way or other in proportion to what we find and observe in ourselves. And though we cannot but allow that the infinite power and wisdom of God may frame creatures with a thousand other faculties and ways of perceiving things without them than what we have, yet our thoughts can go no further than our own: so impossible it is for us to enlarge our very guesses beyond the ideas received from our own sensation and reflection. The supposition, at least, that angels do sometimes assume bodies, needs not startle us; since some of the most ancient and most learned Fathers of the church seemed to believe that they had bodies: and this is certain, that their state and way of existence is unknown to us.

14. Our specific Ideas of Substances.

But to return to the matter in hand, — the ideas we have of substances, and the ways we come by them. I say, our SPECIFIC ideas of substances are nothing else but A COLLECTION OF CERTAIN NUMBER OF SIMPLE IDEAS, CONSIDERED AS UNITED IN ONE THING. These ideas of substances, though they are commonly simple apprehensions, and the names of them simple terms, yet in effect are complex and compounded. Thus the idea which an Englishman signifies by the name swan, is white colour, long neck, red beak, black legs, and whole feet, and all these of a certain size, with a power of swimming in the water, and making a certain kind of noise, and perhaps, to a man who has long observed this kind of birds, some other properties: which all terminate in sensible simple ideas, all united in one common subject.

15. Our Ideas of spiritual Substances, as clear as of bodily Substances.

Besides the complex ideas we have of material sensible substances, of which I have last spoken, — by the simple ideas we have taken from those operations of our own minds, which we experiment daily in ourselves, as thinking, understanding, willing, knowing, and power of beginning motion, &c., co-existing in some substance, we are able to frame the COMPLEX IDEA OF AN IMMATERIAL SPIRIT. And thus, by putting together the ideas of thinking, perceiving, liberty, and power of moving themselves and other things, we have as clear a perception and notion of immaterial substances as we have of material. For putting together the ideas of thinking and willing, or the power of moving or quieting corporeal motion, joined to substance, of which we have no distinct idea, we have the idea of an immaterial spirit; and by putting together the ideas of coherent solid parts, and a power of being moved joined with substance, of which likewise we have no positive idea, we have the idea of matter. The one is as clear and distinct an idea as the other: the idea of thinking, and moving a body, being as clear and distinct ideas as the ideas of extension, solidity, and being moved. For our idea of substance is equally obscure, or none at all, in both: it is but a supposed I know not what, to support those ideas we call accidents. It is for want of reflection that we are apt to think that our senses show us nothing but material things. Every act of sensation, when duly considered, gives us an equal view of both parts of nature, the corporeal and spiritual. For whilst I know, by seeing or hearing, &c., that there is some corporeal being without me, the object of that sensation, I do more certainly know, that there is some spiritual being within me that sees and hears. This, I must be convinced, cannot be the action of bare insensible matter; nor ever could be, without an immaterial thinking being.

16. No Idea of abstract Substance either in Body or Spirit.

By the complex idea of extended, figured, coloured, and all other sensible qualities, which is all that we know of it, we are as far from the idea of the substance of body, as if we knew nothing at all: nor after all the acquaintance and familiarity which we imagine we have with matter, and the many qualities men assure themselves they perceive and know in bodies, will it perhaps upon examination be found, that they have any more or clearer primary ideas belonging to body, than they have belonging to immaterial spirit.

17. Cohesion of solid parts and Impulse, the primary ideas peculiar to Body.

The primary ideas we have PECULIAR TO BODY, as contradistinguished to spirit, are the COHESION OF SOLID, AND CONSEQUENTLY SEPARABLE, PARTS, and a POWER OF COMMUNICATING MOTION BY IMPULSE. These, I think, are the original ideas proper and peculiar to body; for figure is but the consequence of finite extension.

18. Thinking and Motivity

The ideas we have belonging and PECULIAR TO SPIRIT, are THINKING, and WILL, or A POWER OF PUTTING BODY INTO MOTION BY THOUGHT, AND, WHICH IS CONSEQUENT TO IT, LIBERTY. For, as body cannot but communicate its motion by impulse to another body, which it meets with at rest, so the mind can put bodies into motion, or forbear to do so, as it pleases. The ideas of EXISTENCE, DURATION, and MOBILITY, are common to them both.

19. Spirits capable of Motion.

There is no reason why it should be thought strange that I make mobility belong to spirit; for having no other idea of motion, but change of distance with other beings that are considered as at rest; and finding that spirits, as well as bodies, cannot operate but where they are; and that spirits do operate at several times in several places, I cannot but attribute change of place to all finite spirits: (for of the Infinite Spirit I speak not here). For my soul, being a real being as well as my body, is certainly as capable of changing distance with any other body, or being, as body itself; and so is capable of motion. And if a mathematician can consider a certain distance, or a change of that distance between two points, one may certainly conceive a distance and a change of distance, between two spirits; and so conceive their motion, their approach or removal, one from another.

20. Proof of this.

Every one finds in himself that his soul can think will, and operate on his body in the place where that is, but cannot operate on a body, or in a place, an hundred miles distant from it. Nobody can imagine that his soul can think or move a body at Oxford, whilst he is at London; and cannot but know, that, being united to his body, it constantly changes place all the whole journey between Oxford and London, as the coach or horse does that carries him, and I think may be said to be truly all that while in motion or if that will not be allowed to afford us a clear idea enough of its motion, its being separated from the body in death, I think, will; for to consider it as going out of the body, or leaving it, and yet to have no idea of its motion, seems to me impossible.

21. God immoveable because infinite.

If it be said by any one that it cannot change place, because it hath none, for the spirits are not IN LOCO, but UBI; I suppose that way of talking will not now be of much weight to many, in an age that is not much disposed to admire, or suffer themselves to be deceived by such unintelligible ways of speaking. But if any one thinks there is any sense in that distinction, and that it is applicable to our present purpose, I desire him to put it into intelligible English; and then from thence draw a reason to show that immaterial spirits are not capable of motion. Indeed motion cannot be attributed to God; not because he is an immaterial, but because he is an infinite spirit.

22. Our complex idea of an immaterial Spirit and our complex idea of Body compared.

Let us compare, then, our complex idea of an immaterial spirit with our complex idea of body, and see whether there be any more obscurity in one than in the other, and in which most. Our idea of BODY, as I think, is AN EXTENDED SOLID SUBSTANCE, CAPABLE OF COMMUNICATING MOTION BY IMPULSE: and our idea of SOUL, AS AN IMMATERIAL SPIRIT, is of A SUBSTANCE THAT THINKS, AND HAS A POWER OF EXCITING MOTION IN BODY, BY WILLING, OR THOUGHT. These, I think, are our complex ideas of soul and body, as contradistinguished; and now let us examine which has most obscurity in it, and difficulty to be apprehended. I know that people whose thoughts are immersed in matter, and have so subjected their minds to their senses that they seldom reflect on anything beyond them, are apt to say, they cannot comprehend a THINKING thing which perhaps is true: but I affirm, when they consider it well, they can no more comprehend an EXTENDED thing.

23. Cohesion of solid Parts in Body as hard to be conceived as thinking in a Soul.

If any one says he knows not what it is thinks in him, he means he knows not what the substance is of that thinking thing: No more, say I, knows he what the substance is of that solid thing. Further, if he says he knows not how he thinks, I answer, Neither knows he how he is extended, how the solid parts of body are united or cohere together to make extension. For though the pressure of the particles of air may account for the cohesion of several parts of matter that are grosser than the particles of air, and have pores less than the corpuscles of air, yet the weight or pressure of the air will not explain, nor can be a cause of the coherence of the particles of air themselves. And if the pressure of the aether, or any subtiler matter than the air, may unite, and hold fast together, the parts of a particle of air, as well as other bodies, yet it cannot make bonds for ITSELF, and hold together the parts that make up every the least corpuscle of that MATERIA SUBTILIS. So that that hypothesis, how ingeniously soever explained, by showing that the parts of sensible bodies are held together by the pressure of other external insensible bodies, reaches not the parts of the aether itself; and by how much the more evident it proves, that the parts of other bodies are held together by the external pressure of the aether, and can have no other conceivable cause of their cohesion and union, by so much the more it leaves us in the dark concerning the cohesion of the parts of the corpuscles of the aether itself: which we can neither conceive without parts, they being bodies, and divisible, nor yet how their parts cohere, they wanting that cause of cohesion which is given of the cohesion of the parts of all other bodies.

24. Not explained by an ambient fluid.

But, in truth, the pressure of any ambient fluid, how great soever, can be no intelligible cause of the cohesion of the solid parts of matter. For, though such a pressure may hinder the avulsion of two polished superficies, one from another, in a line perpendicular to them, as in the experiment of two polished marbles; yet it can never in the least hinder the separation by a motion, in a line parallel to those surfaces. Because the ambient fluid, having a full liberty to succeed in each point of space, deserted by a lateral motion, resists such a motion of bodies, so joined, no more than it would resist the motion of that body were it on all sides environed by that fluid, and touched no other body; and therefore, if there were no other cause of cohesion, all parts of bodies must be easily separable by such a lateral sliding motion. For if the pressure of the aether be the adequate cause of cohesion, wherever that cause operates not, there can be no cohesion. And since it cannot operate against a lateral separation, (as has been shown,) therefore in every imaginary plane, intersecting any mass of matter, there could be no more cohesion than of two polished surfaces, which will always, notwithstanding any imaginable pressure of a fluid, easily slide one from another. So that perhaps, how clear an idea soever we think we have of the extension of body, which is nothing but the cohesion of solid parts, he that shall well consider it in his mind, may have reason to conclude, That it is as easy for him to have a clear idea how the soul thinks as how body is extended. For, since body is no further, nor otherwise, extended, than by the union and cohesion of its solid parts, we shall very ill comprehend the extension of body, without understanding wherein consists the union and cohesion of its parts; which seems to me as incomprehensible as the manner of thinking, and how it is performed.

We can as little understand how the parts cohere in extension as how our spirits perceive or move.

25. I allow it is usual for most people to wonder how any one should find a difficulty in what they think they every day observe. Do we not see (will they be ready to say) the parts of bodies stick firmly together? Is there anything more common? And what doubt can there be made of it? And the like, I say, concerning thinking and voluntary motion. Do we not every moment experiment it in ourselves, and therefore can it be doubted? The matter of fact is clear, I confess; but when we would a little nearer look into it, both in the one and the other; and can as little understand how the parts of body cohere, as how we ourselves perceive or move. I would have any one intelligibly explain to me how the parts of gold, or brass, (that but now in fusion were as loose from one another as the particles of water, or the sands of an hour-glass,) come in a few moments to be so united, and adhere so strongly one to another, that the utmost force of men’s arms cannot separate them? A considering man will, I suppose, be here at a loss to satisfy his own, or another man’s understanding.

26. The cause of coherence of atoms in extended substances incomprehensible.

The little bodies that compose that fluid we call water are so extremely small, that I have never heard of any one who, by a microscope, (and yet I have heard of some that have magnified to ten thousand; nay, to much above a hundred thousand times,) pretended to perceive their distinct bulk, figure, or motion; and the particles of water are also so perfectly loose one from another, that the least force sensibly separates them. Nay, if we consider their perpetual motion, we must allow them to have no cohesion one with another; and yet let but a sharp cold come, and they unite, they consolidate; these little atoms cohere, and are not, without great force, separable. He that could find the bonds that tie these heaps of loose little bodies together so firmly; he that could make known the cement that makes them stick so fast one to another, would discover a great and yet unknown secret: and yet when that was done, would he be far enough from making the extension of body (which is the cohesion of its solid parts) intelligible, till he could show wherein consisted the union, or consolidation of the parts of those bonds or of that cement, or of the least particle of matter that exists. Whereby it appears that this primary and supposed obvious quality of body will be found, when examined, to be as incomprehensible as anything belonging to our minds, and a solid extended substance as hard to be conceived as a thinking immaterial one, whatever difficulties some would raise against it.

27. The supposed pressure [dropped word] explain cohesion is unintelligible.

For, to extend our thoughts a little further, the pressure which is brought to explain the cohesion of bodies [dropped line] considered, as no doubt it is, finite, let any one send his contemplation to the extremities of the universe, and there see what conceivable hoops, what bond he can imagine to hold this mass of matter in so close a pressure together; from whence steel has its firmness, and the parts of a diamond their hardness and indissolubility. If matter be finite, it must have its extremes; and there must be something to hinder it from scattering asunder. If, to avoid this difficulty, any one will throw himself into the supposition and abyss of infinite matter, let him consider what light he thereby brings to the cohesion of body, and whether he be ever the nearer making it intelligible, by resolving it into a supposition the most absurd and most incomprehensible of all other: so far is our extension of body (which is nothing but the cohesion of solid parts) from being clearer, or more distinct, when we would inquire into the nature, cause, or manner of it, than the idea of thinking.

28. Communication of Motion by Impulse, or by Thought, equally unintelligible.

Another idea we have of body is, THE POWER OF COMMUNICATION OF MOTION BY IMPULSE; and of our souls, THE POWER OF EXCITING MOTION BY THOUGHT. These ideas, the one of body, the other of our minds, every day’s experience clearly furnishes us with: but if here again we inquire how this is done, we are equally in the dark. For, in the communication of motion by impulse, wherein as much motion is lost to one body as is got to the other, which is the ordinariest case, we can have no other conception, but of the passing of motion out of one body into another; which, I think, is as obscure and inconceivable as how our minds move or stop our bodies by thought, which we every moment find they do. The increase of motion by impulse, which is observed or believed sometimes to happen, is yet harder to be understood. We have by daily experience clear evidence of motion produced both by impulse and by thought; but the manner how, hardly comes within our comprehension: we are equally at a loss in both. So that, however we consider motion, and its communication, either from body or spirit, the idea which belongs to spirit is at least as clear as that which belongs to body. And if we consider the active power of moving, or, as I may call it, motivity, it is much clearer in spirit than body; since two bodies, placed by one another at rest, will never afford us the idea of a power in the one to move the other, but by a borrowed motion: whereas the mind every day affords us ideas of an active power of moving of bodies; and therefore it is worth our consideration, whether active power be not the proper attribute of spirits, and passive power of matter. Hence may be conjectured that created spirits are not totally separate from matter, because they are both active and passive. Pure spirit, viz. God, is only active; pure matter is only passive; those beings that are both active and passive, we may judge to partake of both. But be that as it will, I think, we have as many and as clear ideas belonging to spirit as we have belonging to body, the substance of each being equally unknown to us; and the idea of thinking in spirit, as clear as of extension in body; and the communication of motion by thought, which we attribute to spirit, is as evident as that by impulse, which we ascribe to body. Constant experience makes us sensible of both these, though our narrow understandings can comprehend neither. For, when the mind would look beyond those original ideas we have from sensation or reflection, and penetrate into their causes, and manner of production, we find still it discovers nothing but its own short-sightedness.

29. Summary.

To conclude. Sensation convinces us that there are solid extended substances; and reflection, that there are thinking ones: experience assures us of the existence of such beings, and that the one hath a power to move body by impulse, the other by thought; this we cannot doubt of. Experience, I say, every moment furnishes us with the clear ideas both of the one and the other. But beyond these ideas, as received from their proper sources, our faculties will not reach. If we would inquire further into their nature, causes, and manner, we perceive not the nature of extension clearer than we do of thinking. If we would explain them any further, one is as easy as the other; and there is no more difficulty to conceive how A SUBSTANCE WE KNOW NOT should, by thought, set body into motion, than how A SUBSTANCE WE KNOW NOT should, by impulse, set body into motion. So that we are no more able to discover wherein the ideas belonging to body consist, than those belonging to spirit. From whence it seems probable to me, that the simple ideas we receive from sensation and reflection are the boundaries of our thoughts; beyond which the mind, whatever efforts it would make, is not able to advance one jot; nor can it make any discoveries, when it would pry into the nature and hidden causes of those ideas.

30. Our idea of Spirit and our idea of Body compared.

So that, in short, the idea we have of spirit, compared with the idea we have of body, stands thus: the substance of spirits is unknown to us; and so is the substance of body equally unknown to us. Two primary qualities or properties of body, viz. solid coherent parts and impulse, we have distinct clear ideas of: so likewise we know, and have distinct clear ideas, of two primary qualities or properties of spirit, viz. thinking, and a power of action; i.e. a power of beginning or stopping several thoughts or motions. We have also the ideas of several qualities inherent in bodies, and have the clear distinct ideas of them; which qualities are but the various modifications of the extension of cohering solid parts, and their motion. We have likewise the ideas of the several modes of thinking viz. believing, doubting, intending, fearing, hoping; all which are but the several modes of thinking. We have also the ideas of willing, and moving the body consequent to it, and with the body itself too; for, as has been shown, spirit is capable of motion.

31. The Notion of Spirit involves no more Difficulty in it than that of Body.

Lastly, if this notion of immaterial spirit may have, perhaps, some difficulties in it not easily to be explained, we have therefore no more reason to deny or doubt the existence of such spirits, than we have to deny or doubt the existence of body; because the notion of body is cumbered with some difficulties very hard, and perhaps impossible to be explained or understood by us. For I would fain have instanced anything in our notion of spirit more perplexed, or nearer a contradiction, than the very notion of body includes in it; the divisibility IN INFINITUM of any finite extension involving us, whether we grant or deny it, in consequences impossible to be explicated or made in our apprehensions consistent; consequences that carry greater difficulty, and more apparent absurdity, than anything can follow from the notion of an immaterial knowing substance.

32. We know nothing of things beyond our simple Ideas of them.

Which we are not at all to wonder at, since we having but some few superficial ideas of things, discovered to us only by the senses from without, or by the mind, reflecting on what it experiments in itself within, have no knowledge beyond that, much less of the internal constitution, and true nature of things, being destitute of faculties to attain it. And therefore experimenting and discovering in ourselves knowledge, and the power of voluntary motion, as certainly as we experiment, or discover in things without us, the cohesion and separation of solid parts, which is the extension and motion of bodies; we have as much reason to be satisfied with our notion of immaterial spirit, as with our notion of body, and the existence of the one as well as the other. For it being no more a contradiction that thinking should exist separate and independent from solidity, than it is a contradiction that solidity should exist separate and independent from thinking, they being both but simple ideas, independent one from another and having as clear and distinct ideas in us of thinking as of solidity, I know not why we may not as well allow a thinking thing without solidity, i.e. immaterial, to exist, as a solid thing without thinking, i.e. matter, to exist; especially since it is not harder to concieve how thinking should exist without matter, than how matter should think. For whensoever we would proceed beyond these simple ideas we have from sensation and reflection and dive further into the nature of things, we fall presently into darkness and obscurity, perplexedness and difficulties, and can discover nothing further but our own blindness and ignorance. But whichever of these complex ideas be clearest, that of body, or immaterial spirit, this is evident, that the simple ideas that make them up are no other than what we have received from sensation or reflection: and so is it of all our other ideas of substances, even of God himself.

33. Our complex idea of God.

For if we examine the idea we have of the incomprehensible Supreme Being, we shall find that we come by it the same way; and that the complex ideas we have both of God, and separate spirits, are made of the simple ideas we receive from reflection; v.g. having, from what we experiment in ourselves, got the ideas of existence and duration; of knowledge and power; of pleasure and happiness; and of several other qualities and powers, which it is better to have than to be without; when we would frame an idea the most suitable we can to the Supreme Being, we enlarge every one of these with our idea of infinity; and so putting them together, make our complex idea of God. For that the mind has such a power of enlarging some of its ideas, received from sensation and reflection, has been already shown.

34. Our complex idea of God as infinite.

If I find that I know some few things, and some of them, or all, perhaps imperfectly, I can frame an idea of knowing twice as many; which I can double again, as often as I can add to number; and thus enlarge my idea of knowledge, by extending its comprehension to all things existing, or possible. The same also I can do of knowing them more perfectly; i.e. all their qualities, powers, causes, consequences, and relations, &c., till all be perfectly known that is in them, or can any way relate to them: and thus frame the idea of infinite or boundless knowledge. The same may also be done of power, till we come to that we call infinite; and also of the duration of existance, without beginning or end, and so frame the idea of an eternal being. The degrees or extent wherein we ascribe existence, power, wisdom, and all other perfections (which we can have any ideas of) to that sovereign Being, which we call G-d, being all boundless and infinite, we frame the best idea of him our minds are capable of: all which is done, I say, by enlarging those simple ideas we have taken from the operations of our own minds, by reflection; or by our senses, from exterior things, to that vastness to which infinity can extend them.

35. God in his own essence incognisable.

For it is infinity, which, joined to our ideas of existence, power, knowledge, &c., makes that complex idea, whereby we represent to ourselves, the best we can, the Supreme Being. For, though in his own essence (which certainly we do not know, know, not knowing the real essence of a pebble, or a fly, or of our own selves) God be simple and uncompounded; yet I think I may say we have no other idea of him, but a complex one of existence, knowledge, power, happiness, &c., infinite and eternal: which are all distinct ideas, and some of them, being relative, are again compounded of others: all which being, as has been shown, originally got from sensation and reflection, go to make up the idea or notion we have of God.

36. No Ideas in our complex ideas of Spirits, but those got from Sensation or Reflection.

This further is to be observed, that there is no idea we attribute to God, bating infinity, which is not also a part of our complex idea of other spirits. Because, being capable of no other simple ideas, belonging to anything but body, but those which by reflection we receive from the operation of our own minds, we can attribute to spirits no other but what we receive from thence: and all the difference we can put between them, in our contemplation of spirits, is only in the several extents and degrees of their knowledge, power, duration, happiness, &c. For that in our ideas, as well of spirits as of other things, we are restrained to THOSE WE RECEIVE FROM SENSATION AND REFLECTION, is evident from hence, — That, in our ideas of spirits, how much soever advanced in perfection beyond those of bodies, even to that of infinite, we cannot yet have any idea of the manner wherein they discover their thoughts one to another: though we must necessarily conclude that separate spirits, which are beings that have perfecter knowledge and greater happiness than we, must needs have also a perfecter way of communicating their thoughts than we have, who are fain to make use of corporeal signs, and particular sounds; which are therefore of most general use, as being the best and quickest we are capable of. But of immediate communication having no experiment in ourselves, and consequently no notion of it at all, we have no idea how spirits, which use not words, can with quickness; or much less how spirits that have no bodies can be masters of their own thoughts, and communicate or conceal them at pleasure, though we cannot but necessarily suppose they have such a power.

37. Recapitulation.

And thus we have seen what kind of ideas we have of SUBSTANCES OF ALL KINDS, wherein they consist, and how we came by them. From whence, I think, it is very evident,

First, That all our ideas of the several SORTS of substances are nothing but collections of simple ideas: with a supposition of SOMETHING to which they belong, and in which they subsist; though of this supposed something we have no clear distinct idea at all.

Secondly, That all the simple ideas, that thus united in one common SUBSTRATUM, make up our complex ideas of several SORTS of substances, are no other but such as we have received from sensation or reflection. So that even in those which we think we are most intimately acquainted with, and that come nearest the comprehension of our most enlarged conceptions, we cannot go beyond those simple ideas. And even in those which seem most remote from all we have to do with, and do infinitely surpass anything we can perceive in ourselves by reflection; or discover by sensation in other things, we can attain to nothing but those simple ideas, which we originally received from sensation or reflection; as is evident in the complex ideas we have of angels, and particularly of God himself.

Thirdly, That most of the simple ideas that make up our complex ideas of substances, when truly considered, are only POWERS, however we are apt to take them for positive qualities; v.g. the greatest part of the ideas that make our complex idea of GOLD are yellowness, great weight, ductility, fusibility, and solubility in AQUA REGIA, &c., all united together in an unknown SUBSTRATUM: all which ideas are nothing else but so many relations to other substances; and are not really in the gold, considered barely in itself, though they depend on those real and primary qualities of its internal constitution, whereby it has a fitness differently to operate, and be operated on by several other substances.

CHAPTER XXIV. OF COLLECTIVE IDEAS OF SUBSTANCES.

1. A collective idea is one Idea.

Besides these complex ideas of several SINGLE substances, as of man, horse, gold, violet, apple, &c., the mind hath also complex COLLECTIVE ideas of substances; which I so call, because such ideas are made up of many particular substances considered together, as united into one idea, and which so joined; are looked on as one; v. g. the idea of such a collection of men as make an ARMY, though consisting of a great number of distinct substances, is as much one idea as the idea of a man: and the great collective idea of all bodies whatsoever, signified by the name WORLD, is as much one idea as the idea of any the least particle of matter in it; it sufficing to the unity of any idea, that it be considered as one representation or picture, though made up of ever so many particulars.

2. Made by the Power of composing in the Mind.

These collective ideas of substances the mind makes, by its power of composition, and uniting severally either simple or complex ideas into one, as it does, by the same faculty, make the complex ideas of particular substances, consisting of an aggregate of divers simple ideas, united in one substance. And as the mind, by putting together the repeated ideas of unity, makes the collective mode, or complex idea, of any number, as a score, or a gross, &c., — so, by putting together several particular substances, it makes collective ideas of substances, as a troop, an army, a swarm, a city, a fleet; each of which every one finds that he represents to his own mind by one idea, in one view; and so under that notion considers those several things as perfectly one, as one ship, or one atom. Nor is it harder to conceive how an army of ten thousand men should make one idea than how a man should make one idea it being as easy to the mind to unite into one the idea of a great number of men, and consider it as one as it is to unite into one particular all the distinct ideas that make up the composition of a man, and consider them all together as one.

3. Artificial things that are made up of distinct substances are our collective Ideas.

Amongst such kind of collective ideas are to be counted most part of artificial things, at least such of them as are made up of distinct substances: and, in truth, if we consider all these collective ideas aright, as ARMY, CONSTELLATION, UNIVERSE, as they are united into so many single ideas, they are but the artificial draughts of the mind; bringing things very remote, and independent on one another, into one view, the better to contemplate and discourse on them, united into one conception, and signified by one name. For there are no things so remote, nor so contrary, which the mind cannot, by this art of composition, bring into one idea; as is visible in that signified by the name UNIVERSE.

CHAPTER XXV. OF RELATION.

1. Relation, what.

BESIDES the ideas, whether simple or complex, that the mind has of things as they are in themselves, there are others it gets from their comparison one with another. The understanding, in the consideration of anything, is not confined to that precise object: it can carry any idea as it were beyond itself, or at least look beyond it, to see how it stands in conformity to any other. When the mind so considers one thing, that it does as it were bring it to, and set it by another, and carries its view from one to the other — this is, as the words import, RELATION and RESPECT; and the denominations given to positive things, intimating that respect, and serving as marks to lead the thoughts beyond the subject itself denominated, to something distinct from it, are what we call RELATIVES; and the things so brought together, RELATED. Thus, when the mind considers Caius as such a positive being, it takes nothing into that idea but what really exists in Caius; v.g. when I consider him as a man, I have nothing in my mind but the complex idea of the species, man. So likewise, when I say Caius is a white man, I have nothing but the bare consideration of a man who hath that white colour. But when I give Caius the name HUSBAND, I intimate some other person; and when I give him the name WHITER, I intimate some other thing: in both cases my thought is led to something beyond Caius, and there are two things brought into consideration. And since any idea, whether simple or complex, may be the occasion why the mind thus brings two things together, and as it were takes a view of them at once, though still considered as distinct: therefore any of our ideas may be the foundation of relation. As in the above-mentioned instance, the contract and ceremony of marriage with Sempronia is the occasion of the denomination and relation of husband; and the colour white the occasion why he is said to be whiter than free-stone.

2. Ideas of relations without correlative Terms, not easily apprehended.

These and the like relations, expressed by relative terms that have others answering them, with a reciprocal intimation, as father and son, bigger and less, cause and effect, are very obvious to every one, and everybody at first sight perceives the relation. For father and son, husband and wife, and such other correlative terms, seem so nearly to belong one to another, and, through custom, do so readily chime and answer one another in people’s memories, that, upon the naming of either of them, the thoughts are presently carried beyond the thing so named; and nobody overlooks or doubts of a relation, where it is so plainly intimated. But where languages have failed to give correlative names, there the relation is not always so easily taken notice of. CONCUBINE is, no doubt, a relative name, as well as wife: but in languages where this and the like words have not a correlative term, there people are not so apt to take them to be so, as wanting that evident mark of relation which is between correlatives, which seem to explain one another, and not to be able to exist, but together. Hence it is, that many of those names, which, duly considered, do include evident relations, have been called EXTERNAL DENOMINATIONS. But all names that are more than empty sounds must signify some idea, which is either in the thing to which the name is applied, and then it is positive, and is looked on as united to and existing in the thing to which the denomination is given; or else it arises from the respect the mind finds in it to something distinct from it, with which it considers it, and then it includes a relation.

3. Some seemingly absolute Terms contain Relations.

Another sort of relative terms there is, which are not looked on to be either relative, or so much as external denominations: which yet, under the form and appearance of signifying something absolute in the subject, do conceal a tacit, though less observable, relation. Such are the seemingly positive terms of OLD, GREAT, IMPERFECT, &c., whereof I shall have occasion to speak more at large in the following chapters.

4. Relation different from the Things related.

This further may be observed, That the ideas of relations may be the same in men who have far different ideas of the things that are related, or that are thus compared: v. g. those who have far different ideas of a man, may yet agree in the notion of a father; which is a notion superinduced to the substance, or man, and refers only to an act of that think called man whereby he contributed to the generation of one of his own kind, let man be what it will.

5. Change of Relation may be without any Change in the things related.

The nature therefore of relation consists in the referring or comparing two things one to another; from which comparison one of both comes to be denominated. And if either of those things be removed, or cease to be, the relation ceases, and the denomination consequent to it, though the other receive in itself no alteration at all; v.g. Caius, whom I consider to-day as a father, ceases to be so to-morrow, only by the death of his son, without any alteration made in himself. Nay, barely by the mind’s changing the object to which it compares anything, the same thing is capable of having contrary denominations at the same time: v.g. Caius, compared to several persons, may truly be said to be older and younger, stronger and weaker, &c.

6. Relation only betwixt two things.

Whatsoever doth or can exist, or be considered as one thing is positive: and so not only simple ideas and substances, but modes also, are positive beings: though the parts of which they consist are very often relative one to another: but the whole together considered as one thing, and producing in us the complex idea of one thing, which idea is in our minds, as one picture, though an aggregate of divers parts, and under one name, it is a positive or absolute thing, or idea. Thus a triangle, though the parts thereof compared one to another be relative, yet the idea of the whole is a positive absolute idea. The same may be said of a family, a tune, &c.; for there can be no relation but betwixt two things considered as two things. There must always be in relation two ideas or things, either in themselves really separate, or considered as distinct, and then a ground or occasion for their comparison.

7. All Things capable of Relation.

Concerning relation in general, these things may be considered:

First, That there is no one thing, whether simple idea, substance, mode, or relation, or name of either of them, which is not capable of almost an infinite number of considerations in reference to other things: and therefore this makes no small part of men’s thoughts and words: v.g. one single man may at once be concerned in, and sustain all these following relations, and many more, viz. father, brother, son, grandfather, grandson, father-in-law, son-in-law, husband, friend, enemy, subject, general, judge, patron, client, professor, European, Englishman, islander, servant, master, possessor, captain, superior, inferior, bigger, less, older, younger, contemporary, like, unlike, &c., to an almost infinite number: he being capable of as many relations as there can be occasions of comparing him to other things, in any manner of agreement, disagreement, or respect whatsoever. For, as I said, relation is a way of comparing or considering two things [dropped line] from that comparison; and sometimes giving even the relation itself a name.

8. Our Ideas of Relations often clearer than of the Subjects related.

Secondly, This further may be considered concerning relation, that though it be not contained in the real existence of things, but something extraneous and superinduced, yet the ideas which relative words stand for are often clearer and more distinct than of those substances to which they do belong. The notion we have of a father or brother is a great deal clearer and more distinct than that we have of a man; or, if you will, PATERNITY is a thing whereof it is easier to have a clear idea, than of HUMANITY; and I can much easier conceive what a friend is, than what God; because the knowledge of one action, or one simple idea, is oftentimes sufficient to give me the notion of a relation; but to the knowing of any substantial being, an accurate collection of sundry ideas is necessary. A man, if he compares two things together, can hardly be supposed not to know what it is wherein he compares them: so that when he compares any things together, he cannot but have a very clear idea of that relation. THE IDEAS, THEN, OF RELATIONS, ARE CAPABLE AT LEAST OF BEING MORE PERFECT AND DISTINCT IN OUR MINDS THAN THOSE OF SUBSTANCES. Because it is commonly hard to know all the simple ideas which are really in any substance, but for the most part easy enough to know the simple ideas that make up any relation I think on, or have a name for: v.g. comparing two men in reference to one common parent, it is very easy to frame the ideas of brothers, without having yet the perfect idea of a man. For significant relative words, as well as others, standing only for ideas; and those being all either simple, or made up of simple ones, it suffices for the knowing the precise idea the relative term stands for, to have a clear conception of that which is the foundation of the relation; which may be done without having a perfect and clear idea of the thing it is attributed to. Thus, having the notion that one laid the egg out of which the other was hatched, I have a clear idea of the relation of DAM and CHICK between the two cassiowaries in St. James’s Park; though perhaps I have but a very obscure and imperfect idea of those birds themselves.

9. Relations all terminate in simple Ideas.

Thirdly, Though there be a great number of considerations wherein things may be compared one with another, and so a multitude of relations, yet they all terminate in, and are concerned about those simple ideas, either of sensation or reflection, which I think to be the whole materials of all our knowledge. To clear this, I shall show it in the most considerable relations that we have any notion of; and in some that seem to be the most remote from sense or reflection: which yet will appear to have their ideas from thence, and leave it past doubt that the notions we have of them are but certain simple ideas, and so originally derived from sense or reflection.

10. Terms leading the Mind beyond the Subject denominated, are relative.

Fourthly, That relation being the considering of one thing with another which is extrinsical to it, it is evident that all words that necessarily lead the mind to any other ideas than are supposed really to exist in that thing to which the words are applied are relative words: v.g.a MAN, BLACK, MERRY, THOUGHTFUL, THIRSTY, ANGRY, EXTENDED; these and the like are all absolute, because they neither signify nor intimate anything but what does or is supposed really to exist in the man thus denominated; but FATHER, BROTHER, KING, HUSBAND, BLACKER, MERRIER, &c., are words which, together with the thing they denominate, imply also something else separate and exterior to the existence of that thing.

11. All relatives made up of simple ideas.

Having laid down these premises concerning relation in general, I shall now proceed to show, in some instances, how all the ideas we have of relation are made up, as the others are, only of simple ideas; and that they all, how refined or remote from sense soever they seem, terminate at last in simple ideas. I shall begin with the most comprehensive relation, wherein all things that do, or can exist, are concerned, and that is the relation of CAUSE and EFFECT: the idea whereof, how derived from the two fountains of all our knowledge, sensation and reflection, I shall in the next place consider.

CHAPTER XXVI. OF CAUSE AND EFFECT, AND OTHER RELATIONS.

1. Whence the Ideas of cause and effect got.

In the notice that our senses take of the constant vicissitude of things, we cannot but observe that several particular, both qualities and substances, begin to exist; and that they receive this their existence from the due application and operation of some other being. From this observation we get our ideas of CAUSE and EFFECT. THAT WHICH PRODUCES ANY SIMPLE OR COMPLEX IDEA we denote by the general name, CAUSE, and THAT WHICH IS PRODUCED, EFFECT. Thus, finding that in that substance which we call wax, fluidity, which is a simple idea that was not in it before, is constantly produced by the application of a certain degree of heat we call the simple idea of heat, in relation to fluidity in wax, the cause of it, and fluidity the effect. So also, finding that the substance, wood, which is a certain collection of simple ideas so called, by the application of fire, is turned into another substance, called ashes; i. e., another complex idea, consisting of a collection of simple ideas, quite different from that complex idea which we call wood; we consider fire, in relation to ashes, as cause, and the ashes, as effect. So that whatever is considered by us to conduce or operate to the producing any particular simple idea, or collection of simple ideas, whether substance or mode, which did not before exist, hath thereby in our minds the relation of a cause, and so is denominated by us.

2. Creation Generation, making Alteration.

Having thus, from what our senses are able to discover in the operations of bodies on one another, got the notion of cause and effect, viz. that a cause is that which makes any other thing, either simple idea, substance, or mode, begin to be; and an effect is that which had its beginning from some other thing; the mind finds no great difficulty to distinguish the several originals of things into two sorts: —

First, When the thing is wholly made new, so that no part thereof did ever exist before; as when a new particle of matter doth begin to exist, IN RERUM NATURA, which had before no being, and this we call CREATION.

Secondly, When a thing is made up of particles, which did all of them before exist; but that very thing, so constituted of pre-existing particles, which, considered all together, make up such a collection of simple ideas, had not any existence before, as this man, this egg, rose, or cherry, &c. And this, when referred to a substance, produced in the ordinary course of nature by internal principle, but set on work by, and received from, some external agent, or cause, and working by insensible ways which we perceive not, we call GENERATION. When the cause is extrinsical, and the effect produced by a sensible separation, or juxta-position of discernible parts, we call it MAKING; and such are all artificial things. When any simple idea is produced, which was not in that subject before, we call it ALTERATION. Thus a man is generated, a picture made; and either of them altered, when any new sensible quality or simple idea is produced in either of them, which was not there before: and the things thus made to exist, which were not there before, are effects; and those things which operated to the existence, causes. In which, and all other cases, we may observe, that the notion of cause and effect has its rise from ideas received by sensation or reflection; and that this relation, how comprehensive soever, terminates at last in them. For to have the idea of cause and effect, it suffices to consider any simple idea or substance, as beginning to exist, by the operation of some other, without knowing the manner of that operation.

3. Relations of Time.

Time and place are also the foundations of very large relations; and all finite beings at least are concerned in them. But having already shown in another place how we get those ideas, it may suffice here to intimate, that most of the denominations of things received from TIME are only relations. Thus, when any one says that Queen Elizabeth lived sixty-nine, and reigned forty-five years, these words import only the relation of that duration to some other, and mean no more but this, That the duration of her existence was equal to sixty-nine, and the duration of her government to forty-five annual revolutions of the sun; and so are all words, answering, HOW LONG? Again, William the Conqueror invaded England about the year 1066; which means this, That, taking the duration from our Saviour’s time till now for one entire great length of time, it shows at what distance this invasion was from the two extremes; and so do all words of time answering to the question, WHEN, which show only the distance of any point of time from the period of a longer duration, from which we measure, and to which we thereby consider it as related.

4. Some ideas of Time supposed positive and found to be relative.

There are yet, besides those, other words of time, that ordinarily are thought to stand for positive ideas, which yet will, when considered, be found to be relative; such as are, young, old, &c., which include and intimate the relation anything has to a certain length of duration, whereof we have the idea in our minds. Thus, having settled in our thoughts the idea of the ordinary duration of a man to be seventy years, when we say a man is YOUNG, we mean that his age is yet but a small part of that which usually men attain to; and when we denominate him OLD, we mean that his duration is ran out almost to the end of that which men do not usually exceed. And so it is but comparing the particular age or duration of this or that man, to the idea of that duration which we have in our minds, as ordinarily belonging to that sort of animals: which is plain in the application of these names to other things; for a man is called young at twenty years, and very young at seven years old: but yet a horse we call old at twenty, and a dog at seven years, because in each of these we compare their age to different ideas of duration, which are settled in our minds as belonging to these several sorts of animals, in the ordinary course of nature. But the sun and stars, though they have outlasted several generations of men, we call not old, because we do not know what period God hath set to that sort of beings. This term belonging properly to those things which we can observe in the ordinary course of things, by a natural decay, to come to an end in a certain period of time; and so have in our minds, as it were, a standard to which we can compare the several parts of their duration; and, by the relation they bear thereunto, call them young or old; which we cannot, therefore, do to a ruby or a diamond, things whose usual periods we know not.

5. Relations of Place and Extension.

The relation also that things have to one another in their PLACES and distances is very obvious to observe; as above, below, a mile distant from Charing-cross, in England, and in London. But as in duration, so in extension and bulk, there are some ideas that are relative which we signify by names that are thought positive; as GREAT and LITTLE are truly relations. For here also, having, by observation, settled in our minds the ideas of the bigness of several species of things from those we have been most accustomed to, we make them as it were the standards, whereby to denominate the bulk of others. Thus we call a great apple, such a one as is bigger than the ordinary sort of those we have been used to; and a little horse, such a one as comes not up to the size of that idea which we have in our minds to belong ordinarily to horses; and that will be a great horse to a Welchman, which is but a little one to a Fleming; they two having, from the different breed of their countries, taken several-sized ideas to which they compare, and in relation to which they denominate their great and their little.

6. Absolute Terms often stand for Relations.

So likewise weak and strong are but relative denominations of power, compared to some ideas we have at that time of greater or less power. Thus, when we say a weak man, we mean one that has not so much strength or power to move as usually men have, or usually those of his size have; which is a comparing his strength to the idea we have of the usual strength of men, or men of such a size. The like when we say the creatures are all weak things; weak there is but a relative term, signifying the disproportion there is in the power of God and the creatures. And so abundance of words, in ordinary speech, stand only for relations (and perhaps the greatest part) which at first sight seem to have no such signification: v.g. the ship has necessary stores. NECESSARY and STORES are both relative words; one having a relation to the accomplishing the voyage intended, and the other to future use. All which relations, how they are confined to, and terminate in ideas derived from sensation or reflection, is too obvious to need any explication.

CHAPTER XXVII. OF IDENTITY AND DIVERSITY.

1. Wherein Identity consists.

ANOTHER occasion the mind often takes of comparing, is the very being of things, when, considering ANYTHING AS EXISTING AT ANY DETERMINED TIME AND PLACE, we compare it with ITSELF EXISTING AT ANOTHER TIME, and thereon form the ideas of IDENTITY and DIVERSITY. When we see anything to be in any place in any instant of time, we are sure (be it what it will) that it is that very thing, and not another which at that same time exists in another place, how like and undistinguishable soever it may be in all other respects: and in this consists IDENTITY, when the ideas it is attributed to vary not at all from what they were that moment wherein we consider their former existence, and to which we compare the present. For we never finding, nor conceiving it possible, that two things of the same kind should exist in the same place at the same time, we rightly conclude, that, whatever exists anywhere at any time, excludes all of the same kind, and is there itself alone. When therefore we demand whether anything be the SAME or no, it refers always to something that existed such a time in such a place, which it was certain, at that instant, was the same with itself, and no other. From whence it follows, that one thing cannot have two beginnings of existence, nor two things one beginning; it being impossible for two things of the same kind to be or exist in the same instant, in the very same place; or one and the same thing in different places. That, therefore, that had one beginning, is the same thing; and that which had a different beginning in time and place from that, is not the same, but diverse. That which has made the difficulty about this relation has been the little care and attention used in having precise notions of the things to which it is attributed.

2. Identity of Substances.

We have the ideas but of three sorts of substances: 1. GOD. 2. FINITE
INTELLIGENCES. 3. BODIES.

First, GOD is without beginning, eternal, unalterable, and everywhere, and therefore concerning his identity there can be no doubt.

Secondly, FINITE SPIRITS having had each its determinated time and place of beginning to exist, the relation to that time and place will always determine to each of them its identity, as long as it exists.

Thirdly, The same will hold of every PARTICLE OF MATTER, to which no addition or subtraction of matter being made, it is the same. For, though these three sorts of substances, as we term them, do not exclude one another out of the same place, yet we cannot conceive but that they must necessarily each of them exclude any of the same kind out of the same place: or else the notions and names of identity and diversity would be in vain, and there could be no such distinctions of substances, or anything else one from another. For example: could two bodies be in the same place at the same time; then those two parcels of matter must be one and the same, take them great or little; nay, all bodies must be one and the same. For, by the same reason that two particles of matter may be in one place, all bodies may be in one place: which, when it can be supposed, takes away the distinction of identity and diversity of one and more, and renders it ridiculous. But it being a contradiction that two or more should be one, identity and diversity are relations and ways of comparing well founded, and of use to the understanding.

3. Identity of modes and relations.

All other things being but modes or relations ultimately terminated in substances, the identity and diversity of each particular existence of them too will be by the same way determined: only as to things whose existence is in succession, such as are the actions of finite beings, v. g. MOTION and THOUGHT, both which consist in a continued train of succession, concerning THEIR diversity there can be no question: because each perishing the moment it begins, they cannot exist in different times, or in different places, as permanent beings can at different times exist in distant places; and therefore no motion or thought, considered as at different times, can be the same, each part thereof having a different beginning of existence.

4. Principium Individuationis.

From what has been said, it is easy to discover what is so much inquired after, the PRINCIPIUM INDIVIDUATIONIS; and that, it is plain, is existence itself; which determines a being of any sort to a particular time and place, incommunicable to two beings of the same kind. This, though it seems easier to conceive in simple substances or modes; yet, when reflected on, is not more difficult in compound ones, if care be taken to what it is applied: v.g. let us suppose an atom, i.e. a continued body under one immutable superficies, existing in a determined time and place; it is evident, that, considered in any instant of its existence, it is in that instant the same with itself. For, being at that instant what it is, and nothing else, it is the same, and so must continue as long as its existence is continued; for so long it will be the same, and no other. In like manner, if two or more atoms be joined together into the same mass, every one of those atoms will be the same, by the foregoing rule: and whilst they exist united together, the mass, consisting of the same atoms, must be the same mass, or the same body, let the parts be ever so differently jumbled. But if one of these atoms be taken away, or one new one added, it is no longer the same mass or the same body. In the state of living creatures, their identity depends not on a mass of the same particles, but on something else. For in them the variation of great parcels of matter alters not the identity: an oak growing from a plant to a great tree, and then lopped, is still the same oak; and a colt grown up to a horse, sometimes fat, sometimes lean, is all the while the same horse: though, in both these cases, there may be a manifest change of the parts; so that truly they are not either of them the same masses of matter, though they be truly one of them the same oak, and the other the same horse. The reason whereof is, that, in these two cases — a MASS OF MATTER and a LIVING BODY — identity is not applied to the same thing.

5. Identity of Vegetables.

We must therefore consider wherein an oak differs from a mass of matter, and that seems to me to be in this, that the one is only the cohesion of particles of matter any how united, the other such a disposition of them as constitutes the parts of an oak; and such an organization of those parts as is fit to receive and distribute nourishment, so as to continue and frame the wood, bark, and leaves, &c., of an oak, in which consists the vegetable life. That being then one plant which has such an organization of parts in one coherent body, partaking of one common life, it continues to be the same plant as long as it partakes of the same life, though that life be communicated to new particles of matter vitally united to the living plant, in a like continued organization conformable to that sort of plants. For this organization, being at any one instant in any one collection of matter, is in that particular concrete distinguished from all other, and IS that individual life, which existing constantly from that moment both forwards and backwards, in the same continuity of insensibly succeeding parts united to the living body of the plant, it has that identity which makes the same plant, and all the parts of it, parts of the same plant, during all the time that they exist united in that continued organization, which is fit to convey that common life to all the parts so united.

6. Identity of Animals.

The case is not so much different in BRUTES but that any one may hence see what makes an animal and continues it the same. Something we have like this in machines, and may serve to illustrate it. For example, what is a watch? It is plain it is nothing but a fit organization or construction of parts to a certain end, which, when a sufficient force is added to it, it is capable to attain. If we would suppose this machine one continued body, all whose organized parts were repaired, increased, or diminished by a constant addition or separation of insensible parts, with one common life, we should have something very much like the body of an animal; with this difference, That, in an animal the fitness of the organization, and the motion wherein life consists, begin together, the motion coming from within; but in machines the force coming sensibly from without, is often away when the organ is in order, and well fitted to receive it.

7. The Identity of Man.

This also shows wherein the identity of the same MAN consists; viz. in nothing but a participation of the same continued life, by constantly fleeting particles of matter, in succession vitally united to the same organized body. He that shall place the identity of man in anything else, but, like that of other animals, in one fitly organized body, taken in any one instant, and from thence continued, under one organization of life, in several successively fleeting particles of matter united to it, will find it hard to make an embryo, one of years, mad and sober, the SAME man, by any supposition, that will not make it possible for Seth, Ismael, Socrates, Pilate, St. Austin, and Caesar Borgia, to be the same man. For if the identity of SOUL ALONE makes the same MAN; and there be nothing in the nature of matter why the same individual spirit may not be united to different bodies, it will be possible that those men, living in distant ages, and of different tempers, may have been the same man: which way of speaking must be from a very strange use of the word man, applied to an idea out of which body and shape are excluded. And that way of speaking would agree yet worse with the notions of those philosophers who allow of transmigration, and are of opinion that the souls of men may, for their miscarriages, be detruded into the bodies of beasts, as fit habitations, with organs suited to the satisfaction of their brutal inclinations. But yet I think nobody, could he be sure that the SOUL of Heliogabalus were in one of his hogs, would yet say that hog were a MAN or Heliogabalus.

8. Idea of Identity suited to the Idea it is applied to.

It is not therefore unity of substance that comprehends all sorts of identity, or will determine it in every case; but to conceive and judge of it aright, we must consider what idea the word it is applied to stands for: it being one thing to be the same SUBSTANCE, another the same MAN, and a third the same PERSON, if PERSON, MAN, and SUBSTANCE, are three names standing for three different ideas; — for such as is the idea belonging to that name, such must be the identity; which, if it had been a little more carefully attended to, would possibly have prevented a great deal of that confusion which often occurs about this matter, with no small seeming difficulties, especially concerning PERSONAL identity, which therefore we shall in the next place a little consider.

9. Same man.

An animal is a living organized body; and consequently the same animal, as we have observed, is the same continued LIFE communicated to different particles of matter, as they happen successively to be united to that organized living body. And whatever is talked of other definitions, ingenious observation puts it past doubt, that the idea in our minds, of which the sound man in our mouths is the sign, is nothing else but of an animal of such a certain form. Since I think I may be confident, that, whoever should see a creature of his own shape or make, though it had no more reason all its life than a cat or a parrot, would call him still a MAN; or whoever should hear a cat or a parrot discourse, reason, and philosophize, would call or think it nothing but a CAT or a PARROT; and say, the one was a dull irrational man, and the other a very intelligent rational parrot.

10. Same man.

For I presume it is not the idea of a thinking or rational being alone that makes the IDEA OF A MAN in most people’s sense: but of a body, so and so shaped, joined to it; and if that be the idea of a man, the same successive body not shifted all at once, must, as well as the same immaterial spirit, go to the making of the same man.

11. Personal Identity.

This being premised, to find wherein personal identity consists, we must consider what PERSON stands for; — which, I think, is a thinking intelligent being, that has reason and reflection, and can consider itself as itself, the same thinking thing, in different times and places; which it does only by that consciousness which is inseparable from thinking, and, as it seems to me, essential to it: it being impossible for any one to perceive without PERCEIVING that he does perceive. When we see, hear, smell, taste, feel, meditate, or will anything, we know that we do so. Thus it is always as to our present sensations and perceptions: and by this every one is to himself that which he calls SELF: — it not being considered, in this case, whether the same self be continued in the same or divers substances. For, since consciousness always accompanies thinking, and it is that which makes every one to be what he calls self, and thereby distinguishes himself from all other thinking things, in this alone consists personal identity, i.e. the sameness of a rational being: and as far as this consciousness can be extended backwards to any past action or thought, so far reaches the identity of that person; it is the same self now it was then; and it is by the same self with this present one that now reflects on it, that that action was done.

12. Consciousness makes personal Identity.

But it is further inquired, whether it be the same identical substance. This few would think they had reason to doubt of, if these perceptions, with their consciousness, always remained present in the mind, whereby the same thinking thing would be always consciously present, and, as would be thought, evidently the same to itself. But that which seems to make the difficulty is this, that this consciousness being interrupted always by forgetfulness, there being no moment of our lives wherein we have the whole train of all our past actions before our eyes in one view, but even the best memories losing the sight of one part whilst they are viewing another; and we sometimes, and that the greatest part of our lives, not reflecting on our past selves, being intent on our present thoughts, and in sound sleep having no thoughts at all, or at least none with that consciousness which remarks our waking thoughts, — I say, in all these cases, our consciousness being interrupted, and we losing the sight of our past selves, doubts are raised whether we are the same thinking thing, i.e. the same SUBSTANCE or no. Which, however reasonable or unreasonable, concerns not PERSONAL identity at all. The question being what makes the same person; and not whether it be the same identical substance, which always thinks in the same person, which, in this case, matters not at all: different substances, by the same consciousness (where they do partake in it) being united into one person, as well as different bodies by the same life are united into one animal, whose identity is preserved in that change of substances by the unity of one continued life. For, it being the same consciousness that makes a man be himself to himself, personal identity depends on that only, whether it be annexed solely to one individual substance, or can be continued in a succession of several substances. For as far as any intelligent being CAN repeat the idea of any past action with the same consciousness it had of it at first, and with the same consciousness it has of any present action; so far it is the same personal self. For it is by the consciousness it has of its present thoughts and actions, that it is SELF TO ITSELF now, and so will be the same self, as far as the same consciousness can extend to actions past or to come; and would be by distance of time, or change of substance, no more two persons, than a man be two men by wearing other clothes to-day than he did yesterday, with a long or a short sleep between: the same consciousness uniting those distant actions into the same person, whatever substances contributed to their production.

13. Personal Identity in Change of Substance.

That this is so, we have some kind of evidence in our very bodies, all whose particles, whilst vitally united to this same thinking conscious self, so that WE FEEL when they are touched, and are affected by, and conscious of good or harm that happens to them, are a part of ourselves; i.e. of our thinking conscious self. Thus, the limbs of his body are to every one a part of himself; he sympathizes and is concerned for them. Cut off a hand, and thereby separate it from that consciousness he had of its heat, cold, and other affections, and it is then no longer a part of that which is himself, any more than the remotest part of matter. Thus, we see the SUBSTANCE whereof personal self consisted at one time may be varied at another, without the change of personal identity; there being no question about the same person, though the limbs which but now were a part of it, be cut off.

14. Personality in Change of Substance.

But the question is, Whether if the same substance which thinks be changed, it can be the same person; or, remaining the same, it can be different persons?

And to this I answer: First, This can be no question at all to those who place thought in a purely material animal constitution, void of an immaterial substance. For, whether their supposition be true or no, it is plain they conceive personal identity preserved in something else than identity of substance; as animal identity is preserved in identity of life, and not of substance. And therefore those who place thinking in an immaterial substance only, before they can come to deal with these men, must show why personal identity cannot be preserved in the change of immaterial substances, or variety of particular immaterial substances, as well as animal identity is preserved in the change of material substances, or variety of particular bodies: unless they will say, it is one immaterial spirit that makes the same life in brutes, as it is one immaterial spirit that makes the same person in men; which the Cartesians at least will not admit, for fear of making brutes thinking things too.

15. Whether in Change of thinking Substances there can be one Person.

But next, as to the first part of the question, Whether, if the same thinking substance (supposing immaterial substances only to think) be changed, it can be the same person? I answer, that cannot be resolved but by those who know there can what kind of substances they are that do think; and whether the consciousness of past actions can be transferred from one thinking substance to another. I grant were the same consciousness the same individual action it could not: but it being a present representation of a past action, why it may not be possible, that that may be represented to the mind to have been which really never was, will remain to be shown. And therefore how far the consciousness of past actions is annexed to any individual agent, so that another cannot possibly have it, will be hard for us to determine, till we know what kind of action it is that cannot be done without a reflex act of perception accompanying it, and how performed by thinking substances, who cannot think without being conscious of it. But that which we call the same consciousness, not being the same individual act, why one intellectual substance may not have represented to it, as done by itself, what IT never did, and was perhaps done by some other agent — why, I say, such a representation may not possibly be without reality of matter of fact, as well as several representations in dreams are, which yet whilst dreaming we take for true — will be difficult to conclude from the nature of things. And that it never is so, will by us, till we have clearer views of the nature of thinking substances, be best resolved into the goodness of God; who, as far as the happiness or misery of any of his sensible creatures is concerned in it, will not, by a fatal error of theirs, transfer from one to another that consciousness which draws reward or punishment with it. How far this may be an argument against those who would place thinking in a system of fleeting animal spirits, I leave to be considered. But yet, to return to the question before us, it must be allowed, that, if the same consciousness (which, as has been shown, is quite a different thing from the same numerical figure or motion in body) can be transferred from one thinking substance to another, it will be possible that two thinking substances may make but one person. For the same consciousness being preserved, whether in the same or different substances, the personal identity is preserved.

16. Whether, the same immaterial Substance remaining, there can be two Persons.

As to the second part of the question, Whether the same immaterial substance remaining, there may be two distinct persons; which question seems to me to be built on this, — Whether the same immaterial being, being conscious of the action of its past duration, may be wholly stripped of all the consciousness of its past existence, and lose it beyond the power of ever retrieving it again: and so as it were beginning a new account from a new period, have a consciousness that CANNOT reach beyond this new state. All those who hold pre-existence are evidently of this mind; since they allow the soul to have no remaining consciousness of what it did in that pre-existent state, either wholly separate from body, or informing any other body; and if they should not, it is plain experience would be against them. So that personal identity, reaching no further than consciousness reaches, a pre-existent spirit not having continued so many ages in a state of silence, must needs make different persons. Suppose a Christian Platonist or a Pythagorean should, upon God’s having ended all his works of creation the seventh day, think his soul hath existed ever since; and should imagine it has revolved in several human bodies; as I once met with one, who was persuaded his had been the SOUL of Socrates (how reasonably I will not dispute; this I know, that in the post he filled, which was no inconsiderable one, he passed for a very rational man, and the press has shown that he wanted not parts or learning;) — would any one say, that he, being not conscious of any of Socrates’s actions or thoughts, could be the same PERSON with Socrates? Let any one reflect upon himself, and conclude that he has in himself an immaterial spirit, which is that which thinks in him, and, in the constant change of his body keeps him the same: and is that which he calls HIMSELF: let his also suppose it to be the same soul that was in Nestor or Thersites, at the siege of Troy, (for souls being, as far as we know anything of them, in their nature indifferent to any parcel of matter, the supposition has no apparent absurdity in it,) which it may have been, as well as it is now the soul of any other man: but he now having no consciousness of any of the actions either of Nestor or Thersites, does or can he conceive himself the same person with either of them? Can he be concerned in either of their actions? attribute them to himself, or think them his own more than the actions of any other men that ever existed? So that this consciousness, not reaching to any of the actions of either of those men, he is no more one SELF with either of them than of the soul of immaterial spirit that now informs him had been created, and began to exist, when it began to inform his present body; though it were never so true, that the same SPIRIT that informed Nestor’s or Thersites’ body were numerically the same that now informs his. For this would no more make him the same person with Nestor, than if some of the particles of smaller that were once a part of Nestor were now a part of this man the same immaterial substance, without the same consciousness, no more making the same person, by being united to any body, than the same particle of matter, without consciousness, united to any body, makes the same person. But let him once find himself conscious of any of the actions of Nestor, he then finds himself the same person with Nestor.

17. The body, as well as the soul, goes to the making of a Man.

And thus may we be able, without any difficulty, to conceive the same person at the resurrection, though in a body not exactly in make or parts the same which he had here, — the same consciousness going along with the soul that inhabits it. But yet the soul alone, in the change of bodies, would scarce to any one but to him that makes the soul the man, be enough to make the same man. For should the soul of a prince, carrying with it the consciousness of the prince’s past life, enter and inform the body of a cobbler, as soon as deserted by his own soul, every one sees he would be the same PERSON with the prince, accountable only for the prince’s actions: but who would say it was the same MAN? The body too goes to the making the man, and would, I guess, to everybody determine the man in this case, wherein the soul, with all its princely thoughts about it, would not make another man: but he would be the same cobbler to every one besides himself. I know that, in the ordinary way of speaking, the same person, and the same man, stand for one and the same thing. And indeed every one will always have a liberty to speak as he pleases, and to apply what articulate sounds to what ideas he thinks fit, and change them as often as he pleases. But yet, when we will inquire what makes the same SPIRIT, MAN, or PERSON, we must fix the ideas of spirit, man, or person in our minds; and having resolved with ourselves what we mean by them, it will not be hard to determine, in either of them, or the like, when it is the same, and when not.

18. Consciousness alone unites actions into the same Person.

But though the same immaterial substance or soul does not alone, wherever it be, and in whatsoever state, make the same MAN; yet it is plain, consciousness, as far as ever it can be extended — should it be to ages past — unites existences and actions very remote in time into the same PERSON, as well as it does the existences and actions of the immediately preceding moment: so that whatever has the consciousness of present and past actions, is the same person to whom they both belong. Had I the same consciousness that I saw the ark and Noah’s flood, as that I saw an overflowing of the Thames last winter, or as that I write now, I could no more doubt that I who write this now, that saw the Thames overflowed last winter, and that viewed the flood at the general deluge, was the same SELF, — place that self in what SUBSTANCE you please — than that I who write this am the same MYSELF now whilst I write (whether I consist of all the same substance material or immaterial, or no) that I was yesterday. For as to this point of being the same self, it matters not whether this present self be made up of the same or other substances — I being as much concerned, and as justly accountable for any action that was done a thousand years since, appropriated to me now by this self-consciousness, as I am for what I did the last moment.

19. Self depends on Consciousness, not on Substance.

SELF is that conscious thinking thing, — whatever substance made up of, (whether spiritual or material, simple or compounded, it matters not) — which is sensible or conscious of pleasure and pain, capable of happiness or misery, and so is concerned for itself, as far as that consciousness extends. Thus every one finds that, whilst comprehended under that consciousness, the little finger is as much a part of himself as what is most so. Upon separation of this little finger, should this consciousness go along with the little finger, and leave the rest of the body, it is evident the little finger would be the person, the same person; and self then would have nothing to do with the rest of the body. As in this case it is the consciousness that goes along with the substance, when one part is separate from another, which makes the same person, and constitutes this inseparable self: so it is in reference to substances remote in time. That with which the consciousness of this present thinking thing CAN join itself, makes the same person, and is one self with it, and with nothing else; and so attributes to itself, and owns all the actions of that thing, as its own, as far as that consciousness reaches, and no further; as every one who reflects will perceive.

20. Persons, not Substances, the Objects of Reward and Punishment.

In this personal identity is founded all the right and justice of reward and punishment; happiness and misery being that for which every one is concerned for HIMSELF, and not mattering what becomes of any SUBSTANCE, not joined to, or affected with that consciousness. For, as it is evident in the instance I gave but now, if the consciousness went along with the little finger when it was cut off, that would be the same self which was concerned for the whole body yesterday, as making part of itself, whose actions then it cannot but admit as its own now. Though, if the same body should still live, and immediately from the separation of the little finger have its own peculiar consciousness, whereof the little finger knew nothing, it would not at all be concerned for it, as a part of itself, or could own any of its actions, or have any of them imputed to him.

21. Which shows wherein Personal identity consists.

This may show us wherein personal identity consists: not in the identity of substance, but, as I have said, in the identity of consciousness, wherein if Socrates and the present mayor of Queenborough agree, they are the same person: if the same Socrates waking and sleeping do not partake of the same consciousness, Socrates waking and sleeping is not the same person. And to punish Socrates waking for what sleeping Socrates thought, and waking Socrates was never conscious of, would be no more of right, than to punish one twin for what his brother-twin did, whereof he knew nothing, because their outsides were so like, that they could not be distinguished; for such twins have been seen.

22. Absolute oblivion separates what is thus forgotten from the person, but not from the man.

But yet possibly it will still be objected, — Suppose I wholly lose the memory of some parts of my life, beyond a possibility of retrieving them, so that perhaps I shall never be conscious of them again; yet am I not the same person that did those actions, had those thoughts that I once was conscious of, though I have now forgot them? To which I answer, that we must here take notice what the word I is applied to; which, in this case, is the MAN only. And the same man being presumed to be the same person, I is easily here supposed to stand also for the same person. But if it be possible for the same man to have distinct incommunicable consciousness at different times, it is past doubt the same man would at different times make different persons; which, we see, is the sense of mankind in the solemnest declaration of their opinions, human laws not punishing the mad man for the sober man’s actions, nor the sober man for what the mad man did, — thereby making them two persons: which is somewhat explained by our way of speaking in English when we say such an one is ‘not himself,’ or is ‘beside himself’; in which phrases it is insinuated, as if those who now, or at least first used them, thought that self was changed; the selfsame person was no longer in that man.

23. Difference between Identity of Man and of Person.

But yet it is hard to conceive that Socrates, the same individual man, should be two persons. To help us a little in this, we must consider what is meant by Socrates, or the same individual MAN.

First, it must be either the same individual, immaterial, thinking substance; in short, the same numerical soul, and nothing else.

Secondly, or the same animal, without any regard to an immaterial soul.

Thirdly, or the same immaterial spirit united to the same animal.

Now, take which of these suppositions you please, it is impossible to make personal identity to consist in anything but consciousness; or reach any further than that does.

For, by the first of them, it must be allowed possible that a man born of different women, and in distant times, may be the same man. A way of speaking which, whoever admits, must allow it possible for the same man to be two distinct persons, as any two that have lived in different ages without the knowledge of one another’s thoughts.

By the second and third, Socrates, in this life and after it, cannot be the same man any way, but by the same consciousness; and so making human identity to consist in the same thing wherein we place personal identity, there will be difficulty to allow the same man to be the same person. But then they who place human identity in consciousness only, and not in something else, must consider how they will make the infant Socrates the same man with Socrates after the resurrection. But whatsoever to some men makes a man, and consequently the same individual man, wherein perhaps few are agreed, personal identity can by us be placed in nothing but consciousness, (which is that alone which makes what we call SELF,) without involving us in great absurdities.

24.

But is not a man drunk and sober the same person? why else is he punished for the fact he commits when drunk, though he be never afterwards conscious of it? Just as much the same person as a man that walks, and does other things in his sleep, is the same person, and is answerable for any mischief he shall do in it. Human laws punish both, with a justice suitable to THEIR way of knowledge; — because, in these cases, they cannot distinguish certainly what is real, what counterfeit: and so the ignorance in drunkenness or sleep is not admitted as a plea. But in the Great Day, wherein the secrets of all hearts shall be laid open, it may be reasonable to think, no one shall be made to answer for what he knows nothing of; but shall receive his doom, his conscience accusing or excusing him.

25. Consciousness alone unites remote existences into one Person.

Nothing but consciousness can unite remote existences into the same person: the identity of substance will not do it; for whatever substance there is, however framed, without consciousness there is no person: and a carcass may be a person, as well as any sort of substance be so, without consciousness.

Could we suppose two distinct incommunicable consciousnesses acting the same body, the one constantly by day, the other by night; and, on the other side, the same consciousness, acting by intervals, two distinct bodies: I ask, in the first case, whether the day and the night — man would not be two as distinct persons as Socrates and Plato? And whether, in the second case, there would not be one person in two distinct bodies, as much as one man is the same in two distinct clothings? Nor is it at all material to say, that this same, and this distinct consciousness, in the cases above mentioned, is owing to the same and distinct immaterial substances, bringing it with them to those bodies; which, whether true or no, alters not the case: since it is evident the personal identity would equally be determined by the consciousness, whether that consciousness were annexed to some individual immaterial substance or no. For, granting that the thinking substance in man must be necessarily supposed immaterial, it is evident that immaterial thinking thing may sometimes part with its past consciousness, and be restored to it again: as appears in the forgetfulness men often have of their past actions; and the mind many times recovers the memory of a past consciousness, which it had lost for twenty years together. Make these intervals of memory and forgetfulness to take their turns regularly by day and night, and you have two persons with the same immaterial spirit, as much as in the former instance two persons with the same body. So that self is not determined by identity or diversity of substance, which it cannot be sure of, but only by identity of consciousness.

26. Not the substance with which the consciousness may be united.

Indeed it may conceive the substance whereof it is now made up to have existed formerly, united in the same conscious being: but, consciousness removed, that substance is no more itself, or makes no more a part of it, than any other substance; as is evident in the instance we have already given of a limb cut off, of whose heat, or cold, or other affections, having no longer any consciousness, it is no more of a man’s self than any other matter of the universe. In like manner it will be in reference to any immaterial substance, which is void of that consciousness whereby I am myself to myself: so that I cannot upon recollection join with that present consciousness whereby I am now myself, it is, in that part of its existence, no more MYSELF than any other immaterial being. For, whatsoever any substance has thought or done, which I cannot recollect, and by my consciousness make my own thought and action, it will no more belong to me, whether a part of me thought or did it, than if it had been thought or done by any other immaterial being anywhere existing.

27. Consciousness unites substances, material or spiritual, with the same personality.

I agree, the more probable opinion is, that this consciousness is annexed to, and the affection of, one individual immaterial substance.

But let men, according to their diverse hypotheses, resolve of that as they please. This every intelligent being, sensible of happiness or misery, must grant — that there is something that is HIMSELF, that he is concerned for, and would have happy; that this self has existed in a continued duration more than one instant, and therefore it is possible may exist, as it has done, months and years to come, without any certain bounds to be set to its duration; and may be the same self, by the same consciousness continued on for the future. And thus, by this consciousness he finds himself to be the same self which did such and such an action some years since, by which he comes to be happy or miserable now. In all which account of self, the same numerical SUBSTANCE is not considered a making the same self; but the same continued CONSCIOUSNESS, in which several substances may have been united, and again separated from it, which, whilst they continued in a vital union with that wherein this consciousness then resided, made a part of that same self. Thus any part of our bodies, vitally united to that which is conscious in us, makes a part of ourselves: but upon separation from the vital union by which that consciousness is communicated, that which a moment since was part of ourselves, is now no more so than a part of another man’s self is a part of me: and it is not impossible but in a little time may become a real part of another person. And so we have the same numerical substance become a part of two different persons; and the same person preserved under the change of various substances. Could we suppose any spirit wholly stripped of all its memory of consciousness of past actions, as we find our minds always are of a great part of ours, and sometimes of them all; the union or separation of such a spiritual substance would make no variation of personal identity, any more than that of any particle of matter does. Any substance vitally united to the present thinking being is a part of that very same self which now is; anything united to it by a consciousness of former actions, makes also a part of the same self, which is the same both then and now.

28. Person a forensic Term.

PERSON, as I take it, is the name for this self. Wherever a man finds what he calls himself, there, I think, another may say is the same person. It is a forensic term, appropriating actions and their merit; and so belongs only to intelligent agents, capable of a law, and happiness, and misery. This personality extends itself beyond present existence to what is past, only by consciousness, — whereby it becomes concerned and accountable; owns and imputes to itself past actions, just upon the same ground and for the same reason as it does the present. All which is founded in a concern for happiness, the unavoidable concomitant of consciousness; that which is conscious of pleasure and pain, desiring that that self that is conscious should be happy. And therefore whatever past actions it cannot reconcile or APPROPRIATE to that present self by consciousness, it can be no more concerned in than if they had never been done: and to receive pleasure or pain, i.e. reward or punishment, on the account of any such action, is all one as to be made happy or miserable in its first being, without any demerit at all. For, supposing a MAN punished now for what he had done in another life, whereof he could be made to have no consciousness at all, what difference is there between that punishment and being CREATED miserable? And therefore, conformable to this, the apostle tells us, that, at the great day, when every one shall ‘receive according to his doings, the secrets of all hearts shall be laid open.’ The sentence shall be justified by the consciousness all persons shall have, that THEY THEMSELVES, in what bodies soever they appear, or what substances soever that consciousness adheres to, are the SAME that committed those actions, and deserve that punishment for them.

29. Suppositions that look strange are pardonable in our ignorance.

I am apt enough to think I have, in treating of this subject, made some suppositions that will look strange to some readers, and possibly they are so in themselves. But yet, I think they are such as are pardonable, in this ignorance we are in of the nature of that thinking thing that is in us, and which we look on as OURSELVES. Did we know what it was; or how it was tied to a certain system of fleeting animal spirits; or whether it could or could not perform its operations of thinking and memory out of a body organized as ours is; and whether it has pleased God that no one such spirit shall ever be united to any but one such body, upon the right constitution of whose organs its memory should depend; we might see the absurdity of some of those suppositions I have made. But taking, as we ordinarily now do (in the dark concerning these matters,) the soul of a man for an immaterial substance, independent from matter, and indifferent alike to it all; there can, from the nature of things, be no absurdity at all to suppose that the same SOUL may at different times be united to different BODIES, and with them make up for that time one MAN: as well as we suppose a part of a sheep’s body yesterday should be a part of a man’s body to-morrow, and in that union make a vital part of Meliboeus himself, as well as it did of his ram.

30. The Difficulty from ill Use of Names.

To conclude: Whatever substance begins to exist, it must, during its existence, necessarily be the same: whatever compositions of substances begin to exist, during the union of those substances, the concrete must be the same: whatsoever mode begins to exist, during its existence it is the same: and so if the composition be of distinct substances and different modes, the same rule holds. Whereby it will appear, that the difficulty or obscurity that has been about this matter rather rises from the names ill-used, than from any obscurity in things themselves. For whatever makes the specific idea to which the name is applied, if that idea be steadily kept to, the distinction of anything into the same and divers will easily be conceived, and there can arise no doubt about it.

31. Continuance of that which we have made to be our complex idea of man makes the same man.

For, supposing a rational spirit be the idea of a MAN, it is easy to know what is the same man, viz. the same spirit — whether separate or in a body — will be the SAME MAN. Supposing a rational spirit vitally united to a body of a certain conformation of parts to make a man; whilst that rational spirit, with that vital conformation of parts, though continued in a fleeting successive body, remains, it will be the SAME MAN. But if to any one the idea of a man be but the vital union of parts in a certain shape; as long as that vital union and shape remain in a concrete, no otherwise the same but by a continued succession of fleeting particles, it will be the SAME MAN. For, whatever be the composition whereof the complex idea is made, whenever existence makes it one particular thing under any denomination, THE SAME EXISTENCE CONTINUED preserves it the SAME individual under the same denomination.

CHAPTER XXVIII. OF OTHER RELATIONS.

1. Ideas of Proportional relations.

BESIDES the before-mentioned occasions of time, place, and causality of comparing or referring things one to another, there are, as I have said, infinite others, some whereof I shall mention.

First, The first I shall name is some one simple idea, which, being capable of parts or degrees, affords an occasion of comparing the subjects wherein it is to one another, in respect of that simple idea, v.g. whiter, sweeter, equal, more, &c. These relations depending on the equality and excess of the same simple idea, in several subjects, may be called, if one will, PROPORTIONAL; and that these are only conversant about those simple ideas received from sensation or reflection is so evident that nothing need be said to evince it.

2. Natural relation.

Secondly, Another occasion of comparing things together, or considering one thing, so as to include in that consideration some other thing, is the circumstances of their origin or beginning; which being not afterwards to be altered, make the relations depending thereon as lasting as the subjects to which they belong, v.g. father and son, brothers, cousin-germans, &c., which have their relations by one community of blood, wherein they partake in several degrees: countrymen, i.e. those who were born in the same country or tract of ground; and these I call NATURAL RELATIONS: wherein we may observe, that mankind have fitted their notions and words to the use of common life, and not to the truth and extent of things. For it is certain, that, in reality, the relation is the same betwixt the begetter and the begotten, in the several races of other animals as well as men; but yet it is seldom said, this bull is the grandfather of such a calf, or that two pigeons are cousin-germans. It is very convenient that, by distinct names, these relations should be observed and marked out in mankind, there being occasion, both in laws and other communications one with another, to mention and take notice of men under these relations: from whence also arise the obligations of several duties amongst men: whereas, in brutes, men having very little or no cause to mind these relations, they have not thought fit to give them distinct and peculiar names. This, by the way, may give us some light into the different state and growth of languages; which being suited only to the convenience of communication, are proportioned to the notions men have, and the commerce of thoughts familiar amongst them; and not to the reality or extent of things, nor to the various respects might be found among them; nor the different abstract considerations might be framed about them. Where they had no philosophical notions, there they had no terms to express them: and it is no wonder men should have framed no names for those things they found no occasion to discourse of. From whence it is easy to imagine why, as in some countries, they may have not so much as the name for a horse; and in others, where they are more careful of the pedigrees of their horses, than of their own, that there they may have not only names for particular horses, but also of their several relations of kindred one to another.

3. Ideas of Instituted of Voluntary relations.

Thirdly, Sometimes the foundation of considering things with reference to one another, is some act whereby any one comes by a moral right, power, or obligation to do something. Thus, a general is one that hath power to command an army, and an army under a general is a collection of armed men obliged to obey one man. A citizen, or a burgher, is one who has a right to certain privileges in this or that place, All this sort depending upon men’s wills, or agreement in society, I call INSTITUTED, or VOLUNTARY; and may be distinguished from the natural, in that they are most, if not all of them, some way or other alterable, and separable from the persons to whom they have sometimes belonged, though neither of the substances, so related, be destroyed. Now, though these are all reciprocal, as well as the rest, and contain in them a reference of two things one to the other; yet, because one of the two things often wants a relative name, importing that reference, men usually take no notice of it, and the relation is commonly overlooked: v. g. a patron and client are easily allowed to be relations, but a constable or dictator are not so readily at first hearing considered as such. Because there is no peculiar name for those who are under the command of a dictator or constable, expressing a relation to either of them; though it be certain that either of them hath a certain power over some others, and so is so far related to them, as well as a patron is to his client, or general to his army.

4. Ideas of Moral relations.

Fourthly, There is another sort of relation, which is the conformity or disagreement men’s VOLUNTARY ACTIONS have to a RULE to which they are referred, and by which they are judged of; which, I think, may be called MORAL RELATION, as being that which denominates our moral actions, and deserves well to be examined; there being no part of knowledge wherein we should be more careful to get determined ideas, and avoid, as much as may be, obscurity and confusion. Human actions, when with their various ends, objects, manners, and circumstances, they are framed into distinct complex ideas, are, as has been shown, so many MIXED MODES, a great part whereof have names annexed to them. Thus, supposing gratitude to be a readiness to acknowledge and return kindness received; polygamy to be the having more wives than one at once: when we frame these notions thus in our minds, we have there so many determined ideas of mixed modes. But this is not all that concerns our actions: it is not enough to have determined ideas of them, and to know what names belong to such and such combinations of ideas. We have a further and greater concernment, and that is, to know whether such actions, so made up, are morally good or bad.

5. Moral Good and Evil.

Good and evil, as hath been shown, (B. II. chap. xx. Section 2, and chap. xxi. Section 43,) are nothing but pleasure or pain, or that which occasions or procures pleasure or pain to us. MORAL GOOD AND EVIL, then, is only THE CONFORMITY OR DISAGREEMENT OF OUR VOLUNTARY ACTIONS TO SOME LAW, WHEREBY GOOD OR EVIL IS DRAWN ON US, FROM THE WILL AND POWER OF THE LAW-MAKER; which good and evil, pleasure or pain, attending our observance or breach of the law by the decree of the law-maker, is that we call REWARD and PUNISHMENT.

6. Moral Rules.

Of these moral rules or laws, to which men generally refer, and by which they judge of the rectitude or gravity of their actions, there seem to me to be THREE SORTS, with their three different enforcements, or rewards and punishments. For, since it would be utterly in vain to suppose a rule set to the free actions of men, without annexing to it some enforcement of good and evil to determine his will, we must, wherever we suppose a law, suppose also some reward or punishment annexed to that law. It would be in vain for one intelligent being to set a rule to the actions of another, if he had it not in his power to reward the compliance with, and punish deviation from his rule, by some good and evil, that is not the natural product and consequence of the action itself. For that, being a natural convenience or inconvenience, would operate of itself, without a law. This, if I mistake not, is the true nature of all law, properly so called.

7. Laws.

The laws that men generally refer their actions to, to judge of their rectitude or obliquity, seem to me to be these three: — 1. The DIVINE law. 2. The CIVIL law. 3. The law of OPINION or REPUTATION, if I may so call it. By the relation they bear to the first of these, men judge whether their actions are sins or duties; by the second, whether they be criminal or innocent; and by the third, whether they be virtues or vices.

8. Divine Law the Measure of Sin and Duty.

First, the DIVINE LAW, whereby that law which God has set to the actions of men, — whether promulgated to them by the light of nature, or the voice of revelation. That God has given a rule whereby men should govern themselves, I think there is nobody so brutish as to deny. He has a right to do it; we are his creatures: he has goodness and wisdom to direct our actions to that which is best: and he has power to enforce it by rewards and punishments of infinite weight and duration in another life; for nobody can take us out of his hands. This is the only true touchstone of moral rectitude; and, by comparing them to this law, it is that men judge of the most considerable moral good or evil of their actions; that is, whether, as duties or sins, they are like to procure them happiness or misery from the hands of the ALMIGHTY.

9. Civil Law the Measure of Crimes and Innocence.

Secondly, the CIVIL LAW — the rule set by the commonwealth to the actions of those who belong to it — is another rule to which men refer their actions; to judge whether they be criminal or no. This law nobody overlooks: the rewards and punishments that enforce it being ready at hand, and suitable to the power that makes it: which is the force of the Commonwealth, engaged to protect the lives, liberties, and possessions of those who live according to its laws, and has power to take away life, liberty, or goods, from him who disobeys; which is the punishment of offences committed against his law.

10. Philosophical Law the Measure of Virtue and Vice.

Thirdly, the LAW OF OPINION OR REPUTATION. Virtue and vice are names pretended and supposed everywhere to stand for actions in their own nature right and wrong: and as far as they really are so applied, they so far are coincident with the divine law above mentioned. But yet, whatever is pretended, this is visible, that these names, virtue and vice, in the particular instances of their application, through the several nations and societies of men in the world, are constantly attributed only to such actions as in each country and society are in reputation or discredit. Nor is it to be thought strange, that men everywhere should give the name of virtue to those actions, which amongst them are judged praiseworthy; and call that vice, which they account blamable: since otherwise they would condemn themselves, if they should think anything right, to which they allowed not commendation, anything wrong, which they let pass without blame. Thus the measure of what is everywhere called and esteemed virtue and vice is this approbation or dislike, praise or blame, which, by a secret and tacit consent, establishes itself in the several societies, tribes, and clubs of men in the world: whereby several actions come to find credit or disgrace amongst them, according to the judgment, maxims, or fashion of that place. For, though men uniting into politic societies, have resigned up to the public the disposing of all their force, so that they cannot employ it against any fellow-citizens any further than the law of the country directs: yet they retain still the power of thinking well or ill, approving or disapproving of the actions of those whom they live amongst, and converse with: and by this approbation and dislike they establish amongst themselves what they will call virtue and vice.

11. The Measure that Man commonly apply to determine what they call Virtue and Vice.

That this is the common MEASURE of virtue and vice, will appear to any one who considers, that, though that passes for vice in one country which is counted a virtue, or at least not vice, in another, yet everywhere virtue and praise, vice and blame, go together. Virtue is everywhere, that which is thought praiseworthy; and nothing else but that which has the allowance of public esteem is called virtue. Virtue and praise are so united, that they are called often by the same name. Sunt sua praemia laudi, says Virgil; and so Cicero, Nihil habet natura praestantius, quam honestatem, quam laudem, quam dignitatem, quam decus, which he tells you are all names for the same thing. This is the language of the heathen philosophers, who well understood wherein their notions of virtue and vice consisted. And though perhaps, by the different temper, education, fashion, maxims, or interest of different sorts of men, it fell out, that what was thought praiseworthy in one place, escaped not censure in another; and so in different societies, virtues and vices were changed; yet, as to the main, they for the most part kept the same everywhere. For, since nothing can be more natural than to encourage with esteem and reputation that wherein every one finds his advantage, and to blame and discountenance the contrary; it is no wonder that esteem and discredit, virtue and vice, should, in a great measure, everywhere correspond with the unchangeable rule of right and wrong, which the law of God hath established; there being nothing that so directly and visible secures and advances the general good of mankind in this world, as obedience to the laws he had set them, and nothing that breeds such mischiefs and confusion, as the neglect of them. And therefore men, without renouncing all sense and reason, and their own interest, which they are so constantly true to, could not generally mistake, in placing their commendation and blame on that side that really deserved it not. Nay, even those men whose practice was otherwise, failed not to give their approbation right, few being depraved to that degree as not to condemn, at least in others, the faults they themselves were guilty of; whereby, even in the corruption of manners, the true boundaries of the law of nature, which ought to be the rule of virtue and vice, were pretty well preferred. So that even the exhortations of inspired teachers, have not feared to appeal to common repute: ‘Whatsoever is lovely, whatsoever is of good report, if there be any virtue, if there be any praise,’ &c. (Phil. iv. 8.)

12. Its Inforcement is Commendation and Discredit.

If any one shall imagine that I have forgot my own notion of a law, when I make the law, whereby men judge of virtue and vice, to be nothing else but the consent of private men, who have not authority enough to make a law: especially wanting that which is so necessary and essential to a law, a power to enforce it: I think I may say, that he who imagines commendation and disgrace not to be strong motives to men to accommodate themselves to the opinions and rules of those with whom they converse, seems little skilled in the nature or history of mankind: the greatest part whereof we shall find to govern themselves chiefly, if not solely, by this LAW OF FASHION; and so they do that which keeps them in reputation with their company, little regard the laws of God, or the magistrate. The penalties that attend the breach of God’s laws some, nay perhaps most men, seldom seriously reflect on: and amongst those that do, many, whilst they break the law, entertain thoughts of future reconciliation, and making their peace for such breaches. And as to the punishments due from the laws of the commonwealth, they frequently flatter themselves with the hopes of impunity. But no man escapes the punishment of their censure and dislike, who offends against the fashion and opinion of the company he keeps, and would recommend himself to. Nor is there one of ten thousand, who is stiff and insensible enough, to bear up under the constant dislike and condemnation of his own club. He must be of a strange and unusual constitution, who can content himself to live in constant disgrace and disrepute with his own particular society. Solitude many men have sought, and been reconciled to: but nobody that has the least thought or sense of a man about him, can live in society under the constant dislike and ill opinion of his familiars, and those he converses with. This is a burden too heavy for human sufferance: and he must be made up of irreconcileable contradictions, who can take pleasure in company, and yet be insensible of contempt and disgrace from his companions.

13. These three Laws the Rules of moral Good and Evil.

These three then, first, the law of God; secondly, the law of politic societies; thirdly, the law of fashion, or private censure, are those to which men variously compare their actions: and it is by their conformity to one of these laws that they take their measures, when they would judge of their moral rectitude, and denominate their actions good or bad.

14. Morality is the Relation of Voluntary Actions to these Rules.

Whether the rule to which, as to a touchstone, we bring our voluntary actions, to examine them by, and try their goodness, and accordingly to name them, which is, as it were, the mark of the value we set upon them: whether, I say, we take that rule from the fashion of the country, or the will of a law-maker, the mind is easily able to observe the relation any action hath to it, and to judge whether the action agrees or disagrees with the rule; and so hath a notion of moral goodness or evil, which is either conformity or not conformity of any action to that rule: and therefore is often called moral rectitude. This rule being nothing but a collection of several simple ideas, the conformity thereto is but so ordering the action, that the simple ideas belonging to it may correspond to those which the law requires. And thus we see how moral beings and notions are founded on, and terminated in, these simple ideas we have received from sensation or reflection. For example: let us consider the complex idea we signify by the word murder: and when we have taken it asunder, and examined all the particulars, we shall find them to amount to a collection of simple ideas derived from reflection or sensation, viz. First, from REFLECTION on the operations of our own minds, we have the ideas of willing, considering, purposing beforehand, malice, or wishing ill to another; and also of life, or perception, and self-motion. Secondly, from SENSATION we have the collection of those simple sensible ideas which are to be found in a man, and of some action, whereby we put an end to perception and motion in the man; all which simple ideas are comprehended in the word murder. This collection of simple ideas, being found by me to agree or disagree with the esteem of the country I have been bred in, and to be held by most men there worthy praise or blame, I call the action virtuous or vicious: if I have the will of a supreme invisible Lawgiver for my rule, then, as I supposed the action commanded or forbidden by God, I call it good or evil, sin or duty: and if I compare it to the civil law, the rule made by the legislative power of the country, I call it lawful or unlawful, a crime or no crime. So that whencesoever we take the rule of moral actions; or by what standard soever we frame in our minds the ideas of virtues or vices, they consist only, and are made up of collections of simple ideas, which we originally received from sense or reflection: and their rectitude or obliquity consists in the agreement or disagreement with those patterns prescribed by some law.

15. Moral actions may be regarded wither absolutely, or as ideas of relation.

To conceive rightly of moral actions, we must take notice of them under this two-fold consideration. First, as they are in themselves, each made up of such a collection of simple ideas. Thus drunkenness, or lying, signify such or such a collection of simple ideas, which I call mixed modes: and in this sense they are as much POSITIVE ABSOLUTE ideas, as the drinking of a horse, or speaking of a parrot. Secondly, our actions are considered as good, bad, or indifferent; and in this respect they are RELATIVE, it being their conformity to, or disagreement with some rule that makes them to be regular or irregular, good or bad; and so, as far as they are compared with a rule, and thereupon denominated, they come under relation. Thus the challenging and fighting with a man, as it is a certain positive mode, or particular sort of action, by particular ideas, distinguished from all others, is called DUELLING: which, when considered in relation to the law of God, will deserve the name of sin; to the law of fashion, in some countries, valour and virtue; and to the municipal laws of some governments, a capital crime. In this case, when the positive mode has one name, and another name as it stands in relation to the law, the distinction may as easily be observed as it is in substances, where one name, v.g. MAN, is used to signify the thing; another, v.g. FATHER, to signify the relation.

16. The Denominations of Actions often mislead us.

But because very frequently the positive idea of the action, and its moral relation, are comprehended together under one name, and the same word made use of to express both the mode or action, and its moral rectitude or obliquity: therefore the relation itself is less taken notice of; and there is often no distinction made between the positive idea of the action, and the reference it has to a rule. By which confusion of these two distinct considerations under one term, those who yield too easily to the impressions of sounds, and are forward to take names for things, are often misled in their judgment of actions. Thus, the taking from another what is his, without his knowledge or allowance, is properly called STEALING: but that name, being commonly understood to signify also the moral gravity of the action, and to denote its contrariety to the law, men are apt to condemn whatever they hear called stealing, as an ill action, disagreeing with the rule of right. And yet the private taking away his sword from a madman, to prevent his doing mischief, though it be properly denominated stealing, as the name of such a mixed mode; yet when compared to the law of God, and considered in its relation to that supreme rule, it is no sin or transgression, though the name stealing ordinarily carries such an intimation with it.

17. Relations innumerable, and only the most considerable here mentioned.

And thus much for the relation of human actions to a law, which, therefore, I call MORAL RELATIONS.

It would make a volume to go over all sorts of RELATIONS: it is not, therefore, to be expected that I should here mention them all. It suffices to our present purpose to show by these, what the ideas are we have of this comprehensive consideration called RELATION. Which is so various, and the occasions of it so many, (as many as there can be of comparing things one to another,) that it is not very easy to reduce it to rules, or under just heads. Those I have mentioned, I think, are some of the most considerable; and such as may serve to let us see from whence we get our ideas of relations, and wherein they are founded. But before I quit this argument, from what has been said give me leave to observe:

18. All Relations terminate in simple Ideas.

First, That it is evident, that all relation terminates in, and is ultimately founded on, those simple ideas we have got from sensation or reflection: so that all we have in our thoughts ourselves, (if we think of anything, or have any meaning,) or would signify to others, when we use words standing for relations, is nothing but some simple ideas, or collections of simple ideas, compared one with another. This is so manifest in that sort called proportional, that nothing can be more. For when a man says ‘honey is sweeter than wax,’ it is plain that his thoughts in this relation terminate in this simple idea, sweetness; which is equally true of all the rest: though, where they are compounded, or decompounded, the simple ideas they are made up of, are, perhaps, seldom taken notice of: v.g. when the word father is mentioned: first, there is meant that particular species, or collective idea, signified by the word man; secondly, those sensible simple ideas, signified by the word generation; and, thirdly, the effects of it, and all the simple ideas signified by the word child. So the word friend, being taken for a man who loves and is ready to do good to another, has all these following ideas to the making of it up: first, all the simple ideas, comprehended in the word man, or intelligent being; secondly, the idea of love; thirdly, the idea of readiness or disposition; fourthly, the idea of action, which is any kind of thought or motion; fifthly, the idea of good, which signifies anything that may advance his happiness, and terminates at last, if examined, in particular simple ideas, of which the word good in general signifies any one; but, if removed from all simple ideas quite, it signifies nothing at all. And thus also all moral words terminate at last, though perhaps more remotely, in a collection of simple ideas: the immediate signification of relative words, being very often other supposed known relations; which, if traced one to another, still end in simple ideas.

19. We have ordinarily as clear a Notion of the Relation, as of the simple ideas in things on which it is founded.

Secondly, That in relations, we have for the most part, if not always, as clear a notion of THE RELATION as we have of THOSE SIMPLE IDEAS WHEREIN IT IS FOUNDED: agreement or disagreement, whereon relation depends, being things whereof we have commonly as clear ideas as of any other whatsoever; it being but the distinguishing simple ideas, or their degrees one from another, without which we could have no distinct knowledge at all. For, if I have a clear idea of sweetness, light, or extension, I have, too, of equal, or more, or less, of each of these: if I know what it is for one man to be born of a woman, viz. Sempronia, I know what it is for another man to be born of the same woman Sempronia; and so have as clear a notion of brothers as of births, and perhaps clearer. For it I believed that Sempronia digged Titus out of the parsley-bed, (as they used to tell children,) and thereby became his mother; and that afterwards, in the same manner, she digged Caius out of the parsley-bed, I has as clear a notion of the relation of brothers between them, as it I had all the skill of a midwife: the notion that the same woman contributed, as mother, equally to their births, (though I were ignorant or mistaken in the manner of it,) being that on which I grounded the relation; and that they agreed in the circumstance of birth, let it be what it will. The comparing them then in their descent from the same person, without knowing the particular circumstances of that descent, is enough to found my notion of their having, or not having, the relation of brothers. But though the ideas of PARTICULAR RELATIONS are capable of being as clear and distinct in the minds of those who will duly consider them as those of mixed modes, and more determinate than those of substances: yet the names belonging to relation are often of as doubtful and uncertain signification as those of substances or mixed modes; and much more than those of simple ideas. Because relative words, being the marks of this comparison, which is made only by men’s thoughts, and is an idea only in men’s minds, men frequently apply them to different comparisons of things, according to their own imaginations; which do not always correspond with those of others using the same name.

20. The Notion of Relation is the same, whether the Rule any Action is compared to be true or false.

Thirdly, That in these I call MORAL RELATIONS, I have a true notion of relation, by comparing the action with the rule, whether the rule be true or false. For if I measure anything by a yard, I know whether the thing I measure be longer or shorter than that supposed yard, though perhaps the yard I measure by be not exactly the standard: which indeed is another inquiry. For though the rule be erroneous, and I mistaken in it; yet the agreement or disagreement observable in that which I compare with, makes me perceive the relation. Though, measuring by a wrong rule, I shall thereby be brought to judge amiss of its moral rectitude; because I have tried it by that which is not the true rule: yet I am not mistaken in the relation which that action bears to that rule I compare it to, which is agreement or disagreement.

CHAPTER XXIX. OF CLEAR AND OBSCURE, DISTINCT AND CONFUSED IDEAS.

1. Ideas, come clear and distinct, others obscure and confused.

Having shown the original of our ideas, and taken a view of their several sorts; considered the difference between the simple and the complex; and observed how the complex ones are divided into those of modes, substances, and relations — all which, I think, is necessary to be done by any one who would acquaint himself thoroughly with the progress of the mind, in its apprehension and knowledge of things — it will, perhaps, be thought I have dwelt long enough upon the examination of IDEAS. I must, nevertheless, crave leave to offer some few other considerations concerning them.

The first is, that some are CLEAR and others OBSCURE; some DISTINCT and others CONFUSED.

2. Clear and obscure explained by Sight.

The perception of the mind being most aptly explained by words relating to the sight, we shall best understand what is meant by CLEAR and OBSCURE in our ideas, by reflecting on what we call clear and obscure in the objects of sight. Light being that which discovers to us visible objects, we give the name of OBSCURE to that which is not placed in a light sufficient to discover minutely to us the figure and colours which are observable in it, and which, in a better light, would be discernible. In like manner, our simple ideas are CLEAR, when they are such as the objects themselves from whence they were taken did or might, in a well-ordered sensation or perception, present them. Whilst the memory retains them thus, and can produce them to the mind whenever it has occasion to consider them, they are clear ideas. So far as they either want anything of the original exactness, or have lost any of their first freshness, and are, as it were, faded or tarnished by time, so far are they obscure. Complex ideas, as they are made up of simple ones, so they are clear, when the ideas that go to their composition are clear, and the number and order of those simple ideas that are the ingredients of any complex one is determinate and certain.

3. Causes of Obscurity.

The causes of obscurity, in simple ideas, seem to be either dull organs; or very slight and transient impressions made by the objects; or else a weakness in the memory, not able to retain them as received. For to return again to visible objects, to help us to apprehend this matter. If the organs, or faculties of perception, like wax over-hardened with cold, will not receive the impression of the seal, from the usual impulse wont to imprint it; or, like wax of a temper too soft, will not hold it well, when well imprinted; or else supposing the wax of a temper fit, but the seal not applied with a sufficient force to make a clear impression: in any of these cases, the print left by the seal will be obscure. This, I suppose, needs no application to make it plainer.

4. Distinct and confused, what.

As a clear idea is that whereof the mind has such a full and evident perception, as it does receive from an outward object operating duly on a well-disposed organ, so a DISTINCT idea is that wherein the mind perceives a difference from all other; and a CONFUSED idea is such an one as is not sufficiently distinguishable from another, from which it ought to be different.

5. Objection.

If no idea be confused, but such as is not sufficiently distinguishable from another from which it should be different, it will be hard, may any one say, to find anywhere a CONFUSED idea. For, let any idea be as it will, it can be no other but such as the mind perceives it to be; and that very perception sufficiently distinguishes it from all other ideas, which cannot be other, i.e. different, without being perceived to be so. No idea, therefore, can be undistinguishable from another from which it ought to be different, unless you would have it different from itself: for from all other it is evidently different.

6. Confusion of Ideas is in Reference to their Names.

To remove this difficulty, and to help us to conceive aright what it is that makes the confusion ideas are at any time chargeable with, we must consider, that things ranked under distinct names are supposed different enough to be distinguished, that so each sort by its peculiar name may be marked, and discoursed of apart upon any occasion: and there is nothing more evident, than that the greatest part of different names are supposed to stand for different things. Now every idea a man has, being visibly what it is, and distinct from all other ideas but itself; that which makes it confused, is, when it is such that it may as well be called by another name as that which it is expressed by; the difference which keeps the things (to be ranked under those two different names) distinct, and makes some of them belong rather to the one and some of them to the other of those names, being left out; and so the distinction, which was intended to be kept up by those different names, is quite lost.

7. Defaults which make this Confusion.

The defaults which usually occasion this confusion, I think, are chiefly these following:

First, complex ideas made up of too few simple ones.

First, when any complex idea (for it is complex ideas that are most liable to confusion) is made up of too small a number of simple ideas, and such only as are common to other things, whereby the differences that make it deserve a different name, are left out. Thus, he that has an idea made up of barely the simple ones of a beast with spots, has but a confused idea of a leopard; it not being thereby sufficiently distinguished from a lynx, and several other sorts of beasts that are spotted. So that such an idea, though it hath the peculiar name leopard, is not distinguishable from those designed by the names lynx or panther, and may as well come under the name lynx as leopard. How much the custom of defining of words by general terms contributes to make the ideas we would express by them confused and undetermined, I leave others to consider. This is evident, that confused ideas are such as render the use of words uncertain, and take away the benefit of distinct names. When the ideas, for which we use different terms, have not a difference answerable to their distinct names, and so cannot be distinguished by them, there it is that they are truly confused.

8. Secondly, or their simple ones jumbled disorderly together.

Secondly, Another fault which makes our ideas confused is, when, though the particulars that make up any idea are in number enough, yet they are so jumbled together, that it is not easily discernible whether it more belongs to the name that is given it than to any other. There is nothing properer to make us conceive this confusion than a sort of pictures, usually shown as surprising pieces of art, wherein the colours, as they are laid by the pencil on the table itself, mark out very odd and unusual figures, and have no discernible order in their position. This draught, thus made up of parts wherein no symmetry nor order appears, is in itself no more a confused thing, than the picture of a cloudy sky; wherein, though there be as little order of colours or figures to be found, yet nobody thinks it a confused picture. What is it, then, that makes it be thought confused, since the want of symmetry does not? As it is plain it does not: for another draught made barely in imitation of this could not be called confused. I answer, That which makes it be thought confused is, the applying it to some name to which it does no more discernibly belong than to some other: v.g. when it is said to be the picture of a man, or Caesar, then any one with reason counts it confused; because it is not discernible in that state to belong more to the name man, or Caesar, than to the name baboon, or Pompey: which are supposed to stand for different ideas from those signified by man, or Caesar. But when a cylindrical mirror, placed right, had reduced those irregular lines on the table into their due order and proportion, then the confusion ceases, and the eye presently sees that it is a man, or Caesar; i.e. that it belongs to those names; and that it is sufficiently distinguishable from a baboon, or Pompey; i.e. from the ideas signified by those names. Just thus it is with our ideas, which are as it were the pictures of things. No one of these mental draughts, however the parts are put together, can be called confused (for they are plainly discernible as they are) till it be ranked under some ordinary name to which it cannot be discerned to belong, any more than it does to some other name of an allowed different signification.

9. Thirdly, or their simple ones mutable and undetermined.

Thirdly, A third defect that frequently gives the name of confused to our ideas, is, when any one of them is uncertain and undetermined. Thus we may observe men who, not forbearing to use the ordinary words of their language till they have learned their precise signification, change the idea they make this or that term stand for, almost as often as they use it. He that does this out of uncertainty of what he should leave out, or put into his idea of CHURCH, or IDOLATRY, every time he thinks of either, and holds not steady to any one precise combination of ideas that makes it up, is said to have a confused idea of idolatry or the church: though this be still for the same reason as the former, viz. because a mutable idea (if we will allow it to be one idea) cannot belong to one name rather than another, and so loses the distinction that distinct names are designed for.

10. Confusion without Reference to Names, hardly conceivable.

By what has been said, we may observe how much NAMES, as supposed steady signs of things, and by their difference to stand for, and keep things distinct that in themselves are different, are the occasion of denominating ideas distinct or confused, by a secret and unobserved reference the mind makes of its ideas to such names. This perhaps will be fuller understood, after what I say of Words in the third Book has been read and considered. But without taking notice of such a reference of ideas to distinct names, as the signs of distinct things, it will be hard to say what a confused idea is. And therefore when a man designs, by any name, a sort of things, or any one particular thing, distinct from all others, the complex idea he annexes to that name is the more distinct, the more particular the ideas are, and the greater and more determinate the number and order of them is, whereof it is made up. For, the more it has of these, the more it has still of the perceivable differences, whereby it is kept separate and distinct from all ideas belonging to other names, even those that approach nearest to it, and thereby all confusion with them is avoided.

11. Confusion concerns always two Ideas.

Confusion making it a difficulty to separate two things that should be separated, concerns always two ideas; and those most which most approach one another. Whenever, therefore, we suspect any idea to be confused, we must examine what other it is in danger to be confounded with, or which it cannot easily be separated from; and that will always be found an idea belonging to another name, and so should be a different thing, from which yet it is not sufficiently distinct: being either the same with it, or making a part of it, or at least as properly called by that name as the other it is ranked under; and so keeps not that difference from that other idea which the different names import.

12. Causes of confused Ideas.

This, I think, is the confusion proper to ideas; which still carries with it a secret reference to names. At least, if there be any other confusion of ideas, this is that which most of all disorders men’s thoughts and discourses: ideas, as ranked under names, being those that for the most part men reason of within themselves, and always those which they commune about with others. And therefore where there are supposed two different ideas, marked by two different names, which are not as distinguishable as the sounds that stand for them, there never fails to be confusion; and where any ideas are distinct as the ideas of those two sounds they are marked by, there can be between them no confusion. The way to prevent it is to collect and unite into one complex idea, as precisely as is possible, all those ingredients whereby it is differenced from others; and to them, so united in a determinate number and order, apply steadily the same name. But this neither accommodating men’s ease or vanity, nor serving any design but that of naked truth, which is not always the thing aimed at, such exactness is rather to be wished than hoped for. And since the loose application of names, to undetermined, variable, and almost no ideas, serves both to cover our own ignorance, as well as to perplex and confound others, which goes for learning and superiority in knowledge, it is no wonder that most men should use it themselves, whilst they complain of it in others. Though I think no small part of the confusion to be found in the notions of men might, by care and ingenuity, be avoided, yet I am far from concluding it everywhere wilful. Some ideas are so complex, and made up of so many parts, that the memory does not easily retain the very same precise combination of simple ideas under one name: much less are we able constantly to divine for what precise complex idea such a name stands in another man’s use of it. From the first of these, follows confusion in a man’s own reasonings and opinions within himself; from the latter, frequent confusion in discoursing and arguing with others. But having more at large treated of Words, their defects, and abuses, in the following Book, I shall here say no more of it.

13. Complex Ideas may be distinct in one Part, and confused in another.

Our complex ideas, being made up of collections, and so variety of simple ones, may accordingly be very clear and distinct in one part, and very obscure and confused in another. In a man who speaks of a chiliaedron, or a body of a thousand sides, the ideas of the figure may be very confused, though that of the number be very distinct; so that he being able to discourse and demonstrate concerning that part of his complex idea which depends upon the number of thousand, he is apt to think he has a distinct idea of a chiliaedron; though it be plain he has no precise idea of its figure, so as to distinguish it, by that, from one that has but 999 sides: the not observing whereof causes no small error in men’s thoughts, and confusion in their discourses.

14. This, if not heeded, causes Confusion in our Arguings.

He that thinks he has a distinct idea of the figure of a chiliaedron, let him for trial sake take another parcel of the same uniform matter, viz. gold or wax of an equal bulk, and make it into a figure of 999 sides. He will, I doubt not, be able to distinguish these two ideas one from another, by the number of sides; and reason and argue distinctly about them, whilst he keeps his thoughts and reasoning to that part only of these ideas which is contained in their numbers; as that the sides of the one could be divided into two equal numbers, and of the others not, &c. But when he goes about to distinguish them by their figure, he will there be presently at a loss, and not be able, I think, to frame in his mind two ideas, one of them distinct from the other, by the bare figure of these two pieces of gold; as he could, if the same parcels of gold were made one into a cube, the other a figure of five sides. In which incomplete ideas, we are very apt to impose on ourselves, and wrangle with others, especially where they have particular and familiar names. For, being satisfied in that part of the idea which we have clear; and the name which is familiar to us, being applied to the whole, containing that part also which is imperfect and obscure, we are apt to use it for that confused part, and draw deductions from it in the obscure part of its signification, as confidently as we do from the other.

15. Instance in Eternity.

Having frequently in our mouths the name Eternity, we are apt to think we have a positive comprehensive idea of it, which is as much as to say, that there is no part of that duration which is not clearly contained in our idea. It is true that he that thinks so may have a clear idea of duration; he may also have a clear idea of a very great length of duration; he may also have a clear idea of the comparison of that great one with still a greater: but it not being possible for him to include in his idea of any duration, let it be as great as it will, the WHOLE EXTENT TOGETHER OF A DURATION, WHERE HE SUPPOSES NO END, that part of his idea, which is still beyond the bounds of that large duration he represents to his own thoughts, is very obscure and undetermined. And hence it is that in disputes and reasonings concerning eternity, or any other infinite, we are very apt to blunder, and involve ourselves in manifest absurdities.

16. Infinite Divisibility of Matter.

In matter, we have no clear ideas of the smallness of parts much beyond the smallest that occur to any of our senses: and therefore, when we talk of the divisibility of matter IN INFINITUM, though we have clear ideas of division and divisibility, and have also clear ideas of parts made out of a whole by division; yet we have but very obscure and confused ideas of corpuscles, or minute bodies, so to be divided, when, by former divisions, they are reduced to a smallness much exceeding the perception of any of our senses; and so all that we have clear and distinct ideas of is of what division in general or abstractedly is, and the relation of TOTUM and PARS: but of the bulk of the body, to be thus infinitely divided after certain progressions, I think, we have no clear nor distinct idea at all. For I ask any one, whether, taking the smallest atom of dust he ever saw, he has any distinct idea (bating still the number, which concerns not extension) betwixt the 100,000th and the 1,000,000th part of it. Or if he think he can refine his ideas to that degree, without losing sight of them, let him add ten cyphers to each of those numbers. Such a degree of smallness is not unreasonable to be supposed; since a division carried on so far brings it no nearer the end of infinite division, than the first division into two halves does. I must confess, for my part, I have no clear distinct ideas of the different bulk or extension of those bodies, having but a very obscure one of either of them. So that, I think, when we talk of division of bodies in infinitum, our idea of their distinct bulks, which is the subject and foundation of division, comes, after a little progression, to be confounded, and almost lost in obscurity. For that idea which is to represent only bigness must be very obscure and confused, which we cannot distinguish from one ten times as big, but only by number: so that we have clear distinct ideas, we may say, of ten and one, but no distinct ideas of two such extensions. It is plain from hence, that, when we talk of infinite divisibility of body or extension, our distinct and clear ideas are only of numbers: but the clear distinct ideas of extension, after some progress of division, are quite lost; and of such minute parts we have no distinct ideas at all; but it returns, as all our ideas of infinite do, at last to that of NUMBER ALWAYS TO BE ADDED; but thereby never amounts to any distinct idea of ACTUAL INFINITE PARTS. We have, it is true, a clear idea of division, as often as we think of it; but thereby we have no more a clear idea of infinite parts in matter, than we have a clear idea of an infinite number, by being able still to add new numbers to any assigned numbers we have: endless divisibility giving us no more a clear and distinct idea of actually infinite parts, than endless addibility (if I may so speak) gives us a clear and distinct idea of an actually infinite number: they both being only in a power still of increasing the number, be it already as great as it will. So that of what remains to be added (WHEREIN CONSISTS THE INFINITY) we have but an obscure, imperfect, and confused idea; from or about which we can argue or reason with no certainty or clearness, no more than we can in arithmetic, about a number of which we have no such distinct idea as we have of 4 or 100; but only this relative obscure one, that, compared to any other, it is still bigger: and we have no more a clear positive idea of it, when we [dropped line] than if we should say it is bigger than 40 or 4: 400,000,000 having no nearer a proportion to the end of addition or number than 4. For he that adds only 4 to 4, and so proceeds, shall as soon come to the end of all addition, as he that adds 400,000,000 to 400,000,000. And so likewise in eternity; he that has an idea of but four years, has as much a positive complete idea of eternity, as he that has one of 400,000,000 of years: for what remains of eternity beyond either of these two numbers of years, is as clear to the one as the other; i.e. neither of them has any clear positive idea of it at all. For he that adds only 4 years to 4, and so on, shall as soon reach eternity as he that adds 400,000,000 of years, and so on; or, if he please, doubles the increase as often as he will: the remaining abyss being still as far beyond the end of all these progressions as it is from the length of a day or an hour. For nothing finite bears any proportion to infinite; and therefore our ideas, which are all finite, cannot bear any. Thus it is also in our idea of extension, when we increase it by addition, as well as when we diminish it by division, and would enlarge our thoughts to infinite space. After a few doublings of those ideas of extension, which are the largest we are accustomed to have, we lose the clear distinct idea of that space: it becomes a confusedly great one, with a surplus of still greater; about which, when we would argue or reason, we shall always find ourselves at a loss; confused ideas, in our arguings and deductions from that part of them which is confused, always leading us into confusion.

CHAPTER XXX. OF REAL AND FANTASTICAL IDEAS.

1. Ideas considered in reference to their Archetypes.

Besides what we have already mentioned concerning ideas, other considerations belong to them, in reference to THINGS FROM WHENCE THEY ARE TAKEN, or WHICH THEY MAY BE SUPPOSED TO REPRESENT; and thus, I think, they may come under a threefold distinction, and are: — First, either real or fantastical; Secondly, adequate or inadequate; Thirdly, true or false.

First, by REAL IDEAS, I mean such as have a foundation in nature; such as have a conformity with the real being and existence of things, or with their archetypes. FANTASTICAL or CHIMERICAL, I call such as have no foundation in nature, nor have any conformity with that reality of being to which they are tacitly referred, as to their archetypes. If we examine the several sorts of ideas before mentioned, we shall find that,

2. Simple Ideas are all real appearances of things.

First, Our SIMPLE IDEAS are all real, all agree to the reality of things: not that they are all of them the images or representations of what does exist; the contrary whereof, in all but the primary qualities of bodies, hath been already shown. But, though whiteness and coldness are no more in snow than pain is; yet those ideas of whiteness and coldness, pain, &c., being in us the effects of powers in things without us, ordained by our Maker to produce in us such sensations; they are real ideas in us, whereby we distinguish the qualities that are really in things themselves. For, these several appearances being designed to be the mark whereby we are to know and distinguish things which we have to do with, our ideas do as well serve us to that purpose, and are as real distinguishing characters, whether they be only CONSTANT EFFECTS, or else EXACT RESEMBLANCES of something in the things themselves: the reality lying in that steady correspondence they have with the distinct constitutions of real beings. But whether they answer to those constitutions, as to causes or patterns, it matters not; it suffices that they are constantly produced by them. And thus our simple ideas are all real and true, because they answer and agree to those powers of things which produce them on our minds; that being all that is requisite to make them real, and not fictions at pleasure. For in simple ideas (as has been shown) the mind is wholly confined to the operation of things upon it, and can make to itself no simple idea, more than what it was received.

3. Complex Ideas are voluntary Combinations.

Though the mind be wholly passive in respect of its simple ideas; yet, I think, we may say it is not so in respect of its complex ideas. For those being combinations of simple ideas put together, and united under one general name, it is plain that the mind of man uses some kind of liberty in forming those complex ideas: how else comes it to pass that one man’s idea of gold, or justice, is different from another’s, but because he has put in, or left out of his, some simple idea which the other has not? The question then is, Which of these are real, and which barely imaginary combinations? What collections agree to the reality of things, and what not? And to this I say that,

4. Mixed Modes and Relations, made of consistent Ideas, are real.

Secondly, MIXED MODES and RELATIONS, having no other reality but what they have in the minds of men, there is nothing more required to this kind of ideas to make them real, but that they be so framed, that there be a possibility of existing conformable to them. These ideas themselves, being archetypes, cannot differ from their archetypes, and so cannot be chimerical, unless any one will jumble together in them inconsistent ideas. Indeed, as any of them have the names of a known language assigned to them, by which he that has them in his mind would signify them to others, so bare possibility of existing is not enough; they must have a conformity to the ordinary signification of the name that is given them, that they may not be thought fantastical: as if a man would give the name of justice to that idea which common use calls liberality. But this fantasticalness relates more to propriety of speech, than reality of ideas. For a man to be undisturbed in danger, sedately to consider what is fittest to be done, and to execute it steadily, is a mixed mode, or a complex idea of an action which may exist. But to be undisturbed in danger, without using one’s reason or industry, is what is also possible to be; and so is as real an idea as the other. Though the first of these, having the name COURAGE given to it, may, in respect of that name, be a right or wrong idea; but the other, whilst it has not a common received name of any known language assigned to it, is not capable of any deformity, being made with no reference to anything but itself.

5. Complex Ideas of Substances are real, when they agree with the existence of Things.

Thirdly, Our complex ideas of SUBSTANCES, being made all of them in reference to things existing without us, and intended to be representations of substances as they really are, are no further real than as they are such combinations of simple ideas as are really united, and co-exist in things without us. On the contrary, those are fantastical which are made up of such collections of simple ideas as were really never united, never were found together in any substance: v. g. a rational creature, consisting of a horse’s head, joined to a body of human shape, or such as the CENTAURS are described: or, a body yellow, very malleable, fusible, and fixed, but lighter than common water: or an uniform, unorganized body, consisting, as to sense, all of similar parts, with perception and voluntary motion joined to it. Whether such substances as these can possibly exist or no, it is probable we do not know: but be that as it will, these ideas of substances, being made conformable to no pattern existing that we know; and consisting of such collections of ideas as no substance ever showed us united together, they ought to pass with us for barely imaginary: but much more are those complex ideas so, which contain in them any inconsistency or contradiction of their parts.

CHAPTER XXXI. OF ADEQUATE AND INADEQUATE IDEAS.

1. Adequate Ideas are such as perfectly represent their Archetypes.

Of our real ideas, some are adequate, and some are inadequate. Those I call ADEQUATE, which perfectly represent those archetypes which the mind supposes them taken from: which it intends them to stand for, and to which it refers them. INADEQUATE IDEAS are such, which are but a partial or incomplete representation of those archetypes to which they are referred. Upon which account it is plain,

2. Adequate Ideas are such as perfectly represent their Archetypes. Simple Ideas all adequate.

First, that ALL OUR SIMPLE IDEAS ARE ADEQUATE. Because, being nothing but the effects of certain powers in things, fitted and ordained by God to produce such sensations in us, they cannot but be correspondent and adequate to those powers: and we are sure they agree to the reality of things. For, if sugar produce in us the ideas which we call whiteness and sweetness, we are sure there is a power in sugar to produce those ideas in our minds, or else they could not have been produced by it. And so each sensation answering the power that operates on any of our senses, the idea so produced is a real idea, (and not a fiction of the mind, which has no power to produce any simple idea); and cannot but be adequate, since it ought only to answer that power: and so all simple ideas are adequate. It is true, the things producing in us these simple ideas are but few of them denominated by us, as if they were only the CAUSES of them; but as if those ideas were real beings IN them. For, though fire be called painful to the touch, whereby is signified the power of producing in us the idea of pain, yet it is denominated also light and hot; as if light and heat were really something in the fire, more than a power to excite these ideas in us; and therefore are called qualities in or of the fire. But these being nothing, in truth, but powers to excite such ideas in us, I must in that sense be understood, when I speak of secondary qualities as being in things; or of their ideas as being the objects that excite them in us. Such ways of speaking, though accommodated to the vulgar notions, without which one cannot be well understood, yet truly signify nothing but those powers which are in things to excite certain sensations or ideas in us. Since were there no fit organs to receive the impressions fire makes on the sight and touch, nor a mind joined to those organs to receive the ideas of light and heat by those impressions from the fire or sun, there would yet be no more light or heat in the world than there would be pain if there were no sensible creature to feel it, though the sun should continue just as it is now, and Mount AEtna flame higher than ever it did. Solidity and extension, and the termination of it, figure, with motion and rest, whereof we have the ideas, would be really in the world as they are, whether there were any sensible being to perceive them or no: and therefore we have reason to look on those as the real modifications of matter, and such as are the exciting causes of all our various sensations from bodies. But this being an inquiry not belonging to this place, I shall enter no further into it, but proceed to show what complex ideas are adequate, and what not.

3. Modes are all adequate.

Secondly, OUR COMPLEX IDEAS OF MODES, being voluntary collections of simple ideas, which the mind puts together, without reference to any real archetypes, or standing patterns, existing anywhere, are and cannot but be ADEQUATE IDEAS. Because they, not being intended for copies of things really existing, but for archetypes made by the mind, to rank and denominate things by, cannot want anything; they having each of them that combination of ideas, and thereby that perfection, which the mind intended they should: so that the mind acquiesces in them, and can find nothing wanting. Thus, by having the idea of a figure with three sides meeting at three angles, I have a complete idea, wherein I require nothing else to make it perfect. That the mind is satisfied with the perfection of this its idea is plain, in that it does not conceive that any understanding hath, or can have, a more complete or perfect idea of that thing it signifies by the word triangle, supposing it to exist, than itself has, in that complex idea of three sides and three angles, in which is contained all that is or can be essential to it, or necessary to complete it, wherever or however it exists. But in our IDEAS OF SUBSTANCES it is otherwise. For there, desiring to copy things as they really do exist, and to represent to ourselves that constitution on which all their properties depend, we perceive our ideas attain not that perfection we intend: we find they still want something we should be glad were in them; and so are all inadequate. But MIXED MODES and RELATIONS, being archetypes without patterns, and so having nothing to represent but themselves, cannot but be adequate, everything being so to itself. He that at first put together the idea of danger perceived, absence of disorder from fear, sedate consideration of what was justly to be done, and executing that without disturbance, or being deterred by the danger of it, had certainly in his mind that complex idea made up of that combination: and intending it to be nothing else but what is, nor to have in it any other simple ideas but what it hath, it could not also but be an adequate idea: and laying this up in his memory, with the name COURAGE annexed to it, to signify to others, and denominate from thence any action he should observe to agree with it, had thereby a standard to measure and denominate actions by, as they agreed to it. This idea, thus made and laid up for a pattern, must necessarily be adequate, being referred to nothing else but itself, nor made by any other original but the good liking and will of him that first made this combination.

4. Modes, in reference to settled Names, may be inadequate.

Indeed another coming after, and in conversation learning from him the word COURAGE, may make an idea, to which he gives the name courage, different from what the first author applied it to, and has in his mind when he uses it. And in this case, if he designs that his idea in thinking should be conformable to the other’s idea, as the name he uses in speaking is conformable in sound to his from whom he learned it, his idea may be very wrong and inadequate: because in this case, making the other man’s idea the pattern of his idea in thinking, as the other man’s word or sound is the pattern of his in speaking, his idea is so far defective and inadequate, as it is distant from the archetype and pattern he refers it to, and intends to express and signify by the name he uses for it; which name he would have to be a sign of the other man’s idea, (to which, in its proper use, it is primarily annexed,) and of his own, as agreeing to it: to which if his own does not exactly correspond, it is faulty and inadequate.

5. Because then means, in propriety of speech, to correspond to the ideas in some other mind.

Therefore these complex ideas of MODES, which they are referred by the mind, and intended to correspond to the ideas in the mind of some other intelligent being, expressed by the names we apply to them, they may be very deficient, wrong, and inadequate; because they agree not to that which the mind designs to be their archetype and pattern: in which respect only any idea of modes can be wrong, imperfect, or inadequate. And on this account our ideas of mixed modes are the most liable to be faulty of any other; but this refers more to proper speaking than knowing right.

6. Ideas of Substances, as referred to real Essences, not adequate.

Thirdly, what IDEAS WE HAVE OF SUBSTANCES, I have above shown. Now, those ideas have in the mind a double reference: 1. Sometimes they are referred to a supposed real essence of each species of things. 2. Sometimes they are only designed to be pictures and representations in the mind of things that do exist, by ideas of those qualities that are discoverable in them. In both which ways these copies of those originals and archetypes are imperfect and inadequate.

First, it is usual for men to make the names of substances stand for things as supposed to have certain real essences, whereby they are of this or that species: and names standing for nothing but the ideas that are in men’s minds, they must constantly refer their ideas to such real essences, as to their archetypes. That men (especially such as have been bred up in the learning taught in this part of the world) do suppose certain specific essences of substances, which each individual in its several kinds is made conformable to and partakes of, is so far from needing proof that it will be thought strange if any one should do otherwise. And thus they ordinarily apply the specific names they rank particular substances under, to things as distinguished by such specific real essences. Who is there almost, who would not take it amiss if it should be doubted whether he called himself a man, with any other meaning than as having the real essence of a man? And yet if you demand what those real essences are, it is plain men are ignorant, and know them not. From whence it follows, that the ideas they have in their minds, being referred to real essences, as to archetypes which are unknown, must be so far from being adequate that they cannot be supposed to be any representation of them at all. The complex ideas we have of substances are, as it has been shown, certain collections of simple ideas that have been observed or supposed constantly to exist together. But such a complex idea cannot be the real essence of any substance; for then the properties we discover in that body would depend on that complex idea, and be deducible from it, and their necessary connexion with it be known; as all properties of a triangle depend on, and, as far as they are discoverable, are deducible from the complex idea of three lines including a space. But it is plain that in our complex ideas of substances are not contained such ideas, on which all the other qualities that are to be found in them do depend. The common idea men have of iron is, a body of a certain colour, weight, and hardness; and a property that they look on as belonging to it, is malleableness. But yet this property has no necessary connexion with that complex idea, or any part of it: and there is no more reason to think that malleableness depends on that colour, weight, and hardness, than that colour or that weight depends on its malleableness. And yet, though we know nothing of these real essences, there is nothing more ordinary than that men should attribute the sorts of things to such essences. The particular parcel of matter which makes the ring I have on my finger is forwardly by most men supposed to have a real essence, whereby it is gold; and from whence those qualities flow which I find in it, viz. its peculiar colour, weight, hardness, fusibility, fixedness, and change of colour upon a slight touch of mercury, &c. This essence, from which all these properties flow, when I inquire into it and search after it, I plainly perceive I cannot discover: the furthest I can go is, only to presume that, it being nothing but body, its real essence or internal constitution, on which these qualities depend, can be nothing but the figure, size, and connexion of its solid parts; of neither of which having any distinct perception at all can I have any idea of its essence: which is the cause that it has that particular shining yellowness; a greater weight than anything I know of the same bulk; and a fitness to have its colour changed by the touch of quicksilver. If any one will say, that the real essence and internal constitution, on which these properties depend, is not the figure, size, and arrangement or connexion of its solid parts, but something else, called its particular FORM, I am further from having any idea of its real essence than I was before. For I have an idea of figure, size, and situation of solid parts in general, though I have none of the particular figure, size, or putting together of parts, whereby the qualities above mentioned are produced; which qualities I find in that particular parcel of matter that is on my finger, and not in another parcel of matter, with which I cut the pen I write with. But, when I am told that something besides the figure, size, and posture of the solid parts of that body in its essence, something called SUBSTANTIAL FORM, of that I confess I have no idea at all, but only of the sound form; which is far enough from an idea of its real essence or constitution. The like ignorance as I have of the real essence of this particular substance, I have also of the real essence of all other natural ones: of which essences I confess I have no distinct ideas at all; and, I am apt to suppose, others, when they examine their own knowledge, will find in themselves, in this one point, the same sort of ignorance.

7. Because men know not the real essence of substances.

Now, then, when men apply to this particular parcel of matter on my finger a general name already in use, and denominate it GOLD, do they not ordinarily, or are they not understood to give it that name, as belonging to a particular species of bodies, having a real internal essence; by having of which essence this particular substance comes to be of that species, and to be called by that name? If it be so, as it is plain it is, the name by which things are marked as having that essence must be referred primarily to that essence; and consequently the idea to which that name is given must be referred also to that essence, and be intended to represent it. Which essence, since they who so use the names know not, their ideas of substances must be all inadequate in that respect, as not containing in them that real essence which the mind intends they should.

8. Ideas of Substances, when regarded as Collections of their Qualities, are all inadequate.

Secondly, those who, neglecting that useless supposition of unknown real essences, whereby they are distinguished, endeavour to copy the substances that exist in the world, by putting together the ideas of those sensible qualities which are found co-existing in them, though they come much nearer a likeness of them than those who imagine they know not what real specific essences: yet they arrive not at perfectly adequate ideas of those substances they would thus copy into their minds: nor do those copies exactly and fully contain all that is to be found in their archetypes. Because those qualities and powers of substances, whereof we make their complex ideas, are so many and various, that no man’s complex idea contains them all. That our complex ideas of substances do not contain in them ALL the simple ideas that are united in the things themselves is evident, in that men do rarely put into their complex idea of any substance all the simple ideas they do know to exist in it. Because, endeavouring to make the signification of their names as clear and as little cumbersome as they can, they make their specific ideas of the sorts of substance, for the most part, of a few of those simple ideas which are to be found in them: but these having no original precedency, or right to be put in, and make the specific idea, more than others that are left out, it is plain that both these ways our ideas of substances are deficient and inadequate. The simple ideas whereof we make our complex ones of substances are all of them (bating only the figure and bulk of some sorts) powers; which being relations to other substances, we can never be sure that we know ALL the powers that are in any one body, till we have tried what changes it is fitted to give to or receive from other substances in their several ways of application: which being impossible to be tried upon any one body, much less upon all, it is impossible we should have adequate ideas of any substance made up of a collection of all its properties.

9. Their powers usually make up our complex ideas of substances.

Whosoever first lighted on a parcel of that sort of substance we denote by the word GOLD, could not rationally take the bulk and figure he observed in that lump to depend on its real essence, or internal constitution. Therefore those never went into his idea of that species of body; but its peculiar colour, perhaps, and weight, were the first he abstracted from it, to make the complex idea of that species. Which both are but powers; the one to affect our eyes after such a manner, and to produce in us that idea we call yellow; and the other to force upwards any other body of equal bulk, they being put into a pair of equal scales, one against another. Another perhaps added to these the ideas of fusibility and fixedness, two other passive powers, in relation to the operation of fire upon it; another, its ductility and solubility in aqua regia, two other powers, relating to the operation of other bodies, in changing its outward figure, or separation of it into insensible parts. These, or parts of these, put together, usually make the complex idea in men’s minds of that sort of body we call GOLD.

10. Substances have innumerable powers not contained in our complex ideas of them.

But no one who hath considered the properties of bodies in general, or this sort in particular, can doubt that this, called GOLD, has infinite other properties not contained in that complex idea. Some who have examined this species more accurately could, I believe, enumerate ten times as many properties in gold, all of them as inseparable from its internal constitution, as its colour or weight: and it is probable, if any one knew all the properties that are by divers men known of this metal, there would be an hundred times as many ideas go to the complex idea of gold as any one man yet has in his; and yet perhaps that not be the thousandth part of what is to be discovered in it. The changes that that one body is apt to receive, and make in other bodies, upon a due application, exceeding far not only what we know, but what we are apt to imagine. Which will not appear so much a paradox to any one who will but consider how far men are yet from knowing all the properties of that one, no very compound figure, a triangle; though it be no small number that are already by mathematicians discovered of it.

11. Ideas of Substances, being got only by collecting their qualities, are all inadequate.

So that all our complex ideas of substances are imperfect and inadequate. Which would be so also in mathematical figures, if we were to have our complex ideas of them, only by collecting their properties in reference to other figures. How uncertain and imperfect would our ideas be of an ellipsis, if we had no other idea of it, but some few of its properties? Whereas, having in our plain idea the WHOLE essence of that figure, we from thence discover those properties, and demonstratively see how they flow, and are inseparable from it.

12. Simple Ideas, [word in Greek], and adequate.

Thus the mind has three sorts of abstract ideas or nominal essences:

First, SIMPLE ideas, which are [word in Greek] or copies; but yet certainly adequate. Because, being intended to express nothing but the power in things to produce in the mind such a sensation, that sensation, when it is produced, cannot but be the effect of that power. So the paper I write on, having the power in the light (I speak according to the common notion of light) to produce in men the sensation which I call white, it cannot but be the effect of such a power in something without the mind; since the mind has not the power to produce any such idea in itself: and being meant for nothing else but the effect of such a power that simple idea is [ words missing] the sensation of white, in my mind, being the effect of that power which is in the paper to produce it, is perfectly adequate to that power; or else that power would produce a different idea.

13. Ideas of Substances are Echthypa, and inadequate.

Secondly, the COMPLEX ideas of SUBSTANCES are ectypes, copies too; but not perfect ones, not adequate: which is very evident to the mind, in that it plainly perceives, that whatever collection of simple ideas it makes of any substance that exists, it cannot be sure that it exactly answers all that are in that substance. Since, not having tried all the operations of all other substances upon it, and found all the alterations it would receive from, or cause in, other substances, it cannot have an exact adequate collection of all its active and passive capacities; and so not have an adequate complex idea of the powers of any substance existing, and its relations; which is that sort of complex idea of substances we have. And, after all, if we would have, and actually had, in our complex idea, an exact collection of all the secondary qualities or powers of any substance, we should not yet thereby have an idea of the ESSENCE of that thing. For, since the powers or qualities that are observable by us are not the real essence of that substance, but depend on it, and flow from it, any collection whatsoever of these qualities cannot be the real essence of that thing. Whereby it is plain, that our ideas of substances are not adequate; are not what the mind intends them to be. Besides, a man has no idea of substance in general, nor knows what substance is in itself.

14. Ideas of Modes and Relations are Archetypes, and cannot be adequate.

Thirdly, COMPLEX ideas of MODES AND RELATIONS are originals, and archetypes; are not copies, nor made after the pattern of any real existence, to which the mind intends them to be conformable, and exactly to answer. These being such collections of simple ideas that the mind itself puts together, and such collections that each of them contains in it precisely all that the mind intends that it should, they are archetypes and essences of modes that may exist; and so are designed only for, and beling only to such modes as, when they do exist, have an exact conformity with those complex ideas The ideas, therefore, of modes and relations cannot but be adequate.

CHAPTER XXXII. OF TRUE AND FALSE IDEAS.

1. Truth and Falsehood properly belong to Propositions, not to Ideas.

Though truth and falsehood belong, in propriety of speech, only to PROPOSITIONS: yet IDEAS are oftentimes termed true or false (as what words are there that are not used with great latitude, and with some deviation from their strict and proper significations?) Though I think that when ideas themselves are termed true or false, there is still some secret or tacit proposition, which is the foundation of that denomination: as we shall see, if we examine the particular occasions wherein they come to be called true or false. In all which we shall find some kind of affirmation or negation, which is the reason of that denomination. For our ideas, being nothing but bare APPEARANCES, or perceptions in our minds, cannot properly and simply in themselves be said to be true or false, no more than a single name of anything can be said to be true or false.

2. Ideas and words may be said to be true, inasmuch as they really are ideas and words.

Indeed both ideas and words may be said to be true, in a metaphysical sense of the word truth; as all other things that any way exist are said to be true, i.e. really to be such as they exist. Though in things called true, even in that sense, there is perhaps a secret reference to our ideas, looked upon as the standards of that truth; which amounts to a mental proposition, though it be usually not taken notice of.

3. No Idea, as an Appearance in the Mind, either true or false.

But it is not in that metaphysical sense of truth which we inquire here, when we examine, whether our ideas are capable of being true or false, but in the more ordinary acceptation of those words: and so I say that the ideas in our minds, being only so many perceptions or appearances there, none of them are false; the idea of a centaur having no more falsehood in it when it appears in our minds, than the name centaur has falsehood in it, when it is pronounced by our mouths, or written on paper. For truth or falsehood lying always in some affirmation or negation, mental or verbal, our ideas are not capable, any of them, of being false, till the mind passes some judgment on them; that is, affirms or denies something of them.

4. Ideas referred to anything extraneous to them may be true or false.

Whenever the mind refers any of its ideas to anything extraneous to them, they are then capable to be called true or false. Because the mind, in such a reference, makes a tacit supposition of their conformity to that thing; which supposition, as it happens to be true or false, so the ideas themselves come to be denominated. The most usual cases wherein this happens, are these following:

5. Other Men’s Ideas; real Existence; and supposed real Essences, are what Men usually refer their Ideas to.

First, when the mind supposes any idea it has CONFORMABLE to that in OTHER MEN’S MINDS, called by the same common name; v.g. when the mind intends or judges its ideas of justice, temperance, religion, to be the same with what other men give those names to.

Secondly, when the mind supposes any idea it has in itself to be CONFORMABLE to some REAL EXISTENCE. Thus the two ideas of a man and a centaur, supposed to be the ideas of real substances, are the one true and the other false; the one having a conformity to what has really existed, the other not. Thirdly, when the mind REFERS any of its ideas to that REAL constitution and ESSENCE of anything, whereon all its properties depend: and thus the greatest part, if not all our ideas of substances, are false.

6. The cause of such Reference.

These suppositions the mind is very apt tacitly to make concerning its own ideas. But yet, if we will examine it, we shall find it is chiefly, if not only, concerning its ABSTRACT complex ideas. For the natural tendency of the mind being towards knowledge; and finding that, if it should proceed by and dwell upon only particular things, its progress would be very slow, and its work endless; therefore, to shorten its way to knowledge, and make each perception more comprehensive, the first thing it does, as the foundation of the easier enlarging its knowledge, either by contemplation of the things themselves that it would know, or conference with others about them, is to bind them into bundles, and rank them so into sorts, that what knowledge it gets of any of them it may thereby with assurance extend to all of that sort; and so advance by larger steps in that which is its great business, knowledge. This, as I have elsewhere shown, is the reason why we collect things under comprehensive ideas, with names annexed to them, into genera and species; i.e. into kinds and sorts.

7. Names of things supposed to carry in them knowledge of their essences.

If therefore we will warily attend to the motions of the mind, and observe what course it usually takes in its way to knowledge, we shall I think find, that the mind having got an idea which it thinks it may have use of either in contemplation or discourse, the first thing it does is to abstract it, and then get a name to it; ans so lay it up in its storehouse, the memory, as containing the essence of a sort of things, of which that name is always to be the mark. Hence it is, that we may often observe that, when any one sees a new thing of a kind that he knows not, he presently asks, what it is; meaning by that inquiry nothing but the name. As if the name carried with it the knowledge of the species, or the essence of it; whereof it is indeed used as the mark, and is generally supposed annexed to it.

8. How men suppose that their ideas must correspond to things, and to the customary meanings of names.

But this ABSTRACT IDEA, being something in the mind, between the thing that exists, and the name that is given to it; it is in our ideas that both the rightness of our knowledge, and the propriety and intelligibleness of our speaking, consists. And hence it is that men are so forward to suppose, that the abstract ideas they have in their minds are such as agree to the things existing without them, to which they are referred; and are the same also to which the names they give them do by the use and propriety of that language belong. For without this double conformity of their ideas, they find they should both think amiss of things in themselves, and talk of them unintelligibly to others.

9. Simple Ideas may be false, in reference to others of the same Name, but are least liable to be so.

First, then, I say, that when the truth of our ideas is judged of by the conformity they have to the ideas which other men have, and commonly signify by the same name, they may be any of them false. But yet SIMPLE IDEAS are least of all liable to be so mistaken. Because a man, by his senses and every day’s observation, may easily satisfy himself what the simple ideas are which their several names that are in common use stand for; they being but few in number, and such as, if he doubts or mistakes in, he may easily rectify by the objects they are to be found in. Therefore it is seldom that any one mistakes in his names of simple ideas, or applies the name red to the idea green, or the name sweet to the idea bitter: much less are men apt to confound the names of ideas belonging to different senses, and call a colour by the name of a taste, &c. Whereby it is evident that the simple ideas they call by any name are commonly the same that others have and mean when they use the same names.

10. Ideas of mixed Modes most liable to be false in this Sense.

Complex ideas are much more liable to be false in this respect; and the complex ideas of MIXED MODES, much more than those of substances; because in substances (especially those which the common and unborrowed names of any language are applied to) some remarkable sensible qualities, serving ordinarily to distinguish one sort from another, easily preserve those who take any care in the use of their words, from applying them to sorts of substances to which they do not at all belong. But in mixed modes we are much more uncertain; it being not so easy to determine of several actions, whether they are to be called JUSTICE or CRUELTY, LIBERALITY or PRODIGALITY. And so in referring our ideas to those of other men, called by the same names, ours may be false; and the idea in our minds, which we express by the word JUSTICE, may perhaps be that which ought to have another name.

11. Or at least to be thought false.

But whether or no our ideas of mixed modes are more liable than any sort to be different from those of other men, which are marked by the same names, this at least is certain. That this sort of falsehood is much more familiarly attributed to our ideas of mixed modes than to any other. When a man is thought to have a false idea of JUSTICE, or GRATITUDE, or GLORY, it is for no other reason, but that his agrees not with the ideas which each of those names are the signs of in other men.

12. And why.

The reason whereof seems to me to be this: That the abstract ideas of mixed modes, being men’s voluntary combinations of such a precise collection of simple ideas, and so the essence of each species being made by men alone, whereof we have no other sensible standard existing anywhere but the name itself, or the definition of that name; we having nothing else to refer these our ideas of mixed modes to, as a standard to which we would conform them, but the ideas of those who are thought to use those names in their most proper significations; and, so as our ideas conform or differ from THEM, they pass for true or false. And thus much concerning the truth and falsehood of our ideas, in reference to their names.

13. As referred to Real Existence, none of our Ideas can be false but those of Substances.

Secondly, as to the truth and falsehood of our ideas, in reference to the real existence of things. When that is made the standard of their truth, none of them can be termed false but only our complex ideas of substances.

14. First, Simple Ideas in this Sense not false and why.

First, our simple ideas, being barely such perceptions as God has fitted us to receive, and given power to external objects to produce in us by established laws and ways, suitable to his wisdom and goodness, though incomprehensible to us, their truth consists in nothing else but in such appearances as are produced in us, and must be suitable to those powers he has placed in external objects or else they could not be produced in us: and thus answering those powers, they are what they should be, true ideas. Nor do they become liable to any imputation of falsehood, if the mind (as in most men I believe it does) judges these ideas to be in the things themselves. For God in his wisdom having set them as marks of distinction in things, whereby we may be able to discern one thing from another, and so choose any of them for our uses as we have occasion; it alters not the nature of our simple idea, whether we think that the idea of blue be in the violet itself, or in our mind only; and only the power of producing it by the texture of its parts, reflecting the particles of light after a certain manner, to be in the violet itself. For that texture in the object, by a regular and constant operation producing the same idea of blue in us, it serves us to distinguish, by our eyes, that from any other thing; whether that distinguishing mark, as it is really in the violet, be only a peculiar texture of parts, or else that very colour, the idea whereof (which is in us) is the exact resemblance. And it is equally from that appearance to be denominated blue, whether it be that real colour, or only a peculiar texture in it, that causes in us that idea: since the name, BLUE, notes properly nothing but that mark of distinction that is in a violet, discernible only by our eyes, whatever it consists in; that being beyond our capacities distinctly to know, and perhaps would be of less use to us, if we had faculties to discern.

15. Though one Man’s Idea of Blue should be different from another’s.

Neither would it carry any imputation of falsehood to our simple ideas, if by the different structure of our organs it were so ordered, that THE SAME OBJECT SHOULD PRODUCE IN SEVERAL MEN’S MINDS DIFFERENT IDEAS at the same time; v.g. if the idea that a violet produced in one man’s mind by his eyes were the same that a marigold produced in another man’s, and vice versa. For, since this could never be known, because one man’s mind could not pass into another man’s body, to perceive what appearances were produced by those organs; neither the ideas hereby, nor the names, would be at all confounded, or any falsehood be in either. For all things that had the texture of a violet, producing constantly the idea that he called blue, and those which had the texture of a marigold, producing constantly the idea which he as constantly called yellow, whatever those appearances were in his mind; he would be able as regularly to distinguish things for his use by those appearances, and understand and signify those distinctions marked by the name blue and yellow, as if the appearances or ideas in his mind received from those two flowers were exactly the same with the ideas in other men’s minds. I am nevertheless very apt to think that the sensible ideas produced by any object in different men’s minds, are most commonly very near and undiscernibly alike. For which opinion, I think, there might be many reasons offered: but that being besides my present business, I shall not trouble my reader with them; but only mind him, that the contrary supposition, if it could be proved, is of little use, either for the improvement of our knowledge, or conveniency of life, and so we need not trouble ourselves to examine it.

16. Simple Ideas can none of them be false in respect of real existence.

From what has been said concerning our simple ideas, I think it evident that our simple ideas can none of them be false in respect of things existing without us. For the truth of these appearances or perceptions in our minds consisting, as has been said, only in their being answerable to the powers in external objects to produce by our senses such appearances in us, and each of them being in the mind such as it is, suitable to the power that produced it, and which alone it represents, it cannot upon that account, or as referred to such a pattern, be false. Blue and yellow, bitter or sweet, can never be false ideas: these perceptions in the mind are just such as they are there, answering the powers appointed by God to produce them; and so are truly what they are, and are intended to be. Indeed the names may be misapplied, but that in this respect makes no falsehood in the ideas; as if a man ignorant in the English tongue should call purple scarlet.

17. Secondly, Modes not false cannot be false in reference to essences of things.

Secondly, neither can our complex ideas of modes, in reference to the essence of anything really existing, be false; because whatever complex ideas I have of any mode, it hath no reference to any pattern existing, and made by nature; it is not supposed to contain in it any other ideas than what it hath; nor to represent anything but such a complication of ideas as it does. Thus, when I have the idea of such an action of a man who forbears to afford himself such meat, drink, and clothing, and other conveniences of life, as his riches and estate will be sufficient to supply and his station requires, I have no false idea; but such an one as represents an action, either as I find or imagine it, and so is capable of neither truth nor falsehood. But when I give the name FRUGALITY or VIRTUE to this action, then it may be called a false idea, if thereby it be supposed to agree with that idea to which, in propriety of speech, the name of frugality doth belong, or to be conformable to that law which is the standard of virtue and vice.

18. Thirdly, Ideas of Substances may be false in reference to existing things.

Thirdly, our complex ideas of substances, being all referred to patterns in things themselves, may be false. That they are all false, when looked upon as the representations of the unknown essences of things, is so evident that there needs nothing to be said of it. I shall therefore pass over that chimerical supposition, and consider them as collections of simple ideas in the mind, taken from combinations of simple ideas existing together constantly in things, of which patterns they are the supposed copies; and in this reference of them to the existence of things, they are false ideas: — (1) When they put together simple ideas, which in the real existence of things have no union; as when to the shape and size that exist together in a horse, is joined in the same complex idea the power of barking like a dog: which three ideas, however put together into one in the mind, were never united in nature; and this, therefore, may be called a false idea of a horse. (2) Ideas of substances are, in this respect, also false, when, from any collection of simple ideas that do always exist together, there is separated, by a direct negation, any other simple idea which is constantly joined with them. Thus, if to extension, solidity, fusibility, the peculiar weightiness, and yellow colour of gold, any one join in his thoughts the negation of a greater degree of fixedness than is in lead or copper, he may be said to have a false complex idea, as well as when he joins to those other simple ones the idea of perfect absolute fixedness. For either way, the complex idea of gold being made up of such simple ones as have no union in nature, may be termed false. But, if he leaves out of this his complex idea that of fixedness quite, without either actually joining to or separating it from the rest in his mind, it is, I think, to be looked on as an inadequate and imperfect idea, rather than a false one; since, though it contains not all the simple ideas that are united in nature, yet it puts none together but what do really exist together.

19. Truth or Falsehood always supposes Affirmation or Negation.

Though, in compliance with the ordinary way of speaking, I have shown in what sense and upon what ground our ideas may be sometimes called true or false; yet if we will look a little nearer into the matter, in all cases where any idea is called true or false, it is from some JUDGMENT that the mind makes, or is supposed to make, that is true or false. For truth or falsehood, being never without some affirmation or negation, express or tacit, it is not to be found but where signs are joined or separated, according to the agreement or disagreement of the things they stand for. The signs we chiefly use are either ideas or words; wherewith we make either mental or verbal propositions. Truth lies in so joining or separating these representatives, as the things they stand for do in themselves agree or disagree; and falsehood in the contrary, as shall be more fully shown hereafter.

20. Ideas in themselves neither true nor false.

Any idea, then, which we have in our minds, whether conformable or not to the existence of things, or to any idea in the minds of other men, cannot properly for this alone be called false. For these representations, if they have nothing in them but what is really existing in things without, cannot be thought false, being exact representations of something: nor yet if they have anything in them differing from the reality of things, can they properly be said to be false representations, or ideas of things they do not represent. But the mistake and falsehood is:

21. But are false — 1. When judged agreeable to another Man’s Idea, without being so.

First, when the mind having any idea, it JUDGES and concludes it the same that is in other men’s minds, signified by the same name; or that it is conformable to the ordinary received signification or definition of that word, when indeed it is not: which is the most usual mistake in mixed modes, though other ideas also are liable to it.

22. Secondly, When judged to agree to real Existence, when they do not.

(2) When it having a complex idea made up of such a collection of simple ones as nature never puts together, it JUDGES it to agree to a species of creatures really existing; as when it joins the weight of tin to the colour, fusibility, and fixedness of gold.

23. Thirdly, When judged adequate, without being so.

(3) When in its complex idea it has united a certain number of simple ideas that do really exist together in some sort of creatures, but has also left out others as much inseparable, it JUDGES this to be a perfect complete idea of a sort of things which really it is not; v.g. having joined the ideas of substance, yellow, malleable, most heavy, and fusible, it takes that complex idea to be the complete idea of gold, when yet its peculiar fixedness, and solubility in AQUA REGIA, are as inseparable from those other ideas, or qualities, of that body as they are one from another.

24. Fourthly, When judged to represent the real Essence.

(4) The mistake is yet greater, when I JUDGE that this complex idea contains in it the real essence of any body existing; when at least it contains but some few of those properties which flow from its real essence and constitution. I say only some few of those properties; for those properties consisting mostly in the active and passive powers it has in reference to other things, all that are vulgarly known of any one body, of which the complex idea of that kind of things is usually made, are but a very few, in comparison of what a man that has several ways tried and examined it knows of that one sort of things; and all that the most expert man knows are but a few, in comparison of what are really in that body, and depend on its internal or essential constitution. The essence of a triangle lies in a very little compass, consists in a very few ideas: three lines including a space make up that essence: but the properties that flow from this essence are more than can be easily known or enumerated. So I imagine it is in substances; their real essences lie in a little compass, though the properties flowing from that internal constitution are endless.

25. Ideas, when called false.

To conclude, a man having no notion of anything without him, but by the idea he has of it in his mind, (which idea he has a power to call by what name he pleases,) he may indeed make an idea neither answering the reason of things, nor agreeing to the idea commonly signified by other people’s words; but cannot make a wrong or false idea of a thing which is no otherwise known to him but by the idea he has of it: v.g. when I frame an idea of the legs, arms, and body of a man, and join to this a horse’s head and neck, I do not make a false idea of anything; because it represents nothing without me. But when I call it a MAN or TARTAR, and imagine it to represent some real being without me, or to be the same idea that others call by the same name; in either of these cases I may err. And upon this account it is that it comes to be termed a false idea; though indeed the falsehood lies not in the idea, but in that tacit mental proposition, wherein a conformity and resemblance is attributed to it which it has not. But yet, if, having framed such an idea in my mind, without thinking either that existence, or the name MAN or TARTAR, belongs to it, I will call it MAN or TARTAR, I may be justly thought fantastical in the naming; but not erroneous in my judgment; nor the idea any way false.

26. More properly to be called right or wrong.

Upon the whole matter, I think that our ideas, as they are considered by the mind, — either in reference to the proper signification of their names; or in reference to the reality of things, — may very fitly be called RIGHT or WRONG ideas, according as they agree or disagree to those patterns to which they are referred. But if any one had rather call them true or false, it is fit he use a liberty, which every one has, to call things by those names he thinks best; though, in propriety of speech, TRUTH or FALSEHOOD will, I think, scarce agree to them, but as they, some way or other, virtually contain in them some mental proposition. The ideas that are in a man’s mind, simply considered, cannot be wrong; unless complex ones, wherein inconsistent parts are jumbled together. All other ideas are in themselves right, and the knowledge about them right and true knowledge; but when we come to refer them to anything, as to their patterns and archetypes then they are capable of being wrong, as far as they disagree with such archetypes.

CHAPTER XXXIII. OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS.

1. Something unreasonable in most Men.

There is scarce any one that does not observe something that seems odd to him, and is in itself really extravagant, in the opinions, reasonings, and actions of other men. The least flaw of this kind, if at all different from his own, every one is quick-sighted enough to espy in another, and will by the authority of reason forwardly condemn; though he be guilty of much greater unreasonableness in his own tenets and conduct, which he never perceives, and will very hardly, if at all, be convinced of.

2. Not wholly from Self-love.

This proceeds not wholly from self-love, though that has often a great hand in it. Men of fair minds, and not given up to the overweening of self-flattery, are frequently guilty of it; and in many cases one with amazement hears the arguings, and is astonished at the obstinacy of a worthy man, who yields not to the evidence of reason, though laid before him as clear as daylight.

3. Not from Education.

This sort of unreasonableness is usually imputed to education and prejudice, and for the most part truly enough, though that reaches not the bottom of the disease, nor shows distinctly enough whence it rises, or wherein it lies. Education is often rightly assigned for the cause, and prejudice is a good general name for the thing itself: but yet, I think, he ought to look a little further, who would trace this sort of madness to the root it springs from, and so explain it, as to show whence this flaw has its original in very sober and rational minds, and wherein it consists.

4. A Degree of Madness found in most Men.

I shall be pardoned for calling it by so harsh a name as madness, when it is considered that opposition to reason deserves that name, and is really madness; and there is scarce a man so free from it, but that if he should always, on all occasions, argue or do as in some cases he constantly does, would not be thought fitter for Bedlam than civil conversation. I do not here mean when he is under the power of an unruly passion, but in the steady calm course of his life. That which will yet more apologize for this harsh name, and ungrateful imputation on the greatest part of mankind, is, that, inquiring a little by the bye into the nature of madness, (b. ii. ch. xi., Section 13,) I found it to spring from the very same root, and to depend on the very same cause we are here speaking of. This consideration of the thing itself, at a time when I thought not I the least on the subject which I am now treating of, suggested it to me. And if this be a weakness to which all men are so liable, if this be a taint which so universally infects mankind, the greater care should be taken to lay it open under its due name, thereby to excite the greater care in its prevention and cure.

5. From a wrong Connexion of Ideas.

Some of our ideas have a NATURAL correspondence and connexion one with another: it is the office and excellency of our reason to trace these, and hold them together in that union and correspondence which is founded in their peculiar beings. Besides this, there is another connexion of ideas wholly owing to CHANCE or CUSTOM. Ideas that in themselves are not all of kin, come to be so united in some men’s minds, that it is very hard to separate them; they always keep in company, and the one no sooner at any time comes into the understanding, but its associate appears with it; and if they are more than two which are thus united, the whole gang, always inseparable, show themselves together.

6. This Connexion made by custom.

This strong combination of ideas, not allied by nature, the mind makes in itself either voluntarily or by chance; and hence it comes in different men to be very different, according to their different inclinations, education, interests, &c. CUSTOM settles habits of thinking in the understanding, as well as of determining in the will, and of motions in the body: all which seems to be but trains of motions in the animal spirits, which, once set a going, continue in the same steps they have been used to; which, by often treading, are worn into a smooth path, and the motion in it becomes easy, and as it were natural. As far as we can comprehend thinking, thus ideas seem to be produced in our minds; or, if they are not, this may serve to explain their following one another in an habitual train, when once they are put into their track, as well as it does to explain such motions of the body. A musician used to any tune will find that, let it but once begin in his head, the ideas of the several notes of it will follow one another orderly in his understanding, without any care or attention, as regularly as his fingers move orderly over the keys of the organ to play out the tune he has begun, though his unattentive thoughts be elsewhere a wandering. Whether the natural cause of these ideas, as well as of that regular dancing of his fingers be the motion of his animal spirits, I will not determine, how probable soever, by this instance, it appears to be so: but this may help us a little to conceive of intellectual habits, and of the tying together of ideas.

7. Some Antipathies an Effect of it.

That there are such associations of them made by custom, in the minds of most men, I think nobody will question, who has well considered himself or others; and to this, perhaps, might be justly attributed most of the sympathies and antipathies observable in men, which work as strongly, and produce as regular effects as if they were natural; and are therefore called so, though they at first had no other original but the accidental connexion of two ideas, which either the strength of the first impression, or future indulgence so united, that they always afterwards kept company together in that man’s mind, as if they were but one idea. I say most of the antipathies, I do not say all; for some of them are truly natural, depend upon our original constitution, and are born with us; but a great part of those which are counted natural, would have been known to be from unheeded, though perhaps early, impressions, or wanton fancies at first, which would have been acknowledged the original of them, if they had been warily observed. A grown person surfeiting with honey no sooner hears the name of it, but his fancy immediately carries sickness and qualms to his stomach, and he cannot bear the very idea of it; other ideas of dislike, and sickness, and vomiting, presently accompany it, and he is disturbed; but he knows from whence to date this weakness, and can tell how he got this indisposition. Had this happened to him by an over-dose of honey when a child, all the same effects would have followed; but the cause would have been mistaken, and the antipathy counted natural.

8. Influence of association to be watched educating young children.

I mention this, not out of any great necessity there is in this present argument to distinguish nicely between natural and acquired antipathies; but I take notice of it for another purpose, viz. that those who have children, or the charge of their education, would think it worth their while diligently to watch, and carefully to prevent the undue connexion of ideas in the minds of young people. This is the time most susceptible of lasting impressions; and though those relating to the health of the body are by discreet people minded and fenced against, yet I am apt to doubt, that those which relate more peculiarly to the mind, and terminate in the understanding or passions, have been much less heeded than the thing deserves: nay, those relating purely to the understanding, have, as I suspect, been by most men wholly overlooked.

9. Wrong connexion of ideas a great Cause of Errors.

This wrong connexion in our minds of ideas in themselves loose and independent of one another, has such an influence, and is of so great force to set us awry in our actions, as well moral as natural, passions, reasonings, and notions themselves, that perhaps there is not any one thing that deserves more to be looked after.

10. As instance.

The ideas of goblins and sprites have really no more to do with darkness than light: yet let but a foolish maid inculcate these often on the mind of a child, and raise them there together, possibly he shall never be able to separate them again so long as he lives, but darkness shall ever afterwards bring with it those frightful ideas, and they shall be so joined, that he can no more bear the one than the other.

11. Another instance.

A man receives a sensible injury from another, thinks on the man and that action over and over, and by ruminating on them strongly, or much, in his mind, so cements those two ideas together, that he makes them almost one; never thinks on the man, but the pain and displeasure he suffered comes into his mind with it, so that he scarce distinguishes them, but has as much an aversion for the one as the other. Thus hatreds are often begotten from slight and innocent occasions, and quarrels propagated and continued in the world.

12. A third instance.

A man has suffered pain or sickness in any place; he saw his friend die in such a room: though these have in nature nothing to do one with another, yet when the idea of the place occurs to his mind, it brings (the impression being once made) that of the pain and displeasure with it: he confounds them in his mind, and can as little bear the one as the other.

13. Why Time cures some Disorders in the Mind, which Reason cannot cure.

When this combination is settled, and while it lasts, it is not in the power of reason to help us, and relieve us from the effects of it. Ideas in our minds, when they are there, will operate according to their natures and circumstances. And here we see the cause why time cures certain affections, which reason, though in the right, and allowed to be so, has not power over, nor is able against them to prevail with those who are apt to hearken to it in other cases. The death of a child that was the daily delight of its mother’s eyes, and joy of her soul, rends from her heart the whole comfort of her life, and gives her all the torment imaginable: use the consolations of reason in this case, and you were as good preach ease to one on the rack, and hope to allay, by rational discourses, the pain of his joints tearing asunder. Till time has by disuse separated the sense of that enjoyment and its loss, from the idea of the child returning to her memory, all representations, though ever so reasonable, are in vain; and therefore some in whom the union between these ideas is never dissolved, spend their lives in mourning, and carry an incurable sorrow to their graves.

14. Another instance of the Effect of the Association of Ideas.

A friend of mine knew one perfectly cured of madness by a very harsh and offensive operation. The gentleman who was thus recovered, with great sense of gratitude and acknowledgment owned the cure all his life after, as the greatest obligation he could have received; but, whatever gratitude and reason suggested to him, he could never bear the sight of the operator: that image brought back with it the idea of that agony which he suffered from his hands, which was too mighty and intolerable for him to endure.

15. More instances.

Many children, imputing the pain they endured at school to their books they were corrected for, so join those ideas together, that a book becomes their aversion, and they are never reconciled to the study and use of them all their lives after; and thus reading becomes a torment to them, which otherwise possibly they might have made the great pleasure of their lives. There are rooms convenient enough, that some men cannot study in, and fashions of vessels, which, though ever so clean and commodious, they cannot drink out of, and that by reason of some accidental ideas which are annexed to them, and make them offensive; and who is there that hath not observed some man to flag at the appearance, or in the company of some certain person not otherwise superior to him, but because, having once on some occasion got the ascendant, the idea of authority and distance goes along with that of the person, and he that has been thus subjected, is not able to separate them.

16. A curious instance.

Instances of this kind are so plentiful everywhere, that if I add one more, it is only for the pleasant oddness of it. It is of a young gentleman, who, having learnt to dance, and that to great perfection, there happened to stand an old trunk in the room where he learnt. The idea of this remarkable piece of household stuff had so mixed itself with the turns and steps of all his dances, that though in that chamber he could dance excellently well, yet it was only whilst that trunk was there; nor could he perform well in any other place, unless that or some such other trunk had its due position in the room. If this story shall be suspected to be dressed up with some comical circumstances, a little beyond precise nature, I answer for myself that I had it some years since from a very sober and worthy man, upon his own knowledge, as I report it; and I dare say there are very few inquisitive persons who read this, who have not met with accounts, if not examples, of this nature, that may parallel, or at least justify this.

17. Influence of Association on intellectual Habits.

Intellectual habits and defects this way contracted, are not less frequent and powerful, though less observed. Let the ideas of being and matter be strongly joined, either by education or much thought; whilst these are still combined in the mind, what notions, what reasonings, will there be about separate spirits? Let custom from the very childhood have joined figure and shape to the idea of God, and what absurdities will that mind be liable to about the Deity? Let the idea of infallibility be inseparably joined to any person, and these two constantly together possess the mind; and then one body in two places at once, shall unexamined be swallowed for a certain truth, by an implicit faith, whenever that imagined infallible person dictates and demands assent without inquiry.

18. Observable in the opposition between different Sects of philosophy and of religion.

Some such wrong and unnatural combinations of ideas will be found to establish the irreconcilable opposition between different sects of philosophy and religion; for we cannot imagine every one of their followers to impose wilfully on himself, and knowingly refuse truth offered by plain reason. Interest, though it does a great deal in the case, yet cannot be thought to work whole societies of men to so universal a perverseness, as that every one of them to a man should knowingly maintain falsehood: some at least must be allowed to do what all pretend to, i.e. to pursue truth sincerely; and therefore there must be something that blinds their understandings, and makes them not see the falsehood of what they embrace for real truth. That which thus captivates their reasons, and leads men of sincerity blindfold from common sense, will, when examined, be found to be what we are speaking of: some independent ideas, of no alliance to one another, are, by education, custom, and the constant din of their party, so coupled in their minds, that they always appear there together; and they can no more separate them in their thoughts than if they were but one idea, and they operate as if they were so. This gives sense to jargon, demonstration to absurdities, and consistency to nonsense, and is the foundation of the greatest, I had almost said of all the errors in the world; or, if it does not reach so far, it is at least the most dangerous one, since, so far as it obtains, it hinders men from seeing and examining. When two things, in themselves disjoined, appear to the sight constantly united; if the eye sees these things riveted which are loose, where will you begin to rectify the mistakes that follow in two ideas that they have been accustomed so to join in their minds as to substitute one for the other, and, as I am apt to think, often without perceiving it themselves? This, whilst they are under the deceit of it, makes them incapable of conviction, and they applaud themselves as zealous champions for truth, when indeed they are contending for error; and the confusion of two different ideas, which a customary connexion of them in their minds hath to them made in effect but one, fills their heads with false views, and their reasonings with false consequences.

19. Conclusion.

Having thus given an account of the original, sorts, and extent of our IDEAS, with several other considerations about these (I know not whether I may say) instruments, or materials of our knowledge, the method I at first proposed to myself would now require that I should immediately proceed to show, what use the understanding makes of them, and what KNOWLEDGE we have by them. This was that which, in the first general view I had of this subject, was all that I thought I should have to do: but, upon a nearer approach, I find that there is so close a connexion between ideas and WORDS, and our abstract ideas and general words have so constant a relation one to another, that it is impossible to speak clearly and distinctly of our knowledge, which all consists in propositions, without considering, first, the nature, use, and signification of Language; which, therefore, must be the business of the next Book.

BOOK III. OF WORDS

CHAPTER I. OF WORDS OR LANGUAGE IN GENERAL.

1. Man fitted to form articulated Sounds.

God, having designed man for a sociable creature, made him not only with an inclination, and under a necessity to have fellowship with those of his own kind, but furnished him also with language, which was to be the great instrument and common tie of society. Man, therefore, had by nature his organs so fashioned, as to be fit to frame articulate sounds, which we call words. But this was not enough to produce language; for parrots, and several other birds, will be taught to make articulate sounds distinct enough, which yet by no means are capable of language.

2. To use these sounds as Signs of Ideas.

Besides articulate sounds, therefore, it was further necessary that he should be able to use these sounds as signs of internal conceptions; and to make them stand as marks for the ideas within his own mind, whereby they might be made known to others, and the thoughts of men’s minds be conveyed from one to another.

3. To make them general Signs.

But neither was this sufficient to make words so useful as they ought to be. It is not enough for the perfection of language, that sounds can be made signs of ideas, unless those signs can be so made use of as to comprehend several particular things: for the multiplication of words would have perplexed their use, had every particular thing need of a distinct name to be signified by. [To remedy this inconvenience, language had yet a further improvement in the use of GENERAL TERMS, whereby one word was made to mark a multitude of particular existences: which advantageous use of sounds was obtained only by the difference of the ideas they were made signs of: those names becoming general, which are made to stand for GENERAL IDEAS, and those remaining particular, where the IDEAS they are used for are PARTICULAR.]

4. To make them signify the absence of positive Ideas.

Besides these names which stand for ideas, there be other words which men make use of, not to signify any idea, but the want or absence of some ideas, simple or complex, or all ideas together; such as are NIHIL in Latin, and in English, IGNORANCE and BARRENNESS. All which negative or privative words cannot be said properly to belong to, or signify no ideas: for then they would be perfectly insignificant sounds; but they relate to positive ideas, and signify their absence.

5. Words ultimately derived from such as signify sensible Ideas.

It may also lead us a little towards the original of all our notions and knowledge, if we remark how great a dependence our words have on common sensible ideas; and how those which are made use of to stand for actions and notions quite removed from sense, have their rise from thence, and from obvious sensible ideas are transferred to more abstruse significations, and made to stand for ideas that come not under the cognizance of our senses; v.g. to IMAGINE, APPREHEND, COMPREHEND, ADHERE, CONCEIVE, INSTIL, DISGUST, DISTURBANCE, TRANQUILLITY, &c., are all words taken from the operations of sensible things, and applied to certain modes of thinking. SPIRIT, in its primary signification, is breath; ANGEL, a messenger: and I doubt not but, if we could trace them to their sources, we should find, in all languages, the names which stand for things that fall not under our senses to have had their first rise from sensible ideas. By which we may give some kind of guess what kind of notions they were, and whence derived, which filled their minds who were the first beginners of languages, and how nature, even in the naming of things, unawares suggested to men the originals and principles of all their knowledge: whilst, to give names that might make known to others any operations they felt in themselves, or any other ideas that came not under their senses, they were fain to borrow words from ordinary known ideas of sensation, by that means to make others the more easily to conceive those operations they experimented in themselves, which made no outward sensible appearances; and then, when they had got known and agreed names to signify those internal operations of their own minds, they were sufficiently furnished to make known by words all their other ideas; since they could consist of nothing but either of outward sensible perceptions, or of the inward operations of their minds about them; we having, as has been proved, no ideas at all, but what originally come either from sensible objects without, or what we feel within ourselves, from the inward workings of our own spirits, of which we are conscious to ourselves within.

6. Distribution of subjects to be treated of.

But to understand better the use and force of Language, as subservient to instruction and knowledge, it will be convenient to consider:

First, TO WHAT IT IS THAT NAMES, IN THE USE OF LANGUAGE, ARE IMMEDIATELY
APPLIED.

Secondly, Since all (except proper) names are general, and so stand not particularly for this or that single thing, but for sorts and ranks of things, it will be necessary to consider, in the next place, what the sorts and kinds, or, if you rather like the Latin names, WHAT THE SPECIES AND GENERA OF THINGS ARE, WHEREIN THEY CONSIST, AND HOW THEY COME TO BE MADE. These being (as they ought) well looked into, we shall the better come to find the right use of words; the natural advantages and defects of language; and the remedies that ought to be used, to avoid the inconveniences of obscurity or uncertainty in the signification of words: without which it is impossible to discourse with any clearness or order concerning knowledge: which, being conversant about propositions, and those most commonly universal ones, has greater connexion with words than perhaps is suspected. These considerations, therefore, shall be the matter of the following chapters.

CHAPTER II. OF THE SIGNIFICATION OF WORDS.

1. Words are sensible Signs, necessary for Communication of Ideas.

Man, though he have great variety of thoughts, and such from which others as well as himself might receive profit and delight; yet they are all within his own breast, invisible and hidden from others, nor can of themselves be made to appear. The comfort and advantage of society not being to be had without communication of thoughts, it was necessary that man should find out some external sensible signs, whereof those invisible ideas, which his thoughts are made up of, might be made known to others. For this purpose nothing was so fit, either for plenty or quickness, as those articulate sounds, which with so much ease and variety he found himself able to make. Thus we may conceive how WORDS, which were by nature so well adapted to that purpose, came to be made use of by men as the signs of their ideas; not by any natural connexion that there is between particular articulate sounds and certain ideas, for then there would be but one language amongst all men; but by a voluntary imposition, whereby such a word is made arbitrarily the mark of such an idea. The use, then, of words, is to be sensible marks of ideas; and the ideas they stand for are their proper and immediate signification.

2. Words, in their immediate Signification, are the sensible Signs of his Ideas who uses them.

The use men have of these marks being either to record their own thoughts, for the assistance of their own memory; or, as it were, to bring out their ideas, and lay them before the view of others: words, in their primary or immediate signification, stand for nothing but THE IDEAS IN THE MIND OF HIM THAT USES THEM, how imperfectly soever or carelessly those ideas are collected from the things which they are supposed to represent. When a man speaks to another, it is that he may be understood: and the end of speech is, that those sounds, as marks, may make known his ideas to the hearer. That then which words are the marks of are the ideas of the speaker: nor can any one apply them as marks, immediately, to anything else but the ideas that he himself hath: for this would be to make them signs of his own conceptions, and yet apply them to other ideas; which would be to make them signs and not signs of his ideas at the same time; and so in effect to have no signification at all. Words being voluntary signs, they cannot be voluntary signs imposed by him on things he knows not. That would be to make them signs of nothing, sounds without signification. A man cannot make his words the signs either of qualities in things, or of conceptions in the mind of another, whereof he has none in his own. Till he has some ideas of his own, he cannot suppose them to correspond with the conceptions of another man; nor can he use any signs for them: for thus they would be the signs of he knows not what, which is in truth to be the signs of nothing. But when he represents to himself other men’s ideas by some of his own, if he consent to give them the same names that other men do, it is still to his own ideas; to ideas that he has, and not to ideas that he has not.

3. Examples of this.

This is so necessary in the use of language, that in this respect the knowing and the ignorant, the learned and the unlearned, use the words they speak (with any meaning) all alike. They, in every man’s mouth, stand for the ideas he has, and which he would express by them. A child having taken notice of nothing in the metal he hears called GOLD, but the bright shining yellow colour, he applies the word gold only to his own idea of that colour, and nothing else; and therefore calls the same colour in a peacock’s tail gold. Another that hath better observed, adds to shining yellow great weight: and then the sound gold, when he uses it, stands for a complex idea of a shining yellow and a very weighty substance. Another adds to those qualities fusibility: and then the word gold signifies to him a body, bright, yellow, fusible, and very heavy. Another adds malleability. Each of these uses equally the word gold, when they have occasion to express the idea which they have applied it to: but it is evident that each can apply it only to his own idea; nor can he make it stand as a sign of such a complex idea as he has not.

4. Words are often secretly referred, First to the Ideas supposed to be in other men’s minds.

But though words, as they are used by men, can properly and immediately signify nothing but the ideas that are in the mind of the speaker; yet they in their thoughts give them a secret reference to two other things.

First, THEY SUPPOSE THEIR WORDS TO BE MARKS OF THE IDEAS IN THE MINDS ALSO OF OTHER MEN, WITH WHOM THEY COMMUNICATE; for else they should talk in vain, and could not be understood, if the sounds they applied to one idea were such as by the hearer were applied to another, which is to speak two languages. But in this men stand not usually to examine, whether the idea they, and those they discourse with have in their minds be the same: but think it enough that they use the word, as they imagine, in the common acceptation of that language; in which they suppose that the idea they make it a sign of is precisely the same to which the understanding men of that country apply that name.

5. Secondly, to the Reality of Things.

Secondly, Because men would not be thought to talk barely of their own imagination, but of things as really they are; therefore they often suppose the WORDS TO STAND ALSO FOR THE REALITY OF THINGS. But this relating more particularly to substances and their names, as perhaps the former does to simple ideas and modes, we shall speak of these two different ways of applying words more at large, when we come to treat of the names of mixed modes and substances in particular: though give me leave here to say, that it is a perverting the use of words, and brings unavoidable obscurity and confusion into their signification, whenever we make them stand for anything but those ideas we have in our own minds.

6. Words by Use readily excite Ideas of their objects.

Concerning words, also, it is further to be considered:

First, that they being immediately the signs of men’s ideas, and by that means the instruments whereby men communicate their conceptions, and express to one another those thoughts and imaginations they have within their own breasts; there comes, by constant use, to be such a connexion between certain sounds and the ideas they stand for, that the names heard, almost as readily excite certain ideas as if the objects themselves, which are apt to produce them, did actually affect the senses. Which is manifestly so in all obvious sensible qualities, and in all substances that frequently and familiarly occur to us.

7. Words are often used without Signification, and Why.

Secondly, That though the proper and immediate signification of words are ideas in the mind of the speaker, yet, because by familiar use from our cradles, we come to learn certain articulate sounds very perfectly, and have them readily on our tongues, and always at hand in our memories, but yet are not always careful to examine or settle their significations perfectly; it often happens that men, even when they would apply themselves to an attentive consideration, do set their thoughts more on words than things. Nay, because words are many of them learned before the ideas are known for which they stand: therefore some, not only children but men, speak several words no otherwise than parrots do, only because they have learned them, and have been accustomed to those sounds. But so far as words are of use and signification, so far is there a constant connexion between the sound and the idea, and a designation that the one stands for the other; without which application of them, they are nothing but so much insignificant noise.

8. Their Signification perfectly arbitrary, not the consequence of a natural connexion.

Words, by long and familiar use, as has been said, come to excite in men certain ideas so constantly and readily, that they are apt to suppose a natural connexion between them. But that they signify only men’s peculiar ideas, and that BY A PERFECT ARBITRARY IMPOSITION, is evident, in that they often fail to excite in others (even that use the same language) the same ideas we take them to be signs of: and every man has so inviolable a liberty to make words stand for what ideas he pleases, that no one hath the power to make others have the same ideas in their minds that he has, when they use the same words that he does. And therefore the great Augustus himself, in the possession of that power which ruled the world, acknowledged he could not make a new Latin word: which was as much as to say, that he could not arbitrarily appoint what idea any sound should be a sign of, in the mouths and common language of his subjects. It is true, common use, by a tacit consent, appropriates certain sounds to certain ideas in all languages, which so far limits the signification of that sound, that unless a man applies it to the same idea, he does not speak properly: and let me add, that unless a man’s words excite the same ideas in the hearer which he makes them stand for in speaking, he does not speak intelligibly. But whatever be the consequence of any man’s using of words differently, either from their general meaning, or the particular sense of the person to whom he addresses them; this is certain, their signification, in his use of them, is limited to his ideas, and they can be signs of nothing else.

CHAPTER III. OF GENERAL TERMS.

1. The greatest Part of Words are general terms.

All things that exist being particulars, it may perhaps be thought reasonable that words, which ought to be conformed to things, should be so too, — I mean in their signification: but yet we find quite the contrary. The far greatest part of words that make all languages are general terms: which has not been the effect of neglect or chance, but of reason and necessity.

2. That every particular Thing should have a Name for itself is impossible.

First, It is impossible that every particular thing should have a distinct peculiar name. For, the signification and use of words depending on that connexion which the mind makes between its ideas and the sounds it uses as signs of them, it is necessary, in the application of names to things, that the mind should have distinct ideas of the things, and retain also the particular name that belongs to every one, with its peculiar appropriation to that idea. But it is beyond the power of human capacity to frame and retain distinct ideas of all the particular things we meet with: every bird and beast men saw; every tree and plant that affected the senses, could not find a place in the most capacious understanding. If it be looked on as an instance of a prodigious memory, that some generals have been able to call every soldier in their army by his proper name, we may easily find a reason why men have never attempted to give names to each sheep in their flock, or crow that flies over their heads; much less to call every leaf of plants, or grain of sand that came in their way, by a peculiar name.

3. And would be useless, if it were possible.

Secondly, If it were possible, it would yet be useless; because it would not serve to the chief end of language. Men would in vain heap up names of particular things, that would not serve them to communicate their thoughts. Men learn names, and use them in talk with others, only that they may be understood: which is then only done when, by use or consent, the sound I make by the organs of speech, excites in another man’s mind who hears it, the idea I apply it to in mine, when I speak it. This cannot be done by names applied to particular things; whereof I alone having the ideas in my mind, the names of them could not be significant or intelligible to another, who was not acquainted with all those very particular things which had fallen under my notice.

4. A distinct name for every particular thing not fitted for enlargement of knowledge.

Thirdly, But yet, granting this also feasible, (which I think is not,) yet a distinct name for every particular thing would not be of any great use for the improvement of knowledge: which, though founded in particular things, enlarges itself by general views; to which things reduced into sorts, under general names, are properly subservient. These, with the names belonging to them, come within some compass, and do not multiply every moment, beyond what either the mind can contain, or use requires. And therefore, in these, men have for the most part stopped: but yet not so as to hinder themselves from distinguishing particular things by appropriated names, where convenience demands it. And therefore in their own species, which they have most to do with, and wherein they have often occasion to mention particular persons, they make use of proper names; and there distinct individuals have distinct denominations.

5. What things have proper Names, and why.

Besides persons, countries also, cities, rivers, mountains, and other the like distinctions of lace have usually found peculiar names, and that for the same reason; they being such as men have often as occasion to mark particularly, and, as it were, set before others in their discourses with them. And I doubt not but, if we had reason to mention particular horses as often as as have reason to mention particular men, we should have proper names for the one, as familiar as for the other, and Bucephalus would be a word as much in use as Alexander. And therefore we see that, amongst jockeys, horses have their proper names to be known and distinguished by, as commonly as their servants: because, amongst them, there is often occasion to mention this or that particular horse when he is out of sight.

6. How general Words are made.

The next thing to be considered is, — How general words come to be made. For, since all things that exist are only particulars, how come we by general terms; or where find we those general natures they are supposed to stand for? Words become general by being made the signs of general ideas: and ideas become general, by separating from them the circumstances of time and place, and any other ideas that may determine them to this or that particular existence. By this way of abstraction they are made capable of representing more individuals than one; each of which having in it a conformity to that abstract idea, is (as we call it) of that sort.

7. Shown by the way we enlarge our complex ideas from infancy.

But, to deduce this a little more distinctly, it will not perhaps be amiss to trace our notions and names from their beginning, and observe by what degrees we proceed, and by what steps we enlarge our ideas from our first infancy. There is nothing more evident, than that the ideas of the persons children converse with (to instance in them alone) are, like the persons themselves, only particular. The ideas of the nurse and the mother are well framed in their minds; and, like pictures of them there, represent only those individuals. The names they first gave to them are confined to these individuals; and the names of NURSE and MAMMA, the child uses, determine themselves to those persons. Afterwards, when time and a larger acquaintance have made them observe that there are a great many other things in the world, that in some common agreements of shape, and several other qualities, resemble their father and mother, and those persons they have been used to, they frame an idea, which they find those many particulars do partake in; and to that they give, with others, the name MAN, for example. And thus they come to have a general name, and a general idea. Wherein they make nothing new; but only leave out of the complex idea they had of Peter and James, Mary and Jane, that which is peculiar to each, and retain only what is common to them all.

8. And further enlarge our complex ideas, by still leaving out properties contained in them.

By the same way that they come by the general name and idea of MAN, they easily advance to more general names and notions. For, observing that several things that differ from their idea of man, and cannot therefore be comprehended out under that name, have yet certain qualities wherein they agree with man, by retaining only those qualities, and uniting them into one idea, they have again another and more general idea; to which having given a name they make a term of a more comprehensive extension: which new idea is made, not by any new addition, but only as before, by leaving out the shape, and some other properties signified by the name man, and retaining only a body, with life, sense, and spontaneous motion, comprehended under the name animal.

9. General natures are nothing but abstract and partial ideas of more complex ones.

That this is the way whereby men first formed general ideas, and general names to them, I think is so evident, that there needs no other proof of it but the considering of a man’s self, or others, and the ordinary proceedings of their minds in knowledge. And he that thinks GENERAL NATURES or NOTIONS are anything else but such abstract and partial ideas of more complex ones, taken at first from particular existences, will, I fear, be at a loss where to find them. For let any one effect, and then tell me, wherein does his idea of MAN differ from that of PETER and PAUL, or his idea of HORSE from that of BUCEPHALUS, but in the leaving out something that is peculiar to each individual, and retaining so much of those particular complex ideas of several particular existences as they are found to agree in? Of the complex ideas signified by the names MAN and HORSE, leaving out but those particulars wherein they differ, and retaining only those wherein they agree, and of those making a new distinct complex idea, and giving the name ANIMAL to it, one has a more general term, that comprehends with man several other creatures. Leave out of the idea of ANIMAL, sense and spontaneous motion, and the remaining complex idea, made up of the remaining simple ones of body, life, and nourishment, becomes a more general one, under the more comprehensive term, VIVENS. And, not to dwell longer upon this particular, so evident in itself; by the same way the mind proceeds to BODY, SUBSTANCE, and at last to BEING, THING, and such universal terms, which stand for any of our ideas whatsoever. To conclude: this whole mystery of genera and species, which make such a noise in the schools, and are with justice so little regarded out of them, is nothing else but ABSTRACT IDEAS, more or less comprehensive, with names annexed to them. In all which this is constant and unvariable, That every more general term stands for such an idea, and is but a part of any of those contained under it.

10. Why the Genus is ordinarily made Use of in Definitions.

This may show us the reason why, in the defining of words, which is nothing but declaring their signification, we make use of the GENUS, or next general word that comprehends it. Which is not out of necessity, but only to save the labour of enumerating the several simple ideas which the next general word or GENUS stands for; or, perhaps, sometimes the shame of not being able to do it. But though defining by GENUS and DIFFERENTIA (I crave leave to use these terms of art, though originally Latin, since they most properly suit those notions they are applied to), I say, though defining by the GENUS be the shortest way, yet I think it may be doubted whether it be the best. This I am sure, it is not the only, and so not absolutely necessary. For, definition being nothing but making another understand by words what idea the term defined stands for, a definition is best made by enumerating those simple ideas that are combined in the signification of the term defined: and if, instead of such an enumeration, men have accustomed themselves to use the next general term, it has not been out of necessity, or for greater clearness, but for quickness and dispatch sake. For I think that, to one who desired to know what idea the word MAN stood for; if it should be said, that man was a solid extended substance, having life, sense, spontaneous motion, and the faculty of reasoning, I doubt not but the meaning of the term man would be as well understood, and the idea it stands for be at least as clearly made known, as when it is defined to be a rational animal: which, by the several definitions of ANIMAL, VIVENS, and CORPUS, resolves itself into those enumerated ideas. I have, in explaining the term MAN, followed here the ordinary definition of the schools; which, though perhaps not the most, exact, yet serves well enough to my present purpose. And one may, in this instance, see what gave occasion to the rule, that a definition must consist of GENUS and DIFFERENTIA; and it suffices to show us the little necessity there is of such a rule, or advantage in the strict observing of it. For, definitions, as has been said, being only the explaining of one word by several others, so that the meaning or idea it stands for may be certainly known; languages are not always so made according to the rules of logic, that every term can have its signification exactly and clearly expressed by two others. Experience sufficiently satisfies us to the contrary; or else those who have made this rule have done ill, that they have given us so few definitions conformable to it. But of definitions more in the next chapter.

11. General and Universal are Creatures of the Understanding, and belong not to the Real Existence of things.

To return to general words: it is plain, by what has been said, that GENERAL and UNIVERSAL belong not to the real existence of things; but are the inventions and creatures of the understanding, made by it for its own use, and concern only signs, whether words or ideas. Words are general, as has been said, when used for signs of general ideas, and so are applicable indifferently to many particular things; and ideas are general when they are set up as the representatives of many particular things: but universality belongs not to things themselves, which are all of them particular in their existence, even those words and ideas which in their signification are general. When therefore we quit particulars, the generals that rest are only creatures of our own making; their general nature being nothing but the capacity they are put into, by the understanding, of signifying or representing many particulars. For the signification they have is nothing but a relation that, by the mind of man, is added to them.

12. Abstract Ideas are the Essences of Genera and Species.

The next thing therefore to be considered is, What kind of signification it is that general words have. For, as it is evident that they do not signify barely one particular thing; for then they would not be general terms, but proper names, so, on the other side, it is as evident they do not signify a plurality; for MAN and MEN would then signify the same; and the distinction of numbers (as the grammarians call them) would be superfluous and useless. That then which general words signify is a SORT of things; and each of them does that, by being a sign of an abstract idea in the mind; to which idea, as things existing are found to agree, so they come to be ranked under that name, or, which is all one, be of that sort. Whereby it is evident that the ESSENCES of the sorts, or, if the Latin word pleases better, SPECIES of things, are nothing else but these abstract ideas. For the having the essence of any species, being that which makes anything to be of that species; and the conformity to the idea to which the name is annexed being that which gives a right to that name; the having the essence, and the having that conformity, must needs be the same thing: since to be of any species, and to have a right to the name of that species, is all one. As, for example, to be a MAN, or of the SPECIES man, and to have right to the NAME man, is the same thing. Again, to be a man, or of the species man, and have the ESSENCE of a man, is the same thing. Now, since nothing can be a man, or have a right to the name man, but what has a conformity to the abstract idea the name man stands for, nor anything be a man, or have a right to the species man, but what has the essence of that species; it follows, that the abstract idea for which the name stands, and the essence of the species, is one and the same. From whence it is easy to observe, that the essences of the sorts of things, and, consequently, the sorting of things, is the workmanship of the understanding that abstracts and makes those general ideas.

13. They are the Workmanship of the Understanding, but have their Foundation in the Similitude of Things.

I would not here be thought to forget, much less to deny, that Nature, in the production of things, makes several of them alike: there is nothing more obvious, especially in the races of animals, and all things propagated by seed. But yet I think we may say, THE SORTING OF THEM UNDER NAMES IS THE WORKMANSHIP OF THE UNDERSTANDING, TAKING OCCASION, FROM THE SIMILITUDE IT OBSERVES AMONGST THEM, TO MAKE ABSTRACT GENERAL IDEAS, and set them up in the mind, with names annexed to them, as patterns or forms, (for, in that sense, the word FORM has a very proper signification,) to which as particular things existing are found to agree, so they come to be of that species, have that denomination, or are put into that CLASSIS. For when we say this is a man, that a horse; this justice, that cruelty; this a watch, that a jack; what do we else but rank things under different specific names, as agreeing to those abstract ideas, of which we have made those names the signs? And what are the essences of those species set out and marked by names, but those abstract ideas in the mind; which are, as it were, the bonds between particular things that exist, and the names they are to be ranked under? And when general names have any connexion with particular beings, these abstract ideas are the medium that unites them: so that the essences of species, as distinguished and denominated by us, neither are nor can be anything but those precise abstract ideas we have in our minds. And therefore the supposed real essences of substances, if different from our abstract ideas, cannot be the essences of the species WE rank things into. For two species may be one, as rationally as two different essences be the essence of one species: and I demand what are the alterations [which] may, or may not be made in a HORSE or LEAD, without making either of them to be of another species? In determining the species of things by OUR abstract ideas, this is easy to resolve: but if any one will regulate himself herein by supposed REAL essences, he will I suppose, be at a loss: and he will never be able to know when anything precisely ceases to be of the species of a HORSE or LEAD.

14. Each distinct abstract Idea is a distinct Essence.

Nor will any one wonder that I say these essences, or abstract ideas (which are the measures of name, and the boundaries of species) are the workmanship of the understanding, who considers that at least the complex ones are often, in several men, different collections of simple ideas; and therefore that is COVETOUSNESS to one man, which is not so to another. Nay, even in substances, where their abstract ideas seem to be taken from the things themselves, they are not constantly the same; no, not in that species which is most familiar to us, and with which we have the most intimate acquaintance: it having been more than once doubted, whether the FOETUS born of a woman were a MAN, even so far as that it hath been debated, whether it were or were not to be nourished and baptized: which could not be, if the abstract idea or essence to which the name man belonged were of nature’s making; and were not the uncertain and various collection of simple ideas, which the understanding put together, and then, abstracting it, affixed a name to it. So that, in truth, every distinct abstract idea is a distinct essence; and the names that stand for such distinct ideas are the names of things essentially different. Thus a circle is as essentially different from an oval as a sheep from a goat; and rain is as essentially different from snow as water from earth: that abstract idea which is the essence of one being impossible to be communicated to the other. And thus any two abstract ideas, that in any part vary one from another, with two distinct names annexed to them, constitute two distinct sorts, or, if you please, SPECIES, as essentially different as any two of the most remote or opposite in the world.

15. Several significations of the word Essence.

But since the essences of things are thought by some (and not without reason) to be wholly unknown, it may not be amiss to consider the several significations of the word ESSENCE.

Real essences.

First, Essence may be taken for the very being of anything, whereby it is what it is. And thus the real internal, but generally (in substances) unknown constitution of things, whereon their discoverable qualities depend, may be called their essence. This is the proper original signification of the word, as is evident from the formation of it; essential in its primary notation, signifying properly, being. And in this sense it is still used, when we speak of the essence of PARTICULAR things, without giving them any name.

Nominal Essences.

Secondly, The learning and disputes of the schools having been much busied about genus and species, the word essence has almost lost its primary signification: and, instead of the real constitution of things, has been almost wholly applied to the artificial constitution of genus and species. It is true, there is ordinarily supposed a real constitution of the sorts of things; and it is past doubt there must be some real constitution, on which any collection of simple ideas co-existing must depend. But, it being evident that things are ranked under names into sorts or species, only as they agree to certain abstract ideas, to which we have annexed those names, the essence of each GENUS, or sort, comes to be nothing but that abstract idea which the general, or sortal (if I may have leave so to call it from sort, as I do general from genus,) name stands for. And this we shall find to be that which the word essence imports in its most familiar use.

These two sorts of essences, I suppose, may not unfitly be termed, the one the REAL, the other NOMINAL ESSENCE.

16. Constant Connexion between the Name and nominal Essence.

Between the NOMINAL ESSENCE and the NAME there is so near a connexion, that the name of any sort of things cannot be attributed to any particular being but what has this essence, whereby it answers that abstract idea whereof that name is the sign.

17. Supposition, that Species are distinguished by their real Essences useless.

Concerning the REAL ESSENCES of corporeal substances (to mention these only) there are, if I mistake not, two opinions. The one is of those who, using the word essence for they know not what, suppose a certain number of those essences, according to which all natural things are made, and wherein they do exactly every one of them partake, and so become of this or that species. The other and more rational opinion is of those who look on all natural things to have a real, but unknown, constitution of their insensible parts; from which flow those sensible qualities which serve us to distinguish them one from another, according as we have occasion to rank them into sorts, under common denominations. The former of these opinions, which supposes these essences as a certain number of forms or moulds, wherein all natural things that exist are cast, and do equally partake, has, I imagine, very much perplexed the knowledge of natural things. The frequent productions of monsters, in all the species of animals, and of changelings, and other strange issues of human birth, carry with them difficulties, not possible to consist with this hypothesis; since it is as impossible that two things partaking exactly of the same real essence should have different properties, as that two figures partaking of the same real essence of a circle should have different properties. But were there no other reason against it, yet the supposition of essences that cannot be known; and the making of them, nevertheless, to be that which distinguishes the species of things, is so wholly useless and unserviceable to any part of our knowledge, that that alone were sufficient to make us lay it by, and content ourselves with such essences of the sorts or species of things as come within the reach of our knowledge: which, when seriously considered, will be found, as I have said, to be nothing else but, those ABSTRACT complex ideas to which we have annexed distinct general names.

18. Real and nominal Essence

Essences being thus distinguished into nominal and real, we may further observe, that, in the species of simple ideas and modes, they are always the same; but in substances always quite different. Thus, a figure including a space between three lines, is the real as well as nominal essence of a triangle; it being not only the abstract idea to which the general name is annexed, but the very ESSENTIA or being of the thing itself; that foundation from which all its properties flow, and to which they are all inseparably annexed. But it is far otherwise concerning that parcel of matter which makes the ring on my finger; wherein these two essences are apparently different. For, it is the real constitution of its insensible parts, on which depend all those properties of colour, weight, fusibility, fixedness, &c., which are to be found in it; which constitution we know not, and so, having no particular idea of, having no name that is the sign of it. But yet it is its colour, weight, fusibility, fixedness, &c., which makes it to be gold, or gives it a right to that name, which is therefore its nominal essence. Since nothing can be called gold but what has a conformity of qualities to that abstract complex idea to which that name is annexed. But this distinction of essences, belonging particularly to substances, we shall, when we come to consider their names, have an occasion to treat of more fully.

19. Essences ingenerable and incorruptible.

That such abstract ideas, with names to them, as we have been speaking of are essences, may further appear by what we are told concerning essences, viz. that they are all ingenerable and incorruptible. Which cannot be true of the real constitutions of things, which begin and perish with them. All things that exist, besides their Author, are all liable to change; especially those things we are acquainted with, and have ranked into bands under distinct names or ensigns. Thus, that which was grass to-day is to-morrow the flesh of a sheep; and, within a few days after, becomes part of a man: in all which and the like changes, it is evident their real essence — i. e. that constitution whereon the properties of these several things depended — is destroyed, and perishes with them. But essences being taken for ideas established in the mind, with names annexed to them, they are supposed to remain steadily the same, whatever mutations the particular substances are liable to. For, whatever becomes of ALEXANDER and BUCEPHALUS, the ideas to which MAN and HORSE are annexed, are supposed nevertheless to remain the same; and so the essences of those species are preserved whole and undestroyed, whatever changes happen to any or all of the individuals of those species. By this means the essence of a species rests safe and entire, without the existence of so much as one individual of that kind. For, were there now no circle existing anywhere in the world, (as perhaps that figure exists not anywhere exactly marked out,) yet the idea annexed to that name would not cease to be what it is; nor cease to be as a pattern to determine which of the particular figures we meet with have or have not a right to the NAME circle, and so to show which of them, by having that essence, was of that species. And though there neither were nor had been in nature such a beast as an UNICORN, or such a fish as a MERMAID; yet, supposing those names to stand for complex abstract ideas that contained no inconsistency in them, the essence of a mermaid is as intelligible as that of a man; and the idea of an unicorn as certain, steady, and permanent as that of a horse. From what has been said, it is evident, that the doctrine of the immutability of essences proves them to be only abstract ideas; and is founded on the relation established between them and certain sounds as signs of them; and will always be true, as long as the same name can have the same signification.

20. Recapitulation.

To conclude. This is that which in short I would say, viz. that all the great business of GENERA and SPECIES, and their ESSENCES, amounts to no more but this: — That men making abstract ideas, and settling them in their minds with names annexed to them, do thereby enable themselves to consider things, and discourse of them, as it were in bundles, for the easier and readier improvement and communication of their knowledge, which would advance but slowly were their words and thoughts confined only to particulars.

CHAPTER IV. OF THE NAMES OF SIMPLE IDEAS.

1. Names of simple Ideas, Modes, and Substances, have each something peculiar.

Though all words, as I have shown, signify nothing immediately but the ideas in the mind of the speaker; yet, upon a nearer survey, we shall find the names of SIMPLE IDEAS, MIXED MODES (under which I comprise RELATIONS too), and NATURAL SUBSTANCES, have each of them something peculiar and different from the other. For example: —

2. First, Names of simple Ideas, and of Substances intimate real Existence.

First, the names of SIMPLE IDEAS and SUBSTANCES, with the abstract ideas in the mind which they immediately signify, intimate also some real existence, from which was derived their original pattern. But the names of MIXED MODES terminate in the idea that is in the mind, and lead not the thoughts any further; as we shall see more at large in the following chapter.

3. Secondly, Names of simple Ideas and Modes signify always both real and nominal Essences.

Secondly, The names of simple ideas and modes signify always the real as well as nominal essence of their species. But the names of natural substances signify rarely, if ever, anything but barely the nominal essences of those species; as we shall show in the chapter that treats of the names of substances in particular.

4. Thirdly, Names of simple Ideas are undefinable.

Thirdly, The names of simple ideas are not capable of any definition; the names of all complex ideas are. It has not, that I know, been yet observed by anybody what words are, and what are not, capable of being defined; the want whereof is (as I am apt to think) not seldom the occasion of great wrangling and obscurity in men’s discourses, whilst some demand definitions of terms that cannot be defined; and others think they ought not to rest satisfied in an explication made by a more general word, and its restriction, (or to speak in terms of art, by a genus and difference,) when, even after such definition, made according to rule, those who hear it have often no more a clear conception of the meaning of the word than they had before. This at least I think, that the showing what words are, and what are not, capable of definitions, and wherein consists a good definition, is not wholly besides our present purpose; and perhaps will afford so much light to the nature of these signs and our ideas, as to deserve a more particular consideration.

5. If all names were definable, it would be a Process IN INFINITUM.

I will not here trouble myself to prove that all terms are not definable, from that progress IN INFINITUM, which it will visibly lead us into, if we should allow that all names could be defined. For, if the terms of one definition were still to be defined by another, where at last should we stop? But I shall, from the nature of our ideas, and the signification of our words, show WHY SOME NAMES CAN, AND OTHERS CANNOT BE DEFINED; and WHICH THEY ARE.

6. What a Definition is.

I think it is agreed, that a DEFINITION is nothing else but THE SHOWING THE MEANING OF ONE WORD BY SEVERAL OTHER NOT SYNONYMOUS TERMS. The meaning of words being only the ideas they are made to stand for by him that uses them, the meaning of any term is then showed, or the word is defined, when, by other words, the idea it is made the sign of, and annexed to, in the mind of the speaker, is as it were represented, or set before the view of another; and thus its signification ascertained. This is the only use and end of definitions; and therefore the only measure of what is, or is not a good definition.

7. Simple Ideas, why undefinable.

This being premised, I say that the NAMES OF SIMPLE IDEAS, AND THOSE ONLY, ARE INCAPABLE OF BEING DEFINED. The reason whereof is this, That the several terms of a definition, signifying several ideas, they can all together by no means represent an idea which has no composition at all: and therefore a definition, which is properly nothing but the showing the meaning of one word by several others not signifying each the same thing, can in the names of simple ideas have no place.

8. Instances: Scholastic definitions of Motion.

The not observing this difference in our ideas, and their names, has produced that eminent trifling in the schools, which is so easy to be observed in the definitions they give us of some few of these simple ideas. For, as to the greatest part of them, even those masters of definitions were fain to leave them untouched, merely by the impossibility they found in it. What more exquisite jargon could the wit of man invent, than this definition:— ‘The act of a being in power, as far forth as in power;’ which would puzzle any rational man, to whom it was not already known by its famous absurdity, to guess what word it could ever be supposed to be the explication of. If Tully, asking a Dutchman what BEWEEGINGE was, should have received this explication in his own language, that it was ‘actus entis in potentia quatenus in potentia;’ I ask whether any one can imagine he could thereby have understood what the word BEWEEGINGE signified, or have guessed what idea a Dutchman ordinarily had in his mind, and would signify to another, when he used that sound?

9. Modern definition of Motion.

Nor have the modern philosophers, who have endeavoured to throw off the jargon of the schools, and speak intelligibly, much better succeeded in defining simple ideas, whether by explaining their causes, or any otherwise. The atomists, who define motion to be ‘a passage from one place to another,’ what do they more than put one synonymous word for another? For what is PASSAGE other than MOTION? And if they were asked what passage was, how would they better define it than by motion? For is it not at least as proper and significant to say, Passage is a motion from one place to another, as to say, Motion is a passage, &c.? This is to translate, and not to define, when we change two words of the same signification one for another; which, when one is better understood than the other, may serve to discover what idea the unknown stands for; but is very far from a definition, unless we will say every English word in the dictionary is the definition of the Latin word it answers, and that motion is a definition of MOTUS. Nor will ‘the successive application of the parts of the superficies of one body to those of another,’ which the Cartesians give us, prove a much better definition of motion, when well examined.

10. Definitions of Light.

‘The act of perspicuous, as far forth as perspicuous,’ is another Peripatetic definition of a simple idea; which, though not more absurd than the former of motion, yet betrays its uselessness and insignificancy more plainly; because experience will easily convince any one that it cannot make the meaning of the word LIGHT (which it pretends to define) at all understood by a blind man, but the definition of motion appears not at first sight so useless, because it escapes this way of trial. For this simple idea, entering by the touch as well as sight, it is impossible to show an example of any one who has no other way to get the idea of motion, but barely by the definition of that name. Those who tell us that light is a great number of little globules, striking briskly on the bottom of the eye, speak more intelligibly than the Schools: but yet these words never so well understood would make the idea the word light stands for no more known to a man that understands it not before, than if one should tell him that light was nothing but a company of little tennis-balls, which fairies all day long struck with rackets against some men’s foreheads, whilst they passed by others. For granting this explication of the thing to be true, yet the idea of the cause of light, if we had it never so exact, would no more give us the idea of light itself, as it is such a particular perception in us, than the idea of the figure and motion of a sharp piece of steel would give us the idea of that pain which it is able to cause in us. For the cause of any sensation, and the sensation itself, in all the simple ideas of one sense, are two ideas; and two ideas so different and distant one from another, that no two can be more so. And therefore, should Des Cartes’s globules strike never so long on the retina of a man who was blind by a gutta serena, he would thereby never have any idea of light, or anything approaching it, though he understood never so well what little globules were, and what striking on another body was. And therefore the Cartesians very well distinguish between that light which is the cause of that sensation in us, and the idea which is produced in us by it, and is that which is properly light.

11. Simple Ideas, why undefinable, further explained.

Simple ideas, as has been shown, are only to be got by those impressions objects themselves make on our minds, by the proper inlets appointed to each sort. If they are not received this way, all the words in the world, made use of to explain or define any of their names, will never be able to produce in us the idea it stands for. For, words being sounds, can produce in us no other simple ideas than of those very sounds; nor excite any in us, but by that voluntary connexion which is known to be between them and those simple ideas which common use has made them the signs of. He that thinks otherwise, let him try if any words can give him the taste of a pine apple, and make him have the true idea of the relish of that celebrated delicious fruit. So far as he is told it has a resemblance with any tastes whereof he has the ideas already in his memory, imprinted there by sensible objects, not strangers to his palate, so far may he approach that resemblance in his mind. But this is not giving us that idea by a definition, but exciting in us other simple ideas by their known names; which will be still very different from the true taste of that fruit itself. In light and colours, and all other simple ideas, it is the same thing: for the signification of sounds is not natural, but only imposed and arbitrary. And no DEFINITION of light or redness is more fitted or able to produce either of those ideas in us, than the SOUND light or red, by itself. For, to hope to produce an idea of light or colour by a sound, however formed, is to expect that sounds should be visible, or colours audible; and to make the ears do the office of all the other senses. Which is all one as to say, that we might taste, smell, and see by the ears: a sort of philosophy worthy only of Sancho Panza, who had the faculty to see Dulcinea by hearsay. And therefore he that has not before received into his mind, by the proper inlet, the simple idea which any word stands for, can never come to know the signification of that word by any other words or sounds whatsoever, put together according to any rules of definition. The only way is, by applying to his senses the proper object; and so producing that idea in him, for which he has learned the name already. A studious blind man, who had mightily beat his head about visible objects, and made use of the explication of his books and friends, to understand those names of light and colours which often came in his way, bragged one day, That he now understood what SCARLET signified. Upon which, his friend demanding what scarlet was? The blind man answered, It was like the sound of a trumpet. Just such an understanding of the name of any other simple idea will he have, who hopes to get it only from a definition, or other words made use of to explain it.

12. The contrary shown in complex ideas, by instances of a Statue and Rainbow.

The case is quite otherwise in COMPLEX IDEAS; which, consisting of several simple ones, it is in the power of words, standing for the several ideas that make that composition, to imprint complex ideas in the mind which were never there before, and so make their names be understood. In such collections of ideas, passing under one name, definition, or the teaching the signification of one word by several others, has place, and may make us understand the names of things which never came within the reach of our senses; and frame ideas suitable to those in other men’s minds, when they use those names: provided that none of the terms of the definition stand for any such simple ideas, which he to whom the explication is made has never yet had in his thought. Thus the word STATUE may be explained to a blind man by other words, when PICTURE cannot; his senses having given him the idea of figure, but not of colours, which therefore words cannot excite in him. This gained the prize to the painter against the statuary: each of which contending for the excellency of his art, and the statuary bragging that his was to be preferred, because it reached further, and even those who had lost their eyes could yet perceive the excellency of it. The painter agreed to refer himself to the judgment of a blind man; who being brought where there was a statue made by the one, and a picture drawn by the other; he was first led to the statue, in which he traced with his hands all the lineaments of the face and body, and with great admiration applauded the skill of the workman. But being led to the picture, and having his hands laid upon it, was told, that now he touched the head, and then the forehead, eyes, nose, &c., as his hand moved over the parts of the picture on the cloth, without finding any the least distinction: whereupon he cried out, that certainly that must needs be a very admirable and divine piece of workmanship, which could represent to them all those parts, where he could neither feel nor perceive anything.

13. Colours indefinable to the born-blind.

He that should use the word RAINBOW to one who knew all those colours, but yet had never seen that phenomenon, would, by enumerating the figure, largeness, position, and order of the colours, so well define that word that it might be perfectly understood. But yet that definition, how exact and perfect soever, would never make a blind man understand it; because several of the simple ideas that make that complex one, being such as he never received by sensation and experience, no words are able to excite them in his mind.

14. Complex Ideas definable only when the simple ideas of which they consist have been got from experience.

Simple ideas, as has been shown, can only be got by experience from those objects which are proper to produce in us those perceptions. When, by this means, we have our minds stored with them, and know the names for them, then we are in a condition to define, and by definition to understand, the names of complex ideas that are made up of them. But when any term stands for a simple idea that a man has never yet had in his mind, it is impossible by any words to make known its meaning to him. When any term stands for an idea a man is acquainted with, but is ignorant that that term is the sign of it, then another name of the same idea, which he has been accustomed to, may make him understand its meaning. But in no case whatsoever is any name of any simple idea capable of a definition.

15. Fourthly, Names of simple Ideas of less doubtful meaning than those of mixed modes and substances.

Fourthly, But though the names of simple ideas have not the help of definition to determine their signification, yet that hinders not but that they are generally less doubtful and uncertain than those of mixed modes and substances; because they, standing only for one simple perception, men for the most part easily and perfectly agree in their signification; and there is little room for mistake and wrangling about their meaning. He that knows once that whiteness is the name of that colour he has observed in snow or milk, will not be apt to misapply that word, as long as he retains that idea; which when he has quite lost, he is not apt to mistake the meaning of it, but perceives he understands it not. There is neither a multiplicity of simple ideas to be put together, which makes the doubtfulness in the names of mixed modes; nor a supposed, but an unknown, real essence, with properties depending thereon, the precise number whereof is also unknown, which makes the difficulty in the names of substances. But, on the contrary, in simple ideas the whole signification of the name is known at once, and consists not of parts, whereof more or less being put in, the idea may be varied, and so the signification of name be obscure, or uncertain.

16. Simple Ideas have few Ascents in linea praedicamentali.

Fifthly, This further may be observed concerning simple Simple ideas and their names, that they have but few ascents in linea praedicamentali, (as they call it,) from the lowest species to the summum genus. The reason whereof is, that the lowest species being but one simple idea, nothing can be left out of it, that so the difference being taken away, it may agree with some other thing in one idea common to them both; which, having one name, is the genus of the other two: v.g. there is nothing that can be left out of the idea of white and red to make them agree in one common appearance, and so have one general name; as RATIONALITY being left out of the complex idea of man, makes it agree with brute in the more general idea and name of animal. And therefore when, to avoid unpleasant enumerations, men would comprehend both white and red, and several other such simple ideas, under one general name, they have been fain to do it by a word which denotes only the way they get into the mind. For when white, red, and yellow are all comprehended under the genus or name colour, it signifies no more but such ideas as are produced in the mind only by the sight, and have entrance only through the eyes. And when they would frame yet a more general term to comprehend both colours and sounds, and the like simple ideas, they do it by a word that signifies all such as come into the mind only by one sense. And so the general term QUALITY, in its ordinary acceptation, comprehends colours, sounds, tastes, smells, and tangible qualities, with distinction from extension, number, motion, pleasure, and pain, which make impressions on the mind and introduce their ideas by more senses than one.

17. Sixthly, Names of simple Ideas not arbitrary, but perfectly taken from the existence of things.

Sixthly, The names of simple ideas, substances, and mixed modes have also this difference: that those of MIXED MODES stand for ideas perfectly arbitrary; those of SUBSTANCES are not perfectly so, but refer to a pattern, though with some latitude; and those of SIMPLE IDEAS are perfectly taken from the existence of things, and are not arbitrary at all. Which, what difference it makes in the significations of their names, we shall see in the following chapters.

Simple modes.

The names of SIMPLE MODES differ little from those of simple ideas.

CHAPTER V. OF THE NAMES OF MIXED MODES AND RELATIONS.

1. Mixed modes stand for abstract Ideas, as other general Names.

The names of MIXED MODES, being general, they stand, as has been shewed, for sorts or species of things, each of which has its peculiar essence. The essences of these species also, as has been shewed, are nothing but the abstract ideas in the mind, to which the name is annexed. Thus far the names and essences of mixed modes have nothing but what is common to them with other ideas: but if we take a little nearer survey of them, we shall find that they have something peculiar, which perhaps may deserve our attention.

2. First, The abstract Ideas they stand for are made by the Understanding.

The first particularity I shall observe in them, is, that the abstract ideas, or, if you please, the essences, of the several species of mixed modes, are MADE BY THE UNDERSTANDING, wherein they differ from those of simple ideas: in which sort the mind has no power to make any one, but only receives such as are presented to it by the real existence of things operating upon it.

3. Secondly, Made arbitrarily, and without Patterns.

In the next place, these essences of the species of mixed modes are not only made by the mind, but MADE VERY ARBITRARILY, MADE WITHOUT PATTERNS, OR REFERENCE TO ANY REAL EXISTENCE. Wherein they differ from those of substances, which carry with them the supposition of some real being, from which they are taken, and to which they are conformable. But, in its complex ideas of mixed modes, the mind takes a liberty not to follow the existence of things exactly. It unites and retains certain collections, as so many distinct specific ideas; whilst others, that as often occur in nature, and are as plainly suggested by outward things, pass neglected, without particular names or specifications. Nor does the mind, in these of mixed modes, as in the complex idea of substances, examine them by the real existence of things; or verify them by patterns containing such peculiar compositions in nature. To know whether his idea of ADULTERY or INCEST be right, will a man seek it anywhere amongst things existing? Or is it true because any one has been witness to such an action? No: but it suffices here, that men have put together such a collection into one complex idea, that makes the archetype and specific idea; whether ever any such action were committed in rerum natura or no.

4. How this is done.

To understand this right, we must consider wherein this making of these complex ideas consists; and that is not in the making any new idea, but putting together those which the mind had before. Wherein the mind does these three things: First, It chooses a certain number; Secondly, It gives them connexion, and makes them into one idea; Thirdly, It ties them together by a name. If we examine how the mind proceeds in these, and what liberty it takes in them, we shall easily observe how these essences of the species of mixed modes are the workmanship of the mind; and, consequently, that the species themselves are of men’s making.

5. Evidently arbitrary, in that the Idea is often before the Existence.

Nobody can doubt but that these ideas of mixed modes are made by a voluntary collection of ideas, put together in the mind, independent from any original patterns in nature, who will but reflect that this sort of complex ideas may be made, abstracted, and have names given them, and so a species be constituted, before any one individual of that species ever existed. Who can doubt but the ideas of SACRILEGE or ADULTERY might be framed in the minds of men, and have names given them, and so these species of mixed modes be constituted, before either of them was ever committed; and might be as well discoursed of and reasoned about, and as certain truths discovered of them, whilst yet they had no being but in the understanding, as well as now, that they have but too frequently a real existence? Whereby it is plain how much the sorts of mixed modes are the creatures of the understanding, where they have a being as subservient to all the ends of real truth and knowledge, as when they really exist. And we cannot doubt but law-makers have often made laws about species of actions which were only the creatures of their own understandings; beings that had no other existence but in their own minds. And I think nobody can deny but that the RESURRECTION was a species of mixed modes in the mind, before it really existed.

6. Instances: Murder, Incest, Stabbing.

To see how arbitrarily these essences of mixed modes are made by the mind, we need but take a view of almost any of them. A little looking into them will satisfy us, that it is the mind that combines several scattered independent ideas into one complex one; and, by the common name it gives them, makes them the essence of a certain species, without regulating itself by any connexion they have in nature. For what greater connexion in nature has the idea of a man than the idea of a sheep with killing, that this is made a particular species of action, signified by the word MURDER, and the other not? Or what union is there in nature between the idea of the relation of a father with killing than that of a son or neighbour, that those are combined into one complex idea, and thereby made the essence of the distinct species PARRICIDE, whilst the other makes no distinct species at all? But, though they have made killing a man’s father or mother a distinct species from killing his son or daughter, yet, in some other cases, son and daughter are taken in too, as well as father and mother: and they are all equally comprehended in the same species, as in that of INCEST. Thus the mind in mixed modes arbitrarily unites into complex ideas such as it finds convenient; whilst others that have altogether as much union in nature are left loose, and never combined into one idea, because they have no need of one name. It is evident then that the mind, by its free choice, gives a connexion to a certain number of ideas, which in nature have no more union with one another than others that it leaves out: why else is the part of the weapon the beginning of the wound is made with taken notice of, to make the distinct species called STABBING, and the figure and matter of the weapon left out? I do not say this is done without reason, as we shall see more by and by; but this I say, that it is done by the free choice of the mind, pursuing its own ends; and that, therefore, these species of mixed modes are the workmanship of the understanding. And there is nothing more evident than that, for the most part, in the framing these ideas, the mind searches not its patterns in nature, nor refers the ideas it makes to the real existence of things, but puts such together as may best serve its own purposes, without tying itself to a precise imitation of anything that really exists.

7. But still subservient to the End of Language, and not made at random.

But, though these complex ideas or essences of mixed modes depend on the mind, and are made by it with great liberty, yet they are not made at random, and jumbled together without any reason at all. Though these complex ideas be not always copied from nature, yet they are always suited to the end for which abstract ideas are made: and though they be combinations made of ideas that are loose enough, and have as little union in themselves as several other to which the mind never gives a connexion that combines them into one idea; yet they are always made for the convenience of communication, which is the chief end of language. The use of language is, by short sounds, to signify with ease and dispatch general conceptions; wherein not only abundance of particulars may be contained, but also a great variety of independent ideas collected into one complex one. In the making therefore of the species of mixed modes, men have had regard only to such combinations as they had occasion to mention one to another. Those they have combined into distinct complex ideas, and given names to; whilst others, that in nature have as near a union, are left loose and unregarded. For, to go no further than human actions themselves, if they would make distinct abstract ideas of all the varieties which might be observed in them, the number must be infinite, and the memory confounded with the plenty, as well as overcharged to little purpose. It suffices that men make and name so many complex ideas of these mixed modes as they find they have occasion to have names for, in the ordinary occurrence of their affairs. If they join to the idea of killing the idea of father or mother, and so make a distinct species from killing a man’s son or neighbour, it is because of the different heinousness of the crime, and the distinct punishment is due to the murdering a man’s father and mother, different to what ought to be inflicted on the murder of a son or neighbour; and therefore they find it necessary to mention it by a distinct name, which is the end of making that distinct combination. But though the ideas of mother and daughter are so differently treated, in reference to the idea of killing, that the one is joined with it to make a distinct abstract idea with a name, and so a distinct species, and the other not; yet, in respect of carnal knowledge, they are both taken in under INCEST: and that still for the same convenience of expressing under one name, and reckoning of one species, such unclean mixtures as have a peculiar turpitude beyond others; and this to avoid circumlocutions and tedious descriptions.

8. Whereof the intranslatable Words of divers Languages are a Proof.

A moderate skill in different languages will easily satisfy one of the truth of this, it being so obvious to observe great store of words in one language which have not any that answer them in another. Which plainly shows that those of one country, by their customs and manner of life, have found occasion to make several complex ideas, and given names to them, which others never collected into specific ideas. This could not have happened if these species were the steady workmanship of nature, and not collections made and abstracted by the mind, in order to naming, and for the convenience of communication. The terms of our law, which are not empty sounds, will hardly find words that answer them in the Spanish or Italian, no scanty languages; much less, I think, could any one translate them into the Caribbee or Westoe tongues: and the VERSURA of the Romans, or CORBAN of the Jews, have no words in other languages to answer them; the reason whereof is plain, from what has been said. Nay, if we look a little more nearly into this matter, and exactly compare different languages, we shall find that, though they have words which in translations and dictionaries are supposed to answer one another, yet there is scarce one often amongst the names of complex ideas, especially of mixed modes, that stands for the same precise idea which the word does that in dictionaries it is rendered by. There are no ideas more common and less compounded than the measures of time, extension, and weight; and the Latin names, HORA, PES, LIBRA, are without difficulty rendered by the English names, HOUR, FOOT, and POUND: but yet there is nothing more evident than that the ideas a Roman annexed to these Latin names, were very far different from those which an Englishman expresses by those English ones. And if either of these should make use of the measures that those of the other language designed by their names, he would be quite out in his account. These are too sensible proofs to be doubted; and we shall find this much more so in the names of more abstract and compounded ideas, such as are the greatest part of those which make up moral discourses: whose names, when men come curiously to compare with those they are translated into, in other languages, they will find very few of them exactly to correspond in the whole extent of their significations.

9. This shows Species to be made for Communication.

The reason why I take so particular notice of this is, that we may not be mistaken about GENERA and SPECIES, and their ESSENCES, as if they were things regularly and constantly made by nature, and had a real existence in things; when they appear, upon a more wary survey, to be nothing else but an artifice of the understanding, for the easier signifying such collections of ideas as it should often have occasion to communicate by one general term; under which divers particulars, as far forth as they agreed to that abstract idea, might be comprehended. And if the doubtful signification of the word SPECIES may make it sound harsh to some, that I say the species of mixed modes are ‘made by the understanding’; yet, I think, it can by nobody be denied that it is the mind makes those abstract complex ideas to which specific names are given. And if it be true, as it is, that the mind makes the patterns for sorting and naming of things, I leave it to be considered who makes the boundaries of the sort or species; since with me SPECIES and SORT have no other difference than that of a Latin and English idiom.

10. In mixed Modes it is the Name that ties the Combination of simple ideas together, and makes it a Species.

The near relation that there is between SPECIES, ESSENCES, and their GENERAL NAME, at least in mixed modes, will further appear when we consider, that it is the name that seems to preserve those essences, and give them their lasting duration. For, the connexion between the loose parts of those complex ideas being made by the mind, this union, which has no particular foundation in nature, would cease again, were there not something that did, as it were, hold it together, and keep the parts from scattering. Though therefore it be the mind that makes the collection, it is the name which is as it were the knot that ties them fast together. What a vast variety of different ideas does the word TRIUMPHUS hold together, and deliver to us as one species! Had this name been never made, or quite lost, we might, no doubt, have had descriptions of what passed in that solemnity: but yet, I think, that which holds those different parts together, in the unity of one complex idea, is that very word annexed to it; without which the several parts of that would no more be thought to make one thing, than any other show, which having never been made but once, had never been united into one complex idea, under one denomination. How much, therefore, in mixed modes, the unity necessary to any essence depends on the mind; and how much the continuation and fixing of that unity depends on the name in common use annexed to it, I leave to be considered by those who look upon essences and species as real established things in nature.

11.

Suitable to this, we find that men speaking of mixed modes, seldom imagine or take any other for species of them, but such as are set out by name: because they, being of man’s making only, in order to naming, no such species are taken notice of, or supposed to be, unless a name be joined to it, as the sign of man’s having combined into one idea several loose ones; and by that name giving a lasting union to the parts which would otherwise cease to have any, as soon as the mind laid by that abstract idea, and ceased actually to think on it. But when a name is once annexed to it, wherein the parts of that complex idea have a settled and permanent union, then is the essence, as it were, established, and the species looked on as complete. For to what purpose should the memory charge itself with such compositions, unless it were by abstraction to make them general? And to what purpose make them general, unless it were that they might have general names for the convenience of discourse and communication? Thus we see, that killing a man with a sword or a hatchet are looked on as no distinct species of action; but if the point of the sword first enter the body, it passes for a distinct species, where it has a distinct name, as in England, in whose language it is called STABBING: but in another country, where it has not happened to be specified under a peculiar name, it passes not for a distinct species. But in the species of corporeal substances, though it be the mind that makes the nominal essence, yet, since those ideas which are combined in it are supposed to have an union in nature whether the mind joins them or not, therefore those are looked on as distinct species, without any operation of the mind, either abstracting, or giving a name to that complex idea.

12. For the Originals of our mixed Modes, we look no further than the Mind; which also shows them to be the Workmanship of the Understanding.

Conformable also to what has been said concerning the essences of the species of mixed modes, that they are the creatures of the understanding rather than the works of nature; conformable, I say, to this, we find that their names lead our thoughts to the mind, and no further. When we speak of JUSTICE, or GRATITUDE, we frame to ourselves no imagination of anything existing, which we would conceive; but our thoughts terminate in the abstract ideas of those virtues, and look not further; as they do when we speak of a HORSE, or IRON, whose specific ideas we consider not as barely in the mind, but as in things themselves, which afford the original patterns of those ideas. But in mixed modes, at least the most considerable parts of them, which are moral beings, we consider the original patterns as being in the mind, and to those we refer for the distinguishing of particular beings under names. And hence I think it is that these essences of the species of mixed modes are by a more particular name called NOTIONS; as, by a peculiar right, appertaining to the understanding.

13. Their being made by the Understanding without Patterns, shows the Reason why they are so compounded.

Hence, likewise, we may learn why the complex ideas of mixed modes are commonly more compounded and decompounded than those of natural substances. Because they being the workmanship of the understanding, pursuing only its own ends, and the conveniency of expressing in short those ideas it would make known to another, it does with great liberty unite often into one abstract idea things that, in their nature, have no coherence; and so under one term bundle together a great variety of compounded and decompounded ideas. Thus the name of PROCESSION: what a great mixture of independent ideas of persons, habits, tapers, orders, motions, sounds, does it contain in that complex one, which the mind of man has arbitrarily put together, to express by that one name? Whereas the complex ideas of the sorts of substances are usually made up of only a small number of simple ones; and in the species of animals, these two, viz. shape and voice, commonly make the whole nominal essence.

14. Names of mixed Modes stand alway for their real Essences, which are the workmanship of our minds.

Another thing we may observe from what has been said is, That the names of mixed modes always signify (when they have any determined signification) the REAL essences of their species. For, these abstract ideas being the workmanship of the mind, and not referred to the real existence of things, there is no supposition of anything more signified by that name, but barely that complex idea the mind itself has formed; which is all it would have expressed by it; and is that on which all the properties of the species depend, and from which alone they all flow: and so in these the real and nominal essence is the same; which, of what concernment it is to the certain knowledge of general truth, we shall see hereafter.

15. Why their Names are usually got before their Ideas.

This also may show us the reason why for the most part the names of mixed modes are got before the ideas they stand for are perfectly known. Because there being no species of these ordinarily taken notice of but what have names, and those species, or rather their essences, being abstract complex ideas, made arbitrarily by the mind, it is convenient, if not necessary, to know the names, before one endeavour to frame these complex ideas: unless a man will fill his head with a company of abstract complex ideas, which, others having no names for, he has nothing to do with, but to lay by and forget again. I confess that, in the beginning of languages, it was necessary to have the idea before one gave it the name: and so it is still, where, making a new complex idea, one also, by giving it a new name, makes a new word. But this concerns not languages made, which have generally pretty well provided for ideas which men have frequent occasion to have and communicate; and in such, I ask whether it be not the ordinary method, that children learn the names of mixed modes before they have their ideas? What one of a thousand ever frames the abstract ideas of GLORY and AMBITION, before he has heard the names of them? In simple ideas and substances I grant it is otherwise; which, being such ideas as have a real existence and union in nature, the ideas and names are got one before the other, as it happens.

16. Reason of my being so large on this Subject.

What has been said here of MIXED MODES is, with very little difference, applicable also to RELATIONS; which, since every man himself may observe, I may spare myself the pains to enlarge on: especially, since what I have here said concerning Words in this third Book, will possibly be thought by some to this be much more than what so slight a subject required. I allow it might be brought into a narrower compass; but I was willing to stay my reader on an argument that appears to me new and a little out of the way, (I am sure it is one I thought not of when I began to write,) that, by searching it to the bottom, and turning it on every side, some part or other might meet with every one’s thoughts, and give occasion to the most averse or negligent to reflect on a general miscarriage, which, though of great consequence, is little taken notice of. When it is considered what a pudder is made about ESSENCES, and how much all sorts of knowledge, discourse, and conversation are pestered and disordered by the careless and confused use and application of words, it will perhaps be thought worth while thoroughly to lay it open. And I shall be pardoned if I have dwelt long on an argument which I think, therefore, needs to be inculcated, because the faults men are usually guilty of in this kind, are not only the greatest hindrances of true knowledge, but are so well thought of as to pass for it. Men would often see what a small pittance of reason and truth, or possibly none at all, is mixed with those huffing opinions they are swelled with; if they would but look beyond fashionable sounds, and observe what IDEAS are or are not comprehended under those words with which they are so armed at all points, and with which they so confidently lay about them. I shall imagine I have done some service to truth, peace, and learning, if, by any enlargement on this subject, I can make men reflect on their own use of language; and give them reason to suspect, that, since it is frequent for others, it may also be possible for them, to have sometimes very good and approved words in their mouths and writings, with very uncertain, little, or no signification. And therefore it is not unreasonable for them to be wary herein themselves, and not to be unwilling to have them examined by others. With this design, therefore, I shall go on with what I have further to say concerning this matter.

CHAPTER VI. OF THE NAMES OF SUBSTANCES.

1. The common Names of Substances stand for Sorts.

The common names of substances, as well as other general terms, stand for SORTS: which is nothing else but the being made signs of such complex ideas wherein several particular substances do or might agree, by virtue of which they are capable of being comprehended in one common conception, and signified by one name. I say do or might agree: for though there be but one sun existing in the world, yet the idea of it being abstracted, so that more substances (if there were several) might each agree in it, it is as much a sort as if there were as many suns as there are stars. They want not their reasons who think there are, and that each fixed star would answer the idea the name sun stands for, to one who was placed in a due distance: which, by the way, may show us how much the sorts, or, if you please, GENERA and SPECIES of things (for those Latin terms signify to me no more than the English word sort) depend on such collections of ideas as men have made, and not on the real nature of things; since it is not impossible but that, in propriety of speech, that might be a sun to one which is a star to another.

2. The Essence of each Sort of substance is our abstract Idea to which the name is annexed.

The measure and boundary of each sort or species, whereby it is constituted that particular sort, and distinguished from others, is that we call its ESSENCE, which is nothing but that abstract idea to which the name is annexed; so that everything contained in that idea is essential to that sort. This, though it be all the essence of natural substances that WE know, or by which we distinguish them into sorts, yet I call it by a peculiar name, the NOMINAL ESSENCE, to distinguish it from the real constitution of substances, upon which depends this nominal essence, and all the properties of that sort; which, therefore, as has been said, may be called the REAL ESSENCE: v.g. the nominal essence of gold is that complex idea the word gold stands for, let it be, for instance, a body yellow, of a certain weight, malleable, fusible, and fixed. But the real essence is the constitution of the insensible parts of that body, on which those qualities and all the other properties of gold depend. How far these two are different, though they are both called essence, is obvious at first sight to discover.

3. The nominal and real Essence different.

For, though perhaps voluntary motion, with sense and reason, joined to a body of a certain shape, be the complex idea to which I and others annex the name MAN, and so be the nominal essence of the species so called: yet nobody will say that complex idea is the real essence and source of all those operations which are to be found in any individual of that sort. The foundation of all those qualities which are the ingredients of our complex idea, is something quite different: and had we such a knowledge of that constitution of man; from which his faculties of moving, sensation, and reasoning, and other powers flow, and on which his so regular shape depends, as it is possible angels have, and it is certain his Maker has, we should have a quite other idea of his essence than what now is contained in our definition of that species, be it what it will: and our idea of any individual man would be as far different from what it is now, as is his who knows all the springs and wheels and other contrivances within of the famous clock at Strasburg, from that which a gazing countryman has of it, who barely sees the motion of the hand, and hears the clock strike, and observes only some of the outward appearances.

4. Nothing essential to Individuals.

That ESSENCE, in the ordinary use of the word, relates to sorts, and that it is considered in particular beings no further than as they are ranked into sorts, appears from hence: that, take but away the abstract ideas by which we sort individuals, and rank them under common names, and then the thought of anything essential to any of them instantly vanishes: we have no notion of the one without the other, which plainly shows their relation. It is necessary for me to be as I am; God and nature has made me so: but there is nothing I have is essential to me. An accident or disease may very much alter my colour or shape; a fever or fall may take away my reason or memory, or both; and an apoplexy leave neither sense, nor understanding, no, nor life. Other creatures of my shape may be made with more and better, or fewer and worse faculties than I have; and others may have reason and sense in a shape and body very different from mine. None of these are essential to the one or the other, or to any individual whatever, till the mind refers it to some sort or species of things; and then presently, according to the abstract idea of that sort, something is found essential. Let any one examine his own thoughts, and he will find that as soon as he supposes or speaks of essential, the consideration of some species, or the complex idea signified by some general name, comes into his mind; and it is in reference to that that this or that quality is said to be essential. So that if it be asked, whether it be essential to me or any other particular corporeal being, to have reason? I say, no; no more than it is essential to this white thing I write on to have words in it. But if that particular being be to be counted of the sort MAN, and to have the name MAN given it, then reason is essential to it; supposing reason to be a part of the complex idea the name man stands for: as it is essential to this thing I write on to contain words, if I will give it the name TREATISE, and rank it under that species. So that essential and not essential relate only to our abstract ideas, and the names annexed to them; which amounts to no more than this, That whatever particular thing has not in it those qualities which are contained in the abstract idea which any general term stands for, cannot be ranked under that species, nor be called by that name; since that abstract idea is the very essence of that species.

5. The only essences perceived by us in individual substances are those qualities which entitle them to receive their names.

Thus, if the idea of BODY with some people be bare extension or space, then solidity is not essential to body: if others make the idea to which they give the name BODY to be solidity and extension, then solidity is essential to body. That therefore, and that alone, is considered as essential, which makes a part of the complex idea the name of a sort stands for; without which no particular thing can be reckoned of that sort, nor be entitled to that name. Should there be found a parcel of matter that had all the other qualities that are in iron, but wanted obedience to the loadstone, and would neither be drawn by it nor receive direction from it, would any one question whether it wanted anything essential? It would be absurd to ask, Whether a thing really existing wanted anything essential to it. Or could it be demanded, Whether this made an essential or specific difference or no, since WE have no other measure of essential or specific but our abstract ideas? And to talk of specific differences in NATURE, without reference to general ideas in names, is to talk unintelligibly. For I would ask any one, What is sufficient to make an essential difference in nature between any two particular beings, without any regard had to some abstract idea, which is looked upon as the essence and standard of a species? All such patterns and standards being quite laid aside, particular beings, considered barely in themselves, will be found to have all their qualities equally essential; and everything in each individual will be essential to it; or, which is more, nothing at all. For, though it may be reasonable to ask, Whether obeying the magnet be essential to iron? yet I think it is very improper and insignificant to ask, whether it be essential to the particular parcel of matter I cut my pen with; without considering it under the name IRON, or as being of a certain species. And if, as has been said, our abstract ideas, which have names annexed to them, are the boundaries of species, nothing can be essential but what is contained in those ideas.

6. Even the real essences of individual substances imply potential sorts.

It is true, I have often mentioned a REAL ESSENCE, distinct in substances from those abstract ideas of them, which I call their nominal essence. By this real essence I mean, that real constitution of anything, which is the foundation of all those properties that are combined in, and are constantly found to co-exist with the nominal essence; that particular constitution which everything has within itself, without any relation to anything without it. But essence, even in this sense, RELATES TO A SORT, AND SUPPOSES A SPECIES. For, being that real constitution on which the properties depend, it necessarily supposes a sort of things, properties belonging only to species, and not to individuals: v. g. supposing the nominal essence of gold to be a body of such a peculiar colour and weight, with malleability and fusibility, the real essence is that constitution of the parts of matter on which these qualities and their union depend; and is also the foundation of its solubility in aqua regia and other properties, accompanying that complex idea. Here are essences and properties, but all upon supposition of a sort or general abstract idea, which is considered as immutable; but there is no individual parcel of matter to which any of these qualities are so annexed as to be essential to it or inseparable from it. That which is essential belongs to it as a condition whereby it is of this or that sort: but take away the consideration of its being ranked under the name of some abstract idea, and then there is nothing necessary to it, nothing inseparable from it. Indeed, as to the real essences of substances, we only suppose their being, without precisely knowing what they are; but that which annexes them still to the species is the nominal essence, of which they are the supposed foundation and cause.

7. The nominal Essence bounds the Species to us.

The next thing to be considered is, by which of those essences it is that substances are determined into sorts or species; and that, it is evident, is by the nominal essence. For it is that alone that the name, which is the mark of the sort, signifies. It is impossible, therefore, that anything should determine the sorts of things, which WE rank under general names, but that idea which that name is designed as a mark for; which is that, as has been shown, which we call nominal essence. Why do we say this is a horse, and that a mule; this is an animal, that an herb? How comes any particular thing to be of this or that sort, but because it has that nominal essence; or, which is all one, agrees to that abstract idea, that name is annexed to? And I desire any one but to reflect on his own thoughts, when he hears or speaks any of those or other names of substances, to know what sort of essences they stand for.

8. The nature of Species as formed by us.

And that the species of things to us are nothing but the ranking them under distinct names, according to the complex ideas in US, and not according to precise, distinct, real essences in THEM, is plain from hence: — That we find many of the individuals that are ranked into one sort, called by one common name, and so received as being of one species, have yet qualities, depending on their real constitutions, as far different one from another as from others from which they are accounted to differ specifically. This, as it is easy to be observed by all who have to do with natural bodies, so chemists especially are often, by sad experience, convinced of it, when they, sometimes in vain, seek for the same qualities in one parcel of sulphur, antimony, or vitriol, which they have found in others. For, though they are bodies of the same species, having the same nominal essence, under the same name, yet do they often, upon severe ways of examination, betray qualities so different one from another, as to frustrate the expectation and labour of very wary chemists. But if things were distinguished into species, according to their real essences, it would be as impossible to find different properties in any two individual substances of the same species, as it is to find different properties in two circles, or two equilateral triangles. That is properly the essence to US, which determines every particular to this or that CLASSIS; or, which is the same thing, to this or that general name: and what can that be else, but that abstract idea to which that name is annexed; and so has, in truth, a reference, not so much to the being of particular things, as to their general denominations?

9. Not the real Essence, or texture of parts, which we know not.

Nor indeed can we rank and sort things, and consequently (which is the end of sorting) denominate them, by their real essences; because we know them not. Our faculties carry us no further towards the knowledge and distinction of substances, than a collection of THOSE SENSIBLE IDEAS WHICH WE OBSERVE IN THEM; which, however made with the greatest diligence and exactness we are capable of, yet is more remote from the true internal constitution from which those qualities flow, than, as I said, a countryman’s idea is from the inward contrivance of that famous clock at Strasburg, whereof he only sees the outward figure and motions. There is not so contemptible a plant or animal, that does not confound the most enlarged understanding. Though the familiar use of things about us take off our wonder, yet it cures not our ignorance. When we come to examine the stones we tread on, or the iron we daily handle, we presently find we know not their make; and can give no reason of the different qualities we find in them. It is evident the internal constitution, whereon their properties depend, is unknown to us: for to go no further than the grossest and most obvious we can imagine amongst them, What is that texture of parts, that real essence, that makes lead and antimony fusible, wood and stones not? What makes lead and iron malleable, antimony and stones not? And yet how infinitely these come short of the fine contrivances and inconceivable real essences of plants or animals, every one knows. The workmanship of the all-wise and powerful God in the great fabric of the universe, and every part thereof, further exceeds the capacity and comprehension of the most inquisitive and intelligent man, than the best contrivance of the most ingenious man doth the conceptions of the most ignorant of rational creatures. Therefore we in vain pretend to range things into sorts, and dispose them into certain classes under names, by their real essences, that are so far from our discovery or comprehension. A blind man may as soon sort things by their colours, and he that has lost his smell as well distinguish a lily and a rose by their odours, as by those internal constitutions which he knows not. He that thinks he can distinguish sheep and goats by their real essences, that are unknown to him, may be pleased to try his skill in those species called CASSIOWARY and QUERECHINCHIO; and by their internal real essences determine the boundaries of those species, without knowing the complex idea of sensible qualities that each of those names stand for, in the countries where those animals are to be found.

10. Not the substantial Form, which know Not.

Those, therefore, who have been taught that the several species of substances had their distinct internal SUBSTANTIAL FORMS, and that it was those FORMS which made the distinction of substances into their true species and genera, were led yet further out of the way by having their minds set upon fruitless inquiries after ‘substantial forms’; wholly unintelligible, and whereof we have scarce so much as any obscure or confused conception in general.

11. That the Nominal Essence is that only whereby we distinguish Species of Substances, further evident, from our ideas of finite Spirits and of God.

That our ranking and distinguishing natural substances into species consists in the nominal essences the mind makes, and not in the real essences to be found in the things themselves, is further evident from our ideas of spirits. For the mind getting, only by reflecting on its own operations, those simple ideas which it attributes to spirits, it hath or can have no other notion of spirit but by attributing all those operations it finds in itself to a sort of beings; without consideration of matter. And even the most advanced notion we have of GOD is but attributing the same simple ideas which we have got from reflection on what we find in ourselves, and which we conceive to have more perfection in them than would be in their absence; attributing, I say, those simple ideas to Him in an unlimited degree. Thus, having got from reflecting on ourselves the idea of existence, knowledge, power and pleasure — each of which we find it better to have than to want; and the more we have of each the better — joining all these together, with infinity to each of them, we have the complex idea of an eternal, omniscient, omnipotent, infinitely wise and happy being. And though we are told that there are different species of angels; yet we know not how to frame distinct specific ideas of them: not out of any conceit that the existence of more species than one of spirits is impossible; but because having no more simple ideas (nor being able to frame more) applicable to such beings, but only those few taken from ourselves, and from the actions of our own minds in thinking, and being delighted, and moving several parts of our bodies; we can no otherwise distinguish in our conceptions the several species of spirits, one from another, but by attributing those operations and powers we find in ourselves to them in a higher or lower degree; and so have no very distinct specific ideas of spirits, except only of GOD, to whom we attribute both duration and all those other ideas with infinity; to the other spirits, with limitation: nor, as I humbly conceive, do we, between GOD and them in our ideas, put any difference, by any number of simple ideas which we have of one and not of the other, but only that of infinity. All the particular ideas of existence, knowledge, will, power, and motion, &c., being ideas derived from the operations of our minds, we attribute all of them to all sorts of spirits, with the difference only of degrees; to the utmost we can imagine, even infinity, when we would frame as well as we can an idea of the First Being; who yet, it is certain, is infinitely more remote, in the real excellency of his nature, from the highest and perfectest of all created beings, than the greatest man, nay, purest seraph, is from the most contemptible part of matter; and consequently must infinitely exceed what our narrow understandings can conceive of Him.

12. Of finite Spirits there are probably numberless Species in a continuous series of gradations.

It is not impossible to conceive, nor repugnant to reason, that there may be many species of spirits, as much separated and diversified one from another by distinct properties whereof we have no ideas, as the species of sensible things are distinguished one from another by qualities which we know and observe in them. That there should be more species of intelligent creatures above us, than there are of sensible and material below us, is probable to me from hence: that in all the visible corporeal world, we see no chasms or gaps. All quite down from us the descent is by easy steps, and a continued series of things, that in each remove differ very little one from the other. There are fishes that have wings, and are not strangers to the airy region: and there are some birds that are inhabitants of the water, whose blood is cold as fishes, and their flesh so like in taste that the scrupulous are allowed them on fish-days. There are animals so near of kin both to birds and beasts that they are in the middle between both: amphibious animals link the terrestrial and aquatic together; seals live at land and sea, and porpoises have the warm blood and entrails of a hog; not to mention what is confidently reported of mermaids, or sea-men. There are some brutes that seem to have as much knowledge and reason as some that are called men: and the animal and vegetable kingdoms are so nearly joined, that, if you will take the lowest of one and the highest of the other, there will scarce be perceived any great difference between them: and so on, till we come to the lowest and the most inorganical parts of matter, we shall find everywhere that the several species are linked together, and differ but in almost insensible degrees. And when we consider the infinite power and wisdom of the Maker, we have reason to think that it is suitable to the magnificent harmony of the universe, and the great design and infinite goodness of the Architect, that the species of creatures should also, by gentle degrees, ascend upward from us toward his infinite perfection, as we see they gradually descend from us downwards: which if it be probable, we have reason then to be persuaded that there are far more species of creatures above us than there are beneath; we being, in degrees of perfection, much more remote from the infinite being of God than we are from the lowest state of being, and that which approaches nearest to nothing. And yet of all those distinct species, for the reasons abovesaid, we have no clear distinct ideas.

13. The Nominal Essence that of the Species, as conceived by us, proved from Water and Ice.

But to return to the species of corporeal substances. If I should ask any one whether ice and water were two distinct species of things, I doubt not but I should be answered in the affirmative: and it cannot be denied but he that says they are two distinct species is in the right. But if an Englishman bred in Jamaica, who perhaps had never seen nor heard of ice, coming into England in the winter, find the water he put in his basin at night in a great part frozen in the morning, and, not knowing any peculiar name it had, should call it hardened water; I ask whether this would be a new species to him, different from water? And I think it would be answered here, It would not be to him a new species, no more than congealed jelly, when it is cold, is a distinct species from the same jelly fluid and warm; or than liquid gold in the furnace is a distinct species from hard gold in the hands of a workman. And if this be so, it is plain that OUR DISTINCT SPECIES are NOTHING BUT DISTINCT COMPLEX IDEAS, WITH DISTINCT NAMES ANNEXED TO THEM. It is true every substance that exists has its peculiar constitution, whereon depend those sensible qualities and powers we observe in it; but the ranking of things into species (which is nothing but sorting them under several titles) is done by us according to the ideas that WE have of them: which, though sufficient to distinguish them by names, so that we may be able to discourse of them when we have them not present before us; yet if we suppose it to be done by their real internal constitutions, and that things existing are distinguished by nature into species, by real essences, according as we distinguish them into species by names, we shall be liable to great mistakes.

14. Difficulties in the supposition of a certain number of real Essences

To distinguish substantial beings into species, according to the usual supposition, that there are certain precise essences or forms of things, whereby all the individuals existing are, by nature distinguished into species, these things are necessary: —

15. A crude supposition.

First, To be assured that nature, in the production of things, always designs them to partake of certain regulated established essences, which are to be the models of all things to be produced. This, in that crude sense it is usually proposed, would need some better explication, before it can fully be assented to.

16. Monstrous births.

Secondly, It would be necessary to know whether nature always attains that essence it designs in the production of things. The irregular and monstrous births, that in divers sorts of animals have been observed, will always give us reason to doubt of one or both of these.

17. Are monsters really a distinct species?

Thirdly, It ought to be determined whether those we call monsters be really a distinct species, according to the scholastic notion of the word species; since it is certain that everything that exists has its particular constitution. And yet we find that some of these monstrous productions have few or none of those qualities which are supposed to result from, and accompany, the essence of that species from whence they derive their originals, and to which, by their descent, they seem to belong.

18. Men can have no ideas of Real Essences.

Fourthly, The real essences of those things which we distinguish into species, and as so distinguished we name, ought to be known; i.e. we ought to have ideas of them. But since we are ignorant in these four points, the supposed real essences of things stand US not in stead for the distinguishing substances into species.

19. Our Nominal Essences of Substances not perfect collections of the properties that flow from the Real Essence.

Fifthly, The only imaginable help in this case would be, that, having framed perfect complex ideas of the properties of things flowing from their different real essences, we should thereby distinguish them into species. But neither can this be done. For, being ignorant of the real essence itself, it is impossible to know all those properties that flow from it, and are so annexed to it, that any one of them being away, we may certainly conclude that that essence is not there, and so the thing is not of that species. We can never know what is the precise number of properties depending on the real essence of gold, any one of which failing, the real essence of gold, and consequently gold, would not be there, unless we knew the real essence of gold itself, and by that determined that species. By the word GOLD here, I must be understood to design a particular piece of matter; v. g. the last guinea that was coined. For, if it should stand here, in its ordinary signification, for that complex idea which I or any one else calls gold, i. e. for the nominal essence of gold, it would be jargon. So hard is it to show the various meaning and imperfection of words, when we have nothing else but words to do it by.

20. Hence names independent of Real Essence.

By all which it is clear, that our distinguishing substances into species by names, is not at all founded on their real essences; nor can we pretend to range and determine them exactly into species, according to internal essential differences.

21. But stand for such collections of simple ideas as we have made the Name stand for.

But since, as has been remarked, we have need of GENERAL words, though we know not the real essences of things; all we can do is, to collect such a number of simple ideas as, by examination, we find to be united together in things existing, and thereof to make one complex idea. Which, though it be not the real essence of any substance that exists, is yet the specific essence to which our name belongs, and is convertible with it; by which we may at least try the truth of these nominal essences. For example: there be that say that the essence of body is EXTENSION; if it be so, we can never mistake in putting the essence of anything for the thing itself. Let us then in discourse put extension for body, and when we would say that body moves, let us say that extension moves, and see how ill it will look. He that should say that one extension by impulse moves another extension, would, by the bare expression, sufficiently show the absurdity of such a notion. The essence of anything in respect of us, is the whole complex idea comprehended and marked by that name; and in substances, besides the several distinct simple ideas that make them up, the confused one of substance, or of an unknown support and cause of their union, is always a part: and therefore the essence of body is not bare extension, but an extended solid thing; and so to say, an extended solid thing moves, or impels another, is all one, and as intelligible, as to say, BODY moves or impels. Likewise, to say that a rational animal is capable of conversation, is all one as to say a man; but no one will say that rationality is capable of conversation, because it makes not the whole essence to which we give the name man.

22. Our Abstract Ideas are to us the Measures of the Species we make in instance in that of Man.

There are creatures in the world that have shapes like ours, but are hairy, and want language and reason. There are naturals amongst us that have perfectly our shape, but want reason, and some of them language too. There are creatures, as it is said, (sit fides penes authorem, but there appears no contradiction that there should be such,) that, with language and reason and a shape in other things agreeing with ours, have hairy tails; others where the males have no beards, and others where the females have. If it be asked whether these be all men or no, all of human species? it is plain, the question refers only to the nominal essence: for those of them to whom the definition of the word man, or the complex idea signified by that name, agrees, are men, and the other not. But if the inquiry be made concerning the supposed real essence; and whether the internal constitution and frame of these several creatures be specifically different, it is wholly impossible for us to answer, no part of that going into our specific idea: only we have reason to think, that where the faculties or outward frame so much differs, the internal constitution is not exactly the same. But what difference in the real internal constitution makes a specific difference it is in vain to inquire; whilst our measures of species be, as they are, only our abstract ideas, which we know; and not that internal constitution, which makes no part of them. Shall the difference of hair only on the skin be a mark of a different internal specific constitution between a changeling and a drill, when they agree in shape, and want of reason and speech? And shall not the want of reason and speech be a sign to us of different real constitutions and species between a changeling and a reasonable man? And so of the rest, if we pretend that distinction of species or sorts is fixedly established by the real frame and secret constitutions of things.

23. Species in Animals not distinguished by Generation.

Nor let any one say, that the power of propagation in animals by the mixture of male and female, and in plants by seeds, keeps the supposed real species distinct and entire, For, granting this to be true, it would help us in the distinction of the species of things no further than the tribes of animals and vegetables. What must we do for the rest? But in those too it is not sufficient: for if history lie not, women have conceived by drills; and what real species, by that measure, such a production will be in nature will be a new question: and we have reason to think this is not impossible, since mules and jumarts, the one from the mixture of an ass and a mare, the other from the mixture of a bull and a mare, are so frequent in the world. I once saw a creature that was the issue of a cat and a rat, and had the plain marks of both about it; wherein nature appeared to have followed the pattern of neither sort alone, but to have jumbled them both together. To which he that shall add the monstrous productions that are so frequently to be met with in nature, will find it hard, even in the race of animals, to determine by the pedigree of what species every animal’s issue is; and be at a loss about the real essence, which he thinks certainly conveyed by generation, and has alone a right to the specific name. But further, if the species of animals and plants are to be distinguished only by propagation, must I go to the Indies to see the sire and dam of the one, and the plant from which the seed was gathered that produced the other, to know whether this be a tiger or that tea?

24. Not by substantial Forms.

Upon the whole matter, it is evident that it is their own collections of sensible qualities that men make the essences of THEIR several sorts of substances; and that their real internal structures are not considered by the greatest part of men in the sorting them. Much less were any SUBSTANTIAL FORMS ever thought on by any but those who have in this one part of the world learned the language of the schools: and yet those ignorant men, who pretend not any insight into the real essences, nor trouble themselves about substantial forms, but are content with knowing things one from another by their sensible qualities, are often better acquainted with their differences; can more nicely distinguish them from their uses; and better know what they expect from each, than those learned quick-sighted men, who look so deep into them, and talk so confidently of something more hidden and essential.

25. The specific Essences that are common made by Men.

But supposing that the REAL essences of substances were discoverable by those that would severely apply themselves to that inquiry, yet we could not reasonably think that the ranking of things under general names was regulated by those internal real constitutions, or anything else but their OBVIOUS appearances; since languages, in all countries, have been established long before sciences. So that they have not been philosophers or logicians, or such who have troubled themselves about forms and essences, that have made the general names that are in use amongst the several nations of men: but those more or less comprehensive terms have, for the most part, in all languages, received their birth and signification from ignorant and illiterate people, who sorted and denominated things by those sensible qualities they found in them; thereby to signify them, when absent, to others, whether they had an occasion to mention a sort or a particular thing.

26. Therefore very various and uncertain in the ideas of different men.

Since then it is evident that we sort and name substances by their nominal and not by their real essences, the next thing to be considered is how, and by whom these essences come to be made. As to the latter, it is evident they are made by the mind, and not by nature: for were they Nature’s workmanship, they could not be so various and different in several men as experience tells us they are. For if we will examine it, we shall not find the nominal essence of any one species of substances in all men the same: no, not of that which of all others we are the most intimately acquainted with. It could not possibly be that the abstract idea to which the name MAN is given should be different in several men, if it were of Nature’s making; and that to one it should be animal rationale, and to another, animal implume bipes latis unguibus. He that annexes the name man to a complex idea, made up of sense and spontaneous motion, joined to a body of such a shape, has thereby one essence of the species man; and he that, upon further examination, adds rationality, has another essence of the species he calls man: by which means the same individual will be a true man to the one which is not so to the other. I think there is scarce any one will allow this upright figure, so well known, to be the essential difference of the species man; and yet how far men determine of the sorts of animals rather by their shape than descent, is very visible; since it has been more than once debated, whether several human foetuses should be preserved or received to baptism or no, only because of the difference of their outward configuration from the ordinary make of children, without knowing whether they were not as capable of reason as infants cast in another mould: some whereof, though of an approved shape, are never capable of as much appearance of reason all their lives as is to be found in an ape, or an elephant, and never give any signs of being acted by a rational soul. Whereby it is evident, that the outward figure, which only was found wanting, and not the faculty of reason, which nobody could know would be wanting in its due season, was made essential to the human species. The learned divine and lawyer must, on such occasions, renounce his sacred definition of animal rationale, and substitute some other essence of the human species. [Monsieur Menage furnishes us with an example worth the taking notice of on this occasion: ‘When the abbot of Saint Martin,’ says he, ‘was born, he had so little of the figure of a man, that it bespake him rather a monster. It was for some time under deliberation, whether he should be baptized or no. However, he was baptized, and declared a man provisionally [till time should show what he would prove]. Nature had moulded him so untowardly, that he was called all his life the Abbot Malotru; i.e. ill-shaped. He was of Caen. (Menagiana, 278, 430.) This child, we see, was very near being excluded out of the species of man, barely by his shape. He escaped very narrowly as he was; and it is certain, a figure a little more oddly turned had cast him, and he had been executed, as a thing not to be allowed to pass for a man. And yet there can be no reason given why, if the lineaments of his face had been a little altered, a rational soul could not have been lodged in him; why a visage somewhat longer, or a nose flatter, or a wider mouth, could not have consisted, as well as the rest of his ill figure, with such a soul, such parts, as made him, disfigured as he was, capable to be a dignitary in the church.]

27. Nominal Essences of particular substances are undetermined by nature, and therefore various as men vary.

Wherein, then, would I gladly know, consist the precise and unmovable boundaries of that species? It is plain, if we examine, there is no such thing made by Nature, and established by her amongst men. The real essence of that or any other sort of substances, it is evident, we know not; and therefore are so undetermined in our nominal essences, which we make ourselves, that, if several men were to be asked concerning some oddly-shaped foetus, as soon as born, whether it were a man or no, it is past doubt one should meet with different answers. Which could not happen, if the nominal essences, whereby we limit and distinguish the species of substances, were not made by man with some liberty; but were exactly copied from precise boundaries set by nature, whereby it distinguished all substances into certain species. Who would undertake to resolve what species that monster was of which is mentioned by Licetus (lib. i. c. 3), with a man’s head and hog’s body? Or those other which to the bodies of men had the heads of beasts, as dogs, horses, &c. If any of these creatures had lived, and could have spoke, it would have increased the difficulty. Had the upper part to the middle been of human shape, and all below swine, had it been murder to destroy it? Or must the bishop have been consulted, whether it were man enough to be admitted to the font or no? As I have been told it happened in France some years since, in somewhat a like case. So uncertain are the boundaries of species of animals to us, who have no other measures than the complex ideas of our own collecting: and so far are we from certainly knowing what a MAN is; though perhaps it will be judged great ignorance to make any doubt about it. And yet I think I may say, that the certain boundaries of that species are so far from being determined, and the precise number of simple ideas which make the nominal essence so far from being settles and perfectly known, that very material doubts may still arise about it. And I imagine none of the definitions of the word MAN which we yet have, nor descriptios of that sort of animal, are so perfect and exact as to satisfy a considerate inquisitive person; much less to obtain a general consent, and to be that which men would everywhere stick by, in the decision of cases, and determining of life and death, baptism or no baptism, in productions that mights happen.

28. But not so arbitrary as Mixed Modes.

But though these nominal essences of substances are made by the mind, they are not yet made so arbitrarily as those of mixed modes. To the making of any nominal essence, it is necessary, First, that the ideas whereof it consists have such a union as to make but one idea, how compounded soever. Secondly, that the particular ideas so united be exactly the same, neither more nor less. For if two abstract complex ideas differ either in number or sorts of their component parts, they make two different, and not one and the same essence. In the first of these, the mind, in making its complex ideas of substances, only follows nature; and puts none together which are not supposed to have a union in nature. Nobody joins the voice of a sheep with the shape of a horse; nor the colour of lead with the weight and fixedness of gold, to be the complex ideas of any real substances; unless he has a mind to fill his head with chimeras, and his discourse with unintelligible words. Men observing certain qualities always joined and existing together, therein copied nature; and of ideas so united made their complex ones of substances. For, though men may make what complex ideas they please, and give what names to them they will; yet, if they will be understood WHEN THEY SPEAK OF THINGS REALLY EXISTING, they must in some degree conform their ideas to the things they would speak of; or else men’s language will be like that of Babel; and every man’s words, being intelligible only to himself, would no longer serve to conversation and the ordinary affairs of life, if the ideas they stand for be not some way answering the common appearances and agreement of substances as they really exist.

29. Our Nominal Essences of substances usually consist of a few obvious qualities observed in things.

Secondly, Though the mind of man, in making its complex ideas of substances, never puts any together that do not really, or are not supposed to, co-exist; and so it truly borrows that union from nature: yet the number it combines depends upon the various care, industry, or fancy of him that makes it. Men generally content themselves with some few sensible obvious qualities; and often, if not always, leave out others as material and as firmly united as those that they take. Of sensible substances there are two sorts: one of organized bodies, which are propagated by seed; and in these the SHAPE is that which to us is the leading quality, and most characteristical part, that determines the species. And therefore in vegetables and animals, an extended solid substance of such a certain figure usually serves the turn. For however some men seem to prize their definition of animal rationale, yet should there a creature be found that had language and reason, but partaked not of the usual shape of a man, I believe it would hardly pass for a man, how much soever it were animal rationale. And if Balaam’s ass had all his life discoursed as rationally as he did once with his master, I doubt yet whether any one would have thought him worthy the name man, or allowed him to be of the same species with himself. As in vegetables and animals it is the shape, so in most other bodies, not propagated by seed, it is the COLOUR we most fix on, and are most led by. Thus where we find the colour of gold, we are apt to imagine all the other qualities comprehended in our complex idea to be there also: and we commonly take these two obvious qualities, viz. shape and colour, for so presumptive ideas of several species, that in a good picture, we readily say, this is a lion, and that a rose; this is a gold, and that a silver goblet, only by the different figures and colours represented to the eye by the pencil.

30. Yet, imperfect as they thus are, they serve for common converse.

But though this serves well enough for gross and confused conceptions, and inaccurate ways of talking and thinking; yet MEN ARE FAR ENOUGH FROM HAVING AGREED ON THE PRECISE NUMBER OF SIMPLE IDEAS OR QUALITIES BELONGING TO ANY SORT OF THINGS, SIGNIFIED BY ITS NAME. Nor is it a wonder; since it requires much time, pains, and skill, strict inquiry, and long examination to find out what, and how many, those simple ideas are, which are constantly and inseparably united in nature, and are always to be found together in the same subject. Most men, wanting either time, inclination, or industry enough for this, even to some tolerable degree, content themselves with some few obvious and outward appearances of things, thereby readily to distinguish and sort them for the common affairs of life: and so, without further examination, give them names, or take up the names already in use. Which, though in common conversation they pass well enough for the signs of some few obvious qualities co-existing, are yet far enough from comprehending, in a settled signification, a precise number of simple ideas, much less all those which are united in nature. He that shall consider, after so much stir about genus and species, and such a deal of talk of specific differences, how few words we have yet settled definitions of, may with reason imagine, that those FORMS which there hath been so much noise made about are only chimeras, which give us no light into the specific natures of things. And he that shall consider how far the names of substances are from having significations wherein all who use them do agree, will have reason to conclude that, though the nominal essences of substances are all supposed to be copied from nature, yet they are all, or most of them, very imperfect. Since the composition of those complex ideas are, in several men, very different: and therefore that these boundaries of species are as men, and not as Nature, makes them, if at least there are in nature any such prefixed bounds. It is true that many particular substances are so made by Nature, that they have agreement and likeness one with another, and so afford a foundation of being ranked into sorts. But the sorting of things by us, or the making of determinate species, being in order to naming and comprehending them under general terms, I cannot see how it can be properly said, that Nature sets the boundaries of the species of things: or, if it be so, our boundaries of species are not exactly conformable to those in nature. For we, having need of general names for present use, stay not for a perfect discovery of all those qualities which would BEST show us their most material differences and agreements; but we ourselves divide them, by certain obvious appearances, into species, that we may the easier under general names communicate our thoughts about them. For, having no other knowledge of any substance but of the simple ideas that are united in it; and observing several particular things to agree with others in several of those simple ideas; we make that collection our specific idea, and give it a general name; that in recording our thoughts, and in our discourse with others, we may in one short word designate all the individuals that agree in that complex idea, without enumerating the simple ideas that make it up; and so not waste our time and breath in tedious descriptions: which we see they are fain to do who would discourse of any new sort of things they have not yet a name for.

31. Essences of Species under the same Name very different in different minds.

But however these species of substances pass well enough in ordinary conversation, it is plain that this complex idea wherein they observe several individuals to agree, is by different men made very differently; by some more, and others less accurately. In some, this complex idea contains a greater, and in others a smaller number of qualities; and so is apparently such as the mind makes it. The yellow shining colour makes gold to children; others add weight, malleableness, and fusibility; and others yet other qualities, which they find joined with that yellow colour, as constantly as its weight and fusibility. For in all these and the like qualities, one has as good a right to be put into the complex idea of that substance wherein they are all joined as another. And therefore different men, leaving out or putting in several simple ideas which others do not, according to their various examination, skill, or observation of that subject, have different essences of gold, which must therefore be of their own and not of nature’s making.

32. The more general our Ideas of Substances are, the more incomplete and partial they are.

If the number of simple ideas that make the nominal essence of the lowest species, or first sorting, of individuals, depends on the mind of man, variously collecting them, it is much more evident that they do so in the more comprehensive classes, which, by the masters of logic, are called genera. These are complex ideas designedly imperfect: and it is visible at first sight, that several of those qualities that are to be found in the things themselves are purposely left out of generical ideas. For, as the mind, to make general ideas comprehending several particulars, leaves out those of time and place, and such other, that make them incommunicable to more than one individual; so to make other yet more general ideas, that may comprehend different sorts, it leaves out those qualities that distinguish them, and puts into its new collection only such ideas as are common to several sorts. The same convenience that made men express several parcels of yellow matter coming from Guinea and Peru under one name, sets them also upon making of one name that may comprehend both gold and silver, and some other bodies of different sorts. This is done by leaving out those qualities, which are peculiar to each sort, and retaining a complex idea made up of those that are common to them all. To which the name METAL being annexed, there is a genus constituted; the essence whereof being that abstract idea, containing only malleableness and fusibility, with certain degrees of weight and fixedness, wherein some bodies of several kinds agree, leaves out the colour and other qualities peculiar to gold and silver, and the other sorts comprehended under the name metal. Whereby it is plain that men follow not exactly the patterns set them by nature, when they make their general ideas of substances; since there is no body to be found which has barely malleableness and fusibility in it, without other qualities as inseparable as those. But men, in making their general ideas, seeking more the convenience of language, and quick dispatch by short and comprehensive signs, than the true and precise nature of things as they exist, have, in the framing their abstract ideas, chiefly pursued that end; which was to be furnished with store of general and variously comprehensive names. So that in this whole business of genera and species, the genus, or more comprehensive, is but a partial conception of what is in the species; and the species but a partial idea of what is to be found in each individual. If therefore any one will think that a man, and a horse, and an animal, and a plant, &c., are distinguished by real essences made by nature, he must think nature to be very liberal of these real essences, making one for body, another for an animal, and another for a horse; and all these essences liberally bestowed upon Bucephalus. But if we would rightly consider what is done in all these genera and species, or sorts, we should find that there is no new thing made; but only more or less comprehensive signs, whereby we may be enabled to express in a few syllables great numbers of particular things, as they agree in more or less general conceptions, which we have framed to that purpose. In all which we may observe, that the more general term is always the name of a less complex idea; and that each genus is but a partial conception of; the species comprehended under it. So that if these abstract general ideas be thought to be complete, it can only be in respect of a certain established relation between them and certain names which are made use of to signify them; and not in respect of anything existing, as made by nature.

33. This all accommodated to the end of the Speech.

This is adjusted to the true end of speech, which is to be the easiest and shortest way of communicating our notions. For thus he that would discourse of things, as they agreed in the complex idea of extension and solidity, needed but use the word BODY to denote all such. He that to these would join others, signified by the words life, sense, and spontaneous motion, needed but use the word ANIMAL to signify all which partaked of those ideas, and he that had made a complex idea of a body, with life, sense, and motion, with the faculty of reasoning, and a certain shape joined to it, needed but use the short monosyllable MAN, to express all particulars that correspond to that complex idea. This is the proper business of genus and species: and this men do without any consideration of real essences, or substantial forms; which come not within the reach of our knowledge when we think of those things, nor within the signification of our words when we discourse with others.

34. Instance in Cassowaries.

Were I to talk with any one of a sort of birds I lately saw in St. James’s Park, about three or four feet high, with a covering of something between feathers and hair, of a dark brown colour, without wings, but in the place thereof two or three little branches coming down like sprigs of Spanish broom, long great legs, with feet only of three claws, and without a tail; I must make this description of it, and so may make others understand me. But when I am told that the name of it is CASSUARIS, I may then use that word to stand in discourse for all my complex idea mentioned in that description; though by that word, which is now become a specific name, I know no more of the real essence or constitution of that sort of animals than I did before; and knew probably as much of the nature of that species of birds before I learned the name, as many Englishmen do of swans or herons, which are specific names, very well known, of sorts of birds common in England.

35. Men determine the Sorts of Substances, which may be sorted variously.

From what has been said, it is evident that MEN make sorts of things. For, it being different essences alone that make different species, it is plain that they who make those abstract ideas which are the nominal essences do thereby make the species, or sort. Should there be a body found, having all the other qualities of gold except malleableness, it would no doubt be made a question whether it were gold or not, i.e. whether it were of that species. This could be determined only by that abstract idea to which every one annexed the name gold: so that it would be true gold to him, and belong to that species, who included not malleableness in his nominal essence, signified by the sound gold; and on the other side it would not be true gold, or of that species, to him who included malleableness in his specific idea. And who, I pray, is it that makes these diverse species, even under one and the same name, but men that make two different abstract ideas, consisting not exactly of the same collection of qualities? Nor is it a mere supposition to imagine that a body may exist wherein the other obvious qualities of gold may be without malleableness; since it is certain that gold itself will be sometimes so eager, (as artists call it,) that it will as little endure the hammer as glass itself. What we have said of the putting in, or leaving out of malleableness, in the complex idea the name gold is by any one annexed to, may be said of its peculiar weight, fixedness, and several other the like qualities: for whatever is left out, or put in, it is still the complex idea to which that name is annexed that makes the species: and as any particular parcel of matter answers that idea, so the name of the sort belongs truly to it; and it is of that species. And thus anything is true gold, perfect metal. All which determination of the species, it is plain, depends on the understanding of man, making this or that complex idea.

36. Nature makes the Similitudes of Substances.

This, then, in short, is the case: Nature makes many PARTICULAR THINGS, which do agree one with another in many sensible qualities, and probably too in their internal frame and constitution: but it is not this real essence that distinguishes them into species; it is men who, taking occasion from the qualities they find united in them, and wherein they observe often several individuals to agree, range them into sorts, in order to their naming, for the convenience of comprehensive signs; under which individuals, according to their conformity to this or that abstract idea, come to be ranked as under ensigns: so that this is of the blue, that the red regiment; this is a man, that a drill: and in this, I think, consists the whole business of genus and species.

37. The manner of sorting particular beings the work of fallible men, though nature makes things alike.

I do not deny but nature, in the constant production of particular beings, makes them not always new and various, but very much alike and of kin one to another: but I think it nevertheless true, that the boundaries of the species, whereby men sort them, are made by men; since the essences of the species, distinguished by different names, are, as has been proved, of man’s making, and seldom adequate to the internal nature of the things they are taken from. So that we may truly say, such a manner of sorting of things is the workmanship of men.

38. Each abstract Idea, with a name to it, makes a nominal Essence.

One thing I doubt not but will seem very strange in this doctrine, which is, that from what has been said it will follow, that each abstract idea, with a name to it, makes a distinct species. But who can help it, if truth will have it so? For so it must remain till somebody can show us the species of things limited and distinguished by something else; and let us see that general terms signify not our abstract ideas, but something different from them. I would fain know why a shock and a hound are not as distinct species as a spaniel and an elephant. We have no other idea of the different essence of an elephant and a spaniel, than we have of the different essence of a shock and a hound; all the essential difference, whereby we know and distinguish them one from another, consisting only in the different collection of simple ideas, to which we have given those different names.

39. How Genera and Species are related to naming.

How much the making of species and genera is in order to general names; and how much general names are necessary, if not to the being, yet at least to the completing of a species, and making it pass for such, will appear, besides what has been said above concerning ice and water, in a very familiar example. A silent and a striking watch are but one species, to those who have but one name for them: but he that has the name WATCH for one, and CLOCK for the other, and distinct complex ideas to which those names belong, to HIM they are different species. It will be said perhaps, that the inward contrivance and constitution is different between these two, which the watchmaker has a clear idea of. And yet it is plain they are but one species to him, when he has but one name for them. For what is sufficient in the inward contrivance to make a new species? There are some watches that are made with four wheels, others with five; is this a specific difference to the workman? Some have strings and physics, and others none; some have the balance loose, and others regulated by a spiral spring, and others by hogs’ bristles. Are any or all of these enough to make a specific difference to the workman, that knows each of these and several other different contrivances in the internal constitutions of watches? It is certain each of these hath a real difference from the rest; but whether it be an essential, a specific difference or no, relates only to the complex idea to which the name watch is given: as long as they all agree in the idea which that name stands for, and that name does not as a generical name comprehend different species under it, they are not essentially nor specifically different. But if any one will make minuter divisions, from differences that he knows in the internal frame of watches, and to such precise complex ideas give names that shall prevail; they will then be new species, to them who have those ideas with names to them, and can by those differences distinguish watches into these several sorts; and then WATCH will be a generical name. But yet they would be no distinct species to men ignorant of clock-work, and the inward contrivances of watches, who had no other idea but the outward shape and bulk, with the marking of the hours by the hand. For to them all those other names would be but synonymous terms for the same idea, and signify no more, nor no other thing but a watch. Just thus I think it is in natural things. Nobody will doubt that the wheels or springs (if I may so say) within, are different in a RATIONAL MAN and a CHANGELING; no more than that there is a difference in the frame between a DRILL and a CHANGELING. But whether one or both these differences be essential or specifical, is only to be known to us by their agreement or disagreement with the complex idea that the name man stands for: for by that alone can it be determined whether one, or both, or neither of those be a man.

40. Species of Artificial Things less confused than Natural.

From what has been before said, we may see the reason why, in the species of artificial things, there is generally less confusion and uncertainty than in natural. Because an artificial thing being a production of man, which the artificer designed, and therefore well knows the idea of, the name of it is supposed to stand for no other idea, nor to import any other essence, than what is certainly to be known, and easy enough to be apprehended. For the idea or essence of the several sorts of artificial things, consisting for the most part in nothing but the determinate figure of sensible parts, and sometimes motion depending thereon, which the artificer fashions in matter, such as he finds for his turn; it is not beyond the reach of our faculties to attain a certain idea thereof; and so settle the signification of the names whereby the species of artificial things are distinguished, with less doubt, obscurity, and equivocation than we can in things natural, whose differences and operations depend upon contrivances beyond the reach of our discoveries.

41. Artificial Things of distinct Species.

I must be excused here if I think artificial things are of distinct species as well as natural: since I find they are as plainly and orderly ranked into sorts, by different abstract ideas, with general names annexed to them, as distinct one from another as those of natural substances. For why should we not think a watch and pistol as distinct species one from another, as a horse and a dog; they being expressed in our minds by distinct ideas, and to others by distinct appellations?

42. Substances alone, of all our several sorts of ideas, have proper Names.

This is further to be observed concerning substances, that they alone of all our several sorts of ideas have particular or proper names, whereby one only particular thing is signified. Because in simple ideas, modes, and relations, it seldom happens that men have occasion to mention often this or that particular when it is absent. Besides, the greatest part of mixed modes, being actions which perish in their birth, are not capable of a lasting duration, as substances which are the actors; and wherein the simple ideas that make up the complex ideas designed by the name have a lasting union.

43. Difficult to lead another by words into the thoughts of things stripped of those abstract ideas we give them.

I must beg pardon of my reader for having dwelt so long upon this subject, and perhaps with some obscurity. But I desire it may be considered, how difficult it is to lead another by words into the thoughts of things, stripped of those specifical differences we give them: which things, if I name not, I say nothing; and if I do name them, I thereby rank them into some sort or other, and suggest to the mind the usual abstract idea of that species; and so cross my purpose. For, to talk of a man, and to lay by, at the same time, the ordinary signification of the name man, which is our complex idea usually annexed to it; and bid the reader consider man, as he is in himself, and as he is really distinguished from others in his internal constitution, or real essence, that is, by something he knows not what, looks like trifling: and yet thus one must do who would speak of the supposed real essences and species of things, as thought to be made by nature, if it be but only to make it understood, that there is no such thing signified by the general names which substances are called by. But because it is difficult by known familiar names to do this, give me leave to endeavour by an example to make the different consideration the mind has of specific names and ideas a little more clear; and to show how the complex ideas of modes are referred sometimes to archetypes in the minds of other intelligent beings, or, which is the same, to the signification annexed by others to their received names; and sometimes to no archetypes at all. Give me leave also to show how the mind always refers its ideas of substances, either to the substances themselves, or to the signification of their names, as to the archetypes; and also to make plain the nature of species or sorting of things, as apprehended and made use of by us; and of the essences belonging to those species: which is perhaps of more moment to discover the extent and certainty of our knowledge than we at first imagine.

44. Instances of mixed Modes names KINNEAH and NIOUPH.

Let us suppose Adam, in the state of a grown man, with a good understanding, but in a strange country, with all things new and unknown about him; and no other faculties to attain the knowledge of them but what one of this age has now. He observes Lamech more melancholy than usual, and imagines it to be from a suspicion he has of his wife Adah, (whom he most ardently loved) that she had too much kindness for another man. Adam discourses these his thoughts to Eve, and desires her to take care that Adah commit not folly: and in these discourses with Eve he makes use of these two new words KINNEAH and NIOUPH. In time, Adam’s mistake appears, for he finds Lamech’s trouble proceeded from having killed a man: but yet the two names KINNEAH and NIOUPH, (the one standing for suspicion in a husband of his wife’s disloyalty to him; and the other for the act of committing disloyalty,) lost not their distinct significations. It is plain then, that here were two distinct complex ideas of mixed modes, with names to them, two distinct species of actions essentially different; I ask wherein consisted the essences of these two distinct species of actions? And it is plain it consisted in a precise combination of simple ideas, different in one from the other. I ask, whether the complex idea in Adam’s mind, which he called KINNEAH, were adequate or not? And it is plain it was; for it being a combination of simple ideas, which he, without any regard to any archetype, without respect to anything as a pattern, voluntarily put together, abstracted, and gave the name KINNEAH to, to express in short to others, by that one sound, all the simple ideas contained and united in that complex one; it must necessarily follow that it was an adequate idea. His own choice having made that combination, it had all in it he intended it should, and so could not but be perfect, could not but be adequate; it being referred to no other archetype which it was supposed to represent.

45. These words, KINNEAH and NIOUPH, by degrees grew into common use, and then the case was somewhat altered. Adam’s children had the same faculties, and thereby the same power that he had, to make what complex ideas of mixed modes they pleased in their own minds; to abstract them, and make what sounds they pleased the signs of them: but the use of names being to make our ideas within us known to others, that cannot be done, but when the same sign stands for the same idea in two who would communicate their thoughts and discourse together. Those, therefore, of Adam’s children, that found these two words, KINNEAH and NIOUPH, in familiar use, could not take them for insignificant sounds, but must needs conclude they stood for something; for certain ideas, abstract ideas, they being general names; which abstract ideas were the essences of the species distinguished by those names. If therefore, they would use these words as names of species already established and agreed on, they were obliged to conform the ideas in their minds, signified by these names, to the ideas that they stood for in other men’s minds, as to their patterns and archetypes; and then indeed their ideas of these complex modes were liable to be inadequate, as being very apt (especially those that consisted of combinations of many simple ideas) not to be exactly conformable to the ideas in other men’s minds, using the same names; though for this there be usually a remedy at hand, which is to ask the meaning of any word we understand not of him that uses it: it being as impossible to know certainly what the words jealousy and adultery (which I think answer [Hebrew] and [Hebrew]) stand for in another man’s mind, with whom I would discourse about them; as it was impossible, in the beginning of language, to know what KINNEAH and NIOUPH stood for in another man’s mind, without explication; they being voluntary signs in every one.

46. Instances of a species of Substance named ZAHAB.

Let us now also consider, after the same manner, the names of substances in their first application. One of Adam’s children, roving in the mountains, lights on a glittering substance which pleases his eye. Home he carries it to Adam, who, upon consideration of it, finds it to be hard, to have a bright yellow colour, and an exceeding great weight. These perhaps, at first, are all the qualities he takes notice of in it; and abstracting this complex idea, consisting of a substance having that peculiar bright yellowness, and a weight very great in proportion to its bulk, he gives the name ZAHAB, to denominate and mark all substances that have these sensible qualities in them. It is evident now, that, in this case, Adam acts quite differently from what he did before, in forming those ideas of mixed modes to which he gave the names KINNEAH and NIOUPH. For there he put ideas together only by his own imagination, not taken from the existence of anything; and to them he gave names to denominate all things that should happen to agree to those his abstract ideas, without considering whether any such thing did exist or not: the standard there was of his own making. But in the forming his idea of this new substance, he takes the quite contrary course; here he has a standard made by nature; and therefore, being to represent that to himself, by the idea he has of it, even when it is absent, he puts in no simple idea into his complex one, but what he has the perception of from the thing itself. He takes care that his idea be conformable to this archetype, and intends the name should stand for an idea so conformable.

47.

This piece of matter, thus denominated ZAHAB by Adam, being quite different from any he had seen before, nobody, I think, will deny to be a distinct species, and to have its peculiar essence; and that the name ZAHAB is the mark of the species, and a name belonging to all things partaking in that essence. But here it is plain the essence Adam made the name ZAHAB stand for was nothing but a body hard, shining, yellow, and very heavy. But the inquisitive mind of man, not content with the knowledge of these, as I may say, superficial qualities, puts Adam upon further examination of this matter. He therefore knocks, and beats it with flints, to see what was discoverable in the inside: he finds it yield to blows, but not easily separate into pieces: he finds it will bend without breaking. Is not now ductility to be added to his former idea, and made part of the essence of the species that name ZAHAB stands for? Further trials discover fusibility and fixedness. Are not they also, by the same reason that any of the others were, to be put into the complex idea signified by the name ZAHAB? If not, what reason will there be shown more for the one than the other? If these must, then all the other properties, which any further trials shall discover in this matter, ought by the same reason to make a part of the ingredients of the complex idea which the name ZAHAB stands for, and so be the essence of the species marked by that name. Which properties, because they are endless, it is plain that the idea made after this fashion, by this archetype, will be always inadequate.

48. The Abstract Ideas of Substances always imperfect and therefore various.

But this is not all. It would also follow that the names of substances would not only have, as in truth they have, but would also be supposed to have different significations, as used by different men, which would very much cumber the use of language. For if every distinct quality that were discovered in any matter by any one were supposed to make a necessary part of the complex idea signified by the common name given to it, it must follow, that men must suppose the same word to signify different things in different men: since they cannot doubt but different men may have discovered several qualities, in substances of the same denomination, which others know nothing of.

49. Therefore to fix the Nominal Species Real Essence supposed.

To avoid this therefore, they have supposed a real essence belonging to every species, from which these proper ties all flow, and would have their name of the species stand for that. But they, not having any idea of that real essence in substances, and their words signifying nothing but the ideas they have, that which is done by this attempt is only to put the name or sound in the place and stead of the thing having that real essence, without knowing what the real essence is, and this is that which men do when they speak of species of things, as supposing them made by nature, and distinguished by real essences.

50. Which Supposition is of no Use.

For, let us consider, when we affirm that ‘all gold is fixed,’ either it means that fixedness is a part of the definition, i. e., part of the nominal essence the word gold stands for; and so this affirmation, ‘all gold is fixed,’ contains nothing but the signification of the term gold. Or else it means, that fixedness, not being a part of the definition of the gold, is a property of that substance itself: in which case it is plain that the word gold stands in the place of a substance, having the real essence of a species of things made by nature. In which way of substitution it has so confused and uncertain a signification, that, though this proposition— ‘gold is fixed’ — be in that sense an affirmation of something real; yet it is a truth will always fail us in its particular application, and so is of no real use or certainty. For let it be ever so true, that all gold, i. e. all that has the real essence of gold, is fixed, what serves this for, whilst we know not, in this sense, WHAT IS OR IS NOT GOLD? For if we know not the real essence of gold, it is impossible we should know what parcel of matter has that essence, and so whether IT be true gold or no.

51. Conclusion.

To conclude: what liberty Adam had at first to make any complex ideas of MIXED MODES by no other pattern but by his own thoughts, the same have all men ever since had. And the same necessity of conforming his ideas of SUBSTANCES to things without him, as to archetypes made by nature, that Adam was under, if he would not wilfully impose upon himself, the same are all men ever since under too. The same liberty also that Adam had of affixing any new name to any idea, the same has any one still, (especially the beginners of languages, if we can imagine any such;) but only with this difference, that, in places where men in society have already established a language amongst them, the significations of words are very warily and sparingly to be altered. Because men being furnished already with names for their ideas, and common use having appropriated known names to certain ideas, an affected misapplication of them cannot but be very ridiculous. He that hath new notions will perhaps venture sometimes on the coining of new terms to express them: but men think it a boldness, and it is uncertain whether common use will ever make them pass for current. But in communication with others, it is necessary that we conform the ideas we make the vulgar words of any language stand for to their known proper significations, (which I have explained at large already,) or else to make known that new signification we apply them to.

CHAPTER VII. OF PARTICLES.

1. Particles connect Parts, or whole Sentences together.

Besides words which are names of ideas in the mind, there are a great many others that are made use of to signify the CONNEXION that the mind gives to ideas, or to propositions, one with another. The mind, in communicating its thoughts to others, does not only need signs of the ideas it has then before it, but others also, to show or intimate some particular action of its own, at that time, relating to those ideas. This it does several ways; as IS and IS NOT, are the general marks, of the mind, affirming or denying. But besides affirmation or negation, without which there is in words no truth or falsehood, the mind does, in declaring its sentiments to others, connect not only the parts of propositions, but whole sentences one to another, with their several relations and dependencies, to make a coherent discourse.

2. In right use of Particles consists the Art of Well-speaking

The words whereby it signifies what connexion it gives to the several affirmations and negations, that it unites in one continued reasoning or narration, are generally called PARTICLES: and it is in the right use of these that more particularly consists the clearness and beauty of a good style. To think well, it is not enough that a man has ideas clear and distinct in his thoughts, nor that he observes the agreement or disagreement of some of them; but he must think in train, and observe the dependence of his thoughts and reasonings upon one another. And to express well such methodical and rational thoughts, he must have words to show what connexion, restriction, distinction, opposition, emphasis, &c., he gives to each respective part of his discourse. To mistake in any of these, is to puzzle instead of informing his hearer: and therefore it is, that those words which are not truly by themselves the names of any ideas are of such constant and indispensable use in language, and do much contribute to men’s well expressing themselves.

3. They say what Relation the Mind gives to its own Thoughts.

This part of grammar has been perhaps as much neglected as some others over-diligently cultivated. It is easy for men to write, one after another, of cases and genders, moods and tenses, gerunds and supines: in these and the like there has been great diligence used; and particles themselves, in some languages, have been, with great show of exactness, ranked into their several orders. But though PREPOSITIONS and CONJUNCTIONS, &c., are names well known in grammar, and the particles contained under them carefully ranked into their distinct subdivisions; yet he who would show the right use of particles, and what significancy and force they have, must take a little more pains, enter into his own thoughts, and observe nicely the several postures of his mind in discoursing.

4. They are all marks of some action or intimation of the mind.

Neither is it enough, for the explaining of these words, to render them, as is usual in dictionaries, by words of another tongue which come nearest to their signification: for what is meant by them is commonly as hard to be understood in one as another language. They are all marks of some action or intimation of the mind; and therefore to understand them rightly, the several views, postures, stands, turns, limitations, and exceptions, and several other thoughts of the mind, for which we have either none or very deficient names, are diligently to be studied. Of these there is a great variety, much exceeding the number of particles that most languages have to express them by: and therefore it is not to be wondered that most of these particles have divers and sometimes almost opposite significations. In the Hebrew tongue there is a particle consisting of but one single letter, of which there are reckoned up, as I remember, seventy, I am sure above fifty, several significations.

5. Instance in But.

‘But’ is a particle, none more familiar in our language: and he that says it is a discretive conjunction, and that it answers to sed Latin, or mais in French, thinks he has sufficiently explained it. But yet it seems to me to intimate several relations the mind gives to the several propositions or parts of them which it joins by this monosyllable.

First, ‘But to say no more:’ here it intimates a stop of the mind in the course it was going, before it came quite to the end of it.

Secondly, ‘I saw but two plants;’ here it shows that the mind limits the sense to what is expressed, with a negation of all other.

Thirdly,’You pray; but it is not that God would bring you to the true religion.’

Fourthly, ‘But that he would confirm you in your own.’ The first of these BUTS intimates a supposition in the mind of something otherwise than it should be; the latter shows that the mind makes a direct opposition between that and what goes before it.

Fifthly, ‘All animals have sense, but a dog is an animal:’ here it signifies little more but that the latter proposition is joined to the former, as the minor of a syllogism.

6. This Matter of the use of Particles but lightly touched here.

To these, I doubt not, might be added a great many other significations of this particle, if it were my business to examine it in its full latitude, and consider it in all the places it is to be found: which if one should do, I doubt whether in all those manners it is made use of, it would deserve the title of DISCRETIVE, which grammarians give to it. But I intend not here a full explication of this sort of signs. The instances I have given in this one may give occasion to reflect on their use and force in language, and lead us into the contemplation of several actions of our minds in discoursing, which it has found a way to intimate to others by these particles, some whereof constantly, and others in certain constructions, have the sense of a whole sentence contained in them.

CHAPTER VIII. OF ABSTRACT AND CONCRETE TERMS.

1. Abstract Terms predicated one on another and why.

The ordinary words of language, and our common use of them, would have given us light into the nature of our ideas, if they had been but considered with attention. The mind, as has been shown, has a power to abstract its ideas, and so they become essences, general essences, whereby the sorts of things are distinguished. Now each abstract idea being distinct, so that of any two the one can never be the other, the mind will, by its intuitive knowledge, perceive their difference, and therefore in propositions no two whole ideas can ever be affirmed one of another. This we see in the common use of language, which permits not any two abstract words, or names of abstract ideas, to be affirmed one of another. For how near of kin soever they may seem to be, and how certain soever it is that man is an animal, or rational, or white, yet every one at first hearing perceives the falsehood of these propositions: HUMANITY IS ANIMALITY, or RATIONALITY, or WHITENESS: and this is as evident as any of the most allowed maxims. All our affirmations then are only in concrete, which is the affirming, not one abstract idea to be another, but one abstract idea to be joined to another; which abstract ideas, in substances, may be of any sort; in all the rest are little else but of relations; and in substances the most frequent are of powers: v.g. ‘a man is white,’ signifies that the thing that has the essence of a man has also in it the essence of whiteness, which is nothing but a power to produce the idea of whiteness in one whose eyes can discover ordinary objects: or, ‘a man is rational,’ signifies that the same thing that hath the essence of a man hath also in it the essence of rationality, i.e. a power of reasoning.

2. They show the Difference of our Ideas.

This distinction of names shows us also the difference of our ideas: for if we observe them, we shall find that OUR SIMPLE IDEAS HAVE ALL ABSTRACT AS WELL AS CONCRETE NAMES: the one whereof is (to speak the language of grammarians) a substantive, the other an adjective; as whiteness, white; sweetness, sweet. The like also holds in our ideas of modes and relations; as justice, just; equality, equal: only with this difference, that some of the concrete names of relations amongst men chiefly are substantives; as, paternitas, pater; whereof it were easy to render a reason. But as to our ideas of substances, we have very few or no abstract names at all. For though the Schools have introduced animalitas, humanitas, corporietas, and some others; yet they hold no proportion with that infinite number of names of substances, to which they never were ridiculous enough to attempt the coining of abstract ones: and those few that the Schools forged, and put into the mouths of their scholars, could never yet get admittance into common use, or obtain the license of public approbation. Which seems to me at least to intimate the confession of all mankind, that they have no ideas of the real essences of substances, since they have not names for such ideas: which no doubt they would have had, had not their consciousness to themselves of their ignorance of them kept them from so idle an attempt. And therefore, though they had ideas enough to distinguish gold from a stone, and metal from wood; yet they but timorously ventured on such terms, as aurietas and saxietas, metallietas and lignietas, or the like names, which should pretend to signify the real essences of those substances whereof they knew they had no ideas. And indeed it was only the doctrine of SUBSTANTIAL FORMS, and the confidence of mistaken pretenders to a knowledge that they had not, which first coined and then introduced animalitas and humanitas, and the like; which yet went very little further than their own Schools, and could never get to be current amongst understanding men. Indeed, humanitas was a word in familiar use amongst the Romans; but in a far different sense, and stood not for the abstract essence of any substance; but was the abstracted name of a mode, and its concrete humanus, not homo.

CHAPTER IX. OF THE IMPERFECTION OF WORDS.

1. Words are used for recording and communicating our Thoughts.

From what has been said in the foregoing chapters, it is easy to perceive what imperfection there is in language, and how the very nature of words makes it almost unavoidable for many of them to be doubtful and uncertain in their significations. To examine the perfection or imperfection of words, it is necessary first to consider their use and end: for as they are more or less fitted to attain that, so they are more or less perfect. We have, in the former part of this discourse often, upon occasion, mentioned a double use of words.

First, One for the recording of our own thoughts.

Secondly, The other for the communicating of our thoughts to others.

2. Any Words will serve for recording.

As to the first of these, FOR THE RECORDING OUR OWN THOUGHTS FOR THE HELP OF OUR OWN MEMORIES, whereby, as it were, we talk to ourselves, any words will serve the turn. For since sounds are voluntary and indifferent signs of any ideas, a man may use what words he pleases to signify his own ideas to himself: and there will be no imperfection in them, if he constantly use the same sign for the same idea: for then he cannot fail of having his meaning understood, wherein consists the right use and perfection of language.

3. Communication by Words either for civil or philosophical purposes.

Secondly, As to COMMUNICATION BY WORDS, that too has a double use.

I. Civil.

II. Philosophical. First, By, their CIVIL use, I mean such a communication of thoughts and ideas by words, as may serve for the upholding common conversation and commerce, about the ordinary affairs and conveniences of civil life, in the societies of men, one amongst another.

Secondly, By the PHILOSOPHICAL use of words, I mean such a use of them as may serve to convey the precise notions of things, and to express in general propositions certain and undoubted truths, which the mind may rest upon and be satisfied with in its search after true knowledge. These two uses are very distinct; and a great deal less exactness will serve in the one than in the other, as we shall see in what follows.

4. The imperfection of Words is the Doubtfulness or ambiguity of their Signification, which is caused by the sort of ideas they stand for.

The chief end of language in communication being to be understood, words serve not well for that end, neither in civil nor philosophical discourse, when any word does not excite in the hearer the same idea which it stands for in the mind of the speaker. Now, since sounds have no natural connexion with our ideas, but have all their signification from the arbitrary imposition of men, the doubtfulness and uncertainty of their signification, which is the imperfection we here are speaking of, has its cause more in the ideas they stand for than in any incapacity there is in one sound more than in another to signify any idea: for in that regard they are all equally perfect.

That then which makes doubtfulness and uncertainty in the signification of some more than other words, is the difference of ideas they stand for.

5. Natural Causes of their Imperfection, especially in those that stand for Mixed Modes, and for our ideas of Substances.

Words having naturally no signification, the idea which each stands for must be learned and retained, by those who would exchange thoughts, and hold intelligible discourse with others, in any language. But this is the hardest to be done where,

First, The ideas they stand for are very complex, and made up of a great number of ideas put together.

Secondly, Where the ideas they stand for have no certain connexion in nature; and so no settled standard anywhere in nature existing, to rectify and adjust them by.

Thirdly, When the signification of the word is referred to a standard, which standard is not easy to be known.

Fourthly, Where the signification of the word and the real essence of the thing are not exactly the same.

These are difficulties that attend the signification of several words that are intelligible. Those which are not intelligible at all, such as names standing for any simple ideas which another has not organs or faculties to attain; as the names of colours to a blind man, or sounds to a deaf man, need not here be mentioned.

In all these cases we shall find an imperfection in words; which I shall more at large explain, in their particular application to our several sorts of ideas: for if we examine them, we shall find that the NAMES OF MIXED MODES ARE MOST LIABLE TO DOUBTFULNESS AND IMPERFECTION, FOR THE TWO FIRST OF THESE REASONS; and the NAMES OF SUBSTANCES CHIEFLY FOR THE TWO LATTER.

6. The Names of mixed Modes doubtful.

First, The names of MIXED MODES are, many of them, liable to great uncertainty and obscurity in their signification.

I. Because the Ideas they stand for are so complex.

Because of that GREAT COMPOSITION these complex ideas are often made up of. To make words serviceable to the end of communication, it is necessary, as has been said, that they excite in the hearer exactly the same idea they stand for in the mind of the speaker. Without this, men fill one another’s heads with noise and sounds; but convey not thereby their thoughts, and lay not before one another their ideas, which is the end of discourse and language. But when a word stands for a very complex idea that is compounded and decompounded, it is not easy for men to form and retain that idea so exactly, as to make the name in common use stand for the same precise idea, without any the least variation. Hence it comes to pass that men’s names of very compound ideas, such as for the most part are moral words, have seldom in two different men the same precise signification; since one man’s complex idea seldom agrees with another’s, and often differs from his own — from that which he had yesterday, or will have tomorrow.

7. Secondly because they have no Standards in Nature.

Because the names of mixed modes for the most part WANT STANDARDS IN NATURE, whereby men may rectify and adjust their significations; therefore they are very various and doubtful. They are assemblages of ideas put together at the pleasure of the mind, pursuing its own ends of discourse, and suited to its own notions; whereby it designs not to copy anything really existing, but to denominate and rank things as they come to agree with those archetypes or forms it has made. He that first brought the word SHAM, or WHEEDLE, or BANTER, in use, put together as he thought fit those ideas he made it stand for; and as it is with any new names of modes that are now brought into any language, so it was with the old ones when they were first made use of. Names, therefore, that stand for collections of ideas which the mind makes at pleasure must needs be of doubtful signification, when such collections are nowhere to be found constantly united in nature, nor any patterns to be shown whereby men may adjust them. What the word MURDER, or SACRILEGE, &c., signifies can never be known from things themselves: there be many of the parts of those complex ideas which are not visible in the action itself; the intention of the mind, or the relation of holy things, which make a part of murder or sacrilege, have no necessary connexion with the outward and visible action of him that commits either: and the pulling the trigger of the gun with which the murder is committed, and is all the action that perhaps is visible, has no natural connexion with those other ideas that make up the complex one named murder. They have their union and combination only from the understanding which unites them under one name: but, uniting them without any rule or pattern, it cannot be but that the signification of the name that stands for such voluntary collections should be often various in the minds of different men, who have scarce any standing rule to regulate themselves and their notions by, in such arbitrary ideas.

8. Common use, or propriety not a sufficient Remedy.

It is true, common use, that is, the rule of propriety may be supposed here to afford some aid, to settle the signification of language; and it cannot be denied but that in some measure it does. Common use regulates the meaning of words pretty well for common conversation; but nobody having an authority to establish the precise signification of words, nor determine to what ideas any one shall annex them, common use is not sufficient to adjust them to Philosophical Discourses; there being scarce any name of any very complex idea (to say nothing of others) which, in common use, has not a great latitude, and which, keeping within the bounds of propriety, may not be made the sign of far different ideas. Besides, the rule and measure of propriety itself being nowhere established, it is often matter of dispute, whether this or that way of using a word be propriety of speech or no. From all which it is evident, that the names of such kind of very complex ideas are naturally liable to this imperfection, to be of doubtful and uncertain signification; and even in men that have a mind to understand one another, do not always stand for the same idea in speaker and hearer. Though the names GLORY and GRATITUDE be the same in every man’s mouth through a whole country, yet the complex collective idea which every one thinks on or intends by that name, is apparently very different in men using the same language.

9. The way of learning these Names contributes also to their Doubtfulness.

The way also wherein the names of mixed modes are ordinarily learned, does not a little contribute to the doubtfulness of their signification. For if we will observe how children learn languages, we shall find that, to make them understand what the names of simple ideas or substances stand for, people ordinarily show them the thing whereof they would have them have the idea; and then repeat to them the name that stands for it; as WHITE, SWEET, MILK, SUGAR, CAT, DOG. But as for mixed modes, especially the most material of them, MORAL WORDS, the sounds are usually learned first; and then, to know what complex ideas they stand for, they are either beholden to the explication of others, or (which happens for the most part) are left to their own observation and industry; which being little laid out in the search of the true and precise meaning of names, these moral words are in most men’s mouths little more than bare sounds; or when they have any, it is for the most part but a very loose and undetermined, and, consequently, obscure and confused signification. And even those themselves who have with more attention settled their notions, do yet hardly avoid the inconvenience to have them stand for complex ideas different from those which other, even intelligent and studious men, make them the signs of. Where shall one find any, either controversial debate, or familiar discourse, concerning honour, faith, grace, religion, church, &c., wherein it is not easy to observe the different notions men have of them? Which is nothing but this, that they are not agreed in the signification of those words, nor have in their minds the same complex ideas which they make them stand for, and so all the contests that follow thereupon are only about the meaning of a sound. And hence we see that, in the interpretation of laws, whether divine or human, there is no end; comments beget comments, and explications make new matter for explications; and of limiting, distinguishing, varying the signification of these moral words there is no end. These ideas of men’s making are, by men still having the same power, multiplied in infinitum. Many a man who was pretty well satisfied of the meaning of a text of Scripture, or clause in the code, at first reading, has, by consulting commentators, quite lost the sense of it, and by these elucidations given rise or increase to his doubts, and drawn obscurity upon the place. I say not this that I think commentaries needless; but to show how uncertain the names of mixed modes naturally are, even in the mouths of those who had both the intention and the faculty of speaking as clearly as language was capable to express their thoughts.

10. Hence unavoidable Obscurity in ancient Authors.

What obscurity this has unavoidably brought upon the writings of men who have lived in remote ages, and different countries, it will be needless to take notice. Since the numerous volumes of learned men, employing their thoughts that way, are proofs more than enough, to show what attention, study, sagacity, and reasoning are required to find out the true meaning of ancient authors. But, there being no writings we have any great concernment to be very solicitous about the meaning of, but those that contain either truths we are required to believe, or laws we are to obey, and draw inconveniences on us when we mistake or transgress, we may be less anxious about the sense of other authors; who, writing but their own opinions, we are under no greater necessity to know them, than they to know ours. Our good or evil depending not on their decrees, we may safely be ignorant of their notions: and therefore in the reading of them, if they do not use their words with a due clearness and perspicuity, we may lay them aside, and without any injury done them, resolve thus with ourselves,

Si non vis intelligi, debes negligi.

11. Names of Substances of doubtful Signification, because the ideas they stand for relate to the reality of things.

If the signification of the names of mixed modes be uncertain, because there be no real standards existing in nature to which those ideas are referred, and by which they may be adjusted, the names of SUBSTANCES are of a doubtful signification, for a contrary reason, viz. because the ideas they stand for are supposed conformable to the reality of things, and are referred to as standards made by Nature. In our ideas of substances we have not the liberty, as in mixed modes, to frame what combinations we think fit, to be the characteristical notes to rank and denominate things by. In these we must follow Nature, suit our complex ideas to real existences, and regulate the signification of their names by the things themselves, if we will have our names to be signs of them, and stand for them. Here, it is true, we have patterns to follow; but patterns that will make the signification of their names very uncertain: for names must be of a very unsteady and various meaning, if the ideas they stand for be referred to standards without us, that either cannot be known at all, or can be known but imperfectly and uncertainly.

12. Names of Substances referred, I. To real Essences that cannot be known.

The names of substances have, as has been shown, a double reference in their ordinary use.

First, Sometimes they are made to stand for, and so their signification is supposed to agree to, THE REAL CONSTITUTION OF THINGS, from which all their properties flow, and in which they all centre. But this real constitution, or (as it is apt to be called) essence, being utterly unknown to us, any sound that is put to stand for it must be very uncertain in its application; and it will be impossible to know what things are or ought to be called a HORSE, or ANTIMONY, when those words are put for real essences that we have no ideas of at all. And therefore in this supposition, the names of substances being referred to standards that cannot be known, their significations can never be adjusted and established by those standards.

13. Secondly, To co-existing Qualities, which are known but imperfectly.

Secondly, The simple ideas that are FOUND TO CO-EXIST IN SUBSTANCES being that which their names immediately signify, these, as united in the several sorts of things, are the proper standards to which their names are referred, and by which their significations may be best rectified. But neither will these archetypes so well serve to this purpose as to leave these names without very various and uncertain significations. Because these simple ideas that co-exist, and are united in the same subject, being very numerous, and having all an equal right to go into the complex specific idea which the specific name is to stand for, men, though they propose to themselves the very same subject to consider, yet frame very different ideas about it; and so the name they use for it unavoidably comes to have, in several men, very different significations. The simple qualities which make up the complex ideas, being most of them powers, in relation to changes which they are apt to make in, or receive from other bodies, are almost infinite. He that shall but observe what a great variety of alterations any one of the baser metals is apt to receive, from the different application only of fire; and how much a greater number of changes any of them will receive in the hands of a chymist, by the application of other bodies, will not think it strange that I count the properties of any sort of bodies not easy to be collected, and completely known, by the ways of inquiry which our faculties are capable of. They being therefore at least so many, that no man can know the precise and definite number, they are differently discovered by different men, according to their various skill, attention, and ways of handling; who therefore cannot choose but have different ideas of the same substance, and therefore make the signification of its common name very various and uncertain. For the complex ideas of substances, being made up of such simple ones as are supposed to co-exist in nature, every one has a right to put into his complex idea those qualities he has found to be united together. For, though in the substance of gold one satisfies himself with colour and weight, yet another thinks solubility in aqua regia as necessary to be joined with that colour in his idea of gold, as any one does its fusibility; solubility in aqua regia being a quality as constantly joined with its colour and weight as fusibility or any other; others put into it ductility or fixedness, &c., as they have been taught by tradition or experience. Who of all these has established the right signification of the word, gold? Or who shall be the judge to determine? Each has his standard in nature, which he appeals to, and with reason thinks he has the same right to put into his complex idea signified by the word gold, those qualities, which, upon trial, he has found united; as another who has not so well examined has to leave them out; or a third, who has made other trials, has to put in others. For the union in nature of these qualities being the true ground of their union in one complex idea, who can say one of them has more reason to be put in or left out than another? From hence it will unavoidably follow, that the complex ideas of substances in men using the same names for them, will be very various, and so the significations of those names very uncertain.

14. Thirdly, To co-existing Qualities which are known but imperfectly.

Besides, there is scarce any particular thing existing, which, in some of its simple ideas, does not communicate with a greater, and in others a less number of particular beings: who shall determine in this case which are those that are to make up the precise collection that is to be signified by the specific name? or can with any just authority prescribe, which obvious or common qualities are to be left out; or which more secret, or more particular, are to be put into the signification of the name of any substance? All which together, seldom or never fail to produce that various and doubtful signification in the names of substances, which causes such uncertainty, disputes, or mistakes, when we come to a philosophical use of them.

15. With this imperfection, they may serve for civil, but not well for philosophical Use.

It is true, as to civil and common conversation, the general names of substances, regulated in their ordinary signification by some obvious qualities, (as by the shape and figure in things of known seminal propagation, and in other substances, for the most part by colour, joined with some other sensible qualities,) do well enough to design the things men would be understood to speak of: and so they usually conceive well enough the substances meant by the word gold or apple, to distinguish the one from the other. But in PHILOSOPHICAL inquiries and debates, where general truths are to be established, and consequences drawn from positions laid down, there the precise signification of the names of substances will be found not only not to be well established but also very hard to be so. For example: he that shall make malleability, or a certain degree of fixedness, a part of his complex idea of gold, may make propositions concerning gold, and draw consequences from them, that will truly and clearly follow from gold, taken in such a signification: but yet such as another man can never be forced to admit, nor be convinced of their truth, who makes not malleableness, or the same degree of fixedness, part of that complex idea that the name gold, in his use of it, stands for.

16. Instance, Liquor.

This is a natural and almost unavoidable imperfection in almost all the names of substances, in all languages whatsoever, which men will easily find when, once passing from confused or loose notions, they come to more strict and close inquiries. For then they will be convinced how doubtful and obscure those words are in their signification, which in ordinary use appeared very clear and determined. I was once in a meeting of very learned and ingenious physicians, where by chance there arose a question, whether any liquor passed through the filaments of the nerves. The debate having been managed a good while, by variety of arguments on both sides, I (who had been used to suspect, that the greatest part of disputes were more about the signification of words than a real difference in the conception of things) desired, that, before they went any further on in this dispute, they would first examine and establish amongst them, what the word LIQUOR signified. They at first were a little surprised at the proposal; and had they been persons less ingenious, they might perhaps have taken it for a very frivolous or extravagant one: since there was no one there that thought not himself to understand very perfectly what the word liquor stood for; which I think, too, none of the most perplexed names of substances. However, they were pleased to comply with my motion; and upon examination found that the signification of that word was not so settled or certain as they had all imagined; but that each of them made it a sign of a different complex idea. This made them perceive that the main of their dispute was about the signification of that term; and that they differed very little in their opinions concerning SOME fluid and subtle matter, passing through the conduits of the nerves; though it was not so easy to agree whether it was to be called LIQUOR or no, a thing, which, when considered, they thought it not worth the contending about.

17. Instance, Gold.

How much this is the case in the greatest part of disputes that men are engaged so hotly in, I shall perhaps have an occasion in another place to take notice. Let us only here consider a little more exactly the fore-mentioned instance of the word GOLD, and we shall see how hard it is precisely to determine its signification. I think all agree to make it stand for a body of a certain yellow shining colour; which being the idea to which children have annexed that name, the shining yellow part of a peacock’s tail is properly to them gold. Others finding fusibility joined with that yellow colour in certain parcels of matter, make of that combination a complex idea to which they give the name gold, to denote a sort of substances; and so exclude from being gold all such yellow shining bodies as by fire will be reduced to ashes; and admit to be of that species, or to be comprehended under that name gold, only such substances as having that shining yellow colour, will by fire be reduced to fusion, and not to ashes. Another, by the same reason, adds the weight, which, being a quality as straightly joined with that colour as its fusibility, he thinks has the same reason to be joined in its idea, and to be signified by its name: and therefore the other made up of body, of such a colour and fusibility, to be imperfect; and so on of all the rest: wherein no one can show a reason why some of the inseparable qualities, that are always united in nature, should be put into the nominal essence, and others left out, or why the word gold, signifying that sort of body the ring on his finger is made of, should determine that sort rather by its colour, weight, and fusibility, than by its colour, weight, and solubility in aqua regia: since the dissolving it by that liquor is as inseparable from it as the fusion by fire, and they are both of them nothing but the relation which that substance has to two other bodies, which have a power to operate differently upon it. For by what right is it that fusibility comes to be a part of the essence signified by the word gold, and solubility but a property of it? Or why is its colour part of the essence, and its malleableness but a property? That which I mean is this, That these being all but properties, depending on its real constitution, and nothing but powers, either active or passive, in reference to other bodies, no one has authority to determine the signification of the word gold (as referred to such a body existing in nature) more to one collection of ideas to be found in that body than to another: whereby the signification of that name must unavoidably be very uncertain. Since, as has been said, several people observe several properties in the same substance; and I think I may say nobody all. And therefore we have but very imperfect descriptions of things, and words have very uncertain significations.

18. The Names of simple Ideas the least doubtful.

From what has been said, it is easy to observe what has been before remarked, viz. that the NAMES OF SIMPLE IDEAS are, of all others, the least liable to mistakes, and that for these reasons. First, Because the ideas they stand for, being each but one single perception, are much easier got, and more clearly retained, than the more complex ones, and therefore are not liable to the uncertainty which usually attends those compounded ones of substances and mixed modes, in which the precise number of simple ideas that make them up are not easily agreed, so readily kept in mind. And, Secondly, Because they are never referred to any other essence, but barely that perception they immediately signify: which reference is that which renders the signification of the names of substances naturally so perplexed, and gives occasion to so many disputes. Men that do not perversely use their words, or on purpose set themselves to cavil, seldom mistake, in any language which they are acquainted with, the use and signification of the name of simple ideas. WHITE and SWEET, YELLOW and BITTER, carry a very obvious meaning with them, which every one precisely comprehends, or easily perceives he is ignorant of, and seeks to be informed. But what precise collection of simple ideas MODESTY or FRUGALITY stand for, in another’s use, is not so certainly known. And however we are apt to think we well enough know what is meant by GOLD or IRON; yet the precise complex idea others make them the signs of is not so certain: and I believe it is very seldom that, in speaker and hearer, they stand for exactly the same collection. Which must needs produce mistakes and disputes, when they are made use of in discourses, wherein men have to do with universal propositions, and would settle in their minds universal truths, and consider the consequences that follow from them.

19. And next to them, simple Modes.

By the same rule, the names of SIMPLE MODES are, next to those of simple ideas, least liable to doubt and uncertainty; especially those of figure and number, of which men have so clear and distinct ideas. Who ever that had a mind to understand them mistook the ordinary meaning of SEVEN, or a TRIANGLE? And in general the least compounded ideas in every kind have the least dubious names.

20. The most doubtful are the Names of very compounded mixed Modes and Substances.

Mixed modes, therefore, that are made up but of a few and obvious simple ideas, have usually names of no very uncertain signification. But the names of mixed modes, which comprehend a great number of simple ideas, are commonly of a very doubtful and undetermined meaning, as has been shown. The names of substances, being annexed to ideas that are neither the real essences, nor exact representations of the patterns they are referred to, are liable to yet greater imperfection and uncertainty, especially when we come to a philosophical use of them.

21. Why this Imperfection charged upon Words.

The great disorder that happens in our names of substances, proceeding, for the most part, from our want of knowledge, and inability to penetrate into their real constitutions, it may probably be wondered why I charge this as an imperfection rather upon our words than understandings. This exception has so much appearance of justice, that I think myself obliged to give a reason why I have followed this method. I must confess, then, that, when I first began this Discourse of the Understanding, and a good while after, I had not the least thought that any consideration of words was at all necessary to it. But when, having passed over the original and composition of our ideas, I began to examine the extent and certainty of our knowledge, I found it had so near a connexion with words, that, unless their force and manner of signification were first well observed, there could be very little said clearly and pertinently concerning knowledge: which being conversant about truth, had constantly to do with propositions. And though it terminated in things, yet it was for the most part so much by the intervention of words, that they seemed scarce separable from our general knowledge. At least they interpose themselves so much between our understandings, and the truth which it would contemplate and apprehend, that, like the medium through which visible objects pass, the obscurity and disorder do not seldom cast a mist before our eyes, and impose upon our understandings. If we consider, in the fallacies men put upon themselves, as well as others, and the mistakes in men’s disputes and notions, how great a part is owing to words, and their uncertain or mistaken significations, we shall have reason to think this no small obstacle in the way to knowledge; which I conclude we are the more carefully to be warned of, because it has been so far from being taken notice of as an inconvenience, that the arts of improving it have been made the business of men’s study, and obtained the reputation of learning and subtilty, as we shall see in the following chapter. But I am apt to imagine, that, were the imperfections of language, as the instrument of knowledge, more thoroughly weighed, a great many of the controversies that make such a noise in the world, would of themselves cease; and the way to knowledge, and perhaps peace too, lie a great deal opener than it does.

22. This should teach us Moderation in imposing our own Sense of old Authors.

Sure I am that the signification of words in all languages, depending very much on the thoughts, notions, and ideas of him that uses them, must unavoidably be of great uncertainty to men of the same language and country. This is so evident in the Greek authors, that he that shall peruse their writings will find in almost every one of them, a distinct language, though the same words. But when to this natural difficulty in every country, there shall be added different countries and remote ages, wherein the speakers and writers had very different notions, tempers, customs, ornaments, and figures of speech, &c., every one of which influenced the signification of their words then, though to us now they are lost and unknown; it would become us to be charitable one to another in our interpretations or misunderstandings of those ancient writings; which, though of great concernment to be understood, are liable to the unavoidable difficulties of speech, which (if we except the names of simple ideas, and some very obvious things) is not capable, without a constant defining the terms, of conveying the sense and intention of the speaker, without any manner of doubt and uncertainty to the hearer. And in discourses of religion, law, and morality, as they are matters of the highest concernment, so there will be the greatest difficulty.

23. Especially of the Old and New Testament Scriptures.

The volumes of interpreters and commentators on the Old and New Testament are but too manifest proofs of this. Though everything said in the text be infallibly true, yet the reader may be, nay, cannot choose but be, very fallible in the understanding of it. Nor is it to be wondered, that the will of God, when clothed in words, should be liable to that doubt and uncertainty which unavoidably attends that sort of conveyance, when even his Son, whilst clothed in flesh, was subject to all the frailties and inconveniences of human nature, sin excepted. And we ought to magnify his goodness, that he hath spread before all the world such legible characters of his works and providence, and given all mankind so sufficient a light of reason, that they to whom this written word never came, could not (whenever they set themselves to search) either doubt of the being of a God, or of the obedience due to him. Since then the precepts of Natural Religion are plain, and very intelligible to all mankind, and seldom come to be controverted; and other revealed truths, which are conveyed to us by books and languages, are liable to the common and natural obscurities and difficulties incident to words; methinks it would become us to be more careful and diligent in observing the former, and less magisterial, positive, and imperious, in imposing our own sense and interpretations of the latter.

CHAPTER X. OF THE ABUSE OF WORDS.

1. Woeful abuse of Words.

Besides the imperfection that is naturally in language, and the obscurity and confusion that is so hard to be avoided in the use of words, there are several WILFUL faults and neglects which men are guilty of in this way of communication, whereby they render these signs less clear and distinct in their signification than naturally they need to be.

2. First, Words are often employed without any, or without clear Ideas.

FIRST, In this kind the first and most palpable abuse is, the using of words without clear and distinct ideas; or, which is worse, signs without anything signified. Of these there are two sorts: —

I. Some words introduced without clear ideas annexed to them, even in their first original.

One may observe, in all languages, certain words that, if they be examined, will be found in their first original, and their appropriated use, not to stand for any clear and distinct ideas. These, for the most part, the several sects of philosophy and religion have introduced. For their authors or promoters, either affecting something singular, and out of the way of common apprehensions, or to support some strange opinions, or cover some weakness of their hypothesis, seldom fail to coin new words, and such as, when they come to be examined, may justly be called INSIGNIFICANT TERMS. For, having either had no determinate collection of ideas annexed to them when they were first invented; or at least such as, if well examined, will be found inconsistent, it is no wonder, if, afterwards, in the vulgar use of the same party, they remain empty sounds, with little or no signification, amongst those who think it enough to have them often in their mouths, as the distinguishing characters of their Church or School, without much troubling their heads to examine what are the precise ideas they stand for. I shall not need here to heap up instances; every man’s reading and conversation will sufficiently furnish him. Or if he wants to be better stored, the great mint-masters of this kind of terms, I mean the Schoolmen and Metaphysicians (under which I think the disputing natural and moral philosophers of these latter ages may be comprehended) have wherewithal abundantly to content him.

3. II. Other Words, to which ideas were annexed at first, used afterwards without distinct meanings.

Others there be who extend this abuse yet further, who take so little care to lay by words, which, in their primary notation have scarce any clear and distinct ideas which they are annexed to, that, by an unpardonable negligence, they familiarly use words which the propriety of language HAS affixed to very important ideas, without any distinct meaning at all. WISDOM, GLORY, GRACE, &c., are words frequent enough in every man’s mouth; but if a great many of those who use them should be asked what they mean by them, they would be at a stand, and not know what to answer: a plain proof, that, though they have learned those sounds, and have them ready at their tongues ends, yet there are no determined ideas laid up in their minds, which are to be expressed to others by them.

4. This occasioned by men learning Names before they have the Ideas the names belong to.

Men having been accustomed from their cradles to learn words which are easily got and retained, before they knew or had framed the complex ideas to which they were annexed, or which were to be found in the things they were thought to stand for, they usually continue to do so all their lives; and without taking the pains necessary to settle in their minds determined ideas, they use their words for such unsteady and confused notions as they have, contenting themselves with the same words other people use; as if their very sound necessarily carried with it constantly the same meaning. This, though men make a shift with in the ordinary occurrences of life, where they find it necessary to be understood, and therefore they make signs till they are so; yet this insignificancy in their words, when they come to reason concerning either their tenets or interest, manifestly fills their discourse with abundance of empty unintelligible noise and jargon, especially in moral matters, where the words for the most part standing for arbitrary and numerous collections of ideas, not regularly and permanently united in nature, their bare sounds are often only thought on, or at least very obscure and uncertain notions annexed to them. Men take the words they find in use amongst their neighbours; and that they may not seem ignorant what they stand for, use them confidently, without much troubling their heads about a certain fixed meaning; whereby, besides the ease of it, they obtain this advantage, That, as in such discourses they seldom are in the right, so they are as seldom to be convinced that they are in the wrong; it being all one to go about to draw those men out of their mistakes who have no settled notions, as to dispossess a vagrant of his habitation who has no settled abode. This I guess to be so; and every one may observe in himself and others whether it be so or not.

5. Secondly Unsteady Application of them.

SECONDLY, Another great abuse of words is INCONSTANCY in the use of them. It is hard to find a discourse written on any subject, especially of controversy, wherein one shall not observe, if he read with attention, the same words (and those commonly the most material in the discourse, and upon which the argument turns) used sometimes for one collection of simple ideas, and sometimes for another; which is a perfect abuse of language. Words being intended for signs of my ideas, to make them known to others, not by any natural signification, but by a voluntary imposition, it is plain cheat and abuse, when I make them stand sometimes for one thing and sometimes for another; the wilful doing whereof can be imputed to nothing but great folly, or greater dishonesty. And a man, in his accounts with another may, with as much fairness make the characters of numbers stand sometimes for one and sometimes for another collection of units: v.g. this character 3, stand sometimes for three, sometimes for four, and sometimes for eight, as in his discourse or reasoning make the same words stand for different collections of simple ideas. If men should do so in their reckonings, I wonder who would have to do with them? One who would speak thus in the affairs and business of the world, and call 8 sometimes seven, and sometimes nine, as best served his advantage, would presently have clapped upon him, one of the two names men are commonly disgusted with. And yet in arguings and learned contests, the same sort of proceedings passes commonly for wit and learning; but to me it appears a greater dishonesty than the misplacing of counters in the casting up a debt; and the cheat the greater, by how much truth is of greater concernment and value than money.

6. Thirdly, Affected Obscurity, as in the Peripatetic and other sects of Philosophy.

THIRDLY. Another abuse of language is an AFFECTED OBSCURITY; by either applying old words to new and unusual significations; or introducing new and ambiguous terms, without defining either; or else putting them so together, as may confound their ordinary meaning. Though the Peripatetick philosophy has been most eminent in this way, yet other sects have not been wholly clear of it. There are scarce any of them that are not cumbered with some difficulties (such is the imperfection of human knowledge,) which they have been fain to cover with obscurity of terms, and to confound the signification of words, which, like a mist before people’s eyes, might hinder their weak parts from being discovered. That BODY and EXTENSION in common use, stand for two distinct ideas, is plain to any one that will but reflect a little. For were their signification precisely the same, it would be as proper, and as intelligible to say, ‘the body of an extension,’ as the ‘extension of a body;’ and yet there are those who find it necessary to confound their signification. To this abuse, and the mischiefs of confounding the signification of words, logic, and the liberal sciences as they have been handled in the schools, have given reputation; and the admired Art of Disputing hath added much to the natural imperfection of languages, whilst it has been made use of and fitted to perplex the signification of words, more than to discover the knowledge and truth of things: and he that will look into that sort of learned writings, will find the words there much more obscure, uncertain, and undetermined in their meaning, than they are in ordinary conversation.

7. Logic and Dispute have must have contributed to this.

This is unavoidably to be so, where men’s parts and learning are estimated by their skill in disputing. And if reputation and reward shall attend these conquests, which depend mostly on the fineness and niceties of words, it is no wonder if the wit of man so employed, should perplex, involve, and subtilize the signification of sounds, so as never to want something to say in opposing or defending any question; the victory being adjudged not to him who had truth on his side, but the last word in the dispute.

8. Calling it Subtlety.

This, though a very useless skill, and that which I think the direct opposite to the ways of knowledge, hath yet passed hitherto under the laudable and esteemed names of SUBTLETY and ACUTENESS, and has had the applause of the schools, and encouragement of one part of the learned men of the world. And no wonder, since the philosophers of old, (the disputing and wrangling philosophers I mean, such as Lucian wittily and with reason taxes,) and the Schoolmen since, aiming at glory and esteem, for their great and universal knowledge, easier a great deal to be pretended to than really acquired, found this a good expedient to cover their ignorance, with a curious and inexplicable web of perplexed words, and procure to themselves the admiration of others, by unintelligible terms, the apter to produce wonder because they could not be understood; whilst it appears in all history, that these profound doctors were no wiser nor more useful than their neighbours, and brought but small advantage to human life or the societies wherein they lived; unless the coining of new words, where they produced no new things to apply them to, or the perplexing or obscuring the signification of old ones, and so bringing all things into question and dispute, were a thing profitable to the life of man, or worthy commendation and reward.

9. This Learning very little benefits Society.

For, notwithstanding these learned disputants, these all-knowing doctors, it was to the unscholastic statesman that the governments of the world owed their peace, defence, and liberties; and from the illiterate and contemned mechanic (a name of disgrace) that they received the improvements of useful arts. Nevertheless, this artificial ignorance, and learned gibberish, prevailed mightily in these last ages, by the interest and artifice of those who found no easier way to that pitch of authority and dominion they have attained, than by amusing the men of business, and ignorant, with hard words, or employing the ingenious and idle in intricate disputes about unintelligible terms, and holding them perpetually entangled in that endless labyrinth. Besides, there is no such way to gain admittance, or give defence to strange and absurd doctrines, as to guard them round about with legions of obscure, doubtful, and undefined words. Which yet make these retreats more like the dens of robbers, or holes of foxes, than the fortresses of fair warriors; which, if it be hard to get them out of, it is not for the strength that is in them, but the briars and thorns, and the obscurity of the thickets they are beset with. For untruth being unacceptable to the mind of man, there is no other defence left for absurdity but obscurity.

10. But destroys the instruments of Knowledge and communication.

Thus learned ignorance, and this art of keeping even inquisitive men from true knowledge, hath been propagated in the world, and hath much perplexed, whilst it pretended to inform the understanding. For we see that other well-meaning and wise men, whose education and parts had not acquired that ACUTENESS, could intelligibly express themselves to one another; and in its plain use make a benefit of language. But though unlearned men well enough understood the words white and black; &c., and had constant notions of the ideas signified by those words; yet there were philosophers found who had learning and subtlety enough to prove that snow was black; i.e. to prove that white was black. Whereby they had the advantage to destroy the instruments and means of discourse, conversation, instruction, and society; whilst, with great art and subtlety, they did no more but perplex and confound the signification of words, and thereby render language less useful than the real defects of it had made it; a gift which the illiterate had not attained to.

11. As useful as to confound the sound that the Letters of the Alphabet stand for.

These learned men did equally instruct men’s understandings, and profit their lives, as he who should alter the signification of known characters, and, by a subtle device of learning, far surpassing the capacity of the illiterate, dull, and vulgar, should in his writing show that he could put A for B, and D for E, &c., to the no small admiration and benefit of for his reader. It being as senseless to put BLACK, which is a word agreed on to stand for one sensible idea, to put it, I say, for another, or the contrary idea; i.e. to call SNOW BLACK, as to put this mark A, which is a character agreed on to stand for one modification of sound, made by a certain motion of the organs of speech, for B, which is agreed on to stand for another modification of sound, made by another certain mode of the organs of speech.

12. This Art has perplexed Religion and Justice.

Nor hath this mischief stopped in logical niceties, or curious empty speculations; it hath invaded the great concernments of human life and society; obscured and perplexed the material truths of law and divinity; brought confusion, disorder, and uncertainty into the affairs of mankind; and if not destroyed, yet in a great measure rendered useless, these two great rules, religion and justice. What have the greatest part of the comments and disputes upon the laws of God and man served for, but to make the meaning more doubtful, and perplex the sense? What have been the effect of those multiplied curious distinctions, and acute niceties, but obscurity and uncertainty, leaving the words more unintelligible, and the reader more at a loss? How else comes it to pass that princes, speaking or writing to their servants, in their ordinary commands are easily understood; speaking to their people, in their laws, are not so? And, as I remarked before, doth it not often happen that a man of an ordinary capacity very well understands a text, or a law, that he reads, till he consults an expositor, or goes to counsel; who, by that time he hath done explaining them, makes the words signify either nothing at all, or what he pleases.

13. and ought not to pass for Learning.

Whether any by-interests of these professions have occasioned this, I will not here examine; but I leave it to be considered, whether it would not be well for mankind, whose concernment it is to know things as they are, and to do what they ought, and not to spend their lives in talking about them, or tossing words to and fro; — whether it would not be well, I say, that the use of words were made plain and direct; and that language, which was given us for the improvement of knowledge and bond of society, should not be employed to darken truth and unsettle people’s rights; to raise mists, and render unintelligible both morality and religion? Or that at least, if this will happen, it should not be thought learning or knowledge to do so?

14. IV. Fourthly, by taking Words for Things.

FOURTHLY, Another great abuse of words is, the TAKING THEM FOR THINGS. This, though it in some degree concerns all names in general, yet more particularly affects those of substances. To this abuse those men are most subject who most confine their thoughts to any one system, and give themselves up into a firm belief of the perfection of any received hypothesis: whereby they come to be persuaded that the terms of that sect are so suited to the nature of things, that they perfectly correspond with their real existence. Who is there that has been bred up in the Peripatetick philosophy, who does not think the Ten Names, under which are ranked the Ten Predicaments, to be exactly conformable to the nature of things? Who is there of that school that is not persuaded that SUBSTANTIAL FORMS, VEGETATIVE SOULS, ABHORRENCE OF A VACUUM, INTENTIONAL SPECIES, &c., are something real? These words men have learned from their very entrance upon knowledge, and have found their masters and systems lay great stress upon them: and therefore they cannot quit the opinion, that they are conformable to nature, and are the representations of something that really exists. The Platonists have their SOUL OF THE WORLD, and the Epicureans their ENDEAVOR TOWARDS MOTION in their atoms when at rest. There is scarce any sect in philosophy has not a distinct set of terms that others understand not. But yet this gibberish, which, in the weakness of human understanding, serves so well to palliate men’s ignorance, and cover their errors, comes, by familiar use amongst those of the same tribe, to seem the most important part of language, and of all other the terms the most significant: and should AERIAL and OETHERIAL VEHICLES come once, by the prevalency of that doctrine, to be generally received anywhere, no doubt those terms would make impressions on men’s minds, so as to establish them in the persuasion of the reality of such things, as much as Peripatetick FORMS and INTENTIONAL SPECIES have heretofore done. 15. Instance, in Matter.

How much names taken for things are apt to mislead the understanding, the attentive reading of philosophical writers would abundantly discover; and that perhaps in words little suspected of any such misuse. I shall instance in one only, and that a very familiar one. How many intricate disputes have there been about MATTER, as if there were some such thing really in nature, distinct from BODY; as it is evident the word matter stands for an idea distinct from the idea of body? For if the ideas these two terms stood for were precisely the same, they might indifferently in all places be put for one another. But we see that though it be proper to say, There is one matter of all bodies, one cannot say, There is one body of all matters: we familiarly say one body is bigger than another; but it sounds harsh (and I think is never used) to say one matter is bigger than another. Whence comes this, then? Viz. from hence: that, though matter and body be not really distinct, but wherever there is the one there is the other; yet matter and body stand for two different conceptions, whereof the one is incomplete, and but a part of the other. For body stands for a solid extended figured substance, whereof matter is but a partial and more confused conception; it seeming to me to be used for the substance and solidity of body, without taking in its extension and figure: and therefore it is that, speaking of matter, we speak of it always as one, because in truth it expressly contains nothing but the idea of a solid substance, which is everywhere the same, everywhere uniform. This being our idea of matter, we no more conceive or speak of different MATTERS in the world than we do of different solidities; though we both conceive and speak of different bodies, because extension and figure are capable of variation. But, since solidity cannot exist without extension and figure, the taking matter to be the name of something really existing under that precision, has no doubt produced those obscure and unintelligible discourses and disputes, which have filled the heads and books of philosophers concerning materia prima; which imperfection or abuse, how far it may concern a great many other general terms I leave to be considered. This, I think, I may at least say, that we should have a great many fewer disputes in the world, if words were taken for what they are, the signs of our ideas only; and not for things themselves. For, when we argue about MATTER, or any the like term, we truly argue only about the idea we express by that sound, whether that precise idea agree to anything really existing in nature or no. And if men would tell what ideas they make their words stand for, there could not be half that obscurity or wrangling in the search or support of truth that there is.

16. This makes Errors lasting.

But whatever inconvenience follows from this mistake of words, this I am sure, that, by constant and familiar use, they charm men into notions far remote from the truth of things. It would be a hard matter to persuade any one that the words which his father, or schoolmaster, the parson of the parish, or such a reverend doctor used, signified nothing that really existed in nature: which perhaps is none of the least causes that men are so hardly drawn to quit their mistakes, even in opinions purely philosophical, and where they have no other interest but truth. For the words they have a long time been used to, remaining firm in their minds, it is no wonder that the wrong notions annexed to them should not be removed.

17. Fifthly, by setting them in the place of what they cannot signify.

V. FIFTHLY, Another abuse of words is, THE SETTING THEM IN THE PLACE OF THINGS WHICH THEY DO OR CAN BY NO MEANS SIGNIFY. We may observe that, in the general names of substances, whereof the NOMINAL essences are only known to us, when we put them into propositions, and affirm or deny anything about them, we do most commonly tacitly suppose or intend, they should stand for the REAL essence of a certain sort of substances. For, when a man says gold is malleable, he means and would insinuate something more than this, That what I call gold is malleable, (though truly it amounts to no more,) but would have this understood, viz. That gold, i.e. what has the real essence of gold, is malleable; which amounts to thus much, that malleableness depends on, and is inseparable from the real essence of gold. But a man, not knowing wherein that real essence consists, the connexion in his mind of malleableness is not truly with an essence he knows not, but only with the sound gold he puts for it. Thus, when we say that ANIMAL RATIONALE is, and animal imflume bipes latis unguibus is not a good definition of a man; it is plain we suppose the name man in this case to stand for the real essence of a species, and would signify that ‘a rational animal’ better described that real essence than ‘a two-legged animal with broad nails, and without feathers.’ For else, why might not Plato as properly make the word [word in Greek], or MAN, stand for his complex idea, made up of the idea of a body, distinguished from others by a certain shape and other outward appearances, as Aristotle make the complex idea to which he gave the name [word in Greek], or MAN, of body and the faculty of reasoning joined together; unless the name [word in Greek], or MAN, were supposed to stand for something else than what it signifies; and to be put in the place of some other thing than the idea a man professes he would express by it?

18. VI. Putting them for the real Essences of Substances.

It is true the names of substances would be much more useful, and propositions made in them much more certain, were the real essences of substances the ideas in our minds which those words signified. And it is for want of those real essences that our words convey so little knowledge or certainty in our discourses about them; and therefore the mind, to remove that imperfection as much as it can, makes them, by a secret supposition, to stand for a thing having that real essence, as if thereby it made some nearer approaches to it. For, though the word MAN or GOLD signify nothing truly but a complex idea of properties united together in one sort of substances; yet there is scarce anybody, in the use of these words, but often supposes each of those names to stand for a thing having the real essence on which these properties depend. Which is so far from diminishing the imperfection of our words, that by a plain abuse it adds to it, when we would make them stand for something, which, not being in our complex idea, the name we use can no ways be the sign of.

19. Hence we think Change of our Complex Ideas of Substances not to change their Species.

This shows us the reason why in MIXED MODES any of the ideas that make the composition of the complex one being left out or changed, it is allowed to be another thing, i.e. to be of another species, as is plain in CHANCE-MEDLEY, MANSLAUGHTER, MURDER, PARRICIDE, &c. The reason whereof is, because the complex idea signified by that name is the real as well as nominal essence; and there is no secret reference of that name to any other essence but that. But in SUBSTANCES, it is not so. For though in that called GOLD, one puts into his complex idea what another leaves out, and vice versa: yet men do not usually think that therefore the species is changed: because they secretly in their minds refer that name, and suppose it annexed to a real immutable essence of a thing existing, on which those properties depend. He that adds to his complex idea of gold that of fixedness and solubility in AQUA REGIA, which he put not in it before, is not thought to have changed the species; but only to have a more perfect idea, by adding another simple idea, which is always in fact joined with those other, of which his former complex idea consisted. But this reference of the name to a thing, whereof we have not the idea, is so far from helping at all, that it only serves the more to involve us in difficulties. For by this tacit reference to the real essence of that species of bodies, the word GOLD (which, by standing for a more or less perfect collection of simple ideas, serves to design that sort of body well enough in civil discourse) comes to have no signification at all, being put for somewhat whereof we have no idea at all, and so can signify nothing at all, when the body itself is away. For however it may be thought all one, yet, if well considered, it will be found a quite different thing, to argue about gold in name, and about a parcel in the body itself, v.g. a piece of leaf-gold laid before us; though in discourse we are fain to substitute the name for the thing.

20. The Cause of this Abuse, a supposition of Nature’s working always regularly, in setting boundaries to Species.

That which I think very much disposes men to substitute their names for the real essences of species, is the supposition before mentioned, that nature works regularly in the production of things, and sets the boundaries to each of those species, by giving exactly the same real internal constitution to each individual which we rank under one general name. Whereas any one who observes their different qualities can hardly doubt, that many of the individuals, called by the same name, are, in their internal constitution, as different one from another as several of those which are ranked under different specific names. This supposition, however, that the same precise and internal constitution goes always with the same specific name, makes men forward to take those names for the representatives of those real essences; though indeed they signify nothing but the complex ideas they have in their minds when they use them. So that, if I may so say, signifying one thing, and being supposed for, or put in the place of another, they cannot but, in such a kind of use, cause a great deal of uncertainty in men’s discourses; especially in those who have thoroughly imbibed the doctrine of SUBSTANTIAL FORMS, whereby they firmly imagine the several species of things to be determined and distinguished.

21. This Abuse contains two false Suppositions.

But however preposterous and absurd it be to make our names stand for ideas we have not, or (which is all one) essences that we know not, it being in effect to make our words the signs of nothing; yet it is evident to any one who ever so little reflects on the use men make of their words, that there is nothing more familiar. When a man asks whether this or that thing he sees, let it be a drill, or a monstrous foetus, be a MAN or no; it is evident the question is not, Whether that particular thing agree to his complex idea expressed by the name man: but whether it has in it the real essence of a species of things which he supposes his name man to stand for. In which way of using the names of substances, there are these false suppositions contained: —

First, that there are certain precise essences according to which nature makes all particular things, and by which they are distinguished into species. That everything has a real constitution, whereby it is what it is, and on which its sensible qualities depend, is past doubt: but I think it has been proved that this makes not the distinction of species as WE rank them, nor the boundaries of their names.

Secondly, this tacitly also insinuates, as if we had IDEAS of these proposed essences. For to what purpose else is it, to inquire whether this or that thing have the real essence of the species man, if we did not suppose that there were such a specifick essence known? Which yet is utterly false. And therefore such application of names as would make them stand for ideas which we have not, must needs cause great disorder in discourses and reasonings about them, and be a great inconvenience in our communication by words.

22. VI. Sixthly, by proceeding upon the supposition that the WOrds we use have a certain and evident Signification which other men cannot but understand.

SIXTHLY, there remains yet another more general, though perhaps less observed, abuse of words; and that is, that men having by a long and familiar use annexed to them certain ideas, they are apt to imagine SO NEAR AND NECESSARY A CONNEXION BETWEEN THE NAMES AND SIGNIFICATION THEY USE THEM IN, that they forwardly suppose one cannot but understand what their meaning is; and therefore one ought to acquiesce in the words delivered, as if it were past doubt that, in the use of those common received sounds, the speaker and hearer had necessarily the same precise ideas. Whence presuming, that when they have in discourse used any term, they have thereby, as it were, set before others the very thing they talked of. And so likewise taking the words of others, as naturally standing for just what they themselves have been accustomed to apply them to, they never trouble themselves to explain their own, or understand clearly others’ meaning. From whence commonly proceeds noise, and wrangling, without improvement or information; whilst men take words to be the constant regular marks of agreed notions, which in truth are no more but the voluntary and unsteady signs of their own ideas. And yet men think it strange, if in discourse, or (where it is often absolutely necessary) in dispute, one sometimes asks the meaning of their terms: though the arguings one may every day observe in conversation make it evident, that there are few names of complex ideas which any two men use for the same just precise collection. It is hard to name a word which will not be a clear instance of this. LIFE is a term, none more familiar. Any one almost would take it for an affront to be asked what he meant by it. And yet if it comes in question, whether a plant that lies ready formed in the seed have life; whether the embryo in an egg before incubation, or a man in a swoon without sense or motion, be alive or no; it is easy to perceive that a clear, distinct, settled idea does not always accompany the use of so known a word as that of life is. Some gross and confused conceptions men indeed ordinarily have, to which they apply the common words of their language; and such a loose use of their words serves them well enough in their ordinary discourses or affairs. But this is not sufficient for philosophical inquiries. Knowledge and reasoning require precise determinate ideas. And though men will not be so importunately dull as not to understand what others say, without demanding an explication of their terms; nor so troublesomely critical as to correct others in the use of the words they receive from them: yet, where truth and knowledge are concerned in the case, I know not what fault it can be, to desire the explication of words whose sense seems dubious; or why a man should be ashamed to own his ignorance in what sense another man uses his words; since he has no other way of certainly knowing it but by being informed. This abuse of taking words upon trust has nowhere spread so far, nor with so ill effects, as amongst men of letters. The multiplication and obstinacy of disputes, which have so laid waste the intellectual world, is owing to nothing more than to this ill use of words. For though it be generally believed that there is great diversity of opinions in the volumes and variety of controversies the world is distracted with; yet the most I can find that the contending learned men of different parties do, in their arguings one with another, is, that they speak different languages. For I am apt to imagine, that when any of them, quitting terms, think upon things, and know what they think, they think all the same: though perhaps what they would have be different.

23. The Ends of Language: First, To convey our Ideas.

To conclude this consideration of the imperfection and abuse of language. The ends of language in our discourse with others being chiefly these three: First, to make known one man’s thoughts or ideas to another; Secondly, to do so with as much ease and quickness as possible; and, Thirdly, thereby to convey the knowledge of things: language is either abused or deficient, when it fails of any of these three.

First, Words fail in the first of these ends, and lay not open one man’s ideas to another’s view: 1. When men have names in their mouths without any determinate ideas in their minds whereof they are the signs: or, 2. When they apply the common received names of any language to ideas, to which the common use of that language does not apply them: or 3. When they apply them very unsteadily, making them stand now for one, and by and by for another idea.

24. Secondly, To do it with Quickness.

Secondly, Men fail of conveying their thoughts with the quickness and ease that may be, when they have complex ideas without having any distinct names for them. This is sometimes the fault of the language itself, which has not in it a sound yet applied to such a signification; and sometimes the fault of the man, who has not yet learned the name for that idea he would show another.

25. Thirdly, Therewith to convey the Knowledge of Things.

Thirdly, there is no knowledge of things conveyed by men’s words, when their ideas agree not to the reality of things. Though it be a defect that has its original in our ideas, which are not so conformable to the nature of things as attention, study and application might make them, yet it fails not to extend itself to our words too, when we use them as signs of real beings, which yet never had any reality or existence.

26. How Men’s Words fail in all these: First, when used without any ideas.

First, He that hath words of any language, without distinct ideas in his mind to which he applies them, does, so far as he uses them in discourse, only make a noise without any sense or signification; and how learned soever he may seem, by the use of hard words or learned terms, is not much more advanced thereby in knowledge, than he would be in learning, who had nothing in his study but the bare titles of books, without possessing the contents of them. For all such words, however put into discourse, according to the right construction of grammatical rules, or the harmony of well-turned periods, do yet amount to nothing but bare sounds, and nothing else.

27. Secondly, when complex ideas are without names annexed to them.

Secondly, He that has complex ideas, without particular names for them, would be in no better case than a bookseller, who had in his warehouse volumes that lay there unbound, and without titles, which he could therefore make known to others only by showing the loose sheets, and communicate them only by tale. This man is hindered in his discourse, for want of words to communicate his complex ideas, which he is therefore forced to make known by an enumeration of the simple ones that compose them; and so is fain often to use twenty words, to express what another man signifies in one.

28. Thirdly, when the same sign is not put for the same idea.

Thirdly, He that puts not constantly the same sign for the same idea, but uses the same word sometimes in one and sometimes in another signification, ought to pass in the schools and conversation for as fair a man, as he does in the market and exchange, who sells several things under the same name.

29. Fourthly, when words are diverted from their common use.

Fourthly, He that applies the words of any language to ideas different from those to which the common use of that country applies them, however his own understanding may be filled with truth and light, will not by such words be able to convey much of it to others, without defining his terms. For however the sounds are such as are familiarly known, and easily enter the ears of those who are accustomed to them; yet standing for other ideas than those they usually are annexed to, and are wont to excite in the mind of the hearers, they cannot make known the thoughts of him who thus uses them.

30. Fifthly, when they are names of fantastical imaginations.

Fifthly, He that imagined to himself substances such as never have been, and filled his head with ideas which have not any correspondence with the real nature of things, to which yet he gives settled and defined names, may fill his discourse, and perhaps another man’s head, with the fantastical imaginations of his own brain, but will be very far from advancing thereby one jot in real and true knowledge.

31. Summary.

He that hath names without ideas, wants meaning in his words, and speaks only empty sounds. He that hath complex ideas without names for them, wants liberty and dispatch in his expressions, and is necessitated to use periphrases. He that uses his words loosely and unsteadily will either be not minded or not understood. He that applies his names to ideas different from their common use, wants propriety in his language, and speaks gibberish. And he that hath the ideas of substances disagreeing with the real existence of things, so far wants the materials of true knowledge in his understanding, and hath instead thereof chimeras.

32. How men’s words fail when they stand for Substances.

In our notions concerning Substances, we are liable to all the former inconveniences: v. g. he that uses the word TARANTULA, without having any imagination or idea of what it stands for, pronounces a good word; but so long means nothing at all by it. 2. He that, in a newly-discovered country, shall see several sorts of animals and vegetables, unknown to him before, may have as true ideas of them, as of a horse or a stag; but can speak of them only by a description, till he shall either take the names the natives call them by, or give them names himself. 3. He that uses the word BODY sometimes for pure extension, and sometimes for extension and solidity together, will talk very fallaciously. 4. He that gives the name HORSE to that idea which common usage calls MULE, talks improperly, and will not be understood. 5. He that thinks the name CENTAUR stands for some real being, imposes on himself, and mistakes words for things.

33. How when they stand for Modes and Relations.

In Modes and Relations generally, we are liable only to the four first of these inconveniences; viz. 1. I may have in my memory the names of modes, as GRATITUDE or CHARITY, and yet not have any precise ideas annexed in my thoughts to those names, 2. I may have ideas, and not know the names that belong to them: v. g. I may have the idea of a man’s drinking till his colour and humour be altered, till his tongue trips, and his eyes look red, and his feet fail him; and yet not know that it is to be called DRUNKENNESS. 3. I may have the ideas of virtues or vices, and names also, but apply them amiss: v. g. when I apply the name FRUGALITY to that idea which others call and signify by this sound, COVETOUSNESS. 4. I may use any of those names with inconstancy. 5. But, in modes and relations, I cannot have ideas disagreeing to the existence of things: for modes being complex ideas, made by the mind at pleasure, and relation being but by way of considering or comparing two things together, and so also an idea of my own making, these ideas can scarce be found to disagree with anything existing; since they are not in the mind as the copies of things regularly made by nature, nor as properties inseparably flowing from the internal constitution or essence of any substance; but, as it were, patterns lodged in my memory, with names annexed to them, to denominate actions and relations by, as they come to exist. But the mistake is commonly in my giving a wrong name to my conceptions; and so using words in a different sense from other people: I am not understood, but am thought to have wrong ideas of them, when I give wrong names to them. Only if I put in my ideas of mixed modes or relations any inconsistent ideas together, I fill my head also with chimeras; since such ideas, if well examined, cannot so much as exist in the mind, much less any real being ever be denominated from them.

34. Seventhly, Language is often abused by Figurative Speech.

Since wit and fancy find easier entertainment in the world than dry truth and real knowledge, figurative speeches and allusion in language will hardly be admitted as an imperfection or abuse of it. I confess, in discourses where we seek rather pleasure and delight than information and improvement, such ornaments as are borrowed from them can scarce pass for faults. But yet if we would speak of things as they are, we must allow that all the art of rhetoric, besides order and clearness; all the artificial and figurative application of words eloquence hath invented, are for nothing else but to insinuate wrong ideas, move the passions, and thereby mislead the judgment; and so indeed are perfect cheats: and therefore, however laudable or allowable oratory may render them in harangues and popular addresses, they are certainly, in all discourses that pretend to inform or instruct, wholly to be avoided; and where truth and knowledge are concerned, cannot but be thought a great fault, either of the language or person that makes use of them. What and how various they are, will be superfluous here to take notice; the books of rhetoric which abound in the world, will instruct those who want to be informed: only I cannot but observe how little the preservation and improvement of truth and knowledge is the care and concern of mankind; since the arts of fallacy are endowed and preferred. It is evident how much men love to deceive and be deceived, since rhetoric, that powerful instrument of error and deceit, has its established professors, is publicly taught, and has always been had in great reputation: and I doubt not but it will be thought great boldness, if not brutality, in me to have said thus much against it. Eloquence, like the fair sex, has too prevailing beauties in it to suffer itself ever to be spoken against. And it is in vain to find fault with those arts of deceiving, wherein men find pleasure to be deceived.

CHAPTER XI. OF THE REMEDIES OF THE FOREGOING IMPERFECTIONS AND ABUSES OF WORDS.

1. Remedies are worth seeking.

The natural and improved imperfections of languages we have seen above at large: and speech being the great bond that holds society together, and the common conduit, whereby the improvements of knowledge are conveyed from one man and one generation to another, it would well deserve our most serious thoughts to consider, what remedies are to be found for the inconveniences above mentioned.

2. Are not easy to find.

I am not so vain as to think that any one can pretend to attempt the perfect reforming the languages of the world, no not so much as of his own country, without rendering himself ridiculous. To require that men should use their words constantly in the same sense, and for none but determined and uniform ideas, would be to think that all men should have the same notions, and should talk of nothing but what they have clear and distinct ideas of: which is not to be expected by any one who hath not vanity enough to imagine he can prevail with men to be very knowing or very silent. And he must be very little skilled in the world, who thinks that a voluble tongue shall accompany only a good understanding; or that men’s talking much or little should hold proportion only to their knowledge.

3. But yet necessary to those who search after Truth.

But though the market and exchange must be left to their own ways of talking, and gossipings not be robbed of their ancient privilege: though the schools, and men of argument would perhaps take it amiss to have anything offered, to abate the length or lessen the number of their disputes; yet methinks those who pretend seriously to search after or maintain truth, should think themselves obliged to study how they might deliver themselves without obscurity, doubtfulness, or equivocation, to which men’s words are naturally liable, if care be not taken.

4. Misuse of Words the great Cause of Errors.

For he that shall well consider the errors and obscurity, the mistakes and confusion, that are spread in the world by an ill use of words, will find some reason to doubt whether language, as it has been employed, has contributed more to the improvement or hindrance of knowledge amongst mankind. How many are there, that, when they would think on things, fix their thoughts only on words, especially when they would apply their minds to moral matters? And who then can wonder if the result of such contemplations and reasonings, about little more than sounds, whilst the ideas they annex to them are very confused and very unsteady, or perhaps none at all; who can wonder, I say, that such thoughts and reasonings end in nothing but obscurity and mistake, without any clear judgment or knowledge?

5. Has made men more conceited and obstinate.

This inconvenience, in an ill use of words, men suffer in their own private meditations: but much more manifest are the disorders which follow from it, in conversation, discourse, and arguings with others. For language being the great conduit, whereby men convey their discoveries, reasonings, and knowledge, from one to another, he that makes an ill use of it, though he does not corrupt the fountains of knowledge, which are in things themselves, yet he does, as much as in him lies, break or stop the pipes whereby it is distributed to the public use and advantage of mankind. He that uses words without any clear and steady meaning, what does he but lead himself and others into errors? And he that designedly does it, ought to be looked on as an enemy to truth and knowledge. And yet who can wonder that all the sciences and parts of knowledge have been so overcharged with obscure and equivocal terms, and insignificant and doubtful expressions, capable to make the most attentive or quick-sighted very little, or not at all, the more knowing or orthodox: since subtlety, in those who make profession to teach or defend truth, hath passed so much for a virtue: a virtue, indeed, which, consisting for the most part in nothing but the fallacious and illusory use of obscure or deceitful terms, is only fit to make men more conceited in their ignorance, and more obstinate in their errors.

6. Addicted to Wrangling about sounds.

Let us look into the books of controversy of any kind, there we shall see that the effect of obscure, unsteady, or equivocal terms is nothing but noise and wrangling about sounds, without convincing or bettering a man’s understanding. For if the idea be not agreed on, betwixt the speaker and hearer, for which the words stand, the argument is not about things, but names. As often as such a word whose signification is not ascertained betwixt them, comes in use, their understandings have no other object wherein they agree, but barely the sound; the things that they think on at that time, as expressed by that word, being quite different.

7. Instance, Bat and Bird.

Whether a BAT be a BIRD or no, is not a question, Whether a bat be another thing than indeed it is, or have other qualities than indeed it has; for that would be extremely absurd to doubt of. But the question is, (i) Either between those that acknowledged themselves to have but imperfect ideas of one or both of this sort of things, for which these names are supposed to stand. And then it is a real inquiry concerning the NATURE of a bird or a bat, to make their yet imperfect ideas of it more complete; by examining whether all the simple ideas to which, combined together, they both give name bird, be all to be found in a bat: but this is a question only of inquirers (not disputers) who neither affirm nor deny, but examine: Or, (2) It is a question between disputants; whereof the one affirms, and the other denies that a bat is a bird. And then the question is barely about the signification of one or both these WORDS; in that they not having both the same complex ideas to which they give these two names, one holds and the other denies, that these two names may be affirmed one of another. Were they agreed in the signification of these two names, it were impossible they should dispute about them. For they would presently and clearly see (were that adjusted between them,) whether all the simple ideas of the more general name bird were found in the complex idea of a bat or no; and so there could be no doubt whether a bat were a bird or no. And here I desire it may be considered, and carefully examined, whether the greatest part of the disputes in the world are not merely verbal, and about the signification of words; and whether, if the terms they are made in were defined, and reduced in their signification (as they must be where they signify anything) to determined collections of the simple ideas they do or should stand for, those disputes would not end of themselves, and immediately vanish. I leave it then to be considered, what the learning of disputation is, and how well they are employed for the advantage of themselves or others, whose business is only the vain ostentation of sounds; i. e. those who spend their lives in disputes and controversies. When I shall see any of those combatants strip all his terms of ambiguity and obscurity, (which every one may do in the words he uses himself,) I shall think him a champion for knowledge, truth, and peace, and not the slave of vain-glory, ambition, or a party.

8. Remedies.

To remedy the defects of speech before mentioned to some degree, and to prevent the inconveniences that follow from them, I imagine the observation of these following rules may be of use, till somebody better able shall judge it worth his while to think more maturely on this matter, and oblige the world with his thoughts on it.

First Remedy: To use no Word without an Idea annexed to it.

First, A man shall take care to use no word without a signification, no name without an idea for which he makes it stand. This rule will not seem altogether needless to any one who shall take the pains to recollect how often he has met with such words as INSTINCT, SYMPATHY, and ANTIPATHY, &c., in the discourse of others, so made use of as he might easily conclude that those that used them had no ideas in their minds to which they applied them, but spoke them only as sounds, which usually served instead of reasons on the like occasions. Not but that these words, and the like, have very proper significations in which they may be used; but there being no natural connexion between any words and any ideas, these, and any other, may be learned by rote, and pronounced or writ by men who have no ideas in their minds to which they have annexed them, and for which they make them stand; which is necessary they should, if men would speak intelligibly even to themselves alone.

9. Second Remedy: To have distinct, determinate Ideas annexed to Words, especially in mixed Modes.

Secondly, It is not enough a man uses his words as signs of some ideas: those he annexes them to, if they be simple, must be clear and distinct; if complex, must be determinate, i.e. the precise collection of simple ideas settled in the mind, with that sound annexed to it, as the sign of that precise determined collection, and no other. This is very necessary in names of modes, and especially moral words; which, having no settled objects in nature, from whence their ideas are taken, as from their original, are apt to be very confused. JUSTICE is a word in every man’s mouth, but most commonly with a very undetermined, loose signification; which will always be so, unless a man has in his mind a distinct comprehension of the component parts that complex idea consists of and if it be decompounded, must be able to resolve it still only till he at last comes to the simple ideas that make it up: and unless this be done, a man makes an ill use of the word, let it be justice, for example, or any other. I do not say, a man needs stand to recollect, and make this analysis at large, every time the word justice comes in his way: but this at least is necessary, that he have so examined the signification of that name, and settled the idea of all its parts in his mind, that he can do it when he pleases. If any one who makes his complex idea of justice to be, such a treatment of the person or goods of another as is according to law, hath not a clear and distinct idea what LAW is, which makes a part of his complex idea of justice, it is plain his idea of justice itself will be confused and imperfect. This exactness will, perhaps, be judged very troublesome; and therefore most men will think they may be excused from settling the complex ideas of mixed modes so precisely in their minds. But yet I must say, till this be done, it must not be wondered, that they have a great deal of obscurity and confusion in their own minds, and a great deal of wrangling in their discourse with others.

10. And distinct and conformable ideas in Words that stand for Substances.

In the names of substances, for a right use of them, something more is required than barely DETERMINED IDEAS. In these the names must also be CONFORMABLE TO THINGS AS THEY EXIST; but of this I shall have occasion to speak more at large by and by. This exactness is absolutely necessary in inquiries after philosophical knowledge, and in controversies about truth. And though it would be well, too, if it extended itself to common conversation and the ordinary affairs of life; yet I think that is scarce to be expected. Vulgar notions suit vulgar discourses: and both, though confused enough, yet serve pretty well the market and the wake. Merchants and lovers, cooks and tailors, have words wherewithal to dispatch their ordinary affairs: and so, I think, might philosophers and disputants too, if they had a mind to understand, and to clearly understood.

11. Third Remedy: To apply Words to such ideas as common use has annexed them to.

Thirdly, it is not enough that men have ideas, determined ideas, for which they make these signs stand; but they must also take care to apply their words as near as may be to such ideas as common use has annexed them to. For words, especially of languages already framed, being no man’s private possession, but the common measure of commerce and communication, it is not for any one at pleasure to change the stamp they are current in, nor alter the ideas they are affixed to; or at least, when there is a necessity to do so, he is bound to give notice of it. Men’s intentions in speaking are, or at least should be, to be understood; which cannot be without frequent explanations, demands, and other the like incommodious interruptions, where men do not follow common use. Propriety of speech is that which gives our thoughts entrance into other men’s minds with the greatest ease and advantage: and therefore deserves some part of our care and study, especially in the names of moral words. The proper signification and use of terms is best to be learned from those who in their writings and discourses appear to have had the clearest notions, and applied to them their terms with the exactest choice and fitness. This way of using a man’s words, according to the propriety of the language, though it have not always the good fortune to be understood; yet most commonly leaves the blame of it on him who is so unskilful in the language he speaks, as not to understand it when made use of as it ought to be.

12. Fourth Remedy: To declare the meaning in which we use them.

Fourthly, But, because common use has not so visibly annexed any signification to words, as to make men know always certainly what they precisely stand for: and because men, in the improvement of their knowledge, come to have ideas different from the vulgar and ordinary received ones, for which they must either make new words, (which men seldom venture to do, for fear of being thought guilty of affectation or novelty,) or else must use old ones in a new signification: therefore, after the observation of the foregoing rules, it is sometimes necessary, for the ascertaining the signification of words, to DECLARE THEIR MEANING; where either common use has left it uncertain and loose, (as it has in most names of very complex ideas;) or where the term, being very material in the discourse, and that upon which it chiefly turns, is liable to any doubtfulness or mistake.

13. And that in three Ways.

As the ideas men’s words stand for are of different sorts, so the way of making known the ideas they stand for, when there is occasion, is also different. For though DEFINING be thought the proper way to make known the proper signification of words; yet there are some words that will not be defined, as there are others whose precise meaning cannot be made known but by definition: and perhaps a third, which partake somewhat of both the other, as we shall see in the names of simple ideas, modes, and substances.

14. In Simple Ideas, either by synonymous terms, or by showing examples.

I. First, when a man makes use of the name of any simple idea, which he perceives is not understood, or is in danger to be mistaken, he is obliged, by the laws of ingenuity and the end of speech, to declare his meaning, and make known what idea he makes it stand for. This, as has been shown, cannot be done by definition: and therefore, when a synonymous word fails to do it, there is but one of these ways left. First, Sometimes the NAMING the subject wherein that simple idea is to be found, will make its name to be understood by those who are acquainted with that subject, and know it by that name. So to make a countryman understand what FEUILLEMORTE colour signifies, it may suffice to tell him, it is the colour of withered leaves falling in autumn. Secondly, but the only sure way of making known the signification of the name of any simple idea, is BY PRESENTING TO HIS SENSES THAT SUBJECT WHICH MAY PRODUCE IT IN HIS MIND, and make him actually have the idea that word stands for.

15. In mixed Modes, by Definition.

II. Secondly, Mixed modes, especially those belonging to morality, being most of them such combinations of ideas as the mind puts together of its own choice, and whereof there are not always standing patterns to be found existing, the signification of their names cannot be made known, as those of simple ideas, by any showing: but, in recompense thereof, may be perfectly and exactly defined. For they being combinations of several ideas that the mind of man has arbitrarily put together, without reference to any archetypes, men may, if they please, exactly know the ideas that go to each composition, and so both use these words in a certain and undoubted signification, and perfectly declare, when there is occasion, what they stand for. This, if well considered, would lay great blame on those who make not their discourses about MORAL things very clear and distinct. For since the precise signification of the names of mixed modes, or, which is all one, the real essence of each species is to be known, they being not of nature’s, but man’s making, it is a great negligence and perverseness to discourse of moral things with uncertainty and obscurity; which is more pardonable in treating of natural substances, where doubtful terms are hardly to be avoided, for a quite contrary reason, as we shall see by and by.

16. Morality capable of Demonstration.

Upon this ground it is that I am bold to think that morality is capable of demonstration, as well as mathematics: since the precise real essence of the things moral words stand for may be perfectly known, and so the congruity and incongruity of the things themselves be certainly discovered; in which consists perfect knowledge. Nor let any one object, that the names of substances are often to be made use of in morality, as well as those of modes, from which will arise obscurity. For, as to substances, when concerned in moral discourses, their divers natures are not so much inquired into as supposed: v.g. when we say that man is subject to law, we mean nothing by man but a corporeal rational creature: what the real essence or other qualities of that creature are in this case is no way considered. And, therefore, whether a child or changeling be a man, in a physical sense, may amongst the naturalists be as disputable as it will, it concerns not at all the moral man, as I may call him, which is this immovable, unchangeable idea, a corporeal rational being. For, were there a monkey, or any other creature, to be found that had the use of reason to such a degree, as to be able to understand general signs, and to deduce consequences about general ideas, he would no doubt be subject to law, and in that sense be a MAN, how much soever he differed in shape from others of that name. The names of substances, if they be used in them as they should, can no more disturb moral than they do mathematical discourses; where, if the mathematician speaks of a cube or globe of gold, or of any other body, he has his clear, settled idea, which varies not, though it may by mistake be applied to a particular body to which it belongs not.

17. Definitions can make moral Discourse clear.

This I have here mentioned, by the by, to show of what consequence it is for men, in their names of mixed modes, and consequently in all their moral discourses, to define their words when there is occasion: since thereby moral knowledge may be brought to so great clearness and certainty. And it must be great want of ingenuousness (to say no worse of it) to refuse to do it: since a definition is the only way whereby the precise meaning of moral words can be known; and yet a way whereby their meaning may be known certainly, and without leaving any room for any contest about it. And therefore the negligence or perverseness of mankind cannot be excused, if their discourses in morality be not much more clear than those in natural philosophy: since they are about ideas in the mind, which are none of them false or disproportionate; they having no external beings for the archetypes which they are referred to and must correspond with. It is far easier for men to frame in their minds an idea, which shall be the standard to which they will give the name justice; with which pattern so made, all actions that agree shall pass under that denomination, than, having seen Aristides, to frame an idea that shall in all things be exactly like him; who is as he is, let men make what idea they please of him. For the one, they need but know the combination of ideas that are put together in their own minds; for the other, they must inquire into the whole nature, and abstruse hidden constitution, and various qualities of a thing existing without them.

18. And is the only way in which the meaning of mixed Modes can be made known.

Another reason that makes the defining of mixed modes so necessary, especially of moral words, is what I mentioned a little before, viz. that it is the only way whereby the signification of the most of them can be known with certainty. For the ideas they stand for, being for the most part such whose component parts nowhere exist together, but scattered and mingled with others, it is the mind alone that collects them, and gives them the union of one idea: and it is only by words enumerating the several simple ideas which the mind has united, that we can make known to others what their names stand for; the assistance of the senses in this case not helping us, by the proposal of sensible objects, to show the ideas which our names of this kind stand for, as it does often in the names of sensible simple ideas, and also to some degree in those of substances.

19. In Substances, both by showing and by defining.

III. Thirdly, for the explaining the signification of the names of substances, as they stand for the ideas we have of their distinct species, both the forementioned ways, viz. of showing and defining, are requisite, in many cases, to be made use of. For, there being ordinarily in each sort some leading qualities, to which we suppose the other ideas which make up our complex idea of that species annexed, we forwardly give the specific name to that thing wherein that characteristic mark is found, which we take to be the most distinguishing idea of that species. These leading or characteristical (as I may call them) ideas, in the sorts of animals and vegetables, are (as has been before remarked, ch vi. Section 29 and ch. ix. Section 15) mostly figure; and in inanimate bodies, colour; and in some, both together. Now,

20. Ideas of the leading Qualities of Substances are best got by showing.

These leading sensible qualities are those which make the chief ingredients of our specific ideas, and consequently the most observable and invariable part in the definitions of our specific names, as attributed to sorts of substances coming under our knowledge. For though the sound MAN, in its own nature, be as apt to signify a complex idea made up of animality and rationality, united in the same subject, as to signify any other combination; yet, used as a mark to stand for a sort of creatures we count of our own kind, perhaps the outward shape is as necessary to be taken into our complex idea, signified by the word man, as any other we find in it: and therefore, why Plato’s ANIMAL IMPLUME BIPES LATIS UNGUIBUS should not be a good definition of the name man, standing for that sort of creatures, will not be easy to show: for it is the shape, as the leading quality, that seems more to determine that species, than a faculty of reasoning, which appears not at first, and in some never. And if this be not allowed to be so, I do not know how they can be excused from murder who kill monstrous births, (as we call them,) because of an unordinary shape, without knowing whether they have a rational soul or no; which can be no more discerned in a well-formed than ill-shaped infant, as soon as born. And who is it has informed us that a rational soul can inhabit no tenement, unless it has just such a sort of frontispiece; or can join itself to, and inform no sort of body, but one that is just of such an outward structure?

21. And can hardly be made known otherwise.

Now these leading qualities are best made known by showing, and can hardly be made known otherwise. For the shape of a horse or cassowary will be but rudely and imperfectly imprinted on the mind by words; the sight of the animals doth it a thousand times better. And the idea of the particular colour of gold is not to be got by any description of it, but only by the frequent exercise of the eyes about as is evident in those who are used to this metal, who frequently distinguish true from counterfeit, pure from adulterate, by the sight, where others (who have as good eyes, but yet by use have not got the precise nice idea of that peculiar yellow) shall not perceive any difference. The like may be said of those other simple ideas, peculiar in their kind to any substance; for which precise ideas there are no peculiar names. The particular ringing sound there is in gold, distinct from the sound of other bodies, has no particular name annexed to it, no more than the particular yellow that belongs to that metal.

22. The Ideas of the Powers of Substances are best known by Definition.

But because many of the simple ideas that make up our specific ideas of substances are powers which lie not obvious to our senses in the things as they ordinarily appear; therefore, in the signification of our names of substances, some part of the signification will be better made known by enumerating those simple ideas, than by showing the substance itself. For, he that to the yellow shining colour of gold, got by sight, shall, from my enumerating them, have the ideas of great ductility, fusibility, fixedness, and solubility, in aqua regia, will have a perfecter idea of gold than he can have by seeing a piece of gold, and thereby imprinting in his mind only its obvious qualities. But if the formal constitution of this shining, heavy, ductile thing, (from whence all these its properties flow,) lay open to our senses, as the formal constitution or essence of a triangle does, the signification of the word gold might as easily be ascertained as that of triangle.

23. A Reflection on the Knowledge of corporeal things possessed by Spirits separate from bodies.

Hence we may take notice, how much the foundation of all our knowledge of corporeal things lies in our senses. For how spirits, separate from bodies, (whose knowledge and ideas of these things are certainly much more perfect than ours,) know them, we have no notion, no idea at all. The whole extent of our knowledge or imagination reaches not beyond our own ideas limited to our ways of perception. Though yet it be not to be doubted that spirits of a higher rank than those immersed in flesh may have as clear ideas of the radical constitution of substances as we have of a triangle, and so perceive how all their properties and operations flow from thence: but the manner how they come by that knowledge exceeds our conceptions.

24. Ideas of Substances must also be conformable to Things.

Fourthly, But, though definitions will serve to explain the names of substances as they stand for our ideas, yet they leave them not without great imperfection as they stand for things. For our names of substances being not put barely for our ideas, but being made use of ultimately to represent things, and so are put in their place, their signification must agree with the truth of things as well as with men’s ideas. And therefore, in substances, we are not always to rest in the ordinary complex idea commonly received as the signification of that word, but must go a little further, and inquire into the nature and properties of the things themselves, and thereby perfect, as much as we can, our ideas of their distinct species; or else learn them from such as are used to that sort of things, and are experienced in them. For, since it is intended their names should stand for such collections of simple ideas as do really exist in things themselves, as well as for the complex idea in other men’s minds, which in their ordinary acceptation they stand for, therefore, to define their names right, natural history is to be inquired into, and their properties are, with care and examination, to be found out. For it is not enough, for the avoiding inconveniences in discourse and arguings about natural bodies and substantial things, to have learned, from the propriety of the language, the common, but confused, or very imperfect, idea to which each word is applied, and to keep them to that idea in our use of them; but we must, by acquainting ourselves with the history of that sort of things, rectify and settle our complex idea belonging to each specific name; and in discourse with others, (if we find them mistake us,) we ought to tell what the complex idea is that we make such a name stand for. This is the more necessary to be done by all those who search after knowledge and philosophical verity, in that children, being taught words, whilst they have but imperfect notions of things, apply them at random, and without much thinking, and seldom frame determined ideas to be signified by them. Which custom (it being easy, and serving well enough for the ordinary affairs of life and conversation) they are apt to continue when they are men: and so begin at the wrong end, learning words first and perfectly, but make the notions to which they apply those words afterwards very overtly. By this means it comes to pass, that men speaking the language of their country, i.e. according to grammar rules of that language, do yet speak very improperly of things themselves; and, by their arguing one with another, make but small progress in the discoveries of useful truths, and the knowledge of things, as they are to be found in themselves, and not in our imaginations; and it matters not much for the improvement of our knowledge how they are called.

25. Not easy to be made so.

It were therefore to be wished, That men versed in physical inquiries, and acquainted with the several sorts of natural bodies, would set down those simple ideas wherein they observe the individuals of each sort constantly to agree. This would remedy a great deal of that confusion which comes from several persons applying the same name to a collection of a smaller or greater number of sensible qualities, proportionably as they have been more or less acquainted with, or accurate in examining, the qualities of any sort of things which come under one denomination. But a dictionary of this sort, containing, as it were, a natural history, requires too many hands as well as too much time, cost, pains, and sagacity ever to be hoped for; and till that be done, we must content ourselves with such definitions of the names of substances as explain the sense men use them in. And it would be well, where there is occasion, if they would afford us so much. This yet is not usually done; but men talk to one another, and dispute in words, whose meaning is not agreed between them, out of a mistake that the significations of common words are certainly established, and the precise ideas they stand for perfectly known; and that it is a shame to be ignorant of them. Both which suppositions are false, no names of complex ideas having so settled determined significations, that they are constantly used for the same precise ideas. Nor is it a shame for a man to have a certain knowledge of anything, but by the necessary ways of attaining it; and so it is no discredit not to know what precise idea any sound stands for in another man’s mind, without he declare it to me by some other way than barely using that sound, there being no other way, without such a declaration, certainly to know it. Indeed the necessity of communication by language brings men to an agreement in the signification of common words, within some tolerable latitude, that may serve for ordinary conversation: and so a man cannot be supposed wholly ignorant of the ideas which are annexed to words by common use, in a language familiar to him. But common use being but a very uncertain rule, which reduces itself at last to the ideas of particular men, proves often but a very variable standard. But though such a Dictionary as I have above mentioned will require too much time, cost, and pains to be hoped for in this age; yet methinks it is not unreasonable to propose, that words standing for things which are known and distinguished by their outward shapes should be expressed by little draughts and prints made of them. A vocabulary made after this fashion would perhaps with more ease, and in less time, teach the true signification of many terms, especially in languages of remote countries or ages, and settle truer ideas in men’s minds of several things, whereof we read the names in ancient authors, than all the large and laborious comments of learned critics. Naturalists, that treat of plants and animals, have found the benefit of this way: and he that has had occasion to consult them will have reason to confess that he has a clearer idea of APIUM or IBEX, from a little print of that herb or beast, than he could have from a long definition of the names of either of them. And so no doubt he would have of STRIGIL and SISTRUM, if, instead of CURRYCOMB and CYMBAL, (which are the English names dictionaries render them by,) he could see stamped in the margin small pictures of these instruments, as they were in use amongst the ancients. TOGA, TUNICA, PALLIUM, are words easily translated by GOWN, COAT, and CLOAK; but we have thereby no more true ideas of the fashion of those habits amongst the Romans, than we have of the faces of the tailors who made them. Such things as these, which the eye distinguishes by their shapes, would be best let into the mind by draughts made of them, and more determine the signification of such words, than any other words set for them, or made use of to define them. But this is only by the bye.

26. V. Fifth Remedy: To use the same word constantly in the same sense.

Fifthly, If men will not be at the pains to declare the meaning of their words, and definitions of their terms are not to be had, yet this is the least that can be expected, that, in all discourses wherein one man pretends to instruct or convince another, he should use the same word constantly in the same sense. If this were done, (which nobody can refuse without great disingenuity,) many of the books extant might be spared; many of the controversies in dispute would be at an end; several of those great volumes, swollen with ambiguous words, now used in one sense, and by and by in another, would shrink into a very narrow compass; and many of the philosophers (to mention no other) as well as poets works, might be contained in a nutshell.

27. When not so used, the Variation is to be explained.

But after all, the provision of words is so scanty in respect to that infinite variety of thoughts, that men, wanting terms to suit their precise notions, will, notwithstanding their utmost caution, be forced often to use the same word in somewhat different senses. And though in the continuation of a discourse, or the pursuit of an argument, there can be hardly room to digress into a particular definition, as often as a man varies the signification of any term; yet the import of the discourse will, for the most part, if there be no designed fallacy, sufficiently lead candid and intelligent readers into the true meaning of it; but where there is not sufficient to guide the reader, there it concerns the writer to explain his meaning, and show in what sense he there uses that term.

BOOK IV. OF KNOWLEDGE AND PROBABILITY SYNOPSIS OF THE FOURTH BOOK.

Locke’s review of the different sorts of ideas, or appearances of what exists, that can be entertained in a human understanding, and of their relations to words, leads, in the Fourth Book, to an investigation of the extent and validity of the Knowledge that our ideas bring within our reach; and into the nature of faith in Probability, by which assent is extended beyond Knowledge, for the conduct of life. He finds (ch. i, ii) that Knowledge is either an intuitive, a demonstrative, or a sensuous perception of absolute certainty, in regard to one or other of four sorts of agreement or disagreement on the part of ideas: — (1) of each idea with itself, as identical, and different from every other; (2) in their abstract relations to one another; (3) in their necessary connexions, as qualities and powers coexisting in concrete substances; and (4) as revelations to us of the final realities of existence. The unconditional certainty that constitutes Knowledge is perceptible by man only in regard to the first, second, and fourth of these four sorts: in all general propositions only in regard to the first and second; that is to say, in identical propositions, and in those which express abstract relations of simple or mixed modes, in which nominal and real essences coincide, e. g. propositions in pure mathematics and abstract morality (chh. iii, v-viii). The fourth sort, which express certainty as to realities of existence, refer to any of three realities. For every man is able to perceive with absolute certainty that he himself exists, that God must exist, and that finite beings other than himself exist; — the first of these perceptions being awakened by all our ideas, the second as the consequence of perception of the first, and the last in the reception of our simple ideas of sense (chh. i. Section 7; ii. Section 14; iii. Section 21; iv, ix-xi). Agreement of the third sort, of necessary coexistence of simple ideas as qualities and powers in particular substances, with which all physical inquiry is concerned, lies beyond human Knowledge; for here the nominal and real essences are not coincident: general propositions of this sort are determined by analogies of experience, in judgments that are more or less probable: intellectually necessary science of nature presupposes Omniscience; man’s interpretations of nature have to turn upon presumptions of Probability (chh. iii. Sections 9-17; iv. SectionS 11-17; vi, xiv-xvi). In forming their stock of Certainties and Probabilities men employ the faculty of reason, faith in divine revelation, and enthusiasm (chh. xvii-xix); much misled by the last, as well as by other causes of ‘wrong assent’ (ch. xx), when they are at work in ‘the three great provinces of the intellectual world’ (ch. xxi), concerned respectively with (1) ‘things as knowable’ (physica); (2) ‘actions as they depend on us in order to happiness’ (practica); and (3) methods for interpreting the signs of what is, and of what ought to be, that are presented in our ideas and words (logica).

CHAPTER I. OF KNOWLEDGE IN GENERAL.

1. Our Knowledge conversant about our Ideas only.

Since the mind, in all its thoughts and reasonings, hath no other immediate object but its own ideas, which it alone does or can contemplate, it is evident that our knowledge is only conversant about them.

2. Knowledge is the Perception of the Agreement or Disagreement of two Ideas.

KNOWLEDGE then seems to me to be nothing but THE PERCEPTION OF THE
CONNEXION OF AND AGREEMENT, OR DISAGREEMENT AND REPUGNANCY OF ANY OF OUR
IDEAS. In this alone it consists.

Where this perception is, there is knowledge, and where it is not, there, though we may fancy, guess, or believe, yet we always come short of knowledge. For when we know that white is not black, what do we else but perceive, that these two ideas do not agree? When we possess ourselves with the utmost security of the demonstration, that the three angles of a triangle are equal to two right ones, what do we more but perceive, that equality to two right ones does necessarily agree to, and is inseparable from, the three angles of a triangle?

3. This Agreement or Disagreement may be any of four sorts.

But to understand a little more distinctly wherein this agreement or disagreement consists, I think we may reduce it all to these four sorts:

I. IDENTITY, or DIVERSITY. II. RELATION. III. CO-EXISTENCE, or NECESSARY
CONNEXION. IV. REAL EXISTENCE.

4. First, Of Identity, or Diversity in ideas.

FIRST, As to the first sort of agreement or disagreement, viz. IDENTITY or DIVERSITY. It is the first act of the mind, when it has any sentiments or ideas at all, to perceive its ideas; and so far as it perceives them, to know each what it is, and thereby also to perceive their difference, and that one is not another. This is so absolutely necessary, that without it there could be no knowledge, no reasoning, no imagination, no distinct thoughts at all. By this the mind clearly and infallibly perceives each idea to agree with itself, and to be what it is; and all distinct ideas to disagree, i. e. the one not to be the other: and this it does without pains, labour, or deduction; but at first view, by its natural power of perception and distinction. And though men of art have reduced this into those general rules, WHAT IS, IS, and IT IS IMPOSSIBLE FOR THE SAME THING TO BE AND NOT TO BE, for ready application in all cases, wherein there may be occasion to reflect on it: yet it is certain that the first exercise of this faculty is about particular ideas. A man infallibly knows, as soon as ever he has them in his mind, that the ideas he calls WHITE and ROUND are the very ideas they are; and that they are not other ideas which he calls RED or SQUARE. Nor can any maxim or proposition in the world make him know it clearer or surer than he did before, and without any such general rule. This then is the first agreement or disagreement which the mind perceives in its ideas; which it always perceives at first sight: and if there ever happen any doubt about it, it will always be found to be about the names, and not the ideas themselves, whose identity and diversity will always be perceived, as soon and clearly as the ideas themselves are; nor can it possibly be otherwise.

5. Secondly, Of abstract Relations between ideas.

SECONDLY, the next sort of agreement or disagreement the mind perceives in any of its ideas may, I think, be called RELATIVE, and is nothing but the perception of the RELATION between any two ideas, of what kind soever, whether substances, modes, or any other. For, since all distinct ideas must eternally be known not to be the same, and so be universally and constantly denied one of another, there could be no room for any positive knowledge at all, if we could not perceive any relation between our ideas, and find out the agreement or disagreement they have one with another, in several ways the mind takes of comparing them.

6. Thirdly, Of their necessary Co-existence in Substances.

THIRDLY, The third sort of agreement or disagreement to be found in our ideas, which the perception of the mind is employed about, is CO-EXISTENCE or NON-CO-EXISTENCE in the SAME SUBJECT; and this belongs particularly to substances. Thus when we pronounce concerning gold, that it is fixed, our knowledge of this truth amounts to no more but this, that fixedness, or a power to remain in the fire unconsumed, is an idea that always accompanies and is joined with that particular sort of yellowness, weight, fusibility, malleableness, and solubility in AQUA REGIA, which make our complex idea signified by the word gold.

7. Fourthly, Of real Existence agreeing to any idea.

FOURTHLY, The fourth and last sort is that of ACTUAL REAL EXISTENCE agreeing to any idea.

Within these four sorts of agreement or disagreement is, I suppose, contained all the knowledge we have, or are capable of. For all the inquiries we can make concerning any of our ideas, all that we know or can affirm concerning any of them, is, That it is, or is not, the same with some other; that it does or does not always co-exist with some other idea in the same subject; that it has this or that relation with some other idea; or that it has a real existence without the mind. Thus, ‘blue is not yellow,’ is of identity. ‘Two triangles upon equal bases between two parallels are equal,’ is of relation. ‘Iron is susceptible of magnetical impressions,’ is of co-existence. ‘God is,’ is of real existence. Though identity and co-existence are truly nothing but relations, yet they are such peculiar ways of agreement or disagreement of our ideas, that they deserve well to be considered as distinct heads, and not under relation in general; since they are so different grounds of affirmation and negation, as will easily appear to any one, who will but reflect on what is said in several places of this ESSAY.

I should now proceed to examine the several degrees of our knowledge, but that it is necessary first, to consider the different acceptations of the word KNOWLEDGE.

8. Knowledge is either actual or habitual.

There are several ways wherein the mind is possessed of truth; each of which is called knowledge.

I. There is ACTUAL KNOWLEDGE, which is the present view the mind has of the agreement or disagreement of any of its ideas, or of the relation they have one to another.

II. A man is said to know any proposition, which having been once laid before his thoughts, he evidently perceived the agreement or disagreement of the ideas whereof it consists; and so lodged it in his memory, that whenever that proposition comes again to be reflected on, he, without doubt or hesitation, embraces the right side, assents to, and is certain of the truth of it. This, I think, one may call HABITUAL KNOWLEDGE. And thus a man may be said to know all those truths which are lodged in his memory, by a foregoing clear and full perception, whereof the mind is assured past doubt as often as it has occasion to reflect on them. For our finite understandings being able to think clearly and distinctly but on one thing at once, if men had no knowledge of any more than what they actually thought on, they would all be very ignorant: and he that knew most, would know but one truth, that being all he was able to think on at one time.

9. Habitual Knowledge is of two degrees.

Of habitual knowledge there are, also, vulgarly speaking, two degrees:

First, The one is of such truths laid up in the memory as, whenever they occur to the mind, it ACTUALLY PERCEIVES THE RELATION is between those ideas. And this is in all those truths whereof we have an intuitive knowledge; where the ideas themselves, by an immediate view, discover their agreement or disagreement one with another.

Secondly, The other is of such truths whereof the mind having been convinced, it RETAINS THE MEMORY OF THE CONVICTION, WITHOUT THE PROOFS. Thus, a man that remembers certainly that he once perceived the demonstration, that the three angles of a triangle are equal to two right ones, is certain that he knows it, because he cannot doubt the truth of it. In his adherence to a truth, where the demonstration by which it was at first known is forgot, though a man may be thought rather to believe his memory than really to know, and this way of entertaining a truth seemed formerly to me like something between opinion and knowledge; a sort of assurance which exceeds bare belief, for that relies on the testimony of another; — yet upon a due examination I find it comes not short of perfect certainty, and is in effect true knowledge. That which is apt to mislead our first thoughts into a mistake in this matter is, that the agreement or disagreement of the ideas in this case is not perceived, as it was at first, by an actual view of all the intermediate ideas whereby the agreement or disagreement of those in the proposition was at first perceived; but by other intermediate ideas, that show the agreement or disagreement of the ideas contained in the proposition whose certainty we remember. For example: in this proposition, that ‘the three angles of a triangle are equal to two right ones,’ one who has seen and clearly perceived the demonstration of this truth knows it to be true, when that demonstration is gone out of his mind; so that at present it is not actually in view, and possibly cannot be recollected: but he knows it in a different way from what he did before. The agreement of the two ideas joined in that proposition is perceived; but it is by the intervention of other ideas than those which at first produced that perception. He remembers, i.e. he knows (for remembrance is but the reviving of some past knowledge) that he was once certain of the truth of this proposition, that the three angles of a triangle are equal to two right ones. The immutability of the same relations between the same immutable things is now the idea that shows him, that if the three angles of a triangle were once equal to two right ones, they will always be equal to two right ones. And hence he comes to be certain, that what was once true in the case, is always true; what ideas once agreed will always agree; and consequently what he once knew to be true, he will always know to be true; as long as he can remember that he once knew it. Upon this ground it is, that particular demonstrations in mathematics afford general knowledge. If then the perception, that the same ideas will ETERNALLY have the same habitudes and relations, be not a sufficient ground of knowledge, there could be no knowledge of general propositions in mathematics; for no mathematical demonstration would be any other than particular: and when a man had demonstrated any proposition concerning one triangle or circle, his knowledge would not reach beyond that particular diagram. If he would extend it further, he must renew his demonstration in another instance, before he could know it to be true in another like triangle, and so on: by which means one could never come to the knowledge of any general propositions. Nobody, I think, can deny, that Mr. Newton certainly knows any proposition that he now at any time reads in his book to be true; though he has not in actual view that admirable chain of intermediate ideas whereby he at first discovered it to be true. Such a memory as that, able to retain such a train of particulars, may be well thought beyond the reach of human faculties, when the very discovery, perception, and laying together that wonderful connexion of ideas, is found to surpass most readers’ comprehension. But yet it is evident the author himself knows the proposition to be true, remembering he once saw the connexion of those ideas; as certainly as he knows such a man wounded another, remembering that he saw him run him through. But because the memory is not always so clear as actual perception, and does in all men more or less decay in length of time, this, amongst other differences, is one which shows that DEMONSTRATIVE knowledge is much more imperfect than INTUITIVE, as we shall see in the following chapter.

CHAPTER II. OF THE DEGREES OF OUR KNOWLEDGE.

1. Of the degrees, or differences in clearness, of our Knowledge: I. Intuitive

All our knowledge consisting, as I have said, in the view the mind has of its own ideas, which is the utmost light and greatest certainty we, with our faculties, and in our way of knowledge, are capable of, it may not be amiss to consider a little the degrees of its evidence. The different clearness of our knowledge seems to me to lie in the different way of perception the mind has of the agreement or disagreement of any of its ideas. For if we will reflect on our own ways of thinking, we will find, that sometimes the mind perceives the agreement or disagreement of two ideas IMMEDIATELY BY THEMSELVES, without the intervention of any other: and this I think we may call INTUITIVE KNOWLEDGE. For in this the mind is at no pains of proving or examining, but perceives the truth as the eye doth light, only by being directed towards it. Thus the mind perceives that WHITE is not BLACK, that a CIRCLE is not a TRIANGLE, that THREE are more than TWO and equal to ONE AND TWO. Such kinds of truths the mind perceives at the first sight of the ideas together, by bare intuition; without the intervention of any other idea: and this kind of knowledge is the clearest and most certain that human frailty is capable of. This part of knowledge is irresistible, and, like bright sunshine, forces itself immediately to be perceived, as soon as ever the mind turns its view that way; and leaves no room for hesitation, doubt, or examination, but the mind is presently filled with the clear light of it. IT IS ON THIS INTUITION THAT DEPENDS ALL THE CERTAINTY AND EVIDENCE OF ALL OUR KNOWLEDGE; which certainty every one finds to be so great, that he cannot imagine, and therefore not require a greater: for a man cannot conceive himself capable of a greater certainty than to know that any idea in his mind is such as he perceives it to be; and that two ideas, wherein he perceives a difference, are different and not precisely the same. He that demands a greater certainty than this, demands he knows not what, and shows only that he has a mind to be a sceptic, without being able to be so. Certainty depends so wholly on this intuition, that, in the next degree of knowledge which I call demonstrative, this intuition is necessary in all the connexions of the intermediate ideas, without which we cannot attain knowledge and certainty.

2. II. Demonstrative.

The next degree of knowledge is, where the mind perceives the agreement or disagreement of any ideas, but not immediately. Though wherever the mind perceives the agreement or disagreement of any of its ideas, there be certain knowledge; yet it does not always happen, that the mind sees that agreement or disagreement, which there is between them, even where it is discoverable; and in that case remains in ignorance, and at most gets no further than a probable conjecture. The reason why the mind cannot always perceive presently the agreement or disagreement of two ideas, is, because those ideas, concerning whose agreement or disagreement the inquiry is made, cannot by the mind be so put together as to show it. In this case then, when the mind cannot so bring its ideas together as by their immediate comparison, and as it were juxta-position or application one to another, to perceive their agreement or disagreement, it is fain, BY THE INTERVENTION OF OTHER IDEAS, (one or more, as it happens) to discover the agreement or disagreement which it searches; and this is that which we call REASONING. Thus, the mind being willing to know the agreement or disagreement in bigness between the three angles of a triangle and two right ones, cannot by an immediate view and comparing them do it: because the three angles of a triangle cannot be brought at once, and be compared with any other one, or two, angles; and so of this the mind has no immediate, no intuitive knowledge. In this case the mind is fain to find out some other angles, to which the three angles of a triangle have an equality; and, finding those equal to two right ones, comes to know their equality to two right ones.

3. Demonstration depends on clearly perceived proofs.

Those intervening ideas, which serve to show the agreement of any two others, are called PROOFS; and where the agreement and disagreement is by this means plainly and clearly perceived, it is called DEMONSTRATION; it being SHOWN to the understanding, and the mind made to see that it is so. A quickness in the mind to find out these intermediate ideas, (that shall discover the agreement or disagreement of any other,) and to apply them right, is, I suppose, that which is called SAGACITY.

4. As certain, but not so easy and ready as Intuitive Knowledge.

This knowledge, by intervening proofs, though it be certain, yet the evidence of it is not altogether so clear and bright, nor the assent so ready, as in intuitive knowledge. For, though in demonstration the mind does at last perceive the agreement or disagreement of the ideas it considers; yet it is not without pains and attention: there must be more than one transient view to find it. A steady application and pursuit are required to this discovery: and there must be a progression by steps and degrees, before the mind can in this way arrive at certainty, and come to perceive the agreement or repugnancy between two ideas that need proofs and the use of reason to show it.

5. The demonstrated conclusion not without Doubt, precedent to the demonstration.

Another difference between intuitive and demonstrative knowledge is, that, though in the latter all doubt be removed when, by the intervention of the intermediate ideas, the agreement or disagreement is perceived, yet before the demonstration there was a doubt; which in intuitive knowledge cannot happen to the mind that has its faculty of perception left to a degree capable of distinct ideas; no more than it can be a doubt to the eye (that can distinctly see white and black), Whether this ink and this paper be all of a colour. If there be sight in the eyes, it will, at first glimpse, without hesitation, perceive the words printed on this paper different from the colour of the paper: and so if the mind have the faculty of distinct perception, it will perceive the agreement or disagreement of those ideas that produce intuitive knowledge. If the eyes have lost the faculty of seeing, or the mind of perceiving, we in vain inquire after the quickness of sight in one, or clearness of perception in the other.

6. Not so clear as Intuitive Knowledge.

It is true, the perception produced by demonstration is also very clear; yet it is often with a great abatement of that evident lustre and full assurance that always accompany that which I call intuitive: like a face reflected by several mirrors one to another, where, as long as it retains the similitude and agreement with the object, it produces a knowledge; but it is still, in every successive reflection, with a lessening of that perfect clearness and distinctness which is in the first; till at last, after many removes, it has a great mixture of dimness, and is not at first sight so knowable, especially to weak eyes. Thus it is with knowledge made out by a long train of proof.

7. Each Step in Demonstrated Knowledge must have Intuitive Evidence.

Now, in every step reason makes in demonstrative knowledge, there is an intuitive knowledge of that agreement or disagreement it seeks with the next intermediate idea which it uses as a proof: for if it were not so, that yet would need a proof; since without the perception of such agreement or disagreement, there is no knowledge produced: if it be perceived by itself, it is intuitive knowledge: if it cannot be perceived by itself, there is need of some intervening idea, as a common measure, to show their agreement or disagreement. By which it is plain, that every step in reasoning that produces knowledge, has intuitive certainty; which when the mind perceives, there is no more required but to remember it, to make the agreement or disagreement of the ideas concerning which we inquire visible and certain. So that to make anything a demonstration, it is necessary to perceive the immediate agreement of the intervening ideas, whereby the agreement or disagreement of the two ideas under examination (whereof the one is always the first, and the other the last in the account) is found. This intuitive perception of the agreement or disagreement of the intermediate ideas, in each step and progression of the demonstration, must also be carried exactly in the mind, and a man must be sure that no part is left out: which, because in long deductions, and the use of many proofs, the memory does not always so readily and exactly retain; therefore it comes to pass, that this is more imperfect than intuitive knowledge, and men embrace often falsehood for demonstrations.

8. Hence the Mistake, ex praecognitis, et praeconcessis.

The necessity of this intuitive knowledge, in each step of scientifical or demonstrative reasoning, gave occasion, I imagine, to that mistaken axiom, That all reasoning was EX PRAECOGNITIS ET PRAECONCESSIS: which, how far it is a mistake, I shall have occasion to show more at large, when I come to consider propositions, and particularly those propositions which are called maxims, and to show that it is by a mistake that they are supposed to be the foundations of all our knowledge and reasonings.

9. Demonstration not limited to ideas of mathematical Quantity.

[It has been generally taken for granted, that mathematics alone are capable of demonstrative certainty: but to have such an agreement or disagreement as may intuitively be perceived, being, as I imagine, not the privilege of the ideas of number, extension, and figure alone, it may possibly be the want of due method and application in us, and not of sufficient evidence in things, that demonstration has been thought to have so little to do in other parts of knowledge, and been scarce so much as aimed at by any but mathematicians.] For whatever ideas we have wherein the mind can perceive the immediate agreement or disagreement that is between them, there the mind is capable of intuitive knowledge; and where it can perceive the agreement or disagreement of any two ideas, by an intuitive perception of the agreement or disagreement they have with any intermediate ideas, there the mind is capable of demonstration: which is not limited to ideas of extension, figure, number, and their modes.

10. Why it has been thought to be so limited.

The reason why it has been generally sought for, and supposed to be only in those, I imagine has been, not only the general usefulness of those sciences; but because, in comparing their equality or excess, the modes of numbers have every the least difference very clear and perceivable: and though in extension every the least excess is not so perceptible, yet the mind has found out ways to examine, and discover demonstratively, the just equality of two angles, or extensions, or figures: and both these, i. e. numbers and figures, can be set down by visible and lasting marks, wherein the ideas under consideration are perfectly determined; which for the most part they are not, where they are marked only by names and words.

11. Modes of Qualities not demonstrable like modes of Quantity.

But in other simple ideas, whose modes and differences are made and counted by degrees, and not quantity, we have not so nice and accurate a distinction of their differences as to perceive, or find ways to measure, their just equality, or the least differences. For those other simple ideas, being appearances of sensations produced in us, by the size, figure, number, and motion of minute corpuscles singly insensible; their different degrees also depend upon the variation of some or of all those causes: which, since it cannot be observed by us, in particles of matter whereof each is too subtile to be perceived, it is impossible for us to have any exact measures of the different degrees of these simple ideas. For, supposing the sensation or idea we name whiteness be produced in us by a certain number of globules, which, having a verticity about their own centres, strike upon the retina of the eye, with a certain degree of rotation, as well as progressive swiftness; it will hence easily follow, that the more the superficial parts of any body are so ordered as to reflect the greater number of globules of light, and to give them the proper rotation, which is fit to produce this sensation of white in us, the more white will that body appear, that from an equal space sends to the retina the greater number of such corpuscles, with that peculiar sort of motion. I do not say that the nature of light consists in very small round globules; nor of whiteness in such a texture of parts as gives a certain rotation to these globules when it reflects them: for I am not now treating physically of light or colours. But this I think I may say, that I cannot (and I would be glad any one would make intelligible that he did) conceive how bodies without us can any ways affect our senses, but by the immediate contact of the sensible bodies themselves, as in tasting and feeling, or the impulse of some sensible particles coming from them, as in seeing, hearing, and smelling; by the different impulse of which parts, caused by their different size, figure, and motion, the variety of sensations is produced in us.

12. Particles of light and simple ideas of colour.

Whether then they be globules or no; or whether they have a verticity about their own centres that produces the idea of whiteness in us; this is certain, that the more particles of light are reflected from a body, fitted to give them that peculiar motion which produces the sensation of whiteness in us; and possibly too, the quicker that peculiar motion is, — the whiter does the body appear from which the greatest number are reflected, as is evident in the same piece of paper put in the sunbeams, in the shade, and in a dark hole; in each of which it will produce in us the idea of whiteness in far different degrees.

13. The secondary Qualities of things not discovered by Demonstration.

Not knowing, therefore, what number of particles, nor what motion of them, is fit to produce any precise degree of whiteness, we cannot DEMONSTRATE the certain equality of any two degrees of whiteness; because we have no certain standard to measure them by, nor means to distinguish every the least real difference, the only help we have being from our senses, which in this point fail us. But where the difference is so great as to produce in the mind clearly distinct ideas, whose differences can be perfectly retained, there these ideas or colours, as we see in different kinds, as blue and red, are as capable of demonstration as ideas of number and extension. What I have here said of whiteness and colours, I think holds true in all secondary qualities and their modes.

14. III. Sensitive Knowledge of the particular Existence of finite beings without us.

These two, viz. intuition and demonstration, are the degrees of our KNOWLEDGE; whatever comes short of one of these, with what assurance soever embraced, is but FAITH or OPINION, but not knowledge, at least in all general truths. There is, indeed, another perception of the mind, employed about THE PARTICULAR EXISTENCE OF FINITE BEINGS WITHOUT US, which, going beyond bare probability, and yet not reaching perfectly to either of the foregoing degrees of certainty, passes under the name of KNOWLEDGE. There can be nothing more certain than that the idea we receive from an external object is in our minds: this is intuitive knowledge. But whether there be anything more than barely that idea in our minds; whether we can thence certainly infer the existence of anything without us, which corresponds to that idea, is that whereof some men think there may be a question made; because men may have such ideas in their minds, when no such thing exists, no such object affects their senses. But yet here I think we are provided with an evidence that puts us past doubting. For I ask any one, Whether he be not invincibly conscious to himself of a different perception, when he looks on the sun by day, and thinks on it by night; when he actually tastes wormwood, or smells a rose, or only thinks on that savour or odour? We as plainly find the difference there is between any idea revived in our minds by our own memory, and actually coming into our minds by our senses, as we do between any two distinct ideas. If any one say, a dream may do the same thing, and all these ideas may be produced, in us without any external objects; he may please to dream that I make him this answer: — I. That it is no great matter, whether I remove his scruple or no: where all is but dream, reasoning and arguments are of no use, truth and knowledge nothing. 2. That I believe he will allow a very manifest difference between dreaming of being in the fire, and being actually in it. But yet if he be resolved to appear so sceptical as to maintain, that what I call being actually in the fire is nothing but a dream; and that we cannot thereby certainly know, that any such thing as fire actually exists without us: I answer, That we certainly finding that pleasure or pain follows upon the application of certain objects to us, whose existence we perceive, or dream that we perceive, by our senses; this certainty is as great as our happiness or misery, beyond which we have no concernment to know or to be. So that, I think, we may add to the two former sorts of knowledge this also, of the existence of particular external objects, by that perception and consciousness we have of the actual entrance of ideas from them, and allow these three degrees of knowledge, viz. INTUITIVE, DEMONSTRATIVE, and SENSITIVE; in each of which there are different degrees and ways of evidence and certainty.

15. Knowledge not always clear, where the Ideas that enter into it are clear.

But since our knowledge is founded on and employed about our ideas only, will it not follow from thence that it is conformable to our ideas; and that where our ideas are clear and distinct, or obscure and confused, our knowledge will be so too? To which I answer, No: for our knowledge consisting in the perception of the agreement or disagreement of any two ideas, its clearness or obscurity consists in the clearness or obscurity of that perception, and not in the clearness or obscurity of the ideas themselves: v. g. a man that has as clear ideas of the angles of a triangle, and of equality to two right ones, as any mathematician in the world, may yet have but a very obscure perception of their AGREEMENT, and so have but a very obscure knowledge of it. [But ideas which, by reason of their obscurity or otherwise, are confused, cannot produce any clear or distinct knowledge; because, as far as any ideas are confused, so far the mind cannot perceive clearly whether they agree or disagree. Or to express the same thing in a way less apt to be misunderstood: he that hath not determined ideas to the words he uses, cannot make propositions of them of whose truth he can be certain.]

CHAPTER III. OF THE EXTENT OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE.

1. Extent of our Knowledge.

Knowledge, as has been said, lying in the perception of the agreement or disagreement of any of our ideas, it follows from hence, That,

First, it extends no further than we have Ideas.

First, we can have knowledge no further than we have IDEAS.

2. Secondly, It extends no further than we can perceive their Agreement or Disagreement.

Secondly, That we can have no knowledge further than we can have PERCEPTION of that agreement or disagreement. Which perception being: 1. Either by INTUITION, or the immediate comparing any two ideas; or, 2. By REASON, examining the agreement or disagreement of two ideas, by the intervention of some others; or, 3. By SENSATION, perceiving the existence of particular things: hence it also follows:

3. Thirdly, Intuitive Knowledge extends itself not to all the relation of all our Ideas.

Thirdly, That we cannot have an INTUITIVE KNOWLEDGE that shall extend itself to all our ideas, and all that we would know about them; because we cannot examine and perceive all the relations they have one to another, by juxta-position, or an immediate comparison one with another. Thus, having the ideas of an obtuse and an acute angled triangle, both drawn from equal bases, and between parallels, I can, by intuitive knowledge, perceive the one not to be the other, but cannot that way know whether they be equal or no; because their agreement or disagreement in equality can never be perceived by an immediate comparing them: the difference of figure makes their parts incapable of an exact immediate application; and therefore there is need of some intervening qualities to measure them by, which is demonstration, or rational knowledge.

4. Fourthly, Nor does Demonstrative Knowledge.

Fourthly, It follows, also, from what is above observed, that our RATIONAL KNOWLEDGE cannot reach to the whole extent of our ideas: because between two different ideas we would examine, we cannot always find such mediums as we can connect one to another with an intuitive knowledge in all the parts of the deduction; and wherever that fails, we come short of knowledge and demonstration.

5. Fifthly, Sensitive Knowledge narrower than either.

Fifthly, SENSITIVE KNOWLEDGE reaching no further than the existence of things actually present to our senses, is yet much narrower than either of the former.

6. Sixthly, Our Knowledge, therefore narrower than our Ideas.

Sixthly, From all which it is evident, that the EXTENT OF OUR KNOWLEDGE comes not only short of the reality of things, but even of the extent of our own ideas. Though our knowledge be limited to our ideas, and cannot exceed them either in extent or perfection; and though these be very narrow bounds, in respect of the extent of All-being, and far short of what we may justly imagine to be in some even created understandings, not tied down to the dull and narrow information that is to be received from some few, and not very acute, ways of perception, such as are our senses; yet it would be well with us if our knowledge were but as large as our ideas, and there were not many doubts and inquiries CONCERNING THE IDEAS WE HAVE, whereof we are not, nor I believe ever shall be in this world resolved. Nevertheless, I do not question but that human knowledge, under the present circumstances of our beings and constitutions, may be carried much further than it has hitherto been, if men would sincerely, and with freedom of mind, employ all that industry and labour of thought, in improving the means of discovering truth, which they do for the colouring or support of falsehood, to maintain a system, interest, or party they are once engaged in. But yet after all, I think I may, without injury to human perfection, be confident, that our knowledge would never reach to all we might desire to know concerning those ideas we have; nor be able to surmount all the difficulties, and resolve all the questions that might arise concerning any of them. We have the ideas of a SQUARE, a CIRCLE, and EQUALITY; and yet, perhaps, shall never be able to find a circle equal to a square, and certainly know that it is so. We have the ideas of MATTER and THINKING, but possibly shall never be able to know whether [any mere material being] thinks or no; it being impossible for us, by the contemplation of our own ideas, without revelation, to discover whether Omnipotency has not given to some systems of matter, fitly disposed, a power to perceive and think, or else joined and fixed to matter, so disposed, a thinking immaterial substance: it being, in respect of our notions, not much more remote from our comprehension to conceive that GOD can, if he pleases, superadd to matter A FACULTY OF THINKING, than that he should superadd to it ANOTHER SUBSTANCE WITH A FACULTY OF THINKING; since we know not wherein thinking consists, nor to what sort of substances the Almighty has been pleased to give that power, which cannot be in any created being, but merely by the good pleasure and bounty of the Creator. For I see no contradiction in it, that the first Eternal thinking Being, or Omnipotent Spirit, should, if he pleased, give to certain systems of created senseless matter, put together as he thinks fit, some degrees of sense, perception, and thought: though, as I think I have proved, lib. iv. ch. 10, Section 14, &c., it is no less than a contradiction to suppose matter (which is evidently in its own nature void of sense and thought) should be that Eternal first-thinking Being. What certainty of knowledge can any one have, that some perceptions, such as, v. g., pleasure and pain, should not be in some bodies themselves, after a certain manner modified and moved, as well as that they should be in an immaterial substance, upon the motion of the parts of body: Body, as far as we can conceive, being able only to strike and affect body, and motion, according to the utmost reach of our ideas, being able to produce nothing but motion; so that when we allow it to produce pleasure or pain, or the idea of a colour or sound, we are fain to quit our reason, go beyond our ideas, and attribute it wholly to the good pleasure of our Maker. For, since we must allow He has annexed effects to motion which we can no way conceive motion able to produce, what reason have we to conclude that He could not order them as well to be produced in a subject we cannot conceive capable of them, as well as in a subject we cannot conceive the motion of matter can any way operate upon? I say not this, that I would any way lessen the belief of the soul’s immateriality: I am not here speaking of probability, but knowledge, and I think not only that it becomes the modesty of philosophy not to pronounce magisterially, where we want that evidence that can produce knowledge; but also, that it is of use to us to discern how far our knowledge does reach; for the state we are at present in, not being that of vision, we must in many things content ourselves with faith and probability: and in the present question, about the Immateriality of the Soul, if our faculties cannot arrive at demonstrative certainty, we need not think it strange. All the great ends of morality and religion are well enough secured, without philosophical proofs of the soul’s immateriality; since it is evident, that he who made us at the beginning to subsist here, sensible intelligent beings, and for several years continued us in such a state, can and will restore us to the like state of sensibility in another world, and make us capable there to receive the retribution he has designed to men, according to their doings in this life. [And therefore it is not of such mighty necessity to determine one way or the other, as some, over-zealous for or against the immateriality of the soul, have been forward to make the world believe. Who, either on the one side, indulging too much their thoughts immersed altogether in matter, can allow no existence to what is not material: or who, on the other side, finding not COGITATION within the natural powers of matter, examined over and over again by the utmost intention of mind, have the confidence to conclude — That Omnipotency itself cannot give perception and thought to a substance which has the modification of solidity. He that considers how hardly sensation is, in our thoughts, reconcilable to extended matter; or existence to anything that has no extension at all, will confess that he is very far from certainly knowing what his soul is. It is a point which seems to me to be put out of the reach of our knowledge: and he who will give himself leave to consider freely, and look into the dark and intricate part of each hypothesis, will scarce find his reason able to determine him fixedly for or against the soul’s materiality. Since, on which side soever he views it, either as an UNEXTENDED SUBSTANCE, or as a THINKING EXTENDED MATTER, the difficulty to conceive either will, whilst either alone is in his thoughts, still drive him to the contrary side. An unfair way which some men take with themselves: who, because of the inconceivableness of something they find in one, throw themselves violently into the contrary hypothesis, though altogether as unintelligible to an unbiassed understanding. This serves not only to show the weakness and the scantiness of our knowledge, but the insignificant triumph of such sort of arguments; which, drawn from our own views, may satisfy us that we can find no certainty on one side of the question: but do not at all thereby help us to truth by running into the opposite opinion; which, on examination, will be found clogged with equal difficulties. For what safety, what advantage to any one is it, for the avoiding the seeming absurdities, and to him unsurmountable rubs, he meets with in one opinion, to take refuge in the contrary, which is built on something altogether as inexplicable, and as far remote from his comprehension? It is past controversy, that we have in us SOMETHING that thinks; our very doubts about what it is, confirm the certainty of its being, though we must content ourselves in the ignorance of what KIND of being it is: and it is in vain to go about to be sceptical in this, as it is unreasonable in most other cases to be positive against the being of anything, because we cannot comprehend its nature. For I would fain know what substance exists, that has not something in it which manifestly baffles our understandings. Other spirits, who see and know the nature and inward constitution of things, how much must they exceed us in knowledge? To which, if we add larger comprehension, which enables them at one glance to see the connexion and agreement of very many ideas, and readily supplies to them the intermediate proofs, which we by single and slow steps, and long poring in the dark, hardly at last find out, and are often ready to forget one before we have hunted out another; we may guess at some part of the happiness of superior ranks of spirits, who have a quicker and more penetrating sight, as well as a larger field of knowledge.]

But to return to the argument in hand: our knowledge, I say, is not only limited to the paucity and imperfections of the ideas we have, and which we employ it about, but even comes short of that too: but how far it reaches, let us now inquire.

7. How far our Knowledge reaches.

The affirmations or negations we make concerning the ideas we have, may, as I have before intimated in general, be reduced to these four sorts, viz. identity, co-existence, relation, and real existence. I shall examine how far our knowledge extends in each of these:

8. Firstly, Our Knowledge of Identity and Diversity in ideas extends as far as our Ideas themselves.

FIRST, as to IDENTITY and DIVERSITY. In this way of agreement or disagreement of our ideas, our intuitive knowledge is as far extended as our ideas themselves: and there can be no idea in the mind, which it does not, presently, by an intuitive knowledge, perceive to be what it is, and to be different from any other.

9. Secondly, Of their Co-existence, extends only a very little way.

SECONDLY, as to the second sort, which is the agreement or disagreement of our ideas in CO-EXISTENCE, in this our knowledge is very short; though in this consists the greatest and most material part of our knowledge concerning substances. For our ideas of the species of substances being, as I have showed, nothing but certain collections of simple ideas united in one subject, and so co-existing together; v.g. our idea of flame is a body hot, luminous, and moving upward; of gold, a body heavy to a certain degree, yellow, malleable, and fusible: for these, or some such complex ideas as these, in men’s minds, do these two names of the different substances, flame and gold, stand for. When we would know anything further concerning these, or any other sort of substances, what do we inquire, but what OTHER qualities or powers these substances have or have not? Which is nothing else but to know what OTHER simple ideas do, or do not co-exist with those that make up that complex idea?

10. Because the Connexion between simple Ideas in substances is for the most part unknown.

This, how weighty and considerable a part soever of human science, is yet very narrow, and scarce any at all. The reason whereof is, that the simple ideas whereof our complex ideas of substances are made up are, for the most part, such as carry with them, in their own nature, no VISIBLE NECESSARY connexion or inconsistency with any other simple ideas, whose co-existence with them we would inform ourselves about.

11. Especially of the secondary Qualities of Bodies.

The ideas that our complex ones of substances are made up of, and about which our knowledge concerning substances is most employed, are those of their secondary qualities; which depending all (as has been shown) upon the primary qualities of their minute and insensible parts; or, if not upon them, upon something yet more remote from our comprehension; it is impossible we should know which have a NECESSARY union or inconsistency one with another. For, not knowing the root they spring from, not knowing what size, figure, and texture of parts they are, on which depend, and from which result those qualities which make our complex idea of gold, it is impossible we should know what OTHER qualities result from, or are incompatible with, the same constitution of the insensible parts of gold; and so consequently must always co-exist with that complex idea we have of it, or else are inconsistent with it.

12. Because necessary Connexion between any secondary and the primary Qualities is undiscoverable by us.

Besides this ignorance of the primary qualities of the insensible parts of bodies, on which depend all their secondary qualities, there is yet another and more incurable part of ignorance, which sets us more remote from a certain knowledge of the co-existence or INCO-EXISTENCE (if I may so say) of different ideas in the same subject; and that is, that there is no discoverable connexion between any secondary quality and those primary qualities which it depends on.

13. We have no perfect knowledge of their Primary Qualities.

That the size, figure, and motion of one body should cause a change in the size, figure, and motion of another body, is not beyond our conception; the separation of the parts of one body upon the intrusion of another; and the change from rest to motion upon impulse; these and the like seem to have SOME CONNEXION one with another. And if we knew these primary qualities of bodies, we might have reason to hope we might be able to know a great deal more of these operations of them one upon another: but our minds not being able to discover any connexion betwixt these primary qualities of bodies and the sensations that are produced in us by them, we can never be able to establish certain and undoubted rules of the CONSEQUENCE or CO-EXISTENCE of any secondary qualities, though we could discover the size, figure, or motion of those invisible parts which immediately produce them. We are so far from knowing WHAT figure, size, or motion of parts produce a yellow colour, a sweet taste, or a sharp sound, that we can by no means conceive how ANY size, figure, or motion of any particles, can possibly produce in us the idea of any colour, taste, or sound whatsoever: there is no conceivable connexion between the one and the other.

14. And seek in vain for certain and universal knowledge of unperceived qualities in substances.

In vain, therefore, shall we endeavour to discover by our ideas (the only true way of certain and universal knowledge) what other ideas are to be found constantly joined with that of OUR complex idea of any substance: since we neither know the real constitution of the minute parts on which their qualities do depend; nor, did we know them, could we discover any necessary connexion between them and any of the secondary qualities: which is necessary to be done before we can certainly know their necessary co-existence. So, that, let our complex idea of any species of substances be what it will, we can hardly, from the simple ideas contained in it, certainly determine the necessary co-existence of any other quality whatsoever. Our knowledge in all these inquiries reaches very little further than our experience. Indeed some few of the primary qualities have a necessary dependence and visible connexion one with another, as figure necessarily supposes extension; receiving or communicating motion by impulse, supposes solidity. But though these, and perhaps some others of our ideas have: yet there are so few of them that have a visible connexion one with another, that we can by intuition or demonstration discover the co-existence of very few of the qualities that are to be found united in substances: and we are left only to the assistance of our senses to make known to us what qualities they contain. For of all the qualities that are co-existent in any subject, without this dependence and evident connexion of their ideas one with another, we cannot know certainly any two to co-exist, any further than experience, by our senses, informs us. Thus, though we see the yellow colour, and, upon trial, find the weight, malleableness, fusibility, and fixedness that are united in a piece of gold; yet, because no one of these ideas has any evident dependence or necessary connexion with the other, we cannot certainly know that where any four of these are, the fifth will be there also, how highly probable soever it may be; because the highest probability amounts not to certainty, without which there can be no true knowledge. For this co-existence can be no further known than it is perceived; and it cannot be perceived but either in particular subjects, by the observation of our senses, or, in general, by the necessary connexion of the ideas themselves.

15. Of Repugnancy to co-exist, our knowledge is larger.

As to the incompatibility or repugnancy to co-existence, we may know that any subject may have of each sort of primary qualities but one particular at once: v.g. each particular extension, figure, number of parts, motion, excludes all other of each kind. The like also is certain of all sensible ideas peculiar to each sense; for whatever of each kind is present in any subject, excludes all other of that sort: v.g. no one subject can have two smells or two colours at the same time. To this, perhaps will be said, Has not an opal, or the infusion of LIGNUM NEPHRITICUM, two colours at the same time? To which I answer, that these bodies, to eyes differently, placed, may at the same time afford different colours: but I take liberty also to say, that, to eyes differently placed, it is different parts of the object that reflect the particles of light: and therefore it is not the same part of the object, and so not the very same subject, which at the same time appears both yellow and azure. For, it is as impossible that the very same particle of any body should at the same time differently modify or reflect the rays of light, as that it should have two different figures and textures at the same time.

16. Our Knowledge of the Co-existence of Power in Bodies extends but a very little Way.

But as to the powers of substances to change the sensible qualities of other bodies, which make a great part of our inquiries about them, and is no inconsiderable branch of our knowledge; I doubt as to these, whether our knowledge reaches much further than our experience; or whether we can come to the discovery of most of these powers, and be certain that they are in any subject, by the connexion with any of those ideas which to us make its essence. Because the active and passive powers of bodies, and their ways of operating, consisting in a texture and motion of parts which we cannot by any means come to discover; it is but in very few cases we can be able to perceive their dependence on, or repugnance to, any of those ideas which make our complex one of that sort of things. I have here instanced in the corpuscularian hypothesis, as that which is thought to go furthest in an intelligible explication of those qualities of bodies; and I fear the weakness of human understanding is scarce able to substitute another, which will afford us a fuller and clearer discovery of the necessary connexion and co-existence of the powers which are to be observed united in several sorts of them. This at least is certain, that, whichever hypothesis be clearest and truest, (for of that it is not my business to determine,) our knowledge concerning corporeal substances will be very little advanced by any of them, till we are made to see what qualities and powers of bodies have a NECESSARY connexion or repugnancy one with another; which in the present state of philosophy I think we know but to a very small degree: and I doubt whether, with those faculties we have, we shall ever be able to carry our general knowledge (I say not particular experience) in this part much further. Experience is that which in this part we must depend on. And it were to be wished that it were more improved. We find the advantages some men’s generous pains have this way brought to the stock of natural knowledge. And if others, especially the philosophers by fire, who pretend to it, had been so wary in their observations, and sincere in their reports as those who call themselves philosophers ought to have been, our acquaintance with the bodies here about us, and our insight into their powers and operations had been yet much greater.

17. Of the Powers that co-exist in Spirits yet narrower.

If we are at a loss in respect of the powers and operations of bodies, I think it is easy to conclude we are much more in the dark in reference to spirits; whereof we naturally have no ideas but what we draw from that of our own, by reflecting on the operations of our own souls within us, as far as they can come within our observation. But how inconsiderable a rank the spirits that inhabit our bodies hold amongst those various and possibly innumerable kinds of nobler beings; and how far short they come of the endowments and perfections of cherubim and seraphim, and infinite sorts of spirits above us, is what by a transient hint in another place I have offered to my reader’s consideration.

18. Thirdly, Of Relations between abstracted ideas it is not easy to say how far our knowledge extends.

THIRDLY, As to the third sort of our knowledge, viz. the agreement or disagreement of any of our ideas in any other relation: this, as it is the largest field of our knowledge, so it is hard to determine how far it may extend: because the advances that are made in this part of knowledge, depending on our sagacity in finding intermediate ideas, that may show the relations and habitudes of ideas whose co-existence is not considered, it is a hard matter to tell when we are at an end of such discoveries; and when reason has all the helps it is capable of, for the finding of proofs, or examining the agreement or disagreement of remote ideas. They that are ignorant of Algebra cannot imagine the wonders in this kind are to be done by it: and what further improvements and helps advantageous to other parts of knowledge the sagacious mind of man may yet find out, it is not easy to determine. This at least I believe, that the IDEAS OF QUANTITY are not those alone that are capable of demonstration and knowledge; and that other, and perhaps more useful, parts of contemplation, would afford us certainty, if vices, passions, and domineering interest did not oppose or menace such endeavours.

Morality capable of Demonstration

The idea of a supreme Being, infinite in power, goodness, and wisdom, whose workmanship we are, and on whom we depend; and the idea of ourselves, as understanding, rational creatures, being such as are clear in us, would, I suppose, if duly considered and pursued, afford such foundations of our duty and rules of action as might place MORALITY amongst the SCIENCES CAPABLE OF DEMONSTRATION: wherein I doubt not but from self-evident propositions, by necessary consequences, as incontestible as those in mathematics, the measures of right and wrong might be made out, to any one that will apply himself with the same indifferency and attention to the one as he does to the other of these sciences. The RELATION of other MODES may certainly be perceived, as well as those of number and extension: and I cannot see why they should not also be capable of demonstration, if due methods were thought on to examine or pursue their agreement or disagreement. ‘Where there is no property there is no injustice,’ is a proposition as certain as any demonstration in Euclid: for the idea of property being a right to anything, and the idea of which the name ‘injustice’ is given being the invasion or violation of that right, it is evident that these ideas, being thus established, and these names annexed to them, I can as certainly know this proposition to be true, as that a triangle has three angles equal to two right ones. Again: ‘No government allows absolute liberty.’ The idea of government being the establishment of society upon certain rules or laws which require conformity to them; and the idea of absolute liberty being for any one to do whatever he pleases; I am as capable of being certain of the truth of this proposition as of any in the mathematics.

19. Two things have made moral Ideas to be thought incapable of Demonstration: their unfitness for sensible representation, and their complexedness.

That which in this respect has given the advantage to the ideas of quantity, and made them thought more capable of certainty and demonstration, is,

First, That they can be set down and represented by sensible marks, which have a greater and nearer correspondence with them than any words or sounds whatsoever. Diagrams drawn on paper are copies of the ideas in the mind, and not liable to the uncertainty that words carry in their signification. An angle, circle, or square, drawn in lines, lies open to the view, and cannot be mistaken: it remains unchangeable, and may at leisure be considered and examined, and the demonstration be revised, and all the parts of it may be gone over more than once, without any danger of the least change in the ideas. This cannot be thus done in moral ideas: we have no sensible marks that resemble them, whereby we can set them down; we have nothing but words to express them by; which, though when written they remain the same, yet the ideas they stand for may change in the same man; and it is very seldom that they are not different in different persons.

Secondly, Another thing that makes the greater difficulty in ethics is, That moral ideas are commonly more complex than those of the figures ordinarily considered in mathematics. From whence these two inconveniences follow: — First, that their names are of more uncertain signification, the precise collection of simple ideas they stand for not being so easily agreed on; and so the sign that is used for them in communication always, and in thinking often, does not steadily carry with it the same idea. Upon which the same disorder, confusion, and error follow, as would if a man, going to demonstrate something of an heptagon, should, in the diagram he took to do it, leave out one of the angles, or by oversight make the figure with one angle more than the name ordinarily imported, or he intended it should when at first he thought of his demonstration. This often happens, and is hardly avoidable in very complex moral ideas, where the same name being retained, one angle, i.e. one simple idea, is left out, or put in the complex one (still called by the same name) more at one time than another. Secondly, From the complexedness of these moral ideas there follows another inconvenience, viz. that the mind cannot easily retain those precise combinations so exactly and perfectly as is necessary in the examination of the habitudes and correspondences, agreements or disagreements, of several of them one with another; especially where it is to be judged of by long deductions, and the intervention of several other complex ideas to show the agreement or disagreement of two remote ones.

The great help against this which mathematicians find in diagrams and figures, which remain unalterable in their draughts, is very apparent, and the memory would often have great difficulty otherwise to retain them so exactly, whilst the mind went over the parts of them step by step to examine their several correspondences. And though in casting up a long sum either in addition, multiplication, or division, every part be only a progression of the mind taking a view of its own ideas, and considering their agreement or disagreement, and the resolution of the question be nothing but the result of the whole, made up of such particulars, whereof the mind has a clear perception: yet, without setting down the several parts by marks, whose precise significations are known, and by marks that last, and remain in view when the memory had let them go, it would be almost impossible to carry so many different ideas in the mind, without confounding or letting slip some parts of the reckoning, and thereby making all our reasonings about it useless. In which case the cyphers or marks help not the mind at all to perceive the agreement of any two or more numbers, their equalities or proportions; that the mind has only by intuition of its own ideas of the numbers themselves. But the numerical characters are helps to the memory, to record and retain the several ideas about which the demonstration is made, whereby a man may know how far his intuitive knowledge in surveying several of the particulars has proceeded; that so he may without confusion go on to what is yet unknown; and at last have in one view before him the result of all his perceptions and reasonings.

20. Remedies of our Difficulties in dealing demonstratively with moral ideas.

One part of these disadvantages in moral ideas which has made them be thought not capable of demonstration, may in a good measure be remedied by definitions, setting down that collection of simple ideas, which every term shall stand for; and then using the terms steadily and constantly for that precise collection. And what methods algebra, or something of that kind, may hereafter suggest, to remove the other difficulties, it is not easy to foretell. Confident I am, that, if men would in the same method, and with the same indifferency, search after moral as they do mathematical truths, they would find them have a stronger connexion one with another, and a more necessary consequence from our clear and distinct ideas, and to come nearer perfect demonstration than is commonly imagined. But much of this is not to be expected, whilst the desire of esteem, riches, or power makes men espouse the well-endowed opinions in fashion, and then seek arguments either to make good their beauty, or varnish over and cover their deformity. Nothing being so beautiful to the eye as truth is to the mind; nothing so deformed and irreconcilable to the understanding as a lie. For though many a man can with satisfaction enough own a no very handsome wife in his bosom; yet who is bold enough openly to avow that he has espoused a falsehood, and received into his breast so ugly a thing as a lie? Whilst the parties of men cram their tenets down all men’s throats whom they can get into their power, without permitting them to examine their truth or falsehood; and will not let truth have fair play in the world, nor men the liberty to search after it; what improvements can be expected of this kind? What greater light can be hoped for in the moral sciences? The subject part of mankind in most places might, instead thereof, with Egyptian bondage, expect Egyptian darkness, were not the candle of the Lord set up by himself in men’s minds, which it is impossible for the breath or power of man wholly to extinguish.

21. Fourthly, Of the three real Existences of which we have certain knowledge.

FOURTHLY, As to the fourth sort of our knowledge, viz. of the REAL ACTUAL EXISTENCE OF THINGS, we have an intuitive knowledge of OUR OWN EXISTENCE, and a demonstrative knowledge of the existence of a GOD: of the existence of ANYTHING ELSE, we have no other but a sensitive knowledge; which extends not beyond the objects present to our senses.

22. Our Ignorance great.

Our knowledge being so narrow, as I have shown, it will perhaps give us some light into the present state of our minds if we look a little into the dark side, and take a view of OUR IGNORANCE; which, being infinitely larger than our knowledge, may serve much to the quieting of disputes, and improvement of useful knowledge; if, discovering how far we have clear and distinct ideas, we confine our thoughts within the contemplation of those things that are within the reach of our understandings, and launch not out into that abyss of darkness, (where we have not eyes to see, nor faculties to perceive anything), out of a presumption that nothing is beyond our comprehension. But to be satisfied of the folly of such a conceit, we need not go far. He that knows anything, knows this, in the first place, that he need not seek long for instances of his ignorance. The meanest and most obvious things that come in our way have dark sides, that the quickest sight cannot penetrate into. The clearest and most enlarged understandings of thinking men find themselves puzzled and at a loss in every particle of matter. We shall the less wonder to find it so, when we consider the CAUSES OF OUR IGNORANCE; which, from what has been said, I suppose will be found to be these three: —

First, Want of ideas. Its causes.

Secondly, Want of a discoverable connexion between the ideas we have.

Thirdly, Want of tracing and examining our ideas.

23. First, One Cause of our ignorance Want of Ideas.

I. Want of simple ideas that other creatures in other parts of the universe may have.

FIRST, There are some things, and those not a few, that we are ignorant of, for want of ideas.

First, all the simple ideas we have are confined (as I have shown) to those we receive from corporeal objects by sensation, and from the operations of our own minds as the objects of reflection. But how much these few and narrow inlets are disproportionate to the vast whole extent of all beings, will not be hard to persuade those who are not so foolish as to think their span the measure of all things. What other simple ideas it is possible the creatures in other parts of the universe may have, by the assistance of senses and faculties more or perfecter than we have, or different from ours, it is not for us to determine. But to say or think there are no such, because we conceive nothing of them, is no better an argument than if a blind man should be positive in it, that there was no such thing as sight and colours, because he had no manner of idea of any such thing, nor could by any means frame to himself any notions about seeing. The ignorance and darkness that is in us no more hinders nor confines the knowledge that is in others, than the blindness of a mole is an argument against the quicksightedness of an eagle. He that will consider the infinite power, wisdom, and goodness of the Creator of all things will find reason to think it was not all laid out upon so inconsiderable, mean, and impotent a creature as he will find man to be; who in all probability is one of the lowest of all intellectual beings. What faculties, therefore, other species of creatures have to penetrate into the nature and inmost constitutions of things; what ideas they may receive of them far different from ours, we know not. This we know and certainly find, that we want several other views of them besides those we have, to make discoveries of them more perfect. And we may be convinced that the ideas we can attain to by our faculties are very disproportionate to things themselves, when a positive, clear, distinct one of substance itself, which is the foundation of all the rest, is concealed from us. But want of ideas of this kind, being a part as well as cause of our ignorance, cannot be described. Only this I think I may confidently say of it, That the intellectual and sensible world are in this perfectly alike: that that part which we see of either of them holds no proportion with what we see not; and whatsoever we can reach with our eyes or our thoughts of either of them is but a point, almost nothing in comparison of the the rest.

24. Want of simple ideas that men are capable of having, but having not,(1) Because their remoteness, or,

Secondly, Another great cause of ignorance is the want of ideas we are capable of. As the want of ideas which our faculties are not able to give us shuts us wholly from those views of things which it is reasonable to think other beings, perfecter than we, have, of which we know nothing; so the want of ideas I now speak of keeps us in ignorance of things we conceive capable of being known to us. Bulk, figure, and motion we have ideas of. But though we are not without ideas of these primary qualities of bodies in general, yet not knowing what is the particular bulk, figure, and motion, of the greatest part of the bodies of the universe, we are ignorant of the several powers, efficacies, and ways of operation, whereby the effects which we daily see are produced. These are hid from us, in some things by being too remote, and in others by being too minute. When we consider the vast distance of the known and visible parts of the world, and the reasons we have to think that what lies within our ken is but a small part of the universe, we shall then discover a huge abyss of ignorance. What are the particular fabrics of the great masses of matter which make up the whole stupendous frame of corporeal beings; how far they are extended; what is their motion, and how continued or communicated; and what influence they have one upon another, are contemplations that at first glimpse our thoughts lose themselves in. If we narrow our contemplations, and confine our thoughts to this little canton — I mean this system of our sun, and the grosser masses of matter that visibly move about it, What several sorts of vegetables, animals, and intellectual corporeal beings, infinitely different from those of our little spot of earth, may there probably be in the other planets, to the knowledge of which, even of their outward figures and parts, we can no way attain whilst we are confined to this earth; there being no natural means, either by sensation or reflection, to convey their certain ideas into our minds? They are out of the reach of those inlets of all our knowledge: and what sorts of furniture and inhabitants those mansions contain in them we cannot so much as guess, much less have clear and distinct ideas of them.

25. (2) Because of their Minuteness.

If a great, nay, far the greatest part of the several ranks of bodies in the universe escape our notice by their remoteness, there are others that are no less concealed from us by their minuteness. These INSENSIBLE CORPUSCLES, being the active parts of matter, and the great instruments of nature, on which depend not only all their secondary qualities, but also most of their natural operations, our want of precise distinct ideas of their primary qualities keeps us in an incurable ignorance of what we desire to know about them. I doubt not but if we could discover the figure, size, texture, and motion of the minute constituent parts of any two bodies, we should know without trial several of their operations one upon another; as we do now the properties of a square or a triangle. Did we know the mechanical affections of the particles of rhubarb, hemlock, opium, and a man, as a watchmaker does those of a watch, whereby it performs its operations; and of a file, which by rubbing on them will alter the figure of any of the wheels; we should be able to tell beforehand that rhubarb will purge, hemlock kill, and opium make a man sleep: as well as a watchmaker can, that a little piece of paper laid on the balance will keep the watch from going till it be removed; or that, some small part of it being rubbed by a file, the machine would quite lose its motion, and the watch go no more. The dissolving of silver in AQUA FORTIS, and gold in AQUA REGIA, and not VICE VERSA, would be then perhaps no more difficult to know than it is to a smith to understand why the turning of one key will open a lock, and not the turning of another. But whilst we are destitute of senses acute enough to discover the minute particles of bodies, and to give us ideas of their mechanical affections, we must be content to be ignorant of their properties and ways of operation; nor can we be assured about them any further than some few trials we make are able to reach. But whether they will succeed again another time, we cannot be certain. This hinders our certain knowledge of universal truths concerning natural bodies: and our reason carries us herein very little beyond particular matter of fact.

26. Hence no Science of Bodies within our reach.

And therefore I am apt to doubt that, how far soever human industry may advance useful and experimental philosophy in physical things, SCIENTIFICAL will still be out of our reach: because we want perfect and adequate ideas of those very bodies which are nearest to us, and most under our command. Those which we have ranked into classes under names, and we think ourselves best acquainted with, we have but very imperfect and incomplete ideas of. Distinct ideas of the several sorts of bodies that fall under the examination of our senses perhaps we may have: but adequate ideas, I suspect, we have not of any one amongst them. And though the former of these will serve us for common use and discourse, yet whilst we want the latter, we are not capable of scientifical knowledge; nor shall ever be able to discover general, instructive, unquestionable truths concerning them. CERTAINTY and DEMONSTRATION are things we must not, in these matters, pretend to. By the colour, figure, taste, and smell, and other sensible qualities, we have as clear and distinct ideas of sage and hemlock, as we have of a circle and a triangle: but having no ideas of the particular primary qualities of the minute parts of either of these plants, nor of other bodies which we would apply them to, we cannot tell what effects they will produce; nor when we see those effects can we so much as guess, much less know, their manner of production. Thus, having no ideas of the particular mechanical affections of the minute parts of bodies that are within our view and reach, we are ignorant of their constitutions, powers, and operations: and of bodies more remote we are yet more ignorant, not knowing so much as their very outward shapes, or the sensible and grosser parts of their constitutions.

27. Much less a science of unembodied Spirits.

This at first will show us how disproportionate our knowledge is to the whole extent even of material beings; to which if we add the consideration of that infinite number of spirits that may be, and probably are, which are yet more remote from our knowledge, whereof we have no cognizance, nor can frame to ourselves any distinct ideas of their several ranks and sorts, we shall find this cause of ignorance conceal from us, in an impenetrable obscurity, almost the whole intellectual world; a greater certainly, and more beautiful world than the material. For, bating some very few, and those, if I may so call them, superficial ideas of spirit, which by reflection we get of our own, and from thence the best we can collect of the Father of all spirits, the eternal independent Author of them, and us, and all things, we have no certain information, so much as of the existence of other spirits, but by revelation. Angels of all sorts are naturally beyond our discovery; and all those intelligences, whereof it is likely there are more orders than of corporeal substances, are things whereof our natural faculties give us no certain account at all. That there are minds and thinking beings in other men as well as himself, every man has a reason, from their words and actions, to be satisfied: and the knowledge of his own mind cannot suffer a man that considers, to be ignorant that there is a God. But that there are degrees of spiritual beings between us and the great God, who is there, that, by his own search and ability, can come to know? Much less have we distinct ideas of their different natures, conditions, states, powers, and several constitutions wherein they agree or differ from one another and from us. And, therefore, in what concerns their different species and properties we are in absolute ignorance.

28. Secondly, Another cause, Want of a discoverable Connexion between Ideas we have.

SECONDLY, What a small part of the substantial beings that are in the universe the want of ideas leaves open to our knowledge, we have seen. In the next place, another cause of ignorance, of no less moment, is a want of a discoverable connection between those ideas we have. For wherever we want that, we are utterly incapable of universal and certain knowledge; and are, in the former case, left only to observation and experiment: which, how narrow and confined it is, how far from general knowledge we need not be told. I shall give some few instances of this cause of our ignorance, and so leave it. It is evident that the bulk, figure, and motion of several bodies about us produce in us several sensations, as of colours, sounds, tastes, smells, pleasure, and pain, &c. These mechanical affections of bodies having no affinity at all with those ideas they produce in us, (there being no conceivable connexion between any impulse of any sort of body and any perception of a colour or smell which we find in our minds,) we can have no distinct knowledge of such operations beyond our experience; and can reason no otherwise about them, than as effects produced by the appointment of an infinitely Wise Agent, which perfectly surpass our comprehensions. As the ideas of sensible secondary qualities which we have in our minds, can by us be no way deduced from bodily causes, nor any correspondence or connexion be found between them and those primary qualities which (experience shows us) produce them in us; so, on the other side, the operation of our minds upon our bodies is as inconceivable. How any thought should produce a motion in body is as remote from the nature of our ideas, as how any body should produce any thought in the mind. That it is so, if experience did not convince us, the consideration of the things themselves would never be able in the least to discover to us. These, and the like, though they have a constant and regular connexion in the ordinary course of things; yet that connexion being not discoverable in the ideas themselves, which appearing to have no necessary dependence one on another, we can attribute their connexion to nothing else but the arbitrary determination of that All-wise Agent who has made them to be, and to operate as they do, in a way wholly above our weak understandings to conceive.

29. Instances

In some of our ideas there are certain relations, habitudes, and connexions, so visibly included in the nature of the ideas themselves, that we cannot conceive them separable from them by any power whatsoever. And in these only we are capable of certain and universal knowledge. Thus the idea of a right-lined triangle necessarily carries with it an equality of its angles to two right ones. Nor can we conceive this relation, this connexion of these two ideas, to be possibly mutable, or to depend on any arbitrary power, which of choice made it thus, or could make it otherwise. But the coherence and continuity of the parts of matter; the production of sensation in us of colours and sounds, &c., by impulse and motion; nay, the original rules and communication of motion being such, wherein we can discover no natural connexion with any ideas we have, we cannot but ascribe them to the arbitrary will and good pleasure of the Wise Architect. I need not, I think, here mention the resurrection of the dead, the future state of this globe of earth, and such other things, which are by every one acknowledged to depend wholly on the determination of a free agent. The things that, as far as our observation reaches, we constantly find to proceed regularly, we may conclude do act by a law set them; but yet by a law that we know not: whereby, though causes work steadily, and effects constantly flow from them, yet their connexions and dependencies being not discoverable in our ideas, we can have but an experimental knowledge of them. From all which it is easy to perceive what a darkness we are involved in, how little it is of Being, and the things that are, that we are capable to know. And therefore we shall do no injury to our knowledge, when we modestly think with ourselves, that we are so far from being able to comprehend the whole nature of the universe, and all the things contained in it, that we are not capable of a philosophical knowledge of the bodies that are about us, and make a part of us: concerning their secondary qualities, powers, and operations, we can have no universal certainty. Several effects come every day within the notice of our senses, of which we have so far sensitive knowledge: but the causes, manner, and certainty of their production, for the two foregoing reasons, we must be content to be very ignorant of. In these we can go no further than particular experience informs us of matter of fact, and by analogy to guess what effects the like bodies are, upon other trials, like to produce. But as to a PERFECT SCIENCE of natural bodies, (not to mention spiritual beings,) we are, I think, so far from being capable of any such thing, that I conclude it lost labour to seek after it.

30. Thirdly A third cause, Want of Tracing our ideas.

THIRDLY, Where we have adequate ideas, and where there is a certain and discoverable connexion between them, yet we are often ignorant, for want of tracing those ideas which we have or may have; and for want of finding out those intermediate ideas, which may show us what habitude of agreement or disagreement they have one with another. And thus many are ignorant of mathematical truths, not out of any imperfection of their faculties, or uncertainty in the things themselves, but for want of application in acquiring, examining, and by due ways comparing those ideas. That which has most contributed to hinder the due tracing of our ideas, and finding out their relations, and agreements or disagreements, one with another, has been, I suppose, the ill use of words. It is impossible that men should ever truly seek or certainly discover the agreement or disagreement of ideas themselves, whilst their thoughts flutter about, or stick only in sounds of doubtful and uncertain significations. Mathematicians abstracting their thoughts from names, and accustoming themselves to set before their minds the ideas themselves that they would consider, and not sounds instead of them, have avoided thereby a great part of that perplexity, puddering, and confusion, which has so much hindered men’s progress in other parts of knowledge. For whilst they stick in words of undetermined and uncertain signification, they are unable to distinguish true from false, certain from probable, consistent from inconsistent, in their own opinions. This having been the fate or misfortune of a great part of men of letters, the increase brought into the stock of real knowledge has been very little, in proportion to the schools disputes, and writings, the world has been filled with; whilst students, being lost in the great wood of words, knew not whereabouts they were, how far their discoveries were advanced, or what was wanting in their own, or the general stock of knowledge. Had men, in the discoveries of the material, done as they have in those of the intellectual world, involved all in the obscurity of uncertain and doubtful ways of talking, volumes writ of navigation and voyages, theories and stories of zones and tides, multiplied and disputed; nay, ships built, and fleets sent out, would never have taught us the way beyond the line; and the Antipodes would be still as much unknown, as when it was declared heresy to hold there were any. But having spoken sufficiently of words, and the ill or careless use that is commonly made of them, I shall not say anything more of it here.

31. Extent of Human Knowledge in respect to its Universality.

Hitherto we have examined the extent of our knowledge, in respect of the several sorts of beings that are. There is another extent of it, in respect of UNIVERSALITY, which will also deserve to be considered; and in this regard, our knowledge follows the nature of our ideas. If the ideas are abstract, whose agreement or disagreement we perceive, our knowledge is universal. For what is known of such general ideas, will be true of every particular thing in whom that essence, i.e. that abstract idea, is to be found: and what is once known of such ideas, will be perpetually and for ever true. So that as to all GENERAL KNOWLEDGE we must search and find it only in our minds; and it is only the examining of our own ideas that furnisheth us with that. Truths belonging to essences of things (that is, to abstract ideas) are eternal; and are to be found out by the contemplation only of those essences: as the existence of things is to be known only from experience. But having more to say of this in the chapters where I shall speak of general and real knowledge, this may here suffice as to the universality of our knowledge in general.

CHAPTER IV. OF THE REALITY OF KNOWLEDGE.

1. Objection. ‘Knowledge placed in our Ideas may be all unreal or chimerical’

I DOUBT not but my reader, by this time, may be apt to think that I have been all this while only building a castle in the air; and be ready to say to me: —

‘To what purpose all this stir? Knowledge, say you, is only the perception of the agreement or disagreement of our own ideas: but who knows what those ideas may be? Is there anything so extravagant as the imaginations of men’s brains? Where is the head that has no chimeras in it? Or if there be a sober and a wise man, what difference will there be, by your rules, between his knowledge and that of the most extravagant fancy in the world? They both have their ideas, and perceive their agreement and disagreement one with another. If there be any difference between them, the advantage will be on the warm-headed man’s side, as having the more ideas, and the more lively. And so, by your rules, he will be the more knowing. If it be true, that all knowledge lies only in the perception of the agreement or disagreement of our own ideas, the visions of an enthusiast and the reasonings of a sober man will be equally certain. It is no matter how things are: so a man observe but the agreement of his own imaginations, and talk conformably, it is all truth, all certainty. Such castles in the air will be as strongholds of truth, as the demonstrations of Euclid. That an harpy is not a centaur is by this way as certain knowledge, and as much a truth, as that a square is not a circle.

‘But of what use is all this fine knowledge of MEN’S OWN IMAGINATIONS, to a man that inquires after the reality of things? It matters not what men’s fancies are, it is the knowledge of things that is only to be prized: it is this alone gives a value to our reasonings, and preference to one man’s knowledge over another’s, that it is of things as they really are, and not of dreams and fancies.’

2. Answer Not so, where Ideas agree with Things.

To which I answer, That if our knowledge of our ideas terminate in them, and reach no further, where there is something further intended, our most serious thoughts will be of little more use than the reveries of a crazy brain; and the truths built thereon of no more weight than the discourses of a man who sees things clearly in a dream, and with great assurance utters them. But I hope, before I have done, to make it evident, that this way of certainty, by the knowledge of our own ideas, goes a little further than bare imagination: and I believe it will appear that all the certainty of general truths a man has lies in nothing else.

3. But what shall be the criterion of this agreement?

It is evident the mind knows not things immediately, but only by the intervention of the ideas it has of them. Our knowledge, therefore, is real only so far as there is a CONFORMITY between our ideas and the reality of things. But what shall be here the criterion? How shall the mind, when it perceives nothing but its own ideas, know that they agree with things themselves? This, though it seems not to want difficulty, yet, I think, there be two sorts of ideas that we may be assured agree with things.

4. As, First All Simple Ideas are really conformed to Things.

FIRST, The first are simple ideas, which since the mind, as has been showed, can by no means make to itself, must necessarily be the product of things operating on the mind, in a natural way, and producing therein those perceptions which by the Wisdom and Will of our Maker they are ordained and adapted to. From whence it follows, that simple ideas are not fictions of our fancies, but the natural and regular productions of things without us, really operating upon us; and so carry with them all the conformity which is intended; or which our state requires: for they represent to us things under those appearances which they are fitted to produce in us: whereby we are enabled to distinguish the sorts of particular substances, to discern the states they are in, and so to take them for our necessities, and apply them to our uses. Thus the idea of whiteness, or bitterness, as it is in the mind, exactly answering that power which is in any body to produce it there, has all the real conformity it can or ought to have, with things without us. And this conformity between our simple ideas and the existence of things, is sufficient for real knowledge.

5. Secondly, All Complex Ideas, except ideas of Substances, are their own archetypes.

Secondly, All our complex ideas, EXCEPT THOSE OF SUBSTANCES, being archetypes of the mind’s own making, not intended to be the copies of anything, nor referred to the existence of anything, as to their originals, cannot want any conformity necessary to real knowledge. For that which is not designed to represent anything but itself, can never be capable of a wrong representation, nor mislead us from the true apprehension of anything, by its dislikeness to it: and such, excepting those of substances, are all our complex ideas. Which, as I have showed in another place, are combinations of ideas, which the mind, by its free choice, puts together, without considering any connexion they have in nature. And hence it is, that in all these sorts the ideas themselves are considered as the archetypes, and things no otherwise regarded, but as they are conformable to them. So that we cannot but be infallibly certain, that all the knowledge we attain concerning these ideas is real, and reaches things themselves. Because in all our thoughts, reasonings, and discourses of this kind, we intend things no further than as they are conformable to our ideas. So that in these we cannot miss of a certain and undoubted reality.

6. Hence the reality of Mathematical Knowledge

I doubt not but it will be easily granted, that the knowledge we have of mathematical truths is not only certain, but real knowledge; and not the bare empty vision of vain, insignificant chimeras of the brain: and yet, if we will consider, we shall find that it is only of our own ideas. The mathematician considers the truth and properties belonging to a rectangle or circle only as they are in idea in his own mind. For it is possible he never found either of them existing mathematically, i.e. precisely true, in his life. But yet the knowledge he has of any truths or properties belonging to a circle, or any other mathematical figure, are nevertheless true and certain, even of real things existing: because real things are no further concerned, nor intended to be meant by any such propositions, than as things really agree to those archetypes in his mind. Is it true of the IDEA of a triangle, that its three angles are equal to two right ones? It is true also of a triangle, wherever it REALLY EXISTS. Whatever other figure exists, that it is not exactly answerable to that idea of a triangle in his mind, is not at all concerned in that proposition. And therefore he is certain all his knowledge concerning such ideas is real knowledge: because, intending things no further than they agree with those his ideas, he is sure what he knows concerning those figures, when they have BARELY AN IDEAL EXISTENCE in his mind, will hold true of them also when they have A REAL EXISTANCE in matter: his consideration being barely of those figures, which are the same wherever or however they exist.

7. And of Moral.

And hence it follows that moral knowledge is as capable of real certainty as mathematics. For certainty being but the perception of the agreement or disagreement of our ideas, and demonstration nothing but the perception of such agreement, by the intervention of other ideas or mediums; our moral ideas, as well as mathematical, being archetypes themselves, and so adequate and complete ideas; all the agreement or disagreement which we shall find in them will produce real knowledge, as well as in mathematical figures.

8. Existence not required to make Abstract Knowledge real.

[For the attaining of knowledge and certainty, it is requisite that we have determined ideas:] and, to make our knowledge real, it is requisite that the ideas answer their archetypes. Nor let it be wondered, that I place the certainty of our knowledge in the consideration of our ideas, with so little care and regard (as it may seem) to the real existence of things: since most of those discourses which take up the thoughts and engage the disputes of those who pretend to make it their business to inquire after truth and certainty, will, I presume, upon examination, be found to be general propositions, and notions in which existence is not at all concerned. All the discourses of the mathematicians about the squaring of a circle, conic sections, or any other part of mathematics, concern not the existence of any of those figures: but their demonstrations, which depend on their ideas, are the same, whether there be any square or circle existing in the world or no. In the same manner, the truth and certainty of moral discourses abstracts from the lives of men, and the existence of those virtues in the world whereof they treat: nor are Tully’s Offices less true, because there is nobody in the world that exactly practises his rules, and lives up to that pattern of a virtuous man which he has given us, and which existed nowhere when he writ but in idea. If it be true in speculation, i.e. in idea, that murder deserves death, it will also be true in reality of any action that exists conformable to BOOK IV. that idea of murder. As for other actions, the truth of that proposition concerns them not. And thus it is of all other species of things, which have no other essences but those ideas which are in the minds of men.

9. Nor will it be less true or certain, because Moral Ideas are of our own making and naming.

But it will here be said, that if moral knowledge be placed in the contemplation of our own moral ideas, and those, as other modes, be of our own making, What strange notions will there be of justice and temperance? What confusion of virtues and vices, if every one may make what ideas of them he pleases? No confusion or disorder in the things themselves, nor the reasonings about them; no more than (in mathematics) there would be a disturbance in the demonstration, or a change in the properties of figures, and their relations one to another, if a man should make a triangle with four corners, or a trapezium with four right angles: that is, in plain English, change the names of the figures, and call that by one name, which mathematicians call ordinarily by another. For, let a man make to himself the idea of a figure with three angles, whereof one is a right one, and call it, if he please, EQUILATERUM or TRAPEZIUM, or anything else; the properties of, and demonstrations about that idea will be the same as if he called it a rectangular triangle. I confess the change of the name, by the impropriety of speech, will at first disturb him who knows not what idea it stands for: but as soon as the figure is drawn, the consequences and demonstrations are plain and clear. Just the same is it in moral knowledge: let a man have the idea of taking from others, without their consent, what their honest industry has possessed them of, and call this JUSTICE if he please. He that takes the name here without the idea put to it will be mistaken, by joining another idea of his own to that name: but strip the idea of that name, or take it such as it is in the speaker’s mind, and the same things will agree to it, as if you called it INJUSTICE. Indeed, wrong names in moral discourses breed usually more disorder, because they are not so easily rectified as in mathematics, where the figure, once drawn and seen, makes the name useless and of no force. For what need of a sign, when the thing signified is present and in view? But in moral names, that cannot be so easily and shortly done, because of the many decompositions that go to the making up the complex ideas of those modes. But yet for all this, the miscalling of any of those ideas, contrary to the usual signification of the words of that language, hinders not but that we may have certain and demonstrative knowledge of their several agreements and disagreements, if we will carefully, as in mathematics, keep to the same precise ideas, and trace THEM in their several relations one to another, without being led away by their names. If we but separate the idea under consideration from the sign that stands for it, our knowledge goes equally on in the discovery of real truth and certainty, whatever sounds we make use of.

10. Misnaming disturbs not the certainty of the Knowledge

One thing more we are to take notice of, That where God or any other law-maker, hath defined any moral names, there they have made the essence of that species to which that name belongs; and there it is not safe to apply or use them otherwise: but in other cases it is bare impropriety of speech to apply them contrary to the common usage of the country. But yet even this too disturbs not the certainty of that knowledge, which is still to be had by a due contemplation and comparing of those even nick-named ideas.

11. Thirdly, Our complex Ideas of Substances have their Archetypes without us; and here knowledge comes short.

THIRDLY, There is another sort of complex ideas, which, being referred to archetypes without us, may differ from them, and so our knowledge about them may come short of being real. Such are our ideas of substances, which, consisting of a collection of simple ideas, supposed taken from the works of nature, may yet vary from them; by having more or different ideas united in them than are to be found united in the things themselves. From whence it comes to pass, that they may, and often do, fail of being exactly conformable to things themselves.

12. So far as our complex ideas agree with those Archetypes without us, so far our Knowledge concerning Substances is real.

I say, then, that to have ideas of SUBSTANCES which, by being conformable to things, may afford us real knowledge, it is not enough, as in MODES, to put together such ideas as have no inconsistence, though they did never before so exist: v.g. the ideas of sacrilege or perjury, &c., were as real and true ideas before, as after the existence of any such fact. But our ideas of substances, being supposed copies, and referred to archetypes without us, must still be taken from something that does or has existed: they must not consist of ideas put together at the pleasure of our thoughts, without any real pattern they were taken from, though we can perceive no inconsistence in such a combination. The reason whereof is because we, knowing not what real constitution it is of substances whereon our simple ideas depend, and which really is the cause of the strict union of some of them one with another, and the exclusion of others; there are very few of them that we can be sure are or are not inconsistent in nature: any further than experience and sensible observation reach Herein, therefore, is founded the reality of our knowledge concerning substances — That all our complex ideas of them must be such, and such only, as are made up of such simple ones as have been discovered to co-exist in nature. And our ideas being thus true, though not perhaps very exact copies, are yet the subjects of real (as far as we have any) knowledge of them. Which (as has been already shown) will not be found to reach very far: but so far as it does, it will still be real knowledge. Whatever ideas we have, the agreement we find they have with others will still be knowledge. If those ideas be abstract, it will be general knowledge. But to make it real concerning substances, the ideas must be taken from the real existence of things. Whatever simple ideas have been found to co-exist in any substance, these we may with confidence join together again, and so make abstract ideas of substances. For whatever have once had an union in nature, may be united again.

13. In our inquiries about Substances, we must consider Ideas, and not confine our Thoughts to Names, or Species supposed set out by Names.

This, if we rightly consider, and confine not our thoughts and abstract ideas to names, as if there were, or could be no other SORTS of things than what known names had already determined, and, as it were, set out, we should think of things with greater freedom and less confusion than perhaps we do. It would possibly be thought a bold paradox, if not a very dangerous falsehood, if I should say that some CHANGELINGS, who have lived forty years together, without any appearance of reason, are something between a man and a beast: which prejudice is founded upon nothing else but a false supposition, that these two names, man and beast, stand for distinct species so set out by real essences, that there can come no other species between them: whereas if we will abstract from those names, and the supposition of such specific essences made by nature, wherein all things of the same denominations did exactly and equally partake; if we would not fancy that there were a certain number of these essences, wherein all things, as in moulds, were cast and formed; we should find that the idea of the shape, motion, and life of a man without reason, is as much a distinct idea, and makes as much a distinct sort of things from man and beast, as the idea of the shape of an ass with reason would be different from either that of man or beast, and be a species of an animal between, or distinct from both.

14. Objection against a Changeling being something between a Man and Beast, answered.

Here everybody will be ready to ask, If changelings may be supposed something between man and beast, pray what are they? I answer, CHANGELINGS; which is as good a word to signify something different from the signification of MAN or BEAST, as the names man and beast are to have significations different one from the other. This, well considered, would resolve this matter, and show my meaning without any more ado. But I am not so unacquainted with the zeal of some men, which enables them to spin consequences, and to see religion threatened, whenever any one ventures to quit their forms of speaking, as not to foresee what names such a proposition as this is like to be charged with: and without doubt it will be asked, If changelings are something between man and beast, what will become of them in the other world? To which I answer, I. It concerns me not to know or inquire. To their own master they stand or fall. It will make their state neither better nor worse, whether we determine anything of it or no. They are in the hands of a faithful Creator and a bountiful Father, who disposes not of his creatures according to our narrow thoughts or opinions, nor distinguishes them according to names and species of our contrivance. And we that know so little of this present world we are in, may, I think, content ourselves without being peremptory in defining the different states which creatures shall come into when they go off this stage. It may suffice us, that He hath made known to all those who are capable of instruction, discoursing, and reasoning, that they shall come to an account, and receive according to what they have done in this body.

15. What will become of Changelings in a future state?

But, Secondly, I answer, The force of these men’s question (viz. Will you deprive changelings of a future state?) is founded on one of these two suppositions, which are both false. The first is, That all things that have the outward shape and appearance of a man must necessarily be designed to an immortal future being after this life: or, secondly, That whatever is of human birth must be so. Take away these imaginations, and such questions will be groundless and ridiculous. I desire then those who think there is no more but an accidental difference between themselves and changelings, the essence in both being exactly the same, to consider, whether they can imagine immortality annexed to any outward shape of the body; the very proposing it is, I suppose, enough to make them disown it. No one yet, that ever I heard of, how much soever immersed in matter, allowed that excellency to any figure of the gross sensible outward consequence of it; or that any mass of matter should, after its dissolution here, be again restored hereafter to an everlasting state of sense, perception, and knowledge, only because it was moulded into this or that figure, and had such a particular frame of its visible parts. Such an opinion as this, placing immortality in a certain superficial figure, turns out of doors all consideration of soul or spirit; upon whose account alone some corporeal beings have hitherto been concluded immortal, and others not. This is to attribute more to the outside than inside of things; and to place the excellency of a man more in the external shape of his body, than internal perfections of his soul: which is but little better than to annex the great and inestimable advantage of immortality and life everlasting, which he has above other material beings, to annex it, I say, to the cut of his beard, or the fashion of his coat. For this or that outward mark of our bodies no more carries with it the hope of an eternal duration, than the fashion of a man’s suit gives him reasonable grounds to imagine it will never wear out, or that it will make him immortal. It will perhaps be said, that nobody thinks that the shape makes anything immortal, but it is the shape that is the sign of a rational soul within, which is immortal. I wonder who made it the sign of any such thing: for barely saying it, will not make it so. It would require some proofs to persuade one of it. No figure that I know speaks any such language. For it may as rationally be concluded, that the dead body of a man, wherein there is to be found no more appearance or action of life than there is in a statue, has yet nevertheless a living soul in it, because of its shape; as that there is a rational soul in a changeling, because he has the outside of a rational creature, when his actions carry far less marks of reason with them, in the whole course of his life than what are to be found in many a beast.

16. Monsters

But it is the issue of rational parents, and must therefore be concluded to have a rational soul. I know not by what logic you must so conclude. I am sure this is a conclusion that men nowhere allow of. For if they did, they would not make bold, as everywhere they do to destroy ill-formed and mis-shaped productions. Ay, but these are MONSTERS. Let them be so: what will your drivelling, unintelligent, intractable changeling be? Shall a defect in the body make a monster; a defect in the mind (the far more noble, and, in the common phrase, the far more essential part) not? Shall the want of a nose, or a neck, make a monster, and put such issue out of the rank of men; the want of reason and understanding, not? This is to bring all back again to what was exploded just now: this is to place all in the shape, and to take the measure of a man only by his outside. To show that according to the ordinary way of reasoning in this matter, people do lay the whole stress on the figure, and resolve the whole essence of the species of man (as they make it) into the outward shape, how unreasonable soever it be, and how much soever they disown it, we need but trace their thoughts and practice a little further, and then it will plainly appear. The well-shaped changeling is a man, has a rational soul, though it appear not: this is past doubt, say you: make the ears a little longer, and more pointed, and the nose a little flatter than ordinary, and then you begin to boggle: make the face yet narrower, flatter, and longer, and then you are at a stand: add still more and more of the likeness of a brute to it, and let the head be perfectly that of some other animal, then presently it is a monster; and it is demonstration with you that it hath no rational soul, and must be destroyed. Where now (I ask) shall be the just measure; which the utmost bounds of that shape, that carries with it a rational soul? For, since there have been human foetuses produced, half beast and half man; and others three parts one, and one part the other; and so it is possible they may be in all the variety of approaches to the one or the other shape, and may have several degrees of mixture of the likeness of a man, or a brute; — I would gladly know what are those precise lineaments, which, according to this hypothesis, are or are not capable of a rational soul to be joined to them. What sort of outside is the certain sign that there is or is not such an inhabitant within? For till that be done, we talk at random of MAN: and shall always, I fear, do so, as long as we give ourselves up to certain sounds, and the imaginations of settled and fixed species in nature, we know not what. But, after all, I desire it may be considered, that those who think they have answered the difficulty, by telling us, that a mis-shaped foetus is a MONSTER, run into the same fault they are arguing against; by constituting a species between man and beast. For what else, I pray, is their monster in the case, (if the word monster signifies anything at all,) but something neither man nor beast, but partaking somewhat of either? And just so is the CHANGELING before mentioned. So necessary is it to quit the common notion of species and essences, if we will truly look into the nature of things, and examine them by what our faculties can discover in them as they exist, and not by groundless fancies that have been taken up about them.

17. Words and Species.

I have mentioned this here, because I think we cannot be too cautious that words and species, in the ordinary notions which we have been used to of them, impose not on us. For I am apt to think therein lies one great obstacle to our clear and distinct knowledge, especially in reference to substances: and from thence has rose a great part of the difficulties about truth and certainty. Would we accustom ourselves to separate our contemplations and reasonings from words, we might in a great measure remedy this inconvenience within our own thoughts: but yet it would still disturb us in our discourse with others, as long as we retained the opinion, that SPECIES and their ESSENCES were anything else but our abstract ideas (such as they are) with names annexed to them, to be the signs of them.

18. Recapitulation.

Wherever we perceive the agreement or disagreement of any of our ideas, there is certain knowledge: and wherever we are sure those ideas agree with the reality of things, there is certain real knowledge. Of which agreement of our ideas with the reality of things, having here given the marks, I think, I have shown WHEREIN IT IS THAT CERTAINTY, REAL CERTAINTY, CONSISTS. Which, whatever it was to others, was, I confess, to me heretofore, one of those desiderata which I found great want of.

CHAPTER V. OF TRUTH IN GENERAL.

1. What Truth is.

WHAT is truth? was an inquiry many ages since; and it being that which all mankind either do, or pretend to search after, it cannot but be worth our while carefully to examine wherein it consists; and so acquaint ourselves with the nature of it, as to observe how the mind distinguishes it from falsehood.

2. A right joining or separating of signs, i.e. either Ideas or Words.

Truth, then, seems to me, in the proper import of the word, to signify nothing but THE JOINING OR SEPERATING OF SIGNS, AS THE THINGS SIGNIFIED BY THEM DO AGREE OR DISAGREE ONE WITH ANOTHER. The joining or separating of signs here meant, is what by another name we call PROPOSITION. So that truth properly belongs only to propositions: whereof there are two sorts, viz. mental and verbal; as there are two sorts of signs commonly made use of, viz. ideas and words.

3. Which make mental or verbal Propositions.

To form a clear notion of truth, it is very necessary to consider truth of thought, and truth of words, distinctly one from another: but yet it is very difficult to treat of them asunder. Because it is unavoidable, in treating of mental propositions, to make use of words: and then the instances given of mental propositions cease immediately to be barely mental, and become verbal. For a MENTAL PROPOSITION being nothing but a bare consideration of the ideas, as they are in our minds, stripped of names, they lose the nature of purely mental propositions as soon as they are put into words.

4. Mental Propositions are very hard to be treated of.

And that which makes it yet harder to treat of mental and verbal propositions separately is, that most men, if not all, in their thinking and reasonings within themselves, make use of words instead of ideas; at least when the subject of their meditation contains in it complex ideas. Which is a great evidence of the imperfection and uncertainty of our ideas of that kind, and may, if attentively made use of, serve for a mark to show us what are those things we have clear and perfect established ideas of, and what not. For if we will curiously observe the way our mind takes in thinking and reasoning, we shall find, I suppose, that when we make any propositions within our own thoughts about WHITE or BLACK, SWEET or BITTER, a TRIANGLE or a CIRCLE, we can and often do frame in our minds the ideas themselves, without reflecting on the names. But when we would consider, or make propositions about the more complex ideas, as of a MAN, VITRIOL, FORTITUDE, GLORY, we usually put the name for the idea: because the ideas these names stand for, being for the most part imperfect, confused, and undetermined, we reflect on the names themselves, because they are more clear, certain, and distinct, and readier occur to our thoughts than the pure ideas: and so we make use of these words instead of the ideas themselves, even when we would meditate and reason within ourselves, and make tacit mental propositions. In substances, as has been already noticed, this is occasioned by the imperfections of our ideas: we making the name stand for the real essence, of which we have no idea at all. In modes, it is occasioned by the great number of simple ideas that go to the making them up. For many of them being compounded, the name occurs much easier than the complex idea itself, which requires time and attention to be recollected, and exactly represented to the mind, even in those men who have formerly been at the pains to do it; and is utterly impossible to be done by those who, though they have ready in their memory the greatest part of the common words of that language, yet perhaps never troubled themselves in all their lives to consider what precise ideas the most of them stood for. Some confused or obscure notions have served their turns; and many who talk very much of RELIGION and CONSCIENCE, of CHURCH and FAITH, of POWER and RIGHT, of OBSTRUCTIONS and HUMOURS, MELANCHOLY and CHOLER, would perhaps have little left in their thoughts and meditations, if one should desire them to think only of the things themselves, and lay by those words with which they so often confound others, and not seldom themselves also.

5. Mental and Verbal Propositions contrasted.

But to return to the consideration of truth: we must, I say, observe two sorts of propositions that we are capable of making: —

First, MENTAL, wherein the ideas in our understandings are without the use of words put together, or separated, by the mind perceiving or judging of their agreement or disagreement.

Secondly, VERBAL propositions, which are words, the signs of our ideas, put together or separated in affirmative or negative sentences. By which way of affirming or denying, these signs, made by sounds, are, as it were, put together or separated from another. So that proposition consists in joining or separating signs; and truth consists in the putting together or separating those signs, according as the things which they stand for agree or disagree.

6. When Mental Propositions contain real Truth, and when Verbal.

Every one’s experience will satisfy him, that the mind, either by perceiving, or supposing, the agreement or disagreement of any of its ideas, does tacitly within itself put them into a kind of proposition affirmative or negative; which I have endeavoured to express by the terms putting together and separating. But this action of the mind, which is so familiar to every thinking and reasoning man, is easier to be conceived by reflecting on what passes in us when we affirm or deny, than to be explained by words. When a man has in his head the idea of two lines, viz. the side and diagonal of a square, whereof the diagonal is an inch long, he may have the idea also of the division of that line into a certain number of equal parts; v.g. into five, ten, a hundred, a thousand, or any other number, and may have the idea of that inch line being divisible, or not divisible, into such equal parts, as a certain number of them will be equal to the sideline. Now, whenever he perceives, believes, or supposes such a kind of divisibility to agree or disagree to his idea of that line, he, as it were, joins or separates those two ideas, viz. the idea of that line, and the idea of that kind of divisibility; and so makes a mental proposition, which is true or false, according as such a kind of divisibility, a divisibility into such ALIQUOT parts, does really agree to that line or no. When ideas are so put together, or separated in the mind, as they or the things they stand for do agree or not, that is, as I may call it, MENTAL TRUTH. But TRUTH OF WORDS is something more; and that is the affirming or denying of words one of another, as the ideas they stand for agree or disagree: and this again is two-fold; either purely verbal and trifling, which I shall speak of, (chap. viii.,) or real and instructive; which is the object of that real knowledge which we have spoken of already.

7. Objection against verbal Truth, that thus it may all be chimerical.

But here again will be apt to occur the same doubt about truth, that did about knowledge: and it will be objected, that if truth be nothing but the joining and separating of words in propositions, as the ideas they stand for agree or disagree in men’s minds, the knowledge of truth is not so valuable a thing as it is taken to be, nor worth the pains and time men employ in the search of it: since by this account it amounts to no more than the conformity of words to the chimeras of men’s brains. Who knows not what odd notions many men’s heads are filled with, and what strange ideas all men’s brains are capable of? But if we rest here, we know the truth of nothing by this rule, but of the visionary words in our own imaginations; nor have other truth, but what as much concerns harpies and centaurs, as men and horses. For those, and the like, may be ideas in our heads, and have their agreement or disagreement there, as well as the ideas of real beings, and so have as true propositions made about them. And it will be altogether as true a proposition to say ALL CENTAURS ARE ANIMALS, as that ALL MEN ARE ANIMALS; and the certainty of one as great as the other. For in both the propositions, the words are put together according to the agreement of the ideas in our minds: and the agreement of the idea of animal with that of centaur is as clear and visable to the mind, as the agreement of the idea of animal with that of man; and so these two propositions are equally true, equally certain. But of what use is all such truth to us?

8. Answered, Real Truth is about Ideas agreeing to things.

Though what has been said in the foregoing chapter to distinguish real from imaginary knowledge might suffice here, in answer to this doubt, to distinguish real truth from chimerical, or (if you please) barely nominal, they depending both on the same foundation; yet it may not be amiss here again to consider, that though our words signify things, the truth they contain when put into propositions will be only verbal, when they stand for ideas in the mind that have not an agreement with the reality of things. And therefore truth as well as knowledge may well come under the distinction of verbal and real; that being only verbal truth, wherein terms are joined according to the agreement or disagreement of the ideas they stand for; without regarding whether our ideas are such as really have, or are capable of having, an existence in nature. But then it is they contain REAL TRUTH, when these signs are joined, as our ideas agree; and when our ideas are such as we know are capable of having an existence in nature: which in substances we cannot know, but by knowing that such have existed.

9. Truth and Falsehood in general.

Truth is the marking down in words the agreement or disagreement of ideas as it is. Falsehood is the marking down in words the agreement or disagreement of ideas otherwise than it is. And so far as these ideas, thus marked by sounds, agree to their archetypes, so far only is the truth real. The knowledge of this truth consists in knowing what ideas the words stand for, and the perception of the agreement or disagreement of those ideas, according as it is marked by those words.

10. General Propositions to be treated of more at large.

But because words are looked on as the great conduits of truth and knowledge, and that in conveying and receiving of truth, and commonly in reasoning about it, we make use of words and propositions, I shall more at large inquire wherein the certainty of real truths contained in propositions consists, and where it is to be had; and endeavour to show in what sort of universal propositions we are capable of being certain of their real truth or falsehood.

I shall begin with GENERAL propositions, as those which most employ our thoughts, and exercise our contemplation. General truths are most looked after by the mind as those that most enlarge our knowledge; and by their comprehensiveness satisfying us at once of many particulars, enlarge our view, and shorten our way to knowledge.

11. Moral and Metaphysical Truth.

Besides truth taken in the strict sense before mentioned, there are other sorts of truths: As, 1. Moral truth, which is speaking of things according to the persuasion of our own minds, though the proposition we speak agree not to the reality of things; 2. Metaphysical truth, which is nothing but the real existence of things, conformable to the ideas to which we have annexed their names. This, though it seems to consist in the very beings of things, yet, when considered a little nearly, will appear to include a tacit proposition, whereby the mind joins that particular thing to the idea it had before settled with the name to it. But these considerations of truth, either having been before taken notice of, or not being much to our present purpose, it may suffice here only to have mentioned them.

CHAPTER VI. OF UNIVERSAL PROPOSITIONS: THEIR TRUTH AND CERTAINTY.

1. Treating of Words necessary to Knowledge.

THOUGH the examining and judging of ideas by themselves, their names being quite laid aside, be the best and surest way to clear and distinct knowledge: yet, through the prevailing custom of using sounds for ideas, I think it is very seldom practised. Every one may observe how common it is for names to be made use of, instead of the ideas themselves, even when men think and reason within their own breasts; especially if the ideas be very complex, and made up of a great collection of simple ones. This makes the consideration of WORDS and PROPOSITIONS so necessary a part of the Treatise of Knowledge, that it is very hard to speak intelligibly of the one, without explaining the other.

2. General Truths hardly to be understood, but in verbal Propositions.

All the knowledge we have, being only of particular or general truths, it is evident that whatever may be done in the former of these, the latter, which is that which with reason is most sought after, can never be well made known, and is very seldom apprehended, but as conceived and expressed in words. It is not, therefore, out of our way, in the examination of our knowledge, to inquire into the truth and certainty of universal propositions.

3. Certainty twofold — of Truth and of Knowledge.

But that we may not be misled in this case by that which is the danger everywhere, I mean by the doubtfulness of terms, it is fit to observe that certainty is twofold: CERTAINTY OF TRUTH and CERTAINTY OF KNOWLEDGE. Certainty of truth is, when words are so put together in propositions as exactly to express the agreement or disagreement of the ideas they stand for, as really it is. Certainty of knowledge is to perceive the agreement or disagreement of ideas, as expressed in any proposition. This we usually call knowing, or being certain of the truth of any proposition.

4. No Proposition can be certainly known to be true, where the real Essence of each Species mentioned is not known.

Now, because we cannot be certain of the truth of any general proposition, unless we know the precise bounds and extent of the species its terms stand for, it is necessary we should know the essence of each species, which is that which constitutes and bounds it.

This, in all simple ideas and modes, is not hard to do. For in these the real and nominal essence being the same, or, which is all one, the abstract idea which the general term stands for being the sole essence and boundary that is or can be supposed of the species, there can be no doubt how far the species extends, or what things are comprehended under each term; which, it is evident, are all that have an exact conformity with the idea it stands for, and no other. But in substances, wherein a real essence, distinct from the nominal, is supposed to constitute, determine, and bound the species, the extent of the general word is very uncertain; because, not knowing this real essence, we cannot know what is, or what is not of that species; and, consequently, what may or may not with certainty be affirmed of it. And thus, speaking of a MAN, or GOLD, or any other species of natural substances, as supposed constituted by a precise and real essence which nature regularly imparts to every individual of that kind, whereby it is made to be of that species, we cannot be certain of the truth of any affirmation or negation made of it. For man or gold, taken in this sense, and used for species of things constituted by real essences, different from the complex idea in the mind of the speaker, stand for we know not what; and the extent of these species, with such boundaries, are so unknown and undetermined, that it is impossible with any certainty to affirm, that all men are rational, or that all gold is yellow. But where the nominal essence is kept to, as the boundary of each species, and men extend the application of any general term no further than to the particular things in which the complex idea it stands for is to be found, there they are in no danger to mistake the bounds of each species, nor can be in doubt, on this account, whether any proposition be true or not. I have chosen to explain this uncertainty of propositions in this scholastic way, and have made use of the terms of ESSENCES, and SPECIES, on purpose to show the absurdity and inconvenience there is to think of them as of any other sort of realities, than barely abstract ideas with names to them. To suppose that the species of things are anything but the sorting of them under general names, according as they agree to several abstract ideas of which we make those names signs, is to confound truth, and introduce uncertainty into all general propositions that can be made about them. Though therefore these things might, to people not possessed with scholastic learning, be treated of in a better and clearer way yet those wrong notions of essences or species having got root in most people’s minds who have received any tincture from the learning which has prevailed in this part of the world, are to be discovered and removed, to make way for that use of words which should convey certainty with it.

5. This more particularly concerns Substances.

The names of substances, then, whenever made to stand for species which are supposed to be constituted by real essences which we know not, are not capable to convey certainty to the understanding. Of the truth general propositions made up of such terms we cannot be sure. [The reason whereof is plain: for how can we be sure that this or that quality is in gold, when we know not what is or is not gold? Since in this way of speaking, nothing is gold but what partakes of an essence, which we, not knowing, cannot know where it is or is not, and so cannot be sure that any parcel of matter in the world is or is not in this sense gold; being incurably ignorant whether IT has of has not that which makes anything to be called gold; i. e. that real essence of gold whereof we have no idea at all. This being as impossible for us to know as it is for a blind man to tell in what flower the colour of a pansy is or is not to be found, whilst he has no idea of the colour of a pansy at all. Or if we could (which is impossible) certainly know where a real essence, which we know not, is, v.g. in what parcels of matter the real essence of gold is, yet could we not be sure that this or that quality could with truth be affirmed of gold; since it is impossible for us to know that this or that quality or idea has a necessary connexion with a real essence of which we have no idea at all, whatever species that supposed real essence may be imagined to constitute.]

6.

On the other side, the names of substances, when made use of as they should be, for the ideas men have in their minds, though they carry a clear and determinate signification with them, will not yet serve us to make many universal propositions of whose truth we can be certain. Not because in this use of them we are uncertain what things are signified by them, but because the complex ideas they stand for are such combinations of simple ones as carry not with them any discoverable connexion or repugnancy, but with a very few other ideas.

7.

The complex ideas that our names of the species of substances properly stand for, are collections of such qualities as have been observed to co-exist in an unknown substratum, which we call substance; but what other qualities necessarily co-exist with such combinations, we cannot certainly know, unless we can discover their natural dependence; which, in their primary qualities, we can go but a very little way in; and in all their secondary qualities we can discover no connexion at all: for the reasons mentioned, chap. iii. Viz. 1. Because we know not the real constitutions of substances, on which each secondary quality particularly depends. 2. Did we know that, it would serve us only for experimental (not universal) knowledge; and reach with certainty no further than that bare instance: because our understandings can discover no conceivable connexion between any secondary quality and any modification whatsoever of any of the primary ones. And therefore there are very few general propositions to be made concerning substances, which can carry with them undoubted certainty.

8. Instance in Gold.

‘All gold is fixed,’ is a proposition whose truth we cannot be certain of, how universally soever it be believed. For if, according to the useless imagination of the Schools, any one supposes the term gold to stand for a species of things set out by nature, by a real essence belonging to it, it is evident he knows not what particular substances are of that species; and so cannot with certainty affirm anything universally of gold. But if he makes gold stand for a species determined by its nominal essence, let the nominal essence, for example, be the complex idea of a body of a certain yellow colour, malleable, fusible, and heavier than any other known; — in this proper use of the word gold, there is no difficulty to know what is or is not gold. But yet no other quality can with certainty be universally affirmed or denied of gold, but what hath a DISCOVERABLE connexion or inconsistency with that nominal essence. Fixedness, for example, having no necessary connexion that we can discover, with the colour, weight, or any other simple idea of our complex one, or with the whole combination together; it is impossible that we should certainly know the truth of this proposition, that all gold is fixed.

9. No discoverable necessary connexion between nominal essence gold, and other simple ideas.

As there is no discoverable connexion between fixedness and the colour, weight, and other simple ideas of that nominal essence of gold; so, if we make our complex idea of gold, a body yellow, fusable, ductile, weighty, and fixed, we shall be at the same uncertainty concerning solubility in AQUA REGIA, and for the same reason. Since we can never, from consideration of the ideas themselves, with certainty affirm or deny of a body whose complex idea is made up of yellow, very weighty, ductile, fusible, and fixed, that it is soluble in AQUA REGIA: and so on of the rest of its qualities. I would gladly meet with one general affirmation concerning any will, no doubt, be presently objected, Is not this an universal proposition, ALL GOLD IS MALLEABLE? To which I answer, It is a very complex idea the word gold stands for. But then here is nothing affirmed of gold, but that that sound stands for an idea in which malleableness is contained: and such a sort of truth and certainty as this it is, to say a centaur is four-footed. But if malleableness make not a part of the specific essence the name of gold stands for, it is plain, ALL GOLD IS MALLEABLE, is not a certain proposition. Because, let the complex idea of gold be made up of whichsoever of its other qualities you please, malleableness will not appear to depend on that complex idea, nor follow from any simple one contained in it: the connexion that malleableness has (if it has any) with those other qualities being only by the intervention of the real constitution of its insensible parts; which, since we know not, it is impossible we should perceive that connexion, unless we could discover that which ties them together.

10. As far as any such Co-existence can be known, so far Universal Propositions maybe certain. But this will go but a little way.

The more, indeed, of these co-existing qualities we unite into one complex idea, under one name, the more precise and determinate we make the signification of that word; but never yet make it thereby more capable of universal certainty, IN RESPECT OF OTHER QUALITIES NOT CONTAINED IN OUR COMPLEX IDEA: since we perceive not their connexion or dependence on one another; being ignorant both of that real constitution in which they are all founded, and also how they flow from it. For the chief part of our knowledge concerning substances is not, as in other things, barely of the relation of two ideas that may exist separately; but is of the necessary connexion and co-existence of several distinct ideas in the same subject, or of their repugnancy so to co-exist. Could we begin at the other end, and discover what it was wherein that colour consisted, what made a body lighter or heavier, what texture of parts made it malleable, fusible, and fixed, and fit to be dissolved in this sort of liquor, and not in another; — if, I say, we had such an idea as this of bodies, and could perceive wherein all sensible qualities originally consist, and how they are produced; we might frame such abstract ideas of them as would furnish us with matter of more general knowledge, and enable us to make universal propositions, that should carry general truth and certainty with them. But whilst our complex ideas of the sorts of substances are so remote from that internal real constitution on which their sensible qualities depend, and are made up of nothing but an imperfect collection of those apparent qualities our senses can discover, there can be few general propositions concerning substances of whose real truth we can be certainly assured; since there are but few simple ideas of whose connexion and necessary co-existence we can have certain and undoubted knowledge. I imagine, amongst all the secondary qualities of substances, and the powers relating to them, there cannot any two be named, whose necessary co-existence, or repugnance to co-exist, can certainly be known; unless in those of the same sense, which necessarily exclude one another, as I have elsewhere showed. No one, I think, by the colour that is in any body, can certainly know what smell, taste, sound, or tangible qualities it has, nor what alterations it is capable to make or receive on or from other bodies. The same may be said of the sound or taste, &c. Our specific names of substances standing for any collections of such ideas, it is not to be wondered that we can with them make very few general propositions of undoubted real certainty. But yet so far as any complex idea of any sort of substances contains in it any simple idea, whose NECESSARY co-existence with any other MAY be discovered, so far universal propositions may with certainty be made concerning it: v.g. could any one discover a necessary connexion between malleableness and the colour or weight of gold, or any other part of the complex idea signified by that name, he might make a certain universal proposition concerning gold in this respect; and the real truth of this proposition, that ALL GOLD IS MALLIABLE, would be as certain as of this, THE THREE ANGLES OF ALL RIGHT-LINED TRIANGLES ARE ALL EQUAL TO TWO RIGHT ONES.

11. The Qualities which make our complex Ideas of Substances depend mostly on external, remote, and unperceived Causes.

Had we such ideas of substances as to know what real constitutions produce those sensible qualities we find in them, and how those qualities flowed from thence, we could, by the specific ideas of their real essences in our own minds, more certainly find out their properties, and discover what qualities they had or had not, than we can now by our senses: and to know the properties of gold, it would be no more necessary that gold should exist, and that we should make experiments upon it, than it is necessary for the knowing the properties of a triangle, that a triangle should exist in any matter, the idea in our minds would serve for the one as well as the other. But we are so far from being admitted into the secrets of nature, that we scarce so much as ever approach the first entrance towards them. For we are wont to consider the substances we meet with, each of them, as an entire thing by itself, having all its qualities in itself, and independent of other things; overlooking, for the most part, the operations of those invisible fluids they are encompassed with, and upon whose motions and operations depend the greatest part of those qualities which are taken notice of in them, and are made by us the inherent marks of distinction whereby we know and denominate them. Put a piece of gold anywhere by itself, separate from the reach and influence of all other bodies, it will immediately lose all its colour and weight, and perhaps malleableness too; which, for aught I know, would be changed into a perfect friability. Water, in which to us fluidity is an essential quality, left to itself, would cease to be fluid. But if inanimate bodies owe so much of their present state to other bodies without them, that they would not be what they appear to us were those bodies that environ them removed; it is yet more so in vegetables, which are nourished, grow, and produce leaves, flowers, and seeds, in a constant succession. And if we look a little nearer into the state of animals, we shall find that their dependence, as to life, motion, and the most considerable qualities to be observed in them, is so wholly on extrinsical causes and qualities of other bodies that make no part of them, that they cannot subsist a moment without them: though yet those bodies on which they depend are little taken notice of, and make no part of the complex ideas we frame of those animals. Take the air but for a minute from the greatest part of living creatures, and they presently lose sense, life, and motion. This the necessity of breathing has forced into our knowledge. But how many other extrinsical and possibly very remote bodies do the springs of these admirable machines depend on, which are not vulgarly observed, or so much as thought on; and how many are there which the severest inquiry can never discover? The inhabitants of this spot of the universe, though removed so many millions of miles from the sun, yet depend so much on the duly tempered motion of particles coming from or agitated by it, that were this earth removed but a small part of the distance out of its present situation, and placed a little further or nearer that source of heat, it is more than probable that the greatest part of the animals in it would immediately perish: since we find them so often destroyed by an excess or defect of the sun’s warmth, which an accidental position in some parts of this our little globe exposes them to. The qualities observed in a loadstone must needs have their source far beyond the confines of that body; and the ravage made often on several sorts of animals by invisible causes, the certain death (as we are told) of some of them, by barely passing the line, or, as it is certain of other, by being removed into a neighbouring country; evidently show that the concurrence and operations of several bodies, with which they are seldom thought to have anything to do, is absolutely necessary to make them be what they appear to us, and to preserve those qualities by which we know and distinguish them. We are then quite out of the way, when we think that things contain WITHIN THEMSELVES the qualities that appear to us in them; and we in vain search for that constitution within the body of a fly or an elephant, upon which depend those qualities and powers we observe in them. For which, perhaps, to understand them aright, we ought to look not only beyond this our earth and atmosphere, but even beyond the sun or remotest star our eyes have yet discovered. For how much the being and operation of particular substances in this our globe depends on causes utterly beyond our view, is impossible for us to determine. We see and perceive some of the motions and grosser operations of things here about us; but whence the streams come that keep all these curious machines in motion and repair, how conveyed and modified, is beyond our notice and apprehension: and the great parts and wheels, as I may so say, of this stupendous structure of the universe, may, for aught we know, have such a connexion and dependence in their influences and operations one upon another, that perhaps things in this our mansion would put on quite another face, and cease to be what they are, if some one of the stars or great bodies incomprehensibly remote from us, should cease to be or move as it does. This is certain: things, however absolute and entire they seem in themselves, are but retainers to other parts of nature, for that which they are most taken notice of by us. Their observable qualities, actions, and powers are owing to something without them; and there is not so complete and perfect a part that we know of nature, which does not owe the being it has, and the excellences of it, to its neighbours; and we must not confine our thoughts within the surface of any body, but look a great deal further, to comprehend perfectly those qualities that are in it.

12. Our nominal essences of Substances furnish few universal propositions about them that are certain.

If this be so, it is not to be wondered that we have very imperfect ideas of substances, and that the real essences, on which depend their properties and operations, are unknown to us. We cannot discover so much as that size, figure, and texture of their minute and active parts, which is really in much less the different motions and impulses made in and upon them by bodies from without, upon which depends, and by which is formed the greatest and most remarkable part of those qualities we observe in them, and of which our complex ideas of them are made up. This consideration alone is enough to put an end to all our hopes of ever having the ideas of their real essences; which whilst we want, the nominal essences we make use of instead of them will be able to furnish us but very sparingly with any general knowledge, or universal propositions capable of real certainty.

13. Judgment of Probability concerning Substances may reach further: but that is not Knowledge.

We are not therefore to wonder, if certainty be to be found in very few general propositions made concerning substances: our knowledge of their qualities and properties goes very seldom further than our senses reach and inform us. Possibly inquisitive and observing men may, by strength of judgment, penetrate further, and, on probabilities taken from wary observation, and hints well laid together, often guess right at what experience has not yet discovered to them. But this is but guessing still; it amounts only to opinion, and has not that certainty which is requisite to knowledge. For all general knowledge lies only in our own thoughts, and consists barely in the contemplation of our own abstract ideas. Wherever we perceive any agreement or disagreement amongst them, there we have general knowledge; and by putting the names of those ideas together accordingly in propositions, can with certainty pronounce general truths. But because the abstract ideas of substances, for which their specific names stand, whenever they have any distinct and determinate signification, have a discoverable connexion or inconsistency with but a very few other ideas, the certainty of universal propositions concerning substances is very narrow and scanty, in that part which is our principal inquiry concerning them; and there are scarce any of the names of substances, let the idea it is applied to be what it will, of which we can generally, and with certainty, pronounce, that it has or has not this or that other quality belonging to it, and constantly co-existing or inconsistent with that idea, wherever it is to be found.

14. What is requisite for our Knowledge of Substances.

Before we can have any tolerable knowledge of this kind, we must First know what changes the primary qualities of one body do regularly produce in the primary qualities of another, and how. Secondly, We must know what primary qualities of any body produce certain sensations or ideas in us. This is in truth no less than to know ALL the effects of matter, under its divers modifications of bulk, figure, cohesion of parts, motion and rest. Which, I think every body will allow, is utterly impossible to be known by us without revelation. Nor if it were revealed to us what sort of figure, bulk, and motion of corpuscles would produce in us the sensation of a yellow colour, and what sort of figure, bulk, and texture of parts in the superficies of any body were fit to give such corpuscles their due motion to produce that colour; would that be enough to make universal propositions with certainty, concerning the several sorts of them; unless we had faculties acute enough to perceive the precise bulk, figure, texture, and motion of bodies, in those minute parts, by which they operate on our senses, so that we might by those frame our abstract ideas of them. I have mentioned here only corporeal substances, whose operations seem to lie more level to our understandings. For as to the operations of spirits, both their thinking and moving of bodies, we at first sight find ourselves at a loss; though perhaps, when we have applied our thoughts a little nearer to the consideration of bodies and their operations, and examined how far our notions, even in these, reach with any clearness beyond sensible matter of fact, we shall be bound to confess that, even in these too, our discoveries amount to very little beyond perfect ignorance and incapacity.

15. Whilst our complex Ideas of Substances contain not ideas of their real Constitutions, we can make but few general Propositions concerning them.

This is evident, the abstract complex ideas of substances, for which their general names stand, not comprehending their real constitutions, can afford us very little universal certainty. Because our ideas of them are not made up of that on which those qualities we observe in them, and would inform ourselves about, do depend, or with which they have any certain connexion: v.g. let the ideas to which we give the name MAN be, as it commonly is, a body of the ordinary shape, with sense, voluntary motion, and reason joined to it. This being the abstract idea, and consequently the essence of OUR species, man, we can make but very few general certain propositions concerning man, standing for such an idea. Because, not knowing the real constitution on which sensation, power of motion, and reasoning, with that peculiar shape, depend, and whereby they are united together in the same subject, there are very few other qualities with which we can perceive them to have a necessary connexion: and therefore we cannot with certainty affirm: That all men sleep by intervals; That no man can be nourished by wood or stones; That all men will be poisoned by hemlock: because these ideas have no connexion nor repugnancy with this our nominal essence of man, with this abstract idea that name stands for. We must, in these and the like, appeal to trial in particular subjects, which can reach but a little way. We must content ourselves with probability in the rest: but can have no general certainty, whilst our specific idea of man contains not that real constitution which is the root wherein all his inseparable qualities are united, and from whence they flow. Whilst our idea the word MAN stands for is only an imperfect collection of some sensible qualities and powers in him, there is no discernible connexion or repugnance between our specific idea, and the operation of either the parts of hemlock or stones upon his constitution. There are animals that safely eat hemlock, and others that are nourished by wood and stones: but as long as we want ideas of those real constitutions of different sorts of animals whereon these and the like qualities and powers depend, we must not hope to reach certainty in universal propositions concerning them. Those few ideas only which have a discernible connexion with our nominal essence, or any part of it, can afford us such propositions. But these are so few, and of so little moment, that we may justly look on our certain general knowledge of substances as almost none at all.

16. Wherein lies the general Certainty of Propositions.

To conclude: general propositions, of what kind soever, are then only capable of certainty, when the terms used in them stand for such ideas, whose agreement or disagreement, as there expressed, is capable to be discovered by us. And we are then certain of their truth or falsehood, when we perceive the ideas the terms stand for to agree or not agree, according as they are affirmed or denied one of another. Whence we may take notice, that general certainty is never to be found but in our ideas. Whenever we go to seek it elsewhere, in experiment or observations without us, our knowledge goes not beyond particulars. It is the contemplation of our own abstract ideas that alone is able to afford us general knowledge.

CHAPTER VII. OF MAXIMS.

1. Maxims or Axioms are Self-evident Propositions.

THERE are a sort of propositions, which, under the name of MAXIMS and AXIOMS, have passed for principles of science: and because they are SELF-EVIDENT, have been supposed innate, without that anybody (that I know) ever went about to show the reason and foundation of their clearness or cogency. It may, however, be worth while to inquire into the reason of their evidence, and see whether it be peculiar to them alone; and also to examine how far they influence and govern our other knowledge.

2. Where in that Self-evidence consists.

Knowledge, as has been shown, consists in the perception of the agreement or disagreement of ideas. Now, where that agreement or disagreement is perceived immediately by itself, without the intervention or help of any other, there our knowledge is self-evident. This will appear to be so to any who will but consider any of those propositions which, without any proof, he assents to at first sight: for in all of them he will find that the reason of his assent is from that agreement or disagreement which the mind, by an immediate comparing them, finds in those ideas answering the affirmation or negation in the proposition.

3. Self evidence not peculiar to received Axioms.

This being so, in the next place, let us consider whether this self-evidence be peculiar only to those propositions which commonly pass under the name of maxims, and have the dignity of axioms allowed them. And here it is plain, that several other truths, not allowed to be axioms, partake equally with them in this self-evidence. This we shall see, if we go over these several sorts of agreement or disagreement of ideas which I have above mentioned, viz. identity, relation, co-existence, and real existence; which will discover to us, that not only those few propositions which have had the credit of maxims are self-evident, but a great many, even almost an infinite number of other propositions are such.

4. As to Identity and Diversity all Propositions are equally self-evident.

I. For, FIRST, The immediate perception of the agreement or disagreement of IDENTITY being founded in the mind’s having distinct ideas, this affords us as many self-evident propositions as we have distinct ideas. Every one that has any knowledge at all, has, as the foundation of it, various and distinct ideas: and it is the first act of the mind (without which it can never be capable of any knowledge) to know every one of its ideas by itself, and distinguish it from others. Every one finds in himself, that he knows the ideas he has; that he knows also, when any one is in his understanding, and what it is; and that when more than one are there, he knows them distinctly and unconfusedly one from another; which always being so, (it being impossible but that he should perceive what he perceives,) he can never be in doubt when any idea is in his mind, that it is there, and is that idea it is; and that two distinct ideas, when they are in his mind, are there, and are not one and the same idea. So that all such affirmations and negations are made without any possibility of doubt, uncertainty, or hesitation, and must necessarily be assented to as soon as understood; that is, as soon as we have in our minds [determined ideas,] which the terms in the proposition stand for. [And, therefore, whenever the mind with attention considers any proposition, so as to perceive the two ideas signified by the terms, and affirmed or denied one of the other to be the same or different; it is presently and infallibly certain of the truth of such a proposition; and this equally whether these propositions be in terms standing for more general ideas, or such as are less so: v.g. whether the general idea of Being be affirmed of itself, as in this proposition, ‘whatsoever is, is’; or a more particular idea be affirmed of itself, as ‘a man is a man’; or, ‘whatsoever is white is white’; or whether the idea of being in general be denied of not-Being, which is the only (if I may so call it) idea different from it, as in this other proposition, ‘it is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be’: or any idea of any particular being be denied of another different from it, as ‘a man is not a horse’; ‘red is not blue.’ The difference of the ideas, as soon as the terms are understood, makes the truth of the proposition presently visible, and that with an equal certainty and easiness in the less as well as the more general propositions; and all for the same reason, viz. because the mind perceives, in any ideas that it has, the same idea to be the same with itself; and two different ideas to be different, and not the same; and this it is equally certain of, whether these ideas be more or less general, abstract, and comprehensive.] It is not, therefore, alone to these two general propositions— ‘whatsoever is, is’; and ‘it is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be’ — that this sort of self-evidence belongs by any peculiar right. The perception of being, or not being, belongs no more to these vague ideas, signified by the terms WHATSOEVER, and THING, than it does to any other ideas. [These two general maxims, amounting to no more, in short, but this, that THE SAME IS THE SAME, and THE SAME IS NOT DIFFERENT, are truths known in more particular instances, as well as in those general maxims; and known also in particular instances, before these general maxims are ever thought on; and draw all their force from the discernment of the mind employed about particular ideas. There is nothing more visible than that] the mind, without the help of any proof, [or reflection on either of these general propositions,] perceives so clearly, and knows so certainly, that the idea of white is the idea of white, and not the idea of blue; and that the idea of white, when it is in the mind, is there, and is not absent; [that the consideration of these axioms can add nothing to the evidence or certainty of its knowledge.] [Just so it is (as every one may experiment in himself) in all the ideas a man has in his mind: he knows each to be itself, and not to be another; and to be in his mind, and not away when it is there, with a certainty that cannot be greater; and, therefore, the truth of no general proposition can be known with a greater certainty, nor add anything to this.] So that, in respect of identity, our intuitive knowledge reaches as far as our ideas. And we are capable of making as many self-evident propositions, as we have names for distinct ideas. And I appeal to every one’s own mind, whether this proposition, ‘a circle is a circle,’ be not as self-evident a proposition as that consisting of more general terms, ‘whatsoever is, is’; and again, whether this proposition, ‘blue is not red,’ be not a proposition that the mind can no more doubt of, as soon as it understands the words, than it does of that axiom, ‘it is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be?’ And so of all the like.

5. In Co-existance we have few self-evident Propositions.

II. SECONDLY, as to CO-EXISTANCE, or such a necessary connexion between two ideas that, in the subject where one of them is supposed, there the other must necessarily be also: of such agreement or disagreement as this, the mind has an immediate perception but in very few of them. And therefore in this sort we have but very little intuitive knowledge: nor are there to be found very many propositions that are self-evident, though some there are: v.g. the idea of filling a place equal to the contents of its superficies, being annexed to our idea of body, I think it is a self-evident proposition, that two bodies cannot be in the same place.

6. III. In other Relations we may have many.

THIRDLY, As to the RELATIONS OF MODES, mathematicians have framed many axioms concerning that one relation of equality. As, ‘equals taken from equals, the remainder will be equal’; which, with the rest of that kind, however they are received for maxims by the mathematicians, and are unquestionable truths, yet, I think, that any one who considers them will not find that they have a clearer self-evidence than these, — that ‘one and one are equal to two’, that ‘if you take from the five fingers of one hand two, and from the five fingers of the other hand two, the remaining numbers will be equal.’ These and a thousand other such propositions may be found in numbers, which, at the very first hearing, force the assent, and carry with them an equal if not greater clearness, than those mathematical axioms.

7. IV. Concerning real Existence, we have none.

FOURTHLY, as to REAL EXISTANCE, since that has no connexion with any other of our ideas, but that of ourselves, and of a First Being, we have in that, concerning the real existence of all other beings, not so much as demonstrative, much less a self-evident knowledge: and, therefore, concerning those, there are no maxims.

8. These Axioms do not much influence our other Knowledge.

In the next place let us consider, what influence these received maxims have upon the other parts of our knowledge. The rules established in the schools, that all reasonings are EX PRAECOGNITIS ET PRAECONCESSIS, seem to lay the foundation of all other knowledge in these maxims, and to suppose them to be PRAECOGNITA. Whereby, I think, are meant these two things: first, that these axioms are those truths that are first known to the mind; and, secondly, that upon them the other parts of our knowledge depend.

9. Because Maxims or Axioms are not the Truths we first knew.

FIRST, That they are not the truths first known to the mind is evident to experience, as we have shown in another place. (Book I. chap, 1.) Who perceives not that a child certainly knows that a stranger is not its mother; that its sucking-bottle is not the rod, long before he knows that ‘it is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be?’ And how many truths are there about numbers, which it is obvious to observe that the mind is perfectly acquainted with, and fully convinced of, before it ever thought on these general maxims, to which mathematicians, in their arguings, do sometimes refer them? Whereof the reason is very plain: for that which makes the mind assent to such propositions, being nothing else but the perception it has of the agreement or disagreement of its ideas, according as it finds them affirmed or denied one of another in words it understands; and every idea being known to be what it is, and every two distinct ideas being known not to be the same; it must necessarily follow that such self-evident truths must be first known which consist of ideas that are first in the mind. And the ideas first in the mind, it is evident, are those of particular things, from whence by slow degrees, the understanding proceeds to some few general ones; which being taken from the ordinary and familiar objects of sense, are settled in the mind, with general names to them. Thus PARTICULAR IDEAS are first received and distinguished, and so knowledge got about them; and next to them, the less general or specific, which are next to particular. For abstract ideas are not so obvious or easy to children, or the yet unexercised mind, as particular ones. If they seem so to grown men, it is only because by constant and familiar use they are made so. For, when we nicely reflect upon them, we shall find that GENERAL IDEAS are fictions and contrivances of the mind, that carry difficulty with them and do not so easily offer themselves as we are apt to imagine. For example, does it not require some pains and skill to form the general idea of a triangle,(which is yet none of the more abstract, comprehensive, and difficult,) for it must be neither oblique nor rectangle, neither equilateral, equicrural, nor scalinon; but all and none of these at once. In effect, it is something imperfect, that cannot exist; an idea wherein some part of several different and inconsistant ideas are put together. It is true, the mind, in this imperfect state, has need of such ideas, and makes all the haste to them it can, for the conveniency of communication and enlargement of knowledge; to both which it is naturally very much inclined. But yet one has reason to suspect such ideas are marks of our imperfection; at least, this is enough to show that the most abstract and general ideas are not those that the mind is first and most easily acquainted with, nor such as its earliest knowledge is conversant about.

10. Because on perception of them the other Parts of our Knowledge do not depend.

Secondly, from what has been said it plainly follows, that these magnified maxims are not the principles and foundations of all our other knowledge. For if there be a great many other truths, which have as much self-evidence as they, and a great many that we know before them, it is impossible they should be the principles from which we deduce all other truths. Is it impossible to know that one and two are equal to three, but by virtue of this, or some such axiom, viz. ‘the whole is equal to all its parts taken together?’ Many a one knows that one and two are equal to three, without having heard, or thought on, that or any other axiom by which it might be proved; and knows it as certainly as any other man knows, that ‘the whole is equal to all its parts,’ or any other maxim; and all from the same reason of self-evidence: the equality of those ideas being as visible and certain to him without that or any other axiom as with it, it needing no proof to make it perceived. Nor after the knowledge, that the whole is equal to all its parts, does he know that one and two are equal to three, better or more certainly than he did before. For if there be any odds in those ideas, the whole and parts are more obscure, or at least more difficult to be settled in the mind than those of one, two, and three. And indeed, I think, I may ask these men, who will needs have all knowledge, besides those general principles themselves, to depend on general, innate, and self-evident principles. What principle is requisite to prove that one and one are two, that two and two are four, that three times two are six? Which being known without any proof, do evince, That either all knowledge does not depend on certain PRAECOGNITA or general maxims, called principles; or else that these are principles: and if these are to be counted principles, a great part of numeration will be so. To which, if we add all the self-evident propositions which may be made about all our distinct ideas, principles will be almost infinite, at least innumerable, which men arrive to the knowledge of, at different ages; and a great many of these innate principles they never come to know all their lives. But whether they come in view of the mind earlier or later, this is true of them, that they are all known by their native evidence; are wholly independent; receive no light, nor are capable of any proof one from another; much less the more particular from the more general, or the more simple from the more compounded; the more simple and less abstract being the most familiar, and the easier and earlier apprehended. But whichever be the clearest ideas, the evidence and certainty of all such propositions is in this, That a man sees the same idea to be the same idea, and infallibly perceives two different ideas to be different ideas. For when a man has in his understanding the ideas of one and of two, the idea of yellow, and the idea of blue, he cannot but certainly know that the idea of one is the idea of one, and not the idea of two; and that the idea of yellow is the idea of yellow, and not the idea of blue. For a man cannot confound the ideas in his mind, which he has distinct: that would be to have them confused and distinct at the same time, which is a contradiction: and to have none distinct, is to have no use of our faculties, to have no knowledge at all. And, therefore, what idea soever is affirmed of itself, or whatsoever two entire distinct ideas are denied one of another, the mind cannot but assent to such a proposition as infallibly true, as soon as it understands the terms, without hesitation or need of proof, or regarding those made in more general terms and called maxims.

11. What use these general Maxims or Axioms have.

[What shall we then say? Are these general maxims of no use? By no means; though perhaps their use is not that which it is commonly taken to be. But, since doubting in the least of what hath been by some men ascribed to these maxims may be apt to be cried out against, as overturning the foundations of all the sciences; it may be worth while to consider them with respect to other parts of our knowledge, and examine more particularly to what purposes they serve, and to what not.

{Of no use to prove less general propositions, nor as foundations on consideration of which any science has been built.}

(1) It is evident from what has been already said, that they are of no use to prove or confirm less general self-evident propositions. (2) It is as plain that they are not, nor have been the foundations whereon any science hath been built. There is, I know, a great deal of talk, propagated from scholastic men, of sciences and the maxims on which they are built: but it has been my ill-luck never to meet with any such sciences; much less any one built upon these two maxims, WHAT IS, IS; and IT IS IMPOSSIBLE FOR THE SAME THING TO BE AND NOT TO BE. And I would be glad to be shown where any such science, erected upon these or any other general axioms is to be found: and should be obliged to any one who would lay before me the frame and system of any science so built on these or any such like maxims, that could not be shown to stand as firm without any consideration of them. I ask, Whether these general maxims have not the same use in the study of divinity, and in theological questions, that they have in other sciences? They serve here, too, to silence wranglers, and put an end to dispute. But I think that nobody will therefore say, that the Christian religion is built upon these maxims, or that the knowledge we have of it is derived from these principles. It is from revelation we have received it, and without revelation these maxims had never been able to help us to it. When we find out an idea by whose intervention we discover the connexion of two others, this is a revelation from God to us by the voice of reason: for we then come to know a truth that we did not know before. When God declares any truth to us, this is a revelation to us by the voice of his Spirit, and we are advanced in our knowledge. But in neither of these do we receive our light or knowledge from maxims. But in the one, the things themselves afford it: and we see the truth in them by perceiving their agreement or disagreement. In the other, God himself affords it immediately to us: and we see the truth of what he says in his unerring veracity.

(3) Nor as helps in the discovery of yet unknown truths.

They are not of use to help men forward in the advancement of sciences, or new discoveries of yet unknown truths. Mr. Newton, in his never enough to be admired book, has demonstrated several propositions, which are so many new truths, before unknown to the world, and are further advances in mathematical knowledge: but, for the discovery of these, it was not the general maxims, ‘what is, is;’ or, ‘the whole is bigger than a part,’ or the like, that helped him. These were not the clues that led him into the discovery of the truth and certainty of those propositions. Nor was it by them that he got the knowledge of those demonstrations, but by finding out intermediate ideas that showed the agreement or disagreement of the ideas, as expressed in the propositions he demonstrated. This is the greatest exercise and improvement of human understanding in the enlarging of knowledge, and advancing the sciences; wherein they are far enough from receiving any help from the contemplation of these or the like magnified maxims. Would those who have this traditional admiration of these propositions, that they think no step can be made in knowledge without the support of an axiom, no stone laid in the building of the sciences without a general maxim, but distinguish between the method of acquiring knowledge, and of communicating it; between the method of raising any science, and that of teaching it to others, as far as it is advanced — they would see that those general maxims were not the foundations on which the first discoverers raised their admirable structures, nor the keys that unlocked and opened those secrets of knowledge. Though afterwards, when schools were erected, and sciences had their professors to teach what others had found out, they often made use of maxims, i.e. laid down certain propositions which were self-evident, or to be received for true; which being settled in the minds of their scholars as unquestionable verities, they on occasion made use of, to convince them of truths in particular instances, that were not so familiar to their minds as those general axioms which had before been inculcated to them, and carefully settled in their minds. Though these particular instances, when well reflected on, are no less self-evident to the understanding than the general maxims brought to confirm them: and it was in those particular instances that the first discoverer found the truth, without the help of the general maxims: and so may any one else do, who with attention considers them.

{Maxims of use in the exposition of what has been discovered, and in silencing obstinate wranglers.}

To come, therefore, to the use that is made of maxims. (1) They are of use, as has been observed, in the ordinary methods of teaching sciences as far as they are advanced: but of little or none in advancing them further. (2) They are of use in disputes, for the silencing of obstinate wranglers, and bringing those contests to some conclusion. Whether a need of them to that end came not in the manner following, I crave leave to inquire. The Schools having made disputation the touchstone of men’s abilities, and the criterion of knowledge, adjudged victory to him that kept the field: and he that had the last word was concluded to have the better of the argument, if not of the cause. But because by this means there was like to be no decision between skilful combatants, whilst one never failed of a MEDIUS TERMINUS to prove any proposition; and the other could as constantly, without or with a distinction, deny the major or minor; to prevent, as much as could be, running out of disputes into an endless train of syllogisms, certain general propositions — most of them, indeed, self-evident — were introduced into the Schools: which being such as all men allowed and agreed in, were looked on as general measures of truth, and served instead of principles (where the disputants had not lain down any other between them) beyond which there was no going, and which must not be receded from by either side. And thus these maxims, getting the name of principles, beyond which men in dispute could not retreat, were by mistake taken to be the originals and sources from whence all knowledge began, and the foundations whereon the sciences were built. Because when in their disputes they came to any of these, they stopped there, and went no further; the matter was determined. But how much this is a mistake, hath been already shown.

{How Maxims came to be so much in vogue.}

This method of the Schools, which have been thought the fountains of knowledge, introduced, as I suppose, the like use of these maxims into a great part of conversation out of the Schools, to stop the mouths of cavillers, whom any one is excused from arguing any longer with, when they deny these general self-evident principles received by all reasonable men who have once thought of them: but yet their use herein is but to put an end to wrangling. They in truth, when urged in such cases, teach nothing: that is already done by the intermediate ideas made use of in the debate, whose connexion may be seen without the help of those maxims, and so the truth known before the maxim is produced, and the argument brought to a first principle. Men would give off a wrong argument before it came to that, if in their disputes they proposed to themselves the finding and embracing of truth, and not a contest for victory. And thus maxims have their use to put a stop to their perverseness, whose ingenuity should have yielded sooner. But the method of the Schools having allowed and encouraged men to oppose and resist evident truth till they are baffled, i.e. till they are reduced to contradict themselves, or some established principles: it is no wonder that they should not in civil conversation be ashamed of that which in the Schools is counted a virtue and a glory, viz. obstinately to maintain that side of the question they have chosen, whether true or false, to the last extremity; even after conviction. A strange way to attain truth and knowledge: and that which I think the rational part of mankind, not corrupted by education, could scare believe should ever be admitted amongst the lovers of truth, and students of religion or nature, or introduced into the seminaries of those who are to propegate the truths of religion or philosophy amongst the ignorant and unconvinced. How much such a way of learning is like to turn young men’s minds from the sincere search and love of truth; nay, and to make them doubt whether there is any such thing, or, at least, worth the adhering to, I shall not now inquire. This I think, that, bating those places, which brought the Peripatetic Philosophy into their schools, where it continued many ages, without teaching the world anything but the art of wrangling, these maxims were nowhere thought the foundations on which the sciences were built, nor the great helps to the advancement of knowledge.]

{Of great use to stop wranglers in disputes, but of little use to the discovery of truths.}

As to these general maxims, therefore, they are, as I have said, of great use in disputes, to stop the mouths of wranglers; but not of much use to the discovery of unknown truths, or to help the mind forwards in its search after knowledge. For who ever began to build his knowledge on this general proposition, WHAT IS, IS; or, IT IS IMPOSSIBLE FOR THE SAME THING TO BE AND NOT TO BE: and from either of these, as from a principle of science, deduced a system of useful knowledge? Wrong opinions often involving contradictions, one of these maxims, as a touchstone, may serve well to show whither they lead. But yet, however fit to lay open the absurdity or mistake of a man’s reasoning or opinion, they are of very little use for enlightening the understanding: and it will not be found that the mind receives much help from them in its progress in knowledge; which would be neither less, nor less certain, were these two general propositions never thought on. It is true, as I have said, they sometimes serve in argumentation to stop a wrangler’s mouth, by showing the absurdity of what he saith, [and by exposing him to the shame of contradicting what all the world knows, and he himself cannot but own to be true.] But it is one thing to show a man that he is in an error, and another to put him in possession of truth, and I would fain know what truths these two propositions are able to teach, and by their influence make us know which we did not know before, or could not know without them. Let us reason from them as well as we can, they are only about identical predications, and influence, if any at all, none but such. Each particular proposition concerning identity or diversity is as clearly and certainly known in itself, if attended to, as either of these general ones: [only these general ones, as serving in all cases, are therefore more inculcated and insisted on.] As to other less general maxims, many of them are no more than bare verbal propositions, and teach us nothing but the respect and import of names one to another. ‘The whole is equal to all its parts:’ what real truth, I beseech you, does it teach us? What more is contained in that maxim, than what the signification of the word TOTUM, or the WHOLE, does of itself import? And he that knows that the WORD whole stands for what is made up of all its parts, knows very little less than that the whole is equal to all its parts. And, upon the same ground, I think that this proposition, ‘A hill is higher than a valley’, and several the like, may also pass for maxims. But yet [masters of mathematics, when they would, as teachers of what they know, initiate others in that science do not] without reason place this and some other such maxims [at the entrance of their systems]; that their scholars, having in the beginning perfectly acquainted their thoughts with these propositions, made in such general terms, may be used to make such reflections, and have these more general propositions, as formed rules and sayings, ready to apply to all particular cases. Not that if they be equally weighed, they are more clear and evident than the particular instances they are brought to confirm; but that, being more familiar to the mind, the very naming them is enough to satisfy the understanding. But this, I say, is more from our custom of using them, and the establishment they have got in our minds by our often thinking of them, than from the different evidence of the things. But before custom has settled methods of thinking and reasoning in our minds, I am apt to imagine it is quite otherwise; and that the child, when a part of his apple is taken away, knows it better in that particular instance, than by this general proposition, ‘The whole is equal to all its parts;’ and that, if one of these have need to be confirmed to him by the other, the general has more need to be let into his mind by the particular, than the particular by the general. For in particulars our knowledge begins, and so spreads itself, by degrees, to generals [Footnote: This is the order in time of the conscious acquistion of knowledge that is human. The Essay might be regarded as a commentary on this one sentence. Our intellectual progress is from particulars and involuntary recipiency, through reactive doubt and criticism, into what is at last reasoned faith.]. Though afterwards the mind takes the quite contrary course, and having drawn its knowledge into as general propositions as it can, makes those familiar to its thoughts, and accustoms itself to have recourse to them, as to the standards of truth and falsehood. [Footnote: This is the philosophic attitude. Therein one consciously apprehends the intellectual necessities that were UNCONCIOUSLY PRESUPPOSED, its previous intellectual progress. In philosophy we ‘draw our knowledge into as general propositions as it can’ be made to assume, and thus either learn to see it as an organic while in a speculative unity, or learn that it cannot be so seen in a finite intelligence, and that even at the last it must remain ‘broken’ and mysterious in the human understanding. ] By which familiar use of them, as rules to measure the truth of other propositions, it comes in time to be thought, that more particular propositions have their truth and evidence from their conformity to these more general ones, which, in discourse and argumentation, are so frequently urged, and constantly admitted. And this I think to be the reason why, amongst so many self-evident propositions, the MOST GENERAL ONLY have had the title of MAXIMS.

12. Maxims, if care be not taken in the Use of Words, may prove Contradictions.

One thing further, I think, it may not be amiss to observe concerning these general maxims, That they are so far from improving or establishing our minds in true knowledge that if our notions be wrong, loose, or unsteady, and we resign up our thoughts to the sound of words, rather than [fix them on settled, determined] ideas of things; I say these general maxims will serve to confirm us in mistakes; and in such a way of use of words, which is most common, will serve to prove contradictions: v.g. he that with Descartes shall frame in his mind an idea of what he calls body to be nothing but extension, may easily demonstrate that there is no vacuum, i.e. no space void of body, by this maxim, WHAT IS, IS. For the idea to which he annexes the name body, being bare extension, his knowledge that space cannot be without body, is certain. For he knows his own idea of extension clearly and distinctly, and knows that it is what it is, and not another idea, though it be called by these three names, — extension, body, space. Which three words, standing for one and the same idea, may, no doubt, with the same evidence and certainty be affirmed one of another, as each of itself: and it is as certain, that, whilst I use them all to stand for one and the same idea, this predication is as true and identical in its signification, that ‘space is body,’ as this predication is true and identical, that ‘body is body,’ both in signification and sound.

13. Instance in Vacuum.

But if another should come and make to himself another idea, different from Descartes’s, of the thing, which yet with Descartes he calls by the same name body, and make his idea, which he expresses by the word body, to be of a thing that hath both extension and solidity together; he will as easily demonstrate, that there may be a vacuum or space without a body, as Descartes demonstrated the contrary. Because the idea to which he gives the name space being barely the simple one of extension, and the idea to which he gives the name body being the complex idea of extension and resistibility or solidity, together in the same subject, these two ideas are not exactly one and the same, but in the understanding as distinct as the ideas of one and two, white and black, or as of CORPOREITY and HUMANITY, if I may use those barbarous terms: and therefore the predication of them in our minds, or in words standing for them, is not identical, but the negation of them one of another; [viz. this proposition: ‘Extension or space is not body,’ is] as true and evidently certain as this maxim, IT IS IMPOSSIBLE FOR THE SAME THING TO BE AND NOT TO BE, [can make any proposition.]

14. But they prove not the Existance of things without us.

But yet, though both these propositions (as you see) may be equally demonstrated, viz. that there may be a vacuum, and that there cannot be a vacuum, by these two certain principles, viz. WHAT IS, IS, and THE SAME THING CANNOT BE AND NOT BE: yet neither of these principles will serve to prove to us, that any, or what bodies do exist: for that we are left to our senses to discover to us as far as they can. Those universal and self-evident principles being only our constant, clear, and distinct knowledge of our own ideas, more general or comprehensive, can assure us of nothing that passes without the mind: their certainty is founded only upon the knowledge we have of each idea by itself, and of its distinction from others, about which we cannot be mistaken whilst they are in our minds; though we may be and often are mistaken when we retain the names without the ideas; or use them confusedly, sometimes for one and sometimes for another idea. In which cases the force of these axioms, reaching only to the sound, and not the signification of the words, serves only to lead us into confusion, mistake, and error. [It is to show men that these maxims, however cried up for the great guards of truth, will not secure them from error in a careless loose use of their words, that I have made this remark. In all that is here suggested concerning their little use for the improvement of knowledge, or dangerous use in undetermined ideas, I have been far enough from saying or intending they should be laid aside; as some have been too forward to charge me. I affirm them to be truths, self-evident truths; and so cannot be laid aside. As far as their influence will reach, it is in vain to endeavour, nor will I attempt, to abridge it. But yet, without any injury to truth or knowledge, I may have reason to think their use is not answerable to the great stress which seems to be laid on them; and I may warn men not to make an ill use of them, for the confirming themselves in errors.]

15. They cannot add to our knowledge of Substances, and their Application to complex Ideas is dangerous.

But let them be of what use they will in verbal propositions, they cannot discover or prove to us the least knowledge of the nature of substances, as they are found and exist without us, any further than grounded on experience. And though the consequence of these two propositions, called principles, be very clear, and their use not dangerous or hurtful, in the probation of such things wherein there is no need at all of them for proof, but such as are clear by themselves without them, viz. where our ideas are [determined] and known by the names that stand for them: yet when these principles, viz. WHAT IS, IS, and IT IS IMPOSSIBLE FOR THE SAME THING TO BE AND NOT TO BE, are made use of in the probation of propositions wherein are words standing for complex ideas, v.g. man, horse, gold, virtue; there they are of infinite danger, and most commonly make men receive and retain falsehood for manifest truth, and uncertainty for demonstration: upon which follow error, obstinacy, and all the mischiefs that can happen from wrong reasoning. The reason whereof is not, that these principles are less true [or of less force] in proving propositions made of terms standing for complex ideas, than where the propositions are about simple ideas. [But because men mistake generally, — thinking that where the same terms are preserved, the propositions are about the same things, though the ideas they stand for are in truth different, therefore these maxims are made use of to support those which in sound and appearance are contradictory propositions; and is clear in the demonstrations above mentioned about a vacuum. So that whilst men take words for things, as usually they do, these maxims may and do commonly serve to prove contradictory propositions; as shall yet be further made manifest]

16. Instance in demonstrations about Man which can only be verbal.

For instance: let MAN be that concerning which you would by these first principles demonstrate anything, and we shall see, that so far as demonstration is by these principles, it is only verbal, and gives us no certain, universal, true proposition, or knowledge, of any being existing without us. First, a child having framed the idea of a man, it is probable that his idea is just like that picture which the painter makes of the visible appearances joined together; and such a complication of ideas together in his understanding makes up the single complex idea which he calls man, whereof white or flesh-colour in England being one, the child can demonstrate to you that a negro is not a man, because white colour was one of the constant simple ideas of the complex idea he calls man; and therefore he can demonstrate, by the principle, IT IS IMPOSSIBLE FOR THE SAME THING TO BE AND NOT TO BE, that a negro is NOT a man; the foundation of his certainty being not that universal proposition, which perhaps he never heard nor thought of, but the clear, distinct perception he hath of his own simple ideas of black and white, which he cannot be persuaded to take, nor can ever mistake one for another, whether he knows that maxim or no. And to this child, or any one who hath such an idea, which he calls man, can you never demonstrate that a man hath a soul, because his idea of man includes no such notion or idea in it. And therefore, to him, the principle of WHAT IS, IS, proves not this matter; but it depends upon collection and observation, by which he is to make his complex idea called man.

17. Another instance.

Secondly, Another that hath gone further in framing and collecting the idea he calls MAN, and to the outward shape adds laughter and rational discourse, may demonstrate that infants and changelings are no men, by this maxim, IT IS IMPOSSIBLE FOR THE SAME THING TO BE AND NOT TO BE; and I have discoursed with very rational men, who have actually denied that they are men.

18. A third instance.

Thirdly, Perhaps another makes up the complex idea which he calls MAN, only out of the ideas of body in general, and the powers of language and reason, and leaves out the shape wholly: this man is able to demonstrate that a man may have no hands, but be QUADRUPES, neither of those being included in his idea of man: and in whatever body or shape he found speech and reason joined, that was a man; because, having a clear knowledge of such a complex idea, it is certain that WHAT IS, IS.

19. Little use of these Maxims in Proofs where we have clear and distinct Ideas.

So that, if rightly considered, I think we may say, That where our ideas are determined in our minds, and have annexed to them by us known and steady names under those settled determinations, there is little need, or no use at all of these maxims, to prove the agreement or disagreement of any of them. He that cannot discern the truth or falsehood of such propositions, without the help of these and the like maxims, will not be helped by these maxims to do it: since he cannot be supposed to know the truth of these maxims themselves without proof, if he cannot know the truth of others without proof, which are as self-evident as these. Upon this ground it is that intuitive knowledge neither requires nor admits any proof, one part of it more than another. He that will suppose it does, takes away the foundation of all knowledge and certainty; and he that needs any proof to make him certain, and give his assent to this proposition, that two are equal to two, will also have need of a proof to make him admit, that what is, is. He that needs a probation to convince him that two are not three, that white is not black, that a triangle is not a circle, &c., or any other two [determined] distinct ideas are not one and the same, will need also a demonstration to convince him that IT IS IMPOSSIBLE FOR THE SAME THING TO BE AND NOT TO BE.

20. Their Use dangerous where our Ideas are not determined

And as these maxims are of little use where we have determined ideas, so they are, as I have showed, of dangerous use where [our ideas are not determined; and where] we use words that are not annexed to determined ideas, but such as are of a loose and wandering signification, sometimes standing for one, and sometimes for another idea: from which follow mistake and error, which these maxims (brought as proofs to establish propositions, wherein the terms stand for undetermined ideas) do by their authority confirm and rivet.

CHAPTER VIII. OF TRIFLING PROPOSITIONS.

1. Some Propositions bring no Increase to our Knowledge.

WHETHER the maxims treated of in the foregoing chapter be of that use to real knowledge as is generally supposed, I leave to be considered. This, I think, may confidently be affirmed, That there ARE universal propositions, which, though they be certainly true, yet they add no light to our understanding; bring no increase to our knowledge. Such are —

2. As, First, identical Propositions.

First, All purely IDENTICAL PROPOSITIONS. These obviously and at first blush appear to contain no instruction in them; for when we affirm the said term of itself, whether it be barely verbal, or whether it contains any clear and real idea, it shows us nothing but what we must certainly know before, whether such a proposition be either made by, or proposed to us. Indeed, that most general one, WHAT IS, IS, may serve sometimes to show a man the absurdity he is guilty of, when, by circumlocution or equivocal terms, he would in particular instances deny the same thing of itself; because nobody will so openly bid defiance to common sense, as to affirm visible and direct contradictions in plain words; or, if he does, a man is excused if he breaks off any further discourse with him. But yet I think I may say, that neither that received maxim, nor any other identical proposition, teaches us anything; and though in such kind of propositions this great and magnified maxim, boasted to be the foundation of demonstration, may be and often is made use of to confirm them, yet all it proves amounts to no more than this, That the same word may with great certainty be affirmed of itself, without any doubt of the truth of any such proposition; and let me add, also, without any real knowledge.

3. Examples.

For, at this rate, any very ignorant person, who can but make a proposition, and knows what he means when he says ay or no, may make a million of propositions of whose truth he may be infallibly certain, and yet not know one thing in the world thereby; v.g. ‘what is a soul, is a soul;’ or, ‘a soul is a soul;’ ‘a spirit is a spirit;’ ‘a fetiche is a fetiche,’ &c. These all being equivalent to this proposition, viz. WHAT IS, IS; i.e. what hath existence, hath existence; or, who hath a soul, hath a soul. What is this more than trifling with words? It is but like a monkey shifting his oyster from one hand to the other: and had he but words, might no doubt have said, ‘Oyster in right hand is subject, and oyster in left hand is predicate:’ and so might have made a self-evident proposition of oyster, i.e. oyster is oyster; and yet, with all this, not have been one whit the wiser or more knowing: and that way of handling the matter would much at one have satisfied the monkey’s hunger, or a man’s understanding, and they would have improved in knowledge and bulk together.

4. Secondly, Propositions in which apart of any complex Idea is predicated of the Whole.

II. Another sort of trifling propositions is, WHEN A PART OF THE COMPLEXIDEA IS PREDICATED OF THE NAME OF THE WHOLE; a part of the definition of the word defined. Such are all propositions wherein the genus is predicated of the species, or more comprehensive of less comprehensive terms. For what information, what knowledge, carries this proposition in it, viz. ‘Lead is a metal’ to a man who knows the complex idea the name lead stands for? All the simple ideas that go to the complex one signified by the term metal, being nothing but what he before comprehended and signified by the name lead. Indeed, to a man that knows the signification of the word metal, and not of the word lead, it is a shorter way to explain the signification of the word lead, by saying it is a metal, which at once expresses several of its simple ideas, than to enumerate them one by one, telling him it is a body very heavy, fusible, and malleable.

5. As part of the Definition of the Term Defined.

Alike trifling it is to predicate any other part of the definition of the term defined, or to affirm anyone of the simple ideas of a complex one of the name of the whole complex idea; as, ‘All gold is fusible.’ For fusibility being one of the simple ideas that goes to the making up the complex one the sound gold stands for, what can it be but playing with sounds, to affirm that of the name gold, which is comprehended in its received signification? It would be thought little better than ridiculous to affirm gravely, as a truth of moment, that gold is yellow; and I see not how it is any jot more material to say it is fusible, unless that quality be left out of the complex idea, of which the sound gold is the mark in ordinary speech. What instruction can it carry with it, to tell one that which he hath been told already, or he is supposed to know before? For I am supposed to know the signification of the word another uses to me, or else he is to tell me. And if I know that the name gold stands for this complex idea of body, yellow, heavy, fusible, malleable, it will not much instruct me to put it solemnly afterwards in a proposition, and gravely say, all gold is fusible. Such propositions can only serve to show the disingenuity of one who will go from the definition of his own terms, by reminding him sometimes of it; but carry no knowledge with them, but of the signification of words, however certain they be.

6. Instance, Man and Palfrey.

‘Every man is an animal, or living body,’ is as certain a proposition as can be; but no more conducing to the knowledge of things than to say, a palfrey is an ambling horse, or a neighing, ambling animal, both being only about the signification of words, and make me know but this — That body, sense, and motion, or power of sensation and moving, are three of those ideas that I always comprehend and signify by the word man: and where they are not to be found together, the NAME MAN belongs not to that thing: and so of the other — That body, sense, and a certain way of going, with a certain kind of voice, are some of those ideas which I always comprehend and signify by the WORD PALFREY; and when they are not to be found together, the name palfrey belongs not to that thing. It is just the same, and to the same purpose, when any term standing for any one or more of the simple ideas, that altogether make up that complex idea which is called man, is affirmed of the term man: — v.g. suppose a Roman signified by the word HOMO all these distinct ideas united in one subject, CORPORIETAS, SENSIBILITAS, POTENTIA SE MOVENDI, RATIONALITAS, RISIBILITAS; he might, no doubt, with great certainty, universally affirm one, more, or all of these together of the word HOMO, but did no more than say that the word HOMO, in his country, comprehended in its signification all these ideas. Much like a romance knight, who by the word PALFREY signified these ideas: — body of a certain figure, four-legged, with sense, motion, ambling, neighing, white, used to have a woman on his back — might with the same certainty universally affirm also any or all of these of the WORD palfrey: but did thereby teach no more, but that the word palfrey, in his or romance language, stood for all these, and was not to be applied to anything where any of these was wanting But he that shall tell me, that in whatever thing sense, motion, reason, and laughter, were united, that thing had actually a notion of God, or would be cast into a sleep by opium, made indeed an instructive proposition: because neither having the notion of God, nor being cast into sleep by opium, being contained in the idea signified by the word man, we are by such propositions taught something more than barely what the word MAN stands for: and therefore the knowledge contained in it is more than verbal.

7. For this teaches but the Signification of Words.

Before a man makes any proposition, he is supposed to understand the terms he uses in it, or else he talks like a parrot, only making a noise by imitation, and framing certain sounds, which he has learnt of others; but not as a rational creature, using them for signs of ideas which he has in his mind. The hearer also is supposed to understand the terms as the speaker uses them, or else he talks jargon, and makes an unintelligible noise. And therefore he trifles with words who makes such a proposition, which, when it is made, contains no more than one of the terms does, and which a man was supposed to know before: v.g. a triangle hath three sides, or saffron is yellow. And this is no further tolerable than where a man goes to explain his terms to one who is supposed or declares himself not to understand him; and then it teaches only the signification of that word, and the use of that sign.

8. But adds no real Knowledge.

We can know then the truth of two sorts of propositions with perfect certainty. The one is, of those trifling propositions which have a certainty in them, but it is only a verbal certainty, but not instructive. And, secondly, we can know the truth, and so may be certain in propositions, which affirm something of another, which is a necessary consequence of its precise complex idea, but not contained in it: as that, the external angle of all triangles is bigger than either of the opposite internal angles. Which relation of the outward angle to either of the opposite internal angles, making no part of the complex idea signified by the name triangle, this is a real truth, and conveys with it instructive real knowledge.

9. General Propositions concerning Substances are often trifling.

We having little or no knowledge of what combinations there be of simple ideas existing together in substances, but by our senses, we cannot make any universal certain propositions concerning them, any further than our nominal essences lead us. Which being to a very few and inconsiderable truths, in respect of those which depend on their real constitutions, the general propositions that are made about substances, if they are certain, are for the most part but trifling; and if they are instructive, are uncertain, and such as we can have no knowledge of their real truth, how much soever constant observation and analogy may assist our judgment in guessing. Hence it comes to pass, that one may often meet with very clear and coherent discourses, that amount yet to nothing. For it is plain that names of substantial beings, as well as others, as far as they have relative significations affixed to them, may, with great truth, be joined negatively and affirmatively in propositions, as their relative definitions make them fit to be so joined; and propositions consisting of such terms, may, with the same clearness, be deduced one from another, as those that convey the most real truths: and all this without any knowledge of the nature or reality of things existing without us. By this method one may make demonstrations and undoubted propositions in words, and yet thereby advance not one jot in the knowledge of the truth of things: v. g. he that having learnt these following words, with their ordinary mutual relative acceptations annexed to them; v. g. SUBSTANCE, MAN, ANIMAL, FORM, SOUL, VEGETATIVE, SENSITIVE, RATIONAL, may make several undoubted propositions about the soul, without knowing at all what the soul really is: and of this sort, a man may find an infinite number of propositions, reasonings, and conclusions, in books of metaphysics, school-divinity, and some sort of natural philosophy; and, after all, know as little of God, spirits, or bodies, as he did before he set out.

10. And why.

He that hath liberty to define, i.e. to determine the signification of his names of substances (as certainly every one does in effect, who makes them stand for his own ideas), and makes their significations at a venture, taking them from his own or other men’s fancies, and not from an examination or inquiry into the nature of things themselves; may with little trouble demonstrate them one of another, according to those several respects and mutual relations he has given them one to another; wherein, however things agree or disagree in their own nature, he needs mind nothing but his own notions, with the names he hath bestowed upon them: but thereby no more increases his own knowledge than he does his riches, who, taking a bag of counters, calls one in a certain place a pound, another in another place a shilling, and a third in a third place a penny; and so proceeding, may undoubtedly reckon right, and cast up a great sum, according to his counters so placed, and standing for more or less as he pleases, without being one jot the richer, or without even knowing how much a pound, shilling, or penny is, but only that one is contained in the other twenty times, and contains the other twelve: which a man may also do in the signification of words, by making them, in respect of one another, more or less, or equally comprehensive.

11. Thirdly, using Words variously is trifling with them.

Though yet concerning most words used in discourses, equally argumentative and controversial, there is this more to be complained of, which is the worst sort of trifling, and which sets us yet further from the certainty of knowledge we hope to attain by them, or find in them; viz. that most writers are so far from instructing us in the nature and knowledge of things, that they use their words loosely and uncertainly, and do not, by using them constantly and steadily in the same significations make plain and clear deductions of words one from another, and make their discourses coherent and clear, (how little soever they were instructive); which were not difficult to do, did they not find it convenient to shelter their ignorance or obstinacy under the obscurity and perplexedness of their terms: to which, perhaps, inadvertency and ill custom do in many men much contribute.

12. Marks of verbal Propositions. First, Predication in Abstract.

To conclude. Barely verbal propositions may be known by these following marks:

First, All propositions wherein two abstract terms are affirmed one of another, are barely about the signification of sounds. For since no abstract idea can be the same with any other but itself, when its abstract name is affirmed of any other term, it can signify no more but this, that it may, or ought to be called by that name; or that these two names signify the same idea. Thus, should any one say that parsimony is frugality, that gratitude is justice, that this or that action is or is not temperate: however specious these and the like propositions may at first sight seem, yet when we come to press them, and examine nicely what they contain, we shall find that it all amounts to nothing but the signification of those terms.

13. Secondly, A part of the Definition predicated of any Term.

Secondly, All propositions wherein a part of the complex idea which any term stands for is predicated of that term, are only verbal: v.g. to say that gold is a metal, or heavy. And thus all propositions wherein more comprehensive words, called genera, are affirmed of subordinate or less comprehensive, called species, or individuals, are barely verbal.

When by these two rules we have examined the propositions that make up the discourses we ordinarily meet with, both in and out of books, we shall perhaps find that a greater part of them than is usually suspected are purely about the signification of words, and contain nothing in them but the use and application of these signs.

This I think I may lay down for an infallible rule, That, wherever the distinct idea any word stands for is not known and considered, and something not contained in the idea is not affirmed or denied of it, there our thoughts stick wholly in sounds, and are able to attain no real truth or falsehood. This, perhaps, if well heeded, might save us a great deal of useless amusement and dispute; and very much shorten our trouble and wandering in the search of real and true knowledge.

CHAPTER IX. OF OUR THREEFOLD KNOWLEDGE OF EXISTENCE.

1. General Propositions that are certain concern not Existence.

HITHERTO we have only considered the essences of things; which being only abstract ideas, and thereby removed in our thoughts from particular existence, (that being the proper operation of the mind, in abstraction, to consider an idea under no other existence but what it has in the understandings,) gives us no knowledge of real existence at all. Where, by the way, we may take notice, that universal propositions of whose truth or falsehood we can have certain knowledge concern not existence: and further, that all particular affirmations or negations that would not be certain if they were made general, are only concerning existence; they declaring only the accidental union or separation of ideas in things existing, which, in their abstract natures, have no known necessary union or repugnancy.

2. A threefold Knowledge of Existence.

But, leaving the nature of propositions, and different ways of predication to be considered more at large in another place, let us proceed now to inquire concerning our knowledge of the EXISTANCE OF THINGS, and how we come by it. I say, then, that we have the knowledge of OUR OWN existence by intuition; of the existence of GOD by demonstration; and of OTHER THINGS by sensation.

3. Our Knowledge of our own Existence is Intuitive.

As for OUR OWN EXISTENCE, we perceive it so plainly and so certainly, that it neither needs nor is capable of any proof for nothing can be more evident to us than our own existence. I think, I reason, I feel pleasure and pain: can any of these be more evident to me than my own existence? If I doubt of all other things, that very doubt makes me perceive my own existence, and will not suffer me to doubt of that. For if I know I feel pain, it is evident I have as certain perception of my own existence, as of the existence of the pain I feel: or if I know I doubt, I have as certain perception of the existence of the thing doubting, as of that thought which I CALL DOUBT. Experience then convinces us, that we have an INTUITIVE KNOWLEDGE of our own existence, and an internal infallible perception that we are. In every act of sensation, reasoning, or thinking, we are conscious to ourselves of our own being; and, in this matter, come not short of the highest degree of certainty.

CHAPTER X. OF OUR KNOWLEDGE OF THE EXISTENCE OF A GOD.

1. We are capable of knowing certainly that there is a God.

THOUGH God has given us no innate ideas of himself; though he has stamped no original characters on our minds, wherein we may read his being; yet having furnished us with those faculties our minds are endowed with, he hath not left himself without witness: since we have sense, perception, and reason, and cannot want a clear proof of him, as long as we carry OURSELVES about us. Nor can we justly complain of our ignorance in this great point; since he has so plentifully provided us with the means to discover and know him; so far as is necessary to the end of our being, and the great concernment of our happiness. But, though this be the most obvious truth that reason discovers, and though its evidence be (if I mistake not) equal to mathematical certainty: yet it requires thought and attention; and the mind must apply itself to a regular deduction of it from some part of our intuitive knowledge, or else we shall be as uncertain and ignorant of this as of other propositions, which are in themselves capable of clear demonstration. To show, therefore, that we are capable of KNOWING, i.e. BEING CERTAIN that there is a God, and HOW WE MAY COME BY this certainty, I think we need go no further than OURSELVES, and that undoubted knowledge we have of our own existence.

2. For Man knows that he himself exists.

I think it is beyond question, that man has a clear idea of his own being; he knows certainly he exists, and that he is something. He that can doubt whether he be anything or no, I speak not to; no more than I would argue with pure nothing, or endeavour to convince nonentity that it were something. If any one pretends to be so sceptical as to deny his own existence, (for really to doubt of it is manifestly impossible,) let him for me enjoy his beloved happiness of being nothing, until hunger or some other pain convince him of the contrary. This, then, I think I may take for a truth, which every one’s certain knowledge assures him of, beyond the liberty of doubting, viz. that he is SOMETHING THAT ACTUALLY EXISTS.

3. He knows also that Nothing cannot produce a Being; there ore SOmething must have existed from Eternity.

In the next place, man knows, by an intuitive certainty, that bare NOTHING CAN NO MORE PRODUCE ANY REAL BEING, THAN IT CAN BE EQUAL TO TWO RIGHT ANGLES. If a man knows not that nonentity, or the absence of all being, cannot be equal to two right angles, it is impossible he should know any demonstration in Euclid. If, therefore, we know there is some real being, and that nonentity cannot produce any real being, it is an evident demonstration, that FROM ETERNITY THERE HAS BEEN SOMETHING; since what was not from eternity had a beginning; and what had a beginning must be produced by something else.

4. And that eternal Being must be most powerful.

Next, it is evident, that what had its being and beginning from another, must also have all that which is in and belongs to its being from another too. All the powers it has must be owing to and received from the same source. This eternal source, then, of all being must also be the source and original of all power; and so THIS ETERNAL BEING MUST BE ALSO THE MOST POWERFUL.

5. And most knowing.

Again, a man finds in HIMSELF perception and knowledge. We have then got one step further; and we are certain now that there is not only some being, but some knowing, intelligent being in the world. There was a time, then, when there was no knowing being, and when knowledge began to be; or else there has been also A KNOWING BEING FROM ETERNITY. If it be said, there was a time when no being had any knowledge, when that eternal being was void of all understanding; I reply, that then it was impossible there should ever have been any knowledge: it being as impossible that things wholly void of knowledge, and operating blindly, and without any perception, should produce a knowing being, as it is impossible that a triangle should make itself three angles bigger than two right ones. For it is as repugnant to the idea of senseless matter, that it should put into itself sense, perception, and knowledge, as it is repugnant to the idea of a triangle, that it should put into itself greater angles than two right ones.

6. And therefore God.

Thus, from the consideration of ourselves, and what we infallibly find in our own constitutions, our reason leads us to the knowledge of this certain and evident truth, — THAT THERE IS AN ETERNAL, MOST POWERFUL, AND MOST KNOWING BEING; which whether any one will please to call God, it matters not. The thing is evident; and from this idea duly considered, will easily be deduced all those other attributes, which we ought to ascribe to this eternal Being. [If, nevertheless, any one should be found so senselessly arrogant, as to suppose man alone knowing and wise, but yet the product of mere ignorance and chance; and that all the rest of the universe acted only by that blind haphazard; I shall leave with him that very rational and emphatical rebuke of Tully (1. ii. De Leg.), to be considered at his leisure: ‘What can be more sillily arrogant and misbecoming, than for a man to think that he has a mind and understanding in him, but yet in all the universe beside there is no such thing? Or that those things, which with the utmost stretch of his reason he can scarce comprehend, should be moved and managed without any reason at all?’ QUID EST ENIM VERIUS, QUAM NEMINEM ESSE OPORTERE TAM STULTE AROGANTEM, UT IN SE MENTEM ET RATIONEM PUTET INESSE IN COELO MUNDOQUE NON PUTET? AUT EA QUOE VIZ SUMMA INGENII RATIONE COMPREHENDAT, NULLA RATIONE MOVERI PUTET?]

From what has been said, it is plain to me we have a more certain knowledge of the existence of a God, than of anything: our senses have not immediately discovered to us. Nay, I presume I may say, that we more certainly know that there is a God, than that there is anything else without us. When I say we KNOW, I mean there is such a knowledge within our reach which we cannot miss, if we will but apply our minds to that, as we do to several other inquiries.

7. Our idea of a most perfect Being, not the sole Proof of a God.

How far the IDEA of a most perfect being, which a man, may frame in his mind, does or does not prove the EXISTENCE of a God, I will not here examine. For in the different make of men’s tempers and application of their thoughts, some arguments prevail more on one, and some on another, for the confirmation of the same truth. But yet, I think, this I may say, that it is an ill way of establishing this truth, and silencing atheists, to lay the whole stress of so important a point as this upon that sole foundation: and take some men’s having that idea of God in their minds, (for it is evident some men have none, and some worse than none, and the most very different,) for the only proof of a Deity; and out of an over fondness of that darling invention, cashier, or at least endeavour to invalidate all other arguments; and forbid us to hearken to those proofs, as being weak or fallacious, which our own existence, and the sensible parts of the universe offer so clearly and cogently to our thoughts, that I deem it impossible for a considering man to withstand them. For I judge it as certain and clear a truth as can anywhere be delivered, that ‘the invisible things of God are clearly seen from the creation of the world, being understood by the things that are made, even his eternal power and Godhead.’ Though our own being furnishes us, as I have shown, with an evident and incontestible proof of a Deity; and I believe nobody can avoid the cogency of it, who will but as carefully attend to it, as to any other demonstration of so many parts: yet this being so fundamental a truth, and of that consequence, that all religion and genuine morality depend thereon, I doubt not but I shall be forgiven by my reader if I go over some parts of this argument again, and enlarge a little more upon them.

8. Recapitulation Something from Eternity.

There is no truth more evident than that SOMETHING must be FROM ETERNITY. I never yet heard of any one so unreasonable, or that could suppose so manifest a contradiction, as a time wherein there was perfectly nothing. This being of all absurdities the greatest, to imagine that pure nothing, the perfect negation and absence of all beings, should ever produce any real existence.

It being, then, unavoidable for all rational creatures to conclude, that SOMETHING has existed from eternity; let us next see WHAT KIND OF THING that must be.

9. Two Sorts of Beings, cogitative and incogitative.

There are but two sorts of beings in the world that man knows or conceives.

First, such as are purely material, without sense, perception, or thought, as the clippings of our beards, and parings of our nails.

Secondly, sensible, thinking, perceiving beings, such as we find ourselves to be. Which, if you please, we will hereafter call COGITATIVE and INCOGITATIVE beings; which to our present purpose, if for nothing else, are perhaps better terms than material and immaterial.

10. Incogitative Being cannot produce a Cogitative Being.

If, then, there must be something eternal, let us see what sort of being it must be. And to that it is very obvious to reason, that it must necessarily be a cogitative being. For it is as impossible to conceive that ever bare incogitative matter should produce a thinking intelligent being, as that nothing should of itself produce matter. Let us suppose any parcel of matter eternal, great or small, we shall find it, in itself, able to produce nothing. For example: let us suppose the matter of the next pebble we meet with eternal, closely united, and the parts firmly at rest together; if there were no other being in the world, must it not eternally remain so, a dead inactive lump? Is it possible to conceive it can add motion to itself, being purely matter, or produce anything? Matter, then, by its own strength, cannot produce in itself so much as motion: the motion it has must also be from eternity, or else be produced, and added to matter by some other being more powerful than matter; matter, as is evident, having not power to produce motion in itself. But let us suppose motion eternal too: yet matter, INCOGITATIVE matter and motion, whatever changes it might produce of figure and bulk, could never produce thought: knowledge will still be as far beyond the power of motion and matter to produce, as matter is beyond the power of nothing or nonentity to produce. And I appeal to every one’s own thoughts, whether he cannot as easily conceive matter produced by NOTHING, as thought to be produced by pure matter, when, before, there was no such thing as thought or an intelligent being existing? Divide matter into as many parts as you will, (which we are apt to imagine a sort of spiritualizing, or making a thinking thing of it,) vary the figure and motion of it as much as you please — a globe, cube, cone, prism, cylinder, &c., whose diameters are but 100,000th part of a GRY, will operate no otherwise upon other bodies of proportionable bulk, than those of an inch or foot diameter; and you may as rationally expect to produce sense, thought, and knowledge, by putting together, in a certain figure and motion, gross particles of matter, as by those that are the very minutest that do anywhere exist. They knock, impel, and resist one another, just as the greater do; and that is all they can do. So that, if we will suppose NOTHING first or eternal, matter can never begin to be: if we suppose bare matter without motion, eternal, motion can never begin to be: if we suppose only matter and motion first, or eternal, thought can never begin to be. [For it is impossible to conceive that matter, either with or without motion, could have, originally, in and from itself, sense, perception, and knowledge; as is evident from hence, that then sense, perception, and knowledge, must be a property eternally inseparable from matter and every particle of it. Not to add, that, though our general or specific conception of matter makes us speak of it as one thing, yet really all matter is not one individual thing, neither is there any such thing existing as ONE material being, or ONE single body that we know or can conceive. And therefore, if matter were the eternal first cogitative being, there would not be one eternal, infinite, cogitative being, but an infinite number of eternal, finite, cogitative beings, independent one of another, of limited force, and distinct thoughts, which could never produce that order, harmony, and beauty which are to be found in nature. Since, therefore, whatsoever is the first eternal being must necessarily be cogitative; and] whatsoever is first of all things must necessarily contain in it, and actually have, at least, all the perfections that can ever after exist; nor can it ever give to another any perfection that it hath not either actually in itself, or, at least, in a higher degree; [it necessarily follows, that the first eternal being cannot be matter.]

11. Therefore, there has been an Eternal Wisdom.

If, therefore, it be evident, that something necessarily must exist from eternity, it is also as evident, that that something must necessarily be a cogitative being: for it is as impossible that incogitative matter should produce a cogitative being, as that nothing, or the negation of all being, should produce a positive being or matter.

12. The Attributes of the Eternal Cogitative Being.

Though this discovery of the NECESSARY EXISTANCE OF A ETERNAL MIND does sufficiently lead us into the knowledge of God; since it will hence follow, that all other knowing beings that have a beginning must depend on him, and have in other ways of knowledge or extent of power than what He gives them; and therefore, if he made those, he made all the less excellent pieces of this universe, — all inanimate beings whereby his omniscience, power, and providence will be established, and all his other attributes necessarily follow yet, to clear up this a little further, we will see what doubt can be raised against it.

13. Whether the Eternal Mind may be also material or no.

FIRST, Perhaps it will be said, that, though it be as clear as demonstration can make it, that there must be an eternal Being, and that Being must also be knowing: yet it does not follow but that thinking Being may also be MATERIAL. Let it be so, it equally still follows that there is a God. For there be an eternal, omniscient, omnipotent Being, it is certain that there is a God, whether you imagine that Being to be material or no. But herein, I suppose, lies the danger and deceit of that supposition: — there being no way to avoid the demonstration, that there is an eternal knowing Being, men devoted to matter, would willingly have it granted, that that knowing Being is material; and then, letting slide out of their minds, or the discourse, the demonstration whereby an eternal KNOWING Being was proved necessarily to exist, would argue all to be matter, and so deny a God, that is, an eternal cogitative Being: whereby they are so far from establishing, that they destroy their own hypothesis. For, if there can be, in their opinion, eternal matter, without any eternal cogitative Being, they manifestly separate matter and thinking, and suppose no necessary connexion of the one with the other, and so establish the necessity of an eternal Spirit, but not of matter; since it has been proved already, that an eternal cogitative Being is unavoidably to be granted. Now, if thinking and matter may be separated, the eternal existence of matter will not follow from the eternal existence of a cogitative Being, and they suppose it to no purpose.

14. Not material: First, because each Particle of Matter is not cogitative.

But now let us see how they can satisfy themselves, or others, that this eternal thinking Being is material.

I. I would ask them, whether they imagine that all matter, EVERY PARTICLE OF MATTER, thinks? This, I suppose, they will scarce say; since then there would be as many eternal thinking beings as there are particles of matter, and so an infinity of gods. And yet, if they will not allow matter as matter, that is, every particle of matter, to be as well cogitative as extended, they will have as hard a task to make out to their own reasons a cogitative being out of incogitative particles, as an extended being out of unextended parts, if I may so speak.

15. II. Secondly, Because one Particle alone of Matter cannot be cogitative.

If all matter does not think, I next ask, Whether it be ONLY ONE ATOM that does so? This has as many absurdities as the other; for then this atom of matter must be alone eternal or not. If this alone be eternal, then this alone, by its powerful thought or will, made all the rest of matter. And so we have the creation of matter by a powerful thought, which is that the materialists stick at; for if they suppose one single thinking atom to have produced all the rest of matter, they cannot ascribe that pre-eminency to it upon any other account than that of its thinking, the only supposed difference. But allow it to be by some other way which is above our conception, it must still be creation; and these men must give up their great maxim, EX NIHILO NIL FIT. If it be said, that all the rest of matter is equally eternal as that thinking atom, it will be to say anything at pleasure, though ever so absurd. For to suppose all matter eternal, and yet one small particle in knowledge and power infinitely above all the rest, is without any the least appearance of reason to frame an hypothesis. Every particle of matter, as matter, is capable of all the same figures and motions of any other; and I challenge any one, in his thoughts, to add anything else to one above another.

16. III. Thirdly, Because a System of incogitative Matter cannot be cogitative.

If then neither one peculiar atom alone can be this eternal thinking being; nor all matter, as matter, i. e. every particle of matter, can be it; it only remains, that it is some certain SYSTEM of matter, duly put together, that is this thinking eternal Being. This is that which, I imagine, is that notion which men are aptest to have of God; who would have him a material being, as most readily suggested to them by the ordinary conceit they have of themselves and other men, which they take to be material thinking beings. But this imagination, however more natural, is no less absurd than the other; for to suppose the eternal thinking Being to be nothing else but a composition of particles of matter, each whereof is incogitative, is to ascribe all the wisdom and knowledge of that eternal Being only to the juxta-position of parts; than which nothing can be more absurd. For unthinking particles of matter, however put together, can have nothing thereby added to them, but a new relation of position, which it is impossible should give thought and knowledge to them.

17. And whether this corporeal System is in Motion or at Rest.

But further: this corporeal system either has all its parts at rest, or it is a certain motion of the parts wherein its thinking consists. If it be perfectly at rest, it is but one lump, and so can have no privileges above one atom.

If it be the motion of its parts on which its thinking depends, all the thoughts there must be unavoidably accidental and limited; since all the particles that by motion cause thought, being each of them in itself without any thought, cannot regulate its own motions, much less be regulated by the thought of the whole; since that thought is not the cause of motion, (for then it must be antecedent to it, and so without it,) but the consequence of it; whereby freedom, power, choice, and all rational and wise thinking or acting, will be quite taken away: so that such a thinking being will be no better nor wiser than pure blind matter; since to resolve all into the accidental unguided motions of blind matter, or into thought depending on unguided motions of blind matter, is the same thing: not to mention the narrowness of such thoughts and knowledge that must depend on the motion of such parts. But there needs no enumeration of any more absurdities and impossibilities in this hypothesis (however full of them it be) than that before mentioned; since, let this thinking system be all or a part of the matter of the universe, it is impossible that any one particle should either know its own, or the motion of any other particle, or the whole know the motion of every particle; and so regulate its own thoughts or motions, or indeed have any thought resulting from such motion.

18. Matter not co-eternal with an Eternal Mind.

SECONDLY, Others would have Matter to be eternal, notwithstanding that they allow an eternal, cogitative, immaterial Being. This, though it take not away the being of a God, yet, since it denies one and the first great piece of his workmanship, the creation, let us consider it a little. Matter must be allowed eternal: Why? because you cannot conceive how it can be made out of nothing: why do you not also think yourself eternal? You will answer, perhaps, Because, about twenty or forty years since, you began to be. But if I ask you, what that YOU is, which began then to be, you can scarce tell me. The matter whereof you are made began not then to be: for if it did, then it is not eternal: but it began to be put together in such a fashion and frame as makes up your body; but yet that frame of particles is not you, it makes not that thinking thing you are; (for I have now to do with one who allows an eternal, immaterial, thinking Being, but would have unthinking Matter eternal too;) therefore, when did that thinking thing begin to be? If it did never begin to be, then have you always been a thinking thing from eternity; the absurdity whereof I need not confute, till I meet with one who is so void of understanding as to own it. If, therefore, you can allow a thinking thing to be made out of nothing, (as all things that are not eternal must be,) why also can you not allow it possible for a material being to be made out of nothing by an equal power, but that you have the experience of the one in view, and not of the other? Though, when well considered, creation [of a spirit will be found to require no less power than the creation of matter. Nay, possibly, if we would emancipate ourselves from vulgar notions, and raise our thoughts, as far as they would reach, to a closer contemplation of things, we might be able to aim at some dim and seeming conception how MATTER might at first be made, and begin to exist, by the power of that eternal first Being: but to give beginning and being to a SPIRIT would be found a more inconceivable effect of omnipotent power. But this being what would perhaps lead us too far from the notions on which the philosophy now in the world is built, it would not be pardonable to deviate so far from them; or to inquire, so far as grammar itself would authorize, if the common settled opinion opposes it: especially in this place, where the received doctrine serves well enough to our present purpose, and leaves this past doubt, that] the creation or beginning of any one [SUBSTANCE] out of nothing being once admitted, the creation of all other but the Creator himself, may, with the same ease, be supposed.

19. Objection: Creation out of nothing.

But you will say, Is it not impossible to admit of the making anything out of nothing, SINCE WE CANNOT POSSIBLY CONCEIVE IT? I answer, No. Because it is not reasonable to deny the power of an infinite being, because we cannot comprehend its operations. We do not deny other effects upon this ground, because we cannot possibly conceive the manner of their production. We cannot conceive how anything but impulse of body can move body; and yet that is not a reason sufficient to make us deny it possible, against the constant experience we have of it in ourselves, in all our voluntary motions; which are produced in us only by the free action or thought of our own minds, and are not, nor can be, the effects of the impulse or determination of the motion of blind matter in or upon our own bodies; for then it could not be in our power or choice to alter it. For example: my right hand writes, whilst my left hand is still: What causes rest in one, and motion in the other? Nothing but my will, — a thought of my mind; my thought only changing, the right hand rests, and the left hand moves. This is matter of fact, which cannot be denied: explain this and make it intelligible, and then the next step will be to understand creation. [For the giving a new determination to the motion of the animal spirits (which some make use of to explain voluntary motion) clears not the difficulty one jot. To alter the determination of motion, being in this case no easier nor less, than to give motion itself: since the new determination given to the animal spirits must be either immediately by thought, or by some other body put in their way by thought which was not in their way before, and so must owe ITS motion to thought: either of which leaves VOLUNTARY motion as unintelligible as it was before.] In the meantime, it is an over-valuing ourselves to reduce all to the narrow measure of our capacities; and to conclude all things impossible to be done, whose manner of doing exceeds our comprehension. This is to make our comprehension infinite, or God finite, when what He can do is limited to what we can conceive of it. If you do not understand the operations of your own finite mind, that thinking thing within you, do not deem it strange that you cannot comprehend the operations of that eternal infinite Mind, who made and governs all things, and whom the heaven of heavens cannot contain.

CHAPTER XI. OF OUR KNOWLEDGE OF THE EXISTENCE OF OTHER THINGS.

1. Knowledge of the existence of other Finite Beings is to be had only by actual Sensation.

The knowledge of our own being we have by intuition. The existence of a
God, reason clearly makes known to us, as has been shown.

The knowledge of the existence of ANY OTHER THING we can have only by SENSATION: for there being no necessary connexion of real existence with any IDEA a man hath in his memory; nor of any other existence but that of God with the existence of any particular man: no particular man can know the existence of any other being, but only when, by actual operating upon him, it makes itself perceived by him. For, the having the idea of anything in our mind, no more proves the existence of that thing, than the picture of a man evidences his being in the world, or the visions of a dream make thereby a true history.

2. Instance: Whiteness of this Paper.

It is therefore the ACTUAL RECEIVING of ideas from without that gives us notice of the existence of other things, and makes us know, that something doth exist at that time without us, which causes that idea in us; though perhaps we neither know nor consider how it does it. For it takes not from the certainty of our senses, and the ideas we receive by them, that we know not the manner wherein they are produced: v.g. whilst I write this, I have, by the paper affecting my eyes, that idea produced in my mind, which, whatever object causes, I call WHITE; by which I know that that quality or accident (i.e. whose appearance before my eyes always causes that idea) doth really exist, and hath a being without me. And of this, the greatest assurance I can possibly have, and to which my faculties can attain, is the testimony of my eyes, which are the proper and sole judges of this thing; whose testimony I have reason to rely on as so certain, that I can no more doubt, whilst I write this, that I see white and black, and that something really exists that causes that sensation in me, than that I write or move my hand; which is a certainty as great as human nature is capable of, concerning the existence of anything, but a man’s self alone, and of God.

3. This notice by our Senses, though not so certain as Demonstration, yet may be called Knowledge, and proves the Existence of Things without us.

The notice we have by our senses of the existing of things without us, though it be not altogether so certain as our intuitive knowledge, or the deductions of our reason employed about the clear abstract ideas of our own minds; yet it is an assurance that deserves the name of KNOWLEDGE. If we persuade ourselves that our faculties act and inform us right concerning the existence of those objects that affect them, it cannot pass for an ill-grounded confidence: for I think nobody can, in earnest, be so sceptical as to be uncertain of the existence of those things which he sees and feels. At least, he that can doubt so far, (whatever he may have with his own thoughts,) will never have any controversy with me; since he can never be sure I say anything contrary to his own opinion. As to myself, I think God has given me assurance enough of the existence of things without me: since, by their different application, I can produce in myself both pleasure and pain, which is one great concernment of my present state. This is certain: the confidence that our faculties do not herein deceive us, is the greatest assurance we are capable of concerning the existence of material beings. For we cannot act anything but by our faculties; nor talk of knowledge itself, but by the help of those faculties which are fitted to apprehend even what knowledge is.

But besides the assurance we have from our senses themselves, that they do not err in the information they give us of the existence of things without us, when they are affected by them, we are further confirmed in this assurance by other concurrent reasons: —

4. I. Confirmed by concurrent reasons: — First, Because we cannot have ideas of Sensation but by the Inlet of the Senses.

It is plain those perceptions are produced in us by exterior causes affecting our senses: because those that want the ORGANS of any sense, never can have the ideas belonging to that sense produced in their minds. This is too evident to be doubted: and therefore we cannot but be assured that they come in by the organs of that sense, and no other way. The organs themselves, it is plain, do not produce them: for then the eyes of a man in the dark would produce colours, and his nose smell roses in the winter: but we see nobody gets the relish of a pineapple, till he goes to the Indies, where it is, and tastes it.

5. II. Secondly, Because we find that an Idea from actual Sensatio, and another from memory, are very distinct Perceptions.

Because sometimes I find that I CANNOT AVOID THE HAVING THOSE IDEAS PRODUCED IN MY MIND. For though, when my eyes are shut, or windows fast, I can at pleasure recal to my mind the ideas of light, or the sun, which former sensations had lodged in my memory; so I can at pleasure lay by THAT idea, and take into my view that of the smell of a rose, or taste of sugar. But, if I turn my eyes at noon towards the sun, I cannot avoid the ideas which the light or sun then produces in me. So that there is a manifest difference between the ideas laid up in my memory, (over which, if they were there only, I should have constantly the same power to dispose of them, and lay them by at pleasure,) and those which force themselves upon me, and I cannot avoid having. And therefore it must needs be some exterior cause, and the brisk acting of some objects without me, whose efficacy I cannot resist, that produces those ideas in my mind, whether I will or no. Besides, there is nobody who doth not perceive the difference in himself between contemplating the sun, as he hath the idea of it in his memory, and actually looking upon it: of which two, his perception is so distinct, that few of his ideas are more distinguishable one from another. And therefore he hath certain knowledge that they are not BOTH memory, or the actions of his mind, and fancies only within him; but that actual seeing hath a cause without.

6. III. Thirdly, Because Pleasure or Pain, which accompanies actual Sensation, accompanies not the returning of those Ideas without the external Objects.

Add to this, that many of those ideas are PRODUCED IN US WITH PAIN, which afterwards we remember without the least offence. Thus, the pain of heat or cold, when the idea of it is revived in our minds, gives us no disturbance; which, when felt, was very troublesome; and is again, when actually repeated: which is occasioned by the disorder the external object causes in our bodies when applied to them: and we remember the pains of hunger, thirst, or the headache, without any pain at all; which would either never disturb us, or else constantly do it, as often as we thought of it, were there nothing more but ideas floating in our minds, and appearances entertaining our fancies, without the real existence of things affecting us from abroad. The same may be said of PLEASURE, accompanying several actual sensations. And though mathematical demonstration depends not upon sense, yet the examining them by diagrams gives great credit to the evidence of our sight, and seems to give it a certainty approaching to that of demonstration itself. For, it would be very strange, that a man should allow it for an undeniable truth, that two angles of a figure, which he measures by lines and angles of a diagram, should be bigger one than the other, and yet doubt of the existence of those lines and angles, which by looking on he makes use of to measure that by.

7. IV. Fourthly, Because our Senses assist one another’s Testimony of the Existence of outward Things, and enable us to predict.

Our SENSES in many cases BEAR WITNESS TO THE TRUTH OF EACH OTHER’S REPORT, concerning the existence of sensible things without us. He that SEES a fire, may, if he doubt whether it be anything more than a bare fancy, FEEL it too; and be convinced, by putting his hand in it. Which certainly could never be put into such exquisite pain by a bare idea or phantom, unless that the pain be a fancy too: which yet he cannot, when the burn is well, by raising the idea of it, bring upon himself again.

Thus I see, whilst I write this, I can change the appearance of the paper; and by designing the letters, tell BEFOREHAND what new idea it shall exhibit the very next moment, by barely drawing my pen over it: which will neither appear (let me fancy as much as I will) if my hands stand still; or though I move my pen, if my eyes be shut: nor, when those characters are once made on the paper, can I choose afterwards but see them as they are; that is, have the ideas of such letters as I have made. Whence it is manifest, that they are not barely the sport and play of my own imagination, when I find that the characters that were made at the pleasure of my own thoughts, do not obey them; nor yet cease to be, whenever I shall fancy it, but continue to affect my senses constantly and regularly, according to the figures I made them. To which if we will add, that the sight of those shall from another man, draw such sounds as I beforehand design they shall stand for, there will be little reason left to doubt that those words I write do really exist without me, when they cause a long series of regular sounds to affect my ears, which could not be the effect of my imagination, nor could my memory retain them in that order.

8. This Certainty is as great as our Condition needs.

But yet, if after all this any one will be so sceptical as to distrust his senses, and to affirm that all we see and hear, feel and taste, think and do, during our whole being, is but the series and deluding appearances of a long dream, whereof there is no reality; and therefore will question the existence of all things, or our knowledge of anything: I must desire him to consider, that, if all be a dream, then he doth but dream that he makes the question, and so it is not much matter that a waking man should answer him. But yet, if he pleases, he may dream that I make him this answer, That the certainty of things existing in RERUM NATURA when we have the testimony of our senses for it is not only as great as our frame can attain to, but as our condition needs. For, our faculties being suited not to the full extent of being, nor to a perfect, clear, comprehensive knowledge of things free from all doubt and scruple; but to the preservation of us, in whom they are; and accommodated to the use of life: they serve to our purpose well enough, if they will but give us certain notice of those things, which are convenient or inconvenient to us. For he that sees a candle burning, and hath experimented the force of its flame by putting his finger in it, will little doubt that this is something existing without him, which does him harm, and puts him to great pain: which is assurance enough, when no man requires greater certainty to govern his actions by than what is as certain as his actions themselves. And if our dreamer pleases to try whether the glowing heat of a glass furnace be barely a wandering imagination in a drowsy man’s fancy, by putting his hand into it, he may perhaps be wakened into a certainty greater than he could wish, that it is something more than bare imagination. So that this evidence is as great as we can desire, being as certain to us as our pleasure or pain, i.e. happiness or misery; beyond which we have no concernment, either of knowing or being. Such an assurance of the existence of things without us is sufficient to direct us in the attaining the good and avoiding the evil which is caused by them, which is the important concernment we have of being made acquainted with them.

9. But reaches no further than actual Sensation.

In fine, then, when our senses do actually convey into our understandings any idea, we cannot but be satisfied that there doth something AT THAT TIME really exist without us, which doth affect our senses, and by them give notice of itself to our apprehensive faculties, and actually produce that idea which we then perceive: and we cannot so far distrust their testimony, as to doubt that such COLLECTIONS of simple ideas as we have observed by our senses to be united together, do really exist together. But this knowledge extends as far as the present testimony of our senses, employed about particular objects that do then affect them, and no further. For if I saw such a collection of simple ideas as is wont to be called MAN, existing together one minute since, and am now alone, I cannot be certain that the same man exists now, since there is no NECESSARY CONNEXION of his existence a minute since with his existence now: by a thousand ways he may cease to be, since I had the testimony of my senses for his existence. And if I cannot be certain that the man I saw last to-day is now in being, I can less be certain that he is so who hath been longer removed from my senses, and I have not seen since yesterday, or since the last year: and much less can I be certain of the existence of men that I never saw. And, therefore, though it be highly probable that millions of men do now exist, yet, whilst I am alone, writing this, I have not that certainty of it which we strictly call knowledge; though the great likelihood of it puts me past doubt, and it be reasonable for me to do several things upon the confidence that there are men (and men also of my acquaintance, with whom I have to do) now in the world: but this is but probability, not knowledge.

10. Folly to expect Demonstration in everything.

Whereby yet we may observe how foolish and vain a thing it is for a man of a narrow knowledge, who having reason given him to judge of the different evidence and probability of things, and to be swayed accordingly; how vain, I say, it is to expect demonstration and certainty in things not capable of it; and refuse assent to very rational propositions, and act contrary to very plain and clear truths, because they cannot be made out so evident, as to surmount every the least (I will not say reason, but) pretence of doubting. He that, in the ordinary affairs of life, would admit of nothing but direct plain demonstration, would be sure of nothing in this world, but of perishing quickly. The wholesomeness of his meat or drink would not give him reason to venture on it: and I would fain know what it is he could do upon such grounds as are capable of no doubt, no objection.

11. Past Existence of other things is known by Memory.

As WHEN OUR SENSES ARE ACTUALLY EMPLOYED ABOUT ANY OBJECT, we do know that it does exist; so BY OUR MEMORY we may be assured, that heretofore things that affected our senses have existed. And thus we have knowledge of the past existence of several things, whereof our senses having informed us, our memories still retain the ideas; and of this we are past all doubt, so long as we remember well. But this knowledge also reaches no further than our senses have formerly assured us. Thus, seeing water at this instant, it is an unquestionable truth to me that water doth exist: and remembering that I saw it yesterday, it will also be always true, and as long as my memory retains it always an undoubted proposition to me, that water did exist the 10th of July, 1688; as it will also be equally true that a certain number of very fine colours did exist, which at the same time I saw upon a bubble of that water: but, being now quite out of sight both of the water and bubbles too, it is no more certainly known to me that the water doth now exist, than that the bubbles or colours therein do so: it being no more necessary that water should exist to-day, because it existed yesterday, than that the colours or bubbles exist to-day, because they existed yesterday, though it be exceedingly much more probable; because water hath been observed to continue long in existence, but bubbles, and the colours on them, quickly cease to be.

12. The Existence of other finite Spirits not knowable, and rests on Faith.

What ideas we have of spirits, and how we come by them, I have already shown. But though we have those ideas in our minds, and know we have them there, the having the ideas of spirits does not make us know that any such things do exist without us, or that there are any finite spirits, or any other spiritual beings, but the Eternal God. We have ground from revelation, and several other reasons, to believe with assurance that there are such creatures: but our senses not being able to discover them, we want the means of knowing their particular existences. For we can no more know that there are finite spirits really existing, by the idea we have of such beings in our minds, than by the ideas any one has of fairies or centaurs, he can come to know that things answering those ideas do really exist.

And therefore concerning the existence of finite spirits, as well as several other things, we must content ourselves with the evidence of faith; but universal, certain propositions concerning this matter are beyond our reach. For however true it may be, v.g., that all the intelligent spirits that God ever created do still exist, yet it can never make a part of our certain knowledge. These and the like propositions we may assent to, as highly probable, but are not, I fear, in this state capable of knowing. We are not, then, to put others upon demonstrating, nor ourselves upon search of universal certainty in all those matters; wherein we are not capable of any other knowledge, but what our senses give us in this or that particular.

13. Only particular Propositions concerning concrete Existances are knowable.

By which it appears that there are two sorts of propositions: — (1) There is one sort of propositions concerning the existence of anything answerable to such an idea: as having the idea of an elephant, phoenix, motion, or an angel, in my mind, the first and natural inquiry is, Whether such a thing does anywhere exist? And this knowledge is only of particulars. No existence of anything without us, but only of God, can certainly be known further than our senses inform us, (2) There is another sort of propositions, wherein is expressed the agreement or disagreement of OUR ABSTRACT IDEAS, and their dependence on one another. Such propositions may be universal and certain. So, having the idea of God and myself, of fear and obedience, I cannot but be sure that God is to be feared and obeyed by me: and this proposition will be certain, concerning man in general, if I have made an abstract idea of such a species, whereof I am one particular. But yet this proposition, how certain soever, that ‘men ought to fear and obey God’ proves not to me the EXISTENCE of MEN in the world; but will be true of all such creatures, whenever they do exist: which certainty of such general propositions depends on the agreement or disagreement to be discovered in those abstract ideas.

14. And all general Propositions that are know to be true concern abstract Ideas.

In the former case, our knowledge is the consequence of the existence of things, producing ideas in our minds by our senses: in the latter, knowledge is the consequence of the ideas (be they what they will) that are in our minds, producing there general certain propositions. Many of these are called AETERNAE VERITATES, and all of them indeed are so; not from being written, all or any of them, in the minds of all men; or that they were any of them propositions in any one’s mind, till he, having got the abstract ideas, joined or separated them by affirmation or negation. But wheresoever we can suppose such a creature as man is, endowed with such faculties, and thereby furnished with such ideas as we have, we must conclude, he must needs, when he applies his thoughts to the consideration of his ideas, know the truth of certain propositions that will arise from the agreement or disagreement which he will perceive in his own ideas. Such propositions are therefore called ETERNAL TRUTHS, not because they are eternal propositions actually formed, and antecedent to the understanding that at any time makes them; nor because they are imprinted on the mind from any patterns that are anywhere out of the mind, and existed before: but because, being once made about abstract ideas, so as to be true, they will, whenever they can be supposed to be made again at any time, past or come, by a mind having those ideas, always actually be true. For names being supposed to stand perpetually for the same ideas, and the same ideas having immutably the same habitudes one to another, propositions concerning any abstract ideas that are once true must needs be ETERNAL VERITIES.

CHAPTER XII. OF THE IMPROVEMENT OF OUR KNOWLEDGE.

1. Knowledge is not got from Maxims.

IT having been the common received opinion amongst men of letters, that MAXIMS were the foundation of all knowledge; and that the sciences were each of them built upon certain PRAECOGNITA, from whence the understanding was to take its rise, and by which it was to conduct itself in its inquiries into the matters belonging to that science, the beaten road of the Schools has been, to lay down in the beginning one or more GENERAL PROPOSITIONS, as foundations whereon to build the knowledge that was to be had of that subject. These doctrines, thus laid down for foundations of any science, were called PRINCIPLES, as the beginnings from which we must set out, and look no further backwards in our inquiries, as we have already observed.

2. (The Occasion of that Opinion.)

One thing which might probably give an occasion to this way of proceeding in other sciences, was (as I suppose) the good success it seemed to have in MATHEMATICS, wherein men, being observed to attain a great certainty of knowledge, these sciences came by pre-eminence to be called [word in Greek], and [word in Greek], learning, or things learned, thoroughly learned, as having of all others the greatest certainty, clearness, and evidence in them.

3. But from comparing clear and distinct Ideas.

But if any one will consider, he will (I guess) find, that the great advancement and certainty of real knowledge which men arrived to in these sciences, was not owing to the influence of these principles, nor derived from any peculiar advantage they received from two or three general maxims, laid down in the beginning; but from the clear, distinct, complete ideas their thoughts were employed about, and the relation of equality and excess so clear between some of them, that they had an intuitive knowledge, and by THAT a way to discover it in others; and this without the help of those maxims. For I ask, Is it not possible for a young lad to know that his whole body is bigger than his little finger, but by virtue of this axiom, that THE WHOLE IS BIGGER THAN A PART; nor be assured of it, till he has learned that maxim? Or cannot a country wench know that, having received a shilling from one that owes her three, and a shilling also from another that owes her three, the remaining debts in each of their hands are equal? Cannot she know this, I say, unless she fetch the certainty of it from this maxim, that IF YOU TAKE EQUALS FROM EQUALS, THE REMAINDER WILL BE EQUALS, a maxim which possibly she never heard or thought of? I desire any one to consider, from what has been elsewhere said, which is known first and clearest by most people, the particular instance, or the general rule; and which it is that gives life and birth to the other. These general rules are but the comparing our more general and abstract ideas, which are the workmanship of the mind, made, and names given to them for the easier dispatch in its reasonings, and drawing into comprehensive terms and short rules its various and multiplied observations. But knowledge began in the mind, and was founded on particulars; though afterwards, perhaps, no notice was taken thereof: it being natural for the mind (forward still to enlarge its knowledge) most attentively to lay up those general notions, and make the proper use of them, which is to disburden the memory of the cumbersome load of particulars. For I desire it may be considered, what more certainty there is to a child, or any one, that his body, little finger, and all, is bigger than his little finger alone, after you have given to his body the name WHOLE, and to his little finger the name PART, than he could have had before; or what new knowledge concerning his body can these two relative terms give him, which he could not have without them? Could he not know that his body was bigger than his little finger, if his language were yet so imperfect that he had no such relative terms as whole and part? I ask, further, when he has got these names, how is he more certain that his body is a whole, and his little finger a part, than he was or might be certain before he learnt those terms, that his body was bigger than his little finger? Any one may as reasonably doubt or deny that his little finger is a part of his body, as that it is less than his body. And he that can doubt whether it be less, will as certainly doubt whether it be a part. So that the maxim, the whole is bigger than a part, can never be made use of to prove the little finger less than the body, but when it is useless, by being brought to convince one of a truth which he knows already. For he that does not certainly know that any parcel of matter, with another parcel of matter joined to it, is bigger than either of them alone, will never be able to know it by the help of these two relative terms, whole and part, make of them what maxim you please.

4. Dangerous to build upon precarious Principles.

But be it in the mathematics as it will, whether it be clearer, that, taking an inch from a black line of two inches, and an inch from a red line of two inches, the remaining parts of the two lines will be equal, or that IF YOU TAKE EQUALS FROM EQUALS, THE REMAINDER WILL BE EQUALS: which, I say, of these two is the clearer and first known, I leave to any one to determine, it not being material to my present occasion. That which I have here to do, is to inquire, whether, if it be the readiest way to knowledge to begin with general maxims, and build upon them, it be yet a safe way to take the PRINCIPLES which are laid down in any other science as unquestionable truths; and so receive them without examination, and adhere to them, without suffering them to be doubted of, because mathematicians have been so happy, or so fair, to use none but self-evident and undeniable. If this be so, I know not what may not pass for truth in morality, what may not be introduced and proved in natural philosophy.

Let that principle of some of the old philosophers, That all is Matter, and that there is nothing else, be received for certain and indubitable, and it will be easy to be seen by the writings of some that have revived it again in our days, what consequences it will lead us into. Let any one, with Polemo, take the world; or with the Stoics, the aether, or the sun; or with Anaximenes, the air, to be God; and what a divinity, religion, and worship must we needs have! Nothing can be so dangerous as PRINCIPLES thus TAKEN UP WITHOUT QUESTIONING OR EXAMINATION; especially if they be such as concern morality, which influence men’s lives, and give a bias to all their actions. Who might not justly expect another kind of life in Aristippus, who placed happiness in bodily pleasure; and in Antisthenes, who made virtue sufficient to felicity? And he who, with Plato, shall place beatitude in the knowledge of God, will have his thoughts raised to other contemplations than those who look not beyond this spot of earth, and those perishing things which are to be had in it. He that, with Archelaus, shall lay it down as a principle, that right and wrong, honest and dishonest, are defined only by laws, and not by nature, will have other measures of moral rectitude and gravity, than those who take it for granted that we are under obligations antecedent to all human constitutions.

5. To do so is no certain Way to Truth.

If, therefore, those that pass for PRINCIPLES are NOT CERTAIN, (which we must have some way to know, that we may be able to distinguish them from those that are doubtful,) but are only made so to us by our blind assent, we are liable to be misled by them; and instead of being guided into truth, we shall, by principles, be only confirmed in mistake and error.

6. But to compare clear, complete Ideas, under steady Names.

But since the knowledge of the certainty of principles, as well as of all other truths, depends only upon the perception we have of the agreement or disagreement of our ideas, the way to improve our knowledge is not, I am sure, blindly, and with an implicit faith, to receive and swallow principles; but is, I think, to get and fix in our minds clear, distinct, and complete ideas, as far as they are to be had, and annex to them proper and constant names. And thus, perhaps, without any other principles, but BARELY CONSIDERING THOSE PERFECT IDEAS, and by COMPARING THEM ONE WITH ANOTHER; finding their agreement and disagreement, and their several relations and habitudes; we shall get more true and clear knowledge by the conduct of this one rule, than by taking up principles, and thereby putting our minds into the disposal of others.

7. The true Method of advancing Knowledge is by considering our abstract Ideas.

We must, therefore, if we will proceed as reason advises, adapt our methods of inquiry to THE NATURE OF THE IDEAS WE EXAMINE, and the truth we search after. General and certain truths are only founded in the habitudes and relations of ABSTRACT IDEAS. A sagacious and methodical application of our thoughts, for the finding out these relations, is the only way to discover all that can be put with truth and certainty concerning them into general propositions. By what steps we are to proceed in these, is to be learned in the schools of the mathematicians, who, from very plain and easy beginnings, by gentle degrees, and a continued chain of reasonings, proceed to the discovery and demonstration of truths that appear at first sight beyond human capacity. The art of finding proofs, and the admirable methods they have invented for the singling out and laying in order those intermediate ideas that demonstratively show the equality or inequality of unapplicable quantities, is that which has carried them so far, and produced such wonderful and unexpected discoveries: but whether something like this, in respect of other ideas, as well as those of magnitude, may not in time be found out, I will not determine. This, I think, I may say, that if other ideas that are the real as well as nominal essences of their species, were pursued in the way familiar to mathematicians, they would carry our thoughts further, and with greater evidence and clearness than possibly we are apt to imagine.

8. By which Morality also may be made clearer.

This gave me the confidence to advance that conjecture, which I suggest, (chap. iii.) viz. that MORALITY is capable of demonstration as well as mathematics. For the ideas that ethics are conversant about, being all real essences, and such as I imagine have a discoverable connexion and agreement one with another; so far as we can find their habitudes and relations, so far we shall be possessed of certain, real, and general truths; and I doubt not but, if a right method were taken, a great part of morality might be made out with that clearness, that could leave, to a considering man, no more reason to doubt, than he could have to doubt of the truth of propositions in mathematics, which have been demonstrated to him.

9. Our Knowledge of Substances is to be improved, not by contemplation of abstract ideas, but only by Experience.

In our search after the knowledge of SUBSTANCES, our want of ideas that are suitable to such a way of proceeding obliges us to a quite different method. We advance not here, as in the other, (where our abstract ideas are real as well as nominal essences,) by contemplating our ideas, and considering their relations and correspondences; that helps us very little for the reasons, that in another place we have at large set down. By which I think it is evident, that substances afford matter of very little GENERAL knowledge; and the bare contemplation of their abstract ideas will carry us but a very little way in the search of truth and certainty. What, then, are we to do for the improvement of our knowledge in substantial beings? Here we are to take a quite contrary course: the want of ideas of their real essences sends us from our own thoughts to the things themselves as they exist. EXPERIENCE HERE MUST TEACH ME WHAT REASON CANNOT: and it is by TRYING alone, that I can CERTAINLY KNOW, what other qualities co-exist with those of my complex idea, v.g. whether that yellow heavy, fusible body I call gold, be malleable, or no; which experience (which way ever it prove in that particular body I examine) makes me not certain, that it is so in all, or any other yellow, heavy, fusible bodies, but that which I have tried. Because it is no consequence one way or the other from my complex idea: the necessity or inconsistence of malleability hath no visible connexion with the combination of that colour, weight, and fusibility in any body. What I have said here of the nominal essence of gold, supposed to consist of a body of such a determinate colour, weight, and fusibility, will hold true, if malleableness, fixedness, and solubility in aqua regia be added to it. Our reasonings from these ideas will carry us but a little way in the certain discovery of the other properties in those masses of matter wherein all these are to be found. Because the OTHER properties of such bodies, depending not on these, but on that unknown real essence on which these also depend, we cannot by them discover the rest; we can go no further than the simple ideas of our nominal essence will carry us, which is very little beyond themselves; and so afford us but very sparingly any certain, universal, and useful truths. For, upon trial, having found that particular piece (and all others of that colour, weight, and fusibility, that I ever tried) malleable, that also makes now, perhaps, a part of my complex idea, part of my nominal essence of gold: whereby though I make my complex idea to which I affix the name gold, to consist of more simple ideas than before; yet still, it not containing the real essence of any species of bodies, it helps me not certainly to know (I say to know, perhaps it may be to conjecture) the other remaining properties of that body, further than they have a visible connexion with some or all of the simple ideas that make up my nominal essence. For example, I cannot be certain, from this complex idea, whether gold be fixed or no; because, as before, there is no NECESSARY connexion or inconsistence to be discovered betwixt a COMPLEX IDEA OF A BODY YELLOW, HEAVY, FUSIBLE, MALLEABLE; betwixt these, I say, and FIXEDNESS; so that I may certainly know, that in whatsoever body these are found, there fixedness is sure to be. Here, again, for assurance, I must apply myself to experience; as far as that reaches, I may have certain knowledge, but no further.

10. Experience may procure is Convenience, not Science.

I deny not but a man, accustomed to rational and regular experiments, shall be able to see further into the nature of bodies, and guess righter at their yet unknown properties, than one that is a stranger to them: but yet, as I have said, this is but judgment and opinion, not knowledge and certainty. This way of GETTING AND IMPROVING OUR KNOWLEDGE IN SUBSTANCES ONLY BY EXPERIENCE AND HISTORY, which is all that the weakness of our faculties in this state of mediocrity which we are in this world can attain to, makes me suspect that NATURAL PHILOSOPHY IS NOT CAPABLE IS BEING MADE A SCIENCE. We are able, I imagine, to reach very little general knowledge concerning the species of bodies, and their several properties. Experiments and historical observations we may have, from which we may draw advantages of ease and health, and thereby increase our stock of conveniences for this life; but beyond this I fear our talents reach not, nor are our faculties, as I guess, able to advance.

11. We are fitted for moral Science, but only for probable interpretations of external Nature.

From whence is it obvious to conclude, that, since our faculties are not fitted to penetrate into the internal fabric and real essences of bodies; but yet plainly discover to us the being of a God, and the knowledge of ourselves, enough to lead us into a full and clear discovery of our duty and great concernment; it will become us, as rational creatures, to employ those faculties we have about what they are most adapted to, and follow the direction of nature, where it seems to point us out the way. For it is rational to conclude, that our proper employment lies in those inquiries, and in that sort of knowledge which is most suited to our natural capacities, and carries in it our greatest interest, i.e. the condition of our eternal estate. Hence I think I may conclude, that MORALITY IS THE PROPER SCIENCE AND BUSINESS OF MANKIND IN GENERAL, (who are both concerned and fitted to search out their SUMMUM BONUM;) as several arts, conversant about several parts of nature, are the lot and private talent of particular men, for the common use of human life, and their own particular subsistence in this world. Of what consequence the discovery of one natural body and its properties may be to human life, the whole great continent of America is a convincing instance: whose ignorance in useful arts, and want of the greatest part of the conveniences of life, in a country that abounded with all sorts of natural plenty, I think may be attributed to their ignorance of what was to be found in a very ordinary, despicable stone, I mean the mineral of IRON. And whatever we think of our parts or improvements in this part of the world, where knowledge and plenty seem to vie with each other; yet to any one that will seriously reflect on it, I suppose it will appear past doubt, that, were the use of iron lost among us, we should in a few ages be unavoidably reduced to the wants and ignorance of the ancient savage Americans, whose natural endowments and provisions come no way short of those of the most flourishing and polite nations. So that he who first made known the use of that contemptible mineral, may be truly styled the father of arts, and author of plenty.

12. In the study of Nature we must beware of Hypotheses and wrong Principles.

I would not, therefore, be thought to disesteem or dissuade the study of NATURE. I readily agree the contemplation of his works gives us occasion to admire, revere, and glorify their Author: and, if rightly directed, may be of greater benefit to mankind than the monuments of exemplary charity that have at so great charge been raised by the founders of hospitals and almshouses. He that first invented printing, discovered the use of the compass, or made public the virtue and right use of KIN KINA, did more for the propagation of knowledge, for the supply and increase of useful commodities, and saved more from the grave than those who built colleges, workhouses, and hospitals. All that I would say is, that we should not be too forwardly possessed with the opinion or expectation of knowledge, where it is not to be had, or by ways that will not attain to it: that we should not take doubtful systems for complete sciences; nor unintelligible notions for scientifical demonstrations. In the knowledge of bodies, we must be content to glean what we can from particular experiments: since we cannot, from a discovery of their real essences, grasp at a time whole sheaves, and in bundles comprehend the nature and properties of whole species together. Where our inquiry is concerning co-existence, or repugnancy to co-exist, which by contemplation of our ideas we cannot discover; there experience, observation, and natural history, must give us, by our senses and by retail, an insight into corporeal substances. The knowledge of BODIES we must get by our senses, warily employed in taking notice of their qualities and operations on one another: and what we hope to know of SEPARATE SPIRITS in this world, we must, I think, expect only from revelation. He that shall consider how little general maxims, precarious principles, and hypotheses laid down at pleasure, have promoted true knowledge, or helped to satisfy the inquiries of rational men after real improvements; how little, I say, the setting out at that end has, for many ages together, advanced men’s progress, towards the knowledge of natural philosophy, Will think we have reason to thank those who in this latter age have taken another course, and have trod out to us, though not an easier way to learned ignorance, yet a surer way to profitable knowledge.

13. The true Use of Hypotheses.

Not that we may not, to explain any phenomena of nature, make use of any probable hypothesis whatsoever: hypotheses, if they are well made, are at least great helps to the memory, and often direct us to new discoveries. But my meaning is, that we should not take up any one too hastily (which the mind, that would always penetrate into the causes of things, and have principles to rest on, is very apt to do) till we have very well examined particulars, and made several experiments, in that thing which we would explain by our hypothesis, and see whether it will agree to them all; whether our principles will carry us quite through, and not be as inconsistent with one phenomenon of nature, as they seem to accommodate and explain another. And at least that we take care that the name of PRINCIPLES deceive us not, nor impose on us, by making us receive that for an unquestionable truth, which is really at best but a very doubtful conjecture; such as are most (I had almost said all) of the hypotheses in natural philosophy.

14. Clear and distinct Ideas with settled Names, and the finding of those intermediate ideas which show their Agreement or Disagreement, are the Ways to enlarge our Knowledge.

But whether natural philosophy be capable of certainty or no, the ways to enlarge our knowledge, as far as we are capable, seems to me, in short, to be these two: —

First, The first is to get and settle in our minds [determined ideas of those things whereof we have general or specific names; at least, so many of them as we would consider and improve our knowledge in, or reason about.] [And if they be specific ideas of substances, we should endeavour also to make them as complete as we can, whereby I mean, that we should put together as many simple ideas as, being constantly observed to co-exist, may perfectly determine the species; and each of those simple ideas which are the ingredients of our complex ones, should be clear and distinct in our minds.] For it being evident that our knowledge cannot exceed our ideas; [as far as] they are either imperfect, confused, or obscure, we cannot expect to have certain, perfect, or clear knowledge. Secondly, The other is the art of finding out those intermediate ideas, which may show us the agreement or repugnancy of other ideas, which cannot be immediately compared.

15. Mathematics an instance of this.

That these two (and not the relying on maxims, and drawing consequences from some general propositions) are the right methods of improving our knowledge in the ideas of other modes besides those of quantity, the consideration of mathematical knowledge will easily inform us. Where first we shall find that he that has not a perfect and clear idea of those angles or figures of which he desires to know anything, is utterly thereby incapable of any knowledge about them. Suppose but a man not to have a perfect exact idea of a right angle, a scalenum, or trapezium, and there is nothing more certain than that he will in vain seek any demonstration about them. Further, it is evident, that it was not the influence of those maxims which are taken for principles in mathematics, that hath led the masters of that science into those wonderful discoveries they have made. Let a man of good parts know all the maxims generally made use of in mathematics ever so perfectly, and contemplate their extent and consequences as much as he pleases, he will, by their assistance, I suppose, scarce ever come to know that the square of the hypothenuse in a right-angled triangle is equal to the squares of the two other sides. The knowledge that ‘the whole is equal to all its parts,’ and ‘if you take equals from equals, the remainder will be equal,’ &c., helped him not, I presume, to this demonstration: and a man may, I think, pore long enough on those axioms, without ever seeing one jot the more of mathematical truths. They have been discovered by the thoughts otherwise applied: the mind had other objects, other views before it, far different from those maxims, when it first got the knowledge of such truths in mathematics, which men, well enough acquainted with those received axioms, but ignorant of their method who first made these demonstrations, can never sufficiently admire. And who knows what methods to enlarge our knowledge in other parts of science may hereafter be invented, answering that of algebra in mathematics, which so readily finds out the ideas of quantities to measure others by; whose equality or proportion we could otherwise very hardly, or, perhaps, never come to know?

CHAPTER XIII. SOME FURTHER CONSIDERATIONS CONCERNING OUR KNOWLEDGE.

1. Our Knowledge partly necessary partly voluntary.

Our knowledge, as in other things, so in this, has so great a conformity with our sight, that it is neither wholly necessary, nor wholly voluntary. If our knowledge were altogether necessary, all men’s knowledge would not only be alike, but every man would know all that is knowable; and if it were wholly voluntary, some men so little regard or value it, that they would have extreme little, or none at all. Men that have senses cannot choose but receive some ideas by them; and if they have memory, they cannot but retain some of them; and if they have any distinguishing faculty, cannot but perceive the agreement or disagreement of some of them one with another; as he that has eyes, if he will open them by day, cannot but see some objects, and perceive a difference in them. But though a man with his eyes open in the light, cannot but see, yet there be certain objects which he may choose whether he will turn his eyes to; there may be in his reach a book containing pictures and discourses, capable to delight or instruct him, which yet he may never have the will to open, never take the pains to look into.

2. The application of our Faculties voluntary; but they being employed, we know as things are, not as we please.

There is also another thing in a man’s power, and that is, though he turns his eyes sometimes towards an object, yet he may choose whether he will curiously survey it, and with an intent application endeavour to observe accurately all that is visible in it. But yet, what he does see, he cannot see otherwise than he does. It depends not on his will to see that black which appears yellow; nor to persuade himself, that what actually scalds him, feels cold. The earth will not appear painted with flowers, nor the fields covered with verdure, whenever he has a mind to it: in the cold winter, he cannot help seeing it white and hoary, if he will look abroad. Just thus is it with our understanding: all that is voluntary in our knowledge is, the employing or withholding any of our FACULTIES from this or that sort of objects, and a more or less accurate survey of them: but, THEY BEING EMPLOYED, OUR WILL HATH NO POWER TO DETERMINE THE KNOWLEDGE OF THE MIND ONE WAY OR ANOTHER; that is done only by the objects themselves, as far as they are clearly discovered. And therefore, as far as men’s senses are conversant about external objects, the mind cannot but receive those ideas which are presented by them, and be informed of the existence of things without: and so far as men’s thoughts converse with their own determined ideas, they cannot but in some measure observe the agreement or disagreement that is to be found amongst some of them, which is so far knowledge: and if they have names for those ideas which they have thus considered, they must needs be assured of the truth of those propositions which express that agreement or disagreement they perceive in them, and be undoubtedly convinced of those truths. For what a man sees, he cannot but see; and what he perceives, he cannot but know that he perceives.

3. Instance in Numbers.

Thus he that has got the ideas of numbers, and hath taken the pains to compare one, two, and three, to six, cannot choose but know that they are equal: he that hath got the idea of a triangle, and found the ways to measure its angles and their magnitudes, is certain that its three angles are equal to two right ones; and can as little doubt of that, as of this truth, that, It is impossible for the same thing to be, and not to be.

4. Instance in Natural Religion.

He also that hath the idea of an intelligent, but frail and weak being, made by and depending on another, who is eternal, omnipotent, perfectly wise and good, will as certainly know that man is to honour, fear, and obey God, as that the sun shines when he sees it. For if he hath but the ideas of two such beings in his mind, and will turn his thoughts that way, and consider them, he will as certainly find that the inferior, finite, and dependent, is under an obligation to obey the supreme and infinite, as he is certain to find that three, four, and seven are less than fifteen; if he will consider and compute those numbers: nor can he be surer in a clear morning that the sun is risen; if he will but open his eyes, and turn them that way. But yet these truths, being ever so certain, ever so clear, he may be ignorant of either, or all of them, who will never take the pains to employ his faculties, as he should, to inform himself about them.

CHAPTER XIV. OF JUDGMENT.

1. Our Knowledge being short, we want something else.

The understanding faculties being given to man, not barely for speculation, but also for the conduct of his life, man would be at a great loss if he had nothing to direct him but what has the certainty of true knowledge. For that being very short and scanty, as we have seen, he would be often utterly in the dark, and in most of the actions of his life, perfectly at a stand, had he nothing to guide him in the absence of clear and certain knowledge. He that will not eat till he has demonstration that it will nourish him; he that will not stir till he infallibly knows the business he goes about will succeed, will have little else to do but to sit still and perish.

2. What Use to be made of this twilight State.

Therefore, as God has set some things in broad daylight; as he has given us some certain knowledge, though limited to a few things in comparison, probably as a taste of what intellectual creatures are capable of to excite in us a desire and endeavour after a better state: so, in the greatest part of our concernments, he has afforded us only the twilight, as I may so say, of probability; suitable, I presume, to that state of mediocrity and probationership he has been pleased to place us in here; wherein, to check our over-confidence and presumption, we might, by every day’s experience, be made sensible of our short-sightedness and liableness to error; the sense whereof might be a constant admonition to us, to spend the days of this our pilgrimage with industry and care, in the search and following of that way which might lead us to a state of greater perfection. It being highly rational to think, even were revelation silent in the case, that, as men employ those talents God has given them here, they shall accordingly receive their rewards at the close of the day, when their sun shall set, and night shall put an end to their labours.

3. Judgement or assent to Probability, supplies our want of Knowledge.

The faculty which God has given man to supply the want of clear and certain knowledge, in cases where that cannot be had, is JUDGEMENT: whereby the mind takes its ideas to agree or disagree; or, which is the same, any proposition to be true or false, without perceiving a demonstrative evidence in the proofs. The mind sometimes exercises this judgment out of necessity, where demonstrative proofs and certain knowledge are not to be had; and sometimes out of laziness, unskilfulness, or haste, even where demonstrative and certain proofs are to be had. Men often stay not warily to examine the agreement or disagreement of two ideas, which they are desirous or concerned to know; but, either incapable of such attention as is requisite in a long train of gradations, or impatient of delay, lightly cast their eyes on, or wholly pass by the proofs; and so, without making out the demonstration, determine of the agreement or disagreement of two ideas, as it were by a view of them as they are at a distance, and take it to be the one or the other, as seems most likely to them upon such a loose survey. This faculty of the mind, when it is exercised immediately about things, is called JUDGEMENT; when about truths delivered in words, is most commonly called ASSENT or DISSENT: which being the most usual way, wherein the mind has occasion to employ this faculty, I shall, under these terms, treat of it, as feast liable in our language to equivocation.

4. Judgement is the presuming Things to be so, without perceiving it.

Thus the mind has two faculties conversant (about truth and falsehood): —

First, KNOWLEDGE, whereby it certainly PERCEIVES, and is undoubtedly satisfied of the agreement or disagreement of any ideas.

Secondly, JUDGEMENT, which is the putting ideas together, or separating them from one another in the mind, when their certain agreement or disagreement is not perceived, but PRESUMED to be so; which is, as the word imports, taken to be so before it certainly appears. And if it so unites or separates them as in reality things are, it is right judgement.

CHAPTER XV. OF PROBABILITY.

1. Probability is the appearance of Agreement upon fallible Proofs.

As DEMONSTRATION is the showing the agreement or disagreement of two ideas, by the intervention of one or more proofs, which have a constant, immutable, and visible connexion one with another; so PROBABILITY is nothing but the appearance of such an agreement or disagreement, by the intervention of proofs, whose connexion is not constant and immutable, or at least is not perceived to be so, but is, or appears for the most part to be so, and is enough to induce the mind to judge the proposition to be true or false, rather than the contrary. For example: in the demonstration of it a man perceives the certain, immutable connexion there is of equality between the three angles of a triangle, and those intermediate ones which are made use of to show their equality to two right ones; and so, by an intuitive knowledge of the agreement or disagreement of the intermediate ideas in each step of the progress, the whole series is continued with an evidence, which clearly shows the agreement or disagreement of those three angles in equality to two right ones: and thus he has certain knowledge that it is so. But another man, who never took the pains to observe the demonstration, hearing a mathematician, a man of credit, affirm the three angles of a triangle to be equal to two right ones, assents to it, i.e. receives it for true: in which case the foundation of his assent is the probability of the thing; the proof being such as for the most part carries truth with it: the man on whose testimony he receives it, not being wont to affirm anything contrary to or besides his knowledge, especially in matters of this kind: so that that which causes his assent to this proposition, that the three angles of a triangle are equal to two right ones, that which makes him take these ideas to agree, without knowings them to do so, is the wonted veracity of the speaker in other cases, or his supposed veracity in this.

2. It is to supply our Want of Knowledge.

Our knowledge, as has been shown, being very narrow, and we not happy enough to find certain truth in everything which we have occasion to consider; most of the propositions we think, reason, discourse — nay, act upon, are such as we cannot have undoubted knowledge of their truth: yet some of them border so near upon certainty, that we make no act, according to the assent, as resolutely as if they were infallibly demonstrated, and that our knowledge of them was perfect and certain. But there being degrees herein, from the very neighbourhood of certainty and demonstration, quite down to improbability and unlikeness, even to the confines of impossibility; and also degrees of assent from full assurance and confidence, quite down to conjecture, doubt, and distrust: I shall come now, (having, as I think, found out THE BOUNDS OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE AND CERTAINTY,) in the next place, to consider THE SEVERAL DEGREES AND GROUNDS OF PROBABILITY, AND ASSENT OR FAITH.

3. Being that which makes us presume Things to be true, before we know them to be so.

Probability is likeliness to be true, the very notation of the word signifying such a proposition, for which there be arguments or proofs to make it pass, or be received for true. The entertainment the mind gives this sort of propositions is called BELIEF, ASSENT, or OPINION, which is the admitting or receiving any proposition for true, upon arguments or proofs that are found to persuade us to receive it as true, without certain knowledge that it is so. And herein lies the difference between PROBABILITY and CERTAINTY, FAITH, and KNOWLEDGE, that in all the parts of knowledge there is intuition; each immediate idea, each step has its visible and certain connexion: in belief, not so. That which makes me believe, is something extraneous to the thing I believe; something not evidently joined on both sides to, and so not manifestly showing the agreement or disagreement of those ideas that are under consideration.

4. The Grounds of Probability are two: Conformity with our own Experience, or the Testimony of others.

Probability then, being to supply the defect of our knowledge, and to guide us where that fails, is always conversant about propositions whereof we have no certainty, but only some inducements to receive them for true. The grounds of it are, in short, these two following: —

First, The conformity of anything with our own knowledge, observation, and experience.

Secondly, The testimony of others, vouching their observation and experience. In the testimony of others is to be considered: 1. The number. 2. The integrity. 3. The skill of the witnesses. 4. The design of the author, where it is a testimony out of a book cited. 5. The consistency of the parts, and circumstances of the relation. 6. Contrary testimonies.

5. In this, all the Arguments pro and con ought to be examined, before we come to a Judgment.

Probability wanting that intuitive evidence which, infallibly determines the understanding and produces certain knowledge, the mind, if it WILL PROCEED RATIONALLY, ought to examine all the grounds of probability, and see how they make more or less for or against any proposition, before it assents to or dissents from it; and, upon a due balancing the whole, reject or receive it, with a more or less firm assent, proportionably to the preponderancy of the greater grounds of probability on one side or the other. For example: —

If I myself see a man walk on the ice, it is past probability; it is knowledge. But if another tells me he saw a man in England, in the midst of a sharp winter, walk upon water hardened with cold, this has so great conformity with what is usually observed to happen, that I am disposed by the natures of the thing itself to assent to it; unless some manifest suspicion attend the relation of that matter of fact. But if the same thing be told to one born between the tropics, who never saw nor heard of any such thing before, there the whole probability relies on testimony: and as the relators are more in number, and of more credit, and have no interest to speak contrary to the truth, so that matter of fact is like to find more or less belief. Though to a man whose experience has always been quite contrary, and who has never heard of anything like it, the most untainted credit of a witness will scarce be able to find belief. As it happened to a Dutch ambassador, who entertaining the king of Siam with the particularities of Holland, which he was inquisitive after, amongst other things told him, that the water in his country would sometimes, in cold weather, be so hard, that men walked upon it, and that it would bear an elephant, if he were there. To which the king replied, HITHERTO I HAVE BELIEVED THE STRANGE THINGS YOU HAVE TOLD ME, BECAUSE I LOOK UPON YOU AS A SOBER FAIR MAN, BUT NOW I AM SURE YOU LIE.

6. Probable arguments capable of great Variety.

Upon these grounds depends the probability of any proposition: and as the conformity of our knowledge, as the certainty of observations, as the frequency and constancy of experience, and the number and credibility of testimonies do more or less agree or disagree with it, so is any proposition in itself more or less probable. There is another, I confess, which, though by itself it be no true ground of probability, yet is often made use of for one, by which men most commonly regulate their assent, and upon which they pin their faith more than anything else, and that is, THE OPINION OF OTHERS; though there cannot be a more dangerous thing to rely on, nor more likely to mislead one; since there is much more falsehood and error among men, than truth and knowledge. And if the opinions and persuasions of others, whom we know and think well of, be a ground of assent, men have reason to be Heathens in Japan, Mahometans in Turkey, Papists in Spain, Protestants in England, and Lutherans in Sweden. But of this wrong ground of assent I shall have occasion to speak more at large in another place.

CHAPTER XVI. OF THE DEGREES OF ASSENT.

1. Our Assent ought to be regulated by the Grounds of Probability.

The grounds of probability we have laid down in the foregoing chapter: as they are the foundations on which our ASSENT is built, so are they also the measure whereby its several degrees are, or ought to be regulated: only we are to take notice, that, whatever grounds of probability there may be, they yet operate no further on the mind which searches after truth, and endeavours to judge right, than they appear; at least, in the first judgment or search that the mind makes. I confess, in the opinions men have, and firmly stick to in the world, their assent is not always from an actual view of the reasons that at first prevailed with them: it being in many cases almost impossible, and in most, very hard, even for those who have very admirable memories, to retain all the proofs which, upon a due examination, made them embrace that side of the question. It suffices that they have once with care and fairness sifted the matter as far as they could; and that they have searched into all the particulars, that they could imagine to give any light to the question; and, with the best of their skill, cast up the account upon the whole evidence: and thus, having once found on which side the probability appeared to THEM, after as full and exact an inquiry as they can make, they lay up the conclusion in their memories, as a truth they have discovered; and for the future they remain satisfied with the testimony of their memories, that this is the opinion that, by the proofs they have once seen of it, deserves such a degree of their assent as they afford it.

2. These can not always be actually in View; and then we must content ourselves with the remembrance that we once saw ground for such a Degree of Assent.

This is all that the greatest part of men are capable of doing, in regulating their opinions and judgments; unless a man will exact of them, either to retain distinctly in their memories all the proofs concerning any probable truth, and that too, in the same order, and regular deduction of consequences in which they have formerly placed or seen them; which sometimes is enough to fill a large volume on one single question: or else they must require a man, for every opinion that he embraces, every day to examine the proofs: both which are impossible. It is unavoidable, therefore, that the memory be relied on in the case, and that men be persuaded of several opinions, whereof the proofs are not actually in their thoughts; nay, which perhaps they are not able actually to recall. Without this, the greatest part of men must be either very sceptics; or change every moment, and yield themselves up to whoever, having lately studied the question, offers them arguments, which, for want of memory, they are not able presently to answer.

3. The ill consequence of this, if our former Judgments were not rightly made.

I cannot but own, that men’s sticking to their past judgment, and adhering firmly to conclusions formerly made, is often the cause of great obstinacy in error and mistake. But the fault is not that they rely on their memories for what they have before well judged, but because they judged before they had well examined. May we not find a great number (not to say the greatest part) of men that think they have formed right judgments of several matters; and that for no other reason, but because they never thought otherwise? that themselves to have judged right, only because they never questioned, never examined, their own opinions? Which is indeed to think they judged right, because they never judged at all. And yet these, of all men, hold their opinions with the greatest stiffness; those being generally the most fierce and firm in their tenets, who have least examined them. What we once KNOW, we are certain is so: and we may be secure, that there are no latent proofs undiscovered, which may overturn our knowledge, or bring it in doubt. But, in matters of PROBABILITY, it is not in every case we can be sure that we have all the particulars before us, that any way concern the question; and that there is no evidence behind, and yet unseen, which may cast the probability on the other side, and outweigh all that at present seems to preponderate with us. Who almost is there that hath the leisure, patience, and means to collect together all the proofs concerning most of the opinions he has, so as safely to conclude that he hath a clear and full view; and that there is no more to be alleged for his better information? And yet we are forced to determine ourselves on the one side or other. The conduct of our lives, and the management of our great concerns, will not bear delay: for those depend, for the most part, on the determination of our judgment in points wherein we are not capable of certain and demonstrative knowledge, and wherein it is necessary for us to embrace the one side or the other.

4. The right Use of it, mutual Charity and Forbearance, in a necessary diversity of opinions.

Since, therefore, it is unavoidable to the greatest part of men, if not all, to have several OPINIONS, without certain and indubitable proofs of their truth; and it carries too great an imputation of ignorance, lightness, or folly for men to quit and renounce their former tenets presently upon the offer of an argument which they cannot immediately answer, and show the insufficiency of: it would, methinks, become all men to maintain peace, and the common offices of humanity, and friendship, in the diversity of opinions; since we cannot reasonably expect that any one should readily and obsequiously quit his own opinion, and embrace ours, with a blind resignation to an authority which the understanding of man acknowledges not. For however it may often mistake, it can own no other guide but reason, nor blindly submit to the will and dictates of another. If he you would bring over to your sentiments be one that examines before he assents, you must give him leave at his leisure to go over the account again, and, recalling what is out of his mind, examine all the particulars, to see on which side the advantage lies: and if he will not think our arguments of weight enough to engage him anew in so much pains, it is but what we often do ourselves in the like case; and we should take it amiss if others should prescribe to us what points we should study. And if he be one who takes his opinions upon trust, how can we imagine that he should renounce those tenets which time and custom have so settled in his mind, that he thinks them self-evident, and of an unquestionably certainty; or which he takes to be impressions he has received from God himself, or from men sent by him? How can we expect, I say, that opinions thus settled should be given up to the arguments or authority of a stranger or adversary, especially if there be any suspicion of interest or design, as there never fails to be, where men find themselves ill-trusted? We should do well to commiserate our mutual ignorance, and endeavour to remove it in all the gentle and fair ways of information; and not instantly treat others ill, as obstinate and perverse, because they will not renounce their own, and receive our opinions, or at least those we would force upon them, when it is more than probable that we are no less obstinate in not embracing some of theirs. For where is the man that has incontestable evidence of the truth of all that he holds, or of the falsehood of all he condemns; or can say that he has examined to the bottom all his own, or other men’s opinions? The necessity of believing without knowledge, nay often upon very slight grounds, in this fleeting state of action and blindness we are in, should make us more busy and careful to inform ourselves than constrain others. At least, those who have not thoroughly examined to the bottom all their own tenets, must confess they are unfit to prescribe to others; and are unreasonable in imposing that as truth on other men’s belief, which they themselves have not searched into, nor weighed the arguments of probability, on which they should receive or reject it. Those who have fairly and truly examined, and are thereby got past doubt in all the doctrines they profess and govern themselves by, would have a juster pretence to require others to follow them: but these are so few in number, and find so little reason to be magisterial in their opinions, that nothing insolent and imperious is to be expected from them: and there is reason to think, that, if men were better instructed themselves, they would be less imposing on others.

5. Probability is either of sensible Matter of Fact, capable of human testimony, or of what is beyond the evidence of our senses.

But to return to the grounds of assent, and the several degrees of it, we are to take notice, that the propositions we receive upon inducements of PROBABILITY are of TWO SORTS: either concerning some particular existance, or, as it is usually termed, matter of fact, which, falling under observation, is capable of human testimony; or else concerning things, which being beyond the discovery of our senses, are not capable of any such testimony.

6. Concerning the FIRST of these, viz. PARTICULAR MATTER OF FACT.

I. The concurrent Experience of ALL other Men with ours, produces
Assurance approaching to Knowledge.

Where any particular thing, consonant to the constant observation of ourselves and others in the like case, comes attested by the concurrent reports of all that mention it, we receive it as easily, and build as firmly upon it, as if it were certain knowledge; and we reason and act thereupon with as little doubt as if it were perfect demonstration. Thus, if all Englishmen, who have occasion to mention it, should affirm that it froze in England the last winter, or that there were swallows seen there in the summer, I think a man could almost as little doubt of it as that seven and four are eleven. The first, therefore, and HIGHEST DEGREE OF PROBABILITY, is, when the general consent of all men, in all ages, as far as it can be known, concurs with a man’s constant and never-failing experience in like cases, to confirm the truth of any particular matter of fact attested by fair witnesses: such are all the stated constitutions and properties of bodies, and the regular proceedings of causes and effects in the ordinary course of nature. This we call an argument from the nature of things themselves. For what our own and other men’s CONSTANT OBSERVATION has found always to be after the same manner, that we with reason conclude to be the effect of steady and regular causes; though they come not within the reach of our knowledge. Thus, That fire warmed a man, made lead fluid, and changed the colour or consistency in wood or charcoal; that iron sunk in water, and swam in quicksilver: these and the like propositions about particular facts, being agreeable to our constant experience, as often as we have to do with these matters; and being generally spoke of (when mentioned by others) as things found constantly to be so, and therefore not so much as controverted by anybody — we are put past doubt that a relation affirming any such thing to have been, or any predication that it will happen again in the same manner, is very true. These PROBABILITIES rise so near to CERTAINTY, that they govern our thoughts as absolutely, and influence all our actions as fully, as the most evident demonstration; and in what concerns us we make little or no difference between them and certain knowledge. Our belief, thus grounded, rises to ASSURANCE.

7. II. Unquestionable Testimony, and our own Experience that a thing is for the most part so, produce Confidence.

The NEXT DEGREE OF PROBABILITY is, when I find by my own experience, and the agreement of all others that mention it, a thing to be for the most part so, and that the particular instance of it is attested by many and undoubted witnesses: v.g. history giving us such an account of men in all ages, and my own experience, as far as I had an opportunity to observe, confirming it, that most men prefer their private advantage to the public: if all historians that write of Tiberius, say that Tiberius did so, it is extremely probable. And in this case, our assent has a sufficient foundation to raise itself to a degree which we may call CONFIDENCE.

8. III. Fair Testimony, and the Nature of the Thing indifferent, produce unavoidable Assent.

In things that happen indifferently, as that a bird should fly this or that way; that it should thunder on a man’s right or left hand, &c., when any particular matter of fact is vouched by the concurrent testimony of unsuspected witnesses, there our assent is also UNAVOIDABLE. Thus: that there is such a city in Italy as Rome: that about one thousand seven hundred years ago, there lived in it a man, called Julius Caesar; that he was a general, and that he won a battle against another, called Pompey. This, though in the nature of the thing there be nothing for nor against it, yet being related by historians of credit, and contradicted by no one writer, a man cannot avoid believing it, and can as little doubt of it as he does of the being and actions of his own acquaintance, whereof he himself is a witness.

9. Experience and Testimonies clashing, infinitely vary the Degrees of Probability.

Thus far the matter goes easy enough. Probability upon such grounds carries so much evidence with it, that it naturally determines the judgment, and leaves us as little liberty to believe or disbelieve, as a demonstration does, whether we will know, or be ignorant. The difficulty is, when testimonies contradict common experience, and the reports of history and witnesses clash with the ordinary course of nature, or with one another; there it is, where diligence, attention, and exactness are required, to form a right judgment, and to proportion the assent to the different evidence and probability of the thing: which rises and falls, according as those two foundations of credibility, viz. COMMON OBSERVATION IN LIKE CASES, and PARTICULAR TESTIMONIES IN THAT PARTICULAR INSTANCE, favour or contradict it. These are liable to so great variety of contrary observations, circumstances, reports, different qualifications, tempers, designs, oversights, &c., of the reporters, that it is impossible to reduce to precise rules the various degrees wherein men give their assent. This only may be said in general, That as the arguments and proofs PRO and CON, upon due examination, nicely weighing every particular circumstance, shall to any one appear, upon the whole matter, in a greater or less degree to preponderate on either side; so they are fitted to produce in the mind such different entertainments, as we call BELIEF, CONJECTURE, GUESS, DOUBT, WAVERING, DISTRUST, DISBELIEF, &c.

10. Traditional Testimonies, the further removed the less their Proof becomes.

This is what concerns assent in matters wherein testimony is made use of: concerning which, I think, it may not be amiss to take notice of a rule observed in the law of England; which is, That though the attested copy of a record be good proof, yet the copy of a copy, ever so well attested, and by ever so credible witnesses, will not be admitted as a proof in judicature. This is so generally approved as reasonable, and suited to the wisdom and caution to be used in our inquiry after material truths, that I never yet heard of any one that blamed it. This practice, if it be allowable in the decisions of right and wrong, carries this observation along with it, viz. THAT ANY TESTIMONY, THE FURTHER OFF IT IS FROM THE ORIGINAL TRUTH, THE LESS FORCE AND PROOF IT HAS. The being and existence of the thing itself, is what I call the original truth. A credible man vouching his knowledge of it is a good proof; but if another equally credible do witness it from his report, the testimony is weaker: and a third that attests the hearsay of an hearsay is yet less considerable. So that in traditional truths, each remove weakens the force of the proof: and the more hands the tradition has successively passed through, the less strength and evidence does it receive from them. This I thought necessary to be taken notice of: because I find amongst some men the quite contrary commonly practised, who look on opinions to gain force by growing older; and what a thousand years since would not, to a rational man contemporary with the first voucher, have appeared at all probable, is now urged as certain beyond all question, only because several have since, from him, said it one after another. Upon this ground propositions, evidently false or doubtful enough in their first beginning, come, by an inverted rule of probability, to pass for authentic truths; and those which found or deserved little credit from the mouths of their first authors, are thought to grow venerable by age, are urged as undeniable.

11. Yet History is of great Use.

I would not be thought here to lessen the credit and use of HISTORY: it is all the light we have in many cases, and we receive from it a great part of the useful truths we have, with a convincing evidence. I think nothing more valuable than the records of antiquity: I wish we had more of them, and more uncorrupted. But this truth itself forces me to say, That no probability can rise higher than its first original. What has no other evidence than the single testimony of one only witness must stand or fall by his only testimony, whether good, bad, or indifferent; and though cited afterwards by hundreds of others, one after another, is so far from receiving any strength thereby, that it is only the weaker. Passion, interest, inadvertency, mistake of his meaning, and a thousand odd reasons, or capricios, men’s minds are acted by, (impossible to be discovered,) may make one man quote another man’s words or meaning wrong. He that has but ever so little examined the citations of writers, cannot doubt how little credit the quotations deserve, where the originals are wanting; and consequently how much less quotations of quotations can be relied on. This is certain, that what in one age was affirmed upon slight grounds, can never after come to be more valid in future ages by being often repeated. But the further still it is from the original, the less valid it is, and has always less force in the mouth or writing of him that last made use of it than in his from whom he received it.

12. Secondly, In things which Sense cannot discover, Analogy is the great Rule of Probability.

[SECONDLY], The probabilities we have hitherto mentioned are only such as concern matter of fact, and such things as are capable of observation and testimony. There remains that other sort, concerning which men entertain opinions with variety of assent, though THE THINGS BE SUCH, THAT FALLING NOT UNDER THE REACH OF OUR SENSES, THEY ARE NOT CAPABLE OF TESTIMONY. Such are, 1. The existence, nature and operations of finite immaterial beings without us; as spirits, angels, devils, &c. Or the existence of material beings which, either for their smallness in themselves or remoteness from us, our senses cannot take notice of — as, whether there be any plants, animals, and intelligent inhabitants in the planets, and other mansions of the vast universe. 2. Concerning the manner of operation in most parts of the works of nature: wherein, though we see the sensible effects, yet their causes are unknown, and we perceive not the ways and manner how they are produced. We see animals are generated, nourished, and move; the loadstone draws iron; and the parts of a candle, successively melting, turn into flame, and give us both light and heat. These and the like effects we see and know: but the causes that operate, and the manner they are produced in, we can only guess and probably conjecture. For these and the like, coming not within the scrutiny of human senses, cannot be examined by them, or be attested by anybody; and therefore can appear more or less probable, only as they more or less agree to truths that are established in our minds, and as they hold proportion to other parts of our knowledge and observation. ANALOGY in these matters is the only help we have, and it is from that alone we draw all our grounds of probability. Thus, observing that the bare rubbing of two bodies violently one upon another, produces heat, and very often fire itself, we have reason to think, that what we call HEAT and FIRE consists in a violent agitation of the imperceptible minute parts of the burning matter. Observing likewise that the different refractions of pellucid bodies produce in our eyes the different appearances of several colours; and also, that the different ranging and laying the superficial parts of several bodies, as of velvet, watered silk, &c., does the like, we think it probable that the COLOUR and shining of bodies is in them nothing but the different arrangement and refraction of their minute and insensible parts. Thus, finding in all parts of the creation, that fall under human observation, that there is A GRADUAL CONNEXION OF ONE WITH ANOTHER, WITHOUT ANY GREAT OR DISCERNIBLE GAPS BETWEEN, IN ALL THAT GREAT VARIETY OF THINGS WE SEE IN THE WORLD, which are so closely linked together, that, in the several ranks of beings, it is not easy to discover the bounds betwixt them; we have reason to be persuaded that, BY SUCH GENTLE STEPS, things ascend upwards in degrees of perfection. It is a hard matter to say where sensible and rational begin, and where insensible and irrational end: and who is there quick-sighted enough to determine precisely which is the lowest species of living things, and which the first of those which have no life? Things, as far as we can observe, lessen and augment, as the quantity does in a regular cone; where, though there be a manifest odds betwixt the bigness of the diameter at a remote distance, yet the difference between the upper and under, where they touch one another, is hardly discernible. The difference is exceeding great between some men and some animals: but if we will compare the understanding and abilities of some men and some brutes, we shall find so little difference, that it will be hard to say, that that of the man is either clearer or larger. Observing, I say, such gradual and gentle descents downwards in those parts of the creation that are beneath man, the rule of analogy may make it probable, that it is so also in things above us and our observation; and that there are several ranks of intelligent beings, excelling us in several degrees of perfection, ascending upwards towards the infinite perfection of the Creator, by gentle steps and differences, that are every one at no great distance from the next to it. This sort of probability, which is the best conduct of rational experiments, and the rise of hypothesis, has also its use and influence; and a wary reasoning from analogy leads us often into the discovery of truths and useful productions, which would otherwise lie concealed.

13. One Case where contrary Experience lessens not the Testimony.

Though the common experience and the ordinary course of things have justly a mighty influence on the minds of men, to make them give or refuse credit to anything proposed to their belief; yet there is one case, wherein the strangeness of the fact lessens not the assent to a fair testimony given of it. For where such supernatural events are suitable to ends aimed at by Him who has the power to change the course of nature, there, UNDER SUCH CIRCUMSTANCES, that may be the fitter to procure belief, by how much the more they are beyond or contrary to ordinary observation. This is the proper case of MIRACLES, which, well attested, do not only find credit themselves, but give it also to other truths, which need such confirmation.

14. The bare Testimony of Divine Revelation is the highest Certainty.

Besides those we have hitherto mentioned, there is one sort of propositions that challenge the highest degree of our assent, upon bare testimony, whether the thing proposed agree or disagree with common experience, and the ordinary course of things, or no. The reason whereof is, because the testimony is of such an one as cannot deceive nor be deceived: and that is of God himself. This carries with it an assurance beyond doubt, evidence beyond exception. This is called by a peculiar name, REVELATION, and our assent to it, FAITH, which [as absolutely determines our minds, and as perfectly excludes all wavering,] as our knowledge itself; and we may as well doubt of our own being, as we can whether any revelation from God be true. So that faith is a settled and sure principle of assent and assurance, and leaves no manner of room for doubt or hesitation. ONLY WE MUST BE SURE THAT IT BE A DIVINE REVELATION, AND THAT WE UNDERSTAND IT RIGHT: else we shall expose ourselves to all the extravagancy of enthusiasm, and all the error of wrong principles, if we have faith and assurance in what is not DIVINE revelation. And therefore, in those cases, our assent can be rationally no higher than the evidence of its being a revelation, and that this is the meaning of the expressions it is delivered in. If the evidence of its being a revelation, or that this is its true sense, be only on probable proofs, our assent can reach no higher than an assurance or diffidence, arising from the more or less apparent probability of the proofs. But of FAITH, and the precedency it ought to have before other arguments of persuasion, I shall speak more hereafter; where I treat of it as it is ordinarily placed, in contradistinction to reason; though in truth it be nothing else but AN ASSENT FOUNDED ON THE HIGHEST REASON.

CHAPTER XVII. OF REASON.

1. Various Significations of the word Reason.

THE word REASON in the English language has different significations: sometimes it is taken for true and clear principles: sometimes for clear and fair deductions from those principles: and sometimes for the cause, and particularly the final cause. But the consideration I shall have of it here is in a signification different from all these; and that is, as it stands for a faculty in man, that faculty whereby man is supposed to be distinguished from beasts, and wherein it is evident he much surpasses them.

2. Wherein Reasoning consists.

If general knowledge, as has been shown, consists in a perception of the agreement or disagreement of our own ideas, and the knowledge of the existence of all things without us (except only of a God, whose existence every man may certainly know and demonstrate to himself from his own existence), be had only by our senses, what room is there for the exercise of any other faculty, but OUTWARD SENSE and INWARD PERCEPTION? What need is there of REASON? Very much: both for the enlargement of our knowledge, and regulating our assent. For it hath to do both in knowledge and opinion, and is necessary and assisting to all our other intellectual faculties, and indeed contains two of them, viz. SAGACITY and ILLATION. By the one, it finds out; and by the other, it so orders the intermediate ideas as to discover what connexion there is in each link of the chain, whereby the extremes are held together; and thereby, as it were, to draw into view the truth sought for, which is that which we call ILLATION or INFERENCE, and consists in nothing but the perception of the connexion there is between the ideas, in each step of the deduction; whereby the mind comes to see, either the certain agreement or disagreement of any two ideas, as in demonstration, in which it arrives at KNOWLEDGE; or their probable connexion, on which it gives or withholds its assent, as in OPINION. Sense and intuition reach but a very little way. The greatest part of our knowledge depends upon deductions and intermediate ideas: and in those cases where we are fain to substitute assent instead of knowledge, and take propositions for true, without being certain they are so, we have need to find out, examine, and compare the grounds of their probability. In both these cases, the faculty which finds out the means, and rightly applies them, to discover certainty in the one, and probability in the other, is that which we call REASON. For, as reason perceives the necessary and indubitable connexion of all the ideas or proofs one to another, in each step of any demonstration that produces knowledge; so it likewise perceives the probable connexion of all the ideas or proofs one to another, in every step of a discourse, to which it will think assent due. This is the lowest degree of that which can be truly called reason. For where the mind does not perceive this probable connexion, where it does not discern whether there be any such connexion or no; there men’s opinions are not the product of judgment, or the consequence of reason, but the effects of chance and hazard, of a mind floating at all adventures, without choice and without direction.

3. Reason in its four degrees.

So that we may in REASON consider these FOUR DEGREES: the first and highest is the discovering and finding out of truths; the second, the regular and methodical disposition of them, and laying them in a clear and fit order, to make their connexion and force be plainly and easily perceived; the third is the perceiving their connexion; and the fourth, a making a right conclusion. These several degrees may be observed in any mathematical demonstration; it being one thing to perceive the connexion of each part, as the demonstration is made by another; another to perceive the dependence of the conclusion on all the parts; a third, to make out a demonstration clearly and neatly one’s self; and something different from all these, to have first found out these intermediate ideas or proofs by which it is made.

4. Whether Syllogism is the great Instrument of Reason.

There is one thing more which I shall desire to be considered concerning reason; and that is, whether SYLLOGISM, as is generally thought, be the proper instrument of it, and the usefullest way of exercising this faculty. The causes I have to doubt are these: —

First Cause to doubt this.

FIRST, Because syllogism serves our reason but in one only of the forementioned parts of it; and that is, to show the CONNEXION OF THE PROOFS in any one instance, and no more; but in this it is of no great use, since the mind can perceive such connexion, where it really is, as easily, nay, perhaps better, without it.

Men can reason well who cannot make a Syllogism.

If we will observe the actings of our own minds, we shall find that we reason best and clearest, when we only observe the connexion of the proof, without reducing our thoughts to any rule of syllogism. And therefore we may take notice, that there are many men that reason exceeding clear and rightly, who know not how to make a syllogism. He that will look into many parts of Asia and America, will find men reason there perhaps as acutely as himself, who yet never heard of a syllogism, nor can reduce any one argument to those forms: [and I believe scarce any one makes syllogisms in reasoning within himself.] Indeed syllogism is made use of, on occasion, to discover a fallacy hid in a rhetorical flourish, or cunningly wrapt up in a smooth period; and, stripping an absurdity of the cover of wit and good language, show it in its naked deformity. But the mind is not taught to reason by these rules; it has a native faculty to perceive the coherence or incoherence of its ideas, and can range them right without any such perplexing repetitions. Tell a country gentlewoman that the wind is south-west, and the weather lowering, and like to rain, and she will easily understand it is not safe for her to go abroad thin clad in such a day, after a fever: she clearly sees the probable connexion of all these, viz. south-west wind, and clouds, rain, wetting, taking cold, relapse, and danger of death, without tying them together in those artificial and cumbersome fetters of several syllogisms, that clog and hinder the mind, which proceeds from one part to another quicker and clearer without them: and the probability which she easily perceives in things thus in their native state would be quite lost, if this argument were managed learnedly, and proposed in MODE and FIGURE. For it very often confounds the connexion; and, I think, every one will perceive in mathematical demonstrations, that the knowledge gained thereby comes shortest and clearest without syllogism.

Secondly, Because though syllogism serves to show the force or fallacy of an argument, made use of in the usual way of discoursing, BY SUPPLYING THE ABSENT PROPOSITION, and so, setting it before the view in a clear light; yet it no less engages the mind in the perplexity of obscure, equivocal, and fallacious terms, wherewith this artificial way of reasoning always abounds: it being adapted more to the attaining of victory in dispute than the discovery and confirmation of truth in fair enquiries.

5. Syllogism helps little in Demonstration, less in Probability.

But however it be in knowledge, I think I may truly say, it is OF FAR LESS, OR NO USE AT ALL IN PROBABILITIES. For the assent there being to be determined by the preponderancy, after due weighing of all the proofs, with all circumstances on both sides, nothing is so unfit to assist the mind in that as syllogism; which running away with one assumed probability, or one topical argument, pursues that till it has led the mind quite out of sight of the thing under consideration; and, forcing it upon some remote difficulty, holds it fast there; entangled perhaps, and, as it were, manacled, in the chain of syllogisms, without allowing it the liberty, much less affording it the helps, requisite to show on which side, all things considered, is the greater probability.

6. Serves not to increase our Knowledge, but to fence with the Knowledge we suppose we have.

But let it help us (as perhaps may be said) in convincing men of their errors and mistakes: (and yet I would fain see the man that was forced out of his opinion by dint of syllogism,) yet still it fails our reason in that part, which, if not its highest perfection, is yet certainly its hardest task, and that which we most need its help in; and that is THE FINDING OUT OF PROOFS, AND MAKING NEW DISCOVERIES. The rules of syllogism serve not to furnish the mind with those intermediate ideas that may show the connexion of remote ones. This way of reasoning discovers no new proofs, but is the art of marshalling and ranging the old ones we have already. The forty-seventh proposition of the first book of Euclid is very true; but the discovery of it, I think, not owing to any rules of common logic. A man knows first and then he is able to prove syllogistically. So that syllogism comes after knowledge, and then a man has little or no need of it. But it is chiefly by the finding out those ideas that show the connexion of distant ones, that our stock of knowledge is increased, and that useful arts and sciences are advanced. Syllogism, at best, is but the art of fencing with the little knowledge we have, without making any addition to it. And if a man should employ his reason all this way, he will not do much otherwise than he who, having got some iron out of the bowels of the earth, should have it beaten up all into swords, and put it into his servants’ hands to fence with and bang one another. Had the King of Spain employed the hands of his people, and his Spanish iron so, he had brought to light but little of that treasure that lay so long hid in the dark entrails of America. And I am apt to think that he who shall employ all the force of his reason only in brandishing of syllogisms, will discover very little of that mass of knowledge which lies yet concealed in the secret recesses of nature; and which, I am apt to think, native rustic reason (as it formerly has done) is likelier to open a way to, and add to the common stock of mankind, rather than any scholastic proceeding by the strict rules of MODE and FIGURE.

7. Other Helps to reason than Syllogism should be sought.

I doubt not, nevertheless, but there are ways to be found to assist our reason in this most useful part; and this the judicious Hooker encourages me to say, who in his Eccl. Pol. 1. i. Section 6, speaks thus: ‘If there might be added the right helps of true art and learning, (which helps, I must plainly confess, this age of the world, carrying the name of a learned age, doth neither much know nor generally regard,) there would undoubtedly be almost as much difference in maturity of judgment between men therewith inured, and that which men now are, as between men that are now, and innocents.’ I do not pretend to have found or discovered here any of those ‘right helps of art,’ this great man of deep thought mentions: but that is plain, that syllogism, and the logic now in use, which were as well known in his days, can be none of those he means. It is sufficient for me, if by a Discourse, perhaps something out of the way, I am sure, as to me, wholly new and unborrowed, I shall have given occasion to others to cast about for new discoveries, and to seek in their own thoughts for those right helps of art, which will scarce be found, I fear, by those who servilely confine themselves to the rules and dictates of others. For beaten tracks lead this sort of cattle, (as an observing Roman calls them,) whose thoughts reach only to imitation, NON QUO EUNDUM EST, SED QUO ITUR. But I can be bold to say, that this age is adorned with some men of that strength of judgment and largeness of comprehension, that, if they would employ their thoughts on this subject, could open new and undiscovered ways to the advancement of knowledge.

8. We can reason about Particulars; and the immediate object of all our reasonings is nothing but particular ideas.

Having here had occasion to speak of syllogism in general, and the use of it in reasoning, and the improvement of our knowledge, it is fit, before I leave this subject, to take notice of one manifest mistake in the rules of syllogism: viz. that no syllogistical reasoning can be right and conclusive, but what has at least one GENERAL proposition in it. As if we could not reason, and have knowledge about particulars: whereas, in truth, the matter rightly considered, the immediate object of all our reasoning and knowledge, is nothing but particulars. Every man’s reasoning and knowledge is only about the ideas existing in his own mind; which are truly, every one of them, particular existences: and our knowledge and reason about other things, is only as they correspond with those our particular ideas. So that the perception of the agreement or disagreement of our particular ideas, is the whole and utmost of all our knowledge. Universality is but accidental to it, and consists only in this, that the particular ideas about which it is are such as more than one particular, thing can correspond with and be represented by. But the perception of the agreement or disagreement of our particular ideas, and consequently our knowledge, is equally clear and certain, whether either, or both, or neither of those ideas, be capable of representing more real beings than one, or no.

9. Our Reason often fails us.

REASON, though it penetrates into the depths of the sea and earth, elevates our thoughts as high as the stars, and leads us through the vast spaces and large rooms of this mighty fabric, yet it comes far short of the real extent of even corporeal being. And there are many instances wherein it fails us: as,

First, In cases when we have no Ideas.

I. It perfectly fails us, where our ideas fail. It neither does nor can extend itself further than they do. And therefore, wherever we have no ideas, our reasoning stops, and we are at an end of our reckoning: and if at any time we reason about words which do not stand for any ideas, it is only about those sounds, and nothing else.

10. Secondly, Because our Ideas are often obscure or imperfect.

II. Our reason is often puzzled and at a loss, because of the obscurity, confusion, or imperfection of the ideas it is employed about; and there we are involved in difficulties and contradictions. Thus, not having any perfect idea of the LEAST EXTENSION OF MATTER, nor of INFINITY, we are at a loss about the divisibility of matter; but having perfect, clear, and distinct ideas of NUMBER, our reason meets with none of those inextricable difficulties in numbers, nor finds itself involved in any contradictions about them. Thus, we having but imperfect ideas of the operations of our minds, and of the beginning of motion, or thought how the mind produces either of them in us, and much imperfecter yet of the operation of God, run into great difficulties about FREE CREATED AGENTS, which reason cannot well extricate itself out of.

11. III. Thirdly, Because we perceive not intermediate Ideas to show conclusions.

Our reason is often at a stand, because it perceives not those ideas, which could serve to show the certain or probable agreement or disagreement of any other two ideas: and in this some men’s faculties far outgo others. Till algebra, that great instrument and instance of human sagacity, was discovered, men with amazement looked on several of the demonstrations of ancient mathematicians, and could scarce forbear to think the finding several of those proofs to be something more than human.

12. IV. Fourthly, Because we often proceed upon wrong Principles.

The mind, by proceeding upon false principles, is often engaged in absurdities and difficulties, brought into straits and contradictions, without knowing how to free itself: and in that case it is in vain to implore the help of reason, unless it be to discover the falsehood and reject the influence of those wrong principles. Reason is so far from clearing the difficulties which the building upon false foundations brings a man into, that if he will pursue it, it entangles him the more, and engages him deeper in perplexities.

13. V. Fifthly, Because we often employ doubtful Terms.

As obscure and imperfect ideas often involve our reason, so, upon the same ground, do dubious words and uncertain signs, often, in discourses and arguings, when not warily attended to, puzzle men’s reason, and bring them to a nonplus. But these two latter are our fault, and not the fault of reason. But yet the consequences of them are nevertheless obvious; and the perplexities or errors they fill men’s minds with are everywhere observable.

14. Our highest Degree of Knowledge is intuitive, without Reasoning.

Some of the ideas that are in the mind, are so there, that they can be by themselves immediately compared one with another: and in these the mind is able to perceive that they agree or disagree as clearly as that it has them. Thus the mind perceives, that an arch of a circle is less than the whole circle, as clearly as it does the idea of a circle: and this, therefore, as has been said, I call INTUITIVE KNOWLEDGE; which is certain, beyond all doubt, and needs no probation, nor can have any; this being the highest of all human certainty. In this consists the evidence of all those MAXIMS which nobody has any doubt about, but every man (does not, as is said, only assent to, but) KNOWS to be true, as soon as ever they are proposed to his understanding. In the discovery of and assent to these truths, there is no use of the discursive faculty, NO NEED OF REASONING, but they are known by a superior and higher degree of evidence. And such, if I may guess at things unknown, I am apt to think that angels have now, and the spirits of just men made perfect shall have, in a future state, of thousands of things which now either wholly escape our apprehensions, or which our short-sighted reason having got some faint glimpse of, we, in the dark, grope after.

15. The next is got by Reasoning.

But though we have, here and there, a little of this clear light, some sparks of bright knowledge, yet the greatest part of our ideas are such, that we cannot discern their agreement or disagreement by an immediate comparing them. And in all these we have NEED OF REASONING, and must, by discourse and inference, make our discoveries. Now of these there are two sorts, which I shall take the liberty to mention here again: —

First, through Reasonings that are Demonstrative.

First, Those whose agreement or disagreement, though it cannot be seen by an immediate putting them together, yet may be examined by the intervention of other ideas which can be compared with them. In this case, when the agreement or disagreement of the intermediate idea, on both sides, with those which we would compare, is PLAINLY DISCERNED: there it amounts to DEMONSTRATION whereby knowledge is produced, which, though it be certain, yet it is not so easy, nor altogether so clear as intuitive knowledge. Because in that there is barely one simple intuition, wherein there is no room for any the least mistake or doubt: the truth is seen all perfectly at once. In demonstration, it is true, there is intuition too, but not altogether at once; for there must be a remembrance of the intuition of the agreement of the medium, or intermediate idea, with that we compared it with before, when we compare it with the other: and where there be many mediums, there the danger of the mistake is the greater. For each agreement or disagreement of the ideas must be observed and seen in each step of the whole train, and retained in the memory, just as it is; and the mind must be sure that no part of what is necessary to make up the demonstration is omitted or overlooked. This makes some demonstrations long and perplexed, and too hard for those who have not strength of parts distinctly to perceive, and exactly carry so many particulars orderly in their heads. And even those who are able to master such intricate speculations, are fain sometimes to go over them again, and there is need of more than one review before they can arrive at certainty. But yet where the mind clearly retains the intuition it had of the agreement of any idea with another, and that with a third, and that with a fourth, &c., there the agreement of the first and the fourth is a demonstration, and produces certain knowledge; which may be called RATIONAL KNOWLEDGE, as the other is intuitive.

16. Secondly, to supply the narrowness of Demonstrative and Intuitive Knowledge we have nothing but Judgment upon probable reasoning.

Secondly, There are other ideas, whose agreement or disagreement can no otherwise be judged of but by the intervention of others which have not a certain agreement with the extremes, but an USUAL or LIKELY one: and in these is that the JUDGMENT is properly exercised; which is the acquiescing of the mind, that any ideas do agree, by comparing them with such probable mediums. This, though it never amounts to knowledge, no, not to that which is the lowest degree of it; yet sometimes the intermediate ideas tie the extremes so firmly together, and the probability is so clear and strong, that ASSENT as necessarily follows it, as KNOWLEDGE does demonstration. The great excellency and use of the judgment is to observe right, and take a true estimate of the force and weight of each probability; and then casting them up all right together, choose that side which has the overbalance.

17. Intuition, Demonstration, Judgment.

INTUITIVE KNOWLEDGE is the perception of the CERTAIN agreement or disagreement of two ideas immediately compared together.

RATIONAL KNOWLEDGE is the perception of the CERTAIN agreement or disagreement of any two ideas, by the intervention of one or more other ideas.

JUDGMENT is the thinking or taking two ideas to agree or disagree, by the intervention of one or more ideas, whose certain agreement or disagreement with them it does not perceive, but hath observed to be FREQUENT and USUAL.

18. Consequences of Words, and Consequences of Ideas.

Though the deducing one proposition from another, or making inferences in WORDS, be a great part of reason, and that which it is usually employed about; yet the principal act of ratiocination is THE FINDING THE AGREEMENT OR DISAGREEMENT OF TWO IDEAS ONE WITH ANOTHER, BY THE INTERVENTION OF A THIRD. As a man, by a yard, finds two houses to be of the same length, which could not be brought together to measure their equality by juxta-position. Words have their consequences, as the signs of such ideas: and things agree or disagree, as really they are; but we observe it only by our ideas.

19. Four sorts of Arguments.

Before we quit this subject, it may be worth our while a little to reflect on FOUR SORTS OF ARGUMENTS, that men, in their reasonings with others, do ordinarily make use of to prevail on their assent; or at least so to awe them as to silence their opposition.

First, Argumentum ad verecundiam.

I. The first is, to allege the opinions of men, whose parts, learning, eminency, power, or some other cause has gained a name, and settled their reputation in the common esteem with some kind of authority. When men are established in any kind of dignity, it is thought a breach of modesty for others to derogate any way from it, and question the authority of men who are in possession of it. This is apt to be censured, as carrying with it too much pride, when a man does not readily yield to the determination of approved authors, which is wont to be received with respect and submission by others: and it is looked upon as insolence, for a man to set up and adhere to his own opinion against the current stream of antiquity; or to put it in the balance against that of some learned doctor, or otherwise approved writer. Whoever backs his tenets with such authorities, thinks he ought thereby to carry the cause, and is ready to style it impudence in any one who shall stand out against them. This I think may be called ARGUMENTUM AD VERECUNDIAM.

20. Secondly, Argumentum ad Ignorantiam.

II. Secondly, Another way that men ordinarily use to drive others, and force them to submit their judgments, and receive the opinion in debate, is to require the adversary to admit what they allege as a proof, or to assign a better. And this I call ARGUMENTUM AD IGNORANTIAM.

21. Thirdly, Argumentum ad hominem.

III. Thirdly, A third way is to press a man with consequences drawn from his own principles or concessions. This is already known under the name of ARGUMENTUM AD HOMINEM.

22. Fourthly, Argumentum ad justicium. The Fourth alone advances us in knowledge and judgment.

IV. The fourth is the using of proofs drawn from any of the foundations of knowledge or probability. This I call ARGUMENTUM AD JUSTICIUM. This alone, of all the four, brings true instruction with it, and advances us in our way to knowledge. For, 1. It argues not another man’s opinion to be right, because I, out of respect, or any other consideration but that of conviction, will not contradict him. 2. It proves not another man to be in the right way, nor that I ought to take the same with him, because I know not a better. 3. Nor does it follow that another man is in the right way, because he has shown me that I am in the wrong. I may be modest, and therefore not oppose another man’s persuasion: I may be ignorant, and not be able to produce a better: I may be in an error, and another may show me that I am so. This may dispose me, perhaps, for the reception of truth, but helps me not to it: that must come from proofs and arguments, and light arising from the nature of things themselves, and not from my shamefacedness, ignorance, or error.

23. Above, contrary, and according to Reason.

By what has been before said of reason, we may be able to make some guess at the distinction of things, into those that are according to, above, and contrary to reason. 1. ACCORDING TO REASON are such propositions whose truth we can discover by examining and tracing those ideas we have from sensation and reflection; and by natural deduction find to be true or probable. 2. ABOVE REASON are such propositions whose truth or probability we cannot by reason derive from those principles. 3. CONTRARY TO REASON are such propositions as are inconsistent with or irreconcilable to our clear and distinct ideas. Thus the existence of one God is according to reason; the existence of more than one God, contrary to reason; the resurrection of the dead, above reason. ABOVE REASON also may be taken in a double sense, viz. either as signifying above probability, or above certainty: and in that large sense also, CONTRARY TO REASON, is, I suppose, sometimes taken.

24. Reason and Faith not opposite, for Faith must be regulated by Reason.

There is another use of the word REASON, wherein it is OPPOSED TO FAITH: which, though it be in itself a very improper way of speaking, yet common use has so authorized it, that it would be folly either to oppose or hope to remedy it. Only I think it may not be amiss to take notice, that, however faith be opposed to reason, faith is nothing but a firm assent of the mind: which, if it be regulated, as is our duty, cannot be afforded to anything but upon good reason; and so cannot be opposite to it. He that believes without having any reason for believing, may be in love with his own fancies; but neither seeks truth as he ought, nor pays the obedience due to his Maker, who would have him use those discerning faculties he has given him, to keep him out of mistake and error. He that does not this to the best of his power, however he sometimes lights on truth, is in the right but by chance; and I know not whether the luckiness of the accident will excuse the irregularity of his proceeding. This at least is certain, that he must be accountable for whatever mistakes he runs into: whereas he that makes use of the light and faculties God has given him, and seeks sincerely to discover truth by those helps and abilities he has, may have this satisfaction in doing his duty as a rational creature, that, though he should miss truth, he will not miss the reward of it. For he governs his assent right, and places it as he should, who, in any case or matter whatsoever, believes or disbelieves according as reason directs him. He that doth otherwise, transgresses against his own light, and misuses those faculties which were given him to no other end, but to search and follow the clearer evidence and greater probability. But since reason and faith are by some men opposed, we will so consider them in the following chapter.

CHAPTER XVIII. OF FAITH AND REASON, AND THEIR DISTINCT PROVINCES.

1. Necessary to know their boundaries.

It has been above shown, 1. That we are of necessity ignorant, and want knowledge of all sorts, where we want ideas. 2. That we are ignorant, and want rational knowledge, where we want proofs. 3. That we want certain knowledge and certainty, as far as we want clear and determined specific ideas. 4. That we want probability to direct our assent in matters where we have neither knowledge of our own nor testimony of other men to bottom our reason upon. From these things thus premised, I think we may come to lay down THE MEASURES AND BOUNDARIES BETWEEN FAITH AND REASON: the want whereof may possibly have been the cause, if not of great disorders, yet at least of great disputes, and perhaps mistakes in the world. For till it be resolved how far we are to be guided by reason, and how far by faith, we shall in vain dispute, and endeavour to convince one another in matters of religion.

2. Faith and Reason, what, as contradistingushed.

I find every sect, as far as reason will help them, make use of it gladly: and where it fails them, they cry out, It is matter of faith, and above reason. And I do not see how they can argue with any one, or ever convince a gainsayer who makes use of the same plea, without setting down strict boundaries between faith and reason; which ought to be the first point established in all questions where faith has anything to do.

REASON, therefore, here, as contradistinguished to FAITH, I take to be the discovery of the certainty or probability of such propositions or truths, which the mind arrives at by deduction made from such ideas, which it has got by the use of its natural faculties; viz. by sensation or reflection.

FAITH, on the other side, is the assent to any proposition, not thus made out by the deductions of reason, but upon the credit of the proposer, as coming from God, in some extraordinary way of communication. This way of discovering truths to men, we call REVELATION.

3. First, No new simple Idea can be conveyed by traditional Revelation.

FIRST, Then I say, that NO MAN INSPIRED BY GOD CAN BY ANY REVELATION COMMUNICATE TO OTHERS ANY NEW SIMPLE IDEAS WHICH THEY HAD NOT BEFORE FROM SENSATION OR REFLECTION. For, whatsoever impressions he himself may have from the immediate hand of God, this revelation, if it be of new simple ideas, cannot be conveyed to another, either by words or any other signs. Because words, by their immediate operation on us, cause no other ideas but of their natural sounds: and it is by the custom of using them for signs, that they excite and revive in our minds latent ideas; but yet only such ideas as were there before. For words, seen or heard, recal to our thoughts those ideas only which to us they have been wont to be signs of, but cannot introduce any perfectly new, and formerly unknown simple ideas. The same holds in all other signs; which cannot signify to us things of which we have before never had any idea at all.

Thus whatever things were discovered to St. Paul, when he was rapt up into the third heaven; whatever new ideas his mind there received, all the description he can make to others of that place, is only this, That there are such things, ‘as eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive.’ And supposing God should discover to any one, supernaturally, a species of creatures inhabiting, for example, Jupiter or Saturn, (for that it is possible there may be such, nobody can deny,) which had six senses; and imprint on his mind the ideas conveyed to theirs by that sixth sense: he could no more, by words, produce in the minds of other men those ideas imprinted by that sixth sense, than one of us could convey the idea of any colour, by the sound of words, into a man who, having the other four senses perfect, had always totally wanted the fifth, of seeing. For our simple ideas, then, which are the foundation, and sole matter of all our notions and knowledge, we must depend wholly on our reason, I mean our natural faculties; and can by no means receive them, or any of them, from traditional revelation. I say, TRADITIONAL REVELATION, in distinction to ORIGINAL REVELATION. By the one, I mean that first impression which is made immediately by God on the mind of any man, to which we cannot set any bounds; and by the other, those impressions delivered over to others in words, and the ordinary ways of conveying our conceptions one to another.

4. Secondly, Traditional Revelation may make us know Propositions knowable also by Reason, but not with the same Certainty that Reason doth.

SECONDLY, I say that THE SAME TRUTHS MAY BE DISCOVERED, AND CONVEYED DOWN FROM REVELATION, WHICH ARE DISCERNABLE TO US BY REASON, AND BY THOSE IDEAS WE NATURALLY MAY HAVE. So God might, by revelation, discover the truth of any proposition in Euclid; as well as men, by the natural use of their faculties, come to make the discovery themselves. In all things of this kind there is little need or use of revelation, God having furnished us with natural and surer means to arrive at the knowledge of them. For whatsoever truth we come to the clear discovery of, from the knowledge and contemplation of our own ideas, will always be certainer to us than those which are conveyed to us by TRADITIONAL REVELATION. For the knowledge we have that this revelation came at first from God, can never be so sure as the knowledge we have from the clear and distinct perception of the agreement or disagreement of our own ideas: v.g. if it were revealed some ages since, that the three angles of a triangle were equal to two right ones, I might assent to the truth of that proposition, upon the credit of the tradition, that it was revealed: but that would never amount to so great a certainty as the knowledge of it, upon the comparing and measuring my own ideas of two right angles, and the three angles of a triangle. The like holds in matter of fact knowable by our senses; v.g. the history of the deluge is conveyed to us by writings which had their original from revelation: and yet nobody, I think, will say he has as certain and clear a knowledge of the flood as Noah, that saw it; or that he himself would have had, had he then been alive and seen it. For he has no greater an assurance than that of his senses, that it is writ in the book supposed writ by Moses inspired: but he has not so great an assurance that Moses wrote that book as if he had seen Moses write it. So that the assurance of its being a revelation is less still than the assurance of his senses.

5. Even Original Revelation cannot be admitted against the clear Evidence of Reason.

In propositions, then, whose certainty is built upon the clear perception of the agreement or disagreement of our ideas, attained either by immediate intuition, as in self-evident propositions, or by evident deductions of reason in demonstrations we need not the assistance of revelation, as necessary to gain our assent, and introduce them into our minds. Because the natural ways of knowledge could settle them there, or had done it already; which is the greatest assurance we can possibly have of anything, unless where God immediately reveals it to us: and there too our assurance can be no greater than our knowledge is, that it IS a revelation from God. But yet nothing, I think, can, under that title, shake or overrule plain knowledge; or rationally prevail with any man to admit it for true, in a direct contradiction to the clear evidence of his own understanding. For, since no evidence of our faculties, by which we receive such revelations, can exceed, if equal, the certainty of our intuitive knowledge, we can never receive for a truth anything that is directly contrary to our clear and distinct knowledge; v.g. the ideas of one body and one place do so clearly agree, and the mind has so evident a perception of their agreement, that we can never assent to a proposition that affirms the same body to be in two distant places at once, however it should pretend to the authority of a divine revelation: since the evidence, first, that we deceive not ourselves, in ascribing it to God; secondly, that we understand it right; can never be so great as the evidence of our own intuitive knowledge, whereby we discern it impossible for the same body to be in two places at once. And therefore NO PROPOSITION CAN BE RECEIVED FOR DIVINE REVELATION, OR OBTAIN THE ASSENT DUE TO ALL SUCH, IF IT BE CONTRADICTORY TO OUR CLEAR INTUITIVE KNOWLEDGE. Because this would be to subvert the principles and foundations of all knowledge, evidence, and assent whatsoever: and there would be left no difference between truth and falsehood, no measures of credible and incredible in the world, if doubtful propositions shall take place before self-evident; and what we certainly know give way to what we may possibly be mistaken in. In propositions therefore contrary to the clear perception of the agreement or disagreement of any of our ideas, it will be in vain to urge them as matters of faith. They cannot move our assent under that or any other title whatsoever. For faith can never convince us of anything that contradicts our knowledge. Because, though faith be founded on the testimony of God (who cannot lie) revealing any proposition to us: yet we cannot have an assurance of the truth of its being a divine revelation greater than our own knowledge. Since the whole strength of the certainty depends upon our knowledge that God revealed it; which, in this case, where the proposition supposed revealed contradicts our knowledge or reason, will always have this objection hanging to it, viz. that we cannot tell how to conceive that to come from God, the bountiful Author of our being, which, if received for true, must overturn all the principles and foundations of knowledge he has given us; render all our faculties useless; wholly destroy the most excellent part of his workmanship, our understandings; and put a man in a condition wherein he will have less light, less conduct than the beast that perisheth. For if the mind of man can never have a clearer (and perhaps not so clear) evidence of anything to be a divine revelation, as it has of the principles of its own reason, it can never have a ground to quit the clear evidence of its reason, to give a place to a proposition, whose revelation has not a greater evidence than those principles have.

6. Traditional Revelation much less.

Thus far a man has use of reason, and ought to hearken to it, even in immediate and original revelation, where it is supposed to be made to himself. But to all those who pretend not to immediate revelation, but are required to pay obedience, and to receive the truths revealed to others, which, by the tradition of writings, or word of mouth, are conveyed down to them, reason has a great deal more to do, and is that only which can induce us to receive them. For matter of faith being only divine revelation, and nothing else, faith, as we use the word, (called commonly DIVINE FAITH), has to do with no propositions, but those which are supposed to be divinely revealed. So that I do not see how those who make revelation alone the sole object of faith can say, That it is a matter of faith, and not of reason, to believe that such or such a proposition, to be found in such or such a book, is of divine inspiration; unless it be revealed that that proposition, or all in that book, was communicated by divine inspiration. Without such a revelation, the believing, or not believing, that proposition, or book, to be of divine authority, can never be matter of faith, but matter of reason; and such as I must come to an assent to only by the use of my reason, which can never require or enable me to believe that which is contrary to itself: it being impossible for reason ever to procure any assent to that which to itself appears unreasonable.

In all things, therefore, where we have clear evidence from our ideas, and those principles of knowledge I have above mentioned, reason is the proper judge; and revelation, though it may, in consenting with it, confirm its dictates, yet cannot in such cases invalidate its decrees: nor can we be obliged, where we have the clear and evident sentence of reason, to quit it for the contrary opinion, under a pretence that it is matter of faith: which can have no authority against the plain and clear dictates of reason.

7. Thirdly, things above Reason are, when revealed, the proper matter of faith.

But, THIRDLY, There being many things wherein we have very imperfect notions, or none at all; and other things, of whose past, present, or future existence, by the natural use of our faculties, we can have no knowledge at all; these, as being beyond the discovery of our natural faculties, and ABOVE REASON, are, when revealed, THE PROPER MATTER OF FAITH. Thus, that part of the angels rebelled against God, and thereby lost their first happy state: and that the dead shall rise, and live again: these and the like, being beyond the discovery of reason, are purely matters of faith, with which reason has directly nothing to do.

8. Or not contrary to Reason, if revealed, are Matter of Faith; and must carry it against probable conjectures of Reason.

But since God, in giving us the light of reason, has not thereby tied up his own hands from affording us, when he thinks fit, the light of revelation in any of those matters wherein our natural faculties are able to give a probable determination; REVELATION, where God has been pleased to give it, MUST CARRY IT AGAINST THE PROBABLE CONJECTURES OF REASON. Because the mind not being certain of the truth of that it does not evidently know, but only yielding to the probability that appears in it, is bound to give up its assent to such a testimony which, it is satisfied, comes from one who cannot err, and will not deceive. But yet, it still belongs to reason to judge of the truth of its being a revelation, and of the signification of the words wherein it is delivered. Indeed, if anything shall be thought revelation which is contrary to the plain principles of reason, and the evident knowledge the mind has of its own clear and distinct ideas; there reason must be hearkened to, as to a matter within its province. Since a man can never have so certain a knowledge, that a proposition which contradicts the clear principles and evidence of his own knowledge was divinely revealed, or that he understands the words rightly wherein it is delivered, as he has that the contrary is true, and so is bound to consider and judge of it as a matter of reason, and not swallow it, without examination, as a matter of faith.

9. Revelation in Matters where Reason cannot judge, or but probably, ought to be hearkened to.

First, Whatever proposition is revealed, of whose truth our mind, by its natural faculties and notions, cannot judge, that is purely matter of faith, and above reason.

Secondly, All propositions whereof the mind, by the use of its natural faculties, can come to determine and judge, from naturally acquired ideas, are matter of reason; with this difference still, that, in those concerning which it has but an uncertain evidence, and so is persuaded of their truth only upon probable grounds, which still admit a possibility of the contrary to be true, without doing violence to the certain evidence of its own knowledge, and overturning the principles of all reason; in such probable propositions, I say, an evident revelation ought to determine our assent, even against probability. For where the principles of reason have not evidenced a proposition to be certainly true or false, there clear revelation, as another principle of truth and ground of assent, may determine; and so it may be matter of faith, and be also above reason. Because reason, in that particular matter, being able to reach no higher than probability, faith gave the determination where reason came short; and revelation discovered on which side the truth lay.

10. In Matters where Reason can afford certain Knowledge, that is to be hearkened to.

Thus far the dominion of faith reaches, and that without any violence or hindrance to reason; which is not injured or disturbed, but assisted and improved by new discoveries of truth, coming from the eternal fountain of all knowledge. Whatever God hath revealed is certainly true: no doubt can be made of it. This is the proper object of faith: but whether it be a DIVINE revelation or no, reason must judge; which can never permit the mind to reject a greater evidence to embrace what is less evident, nor allow it to entertain probability in opposition to knowledge and certainty. There can be no evidence that any traditional revelation is of divine original, in the words we receive it, and in the sense we understand it, so clear and so certain as that of the principles of reason: and therefore NOTHING THAT IS CONTRARY TO, AND INCONSISTENT WITH, THE CLEAR AND SELF-EVIDENT DICTATES OF REASON, HAS A RIGHT TO BE URGED OR ASSENTED TO AS A MATTER OF FAITH, WHEREIN REASON HATH NOTHING TO DO. Whatsoever is divine revelation, ought to overrule all our opinions, prejudices, and interest, and hath a right to be received with full assent. Such a submission as this, of our reason to faith, takes not away the landmarks of knowledge: this shakes not the foundations of reason, but leaves us that use of our faculties for which they were given us.

11. If the Boundaries be not set between Faith and Reason, no Enthusiasm or Extravagancy in Religion can be contradicted.

If the provinces of faith and reason are not kept distinct by these boundaries, there will, in matters of religion, be no room for reason at all; and those extravagant opinions and ceremonies that are to be found in the several religions of the world will not deserve to be blamed. For, to this crying up of faith in OPPOSITION to reason, we may, I think, in good measure ascribe those absurdities that fill almost all the religions which possess and divide mankind. For men having been principled with an opinion, that they must not consult reason in the things of religion, however apparently contradictory to common sense and the very principles of all their knowledge, have let loose their fancies and natural superstition; and have been by them led into so strange opinions, and extravagant practices in religion, that a considerate man cannot but stand amazed, at their follies, and judge them so far from being acceptable to the great and wise God, that he cannot avoid thinking them ridiculous and offensive to a sober good man. So that, in effect, religion, which should most distinguish us from beasts, and ought most peculiarly to elevate us, as rational creatures, above brutes, is that wherein men often appear most irrational, and more senseless than beasts themselves. CREDO, QUIA IMPOSSIBILE EST: I believe, because it is impossible, might, in a good man, pass for a sally of zeal; but would prove a very ill rule for men to choose their opinions or religion by.

CHAPTER XIX. OF ENTHUSIASM.

Love of truth necessary.

§ 1. He that would seriously set upon the search of truth, ought in the first place to prepare his mind with a love of it. For he that loves it not, will not take much pains to get it, nor be much concerned when he misses it. There is nobody in the commonwealth of learning, who does not  profess himself a lover of truth; and there is not a rational creature that would not take it amiss to be thought otherwise of. And yet for all this, one may truly say, that there are very few lovers of truth for truth-sake, even amongst those who persuade themselves that they are so. How a man may know whether he be so in earnest, is worth inquiry: and I think there is one unerring mark of it, viz. the not entertaining any proposition with greater assurance, than the proofs it is built upon will warrant. Whoever goes beyond this measure of assent, it is plain, receives not truth in the love of it; loves not truth for truth-sake, but for some other by-end. For the evidence that any proposition is true (except such as are self-evident) lying only in the proofs a man has of it, whatsoever degrees of assent he affords it beyond the degrees of that evidence, it is plain that all the surplusage of assurance is owing to some other affection, and not to the love of truth: it being as impossible, that the love of truth should carry my assent above the evidence there is to me that it is true, as that the love of truth should make me assent to any proposition for the sake of that evidence, which it has not, that it is true; which is in effect to love it as a truth, because it is possible or probable that it may not be true. In any truth that gets not possession of our minds by the irresistible light of self-evidence, or by the force of demonstration, the arguments that gain it assent are the vouchers and gage of its probability to us; and we can receive it for no other, than such as they deliver it to our understandings. Whatsoever credit or authority we give to any proposition, more than it receives from the principles and proofs it supports itself upon, is owing to our inclinations that way, and is so far a derogation from the love of truth as such: which, as it can receive no evidence from our passions or interests, so it should receive no tincture from them.

A forwardness to dictate, from whence.

§ 2. The assuming an authority of dictating to others, and a forwardness to prescribe to their opinions, is a constant concomitant of this bias and corruption of our judgments. For how almost can it be otherwise, but  that he should be ready to impose on another’s belief, who has already imposed on his own? Who can reasonably expect arguments and conviction from him, in dealing with others, whose understanding is not accustomed to them in his dealing with himself? Who does violence to his own faculties, tyrannizes over his own mind, and usurps the prerogative that belongs to truth alone, which is to command assent by only its own authority, i. e. by and in proportion to that evidence which it carries with it.

Force of enthusiasm.

§ 3. Upon this occasion I shall take the liberty to consider a third ground of assent, which with some men has the same authority, and is as confidently relied on as either faith or reason; I mean enthusiasm: which laying by reason, would set up revelation without it. Whereby in effect it takes away both reason and revelation, and substitutes in the room of it the ungrounded fancies of a man’s own brain, and assumes them for a foundation both of opinion and conduct.

Reason and revelation.

§ 4. Reason is natural revelation, whereby the eternal father of light, and fountain of all knowledge, communicates to mankind that portion of truth which he has laid within the reach of their natural faculties: revelation is natural reason enlarged by a new set of discoveries communicated by God immediately, which reason vouches the truth of, by the testimony and proofs it gives, that they come from God. So that he that takes away reason, to make way for revelation, puts out the light of both, and does much-what the same, as if he would persuade a man to put out his eyes, the better to receive the remote light of an invisible star by a telescope.

Rise of enthusiasm.

§ 5. Immediate revelation being a much easier way for men to establish their opinions, and regulate their conduct, than the tedious and not always successful labour of strict reasoning, it is no wonder that some have been very apt to pretend to revelation, and to persuade themselves that they are under the peculiar guidance of heaven in their actions and opinions, especially in those of them which  they cannot account for by the ordinary methods of knowledge, and principles of reason. Hence we see that in all ages, men, in whom melancholy has mixed with devotion, or whose conceit of themselves has raised them into an opinion of a greater familiarity with God, and a nearer admittance to his favour than is afforded to others, have often flattered themselves with a persuasion of an immediate intercourse with the Deity, and frequent communications from the Divine Spirit. God, I own, cannot be denied to be able to enlighten the understanding, by a ray darted into the mind immediately from the fountain of light; this they understand he has promised to do, and who then has so good a title to expect it as those who are his peculiar people, chosen by him, and depending on him?

Enthusiasm.

§ 6. Their minds being thus prepared, whatever groundless opinion comes to settle itself strongly upon their fancies, is an illumination from the spirit of God, and presently of divine authority: and whatsoever odd action they find in themselves a strong inclination to do, that impulse is concluded to be a call or direction from heaven, and must be obeyed; it is a commission from above, and they cannot err in executing it.

§ 7. This I take to be properly enthusiasm, which, though founded neither on reason nor divine revelation, but rising from the conceits of a warmed or over-weening brain, works yet, where it once gets footing, more powerfully on the persuasions and actions of men, than either of those two, or both together: men being most forwardly obedient to the impulses they receive from themselves; and the whole man is sure to act more vigorously, where the whole man is carried by a natural motion. For strong conceit, like a new principle, carries all easily with it, when got above common sense, and freed from all restraint of reason, and check of reflection, it is heightened into a divine authority, in concurrence with our own temper and inclination.

Enthusiasm mistaken for seeing and feeling.

§ 8. Though the odd opinions and extravagant actions enthusiasm has run men into, were enough to warn them against this wrong principle, so apt to misguide  them both in their belief and conduct; yet the love of something extraordinary, the ease and glory it is to be inspired, and be above the common and natural ways of knowledge, so flatters many men’s laziness, ignorance, and vanity, that when once they are got into this way of immediate revelation, of illumination without search, and of certainty without proof, and without examination; it is a hard matter to get them out of it. Reason is lost upon them, they are above it: they see the light infused into their understandings, and cannot be mistaken; it is clear and visible there, like the light of bright sunshine; shows itself, and needs no other proof but its own evidence: they feel the hand of God moving them within, and the impulses of the spirit, and cannot be mistaken in what they feel. Thus they support themselves, and are sure reason hath nothing to do with what they see and feel in themselves: what they have a sensible experience of admits no doubt, needs no probation. Would he not be ridiculous, who should require to have it proved to him that the light shines, and that he sees it? It is its own proof, and can have no other. When the spirit brings light into our minds, it dispels darkness. We see it, as we do that of the sun at noon, and need not the twilight of reason to show it us. This light from heaven is strong, clear, and pure, carries its own demonstration with it; and we may as naturally take a glow-worm to assist us to discover the sun, as to examine the celestial ray by our dim candle, reason.

Enthusiasm how to be discovered.

§ 9. This is the way of talking of these men: they are sure, because they are sure: and their persuasions are right, because they are strong in them. For, when what they say is stripped of the metaphor of seeing and feeling, this is all it amounts to: and yet these similies so impose on them, that they serve them for certainty in themselves, and demonstration to others.

§ 10. But to examine a little soberly this internal light, and this feeling on which they build so much. These men have, they say, clear light, and they see; they have awakened sense, and they feel; this cannot,  they are sure, be disputed them. For when a man says he sees or feels, nobody can deny it him that he does so. But here let me ask: this seeing, is it the perception of the truth of the proposition, or of this, that it is a revelation from God? This feeling, is it a perception of an inclination or fancy to do something, or of the spirit of God moving that inclination? These are two very different perceptions, and must be carefully distinguished, if we would not impose upon ourselves. I may perceive the truth of a proposition, and yet not perceive that it is an immediate revelation from God. I may perceive the truth of a proposition in Euclid, without its being or my perceiving it to be a revelation: nay, I may perceive I came not by this knowledge in a natural way, and so may conclude it revealed, without perceiving that it is a revelation from God; because there be spirits, which, without being divinely commissioned, may excite those ideas in me, and lay them in such order before my mind, that I may perceive their connexion. So that the knowledge of any proposition coming into my mind, I know not how, is not a perception that it is from God. Much less is a strong persuasion, that it is true, a perception that it is from God, or so much as true. But however it be called light and seeing, I suppose it is at most but belief and assurance: and the proposition taken for a revelation, is not such as they know to be true, but take to be true. For where a proposition is known to be true, revelation is needless: and it is hard to conceive how there can be a revelation to any one of what he knows already. If therefore it be a proposition which they are persuaded, but do not know, to be true, whatever they may call it, it is not seeing, but believing. For these are two ways, whereby truth comes into the mind, wholly distinct, so that one is not the other. What I see I know to be so by the evidence of the thing itself: what I believe I take to be so upon the testimony of another: but this testimony I must know to be given, or else what ground have I of believing? I must see that it is God that reveals this to me, or else I see nothing. The question then here is, how do I know that God is the revealer of this to me; that this impression  is made upon my mind by his Holy Spirit, and that therefore I ought to obey it? If I know not this, how great soever the assurance is that I am possessed with, it is groundless; whatever light I pretend to, it is but enthusiasm. For whether the proposition supposed to be revealed, be in itself evidently true, or visibly probable, or by the natural ways of knowledge uncertain, the proposition that must be well grounded, and manifested to be true, is this, that God is the revealer of it, and that what I take to be a revelation is certainly put into my mind by him, and is not an illusion dropped in by some other spirit, or raised by my own fancy. For if I mistake not, these men receive it for true, because they presume God revealed it. Does it not then stand them upon, to examine on what grounds they presume it to be a revelation from God? or else all their confidence is mere presumption: and this light, they are so dazzled with, is nothing but an ignis fatuus that leads them constantly round in this circle; it is a revelation, because they firmly believe it, and they believe it, because it is a revelation.

Enthusiasm fails of evidence, that the proposition is from God.

§ 11. In all that is of divine revelation, there is need of no other proof but that it is an inspiration from God: for he can neither deceive nor be deceived. But how shall it be known that any proposition in our minds is a truth infused by God; a truth that is revealed to us by him, which he declares to us, and therefore we ought to believe? Here it is that enthusiasm fails of the evidence it pretends to. For men thus possessed boast of a light whereby they say they are enlightened, and brought into the knowledge of this or that truth. But if they know it to be a truth, they must know it to be so, either by its own self-evidence to natural reason, or by the rational proofs that make it out to be so. If they see and know it to be a truth, either of these two ways, they in vain suppose it to be a revelation. For they know it to be true the same way, that any other man naturally may know that it is so without the help of revelation. For thus all the truths, of what kind soever, that men uninspired are enlightened with,  came into their minds, and are established there. If they say they know it to be true, because it is a revelation from God, the reason is good: but then it will be demanded how they know it to be a revelation from God. If they say, by the light it brings with it, which shines bright in their minds, and they cannot resist: I beseech them to consider whether this be any more than what we have taken notice of already, viz. that it is a revelation, because they strongly believe it to be true. For all the light they speak of is but a strong, though ungrounded persuasion of their own minds, that it is a truth. For rational grounds from proofs that it is a truth, they must acknowledge to have none; for then it is not received as a revelation, but upon the ordinary grounds that other truths are received: and if they believe it to be true, because it is a revelation, and have no other reason for its being a revelation, but because they are fully persuaded without any other reason that it is true; they believe it to be a revelation, only because they strongly believe it to be a revelation; which is a very unsafe ground to proceed on, either in our tenets or actions. And what readier way can there be to run ourselves into the most extravagant errours and miscarriages, than thus to set up fancy for our supreme and sole guide, and to believe any proposition to be true, any action to be right, only because we believe it to be so? The strength of our persuasions is no evidence at all of their own rectitude: crooked things may be as stiff and inflexible as straight: and men may be as positive and peremptory in errour as in truth. How come else the untractable zealots in different and opposite parties? For if the light, which every one thinks he has in his mind, which in this case is nothing but the strength of his own persuasion, be an evidence that it is from God, contrary opinions have the same title to inspirations; and God will be not only the father of lights, but of opposite and contradictory lights, leading men contrary ways; and contradictory propositions will be divine truths, if an ungrounded strength of assurance be an evidence, that any proposition is a divine revelation.

Firmness of persuasion no proof that any proposition is from God.

§ 12. This cannot be otherwise, whilst firmness of persuasion is made the cause of believing, and confidence of being in the right is made an argument of truth. St. Paul himself believed he did well, and that he had a call to it when he persecuted the Christians, whom he confidently thought in the wrong: but yet it was he, and not they, who were mistaken. Good men are men still, liable to mistakes; and are sometimes warmly engaged in errours, which they take for divine truths, shining in their minds with the clearest light.

Light in the mind, what.

§ 13. Light, true light, in the mind is, or can be nothing else but the evidence of the truth of any proposition; and if it be not a self-evident proposition, all the light it has, or can have, is from the clearness and validity of those proofs, upon which it is received. To talk of any other light in the understanding is to put ourselves in the dark, or in the power of the Prince of darkness, and by our own consent to give ourselves up to delusion to believe a lie. For if strength of persuasion be the light, which must guide us; I ask how shall any one distinguish between the delusions of Satan, and the inspirations of the Holy Ghost? He can transform himself into an angel of light. And they who are led by this son of the morning, are as fully satisfied of the illumination, i. e. are as strongly persuaded, that they are enlightened by the spirit of God, as any one who is so: they acquiesce and rejoice in it, are acted by it: and nobody can be more sure, nor more in the right (if their own strong belief may be judge) than they.

Revelation must be judged of by reason.

§ 14. He therefore that will not give himself up to all the extravagancies of delusion and errour, must bring this guide of his light within to the trial. God, when he makes the prophet, does not unmake the man. He leaves all his faculties in the natural state, to enable him to judge of his inspirations, whether they be of divine original or no. When he illuminates the mind with supernatural light, he does not extinguish that which is  natural. If he would have us assent to the truth of any proposition, he either evidences that truth by the usual methods of natural reason, or else makes it known to be a truth which he would have us assent to, by his authority; and convinces us that it is from him, by some marks which reason cannot be mistaken in. Reason must be our last judge and guide in every thing. I do not mean that we must consult reason, and examine whether a proposition revealed from God can be made out by natural principles, and if it cannot, that then we may reject it: but consult it we must, and by it examine, whether it be a revelation from God or no. And if reason finds it to be revealed from God, reason then declares for it, as much as for any other truth, and makes it one of her dictates. Every conceit that thoroughly warms our fancies must pass for an inspiration, if there be nothing but the strength of our persuasions, whereby to judge of our persuasions: if reason must not examine their truth by something extrinsecal to the persuasions themselves, inspirations and delusions, truth and falsehood, will have the same measure, and will not be possible to be distinguished.

Belief no proof of revelation.

§ 15. If this internal light, or any proposition which under that title we take for inspired, be conformable to the principles of reason, or to the word of God, which is attested revelation, reason warrants it, and we may safely receive it for true, and be guided by it in our belief and actions; if it receive no testimony nor evidence from either of these rules, we cannot take it for a revelation, or so much as for true, till we have some other mark that it is a revelation, besides our believing that it is so. Thus we see the holy men of old, who had revelations from God, had something else besides that internal light of assurance in their own minds, to testify to them that it was from God. They were not left to their own persuasions alone, that those persuasions were from God; but had outward signs to convince them of the author of those revelations. And when they were to convince others, they had a power given them to justify the truth of their commission from heaven, and by  visible signs to assert the divine authority of a message they were sent with. Moses saw the bush burn without being consumed, and heard a voice out of it. This was something besides finding an impulse upon his mind to go to Pharaoh, that he might bring his brethren out of Egypt: and yet he thought not this enough to authorize him to go with that message, till God, by another miracle of his rod turned into a serpent, had assured him of a power to testify his mission, by the same miracle repeated before them, whom he was sent to. Gideon was sent by an angel to deliver Israel from the Midianites, and yet he desired a sign to convince him that this commission was from God. These, and several the like instances to be found among the prophets of old, are enough to show that they thought not an inward seeing or persuasion of their own minds, without any other proof, a sufficient evidence that it was from God; though the scripture does not every where mention their demanding or having such proofs.

§ 16. In what I have said I am far from denying that God can, or doth sometimes enlighten men’s minds in the apprehending of certain truths, or excite them to good actions by the immediate influence and assistance of the holy spirit, without any extraordinary signs accompanying it. But in such cases too we have reason and scripture, unerring rules to know whether it be from God or no. Where the truth embraced is consonant to the revelation in the written word of God, or the action conformable to the dictates of right reason or holy writ, we may be assured that we run no risk in entertaining it as such; because though perhaps it be not an immediate revelation from God, extraordinarily operating on our minds, yet we are sure it is warranted by that revelation which he has given us of truth. But it is not the strength of our private persuasion within ourselves, that can warrant it to be a light or motion from heaven; nothing can do that but the written word of God without us, or that standard of reason which is common to us with all men. Where reason or scripture is express for any opinion or action, we may receive it as of divine authority; but it is not the strength of our  own persuasions which can by itself give it that stamp. The bent of our own minds may favour it as much as we please; that may show it to be a fondling of our own, but will by no means prove it to be an offspring of heaven, and of divine original.

CHAPTER XX. OF WRONG ASSENT, OR ERROR.

1. Causes of Error, or how men come to give assent contrary to probability.

KNOWLEDGE being to be had only of visible and certain truth, ERROR is not a fault of our knowledge, but a mistake of our judgment giving assent to that which is not true.

But if assent be grounded on likelihood, if the proper object and motive of our assent be probability, and that probability consists in what is laid down in the foregoing chapters, it will be demanded HOW MEN COME TO GIVE THEIR ASSENTS CONTRARY TO PROBABILITY. For there is nothing more common than contrariety of opinions; nothing more obvious than that one man wholly disbelieves what another only doubts of, and a third steadfastly believes and firmly adheres to.

The reasons whereof, though they may be very various, yet, I suppose may all be reduced to these four:

I. WANT OF PROOFS.

II. WANT OF ABILITY TO USE THEM.

III. WANT OF WILL TO SEE THEM.

IV. WRONG MEASURES OF PROBABILITY.

2. First cause of Error, Want of Proofs.

FIRST, By WANT OF PROOFS, I do not mean only the want of those proofs which are nowhere extant, and so are nowhere to be had; but the want even of those proofs which are in being, or might be procured. And thus men want proofs, who have not the convenience or opportunity to make experiments and observations themselves, tending to the proof of any proposition; nor likewise the convenience to inquire into and collect the testimonies of others: and in this state are the greatest part of mankind, who are given up to labour, and enslaved to the necessity of their mean condition, whose lives are worn out only in the provisions for living. These men’s opportunities of knowledge and inquiry are commonly as narrow as their fortunes; and their understandings are but little instructed, when all their whole time and pains is laid out to still the croaking of their own bellies, or the cries of their children. It is not to be expected that a man who drudges on all his life in a laborious trade, should be more knowing in the variety of things done in the world than a packhorse, who is driven constantly forwards and backwards in a narrow lane and dirty road, only to market, should be skilled in the geography of the country. Nor is it at all more possible, that he who wants leisure, books, and languages, and the opportunity of conversing with variety of men, should be in a condition to collect those testimonies and observations which are in being, and are necessary to make out many, nay most, of the propositions that, in the societies of men, are judged of the greatest moment; or to find out grounds of assurance so great as the belief of the points he would build on them is thought necessary. So that a great part of mankind are, by the natural and unalterable state of things in this world, and the constitution of human affairs, unavoidably given over to invincible ignorance of those proofs on which others build, and which are necessary to establish those opinions: the greatest part of men, having much to do to get the means of living, are not in a condition to look after those of learned and laborious inquiries.

3. Objection, What shall become of those who want Proofs? Answered.

What shall we say, then? Are the greatest part of mankind, by the necessity of their condition, subjected to unavoidable ignorance, in those things which are of greatest importance to them? (for of those it is obvious to inquire.) Have the bulk of mankind no other guide but accident and blind chance to conduct them to their happiness or misery? Are the current opinions, and licensed guides of every country sufficient evidence and security to every man to venture his great concernments on; nay, his everlasting happiness or misery? Or can those be the certain and infallible oracles and standards of truth, which teach one thing in Christendom and another in Turkey? Or shall a poor countryman be eternally happy, for having the chance to be born in Italy; or a day-labourer be unavoidably lost, because he had the ill-luck to be born in England? How ready some men may be to say some of these things, I will not here examine: but this I am sure, that men must allow one or other of these to be true, (let them choose which they please,) or else grant that God has furnished men with faculties sufficient to direct them in the way they should take, if they will but seriously employ them that way, when their ordinary vocations allow them the leisure. No man is so wholly taken up with the attendance on the means of living, as to have no spare time at all to think of his soul, and inform himself in matters of religion. Were men as intent upon this as they are on things of lower concernment, there are none so enslaved to the necessities of life who might not find many vacancies that might be husbanded to this advantage of their knowledge.

4. People hindered from Inquiry.

Besides those whose improvements and informations are straitened by the narrowness of their fortunes, there are others whose largeness of fortune would plentifully enough supply books, and other requisites for clearing of doubts, and discovering of truth: but they are cooped in close, by the laws of their countries, and the strict guards of those whose interest it is to keep them ignorant, lest, knowing more, they should believe the less in them. These are as far, nay further, from the liberty and opportunities of a fair inquiry, than these poor and wretched labourers we before spoke of: and however they may seem high and great, are confined to narrowness of thought, and enslaved in that which should be the freest part of man, their understandings. This is generally the case of all those who live in places where care is taken to propagate truth without knowledge; where men are forced, at a venture, to be of the religion of the country; and must therefore swallow down opinions, as silly people do empiric’s pills, without knowing what they are made of, or how they will work, and having nothing to do but believe that they will do the cure: but in this are much more miserable than they, in that they are not at liberty to refuse swallowing what perhaps they had rather let alone; or to choose the physician, to whose conduct they would trust themselves.

5. Second Cause of Error, Want of skill to use Proofs.

SECONDLY, Those who WANT SKILL TO USE THOSE EVIDENCES THEY HAVE OF PROBABILITIES; who cannot carry a train of consequences in their heads; nor weigh exactly the preponderancy of contrary proofs and testimonies, making every circumstance its due allowance; may be easily misled to assent to positions that are not probable. There are some men of one, some but of two syllogisms, and no more; and others that can but advance one step further. These cannot always discern that side on which the strongest proofs lie; cannot constantly follow that which in itself is the more probable opinion. Now that there is such a difference between men, in respect of their understandings, I think nobody, who has had any conversation with his neighbours, will question: though he never was at Westminster-Hall or the Exchange on the one hand, nor at Alms-houses or Bedlam on the other. Which great difference in men’s intellectuals, whether it rises from any defect in the organs of the body, particularly adapted to thinking; or in the dulness or untractableness of those faculties for want of use; or, as some think, in the natural differences of men’s souls themselves; or some, or all of these together; it matters not here to examine: only this is evident, that there is a difference of degrees in men’s understandings, apprehensions, and reasonings, to so great a latitude, that one may, without doing injury to mankind, affirm, that there is a greater distance between some men and others in this respect, than between some men and some beasts. But how this comes about is a speculation, though of great consequence, yet not necessary to our present purpose.

6. Third cause of Error, Want of Will to use them.

THIRDLY, There are another sort of people that want proofs, not because they are out of their reach, but BECAUSE THEY WILL NOT USE THEM: who, though they have riches and leisure enough, and want neither parts nor learning, may yet, through their hot pursuit of pleasure, or business, or else out of laziness or fear that the doctrines whose truth they would inquire into would not suit well with their opinions, lives or designs, may never come to the knowledge of, nor give their assent to, those possibilities which lie so much within their view, that, to be convinced of them, they need but turn their eyes that way. We know some men will not read a letter which is supposed to bring ill news; and many men forbear to cast up their accounts, or so much as think upon their estates, who have reason to fear their affairs are in no very good posture. How men, whose plentiful fortunes allow them leisure to improve their understandings, can satisfy themselves with a lazy ignorance, I cannot tell: but methinks they have a low opinion of their souls, who lay out all their incomes in provisions for the body, and employ none of it to procure the means and helps of knowledge; who take great care to appear always in a neat and splendid outside, and would think themselves miserable in coarse clothes, or a patched coat, and yet contentedly suffer their minds to appear abroad in a piebald livery of coarse patches and borrowed shreds, such as it has pleased chance, or their country tailor (I mean the common opinion of those they have conversed with) to clothe them in. I will not here mention how unreasonable this is for men that ever think of a future state, and their concernment in it, which no rational man can avoid to do sometimes: nor shall I take notice what a shame and confusion it is to the greatest contemners of knowledge, to be found ignorant in things they are concerned to know. But this at least is worth the consideration of those who call themselves gentlemen, That, however they may think credit, respect, power, and authority the concomitants of their birth and fortune, yet they will find all these still carried away from them by men of lower condition, who surpass them in knowledge. They who are blind will always be led by those that see, or else fall into the ditch: and he is certainly the most subjected, the most enslaved, who is so in his understanding. In the foregoing instances some of the causes have been shown of wrong assent, and how it comes to pass, that probable doctrines are not always received with an assent proportionable to the reasons which are to be had for their probability: but hitherto we have considered only such probabilities whose proofs do exist, but do not appear to him who embraces the error.

7. Fourth cause of Error, Wrong Measures of Probability: which are —

FOURTHLY, There remains yet the last sort, who, even where the real probabilities appear, and are plainly laid before them, do not admit of the conviction, nor yield unto manifest reasons, but do either suspend their assent, or give it to the less probable opinion. And to this danger are those exposed who have taken up WRONG MEASURES OF PROBABILITY, which are:

I. PROPOSITIONS THAT ARE IN THEMSELVES CERTAIN AND EVIDENT, BUT DOUBTFUL AND FALSE, TAKEN UP FOR PRINCIPLES.

II. RECEIVED HYPOTHESES.

III. PREDOMINANT PASSIONS OR INCLINATIONS.

IV. AUTHORITY.

8. I. Doubtful Propositions taken for Principles.

The first and firmest ground of probability is the conformity anything has to our own knowledge; especially that part of our knowledge which we have embraced, and continue to look on as PRINCIPLES. These have so great an influence upon our opinions, that it is usually by them we judge of truth, and measure probability; to that degree, that what is inconsistent with our principles, is so far from passing for probable with us, that it will not be allowed possible. The reverence borne to these principles is so great, and their authority so paramount to all other, that the testimony, not only of other men, but the evidence of our own senses are often rejected, when they offer to vouch anything contrary to these established rules. How much the doctrine of INNATE PRINCIPLES, and that principles are not to be proved or questioned, has contributed to this, I will not here examine. This I readily grant, that one truth cannot contradict another: but withal I take leave also to say, that every one ought very carefully to beware what he admits for a principle, to examine it strictly, and see whether he certainly knows it to be true of itself, by its own evidence, or whether he does only with assurance believe it to be so, upon the authority of others. For he hath a strong bias put into his understanding, which will unavoidably misguide his assent, who hath imbibed WRONG PRINCIPLES, and has blindly given himself up to the authority of any opinion in itself not evidently true.

9. Instilled in childhood.

There is nothing more ordinary than children’s receiving into their minds propositions (especially about matters of religion) from their parents, nurses, or those about them: which being insinuated into their unwary as well as unbiassed understandings, and fastened by degrees, are at last (equally whether true or false) riveted there by long custom and education, beyond all possibility of being pulled out again. For men, when they are grown up, reflecting upon their opinions, and finding those of this sort to be as ancient in their minds as their very memories, not having observed their early insinuation, nor by what means they got them, they are apt to reverence them as sacred things, and not to suffer them to be profaned, touched, or questioned: they look on them as the Urim and Thummim set up in their minds immediately by God himself, to be the great and unerring deciders of truth and falsehood, and the judges to which they are to appeal in all manner of controversies.

10. Of irresistible efficacy.

This opinion of his principles (let them be what they will) being once established in any one’s mind, it is easy to be imagined what reception any proposition shall find, how clearly soever proved, that shall invalidate their authority, or at all thwart with these internal oracles; whereas the grossest absurdities and improbabilities, being but agreeable to such principles, go down glibly, and are easily digested. The great obstinacy that is to be found in men firmly believing quite contrary opinions, though many times equally absurd, in the various religions of mankind, are as evident a proof as they are an unavoidable consequence of this way of reasoning from received traditional principles. So that men will disbelieve their own eyes, renounce the evidence of their senses, and give their own experience the lie, rather than admit of anything disagreeing with these sacred tenets. Take an intelligent Romanist that, from the first dawning of any notions in his understanding, hath had this principle constantly inculcated, viz. that he must believe as the church (i.e. those of his communion) believes, or that the pope is infallible, and this he never so much as heard questioned, till at forty or fifty years old he met with one of other principles: how is he prepared easily to swallow, not only against all probability, but even the clear evidence of his senses, the doctrine of TRANSUBSTANTIATION? This principle has such an influence on his mind, that he will believe that to be flesh which he sees to be bread. And what way will you take to convince a man of any improbable opinion he holds, who, with some philosophers, hath laid down this as a foundation of reasoning, That he must believe his reason (for so men improperly call arguments drawn from their principles) against his senses? Let an enthusiast be principled that he or his teacher is inspired, and acted by an immediate communication of the Divine Spirit, and you in vain bring the evidence of clear reasons against his doctrine. Whoever, therefore, have imbibed wrong principles, are not, in things inconsistent with these principles, to be moved by the most apparent and convincing probabilities, till they are so candid and ingenuous to themselves, as to be persuaded to examine even those very principles, which many never suffer themselves to do.

11. Received Hypotheses.

Next to these are men whose understandings are cast into a mould, and fashioned just to the size of a received HYPOTHESIS. The difference between these and the former, is, that they will admit of matter of fact, and agree with dissenters in that; but differ only in assigning of reasons and explaining the manner of operation. These are not at that open defiance with their senses, with the former: they can endure to hearken to their information a little more patiently; but will by no means admit of their reports in the explanation of things; nor be prevailed on by probabilities, which would convince them that things are not brought about just after the same manner that they have decreed within themselves that they are. Would it not be an insufferable thing for a learned professor, and that which his scarlet would blush at, to have his authority of forty years standing, wrought out of hard rock, Greek and Latin, with no small expense of time and candle, and confirmed by general tradition and a reverend beard, in an instant overturned by an upstart novelist? Can any one expect that he should be made to confess, that what he taught his scholars thirty years ago was all error and mistake; and that he sold them hard words and ignorance at a very dear rate. What probabilities, I say, are sufficient to prevail in such a case? And who ever, by the most cogent arguments, will be prevailed with to disrobe himself at once of all his old opinions, and pretences to knowledge and learning, which with hard study he hath all this time been labouring for; and turn himself out stark naked, in quest afresh of new notions? All the arguments that can be used will be as little able to prevail, as the wind did with the traveller to part with his cloak, which he held only the faster. To this of wrong hypothesis may be reduced the errors that may be occasioned by a true hypothesis, or right principles, but not rightly understood. There is nothing more familiar than this. The instances of men contending for different opinions, which they all derive from the infallible truth of the Scripture, are an undeniable proof of it. All that call themselves Christians, allow the text that says,[word in Greek], to carry in it the obligation to a very weighty duty. But yet how very erroneous will one of their practices be, who, understanding nothing but the French, take this rule with one translation to be, REPENTEZ-VOUS, repent; or with the other, FATIEZ PENITENCE, do penance.

12. III. Predominant Passions.

Probabilities which cross men’s appetites and prevailing passions run the same fate. Let ever so much probability hang on one side of a covetous man’s reasoning, and money on the other; it is easy to foresee which will outweigh. Earthly minds, like mud walls, resist the strongest batteries: and though, perhaps, sometimes the force of a clear argument may make some impression, yet they nevertheless stand firm, and keep out the enemy, truth, that would captivate or disturb them. Tell a man passionately in love, that he is jilted; bring a score of witnesses of the falsehood of his mistress, it is ten to one but three kind words of hers shall invalidate all their testimonies. QUOD VOLUMUS, FACILE CREDIMUS; what suits our wishes, is forwardly believed, is, I suppose, what every one hath more than once experimented: and though men cannot always openly gainsay or resist the force of manifest probabilities that make against them, yet yield they not to the argument. Not but that it is the nature of the understanding constantly to close with the more probable side; but yet a man hath a power to suspend and restrain its inquiries, and not permit a full and satisfactory examination, as far as the matter in question is capable, and will bear it to be made. Until that be done, there will be always these two ways left of evading the most apparent probabilities:

13. Two Means of evading Probabilities: 1. Supposed Fallacy latent in the words employed.

First, That the arguments being (as for the most part they are) brought in words, THERE MAY BE A FALLACY LATENT IN THEM: and the consequences being, perhaps, many in train, they may be some of them incoherent. There are very few discourses so short, clear, and consistent, to which most men may not, with satisfaction enough to themselves, raise this doubt; and from whose conviction they may not, without reproach of disingenuity or unreasonableness, set themselves free with the old reply, Non persuadebis, etiamsi persuaseris; though I cannot answer, I will not yield.

14. Supposed unknown Arguments for the contrary.

Secondly, Manifest probabilities maybe evaded, and the assent withheld, upon this suggestion, That I know not yet all that may be said on the contrary side. And therefore, though I be beaten, it is not necessary I should yield, not knowing what forces there are in reserve behind. This is a refuge against conviction so open and so wide, that it is hard to determine when a man is quite out of the verge of it.

15. What Probabilities naturally determine the Assent.

But yet there is some end of it; and a man having carefully inquired into all the grounds of probability and unlikeliness; done his utmost to inform himself in all particulars fairly, and cast up the sum total on both sides; may, in most cases, come to acknowledge, upon the whole matter, on which side the probability rests: wherein some proofs in matter of reason, being suppositions upon universal experience, are so cogent and clear, and some testimonies in matter of fact so universal, that he cannot refuse his assent. So that I think we may conclude, that, in propositions, where though the proofs in view are of most moment, yet there are sufficient grounds to suspect that there is either fallacy in words, or certain proofs as considerable to be produced on the contrary side; there assent, suspense, or dissent, are often voluntary actions. But where the proofs are such as make it highly probable, and there is not sufficient ground to suspect that there is either fallacy of words (which sober and serious consideration may discover) nor equally valid proofs yet undiscovered, latent on the other side (which also the nature of the thing may, in some cases, make plain to a considerate man;) there, I think, a man who has weighed them can scarce refuse his assent to the side on which the greater probability appears. Whether it be probable that a promiscuous jumble of printing letters should often fall into a method and order, which should stamp on paper a coherent discourse; or that a blind fortuitous concourse of atoms, not guided by an understanding agent, should frequently constitute the bodies of any species of animals: in these and the like cases, I think, nobody that considers them can be one jot at a stand which side to take, nor at all waver in his assent. Lastly, when there can be no supposition (the thing in its own nature indifferent, and wholly depending upon the testimony of witnesses) that there is as fair testimony against, as for the matter of fact attested; which by inquiry is to be learned, v.g. whether there was one thousand seven hundred years ago such a man at Rome as Julius Caesar: in all such cases, I say, I think it is not in any rational man’s power to refuse his assent; but that it necessarily follows, and closes with such probabilities. In other less clear cases, I think it is in man’s power to suspend his assent; and perhaps content himself with the proofs he has, if they favour the opinion that suits with his inclination or interest, and so stop from further search. But that a man should afford his assent to that side on which the less probability appears to him, seems to me utterly impracticable, and as impossible as it is to believe the same thing probable and improbable at the same time.

16. Where it is in our Power to suspend our Judgment.

As knowledge is no more arbitrary than perception; so, I think, assent is no more in our power than knowledge. When the agreement of any two ideas appears to our minds, whether immediately or by the assistance of reason, I can no more refuse to perceive, no more avoid knowing it, than I can avoid seeing those objects which I turn my eyes to, and look on in daylight; and what upon full examination I find the most probable, I cannot deny my assent to. But, though we cannot hinder our knowledge, where the agreement is once perceived; nor our assent, where the probability manifestly appears upon due consideration of all the measures of it: yet we can hinder both KNOWLEDGE and ASSENT, BY STOPPING OUR INQUIRY, and not employing our faculties in the search of any truth. If it were not so, ignorance, error, or infidelity, could not in any case be a fault. Thus, in some cases we can prevent or suspend our assent: but can a man versed in modern or ancient history doubt whether there is such a place as Rome, or whether there was such a man as Julius Caesar? Indeed, there are millions of truths that a man is not, or may not think himself concerned to know; as whether our king Richard the Third was crooked or no; or whether Roger Bacon was a mathematician or a magician. In these and such like cases, where the assent one way or other is of no importance to the interest of any one; no action, no concernment of his following or depending thereon, there it is not strange that the mind should give itself up to the common opinion, or render itself to the first comer. These and the like opinions are of so little weight and moment, that, like motes in the sun, their tendencies are very rarely taken notice of. They are there, as it were, by chance, and the mind lets them float at liberty. But where the mind judges that the proposition has concernment in it: where the assent or not assenting is thought to draw consequences of moment after it, and good and evil to depend on choosing or refusing the right side, and the mind sets itself seriously to inquire and examine the probability: there I think it is not in our choice to take which side we please, if manifest odds appear on either. The greater probability, I think, in that case will determine the assent: and a man can no more avoid assenting, or taking it to be true, where he perceives the greater probability, than he can avoid knowing it to be true, where he perceives the agreement or disagreement of any two ideas.

If this be so, the foundation of error will lie in wrong measures of probability; as the foundation of vice in wrong measures of good.

17. IV. Authority

The fourth and last wrong measure of probability I shall take notice of, and which keeps in ignorance or error more people than all the other together, is that which I have mentioned in the foregoing chapter: I mean the giving up our assent to the common received opinions, either of our friends or party, neighbourhood or country. How many men have no other ground for their tenets, than the supposed honesty, or learning, or number of those of the same profession? As if honest or bookish men could not err; or truth were to be established by the vote of the multitude: yet this with most men serves the turn. The tenet has had the attestation of reverend antiquity; it comes to me with the passport of former ages, and therefore I am secure in the reception I give it: other men have been and are of the same opinion, (for that is all is said,) and therefore it is reasonable for me to embrace it. A man may more justifiably throw up cross and pile for his opinions, than take them up by such measures. All men are liable to error, and most men are in many points, by passion or interest, under temptation to it. If we could but see the secret motives that influenced the men of name and learning in the world, and the leaders of parties, we should not always find that it was the embracing of truth for its own sake, that made them espouse the doctrines they owned and maintained. This at least is certain, there is not an opinion so absurd, which a man may not receive upon this ground. There is no error to be named, which has not had its professors: and a man shall never want crooked paths to walk in, if he thinks that he is in the right way, wherever he has the footsteps of others to follow. 18. Not so many men in Errors as is commonly supposed.

But, notwithstanding the great noise is made in the world about errors and opinions, I must do mankind that right as to say, THERE ARE NOT SO MANY MEN IN ERRORS AND WRONG OPINIONS AS IS COMMONLY SUPPOSED. Not that I think they embrace the truth; but indeed, because concerning those doctrines they keep such a stir about, they have no thought, no opinion at all. For if any one should a little catechise the greatest part of the partizans of most of the sects in the world, he would not find, concerning those matters they are so zealous for, that they have any opinions of their own: much less would he have reason to think that they took them upon the examination of arguments and appearance of probability. They are resolved to stick to a party that education or interest has engaged them in; and there, like the common soldiers of an army, show their courage and warmth as their leaders direct, without ever examining, or so much as knowing, the cause they contend for. If a man’s life shows that he has no serious regard for religion; for what reason should we think that he beats his head about the opinions of his church, and troubles himself to examine the grounds of this or that doctrine? It is enough for him to obey his leaders, to have his hand and his tongue ready for the support of the common cause, and thereby approve himself to those who can give him credit, preferment, or protection in that society. Thus men become professors of, and combatants for, those opinions they were never convinced of nor proselytes to; no, nor ever had so much as floating in their heads: and though one cannot say there are fewer improbable or erroneous opinions in the world than there are, yet this is certain; there are fewer that actually assent to them, and mistake them for truths, than is imagined.

CHAPTER XXI. OF THE DIVISION OF THE SCIENCES.

1. Science may be divided into three sorts.

All that can fall within the compass of human understanding, being either, FIRST, the nature of things, as they are in themselves, their relations, and their manner of operation: or, SECONDLY, that which man himself ought to do, as a rational and voluntary agent, for the attainment of any end, especially happiness: or, THIRDLY, the ways and means whereby the knowledge of both the one and the other of these is attained and communicated; I think science may be divided properly into these three sorts: —

2. First, Physica.

FIRST, The knowledge of things, as they are in their own proper beings, then constitution, properties, and operations; whereby I mean not only matter and body, but spirits also, which have their proper natures, constitutions, and operations, as well as bodies. This, in a little more enlarged sense of the word, I call [word in Greek: physika], or NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. The end of this is bare speculative truth: and whatsoever can afford the mind of man any such, falls under this branch, whether it be God himself, angels, spirits, bodies; or any of their affections, as number, and figure, &c.

3. Secondly, Practica.

SECONDLY, [word in Greek: praktika], The skill of right applying our own powers and actions, for the attainment of things good and useful. The most considerable under this head is ETHICS, which is the seeking out those rules and measures of human actions, which lead to happiness, and the means to practise them. The end of this is not bare speculation and the knowledge of truth; but right, and a conduct suitable to it.

4. Thirdly, [word in Greek: Semeiotika]

THIRDLY, the third branch may be called [word in Greek: Semeiotika], or THE DOCTRINE OF SIGNS; the most usual whereof being words, it is aptly enough termed also [word in Greek: Logika], LOGIC: the business whereof is to consider the nature of signs, the mind makes use of for the understanding of things, or conveying its knowledge to others. For, since the things the mind contemplates are none of them, besides itself, present to the understanding, it is necessary that something else, as a sign or representation of the thing it considers, should be present to it: and these are IDEAS. And because the scene of ideas that makes one man’s thoughts cannot be laid open to the immediate view of another, nor laid up anywhere but in the memory, a no very sure repository: therefore to communicate our thoughts to one another, as well as record them for our own use, signs of our ideas are also necessary: those which men have found most convenient, and therefore generally make use of, are ARTICULATE SOUNDS. The consideration, then, of IDEAS and WORDS as the great instruments of knowledge, makes no despicable part of their contemplation who would take a view of human knowledge in the whole extent of it. And perhaps if they were distinctly weighed, and duly considered, they would afford us another sort of logic and critic, than what we have been hitherto acquainted with.

5. This is the first and most general Division of the Objects of our Understanding.

This seems to me the first and most general, as well as natural division of the objects of our understanding. For a man can employ his thoughts about nothing, but either, the contemplation of THINGS themselves, for the discovery of truth; or about the things in his own power, which are his own ACTIONS, for the attainment of his own ends; or the SIGNS the mind makes use of both in the one and the other, and the right ordering of them, for its clearer information. All which three, viz. THINGS, as they are in themselves knowable; ACTIONS as they depend on us, in order to happiness; and the right use of SIGNS in order to knowledge, being TOTO COELO different, they seemed to me to be the three great provinces of the intellectual world, wholly separate and distinct one from another.

THE END

A LETTER CONCERNING TOLERATION, 1689

Originally published in 1689 in Latin, this epistle appeared during widespread concerns that Catholicism might be taking over England; in response to the problem of religion and government, Locke proposes religious toleration as the answer. The letter is addressed to an anonymous “Honoured Sir”, who was actually Locke’s close friend Philipp van Limborch, who published the text without the author’s knowledge. One of the founders of Empiricism, Locke develops a philosophy that is contrary to ideas expressed by Thomas Hobbes in Leviathan, in supporting toleration for various Christian denominations. Hobbes did allow for individuals to maintain their own religious beliefs as long as they outwardly expressed those of the state, however, and it has been argued that Locke’s rejection of Catholic Imperialism was the ultimate basis for his rejection of government’s interest in spiritual salvation.

Unlike Hobbes, who saw uniformity of religion as the key to a well-functioning civil society, Locke argues that more religious groups actually prevent civil unrest. Locke suggests that civil unrest results from confrontations caused by any magistrate’s attempt to prevent different religions from being practiced, rather than tolerating their proliferation. Locke’s primary goal is to “distinguish exactly the business of civil government from that of religion.” He seeks to persuade the reader that government is instituted to promote external interests, relating to life, liberty and the general welfare, while the church exists to promote internal interests, i.e., salvation. The two serve separate functions, and so, must be considered to be separate institutions.

There were immediate responses from the High Church Anglican clergy, published by Thomas Long and Jonas Proast. Long argued the letter was written by an atheistically disguised Jesuit plot for the Roman Catholic Church to gain dominance by bringing chaos and ruin to church and State. Proast attacked the Letter and defended the view that the government has the right to use force to cause dissenters to reflect on the merits of Anglicanism, the True Religion. Locke’s reply to Proast would develop into an extended and controversial exchange.

The first edition’s title page

Philipp van Limborch (1633-1712) was a Dutch Remonstrant theologian.

Thomas Hobbes by John Michael Wright

The original frontispiece for Hobbes’ ‘Leviathan’

A LETTER CONCERNING TOLERATION

Since you are pleased to inquire what are my thoughts about the mutual toleration of Christians in their different professions of religion, I must needs answer you freely that I esteem that toleration to be the chief characteristic mark of the true Church. For whatsoever some people boast of the antiquity of places and names, or of the pomp of their outward worship; others, of the reformation of their discipline; all, of the orthodoxy of their faith — for everyone is orthodox to himself — these things, and all others of this nature, are much rather marks of men striving for power and empire over one another than of the Church of Christ. Let anyone have never so true a claim to all these things, yet if he be destitute of charity, meekness, and good-will in general towards all mankind, even to those that are not Christians, he is certainly yet short of being a true Christian himself. “The kings of the Gentiles exercise leadership over them,” said our Saviour to his disciples, “but ye shall not be so.” The business of true religion is quite another thing. It is not instituted in order to the erecting of an external pomp, nor to the obtaining of ecclesiastical dominion, nor to the exercising of compulsive force, but to the regulating of men’s lives, according to the rules of virtue and piety. Whosoever will list himself under the banner of Christ, must, in the first place and above all things, make war upon his own lusts and vices. It is in vain for any man to unsurp the name of Christian, without holiness of life, purity of manners, benignity and meekness of spirit. “Let everyone that nameth the name of Christ, depart from iniquity.” “Thou, when thou art converted, strengthen thy brethren,” said our Lord to Peter. It would, indeed, be very hard for one that appears careless about his own salvation to persuade me that he were extremely concerned for mine. For it is impossible that those should sincerely and heartily apply themselves to make other people Christians, who have not really embraced the Christian religion in their own hearts. If the Gospel and the apostles may be credited, no man can be a Christian without charity and without that faith which works, not by force, but by love. Now, I appeal to the consciences of those that persecute, torment, destroy, and kill other men upon pretence of religion, whether they do it out of friendship and kindness towards them or no? And I shall then indeed, and not until then, believe they do so, when I shall see those fiery zealots correcting, in the same manner, their friends and familiar acquaintance for the manifest sins they commit against the precepts of the Gospel; when I shall see them persecute with fire and sword the members of their own communion that are tainted with enormous vices and without amendment are in danger of eternal perdition; and when I shall see them thus express their love and desire of the salvation of their souls by the infliction of torments and exercise of all manner of cruelties. For if it be out of a principle of charity, as they pretend, and love to men’s souls that they deprive them of their estates, maim them with corporal punishments, starve and torment them in noisome prisons, and in the end even take away their lives — I say, if all this be done merely to make men Christians and procure their salvation, why then do they suffer whoredom, fraud, malice, and such-like enormities, which (according to the apostle) manifestly relish of heathenish corruption, to predominate so much and abound amongst their flocks and people? These, and such-like things, are certainly more contrary to the glory of God, to the purity of the Church, and to the salvation of souls, than any conscientious dissent from ecclesiastical decisions, or separation from public worship, whilst accompanied with innocence of life. Why, then, does this burning zeal for God, for the Church, and for the salvation of souls — burning I say, literally, with fire and faggot — pass by those moral vices and wickednesses, without any chastisement, which are acknowledged by all men to be diametrically opposite to the profession of Christianity, and bend all its nerves either to the introducing of ceremonies, or to the establishment of opinions, which for the most part are about nice and intricate matters, that exceed the capacity of ordinary understandings? Which of the parties contending about these things is in the right, which of them is guilty of schism or heresy, whether those that domineer or those that suffer, will then at last be manifest when the causes of their separation comes to be judged of He, certainly, that follows Christ, embraces His doctrine, and bears His yoke, though he forsake both father and mother, separate from the public assemblies and ceremonies of his country, or whomsoever or whatsoever else he relinquishes, will not then be judged a heretic.

Now, though the divisions that are amongst sects should be allowed to be never so obstructive of the salvation of souls; yet, nevertheless, adultery, fornication, uncleanliness, lasciviousness, idolatry, and such-like things, cannot be denied to be works of the flesh, concerning which the apostle has expressly declared that “they who do them shall not inherit the kingdom of God.” Whosoever, therefore, is sincerely solicitous about the kingdom of God and thinks it his duty to endeavour the enlargement of it amongst men, ought to apply himself with no less care and industry to the rooting out of these immoralities than to the extirpation of sects. But if anyone do otherwise, and whilst he is cruel and implacable towards those that differ from him in opinion, he be indulgent to such iniquities and immoralities as are unbecoming the name of a Christian, let such a one talk never so much of the Church, he plainly demonstrates by his actions that it is another kingdom he aims at and not the advancement of the kingdom of God.

That any man should think fit to cause another man — whose salvation he heartily desires — to expire in torments, and that even in an unconverted state, would, I confess, seem very strange to me, and I think, to any other also. But nobody, surely, will ever believe that such a carriage can proceed from charity, love, or goodwill. If anyone maintain that men ought to be compelled by fire and sword to profess certain doctrines, and conform to this or that exterior worship, without any regard had unto their morals; if anyone endeavour to convert those that are erroneous unto the faith, by forcing them to profess things that they do not believe and allowing them to practise things that the Gospel does not permit, it cannot be doubted indeed but such a one is desirous to have a numerous assembly joined in the same profession with himself; but that he principally intends by those means to compose a truly Christian Church is altogether incredible. It is not, therefore, to be wondered at if those who do not really contend for the advancement of the true religion, and of the Church of Christ, make use of arms that do not belong to the Christian warfare. If, like the Captain of our salvation, they sincerely desired the good of souls, they would tread in the steps and follow the perfect example of that Prince of Peace, who sent out His soldiers to the subduing of nations, and gathering them into His Church, not armed with the sword, or other instruments of force, but prepared with the Gospel of peace and with the exemplary holiness of their conversation. This was His method. Though if infidels were to be converted by force, if those that are either blind or obstinate were to be drawn off from their errors by armed soldiers, we know very well that it was much more easy for Him to do it with armies of heavenly legions than for any son of the Church, how potent soever, with all his dragoons.

The toleration of those that differ from others in matters of religion is so agreeable to the Gospel of Jesus Christ, and to the genuine reason of mankind, that it seems monstrous for men to be so blind as not to perceive the necessity and advantage of it in so clear a light. I will not here tax the pride and ambition of some, the passion and uncharitable zeal of others. These are faults from which human affairs can perhaps scarce ever be perfectly freed; but yet such as nobody will bear the plain imputation of, without covering them with some specious colour; and so pretend to commendation, whilst they are carried away by their own irregular passions. But, however, that some may not colour their spirit of persecution and unchristian cruelty with a pretence of care of the public weal and observation of the laws; and that others, under pretence of religion, may not seek impunity for their libertinism and licentiousness; in a word, that none may impose either upon himself or others, by the pretences of loyalty and obedience to the prince, or of tenderness and sincerity in the worship of God; I esteem it above all things necessary to distinguish exactly the business of civil government from that of religion and to settle the just bounds that lie between the one and the other. If this be not done, there can be no end put to the controversies that will be always arising between those that have, or at least pretend to have, on the one side, a concernment for the interest of men’s souls, and, on the other side, a care of the commonwealth.

The commonwealth seems to me to be a society of men constituted only for the procuring, preserving, and advancing their own civil interests.

Civil interests I call life, liberty, health, and indolency of body; and the possession of outward things, such as money, lands, houses, furniture, and the like.

It is the duty of the civil magistrate, by the impartial execution of equal laws, to secure unto all the people in general and to every one of his subjects in particular the just possession of these things belonging to this life. If anyone presume to violate the laws of public justice and equity, established for the preservation of those things, his presumption is to be checked by the fear of punishment, consisting of the deprivation or diminution of those civil interests, or goods, which otherwise he might and ought to enjoy. But seeing no man does willingly suffer himself to be punished by the deprivation of any part of his goods, and much less of his liberty or life, therefore, is the magistrate armed with the force and strength of all his subjects, in order to the punishment of those that violate any other man’s rights.

Now that the whole jurisdiction of the magistrate reaches only to these civil concernments, and that all civil power, right and dominion, is bounded and confined to the only care of promoting these things; and that it neither can nor ought in any manner to be extended to the salvation of souls, these following considerations seem unto me abundantly to demonstrate.

First, because the care of souls is not committed to the civil magistrate, any more than to other men. It is not committed unto him, I say, by God; because it appears not that God has ever given any such authority to one man over another as to compel anyone to his religion. Nor can any such power be vested in the magistrate by the consent of the people, because no man can so far abandon the care of his own salvation as blindly to leave to the choice of any other, whether prince or subject, to prescribe to him what faith or worship he shall embrace. For no man can, if he would, conform his faith to the dictates of another. All the life and power of true religion consist in the inward and full persuasion of the mind; and faith is not faith without believing. Whatever profession we make, to whatever outward worship we conform, if we are not fully satisfied in our own mind that the one is true and the other well pleasing unto God, such profession and such practice, far from being any furtherance, are indeed great obstacles to our salvation. For in this manner, instead of expiating other sins by the exercise of religion, I say, in offering thus unto God Almighty such a worship as we esteem to be displeasing unto Him, we add unto the number of our other sins those also of hypocrisy and contempt of His Divine Majesty.

In the second place, the care of souls cannot belong to the civil magistrate, because his power consists only in outward force; but true and saving religion consists in the inward persuasion of the mind, without which nothing can be acceptable to God. And such is the nature of the understanding, that it cannot be compelled to the belief of anything by outward force. Confiscation of estate, imprisonment, torments, nothing of that nature can have any such efficacy as to make men change the inward judgement that they have framed of things.

It may indeed be alleged that the magistrate may make use of arguments, and, thereby; draw the heterodox into the way of truth, and procure their salvation. I grant it; but this is common to him with other men. In teaching, instructing, and redressing the erroneous by reason, he may certainly do what becomes any good man to do. Magistracy does not oblige him to put off either humanity or Christianity; but it is one thing to persuade, another to command; one thing to press with arguments, another with penalties. This civil power alone has a right to do; to the other, goodwill is authority enough. Every man has commission to admonish, exhort, convince another of error, and, by reasoning, to draw him into truth; but to give laws, receive obedience, and compel with the sword, belongs to none but the magistrate. And, upon this ground, I affirm that the magistrate’s power extends not to the establishing of any articles of faith, or forms of worship, by the force of his laws. For laws are of no force at all without penalties, and penalties in this case are absolutely impertinent, because they are not proper to convince the mind. Neither the profession of any articles of faith, nor the conformity to any outward form of worship (as has been already said), can be available to the salvation of souls, unless the truth of the one and the acceptableness of the other unto God be thoroughly believed by those that so profess and practise. But penalties are no way capable to produce such belief. It is only light and evidence that can work a change in men’s opinions; which light can in no manner proceed from corporal sufferings, or any other outward penalties.

In the third place, the care of the salvation of men’s souls cannot belong to the magistrate; because, though the rigour of laws and the force of penalties were capable to convince and change men’s minds, yet would not that help at all to the salvation of their souls. For there being but one truth, one way to heaven, what hope is there that more men would be led into it if they had no rule but the religion of the court and were put under the necessity to quit the light of their own reason, and oppose the dictates of their own consciences, and blindly to resign themselves up to the will of their governors and to the religion which either ignorance, ambition, or superstition had chanced to establish in the countries where they were born? In the variety and contradiction of opinions in religion, wherein the princes of the world are as much divided as in their secular interests, the narrow way would be much straitened; one country alone would be in the right, and all the rest of the world put under an obligation of following their princes in the ways that lead to destruction; and that which heightens the absurdity, and very ill suits the notion of a Deity, men would owe their eternal happiness or misery to the places of their nativity.

These considerations, to omit many others that might have been urged to the same purpose, seem unto me sufficient to conclude that all the power of civil government relates only to men’s civil interests, is confined to the care of the things of this world, and hath nothing to do with the world to come.

Let us now consider what a church is. A church, then, I take to be a voluntary society of men, joining themselves together of their own accord in order to the public worshipping of God in such manner as they judge acceptable to Him, and effectual to the salvation of their souls.

I say it is a free and voluntary society. Nobody is born a member of any church; otherwise the religion of parents would descend unto children by the same right of inheritance as their temporal estates, and everyone would hold his faith by the same tenure he does his lands, than which nothing can be imagined more absurd. Thus, therefore, that matter stands. No man by nature is bound unto any particular church or sect, but everyone joins himself voluntarily to that society in which he believes he has found that profession and worship which is truly acceptable to God. The hope of salvation, as it was the only cause of his entrance into that communion, so it can be the only reason of his stay there. For if afterwards he discover anything either erroneous in the doctrine or incongruous in the worship of that society to which he has joined himself, why should it not be as free for him to go out as it was to enter? No member of a religious society can be tied with any other bonds but what proceed from the certain expectation of eternal life. A church, then, is a society of members voluntarily uniting to that end.

It follows now that we consider what is the power of this church and unto what laws it is subject.

Forasmuch as no society, how free soever, or upon whatsoever slight occasion instituted, whether of philosophers for learning, of merchants for commerce, or of men of leisure for mutual conversation and discourse, no church or company, I say, can in the least subsist and hold together, but will presently dissolve and break in pieces, unless it be regulated by some laws, and the members all consent to observe some order. Place and time of meeting must be agreed on; rules for admitting and excluding members must be established; distinction of officers, and putting things into a regular course, and suchlike, cannot be omitted. But since the joining together of several members into this church-society, as has already been demonstrated, is absolutely free and spontaneous, it necessarily follows that the right of making its laws can belong to none but the society itself; or, at least (which is the same thing), to those whom the society by common consent has authorised thereunto.

Some, perhaps, may object that no such society can be said to be a true church unless it have in it a bishop or presbyter, with ruling authority derived from the very apostles, and continued down to the present times by an uninterrupted succession.

To these I answer: In the first place, let them show me the edict by which Christ has imposed that law upon His Church. And let not any man think me impertinent, if in a thing of this consequence I require that the terms of that edict be very express and positive; for the promise He has made us, that “wheresoever two or three are gathered together” in His name, He will be in the midst of them, seems to imply the contrary. Whether such an assembly want anything necessary to a true church, pray do you consider. Certain I am that nothing can be there wanting unto the salvation of souls, which is sufficient to our purpose.

Next, pray observe how great have always been the divisions amongst even those who lay so much stress upon the Divine institution and continued succession of a certain order of rulers in the Church. Now, their very dissension unavoidably puts us upon a necessity of deliberating and, consequently, allows a liberty of choosing that which upon consideration we prefer.

And, in the last place, I consent that these men have a ruler in their church, established by such a long series of succession as they judge necessary, provided I may have liberty at the same time to join myself to that society in which I am persuaded those things are to be found which are necessary to the salvation of my soul. In this manner ecclesiastical liberty will be preserved on all sides, and no man will have a legislator imposed upon him but whom himself has chosen.

But since men are so solicitous about the true church, I would only ask them here, by the way, if it be not more agreeable to the Church of Christ to make the conditions of her communion consist in such things, and such things only, as the Holy Spirit has in the Holy Scriptures declared, in express words, to be necessary to salvation; I ask, I say, whether this be not more agreeable to the Church of Christ than for men to impose their own inventions and interpretations upon others as if they were of Divine authority, and to establish by ecclesiastical laws, as absolutely necessary to the profession of Christianity, such things as the Holy Scriptures do either not mention, or at least not expressly command? Whosoever requires those things in order to ecclesiastical communion, which Christ does not require in order to life eternal, he may, perhaps, indeed constitute a society accommodated to his own opinion and his own advantage; but how that can be called the Church of Christ which is established upon laws that are not His, and which excludes such persons from its communion as He will one day receive into the Kingdom of Heaven, I understand not. But this being not a proper place to inquire into the marks of the true church, I will only mind those that contend so earnestly for the decrees of their own society, and that cry out continually, “The Church! the Church!” with as much noise, and perhaps upon the same principle, as the Ephesian silversmiths did for their Diana; this, I say, I desire to mind them of, that the Gospel frequently declares that the true disciples of Christ must suffer persecution; but that the Church of Christ should persecute others, and force others by fire and sword to embrace her faith and doctrine, I could never yet find in any of the books of the New Testament.

The end of a religious society (as has already been said) is the public worship of God and, by means thereof, the acquisition of eternal life. All discipline ought, therefore, to tend to that end, and all ecclesiastical laws to be thereunto confined. Nothing ought nor can be transacted in this society relating to the possession of civil and worldly goods. No force is here to be made use of upon any occasion whatsoever. For force belongs wholly to the civil magistrate, and the possession of all outward goods is subject to his jurisdiction.

But, it may be asked, by what means then shall ecclesiastical laws be established, if they must be thus destitute of all compulsive power? I answer: They must be established by means suitable to the nature of such things, whereof the external profession and observation — if not proceeding from a thorough conviction and approbation of the mind — is altogether useless and unprofitable. The arms by which the members of this society are to be kept within their duty are exhortations, admonitions, and advices. If by these means the offenders will not be reclaimed, and the erroneous convinced, there remains nothing further to be done but that such stubborn and obstinate persons, who give no ground to hope for their reformation, should be cast out and separated from the society. This is the last and utmost force of ecclesiastical authority. No other punishment can thereby be inflicted than that, the relation ceasing between the body and the member which is cut off. The person so condemned ceases to be a part of that church.

These things being thus determined, let us inquire, in the next place: How far the duty of toleration extends, and what is required from everyone by it?

And, first, I hold that no church is bound, by the duty of toleration, to retain any such person in her bosom as, after admonition, continues obstinately to offend against the laws of the society. For, these being the condition of communion and the bond of the society, if the breach of them were permitted without any animadversion the society would immediately be thereby dissolved. But, nevertheless, in all such cases care is to be taken that the sentence of excommunication, and the execution thereof, carry with it no rough usage of word or action whereby the ejected person may any wise be damnified in body or estate. For all force (as has often been said) belongs only to the magistrate, nor ought any private persons at any time to use force, unless it be in self-defence against unjust violence. Excommunication neither does, nor can, deprive the excommunicated person of any of those civil goods that he formerly possessed. All those things belong to the civil government and are under the magistrate’s protection. The whole force of excommunication consists only in this: that, the resolution of the society in that respect being declared, the union that was between the body and some member comes thereby to be dissolved; and, that relation ceasing, the participation of some certain things which the society communicated to its members, and unto which no man has any civil right, comes also to cease. For there is no civil injury done unto the excommunicated person by the church minister’s refusing him that bread and wine, in the celebration of the Lord’s Supper, which was not bought with his but other men’s money.

Secondly, no private person has any right in any manner to prejudice another person in his civil enjoyments because he is of another church or religion. All the rights and franchises that belong to him as a man, or as a denizen, are inviolably to be preserved to him. These are not the business of religion. No violence nor injury is to be offered him, whether he be Christian or Pagan. Nay, we must not content ourselves with the narrow measures of bare justice; charity, bounty, and liberality must be added to it. This the Gospel enjoins, this reason directs, and this that natural fellowship we are born into requires of us. If any man err from the right way, it is his own misfortune, no injury to thee; nor therefore art thou to punish him in the things of this life because thou supposest he will be miserable in that which is to come.

What I say concerning the mutual toleration of private persons differing from one another in religion, I understand also of particular churches which stand, as it were, in the same relation to each other as private persons among themselves: nor has any one of them any manner of jurisdiction over any other; no, not even when the civil magistrate (as it sometimes happens) comes to be of this or the other communion. For the civil government can give no new right to the church, nor the church to the civil government. So that, whether the magistrate join himself to any church, or separate from it, the church remains always as it was before — a free and voluntary society. It neither requires the power of the sword by the magistrate’s coming to it, nor does it lose the right of instruction and excommunication by his going from it. This is the fundamental and immutable right of a spontaneous society — that it has power to remove any of its members who transgress the rules of its institution; but it cannot, by the accession of any new members, acquire any right of jurisdiction over those that are not joined with it. And therefore peace, equity, and friendship are always mutually to be observed by particular churches, in the same manner as by private persons, without any pretence of superiority or jurisdiction over one another.

That the thing may be made clearer by an example, let us suppose two churches — the one of Arminians, the other of Calvinists — residing in the city of Constantinople. Will anyone say that either of these churches has right to deprive the members of the other of their estates and liberty (as we see practised elsewhere) because of their differing from it in some doctrines and ceremonies, whilst the Turks, in the meanwhile, silently stand by and laugh to see with what inhuman cruelty Christians thus rage against Christians? But if one of these churches hath this power of treating the other ill, I ask which of them it is to whom that power belongs, and by what right? It will be answered, undoubtedly, that it is the orthodox church which has the right of authority over the erroneous or heretical. This is, in great and specious words, to say just nothing at all. For every church is orthodox to itself; to others, erroneous or heretical. For whatsoever any church believes, it believes to be true and the contrary unto those things it pronounce; to be error. So that the controversy between these churches about the truth of their doctrines and the purity of their worship is on both sides equal; nor is there any judge, either at Constantinople or elsewhere upon earth, by whose sentence it can be determined. The decision of that question belongs only to the Supreme judge of all men, to whom also alone belongs the punishment of the erroneous. In the meanwhile, let those men consider how heinously they sin, who, adding injustice, if not to their error, yet certainly to their pride, do rashly and arrogantly take upon them to misuse the servants of another master, who are not at all accountable to them.

Nay, further: if it could be manifest which of these two dissenting churches were in the right, there would not accrue thereby unto the orthodox any right of destroying the other. For churches have neither any jurisdiction in worldly matters, nor are fire and sword any proper instruments wherewith to convince men’s minds of error, and inform them of the truth. Let us suppose, nevertheless, that the civil magistrate inclined to favour one of them and to put his sword into their hands that (by his consent) they might chastise the dissenters as they pleased. Will any man say that any right can be derived unto a Christian church over its brethren from a Turkish emperor? An infidel, who has himself no authority to punish Christians for the articles of their faith, cannot confer such an authority upon any society of Christians, nor give unto them a right which he has not himself. This would be the case at Constantinople; and the reason of the thing is the same in any Christian kingdom. The civil power is the same in every place. Nor can that power, in the hands of a Christian prince, confer any greater authority upon the Church than in the hands of a heathen; which is to say, just none at all.

Nevertheless, it is worthy to be observed and lamented that the most violent of these defenders of the truth, the opposers of errors, the exclaimers against schism do hardly ever let loose this their zeal for God, with which they are so warmed and inflamed, unless where they have the civil magistrate on their side. But so soon as ever court favour has given them the better end of the staff, and they begin to feel themselves the stronger, then presently peace and charity are to be laid aside. Otherwise they are religiously to be observed. Where they have not the power to carry on persecution and to become masters, there they desire to live upon fair terms and preach up toleration. When they are not strengthened with the civil power, then they can bear most patiently and unmovedly the contagion of idolatry, superstition, and heresy in their neighbourhood; of which on other occasions the interest of religion makes them to be extremely apprehensive. They do not forwardly attack those errors which are in fashion at court or are countenanced by the government. Here they can be content to spare their arguments; which yet (with their leave) is the only right method of propagating truth, which has no such way of prevailing as when strong arguments and good reason are joined with the softness of civility and good usage.

Nobody, therefore, in fine, neither single persons nor churches, nay, nor even commonwealths, have any just title to invade the civil rights and worldly goods of each other upon pretence of religion. Those that are of another opinion would do well to consider with themselves how pernicious a seed of discord and war, how powerful a provocation to endless hatreds, rapines, and slaughters they thereby furnish unto mankind. No peace and security, no, not so much as common friendship, can ever be established or preserved amongst men so long as this opinion prevails, that dominion is founded in grace and that religion is to be propagated by force of arms.

In the third place, let us see what the duty of toleration requires from those who are distinguished from the rest of mankind (from the laity, as they please to call us) by some ecclesiastical character and office; whether they be bishops, priests, presbyters, ministers, or however else dignified or distinguished. It is not my business to inquire here into the original of the power or dignity of the clergy. This only I say, that, whencesoever their authority be sprung, since it is ecclesiastical, it ought to be confined within the bounds of the Church, nor can it in any manner be extended to civil affairs, because the Church itself is a thing absolutely separate and distinct from the commonwealth. The boundaries on both sides are fixed and immovable. He jumbles heaven and earth together, the things most remote and opposite, who mixes these two societies, which are in their original, end, business, and in everything perfectly distinct and infinitely different from each other. No man, therefore, with whatsoever ecclesiastical office he be dignified, can deprive another man that is not of his church and faith either of liberty or of any part of his worldly goods upon the account of that difference between them in religion. For whatsoever is not lawful to the whole Church cannot by any ecclesiastical right become lawful to any of its members.

But this is not all. It is not enough that ecclesiastical men abstain from violence and rapine and all manner of persecution. He that pretends to be a successor of the apostles, and takes upon him the office of teaching, is obliged also to admonish his hearers of the duties of peace and goodwill towards all men, as well towards the erroneous as the orthodox; towards those that differ from them in faith and worship as well as towards those that agree with them therein. And he ought industriously to exhort all men, whether private persons or magistrates (if any such there be in his church), to charity, meekness, and toleration, and diligently endeavour to ally and temper all that heat and unreasonable averseness of mind which either any man’s fiery zeal for his own sect or the craft of others has kindled against dissenters. I will not undertake to represent how happy and how great would be the fruit, both in Church and State, if the pulpits everywhere sounded with this doctrine of peace and toleration, lest I should seem to reflect too severely upon those men whose dignity I desire not to detract from, nor would have it diminished either by others or themselves. But this I say, that thus it ought to be. And if anyone that professes himself to be a minister of the Word of God, a preacher of the gospel of peace, teach otherwise, he either understands not or neglects the business of his calling and shall one day give account thereof unto the Prince of Peace. If Christians are to be admonished that they abstain from all manner of revenge, even after repeated provocations and multiplied injuries, how much more ought they who suffer nothing, who have had no harm done them, forbear violence and abstain from all manner of ill-usage towards those from whom they have received none! This caution and temper they ought certainly to use towards those. who mind only their own business and are solicitous for nothing but that (whatever men think of them) they may worship God in that manner which they are persuaded is acceptable to Him and in which they have the strongest hopes of eternal salvation. In private domestic affairs, in the management of estates, in the conservation of bodily health, every man may consider what suits his own convenience and follow what course he likes best. No man complains of the ill-management of his neighbour’s affairs. No man is angry with another for an error committed in sowing his land or in marrying his daughter. Nobody corrects a spendthrift for consuming his substance in taverns. Let any man pull down, or build, or make whatsoever expenses he pleases, nobody murmurs, nobody controls him; he has his liberty. But if any man do not frequent the church, if he do not there conform his behaviour exactly to the accustomed ceremonies, or if he brings not his children to be initiated in the sacred mysteries of this or the other congregation, this immediately causes an uproar. The neighbourhood is filled with noise and clamour. Everyone is ready to be the avenger of so great a crime, and the zealots hardly have the patience to refrain from violence and rapine so long till the cause be heard and the poor man be, according to form, condemned to the loss of liberty, goods, or life. Oh, that our ecclesiastical orators of every sect would apply themselves with all the strength of arguments that they are able to the confounding of men’s errors! But let them spare their persons. Let them not supply their want of reasons with the instruments of force, which belong to another jurisdiction and do ill become a Churchman’s hands. Let them not call in the magistrate’s authority to the aid of their eloquence or learning, lest perhaps, whilst they pretend only love for the truth, this their intemperate zeal, breathing nothing but fire and sword, betray their ambition and show that what they desire is temporal dominion. For it will be very difficult to persuade men of sense that he who with dry eyes and satisfaction of mind can deliver his brother to the executioner to be burnt alive, does sincerely and heartily concern himself to save that brother from the flames of hell in the world to come.

In the last place, let us now consider what is the magistrate’s duty in the business of toleration, which certainly is very considerable.

We have already proved that the care of souls does not belong to the magistrate. Not a magisterial care, I mean (if I may so call it), which consists in prescribing by laws and compelling by punishments. But a charitable care, which consists in teaching, admonishing, and persuading, cannot be denied unto any man. The care, therefore, of every man’s soul belongs unto himself and is to be left unto himself. But what if he neglect the care of his soul? I answer: What if he neglect the care of his health or of his estate, which things are nearlier related to the government of the magistrate than the other? Will the magistrate provide by an express law that such a one shall not become poor or sick? Laws provide, as much as is possible, that the goods and health of subjects be not injured by the fraud and violence of others; they do not guard them from the negligence or ill-husbandry of the possessors themselves. No man can be forced to be rich or healthful whether he will or no. Nay, God Himself will not save men against their wills. Let us suppose, however, that some prince were desirous to force his subjects to accumulate riches, or to preserve the health and strength of their bodies. Shall it be provided by law that they must consult none but Roman physicians, and shall everyone be bound to live according to their prescriptions? What, shall no potion, no broth, be taken, but what is prepared either in the Vatican, suppose, or in a Geneva shop? Or, to make these subjects rich, shall they all be obliged by law to become merchants or musicians? Or, shall everyone turn victualler, or smith, because there are some that maintain their families plentifully and grow rich in those professions? But, it may be said, there are a thousand ways to wealth, but one only way to heaven. It is well said, indeed, especially by those that plead for compelling men into this or the other way. For if there were several ways that led thither, there would not be so much as a pretence left for compulsion. But now, if I be marching on with my utmost vigour in that way which, according to the sacred geography, leads straight to Jerusalem, why am I beaten and ill-used by others because, perhaps, I wear not buskins; because my hair is not of the right cut; because, perhaps, I have not been dipped in the right fashion; because I eat flesh upon the road, or some other food which agrees with my stomach; because I avoid certain by-ways, which seem unto me to lead into briars or precipices; because, amongst the several paths that are in the same road, I choose that to walk in which seems to be the straightest and cleanest; because I avoid to keep company with some travellers that are less grave and others that are more sour than they ought to be; or, in fine, because I follow a guide that either is, or is not, clothed in white, or crowned with a mitre? Certainly, if we consider right, we shall find that, for the most part, they are such frivolous things as these that (without any prejudice to religion or the salvation of souls, if not accompanied with superstition or hypocrisy) might either be observed or omitted. I say they are such-like things as these which breed implacable enmities amongst Christian brethren, who are all agreed in the substantial and truly fundamental part of religion.

But let us grant unto these zealots, who condemn all things that are not of their mode, that from these circumstances are different ends. What shall we conclude from thence? There is only one of these which is the true way to eternal happiness: but in this great variety of ways that men follow, it is still doubted which is the right one. Now, neither the care of the commonwealth, nor the right enacting of laws, does discover this way that leads to heaven more certainly to the magistrate than every private man’s search and study discovers it unto himself. I have a weak body, sunk under a languishing disease, for which (I suppose) there is one only remedy, but that unknown. Does it therefore belong unto the magistrate to prescribe me a remedy, because there is but one, and because it is unknown? Because there is but one way for me to escape death, will it therefore be safe for me to do whatsoever the magistrate ordains? Those things that every man ought sincerely to inquire into himself, and by meditation, study, search, and his own endeavours, attain the knowledge of, cannot be looked upon as the peculiar possession of any sort of men. Princes, indeed, are born superior unto other men in power, but in nature equal. Neither the right nor the art of ruling does necessarily carry along with it the certain knowledge of other things, and least of all of true religion. For if it were so, how could it come to pass that the lords of the earth should differ so vastly as they do in religious matters? But let us grant that it is probable the way to eternal life may be better known by a prince than by his subjects, or at least that in this incertitude of things the safest and most commodious way for private persons is to follow his dictates. You will say: “What then?” If he should bid you follow merchandise for your livelihood, would you decline that course for fear it should not succeed? I answer: I would turn merchant upon the prince’s command, because, in case I should have ill-success in trade, he is abundantly able to make up my loss some other way. If it be true, as he pretends, that he desires I should thrive and grow rich, he can set me up again when unsuccessful voyages have broken me. But this is not the case in the things that regard the life to come; if there I take a wrong course, if in that respect I am once undone, it is not in the magistrate’s power to repair my loss, to ease my suffering, nor to restore me in any measure, much less entirely, to a good estate. What security can be given for the Kingdom of Heaven?

Perhaps some will say that they do not suppose this infallible judgement, that all men are bound to follow in the affairs of religion, to be in the civil magistrate, but in the Church. What the Church has determined, that the civil magistrate orders to be observed; and he provides by his authority that nobody shall either act or believe in the business of religion otherwise than the Church teaches. So that the judgement of those things is in the Church; the magistrate himself yields obedience thereunto and requires the like obedience from others. I answer: Who sees not how frequently the name of the Church, which was venerable in time of the apostles, has been made use of to throw dust in the people’s eyes in the following ages? But, however, in the present case it helps us not. The one only narrow way which leads to heaven is not better known to the magistrate than to private persons, and therefore I cannot safely take him for my guide, who may probably be as ignorant of the way as myself, and who certainly is less concerned for my salvation than I myself am. Amongst so many kings of the Jews, how many of them were there whom any Israelite, thus blindly following, had not fallen into idolatry and thereby into destruction? Yet, nevertheless, you bid me be of good courage and tell me that all is now safe and secure, because the magistrate does not now enjoin the observance of his own decrees in matters of religion, but only the decrees of the Church. Of what Church, I beseech you? of that, certainly, which likes him best. As if he that compels me by laws and penalties to enter into this or the other Church, did not interpose his own judgement in the matter. What difference is there whether he lead me himself, or deliver me over to be led by others? I depend both ways upon his will, and it is he that determines both ways of my eternal state. Would an Israelite that had worshipped Baal upon the command of his king have been in any better condition because somebody had told him that the king ordered nothing in religion upon his own head, nor commanded anything to be done by his subjects in divine worship but what was approved by the counsel of priests, and declared to be of divine right by the doctors of their Church? If the religion of any Church become, therefore, true and saving, because the head of that sect, the prelates and priests, and those of that tribe, do all of them, with all their might, extol and praise it, what religion can ever be accounted erroneous, false, and destructive? I am doubtful concerning the doctrine of the Socinians, I am suspicious of the way of worship practised by the Papists, or Lutherans; will it be ever a jot safer for me to join either unto the one or the other of those Churches, upon the magistrate’s command, because he commands nothing in religion but by the authority and counsel of the doctors of that Church?

But, to speak the truth, we must acknowledge that the Church (if a convention of clergymen, making canons, must be called by that name) is for the most part more apt to be influenced by the Court than the Court by the Church. How the Church was under the vicissitude of orthodox and Arian emperors is very well known. Or if those things be too remote, our modern English history affords us fresh examples in the reigns of Henry VIII, Edward VI, Mary, and Elizabeth, how easily and smoothly the clergy changed their decrees, their articles of faith, their form of worship, everything according to the inclination of those kings and queens. Yet were those kings and queens of such different minds in point of religion, and enjoined thereupon such different things, that no man in his wits (I had almost said none but an atheist) will presume to say that any sincere and upright worshipper of God could, with a safe conscience, obey their several decrees. To conclude, it is the same thing whether a king that prescribes laws to another man’s religion pretend to do it by his own judgement, or by the ecclesiastical authority and advice of others. The decisions of churchmen, whose differences and disputes are sufficiently known, cannot be any sounder or safer than his; nor can all their suffrages joined together add a new strength to the civil power. Though this also must be taken notice of — that princes seldom have any regard to the suffrages of ecclesiastics that are not favourers of their own faith and way of worship.

But, after all, the principal consideration, and which absolutely determines this controversy, is this: Although the magistrate’s opinion in religion be sound, and the way that he appoints be truly Evangelical, yet, if I be not thoroughly persuaded thereof in my own mind, there will be no safety for me in following it. No way whatsoever that I shall walk in against the dictates of my conscience will ever bring me to the mansions of the blessed. I may grow rich by an art that I take not delight in; I may be cured of some disease by remedies that I have not faith in; but I cannot be saved by a religion that I distrust and by a worship that I abhor. It is in vain for an unbeliever to take up the outward show of another man’s profession. Faith only and inward sincerity are the things that procure acceptance with God. The most likely and most approved remedy can have no effect upon the patient, if his stomach reject it as soon as taken; and you will in vain cram a medicine down a sick man’s throat, which his particular constitution will be sure to turn into poison. In a word, whatsoever may be doubtful in religion, yet this at least is certain, that no religion which I believe not to be true can be either true or profitable unto me. In vain, therefore, do princes compel their subjects to come into their Church communion, under pretence of saving their souls. If they believe, they will come of their own accord, if they believe not, their coming will nothing avail them. How great soever, in fine, may be the pretence of good-will and charity, and concern for the salvation of men’s souls, men cannot be forced to be saved whether they will or no. And therefore, when all is done, they must be left to their own consciences.

Having thus at length freed men from all dominion over one another in matters of religion, let us now consider what they are to do. All men know and acknowledge that God ought to be publicly worshipped; why otherwise do they compel one another unto the public assemblies? Men, therefore, constituted in this liberty are to enter into some religious society, that they meet together, not only for mutual edification, but to own to the world that they worship God and offer unto His Divine Majesty such service as they themselves are not ashamed of and such as they think not unworthy of Him, nor unacceptable to Him; and, finally, that by the purity of doctrine, holiness of life, and decent form of worship, they may draw others unto the love of the true religion, and perform such other things in religion as cannot be done by each private man apart.

These religious societies I call Churches; and these, I say, the magistrate ought to tolerate, for the business of these assemblies of the people is nothing but what is lawful for every man in particular to take care of — I mean the salvation of their souls; nor in this case is there any difference between the National Church and other separated congregations.

But as in every Church there are two things especially to be considered — the outward form and rites of worship, and the doctrines and articles of things must be handled each distinctly that so the whole matter of toleration may the more clearly be understood.

Concerning outward worship, I say, in the first place, that the magistrate has no power to enforce by law, either in his own Church, or much less in another, the use of any rites or ceremonies whatsoever in the worship of God. And this, not only because these Churches are free societies, but because whatsoever is practised in the worship of God is only so far justifiable as it is believed by those that practise it to be acceptable unto Him. Whatsoever is not done with that assurance of faith is neither well in itself, nor can it be acceptable to God. To impose such things, therefore, upon any people, contrary to their own judgment, is in effect to command them to offend God, which, considering that the end of all religion is to please Him, and that liberty is essentially necessary to that end, appears to be absurd beyond expression.

But perhaps it may be concluded from hence that I deny unto the magistrate all manner of power about indifferent things, which, if it be not granted, the whole subject-matter of law-making is taken away. No, I readily grant that indifferent things, and perhaps none but such, are subjected to the legislative power. But it does not therefore follow that the magistrate may ordain whatsoever he pleases concerning anything that is indifferent. The public good is the rule and measure of all law-making. If a thing be not useful to the commonwealth, though it be never so indifferent, it may not presently be established by law.

And further, things never so indifferent in their own nature, when they are brought into the Church and worship of God, are removed out of the reach of the magistrate’s jurisdiction, because in that use they have no connection at all with civil affairs. The only business of the Church is the salvation of souls, and it no way concerns the commonwealth, or any member of it, that this or the other ceremony be there made use of. Neither the use nor the omission of any ceremonies in those religious assemblies does either advantage or prejudice the life, liberty, or estate of any man. For example, let it be granted that the washing of an infant with water is in itself an indifferent thing, let it be granted also that the magistrate understand such washing to be profitable to the curing or preventing of any disease the children are subject unto, and esteem the matter weighty enough to be taken care of by a law. In that case he may order it to be done. But will any one therefore say that a magistrate has the same right to ordain by law that all children shall be baptised by priests in the sacred font in order to the purification of their souls? The extreme difference of these two cases is visible to every one at first sight. Or let us apply the last case to the child of a Jew, and the thing speaks itself. For what hinders but a Christian magistrate may have subjects that are Jews? Now, if we acknowledge that such an injury may not be done unto a Jew as to compel him, against his own opinion, to practise in his religion a thing that is in its nature indifferent, how can we maintain that anything of this kind may be done to a Christian?

Again, things in their own nature indifferent cannot, by any human authority, be made any part of the worship of God — for this very reason: because they are indifferent. For, since indifferent things are not capable, by any virtue of their own, to propitiate the Deity, no human power or authority can confer on them so much dignity and excellency as to enable them to do it. In the common affairs of life that use of indifferent things which God has not forbidden is free and lawful, and therefore in those things human authority has place. But it is not so in matters of religion. Things indifferent are not otherwise lawful in the worship of God than as they are instituted by God Himself and as He, by some positive command, has ordained them to be made a part of that worship which He will vouchsafe to accept at the hands of poor sinful men. Nor, when an incensed Deity shall ask us, “Who has required these, or such-like things at your hands?” will it be enough to answer Him that the magistrate commanded them. If civil jurisdiction extend thus far, what might not lawfully be introduced into religion? What hodgepodge of ceremonies, what superstitious inventions, built upon the magistrate’s authority, might not (against conscience) be imposed upon the worshippers of God? For the greatest part of these ceremonies and superstitions consists in the religious use of such things as are in their own nature indifferent; nor are they sinful upon any other account than because God is not the author of them. The sprinkling of water and the use of bread and wine are both in their own nature and in the ordinary occasions of life altogether indifferent. Will any man, therefore, say that these things could have been introduced into religion and made a part of divine worship if not by divine institution? If any human authority or civil power could have done this, why might it not also enjoin the eating of fish and drinking of ale in the holy banquet as a part of divine worship? Why not the sprinkling of the blood of beasts in churches, and expiations by water or fire, and abundance more of this kind? But these things, how indifferent soever they be in common uses, when they come to be annexed unto divine worship, without divine authority, they are as abominable to God as the sacrifice of a dog. And why is a dog so abominable? What difference is there between a dog and a goat, in respect of the divine nature, equally and infinitely distant from all affinity with matter, unless it be that God required the use of one in His worship and not of the other? We see, therefore, that indifferent things, how much soever they be under the power of the civil magistrate, yet cannot, upon that pretence, be introduced into religion and imposed upon religious assemblies, because, in the worship of God, they wholly cease to be indifferent. He that worships God does it with design to please Him and procure His favour. But that cannot be done by him who, upon the command of another, offers unto God that which he knows will be displeasing to Him, because not commanded by Himself. This is not to please God, or appease his wrath, but willingly and knowingly to provoke Him by a manifest contempt, which is a thing absolutely repugnant to the nature and end of worship.

But it will be here asked: “If nothing belonging to divine worship be left to human discretion, how is it then that Churches themselves have the power of ordering anything about the time and place of worship and the like?” To this I answer that in religious worship we must distinguish between what is part of the worship itself and what is but a circumstance. That is a part of the worship which is believed to be appointed by God and to be well-pleasing to Him, and therefore that is necessary. Circumstances are such things which, though in general they cannot be separated from worship, yet the particular instances or modifications of them are not determined, and therefore they are indifferent. Of this sort are the time and place of worship, habit and posture of him that worships. These are circumstances, and perfectly indifferent, where God has not given any express command about them. For example: amongst the Jews the time and place of their worship and the habits of those that officiated in it were not mere circumstances, but a part of the worship itself, in which, if anything were defective, or different from the institution, they could not hope that it would be accepted by God. But these, to Christians under the liberty of the Gospel, are mere circumstances of worship, which the prudence of every Church may bring into such use as shall be judged most subservient to the end of order, decency, and edification. But, even under the Gospel, those who believe the first or the seventh day to be set apart by God, and consecrated still to His worship, to them that portion of time is not a simple circumstance, but a real part of Divine worship, which can neither be changed nor neglected.

In the next place: As the magistrate has no power to impose by his laws the use of any rites and ceremonies in any Church, so neither has he any power to forbid the use of such rites and ceremonies as are already received, approved, and practised by any Church; because, if he did so, he would destroy the Church itself: the end of whose institution is only to worship God with freedom after its own manner.

You will say, by this rule, if some congregations should have a mind to sacrifice infants, or (as the primitive Christians were falsely accused) lustfully pollute themselves in promiscuous uncleanness, or practise any other such heinous enormities, is the magistrate obliged to tolerate them, because they are committed in a religious assembly? I answer: No. These things are not lawful in the ordinary course of life, nor in any private house; and therefore neither are they so in the worship of God, or in any religious meeting. But, indeed, if any people congregated upon account of religion should be desirous to sacrifice a calf, I deny that that ought to be prohibited by a law. Meliboeus, whose calf it is, may lawfully kill his calf at home, and burn any part of it that he thinks fit. For no injury is thereby done to any one, no prejudice to another man’s goods. And for the same reason he may kill his calf also in a religious meeting. Whether the doing so be well-pleasing to God or no, it is their part to consider that do it. The part of the magistrate is only to take care that the commonwealth receive no prejudice, and that there be no injury done to any man, either in life or estate. And thus what may be spent on a feast may be spent on a sacrifice. But if peradventure such were the state of things that the interest of the commonwealth required all slaughter of beasts should be forborne for some while, in order to the increasing of the stock of cattle that had been destroyed by some extraordinary murrain, who sees not that the magistrate, in such a case, may forbid all his subjects to kill any calves for any use whatsoever? Only it is to be observed that, in this case, the law is not made about a religious, but a political matter; nor is the sacrifice, but the slaughter of calves, thereby prohibited.

By this we see what difference there is between the Church and the Commonwealth. Whatsoever is lawful in the Commonwealth cannot be prohibited by the magistrate in the Church. Whatsoever is permitted unto any of his subjects for their ordinary use, neither can nor ought to be forbidden by him to any sect of people for their religious uses. If any man may lawfully take bread or wine, either sitting or kneeling in his own house, the law ought not to abridge him of the same liberty in his religious worship; though in the Church the use of bread and wine be very different and be there applied to the mysteries of faith and rites of Divine worship. But those things that are prejudicial to the commonweal of a people in their ordinary use and are, therefore, forbidden by laws, those things ought not to be permitted to Churches in their sacred rites. Only the magistrate ought always to be very careful that he do not misuse his authority to the oppression of any Church, under pretence of public good.

It may be said: “What if a Church be idolatrous, is that also to be tolerated by the magistrate?” I answer: What power can be given to the magistrate for the suppression of an idolatrous Church, which may not in time and place be made use of to the ruin of an orthodox one? For it must be remembered that the civil power is the same everywhere, and the religion of every prince is orthodox to himself. If, therefore, such a power be granted unto the civil magistrate in spirituals as that at Geneva, for example, he may extirpate, by violence and blood, the religion which is there reputed idolatrous, by the same rule another magistrate, in some neighbouring country, may oppress the reformed religion and, in India, the Christian. The civil power can either change everything in religion, according to the prince’s pleasure, or it can change nothing. If it be once permitted to introduce anything into religion by the means of laws and penalties, there can be no bounds put to it; but it will in the same manner be lawful to alter everything, according to that rule of truth which the magistrate has framed unto himself. No man whatsoever ought, therefore, to be deprived of his terrestrial enjoyments upon account of his religion. Not even Americans, subjected unto a Christian prince, are to be punished either in body or goods for not embracing our faith and worship. If they are persuaded that they please God in observing the rites of their own country and that they shall obtain happiness by that means, they are to be left unto God and themselves. Let us trace this matter to the bottom. Thus it is: An inconsiderable and weak number of Christians, destitute of everything, arrive in a Pagan country; these foreigners beseech the inhabitants, by the bowels of humanity, that they would succour them with the necessaries of life; those necessaries are given them, habitations are granted, and they all join together, and grow up into one body of people. The Christian religion by this means takes root in that country and spreads itself, but does not suddenly grow the strongest. While things are in this condition peace, friendship, faith, and equal justice are preserved amongst them. At length the magistrate becomes a Christian, and by that means their party becomes the most powerful. Then immediately all compacts are to be broken, all civil rights to be violated, that idolatry may be extirpated; and unless these innocent Pagans, strict observers of the rules of equity and the law of Nature and no ways offending against the laws of the society, I say, unless they will forsake their ancient religion and embrace a new and strange one, they are to be turned out of the lands and possessions of their forefathers and perhaps deprived of life itself. Then, at last, it appears what zeal for the Church, joined with the desire of dominion, is capable to produce, and how easily the pretence of religion, and of the care of souls, serves for a cloak to covetousness, rapine, and ambition.

Now whosoever maintains that idolatry is to be rooted out of any place by laws, punishments, fire, and sword, may apply this story to himself. For the reason of the thing is equal, both in America and Europe. And neither Pagans there, nor any dissenting Christians here, can, with any right, be deprived of their worldly goods by the predominating faction of a court-church; nor are any civil rights to be either changed or violated upon account of religion in one place more than another.

But idolatry, say some, is a sin and therefore not to be tolerated. If they said it were therefore to be avoided, the inference were good. But it does not follow that because it is a sin it ought therefore to be punished by the magistrate. For it does not belong unto the magistrate to make use of his sword in punishing everything, indifferently, that he takes to be a sin against God. Covetousness, uncharitableness, idleness, and many other things are sins by the consent of men, which yet no man ever said were to be punished by the magistrate. The reason is because they are not prejudicial to other men’s rights, nor do they break the public peace of societies. Nay, even the sins of lying and perjury are nowhere punishable by laws; unless, in certain cases, in which the real turpitude of the thing and the offence against God are not considered, but only the injury done unto men’s neighbours and to the commonwealth. And what if in another country, to a Mahometan or a Pagan prince, the Christian religion seem false and offensive to God; may not the Christians for the same reason, and after the same manner, be extirpated there?

But it may be urged farther that, by the law of Moses, idolaters were to be rooted out. True, indeed, by the law of Moses; but that is not obligatory to us Christians. Nobody pretends that everything generally enjoined by the law of Moses ought to be practised by Christians; but there is nothing more frivolous than that common distinction of moral, judicial, and ceremonial law, which men ordinarily make use of. For no positive law whatsoever can oblige any people but those to whom it is given. “Hear, O Israel,” sufficiently restrains the obligations of the law of Moses only to that people. And this consideration alone is answer enough unto those that urge the authority of the law of Moses for the inflicting of capital punishment upon idolaters. But, however, I will examine this argument a little more particularly.

The case of idolaters, in respect of the Jewish commonwealth, falls under a double consideration. The first is of those who, being initiated in the Mosaical rites, and made citizens of that commonwealth, did afterwards apostatise from the worship of the God of Israel. These were proceeded against as traitors and rebels, guilty of no less than high treason. For the commonwealth of the Jews, different in that from all others, was an absolute theocracy; nor was there, or could there be, any difference between that commonwealth and the Church. The laws established there concerning the worship of One Invisible Deity were the civil laws of that people and a part of their political government, in which God Himself was the legislator. Now, if any one can shew me where there is a commonwealth at this time, constituted upon that foundation, I will acknowledge that the ecclesiastical laws do there unavoidably become a part of the civil, and that the subjects of that government both may and ought to be kept in strict conformity with that Church by the civil power. But there is absolutely no such thing under the Gospel as a Christian commonwealth. There are, indeed, many cities and kingdoms that have embraced the faith of Christ, but they have retained their ancient form of government, with which the law of Christ hath not at all meddled. He, indeed, hath taught men how, by faith and good works, they may obtain eternal life; but He instituted no commonwealth. He prescribed unto His followers no new and peculiar form of government, nor put He the sword into any magistrate’s hand, with commission to make use of it in forcing men to forsake their former religion and receive His.

Secondly, foreigners and such as were strangers to the commonwealth of Israel were not compelled by force to observe the rites of the Mosaical law; but, on the contrary, in the very same place where it is ordered that an Israelite that was an idolater should be put to death, there it is provided that strangers should not be vexed nor oppressed. I confess that the seven nations that possessed the land which was promised to the Israelites were utterly to be cut off; but this was not singly because they were idolaters. For if that had been the reason, why were the Moabites and other nations to be spared? No: the reason is this. God being in a peculiar manner the King of the Jews, He could not suffer the adoration of any other deity (which was properly an act of high treason against Himself) in the land of Canaan, which was His kingdom. For such a manifest revolt could no ways consist with His dominion, which was perfectly political in that country. All idolatry was, therefore, to be rooted out of the bounds of His kingdom because it was an acknowledgment of another god, that is say, another king, against the laws of Empire. The inhabitants were also to be driven out, that the entire possession of the land might be given to the Israelites. And for the like reason the Emims and the Horims were driven out of their countries by the children of Esau and Lot; and their lands, upon the same grounds, given by God to the invaders. But, though all idolatry was thus rooted out of the land of Canaan, yet every idolater was not brought to execution. The whole family of Rahab, the whole nation of the Gibeonites, articled with Joshua, and were allowed by treaty; and there were many captives amongst the Jews who were idolaters. David and Solomon subdued many countries without the confines of the Land of Promise and carried their conquests as far as Euphrates. Amongst so many captives taken, so many nations reduced under their obedience, we find not one man forced into the Jewish religion and the worship of the true God and punished for idolatry, though all of them were certainly guilty of it. If any one, indeed, becoming a proselyte, desired to be made a denizen of their commonwealth, he was obliged to submit to their laws; that is, to embrace their religion. But this he did willingly, on his own accord, not by constraint. He did not unwillingly submit, to show his obedience, but he sought and solicited for it as a privilege. And, as soon as he was admitted, he became subject to the laws of the commonwealth, by which all idolatry was forbidden within the borders of the land of Canaan. But that law (as I have said) did not reach to any of those regions, however subjected unto the Jews, that were situated without those bounds.

Thus far concerning outward worship. Let us now consider articles of faith.

The articles of religion are some of them practical and some speculative. Now, though both sorts consist in the knowledge of truth, yet these terminate simply in the understanding, those influence the will and manners. Speculative opinions, therefore, and articles of faith (as they are called) which are required only to be believed, cannot be imposed on any Church by the law of the land. For it is absurd that things should be enjoined by laws which are not in men’s power to perform. And to believe this or that to be true does not depend upon our will. But of this enough has been said already. “But.” will some say; “let men at least profess that they believe.” A sweet religion, indeed, that obliges men to dissemble and tell lies, both to God and man, for the salvation of their souls! If the magistrate thinks to save men thus, he seems to understand little of the way of salvation. And if he does it not in order to save them, why is he so solicitous about the articles of faith as to enact them by a law?

Further, the magistrate ought not to forbid the preaching or professing of any speculative opinions in any Church because they have no manner of relation to the civil rights of the subjects. If a Roman Catholic believe that to be really the body of Christ which another man calls bread, he does no injury thereby to his neighbour. If a Jew do not believe the New Testament to be the Word of God, he does not thereby alter anything in men’s civil rights. If a heathen doubt of both Testaments, he is not therefore to be punished as a pernicious citizen. The power of the magistrate and the estates of the people may be equally secure whether any man believe these things or no. I readily grant that these opinions are false and absurd. But the business of laws is not to provide for the truth of opinions, but for the safety and security of the commonwealth and of every particular man’s goods and person. And so it ought to be. For the truth certainly would do well enough if she were once left to shift for herself. She seldom has received and, I fear, never will receive much assistance from the power of great men, to whom she is but rarely known and more rarely welcome. She is not taught by laws, nor has she any need of force to procure her entrance into the minds of men. Errors, indeed, prevail by the assistance of foreign and borrowed succours. But if Truth makes not her way into the understanding by her own light, she will be but the weaker for any borrowed force violence can add to her. Thus much for speculative opinions. Let us now proceed to practical ones.

A good life, in which consist not the least part of religion and true piety, concerns also the civil government; and in it lies the safety both of men’s souls and of the commonwealth. Moral actions belong, therefore, to the jurisdiction both of the outward and inward court; both of the civil and domestic governor; I mean both of the magistrate and conscience. Here, therefore, is great danger, lest one of these jurisdictions intrench upon the other, and discord arise between the keeper of the public peace and the overseers of souls. But if what has been already said concerning the limits of both these governments be rightly considered, it will easily remove all difficulty in this matter.

Every man has an immortal soul, capable of eternal happiness or misery; whose happiness depending upon his believing and doing those things in this life which are necessary to the obtaining of God’s favour, and are prescribed by God to that end. It follows from thence, first, that the observance of these things is the highest obligation that lies upon mankind and that our utmost care, application, and diligence ought to be exercised in the search and performance of them; because there is nothing in this world that is of any consideration in comparison with eternity. Secondly, that seeing one man does not violate the right of another by his erroneous opinions and undue manner of worship, nor is his perdition any prejudice to another man’s affairs, therefore, the care of each man’s salvation belongs only to himself. But I would not have this understood as if I meant hereby to condemn all charitable admonitions and affectionate endeavours to reduce men from errors, which are indeed the greatest duty of a Christian. Any one may employ as many exhortations and arguments as he pleases, towards the promoting of another man’s salvation. But all force and compulsion are to be forborne. Nothing is to be done imperiously. Nobody is obliged in that matter to yield obedience unto the admonitions or injunctions of another, further than he himself is persuaded. Every man in that has the supreme and absolute authority of judging for himself. And the reason is because nobody else is concerned in it, nor can receive any prejudice from his conduct therein.

But besides their souls, which are immortal, men have also their temporal lives here upon earth; the state whereof being frail and fleeting, and the duration uncertain, they have need of several outward conveniences to the support thereof, which are to be procured or preserved by pains and industry. For those things that are necessary to the comfortable support of our lives are not the spontaneous products of nature, nor do offer themselves fit and prepared for our use. This part, therefore, draws on another care and necessarily gives another employment. But the pravity of mankind being such that they had rather injuriously prey upon the fruits of other men’s labours than take pains to provide for themselves, the necessity of preserving men in the possession of what honest industry has already acquired and also of preserving their liberty and strength, whereby they may acquire what they farther want, obliges men to enter into society with one another, that by mutual assistance and joint force they may secure unto each other their properties, in the things that contribute to the comfort and happiness of this life, leaving in the meanwhile to every man the care of his own eternal happiness, the attainment whereof can neither be facilitated by another man’s industry, nor can the loss of it turn to another man’s prejudice, nor the hope of it be forced from him by any external violence. But, forasmuch as men thus entering into societies, grounded upon their mutual compacts of assistance for the defence of their temporal goods, may, nevertheless, be deprived of them, either by the rapine and fraud of their fellow citizens, or by the hostile violence of foreigners, the remedy of this evil consists in arms, riches, and multitude of citizens; the remedy of the other in laws; and the care of all things relating both to one and the other is committed by the society to the civil magistrate. This is the original, this is the use, and these are the bounds of the legislative (which is the supreme) power in every commonwealth. I mean that provision may be made for the security of each man’s private possessions; for the peace, riches, and public commodities of the whole people; and, as much as possible, for the increase of their inward strength against foreign invasions.

These things being thus explained, it is easy to understand to what end the legislative power ought to be directed and by what measures regulated; and that is the temporal good and outward prosperity of the society; which is the sole reason of men’s entering into society, and the only thing they seek and aim at in it. And it is also evident what liberty remains to men in reference to their eternal salvation, and that is that every one should do what he in his conscience is persuaded to be acceptable to the Almighty, on whose good pleasure and acceptance depends their eternal happiness. For obedience is due, in the first place, to God and, afterwards to the laws.

But some may ask: “What if the magistrate should enjoin anything by his authority that appears unlawful to the conscience of a private person?” I answer that, if government be faithfully administered and the counsels of the magistrates be indeed directed to the public good, this will seldom happen. But if, perhaps, it do so fall out, I say, that such a private person is to abstain from the action that he judges unlawful, and he is to undergo the punishment which it is not unlawful for him to bear. For the private judgement of any person concerning a law enacted in political matters, for the public good, does not take away the obligation of that law, nor deserve a dispensation. But if the law, indeed, be concerning things that lie not within the verge of the magistrate’s authority (as, for example, that the people, or any party amongst them, should be compelled to embrace a strange religion, and join in the worship and ceremonies of another Church), men are not in these cases obliged by that law, against their consciences. For the political society is instituted for no other end, but only to secure every man’s possession of the things of this life. The care of each man’s soul and of the things of heaven, which neither does belong to the commonwealth nor can be subjected to it, is left entirely to every man’s self. Thus the safeguard of men’s lives and of the things that belong unto this life is the business of the commonwealth; and the preserving of those things unto their owners is the duty of the magistrate. And therefore the magistrate cannot take away these worldly things from this man or party and give them to that; nor change propriety amongst fellow subjects (no not even by a law), for a cause that has no relation to the end of civil government, I mean for their religion, which whether it be true or false does no prejudice to the worldly concerns of their fellow subjects, which are the things that only belong unto the care of the commonwealth.

But what if the magistrate believe such a law as this to be for the public good? I answer: As the private judgement of any particular person, if erroneous, does not exempt him from the obligation of law, so the private judgement (as I may call it) of the magistrate does not give him any new right of imposing laws upon his subjects, which neither was in the constitution of the government granted him, nor ever was in the power of the people to grant, much less if he make it his business to enrich and advance his followers and fellow-sectaries with the spoils of others. But what if the magistrate believe that he has a right to make such laws and that they are for the public good, and his subjects believe the contrary? Who shall be judge between them? I answer: God alone. For there is no judge upon earth between the supreme magistrate and the people. God, I say, is the only judge in this case, who will retribute unto every one at the last day according to his deserts; that is, according to his sincerity and uprightness in endeavouring to promote piety, and the public weal, and peace of mankind. But What shall be done in the meanwhile? I answer: The principal and chief care of every one ought to be of his own soul first, and, in the next place, of the public peace; though yet there are very few will think it is peace there, where they see all laid waste.

There are two sorts of contests amongst men, the one managed by law, the other by force; and these are of that nature that where the one ends, the other always begins. But it is not my business to inquire into the power of the magistrate in the different constitutions of nations. I only know what usually happens where controversies arise without a judge to determine them. You will say, then, the magistrate being the stronger will have his will and carry his point. Without doubt; but the question is not here concerning the doubtfulness of the event, but the rule of right.

But to come to particulars. I say, first, no opinions contrary to human society, or to those moral rules which are necessary to the preservation of civil society, are to be tolerated by the magistrate. But of these, indeed, examples in any Church are rare. For no sect can easily arrive to such a degree of madness as that it should think fit to teach, for doctrines of religion, such things as manifestly undermine the foundations of society and are, therefore, condemned by the judgement of all mankind; because their own interest, peace, reputation, everything would be thereby endangered.

Another more secret evil, but more dangerous to the commonwealth, is when men arrogate to themselves, and to those of their own sect, some peculiar prerogative covered over with a specious show of deceitful words, but in effect opposite to the civil right of the community. For example: we cannot find any sect that teaches, expressly and openly, that men are not obliged to keep their promise; that princes may be dethroned by those that differ from them in religion; or that the dominion of all things belongs only to themselves. For these things, proposed thus nakedly and plainly, would soon draw on them the eye and hand of the magistrate and awaken all the care of the commonwealth to a watchfulness against the spreading of so dangerous an evil. But, nevertheless, we find those that say the same things in other words. What else do they mean who teach that faith is not to be kept with heretics? Their meaning, forsooth, is that the privilege of breaking faith belongs unto themselves; for they declare all that are not of their communion to be heretics, or at least may declare them so whensoever they think fit. What can be the meaning of their asserting that kings excommunicated forfeit their crowns and kingdoms? It is evident that they thereby arrogate unto themselves the power of deposing kings, because they challenge the power of excommunication, as the peculiar right of their hierarchy. That dominion is founded in grace is also an assertion by which those that maintain it do plainly lay claim to the possession of all things. For they are not so wanting to themselves as not to believe, or at least as not to profess themselves to be the truly pious and faithful. These, therefore, and the like, who attribute unto the faithful, religious, and orthodox, that is, in plain terms, unto themselves, any peculiar privilege or power above other mortals, in civil concernments; or who upon pretence of religion do challenge any manner of authority over such as are not associated with them in their ecclesiastical communion, I say these have no right to be tolerated by the magistrate; as neither those that will not own and teach the duty of tolerating all men in matters of mere religion. For what do all these and the like doctrines signify, but that they may and are ready upon any occasion to seize the Government and possess themselves of the estates and fortunes of their fellow subjects; and that they only ask leave to be tolerated by the magistrate so long until they find themselves strong enough to effect it?

Again: That Church can have no right to be tolerated by the magistrate which is constituted upon such a bottom that all those who enter into it do thereby ipso facto deliver themselves up to the protection and service of another prince. For by this means the magistrate would give way to the settling of a foreign jurisdiction in his own country and suffer his own people to be listed, as it were, for soldiers against his own Government. Nor does the frivolous and fallacious distinction between the Court and the Church afford any remedy to this inconvenience; especially when both the one and the other are equally subject to the absolute authority of the same person, who has not only power to persuade the members of his Church to whatsoever he lists, either as purely religious, or in order thereunto, but can also enjoin it them on pain of eternal fire. It is ridiculous for any one to profess himself to be a Mahometan only in his religion, but in everything else a faithful subject to a Christian magistrate, whilst at the same time he acknowledges himself bound to yield blind obedience to the Mufti of Constantinople, who himself is entirely obedient to the Ottoman Emperor and frames the feigned oracles of that religion according to his pleasure. But this Mahometan living amongst Christians would yet more apparently renounce their government if he acknowledged the same person to be head of his Church who is the supreme magistrate in the state.

Lastly, those are not at all to be tolerated who deny the being of a God. Promises, covenants, and oaths, which are the bonds of human society, can have no hold upon an atheist. The taking away of God, though but even in thought, dissolves all; besides also, those that by their atheism undermine and destroy all religion, can have no pretence of religion whereupon to challenge the privilege of a toleration. As for other practical opinions, though not absolutely free from all error, if they do not tend to establish domination over others, or civil impunity to the Church in which they are taught, there can be no reason why they should not be tolerated.

It remains that I say something concerning those assemblies which, being vulgarly called and perhaps having sometimes been conventicles and nurseries of factions and seditions, are thought to afford against this doctrine of toleration. But this has not happened by anything peculiar unto the genius of such assemblies, but by the unhappy circumstances of an oppressed or ill-settled liberty. These accusations would soon cease if the law of toleration were once so settled that all Churches were obliged to lay down toleration as the foundation of their own liberty, and teach that liberty of conscience is every man’s natural right, equally belonging to dissenters as to themselves; and that nobody ought to be compelled in matters of religion either by law or force. The establishment of this one thing would take away all ground of complaints and tumults upon account of conscience; and these causes of discontents and animosities being once removed, there would remain nothing in these assemblies that were not more peaceable and less apt to produce disturbance of state than in any other meetings whatsoever. But let us examine particularly the heads of these accusations.

You will say that assemblies and meetings endanger the public peace and threaten the commonwealth. I answer: If this be so, why are there daily such numerous meetings in markets and Courts of Judicature? Why are crowds upon the Exchange and a concourse of people in cities suffered? You will reply: “Those are civil assemblies, but these we object against are ecclesiastical.” I answer: It is a likely thing, indeed, that such assemblies as are altogether remote from civil affairs should be most apt to embroil them. Oh, but civil assemblies are composed of men that differ from one another in matters of religion, but these ecclesiastical meetings are of persons that are all of one opinion. As if an agreement in matters of religion were in effect a conspiracy against the commonwealth; or as if men would not be so much the more warmly unanimous in religion the less liberty they had of assembling. But it will be urged still that civil assemblies are open and free for any one to enter into, whereas religious conventicles are more private and thereby give opportunity to clandestine machinations. I answer that this is not strictly true, for many civil assemblies are not open to everyone. And if some religious meetings be private, who are they (I beseech you) that are to be blamed for it, those that desire, or those that forbid their being public! Again, you will say that religious communion does exceedingly unite men’s minds and affections to one another and is therefore the more dangerous. But if this be so, why is not the magistrate afraid of his own Church; and why does he not forbid their assemblies as things dangerous to his Government? You will say because he himself is a part and even the head of them. As if he were not also a part of the commonwealth, and the head of the whole people!

Let us therefore deal plainly. The magistrate is afraid of other Churches, but not of his own, because he is kind and favourable to the one, but severe and cruel to the other. These he treats like children, and indulges them even to wantonness. Those he uses as slaves and, how blamelessly soever they demean themselves, recompenses them no otherwise than by galleys, prisons, confiscations, and death. These he cherishes and defends; those he continually scourges and oppresses. Let him turn the tables. Or let those dissenters enjoy but the same privileges in civils as his other subjects, and he will quickly find that these religious meetings will be no longer dangerous. For if men enter into seditious conspiracies, it is not religion inspires them to it in their meetings, but their sufferings and oppressions that make them willing to ease themselves. Just and moderate governments are everywhere quiet, everywhere safe; but oppression raises ferments and makes men struggle to cast off an uneasy and tyrannical yoke. I know that seditions are very frequently raised upon pretence of religion, but it is as true that for religion subjects are frequently ill treated and live miserably. Believe me, the stirs that are made proceed not from any peculiar temper of this or that Church or religious society, but from the common disposition of all mankind, who when they groan under any heavy burthen endeavour naturally to shake off the yoke that galls their necks. Suppose this business of religion were let alone, and that there were some other distinction made between men and men upon account of their different complexions, shapes, and features, so that those who have black hair (for example) or grey eyes should not enjoy the same privileges as other citizens; that they should not be permitted either to buy or sell, or live by their callings; that parents should not have the government and education of their own children; that all should either be excluded from the benefit of the laws, or meet with partial judges; can it be doubted but these persons, thus distinguished from others by the colour of their hair and eyes, and united together by one common persecution, would be as dangerous to the magistrate as any others that had associated themselves merely upon the account of religion? Some enter into company for trade and profit, others for want of business have their clubs for claret. Neighbourhood joins some and religion others. But there is only one thing which gathers people into seditious commotions, and that is oppression.

You will say “What, will you have people to meet at divine service against the magistrate’s will?” I answer: Why, I pray, against his will? Is it not both lawful and necessary that they should meet? Against his will, do you say? That is what I complain of; that is the very root of all the mischief. Why are assemblies less sufferable in a church than in a theatre or market? Those that meet there are not either more vicious or more turbulent than those that meet elsewhere. The business in that is that they are ill used, and therefore they are not to be suffered. Take away the partiality that is used towards them in matters of common right; change the laws, take away the penalties unto which they are subjected, and all things will immediately become safe and peaceable; nay, those that are averse to the religion of the magistrate will think themselves so much the more bound to maintain the peace of the commonwealth as their condition is better in that place than elsewhere; and all the several separate congregations, like so many guardians of the public peace, will watch one another, that nothing may be innovated or changed in the form of the government, because they can hope for nothing better than what they already enjoy — that is, an equal condition with their fellow-subjects under a just and moderate government. Now if that Church which agrees in religion with the prince be esteemed the chief support of any civil government, and that for no other reason (as has already been shown) than because the prince is kind and the laws are favourable to it, how much greater will be the security of government where all good subjects, of whatsoever Church they be, without any distinction upon account of religion, enjoying the same favour of the prince and the same benefit of the laws, shall become the common support and guard of it, and where none will have any occasion to fear the severity of the laws but those that do injuries to their neighbours and offend against the civil peace?

That we may draw towards a conclusion. The sum of all we drive at is that every man may enjoy the same rights that are granted to others. Is it permitted to worship God in the Roman manner? Let it be permitted to do it in the Geneva form also. Is it permitted to speak Latin in the market-place? Let those that have a mind to it be permitted to do it also in the Church. Is it lawful for any man in his own house to kneel, stand, sit, or use any other posture; and to clothe himself in white or black, in short or in long garments? Let it not be made unlawful to eat bread, drink wine, or wash with water in the church. In a word, whatsoever things are left free by law in the common occasions of life, let them remain free unto every Church in divine worship. Let no man’s life, or body, or house, or estate, suffer any manner of prejudice upon these accounts. Can you allow of the Presbyterian discipline? Why should not the Episcopal also have what they like? Ecclesiastical authority, whether it be administered by the hands of a single person or many, is everywhere the same; and neither has any jurisdiction in things civil, nor any manner of power of compulsion, nor anything at all to do with riches and revenues.

Ecclesiastical assemblies and sermons are justified by daily experience and public allowance. These are allowed to people of some one persuasion; why not to all? If anything pass in a religious meeting seditiously and contrary to the public peace, it is to be punished in the same manner and no otherwise than as if it had happened in a fair or market. These meetings ought not to be sanctuaries for factious and flagitious fellows. Nor ought it to be less lawful for men to meet in churches than in halls; nor are one part of the subjects to be esteemed more blamable for their meeting together than others. Every one is to be accountable for his own actions, and no man is to be laid under a suspicion or odium for the fault of another. Those that are seditious, murderers, thieves, robbers, adulterers, slanderers, etc., of whatsoever Church, whether national or not, ought to be punished and suppressed. But those whose doctrine is peaceable and whose manners are pure and blameless ought to be upon equal terms with their fellow-subjects. Thus if solemn assemblies, observations of festivals, public worship be permitted to any one sort of professors, all these things ought to be permitted to the Presbyterians, Independents, Anabaptists, Arminians, Quakers, and others, with the same liberty. Nay, if we may openly speak the truth, and as becomes one man to another, neither Pagan nor Mahometan, nor Jew, ought to be excluded from the civil rights of the commonwealth because of his religion. The Gospel commands no such thing. The Church which “judgeth not those that are without” wants it not. And the commonwealth, which embraces indifferently all men that are honest, peaceable, and industrious, requires it not. Shall we suffer a Pagan to deal and trade with us, and shall we not suffer him to pray unto and worship God? If we allow the Jews to have private houses and dwellings amongst us, why should we not allow them to have synagogues? Is their doctrine more false, their worship more abominable, or is the civil peace more endangered by their meeting in public than in their private houses? But if these things may be granted to Jews and Pagans, surely the condition of any Christians ought not to be worse than theirs in a Christian commonwealth.

You will say, perhaps: “Yes, it ought to be; because they are more inclinable to factions, tumults, and civil wars.” I answer: Is this the fault of the Christian religion? If it be so, truly the Christian religion is the worst of all religions and ought neither to be embraced by any particular person, nor tolerated by any commonwealth. For if this be the genius, this the nature of the Christian religion, to be turbulent and destructive to the civil peace, that Church itself which the magistrate indulges will not always be innocent. But far be it from us to say any such thing of that religion which carries the greatest opposition to covetousness, ambition, discord, contention, and all manner of inordinate desires, and is the most modest and peaceable religion that ever was. We must, therefore, seek another cause of those evils that are charged upon religion. And, if we consider right, we shall find it to consist wholly in the subject that I am treating of. It is not the diversity of opinions (which cannot be avoided), but the refusal of toleration to those that are of different opinions (which might have been granted), that has produced all the bustles and wars that have been in the Christian world upon account of religion. The heads and leaders of the Church, moved by avarice and insatiable desire of dominion, making use of the immoderate ambition of magistrates and the credulous superstition of the giddy multitude, have incensed and animated them against those that dissent from themselves, by preaching unto them, contrary to the laws of the Gospel and to the precepts of charity, that schismatics and heretics are to be outed of their possessions and destroyed. And thus have they mixed together and confounded two things that are in themselves most different, the Church and the commonwealth. Now as it is very difficult for men patiently to suffer themselves to be stripped of the goods which they have got by their honest industry, and, contrary to all the laws of equity, both human and divine, to be delivered up for a prey to other men’s violence and rapine; especially when they are otherwise altogether blameless; and that the occasion for which they are thus treated does not at all belong to the jurisdiction of the magistrate, but entirely to the conscience of every particular man for the conduct of which he is accountable to God only; what else can be expected but that these men, growing weary of the evils under which they labour, should in the end think it lawful for them to resist force with force, and to defend their natural rights (which are not forfeitable upon account of religion) with arms as well as they can? That this has been hitherto the ordinary course of things is abundantly evident in history, and that it will continue to be so hereafter is but too apparent in reason. It cannot indeed, be otherwise so long as the principle of persecution for religion shall prevail, as it has done hitherto, with magistrate and people, and so long as those that ought to be the preachers of peace and concord shall continue with all their art and strength to excite men to arms and sound the trumpet of war. But that magistrates should thus suffer these incendiaries and disturbers of the public peace might justly be wondered at if it did not appear that they have been invited by them unto a participation of the spoil, and have therefore thought fit to make use of their covetousness and pride as means whereby to increase their own power. For who does not see that these good men are, indeed, more ministers of the government than ministers of the Gospel and that, by flattering the ambition and favouring the dominion of princes and men in authority, they endeavour with all their might to promote that tyranny in the commonwealth which otherwise they should not be able to establish in the Church? This is the unhappy agreement that we see between the Church and State. Whereas if each of them would contain itself within its own bounds — the one attending to the worldly welfare of the commonwealth, the other to the salvation of souls — it is impossible that any discord should ever have happened between them. Sed pudet hoec opprobria. etc. God Almighty grant, I beseech Him, that the gospel of peace may at length be preached, and that civil magistrates, growing more careful to conform their own consciences to the law of God and less solicitous about the binding of other men’s consciences by human laws, may, like fathers of their country, direct all their counsels and endeavours to promote universally the civil welfare of all their children, except only of such as are arrogant, ungovernable, and injurious to their brethren; and that all ecclesiastical men, who boast themselves to be the successors of the Apostles, walking peaceably and modestly in the Apostles’ steps, without intermeddling with State Affairs, may apply themselves wholly to promote the salvation of souls.

FAREWELL.

PERHAPS it may not be amiss to add a few things concerning heresy and schism. A Turk is not, nor can be, either heretic or schismatic to a Christian; and if any man fall off from the Christian faith to Mahometism, he does not thereby become a heretic or schismatic, but an apostate and an infidel. This nobody doubts of; and by this it appears that men of different religions cannot be heretics or schismatics to one another.

We are to inquire, therefore, what men are of the same religion. Concerning which it is manifest that those who have one and the same rule of faith and worship are of the same religion; and those who have not the same rule of faith and worship are of different religions. For since all things that belong unto that religion are contained in that rule, it follows necessarily that those who agree in one rule are of one and the same religion, and vice versa. Thus Turks and Christians are of different religions, because these take the Holy Scriptures to be the rule of their religion, and those the Alcoran. And for the same reason there may be different religions also even amongst Christians. The Papists and Lutherans, though both of them profess faith in Christ and are therefore called Christians, yet are not both of the same religion, because these acknowledge nothing but the Holy Scriptures to be the rule and foundation of their religion, those take in also traditions and the decrees of Popes and of these together make the rule of their religion; and thus the Christians of St. John (as they are called) and the Christians of Geneva are of different religions, because these also take only the Scriptures, and those I know not what traditions, for the rule of their religion.

This being settled, it follows, first, that heresy is a separation made in ecclesiastical communion between men of the same religion for some opinions no way contained in the rule itself; and, secondly, that amongst those who acknowledge nothing but the Holy Scriptures to be their rule of faith, heresy is a separation made in their Christian communion for opinions not contained in the express words of Scripture. Now this separation may be made in a twofold manner:

1. When the greater part, or by the magistrate’s patronage the stronger part, of the Church separates itself from others by excluding them out of her communion because they will not profess their belief of certain opinions which are not the express words of the Scripture. For it is not the paucity of those that are separated, nor the authority of the magistrate, that can make any man guilty of heresy, but he only is a heretic who divides the Church into parts, introduces names and marks of distinction, and voluntarily makes a separation because of such opinions.

2. When any one separates himself from the communion of a Church because that Church does not publicly profess some certain opinions which the Holy Scriptures do not expressly teach.

Both these are heretics because they err in fundamentals, and they err obstinately against knowledge; for when they have determined the Holy Scriptures to be the only foundation of faith, they nevertheless lay down certain propositions as fundamental which are not in the Scripture, and because others will not acknowledge these additional opinions of theirs, nor build upon them as if they were necessary and fundamental, they therefore make a separation in the Church, either by withdrawing themselves from others, or expelling the others from them. Nor does it signify anything for them to say that their confessions and symbols are agreeable to Scripture and to the analogy of faith; for if they be conceived in the express words of Scripture, there can be no question about them, because those things are acknowledged by all Christians to be of divine inspiration and therefore fundamental. But if they say that the articles which they require to be professed are consequences deduced from the Scripture, it is undoubtedly well done of them who believe and profess such things as seem unto them so agreeable to the rule of faith. But it would be very ill done to obtrude those things upon others unto whom they do not seem to be the indubitable doctrines of the Scripture; and to make a separation for such things as these, which neither are nor can be fundamental, is to become heretics; for I do not think there is any man arrived to that degree of madness as that he dare give out his consequences and interpretations of Scripture as divine inspirations and compare the articles of faith that he has framed according to his own fancy with the authority of Scripture. I know there are some propositions so evidently agreeable to Scripture that nobody can deny them to be drawn from thence, but about those, therefore, there can be no difference. This only I say — that however clearly we may think this or the other doctrine to be deduced from Scripture, we ought not therefore to impose it upon others as a necessary article of faith because we believe it to be agreeable to the rule of faith, unless we would be content also that other doctrines should be imposed upon us in the same manner, and that we should be compelled to receive and profess all the different and contradictory opinions of Lutherans, Calvinists, Remonstrants, Anabaptists, and other sects which the contrivers of symbols, systems, and confessions are accustomed to deliver to their followers as genuine and necessary deductions from the Holy Scripture. I cannot but wonder at the extravagant arrogance of those men who think that they themselves can explain things necessary to salvation more clearly than the Holy Ghost, the eternal and infinite wisdom of God.

Thus much concerning heresy, which word in common use is applied only to the doctrinal part of religion. Let us now consider schism, which is a crime near akin to it; for both these words seem unto me to signify an ill-grounded separation in ecclesiastical communion made about things not necessary. But since use, which is the supreme law in matter of language, has determined that heresy relates to errors in faith, and schism to those in worship or discipline, we must consider them under that distinction.

Schism, then, for the same reasons that have already been alleged, is nothing else but a separation made in the communion of the Church upon account of something in divine worship or ecclesiastical discipline that is not any necessary part of it. Now, nothing in worship or discipline can be necessary to Christian communion but what Christ our legislator, or the Apostles by inspiration of the Holy Spirit, have commanded in express words.

In a word, he that denies not anything that the Holy Scriptures teach in express words, nor makes a separation upon occasion of anything that is not manifestly contained in the sacred text — however he may be nicknamed by any sect of Christians and declared by some or all of them to be utterly void of true Christianity — yet in deed and in truth this man cannot be either a heretic or schismatic.

These things might have been explained more largely and more advantageously, but it is enough to have hinted at them thus briefly to a person of your parts.

A SECOND LETTER CONCERNING TOLERATION

TO THE AUTHOR OF THE ARGUMENT OF THE LETTER, CONCERNING TOLERATION, BRIEFLY CONSIDERED AND ANSWERED.

Sir,

You will pardon me if I take the same liberty with you, that you have done with the author of the Letter concerning Toleration; to consider your arguments, and endeavour to shew you the mistakes of them; for since you have so plainly yielded up the question to him, and do own that “the severities he would dissuade christians from, are utterly unapt and improper to bring men to embrace that truth which must save them:” I am not without some hopes to prevail with you to do that yourself, which you say is the only justifiable aim of men differing about religion, even in the use of the severest methods, viz. carefully and impartially to weigh the whole matter, and thereby to remove that prejudice which makes you yet favour some remains of persecution: promising myself that so ingenious a person will either be convinced by the truth which appears so very clear and evident to me: or else confess, that, were either you or I in authority, we should very unreasonably and very unjustly use any force upon the other, which differed from him, upon any pretence of want of examination. And if force be not to be used in your case or mine, because unreasonable, or unjust; you will, I hope, think fit that it should be forborn in all others where it will be equally unjust and unreasonable; as I doubt not but to make it appear it will unavoidably be, wherever you will go about to punish men for want of consideration; for the true way to try such speculations as these, is to see how they will prove when they are reduced into practice.

The first thing you seem startled at in the author’s letter, is the largeness of the toleration he proposes; and you think it strange that he would not have so much as a “pagan, mahometan, or jew, excluded from the civil rights of the commonwealth, because of his religion,” . We pray every day for their conversion, and I think it our duty so to do: but it will, I fear, hardly be believed that we pray in earnest, if we exclude them from the other ordinary and probable means of conversion; either by driving them from, or persecuting them when they are amongst us. Force, you allow, is improper to convert men to any religion. Toleration is but the removing that force; so that why those should not be tolerated as well as others, if you wish their conversion, I do not see. But you say, “it seems hard to conceive how the author of that letter should think to do any service to religion in general, or to the christian religion, by recommending and persuading such a toleration; for how much soever it may tend to the advancement of trade and commerce (which some seem to place above all other considerations), I see no reason, from any experiment that has been made, to expect that true religion would be a gainer by it; that it would be either the better preserved, the more widely propagated, or rendered any whit the more fruitful in the lives of its professors by it.” Before I come to your doubt itself, “Whether true religion would be a gainer by such a toleration;” give me leave to take notice, that if, by other considerations, you mean any thing but religion, your parenthesis is wholly beside the matter; and that if you do not know that the author of the letter places the advancement of trade above religion, your insinuation is very uncharitable. But I go on.

“You see no reason, you say, from any experiment that has been made, to expect that true religion would be a gainer by it.” True religion and christian religion are, I suppose, to you and me, the same thing. But of this you have an experiment in its first appearance in the world, and several hundreds of years after. It was then “better preserved, more widely propagated, in proportion, and rendered more fruitful in the lives of its professors,” than ever since; though then jews and pagans were tolerated, and more than tolerated by the governments of those places where it grew up. I hope you do not imagine the christian religion has lost any of its first beauty, force, or reasonableness, by having been almost two thousand years in the world; that you should fear it should be less able now to shift for itself, without the help of force. I doubt not but you look upon it still to be “the power and wisdom of God for our salvation;” and therefore cannot suspect it less capable to prevail now, by its own truth and light, than it did in the first ages of the church, when poor contemptible men, without authority, or the countenance of authority, had alone the care of it. This, as I take it, has been made use of by christians generally, and by some of our church in particular, as an argument for the truth of the christian religion; that it grew, and spread, and prevailed, without any aid from force, or the assistance of the powers in being; and if it be a mark of the true religion, that it will prevail by its own light and strength, but that false religions will not, but have need of force and foreign helps to support them, nothing certainly can be more for the advantage of true religion, than to take away compulsion every-where; and therefore it is no more “hard to conceive how the author of the letter should think to do service to religion in general, or to the christian religion,” than it is hard to conceive that he should think there is a true religion, and that the christian religion is it; which its professors have always owned not to need force, and have urged that as a good argument to prove the truth of it. The inventions of men in religion need the force and helps of men to support them. A religion that is of God wants not the assistance of human authority to make it prevail. I guess, when this dropped from you, you had narrowed your thoughts to your own age and country: but if you will enlarge them a little beyond the confines of England, I do not doubt but you will easily imagine that if in Italy, Spain, Portugal, &c. the inquisition; and in France their dragooning; and in other parts those severities that are used to keep or force men to the national religion; were taken away; and instead thereof the toleration proposed by the author were set up, the true religion would be a gainer by it.

The author of the letter says, “Truth would do well enough, if she were once left to shift for herself. She seldom hath received, and he fears never will receive much assistance from the power of great men, to whom she is but rarely known, and more rarely welcome. Errors indeed prevail, by the assistance of foreign and borrowed succours. Truth makes way into our understanding, by her own light, and is but the weaker for any borrowed force that violence can add to her.” These words of his, how hard soever they may seem to you, may help you to conceive how he should think to do service to true religion, by recommending and persuading such a toleration as he proposed. And now pray tell me yourself, whether you do not think true religion would be a gainer by it, if such a toleration, established there, would permit the doctrine of the church of England to be freely preached, and its worship set up, in any popish, mahometan, or pagan country? if you do not, you have a very ill opinion of the religion of the church of England, and must own that it can only be propagated and supported by force. If you think it would gain in those countries, by such a toleration, you are then of the author’s mind, and do not find it so hard to conceive how the recommending such a toleration might do service to that which you think true religion. But if you allow such a toleration useful to truth in other countries, you must find something very peculiar in the air, that must make it less useful to truth in England; and it will savour of much partiality, and be too absurd, I fear, for you to own, that toleration will be advantageous to true religion all the world over, except only in this island: though, I much suspect, this, as absurd as it is, lies at the bottom; and you build all you say upon this lurking supposition, that the national religion now in England, backed by the public authority of the law, is the only true religion, and therefore no other is to be tolerated; which being a supposition equally unavoidable, and equally just in other countries, unless we can imagine that every-where but in England men believe what at the same time they think to be a lie; will in other places exclude toleration, and thereby hinder truth from the means of propagating itself.

What the fruits of toleration are, which in the next words you complain do “remain still among us,” and which you say, “give no encouragement to hope for any advantages from it;” what fruits, I say, these are, or whether they are owing to the want or wideness of toleration among us, we shall then be able to judge when you tell us what they are. In the mean time I will boldly say, that if the magistrates will severally and impartially set themselves against vice, in whomsoever it is found, and leave men to their own consciences; in their articles of faith, and ways of worship, “true religion will be spread wider, and be more fruitful in the lives of its professors,” than ever hitherto it has been, by the imposition of creeds and ceremonies.

You tell us, “that no man can fail of finding the way of salvation, who seeks it as he ought.” I wonder you had not taken notice, in the places you quote for this, how we are directed there to the right way of seeking. The words, John vii. 17, are, “If any man will do his will, he shall know of the doctrine whether it be of God.” And Psalm xxv. 9, 12, 14, which are also quoted by you, tell us, “The meek will he guide in judgment, and the meek will he teach his way. What man is he that feareth the Lord, him shall he teach in the way that he shall choose. The secret of the Lord is with them that fear him, and he will show them his covenant.” So that these places, if they prove what you cite them for, “that no man can fail of finding the way of salvation, who seeks it as he ought;” they do also prove, that a good life is the only way to seek as we ought; and that therefore the magistrates, if they would put men upon seeking the way of salvation as they ought, should, by their laws and penalties, force them to a good life; a good conversation being the readiest and surest way to a right understanding. Punishments and severities thus applied, we are sure, are both practicable, just, and useful. How punishments will prove in the way you contend for, we shall see when we come to consider it.

Having given us these broad marks of your goodwill to toleration, you tell us, “It is not your design to argue against it, but only to inquire what our author offers for the proof of his assertion.” And then you give us this scheme of his argument.

“There is but one way of salvation, or but one true religion.

“No man can be saved by this religion, who does not believe it to be the true religion.

“This belief is to be wrought in men by reason and argument, not by outward force and compulsion.

“Therefore all such force is utterly of no use for the promoting true religion, and the salvation of souls.

“And therefore nobody can have any right to use any force or compulsion, for the bringing men to the true religion.”

And you tell us, “the whole strength of what that letter urged for the purpose of it, lies in this argument,” which I think you have no more reason to say, than if you should tell us, that only one beam of a house had any strength in it, when there are several others that would support the building, were that gone.

The purpose of the letter is plainly to defend toleration, exempt from all force; especially civil force, or the force of the magistrate. Now, if it be a true consequence “that men must be tolerated, if magistrates have no commission or authority to punish them for matters of religion;” then the only strength of that letter lies not in the unfitness of force to convince men’s understanding. See letter, .

Again; if it be true that “magistrates being as liable to errour as the rest of mankind, their using of force in matters of religion, would not at all advance the salvation of mankind,” allowing that even force could work upon them, and magistrates had authority to use it in religion, then the argument you mention is not “the only one in that letter of strength to prove the necessity of toleration.” See letter, . For the argument of the unfitness of force to convince men’s minds being quite taken away, either of the other would be a strong proof for toleration. But let us consider the argument as you have put it.

“The two first propositions, you say, you agree to.” As to the third, you grant, that “force is very improper to be used to induce the mind to assent to any truth.” But yet you deny, “that force is utterly useless for the promoting true religion, and the salvation of men’s souls:” which you call the author’s fourth proposition; but indeed that is not the author’s fourth proposition, or any proposition of his, to be found in the pages you quote, or any-where else in the whole letter, either in those terms, or in the sense you take it. In page 319, which you quote, the author is showing that the magistrate has no power, that is, no right, to make use of force in matters of religion, for the salvation of men’s souls. And the reason he gives for it there, is, because force has no efficacy to convince men’s minds; and that without a full persuasion of the mind, the profession of the true religion itself is not acceptable to God. “Upon this ground, says he, I affirm that the magistrate’s power extends not to the establishing any articles of faith, or forms of worship, by the force of his laws. For laws are of no force at all without penalties; and penalties in this case are absolutely impertinent, because they are not proper to convince the mind.” And so again, , which is the other place you quote, the author says: “Whatsoever may be doubted in religion, yet this at least is certain, that no religion which I believe not to be true, can be either true, or profitable unto me. In vain therefore do princes compel their subjects to come into their church-communion, under the pretence of saving their souls.” And more to this purpose. But in neither of those passages, nor any-where else, that I remember, does the author say that it is impossible that force should any way, at any time, upon any person, by any accident, be useful towards the promoting of true religion, and the salvation of souls; for that is it which you mean by “utterly of no use.” He does not deny that there is any thing which God in his goodness does not, or may not, sometimes graciously make use of towards the salvation of men’s souls; as our Saviour did of clay and spittle to cure blindness; and that so force also may be sometimes useful. But that which he denies, and you grant, is, that force has any proper efficacy to enlighten the understanding, or produce belief. And from thence he infers, that therefore the magistrate cannot lawfully compel men in matters of religion. This is what the author says, and what I imagine will always hold true, whatever you or any one can say or think to the contrary.

That which you say is, “Force indirectly and at a distance may do some service.” What you mean by doing service at a distance, towards the bringing men to salvation, or to embrace the truth, I confess I do not understand; unless perhaps it be what others, in propriety of speech, call by accident. But be it what it will, it is such a service as cannot be ascribed to the direct and proper efficacy of force. And so, say you, “Force, indirectly, and at a distance, may do some service.” I grant it: make your best of it. What do you conclude from thence, to your purpose? That therefore the magistrate may make use of it? That I deny, that such an indirect, and at a distance usefulness, will authorise the civil power in the use of it, that will never be proved. Loss of estate and dignities may make a proud man humble: sufferings and imprisonment may make a wild and debauched man sober: and so these things may “indirectly, and at a distance, be serviceable towards the salvation of men’s souls.” I doubt not but God has made some, or all of these, the occasions of good to many men. But will you therefore infer, that the magistrate may take away a man’s honour, or estate, or liberty for the salvation of his soul; or torment him in this, that he may be happy in the other world? What is otherwise unlawful in itself, as it certainly is to punish a man without a fault; can never be made lawful by some good that, indirectly and at a distance, or, if you please, indirectly and by accident, may follow from it. Running a man through, may save his life, as it has done by chance, opening a lurking imposthume. But will you say therefore, that this is lawful, justifiable chirurgery? The gallies, it is like, might reduce many a vain, loose protestant to repentance, sobriety of thought, and a true sense of religion: and the torments they suffered in the late persecution might make several consider the pains of hell, and put a due estimate of vanity and contempt on all things of this world. But will you say, because those punishments might, indirectly and at a distance, serve to the salvation of men’s souls, that therefore the king of France had right authority to make use of them? If your indirect and at a distance serviceableness may authorize the magistrate to use force in religion, all the cruelties used by the heathens against christians, by papists against protestants, and all the persecuting of christians one among another are all justifiable.

But what if I should tell you now of other effects, contrary effects, that punishments in matters of religion may produce; and so may serve to keep men from the truth and from salvation? What then will become of your indirect and at a distance usefulness? For in all pleas for any thing because of its usefulness, it is not enough to say as you do, and is the utmost that can be said for it, that it may be serviceable: but it must be considered not only what it may, but what it is likely to produce: and the greater good or harm like to come from it ought to determine the use of it. To show you what effects one may expect from force, of what usefulness it is to bring men to embrace the truth, be pleased to read what you yourself have writ: “I cannot but remark, say you, that these methods (viz. depriving men of estates, corporal punishment, starving and tormenting them in prisons, and in the end even taking away their lives, to make them christians) are so very improper in respect to the design of them, that they usually produce the quite contrary effect. For whereas all the use which force can have for the advancing true religion, and the salvation of souls, is (as has already been showed) by disposing men to submit to instruction, and to give a fair hearing to the reasons which are offered for the enlightening their minds, and discovering the truth to them; these cruelties have the misfortune to be commonly looked upon as so just a prejudice against any religion that uses them, as makes it needless to look any farther into it: and to tempt men to reject it, as both false and detestable, without ever vouchsafing to consider the rational grounds and motives of it. This effect they seldom fail to work upon the sufferers of them. And as to the spectators, if they be not beforehand well instructed in those grounds and motives, they will be much tempted likewise not only to entertain the same opinion of such a religion, but withal to judge much more favourably of that of the sufferers; who, they will be apt to think, would not expose themselves to such extremities, which they might avoid by compliance, if they were not thoroughly satisfied of the justice of their cause.” Here then you allow that taking away men’s estates, or liberty, and corporal punishments, are apt to drive away both sufferers and spectators from the religion that makes use of them, rather than to it. And so these you renounce. Now if you give up punishments of a man, in his person, liberty, and estate, I think we need not stand with you, for any other punishments that may be made use of. But, by what follows, it seems you shelter yourself under the name of severities. For moderate punishments, as you call them in another place, you think may be serviceable; indirectly, and at a distance serviceable, to bring men to the truth. And I say, any sort of punishments disproportioned to the offence, or where there is no fault at all, will always be severity, unjustifiable severity, and will be thought so by the sufferers and by-standers; and so will usually produce the effects you have mentioned, contrary to the design they are used for. Not to profess the national faith, whilst one believes it not to be true; not to enter into church-communion with the magistrate as long as one judges the doctrine there professed to be erroneous, or the worship not such as God has either prescribed, or will accept; this you allow, and all the world with you must allow, not to be a fault. But yet you would have men punished for not being of the national religion; that is, as you yourself confess, for no fault at all. Whether this be not severity, nay so open and avowed injustice, that it will give men a just prejudice against the religion that uses it, and produce all those ill effects you there mention, I leave you to consider. So that the name of severities, in opposition to the moderate punishments you speak for, can do you no service at all. For where there is no fault, there can be no moderate punishment: all punishment is immoderate, where there is no fault to be punished. But of your moderate punishment we shall have occasion to speak more in another place. It suffices here to have shown, that, whatever punishments you use, they are as likely to drive men from the religion that uses them, as to bring them to the truth; and much more likely, as well shall see before we have done: and so by your own confession they are not to be used.

One thing in this passage of the author, it seems, appears absurd to you; that he should say, “That to take away men’s lives, to make them christians, was but an ill way of expressing a design of their salvation.” I grant there is great absurdity somewhere in the case. But it is in the practice of those who, persecuting men under a pretence of bringing them to salvation, suffer the temper of their good-will to betray itself, in taking away their lives. And whatever absurdities there be in this way of proceeding, there is none in the author’s way of expressing it; as you would more plainly have seen, if you had looked into the Latin original, where the words are, “Vitâ denique ipsâ privant, ut fideles, ut salvi fiant;” which, though more literally, might be thus rendered, “to bring them to the faith and to salvation;” yet the translator is not to be blamed, if he chose to express the sense of the author, in words that very livelily represented the extreme absurdity they are guilty of, who under pretence of zeal for the salvation of souls, proceed to the taking away their lives. An example whereof we have in a neighbouring country, where the prince declares he will have all his dissenting subjects saved, and pursuant thereunto has taken away the lives of many of them. For thither at last persecution must come: as I fear, notwithstanding your talk of moderate punishments, you yourself intimate in these words: “Not that I think the sword is to be used in this business (as I have sufficiently declared already), but because all coactive power resolves at last into the sword; since all (I do not say that will not be reformed in this matter by lesser penalties, but) that refuse to submit to lesser penalties must at last fall under the stroke of it.” In which words, if you mean any thing to the business in hand, you seem to have a reserve for greater punishments, when lesser are not sufficient to bring men to be convinced. But let that pass.

You say, “if force be used, not instead of reason and arguments, that is, not to convince by its own proper efficacy, which it cannot do,” &c. I think those who make laws, and use force, to bring men to church-conformity in religion, seek only the compliance, but concern themselves not for the conviction of those they punish; and so never use force to convince. For, pray tell me, when any dissenter conforms, and enters into the church-communion, is he ever examined to see whether he does it upon reason, and conviction, and such grounds as would become a christian concerned for religion? If persecution, as is pretended, were for the salvation of men’s souls, this would be done; and men not driven to take the sacrament to keep their places, or to obtain licences to sell ale, for so low have these holy things been prostituted; who perhaps knew nothing of its institution, and considered no other use of it but the securing some poor secular advantage, which without taking of it they should have lost. So that this exception of yours, of the “use of force, instead of arguments, to convince men,” I think is needless; those who use it, not being, that ever I heard, concerned that men should be convinced.

But you go on in telling us your way of using force, “only to bring men to consider those reasons and arguments, which are proper and sufficient to convince them; but which, without being forced, they would not consider.” And, say you, “who can deny but that, indirectly and at a distance, it does some service, towards bringing men to embrace that truth, which either through negligence they would never acquaint themselves with, or through prejudice, they would reject and condemn unheard?” Whether this way of punishment is like to increase, or remove prejudice, we have already seen. And what that truth is, which you can positively say any man, “without being forced by punishment, would through carelessness never acquaint himself with,” I desire you to name. Some are called at the third, some at the ninth, and some at the eleventh hour. And whenever they are called, they embrace all the truth necessary to salvation. But these slips may be forgiven, amongst so many gross and palpable mistakes, as appear to me all through your discourse. For example: you tell us that “force used to bring men to consider, does, indirectly, and at a distance, some service.” Here now you walk in the dark, and endeavour to cover yourself with obscurity, by omitting two necessary parts. As first, who must use this force: which, though you tell us not here, yet by other parts of your treatise it is plain you mean the magistrate. And, secondly, you omit to say upon whom it must be used, who it is must be punished: and those, if you say any thing to your purpose, must be dissenters from the national religion, those who come not into church-communion with the magistrate. And then your proposition, in fair plain terms, will stand thus: “If the magistrate punish dissenters, only to bring them to consider those reasons and arguments which are proper to convince them; who can deny but that, indirectly and at a distance, it may do service, &c. towards bringing men to embrace that truth which otherwise they would never be acquainted with?” &c. In which proposition, 1. There is something impracticable. 2. Something unjust. And, 3. Whatever efficacy there is in force, your way applied, to bring men to consider and be convinced, it makes against you.

It is impracticable to punish dissenters, as dissenters, only to make them consider. For if you punish them as dissenters, as certainly you do, if you punish them alone, and them all without exception, you punish them for not being of the national religion. And to punish a man for not being of the national religion, is not to punish him only to make him consider; unless not to be of the national religion, and not to consider, be the same thing. But you will say, the design is only to make dissenters consider; and therefore they may be punished only to make them consider. To this I reply; it is impossible you should punish one with a design only to make him consider, whom you punish for something else besides want of consideration; or if you punish him whether he consider or no; as you do, if you lay penalties on dissenters in general. If you should make a law to punish all stammerers; could any one believe you, if you said it was designed only to make them leave swearing? Would not every one see it was impossible that punishment should be only against swearing, when all stammerers were under the penalty? Such a proposal as this is, in itself, at first sight monstrously absurd. But you must thank yourself for it. For to lay penalties upon stammerers, only to make them not swear, is not more absurd and impossible than it is to lay penalties upon dissenters only to make them consider.

To punish men out of the communion of the national church, to make them consider, is unjust. They are punished, because out of the national church: and they are out of the national church, because they are not yet convinced. Their standing out therefore in this state, whilst they are not convinced, not satisfied in their minds, is no fault; and therefore cannot justly be punished. But your method is, “Punish them, to make them consider such reasons and arguments as are proper to convince them.” Which is just such justice, as it would be for the magistrate to punish you for not being a cartesian, “only to bring you to consider such reasons and arguments as are proper and sufficient to convince you:” when it is possible, 1. That you being satisfied of the truth of your own opinion in philosophy, did not judge it worth while to consider that of Des Cartes. 2. It is possible you are not able to consider and examine all the proofs and grounds upon which he endeavours to establish his philosophy. 3. Possibly you have examined, and can find no reasons and arguments proper and sufficient to convince you.

Whatever indirect efficacy there be in force, applied by the magistrate your way, it makes against you. “Force used by the magistrate to bring men to consider those reasons and arguments, which are proper and sufficient to convince them, but which without being forced they would not consider; may, say you, be serviceable, indirectly and at a distance, to make men embrace the truth which must save them.” And thus, say I, it must be serviceable to bring men to receive and embrace falsehood, which will destroy them. So that force and punishment, by your own confession, not being able directly, by its proper efficacy, to do men any good, in reference to their future estate; though it be sure directly to do them harm, in reference to their present condition here; and indirectly, and in your way of applying it, being proper to do at least as much harm as good, I desire to know what the usefulness is which so much reccommends it, even to a degree that you pretend it needful and necessary. Had you some new untried chymical preparation, that was as proper to kill as to save an infirm man, of whose life I hope you would not be more tender than of a weak brother’s soul; would you give it your child, or try it upon your friend, or recommend it to the world for its rare usefulness? I deal very favourably with you, when I say as proper to kill as to save. For force, in your indirect way, of the magistrate’s “applying to make men consider those arguments that otherwise they would not; to make them lend an ear to those who tell them they have mistaken their way, and offer to show them the right;” I say, in this way, force is much more proper, and likely, to make men receive and embrace errour than the truth.

Because men out of the right way are as apt, I think I may say, apter to use force, than others. For truth, I mean the truth of the Gospel, which is that of the true religion, is mild, and gentle, and meek, and apter to use prayers and intreaties, than force, to gain a hearing.

Because the magistrates of the world, or the civil sovereigns, as you think it more proper to call them, being few of them in the right way; not one of ten, take which side you will, perhaps you will grant not one of an hundred, being of the true religion; it is likely your indirect way of using of force would do an hundred, or at least ten times as much harm as good; especially if you consider, that as the magistrate will certainly use it to force men to hearken to the proper ministers of his religion, let it be what it will: so you having set no time, nor bounds, to this consideration of arguments and reasons, short of being convinced; you, under another pretence, put into the magistrate’s hands as much power to force men to his religion, as any the openest persecutors can pretend to. For what difference, I beseech you, between punishing you to bring you to mass, and punishing you to consider those reasons and arguments which are proper and sufficient to convince you that you ought to go to mass? For till you are brought to consider reasons and arguments proper and sufficient to convince you; that is, till you are convinced, you are punished on. If you reply, you meant reasons and arguments proper and sufficient to convince them of the truth: I answer, if you meant so, why did you not say so? But if you had, it would in this case do you little service. For the mass, in France is as much supposed the truth, as the liturgy here. And your way of applying force will as much promote popery in France, as protestantism in England. And so you see how serviceable it is to make men receive and embrace the truth that must save them.

However you tell us, in the same page, that “if force so applied, as is above-mentioned, may in such sort as has been said, i. e. indirectly and at a distance, be serviceable to bring men to receive and embrace truth, you think it sufficient to show the usefulness of it in religion:” where I shall observe, I, that this usefulness amounts to no more but this, that it is not impossible but that it may be useful. And such an usefulness one cannot deny to auricular confession, doing of penance, going of a pilgrimage to some saint, and what not. Yet our church does not think fit to use them: though it cannot be denied, but they may have some of your indirect and at a distance usefulness; that is, perhaps may do some service indirectly and by accident.

Force, your way applied, as it may be useful, so also it may be useless. For, 1. Where the law punishes dissenters, without telling them it is to make them consider, they may through ignorance and oversight neglect to do it, and so your force proves useless. 2. Some dissenters may have considered already, and then force employed upon them must needs be useless; unless you can think it useful to punish a man to make him do that which he has done already. 3. God has not directed it: and therefore we have no reason to expect he should make it successful.

It may be hurtful: nay, it is likely to prove more hurtful than useful. 1. Because to punish men for that, which it is visible cannot be known whether they have performed or no, is so palpable an injustice, that it is likelier to give them an aversion to the persons, and religion that uses it, than to bring them to it. 2. Because the greatest part of mankind, being not able to discern betwixt truth and falsehood, that depend upon long and many proofs, and remote consequences; nor having ability enough to discover the false grounds, and resist the captious and fallacious arguments of learned men versed in controversies; are so much more exposed to it by the force which is used to make them hearken to the information and instruction of men appointed to it by the magistrate, or those of his religion, to be led into falsehood and errour, than they are likely this way to be brought to embrace the truth that must save them; by how much the national religions of the world are, beyond comparison, more of them false or erroneous, than such as have God for their author, and truth for their standard. And that seeking and examining, without the special grace of God, will not secure even knowing and learned men from errour; we have a famous instance in the two Reynolds’s, both scholars and brothors, but one a protestant, the other a papist, who, upon the exchange of papers between them, were both turned; but so that neither of them, with all the arguments he could use, could bring his brother back to the religion which he himself had found reason to embrace. Here was ability to examine and judge, beyond the ordinary rate of most men. Yet one of these brothers was so caught by the sophistry and skill of the other, that he was brought into errour, from which he could never again be extricated. This we must unavoidably conclude; unless we can think, that wherein they differed, they were both in the right; or that truth can be an argument to support a falsehood; both which are impossible. And now, I pray, which of these two brothers would you have punished, to make him bethink himself and bring him back to the truth? For it is certain some ill-grounded cause of assent alienated one of them from it. If you will examine your principles, you will find that, according to your rule, the papist must be punished in England, and the protestant in Italy. So that, in effect, by your rule passion, humour, prejudice, lust, impressions of education, admiration of persons, worldly respect, and the like incompetent motives, must always be supposed on that side on which the magistrate is not.

I have taken the pains here, in a short recapitulation, to give you the view of the usefulness of force, your way applied, which you make such a noise with, and lay so much stress on. Whereby I doubt not but it is visible, that its usefulness and uselessness laid in the balance against each other, the pretended usefulness is so far from outweighing, that it can neither encourage nor excuse the using of punishments; which are not lawful to be used in our case without strong probability of success. But when to its uselessness mischief is added, and it is evident that more, much more, harm may be expected from it than good; your own argument returns upon you. For if it be reasonable to use it, because it may be serviceable to promote true religion, and the salvation of souls: it is much more reasonable to let it alone, if it may be more serviceable to the promoting falsehood and the perdition of souls. And therefore you will do well hereafter not to build so much on the usefulness of force, applied your way, your indirect and at a distance usefulness, which amounts but to the shadow and possibility of usefulness, but with an overbalancing weight of mischief and harm annexed to it. For upon a just estimate, this indirect, and at a distance, usefulness, can directly go for nothing; or rather less than nothing.

But suppose force, applied your way, were as useful for the promoting true religion, as I suppose I have showed it to be the contrary; it does not from hence follow that it is lawful and may be used. It may be very useful in a parish that has no teacher, or as bad as none, that a lay-man who wanted not abilities for it, for such we may suppose to be, should sometimes preach to them the doctrine of the gospel, and stir them up to the duties of a good life. And yet this (which cannot be denied, may be at least “indirectly, and, at a distance, serviceable towards the promoting true religion, and the salvation of souls,”) you will not, I imagine, allow, for this usefulness to be lawful: and that because he has not commission and authority to do it. The same might be said of the administration of the sacraments, and any other function of the priestly office. This is just our case. Granting force, as you say, indirectly and at a distance, useful to the salvation of men’s souls; yet it does not therefore follow that it is lawful for the magistrate to use it: because as the author says, the magistrate has no commission or authority to do so. For however you have put it thus, as you have framed the author’s argument, “force is utterly of no use for the promoting of true religion, and the salvation of souls; and therefore no-body can have any right to use any force or compulsion for the bringing men to the true religion;” yet the author does not, in those pages you quote, make the latter of these propositions an inference barely from the former; but makes use of it as a truth proved by several arguments he had before brought to that purpose. For though it be a good argument; it is not useful, therefore not fit to be used: yet this will not be good logic; it is useful, therefore any one has a right to use it. For if the usefulness makes it lawful, it makes it lawful in any hands that can so apply it; and so private men may use it.

“Who can deny, say you, but that force, indirectly and at a distance, may do some service towards the bringing men to embrace that truth, which otherwise they would never acquaint themselves with?” If this be good arguing in you, for the usefulness of force towards the saving of men’s souls; give me leave to argue after the same fashion. 1. I will suppose, which you will not deny me, that as there are many who take up their religion upon wrong grounds, to the endangering of their souls; so there are many that abandon themselves to the heat of their lusts, to the endangering of their souls. 2. I will suppose, that as force applied your way is apt to make the inconsiderate consider, so force applied another way is apt to make the lascivious chaste. The argument then, in your form, will stand thus; “Who can deny but that force, indirectly and at a distance, may, by castration, do some service towards bringing men to embrace that chastity, which otherwise they would never acquit themselves with?” Thus, you see, “castration may, indirectly and at a distance, be serviceable towards the salvation of men’s souls.” But will you say, from such an usefulness as this, because it may, indirectly and at a distance, conduce to the saving of any of his subjects souls, that therefore the magistrate has a right to do it, and may by force make his subjects eunuchs for the kingdom of heaven? It is not for the magistrate or any-body else, upon an imagination of its usefulness, to make use of any other means for the salvation of men’s souls, than what the author and finisher of our faith hath directed You may be mistaken in what you think useful. Dives thought, and so perhaps should you and I too, if not better informed by the scriptures, that it would be useful to rouze and awaken men if one should come to them from the dead. But he was mistaken. And we are told, that if men will not hearken to Moses and the prophets, the means appointed; neither will the strangeness nor terrour of one coming from the dead, persuade them. If what we are apt to think useful were thence to be concluded so, we should, I fear, be obliged to believe the miracles pretended to by the church of Rome. For miracles, we know, were once useful for the promoting true religion, and the salvation of souls; which is more than you say for your political punishments: but yet we must conclude that God thinks them not useful now; unless we will say, that which without impiety cannot be said, that the wise and benign disposer and governor of all things does not now use all useful means for promoting his own honour in the world, and the good of souls. I think this consequence will hold as well as what you draw in near the same words.

Let us not therefore be more wise than our Maker, in that stupendous and supernatural work of our salvation. The scripture, that reveals it to us, contains all that we can know, or do, in order to it; and where that is silent, it is in us presumption to direct. When you can show any commission in scripture, for the use of force to compel men to hear, any more than to embrace the doctrine of others that differ from them, we shall have reason to submit to it, and the magistrate have some ground to set up this new way of persecution. But till then, it will be fit for us to obey that precept of the gospel, which bids us “take heed what we hear,” Mark iv. 24. So that hearing is not always so useful as you suppose. If it had, we should never have had so direct a caution against it. It is not any imaginary usefulness, you can suppose, which can make that a punishable crime, which the magistrate was never authorized to meddle with. “Go and teach all nations,” was a commission of our Saviour’s; but there was not added to it, punish those that will nor hear and consider what you say. No, but “if they will not receive you, shake off the dust of your feet;” leave them, and apply yourselves to some others. And St. Paul knew no other means to make men hear, but the preaching of the gospel; as will appear to any one who will read Romans x. 14, &c. “Faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the word of God.”

You go on, and in favour of your beloved force you tell us that it is not only useful but needful. And here after having at large, in the four following pages, set out the negligence or aversion, or other hinderances that keep men from examining, with that application and freedom of judgment they should, the grounds upon which they take up and persist in their religion; you come to conclude force necessary. Your words are; “If men are generally averse to a due consideration of things, where they are most concerned to use it; if they usually take up their religion without examining it as they ought, and then grow so opinionative and so stiff in their prejudice, that neither the gentlest admonitions, nor the most earnest entreaties, shall ever prevail with them afterwards to do it: what means is there left, besides the grace of God, to reduce those of them that are gone into a wrong way, but to lay thorns and briars in it? That since they are deaf to all persuasions, the uneasiness they meet with may at least put them to a stand, and incline them to lend an ear to those who tell them they have mistaken their way, and offer to show them the right.” What means is there left, say you, but force? What to do? “To reduce men, who are out of it, into the right way.” So you tell us here. And to that, I say, there is other means besides force; that which was appointed and made use of from the beginning, the preaching of the gospel.

“But, say you, to make them hear, to make them consider, to make them examine, there is no other means but punishment; and therefore it is necessary.”

I answer, 1. What if God, for reasons best known to himself, would not have men compelied to hear; but thought the good tidings of salvation, and the proposals of life and death, means and inducements enough to make them hear, and consider, now as well as heretofore? Then your means, your punishments, are not necessary. What if God would have men left to their freedom in this point, if they will hear, or if they will forbear, will you constrain them? thus we are sure he did with his own people: and this when they were in captivity, Ezek. xi. 5, 7. And it is very like were illtreated for being of a different religion from the national, and so were punished as dissenters. Yet then God expected not that those punishments should force them to hearken more than at other times: as appears by Ezek. iii. 11. And this also is the method of the gospel. “We are ambassadors for Christ; as if God did beseech you in Christ’s stead,” says St. Paul, 2 Cor. v. 20. If God thought it necessary to have men punished to make them give ear, he could have called magistrates to be spreaders and ministers of the gospel, as well as poor fishermen, or Paul a persecutor; who yet wanted not power to punish where punishment was necessary, as is evident in Ananias and Sapphira, and the incestuous Corinthian.

2. What if God, foreseeing this force would be in the hands of men, as passionate, humorsome, as liable to prejudice and errour as the rest of their brethren, did not think it a proper means to bring men into the right way?

What if there be other means? Then yours ceases to be necessary, upon the account that there is no means left. For you yourself allow, “that the grace of God is another means.” And I suppose you will not deny it to be both a proper and sufficient means; and, which is more, the only means; such means as can work by itself, and without which all the force in the world can do nothing. God alone can open the ear that it may hear, and open the heart that it may understand: and this he does in his own good time, and to whom he is graciously pleased; but not according to the will and fancy of man, when he thinks fit, by punishments, to compel his brethren. If God has pronounced against any person or people, what he did against the jews, (Isa. vi. 10.) “Make the heart of this people fat, and make their ears heavy and shut their eyes; lest they see with their eyes, and hear with their ears, and understand with their heart, and convert, and be healed;” will all the force you can use be a means to make them hear and understand, and be converted?

But, sir, to return to your argument; you see “no other means left (taking the world as we now find it) to make men thoroughly and impartially examine a religion, which they embraced upon such inducements as ought to have no sway at all in the matter, and with little or no examination of the proper grounds of it.” And thence you conclude the use of force, by the magistrates upon dissenters, necessary. And, I say, I see no other means left (taking the world as we now find it, wherein the magistrates never lay penalties, for matters of religion, upon those of their own church, nor is it to be expected they ever should;) “to make men of the national church, any-where, thoroughly and impartially examine a religion, which they embrace upon such inducements, as ought to have no sway at all in the matter, and therefore with little or no examination of the proper grounds of it.” And therefore I conclude the use of force by dissenters upon conformists necessary. I appeal to the world, whether this be not as just and natural a conclusion as yours. Though if you will have my opinion, I think the more genuine consequence is, that force, to make men examine matters of religion, is not necessary at all. But you may take which of these consequences you please. Both of them, I am sure, you cannot avoid. It is not for you and me, out of an imagination that they may be useful, or are necessary to prescribe means in the great and mysterious work of salvation, other than what God himself has directed. God has appointed force as useful or necessary, and therefore it is to be used; is a way of arguing, becoming the ignorance and humility of poor creatures. But I think force useful or necessary, and therefore it is to be used; has, methinks, a little too much presumption in it. You ask, “What means else is there left?” None, say I, to be used by man, but what God himself has directed in the scriptures, wherein are contained all the means and methods of salvation. “Faith is the gift of God.” And we are not to use any other means to procure this gift to any one, but what God himself has prescribed. If he has there appointed that any should be forced “to hear those who tell them they have mistaken their way, and offer to show them the right;” and that they should be punished by the magistrate if they did not; it will be past doubt, it is to be made use of. But till that can be done, it will be in vain to say what other means is there left. If all the means God has appointed, to make men hear and consider, be “exhortation in season and out of season,” &c. together with prayer for them, and the example of meekness and a good life; this is all ought to be done, “Whether they will hear or whether they will forbear.”

By these means the gospel at first made itself to be heard through a great part of the world, and in a crooked and perverse generation, led away by lusts, humours, and prejudice, as well as this you complain of, prevailed with men to hear and embrace the truth, and take care of their own souls; without the assistance of any such force of the magistrate, which you now think needful. But whatever neglect or aversion there is in some men, impartially and thoroughly to be instructed; there will upon a due examination, I fear, be found no less a neglect and aversion in others, impartially and thoroughly to instruct them. It is not the talking even general truths in plain and clear language; much less a man’s own fancies in scholastic or uncommon ways of speaking, an hour or two, once a week in public; that is enough to instruct even willing hearers in the way of salvation, and the grounds of their religion. They are not politic discourses which are the means of right information in the foundations of religion. For with such, sometimes venting antimonarchical principles, sometimes again preaching up nothing but absolute monarchy and passive obedience, as the one or other have been in vogue, and the way to preferment; have our churches rung in their turns, so loudly, that reasons and arguments proper and sufficient to convince men of the truth in the controverted points of religion, and to direct them in the right way to salvation, were scarce any-where to be heard. But how many, do you think, by friendly and christian debates with them at their houses, and by the gentle methods of the gospel made use of in private conversation, might have been brought into the church; who, by railing from the pulpit, ill and unfriendly treatment out of it, and other neglects and miscarriages of those who claimed to be their teachers, have been driven from hearing them? Paint the defects and miscarriages frequent on this side, as well as you have done those on the other, and then do you, with all the world, consider whether those whom you so handsomely declaim against, for being misled by “education, passion, humour, prejudice, obstinacy,” &c. do deserve all the punishment. Perhaps it will be answered: if there be so much toil in it, that particular persons must be applied to, who then will be a minister? And what if a layman should reply: if there be so much toil in it, that doubts must be cleared, prejudices removed, foundations examined, &c. who then will be a protestant? the excuse will be as good hereafter for the one as for the other.

This new method of yours, which you say “no-body can deny but that indirectly, and at a distance, it does some service towards bringing men to embrace the truth;” was never yet thought on by the most refined persecutors. Though indeed it is not altogether unlike the plea made use of to excuse the late barbarous usage of the protestants in France, designed to extirpate the reformed religion there; from being a persecution for religion. The French king requires all his subjects to come to mass: those who do not, are punished with a witness. For what? Not for their religion, say the pleaders for that discipline, but for disobeying the king’s laws. So by your rule, the dissenters, for thither you would, and thither you must come, if you mean any thing, must be punished. For what? Not for their religion, say you; not for “following the light of their own reason; nor for obeying the dictates of their own consciences.” That you think not fit. For what then are they to be punished? “To make them, say you, examine the religion they have embraced, and the religion they have rejected.” So that they are punished, not for having offended against a law: for there is no law of the land that requires them to examine. And which now is the fairer plea, pray judge. You ought, indeed, to have the credit of this new invention. All other law-makers have constantly taken this method, that where any thing was to be amended, the fault was first declared, and then penalties denounced against all those, who, after a set time, should be found guilty of it. This the common sense of mankind, and the very reason of laws, which are intended not for punishment, but correction, has made so plain, that the subtilest and most refined law-makers have not got out of this course; nor have the most ignorant and barbarous nations missed it. But you have outdone Solon and Lycurgus, Moses, and our Saviour, and are resolved to be a law-maker of a way by yourself. It is an old and obsolete way, and will not serve your turn, to begin with warnings and threats of penalties to be inflicted on those who do not reform, but continue to do that which you think they fail in. To allow of impunity to the innocent, or the opportunity of amendment to those who would avoid the penalties, are formalities not worth your notice. You are for a shorter and surer way. Take a whole tribe, and punish them at all adventures; whether guilty or no of the miscarriage which you would have amended; or without so much as telling them what it is you would have them do, but leaving them to find it out if they can. All these absurdities are contained in your way of proceeding; and are impossible to be avoided by any one who will punish dissenters, and only dissenters, to make them “consider and weigh the grounds of their religion, and impartially examine whether it be true or no; and upon what grounds they took it up, that so they may find and embrace the truth that must save them.” But that this new sort of discipline may have all fair play, let us inquire first, who it is you would have be punished. In the place above cited, they are “those who are got into a wrong way, and are deaf to all persuasions.” If these are the men to be punished, let a law be made against them; you have my consent; and that is the proper course to have offenders punished. For you do not, I hope, intend to punish any fault by a law, which you do not name in the law; nor make a law against any fault you would not have punished. And now, if you are sincere, and in earnest, and are, as a fair man should be, for what your words plainly signify, and nothing else; what will such a law serve for? Men in the wrong way are to be punished: but who are in the wrong way is the question. You have no more reason to determine it against one who differs from you; than he has to conclude against you, who differ from him. No, not though you have the magistrate and the national church on your side. For if to differ from them be to be in the wrong way, you, who are in the right way in England, will be in the wrong way in France. Every one here must be judge for himself: and your law will reach no-body, till you have convinced him he is in the wrong way. And then there will be no need of punishment to make him consider; unless you will affirm again, what you have denied, and have men punished for embracing the religion they believe to be true, when it differs from yours or the public.

Besides being in the wrong way, those whom you would have punished must be such as are deaf to all persuasions. But any such, I suppose, you will hardly find who hearken to no-body, not to those of their own way. If you mean by deaf to all persuasions, all persuasions of a contrary party, or of a different church; such, I suppose, you may abundantly find in your own church, as well as elsewhere; and I presume to them you are so charitable, that you would not have them punished for not lending an ear to seducers. For constancy in the truth, and perseverance in the faith, is, I hope, rather to be encouraged, than by any penalties checked in the orthodox. And your church, doubtless, as well as all others, is orthodox to itself in all its tenets. If you mean by all persuasion, all your persuasion, or all persuasion of those of your communion; you do but beg the question, and suppose you have a right to punish those who differ from, and will not comply with you.

Your next words are, “When men fly from the means of a right information, and will not so much as consider how reasonable it is thoroughly and impartially to examine a religion, which they embraced upon such inducements as ought to have no sway at all in the matter; and therefore with little or no examination of the proper grounds of it; what human method can be used to bring them to act like men, in an affair of such consequence, and to make a wiser and more rational choice, but that of laying such penalties upon them, as may balance the weight of those prejudices which inclined them to prefer a false way before the true; and recover them to so much sobriety and reflection, as seriously to put the question to themselves, whether it be really worth the while to undergo such inconveniencies, for adhering to a religion, which, for any thing they know, may be false, or for rejecting another (if that be the case) which for any thing they know may be true, till they have brought it to the bar of reason, and given it a fair trial there?” Here you again bring in such as prefer a false way before a true: to which having answered already, I shall here say no more, but that, since our church will not allow those to be in a false way who are out of the church of Rome, because the church of Rome, which pretends infallibility, declares hers to be the only true way; certainly no one of our church, nor any other, which claims not infallibility, can require any one to take the testimony of any church, as a sufficient proof of the truth of her own doctrine. So that true and false, as it commonly happens, when we suppose them for ourselves, or our party, in effect signify just nothing, or nothing to the purpose: unless we can think that true or false in England, which will not be so at Rome, or Geneva: and vice versâ. As for the rest of the description of those on whom you are here laying penalties; I beseech you consider whether it will not belong to any of your church, let it be what it will. Consider, I say, if there be none in your church “who have embraced her religion, upon such inducements as ought to have no sway at all in the matter, and therefore with little or no examination of the proper grounds of it; who have not been inclined by prejudices; who do not adhere to a religion, which for any thing they know may be false, and who have rejected another which for any thing they know may be true.” If you have any such in your communion, and it will be an admirable, though I fear but a little, flock that has none such in it; consider well what you have done. You have prepared rods for them, for which I imagine they will con you no thanks. For to make any tolerable sense of what you here propose, it must be understood that you would have men of all religions punished, to make them consider “whether it be really worth the while to undergo such inconveniencies for adhering to a religion which for any thing they know may be false.” If you hope to avoid that, by what you have said of true and false; and pretend that the supposed preference of the true way in your church ought to preserve its members from your punishment; you manifestly trifle. For every church’s testimony, that it has chosen the true way, must be taken for itself; and then none will be liable; and your new invention of punishment is come to nothing: or else the differing churches testimonies must be taken one for another; and then they will be all out of the true way, and your church need penalties as well as the rest. So that, upon your principles, they must all or none be punished. Choose which you please: one of them, I think, you cannot escape.

What you say in the next words: “Where instruction is stiffly refused, and all admonitions and persuasions prove vain and ineffectual;” differs nothing, but in the way of expressing, from deaf to all persuasions: and so that is answered already.

In another place, you give us another description of those you think ought to be punished, in these words: “Those who refuse to embrace the doctrine, and submit to the spiritual government of the proper ministers of religion, who by special designation are appointed to exhort, admonish, reprove,” &c. Here then, those to be punished, “are such who refuse to embrace the doctrine, and submit to the government of the proper ministers of religion.” Whereby we are as much still at uncertainty, as we were before, who those are, who by your scheme and laws suitable to it are to be punished. Since every church has, as it thinks, its proper ministers of religion. And if you mean those that refuse to embrace the doctrine, and submit to the government of the ministers of another church; then all men will be guilty, and must be punished; even those of your church, as well as others. If you mean those who refuse, &c. the ministers of their own church; very few will incur your penalties. But if, by these proper ministers of religion, the ministers of some particular church are intended, who do you not name it? Why are you so reserved in a matter wherein, if you speak not out, all the rest that you say will be to no purpose? Are men to be punished for refusing to embrace the doctrine, and submit to the government, of the proper ministers of the church of Geneva? For this time, since you have declared nothing to the contrary, let me suppose you of that church; and then, I am sure that is it that you would name. For of whatever church you are, if you think the ministers of any one church ought to be hearkened to, and obeyed, it must be those of your own. There are persons to be punished, you say. This you contend for all through your book; and lay so much stress on it, that you make the preservation and propagation of religion, and the salvation of souls, to depend on it; and yet you describe them by so general and equivocal marks; that, unless it be upon suppositions which no-body will grant you, I dare say, neither you, nor any body else, will be able to find one guilty. Pray find me, if you can, a man whom you can judicially prove (for he that is to be punished by law must be fairly tried), is in a wrong way, in respect of his faith; I mean, “who is deaf to all persuasions, who flies from all means of a right information, who refuses to embrace the doctrine, and submit to the government of the spiritual pastors.” And when you have done that, I think, I may allow you what power you please to punish him, without any prejudice to the toleration the author of the letter proposes.

But why, I pray, all this boggling, all this loose talking as if you knew not what you meant, or durst not speak it out? Would you be for punishing some body, you know not whom? I do not think so ill of you. Let me then speak out for you. The evidence of the argument has convinced you that men ought not to be persecuted for their religion; that the severities in use amongst christians cannot be defended; that the magistrate has not authority to compel any one to his religion. This you are forced to yield. But you would fain retain some power in the magistrate’s hands to punish dissenters, upon a new pretence; viz. not for having embraced the doctrine and worship they believe to be true and right, but for not having well considered their own and the magistrate’s religion. To show you that I do not speak wholly without-book; give me leave to mind you of one passage of yours. The words are, “Penalties to put them upon a serious and impartial examination of the controversy between the magistrates and them.” Though these words be not intended to tell us who you would have punished, yet it may be plainly inferred from them. And they more clearly point out whom you aim at, than all the foregoing places, where you seem to (and should) describe them. For they are such as between whom and the magistrate there is a controversy; that is, in short, who differ from the magistrate in religion. And now indeed you have given us a note by which these you would have punished may be made known. We have, with much ado, found out at last whom it is we may presume you would have punished. Which in other cases is usually not very difficult: because there the faults to be mended easily design the persons to be corrected. But yours is a new method, and unlike all that ever went before it.

In the next place: let us see for what you would have them punished. You tell us, and it will easily be granted you, that not to examine and weigh impartially, and without prejudice or passion, all which, for shortness-sake, we will express by this one word consider, the religion one embraces or refuses, is a fault very common, and very prejudicial to true religion, and the salvation of men’s souls. But penalties and punishments are very necessary, say you, to remedy this evil.

Let us see now how you apply this remedy. Therefore, say you, let all dissenters be punished. Why? Have no dissenters considered of religion? Or have all conformists considered? That you yourself will not say. Your project therefore is just as reasonable, as if a lethargy growing epidemical in England, you should propose to have a law made to blister and scarify and shave the heads of all who wear gowns: though it be certain that neither all who wear gowns are lethargic, nor all who are lethargic wear gowns:

Dii te Damasippe deæque Verum ob consilium donent tonsore.

For there could not be certainly a more learned advice, than that one man should be pulled by the ears, because another is asleep. This, when you have considered of it again, for I find, according to your principle, all men have now and then need to be jogged, you will, I guess, be convinced it is not like a fair physician, to apply a remedy to a disease; but, like an enraged enemy, to vent one’s spleen upon a party. Common sense, as well as common justice, requires, that the remedies of laws and penalties should be directed against the evil that is to be removed, wherever it be found. And if the punishment you think so necessary be, as you pretend, to cure the mischief you complain of, you must let it pursue and fall on the guilty, and those only, in what company soever they are; and not, as you here propose, and is the highest injustice, punish the innocent considering dissenter with the guilty; and, on the other side, let the inconsiderate guilty conformist escape with the innocent. For one may rationally presume that the national church has some, nay more in proportion, of those who little consider or concern themselves about religion, than any congregation of dissenters. For conscience, or the care of their souls, being once laid aside; interest of course leads men into that society, where the protection and countenence of the government, and hopes of preferment, bid fairest to their remaining desires. So that if careless, negligent, inconsiderate men in matters of religion, who without being forced would not consider, are to be rouzed into a care of their souls, and a search after truth, by punishments; the national religion, in all countries, will certainly have a right to the greatest share of those punishments; at least not to be wholly exempt from them.

This is that which the author of the letter, as I remember, complains of; and that justly, viz. “That the pretended care of men’s souls always expresses itself, in those who would have force any way made use of to that end, in very unequal methods; some persons being to be treated with severity, whilst others guilty of the same faults, are not to be so much as touched.” Though you are got pretty well out of the deep mud, and renounce punishments directly for religion; yet you stick still in this part of the mire; whilst you would have dissenters punished to make them consider, but would not have any thing done to conformists, though ever so negligent in this point of considering. The author’s letter pleased me, because it is equal to all mankind, is direct, and will, I think, hold every-where; which I take to be a good mark of truth. For I shall always suspect that neither to comport with the truth of religion, or the design of the gospel, which is suited to only some one country, or party. What is true and good in England, will be true and good at Rome too, in China, or Geneva. But whether your great and only method for the propagating of truth, by bringing the inconsiderate by punishments to consider, would, according to your way of applying your punishments only to dissenters from the national religion, be of use in those countries, or any-where but where you suppose the magistrate to be in the right, judge you. Pray, sir, consider a little, whether prejudice has not some share in your way of arguing. For this is your position: “Men are generally negligent in examining the grounds of their religion.” This I grant. But could there be a more wild and incoherent consequence drawn from it, than this: “therefore dissenters must be punished?”

But that being laid aside, let us now see to what end they must be punished. Sometimes it is, “To bring them to consider those reasons and arguments which are proper and sufficient to convince them.” Of what? That it is not easy to set Grantham steeple upon Paul’s church? Whatever it be you would have them convinced of, you are not willing to tell us. And so it may be any thing. Sometimes it is, “To incline them to lend an ear to those who tell them they have mistaken their way, and offer to show them the right.” Which is, to lend an ear to all who differ from them in religion; as well crafty seducers, as others. Whether this be for the procuring the salvation of their souls, the end for which you say this force is to be used, judge you. But this I am sure; whoever will lend an ear to all who will tell them they are out of the way, will not have much time for any other business.

Sometimes it is, “To recover men to so much sobriety and reflection, as seriously to put the question to themselves, whether it be really worth their while to undergo such inconveniencies, for adhering to a religion which, for any thing they know, may be false; or for rejecting another (if that be the case) which, for aught they know, may be true, till they have brought it to the bar of reason, and given it a fair trial there.” Which, in short, amounts to thus much, viz. “to make them examine whether their religion be true, and so worth the holding, under those penalties that are annexed to it.” Dissenters are indebted to you for your great care of their souls. But what, I beseech you, shall become of those of the national church, every-where, which make far the greater part of mankind, who have no such punishments to make them consider; who have not this only remedy provided for them, but are left in that deplorable condition you mention, “of being suffered quietly, and without molestation, to take no care at all of their souls, or in doing of it to follow their own prejudices, humours, or some crafty seducers?” Need not those of the national church, as well as others, “bring their religion to the bar of reason, and give it a fair trial there?” And if they need to do so, as they must, if all national religions cannot be supposed true; they will always need that which, you say, is the only means to make them do so. So that if you are sure, as you tell us, that there is need of your method; I am sure there is as much need of it in national churches, as any other. And so, for aught I can see, you must either punish them, or let others alone; unless you think it reasonable that the far greater part of mankind should constantly be without that sovereign and only remedy, which they stand in need of equally with other people.

Sometimes the end for which men must be punished is “to dispose them to submit to instruction, and to give a fair hearing to the reasons offered for the enlightening their minds, and discovering the truth to them.” If their own words may be taken for it, there are as few dissenters as conformists, in any country, who will not profess they have done, and do this. And if their own words may not be taken; who, I pray, must be judge? You and your magistrates? If so, then it is plain you punish them not to dispose them to submit to instruction, but to your instruction; not to dispose them to give a fair hearing to reasons offered for the enlightening their minds, but to give an obedient hearing to your reasons. If you mean this; it had been fairer and shorter to have spoken out plainly, than thus in fair words, or indefinite signification, to say that which amounts to nothing. For what sense is it, to punish a man “to dispose him to submit to instruction, and give a fair hearing to reasons offered for enlightening his mind, and discovering truth to him,” who goes two or three times a week several miles on purpose to do it, and that with the hazard of his liberty or purse? Unless you mean your instructions, your reasons, your truth: which brings us but back to what you have disclaimed, plain persecution for differing in religion.

Sometimes this is to be done, “to prevail with men to weigh matters of religion carefully, and impartially.” Discountenance and punishment put into one scale, with impunity and hopes of preferment put into the other, is as sure a way to make a man weigh impartially, as it would be for a prince to bribe and threaten a judge to make him judge uprightly.

Sometimes it is, “To make men bethink themselves, and put it out of the power of any foolish humour, or unreasonable prejudice, to alienate them from truth and their own happiness.” Add but this, to put it out of the power of any humour or prejudice of their own, or other men’s; and I grant the end is good, if you can find the means to procure it. But why it should not be put out of the power of other men’s humour or prejudice, as well as their own, wants, and will always want, a reason to prove. Would it not, I beseech you, to an indifferent by-stander, appear humour or prejudice, or something as bad; to see men, who profess a religion revealed from heaven, and which they own contains all in it necessary to salvation, exclude men from their communion, and persecute them with the penalties of the civil law, for not joining in the use of ceremonies which are no-where to be found in that revealed religion? Would it not appear humour or prejudice, or some such thing, to a sober impartial heathen; to see christians exclude and persecute one of the same faith, for things which they themselves confess to be indifferent, and not worth the contending for? “Prejudice, humour, passion, lusts, impressions of education, reverence and admiration of persons, worldly respects, love of their own choice, and the like,” to which you justly impute many men’s taking up, and persisting in their religion, are indeed good words; and so, on the other side, are these following; “truth, the right way, enlightening reason, sound judgment;” but they signify nothing at all to your purpose, till you can evidently and unquestionably show the world that the latter, viz. “truth and the right way,” &c. are always, and in all countries, to be found only in the national church; and the former, viz. “passion and prejudice,” &c. only amongst the dissenters. But to go on:

Sometimes it is, “to bring men to take such care as they ought of their salvation.” What care is such as men ought to take, whilst they are out of your church, will be hard for you to tell me. But you endeavour to explain yourself, in the following words: “that they may not blindly leave it to the choice neither of any other person, nor yet of their own lusts and passions, to prescribe to them what faith or what worship they shall embrace.” You do well to make use of punishment to shut passion out of the choice: because you know fear of suffering is no passion. But let that pass. You would have men punished, “to bring them to take such care of their salvation that they may not blindly leave it to the choice of any other person to prescribe to them.” Are you sincere? Are you in earnest? Tell me then truly: did the magistrate or national church any-where, or yours in particular, ever punish any man, to bring him to have this care, which, you say, he ought to take of his salvation! Did you ever punish any man, that he might not blindly leave it to the choice of his parish-priest, or bishop, or the convocation, what faith or worship he should embrace? It will be suspected care of a party, or any thing else rather than care of the salvation of men’s souls; if having found out so useful, so necessary a remedy, the only method there is room left for, you will apply it but partially, and make trial of it only on those whom you have truly least kindness for. This will, unavoidably, give one reason to imagine, you do not think so well of your remedy as you pretend, who are so sparing of it to your friends; but are very free of it to strangers, who in other things are used very much like enemies. — But your remedy is like the helleboraster, that grew in the woman’s garden for the cure of worms in her neighbour’s children; for truly it wrought too roughly to give it to any of her own. Methinks your charity, in your present persecution, is much what as prudent, as justifiable, as that good woman’s. I hope I have done you no injury, that I here suppose you of the church of England. If I have, I beg your pardon. — It is no offence of malice, I assure you: for I suppose no worse of you than I confess of myself.

Sometimes this punishment that you contend for, is “to bring men to act according to reason and sound judgment.”

“Tertius è cœlo cecidit Cato.”

This is reformation indeed. If you can help us to it, you will deserve statues to be erected to you, as to the restorer of decayed religion. But if all men have not reason and sound judgment, will punishment put it into them? Besides, concerning this matter, mankind is so divided, that he acts according to reason and sound judgment at Augsburg, who would be judged to do the quite contrary at Edinburgh. Will punishment make men know what is reason and sound judgment? If it will not, it is impossible it should make them act according to it. Reason and sound judgment are the elixir itself, the universal remedy: and you may as reasonably punish men to bring them to have the philosopher’s stone, as to bring them to act according to reason and sound judgment.

Sometimes it is, “To put men upon a serious and impartial examination of the controversy between the magistrate and them, which is the way for them to come to the knowledge of the truth.” But what if the truth be on neither side, as I am apt to imagine you will think it is not, where neither the magistrate nor the dissenter is either of them of your church; how will the “examining the controversy between the magistrate and him be the way to come to the knowledge of the truth?” Suppose the controversy between a lutheran and a papist; or, if you please, between a presbyterian magistrate and a quaker subject. — Will the examining the controversy between the magistrate and the dissenting subject, in this case, bring him to the knowledge of the truth? If you say yes, then you grant one of these to have the truth on his side: for the examining the controversy between a presbyterian and a quaker, leaves the controversy either of them has with the church of England, or any other church, untouched. And so one, at least, of those being already come to the knowledge of the truth, ought not to be put under your discipline of punishment, which is only to bring him to the truth. If you say no, and that the examining the controversy between the magistrate and the dissenter, in this case will not bring him to the knowledge of the truth; you confess your rule to be false, and your method to no purpose.

To conclude, your system is, in short, this: You would have all men, laying aside prejudice, humour, passion, &c. examine the grounds of their religion, and search for the truth. This, I confess, is heartily to be wished. The means that you propose to make men do this, is that dissenters should be punished to make them do so. It is as if you had said, Men generally are guilty of a fault; therefore let one sect, who have the ill luck to be of an opinion different from the magistrate, be punished. This at first sight shocks any who has the least spark of sense, reason, or justice. But having spoken of this already, and concluding that upon second thoughts you yourself will be ashamed of it, let us consider it put so as to be consistent with common sense, and with all the advantage it can bear; and then let us see what you can make of it: “Men are negligent in examining the religions they embrace, refuse, or persist in; therefore it is fit they should be punished to make them do it.” This is a consequence, indeed, which may, without defiance to common sense, be drawn from it. This is the use, the only use, which you think punishment can indirectly, and at a distance, have, in matters of religion. You would have men by punishments driven to examine. What? Religion. To what end? To bring them to the knowledge of the truth. But I answer,

Every one has not the ability to do this.

Every one has not the opportunity to do it.

Would you have every poor protestant, for example, in the Palatinate, examine thoroughly whether the pope be infallible, or head of the church; whether there be a purgatory; whether saints are to be prayed to, or the dead prayed for; whether the scripture be the only rule of faith; whether there be no salvation out of the church; and whether there be no church without bishops; and an hundred other questions in controversy between the papists and those protestants; and when he had mastered these, go on to fortify himself against the opinions and objections of other churches he differs from? This, which is no small task, must be done, before a man can have brought his religion to the bar of reason, and give it a fair trial there. And if you will punish men till this be done, the countryman must leave off plowing and sowing, and betake himself to the study of Greek and Latin; and the artisan must sell his tools, to buy fathers and schoolmen, and leave his family to starve. If something less than this will satisfy you, pray tell me what is enough, Have they considered and examined enough, if they are satisfied themselves where the truth lies? If this be the limits of their examination, you will find few to punish; unless you will punish them to make them do what they have done already; for, however he came by his religion, there is scarce any one to be found who does not own himself satisfied that he is in the right. Or else, must they be punished to make them consider and examine till they embrace that which you choose for truth? If this be so, what do you but in effect choose for them, when yet you would have men punished, “to bring them to such a care of their souls, that no other person might choose for them?” If it be truth in general, you would have them by punishments driven to seek; that is to offer matter of dispute, and not a rule of discipline; for to punish any one to make him seek till he find truth, without a judge of truth, is to punish for you know not what; and is all one as if you should whip a scholar to make him find out the square root of a number you do not know. I wonder not therefore that you could not resolve with yourself what degree of severity you would have used, nor how long continued; when you dare not speak out directly whom you would have punished, and are far from being clear to what end they should be under penalties.

Consonant to this uncertainty, of whom, or what to be punished, you tell us, “that there is no question of the success of this method. Force will certainly do, if duly proportioned to the design of it.”

What, I pray, is the design of it? I challenge you, or any man living, out of what you have said in your book, to tell me directly what it is. In all other punishments that ever I heard of yet, till now that you have taught the world a new method, the design of them has been to cure the crime they are denounced against, and so I think it ought to be here. What I beseech you is the crime here? Dissenting? That you say not any-where is a fault. Besides you tell us, “that the magistrate hath not authority to compel any one to his religion:” and that you do “not require that men should have no rule but the religion of the country.” And the power you ascribe to the magistrate is given him to bring men, “not to his own, but to the true religion.” If dissenting be not the fault, is it that a man does not examine his own religion, and the grounds of it? Is that the crime your punishments are designed to cure? Neither that dare you say; lest you displease more than you satisfy with your new discipline. And then again, as I said before, you must tell us how far you would have them examine, before you punish them for not doing it. And I imagine, if that were all we required of you, it would be long enough before you would trouble us with a law, that should prescribe to every one how far he was to examine matters of religion; wherein if he failed and came short, he was to be punished; if he performed, and went in his examination to the bounds set by the law, he was acquitted and free. Sir, when you consider it again, you will perhaps think this a case reserved to the great day, when the secrets of all hearts shall be laid open; for I imagine it is beyond the power or judgment of man, in that variety of circumstances, in respect of parts, tempers, opportunities, helps, &c. men are in, in this world, to determine what is every one’s duty in this great business of search, inquiry, examination; or to know when any one has done it. That which makes me believe you will be of this mind, is, that where you undertake for the success of this method, if rightly used, it is with a limitation, upon such as are not altogether incurable. So that when your remedy is prepared according to art, which art is yet unknown; and rightly applied, and given in a due dose, all which are secrets; it will then infallibly cure. Whom? All that are not incurable by it. And so will a pippin posset, eating fish in Lent, or a presbyterian lecture, certainly cure all that are not incurable by them; for I am sure you do not mean it will cure all, but those who are absolutely incurable; because you yourself allow one means left of cure, when yours will not do, viz. the grace of God. Your words are, “what means is there left (except the grace of God) to reduce them, but lay thorns and briars in their way.” And here also, in the place we were considering, you tell us, “the incurable are to be left to God.” Whereby, if you mean they are to be left to those means he has ordained for men’s conversion and salvation, yours must never be made use of: for he indeed has prescribed preaching and hearing of his word; but as for those who will not hear, I do not find any-where that he has commanded they should be compelled or beaten to it.

There is a third thing that you are as tender and reserved in, as either naming the criminals to be punished, or positively telling us the end for which they should be punished: and that is with what sort of penalties, what degree of punishment they should be forced. You are indeed so gracious to them, that you renounce the severities and penalties hitherto made use of. You tell us, they should be but moderate penalties. But if we ask you what are moderate penalties, you confess you cannot tell us. So that by moderate here you yet mean nothing. You tell us, “the outward force to be applied should be duly tempered.” But what that due temper is, you do not, or cannot say: and so in effect it signifies just nothing. Yet if in this you are not plain and direct, all the rest of your design will signify nothing; for it being to have some men, and to some end, punished; yet if it cannot be found what punishment is to be used, it is, notwithstanding all you have said, utterly useless. “You tell us modestly, that to determine precisely the just measure of the punishment, will require some consideration.” If the faults were precisely determined, and could be proved, it would require no more consideration to determine the measure of the punishment, in this, than it would in any other case, where those were known. But where the fault is undefined, and the guilt not to be proved, as I suppose it will be found in this present business of examining; it will without doubt require consideration to proportion the force to the design. Just so much consideration as it will require to fit a coat to the moon, or proportion a shoe to the foot of those who inhabit her; for to proportion a punishment to a fault that you do not name, and so we in charity ought to think you do not yet know; and a fault that when you have named it, will be impossible to be proved who are or are not guilty of it; will I suppose require as much consideration, as to fit a shoe to feet whose size and shape are not known.

However, you offer some measures whereby to regulate your punishments; which when they are looked into, will be found to be just as good as none; they being impossible to be any rule in the case. The first is “so much force, or such penalties as are ordinarily sufficient to prevail with men of common discretion, and not desperately perverse and obstinate, to weigh matters of religion carefully and impartially, and without which ordinarily they will not do this.” Where it is to be observed,

That who are these men of common discretion, is as hard to know, as to know what is a fit degree of punishment in the case; and so you do but regulate one uncertainty by another. Some men will be apt to think, that he who will not weigh matters of religion, which are of infinite concernment to him, without punishment, cannot in reason be thought a man of common discretion. Many women of common discretion, enough to manage the ordinary affairs of their families, are not able to read a page in an ordinary author, or to understand and give an account what it means, when read to them. Many men of common discretion in their callings, are not able to judge when an argument is conclusive or no; much less to trace it through a long train of consequences. What penalties shall be sufficient to prevail with such who upon examination, I fear, will not be found to make the least part of mankind, to examine and weigh matters of religion carefully and impartially! The law allows all to have common discretion, for whom it has not provided guardians or bedlam; so that, in effect, your men of common discretion are all men, not judged idiots or madmen: and penalties sufficient to prevail with all men of common discretion, are penalties sufficient to prevail with all men, but idiots and madmen. Which what a measure it is to regulate penalties by, let all men of common discretion judge.

You may be pleased to consider, that all men of the same degree of discretion, are not apt to be moved by the same degree of penalties. Some are of a more yielding, some of a more stiff temper; and what is sufficient to prevail on one, is not half enough to move the other; though both men of common discretion; so that common discretion will be here of no use to determine the measure of punishment: especially when in the same clause you except men desperately perverse and obstinate, who are as hard to be known, as what you seek, viz. the just proportions of punishments necessary to prevail with men to consider, examine, and weigh matters of religion: wherein, if a man tells you he has considered, he has weighed, he has examined, and so goes on in his former course; it is impossible for you ever to know whether he has done his duty, or whether he be desperately perverse and obstinate; so that this exception signifies just nothing.

There are many things in your use of force and penalties, different from any I ever met with elsewhere — One of them, this clause of yours concerning the measure of punishments, now under consideration, offers me: wherein you proportion your punishments only to the yielding and corrigible, not to the perverse and obstinate; contrary to the common discretion which has hitherto made laws in other cases, which levels the punishments against refractory offenders, and never spares them because they are obstinate. This, however, I will not blame as an oversight in you. Your new method, which aims at such impracticable and inconsistent things as laws cannot bear, nor penalties be useful to, forced you to it. The uselessness, absurdity and unreasonableness of great severities, you had acknowledged in the foregoing paragraphs. Dissenters you would have brought to consider by moderate penalties. They lie under them; but whether they have considered or no, (for that you cannot tell) they still continue dissenters. What is to be done now? Why, the incurable are to be left to God, as you tell us, . Your punishments were not meant to prevail on the desperately perverse and obstinate, as you tell us here; and so whatever be the success, your punishments are however justified.

You have given us in another place something like another boundary to your moderate penalties: but when examined, it proves just like the rest, trifling only, in good words, so put together as to have no direct meaning; an art very much in use amongst some sort of learned men. The words are these: “such penalties as may not tempt persons who have any concern for their eternal salvation, (and those who have none, ought not to be considered) to renounce a religion which they believe to be true, or profess one which they do not believe to be so.” If by any concern, you mean a true concern for their eternal salvation, by this rule you may make your punishments as great as you please; and all the severities you have disclaimed may be brought in play again: for none of those will be able to make a man, “who is truly concerned for his eternal salvation, renounce a religion he believes to be true, or profess one he does not believe to be so.” If by those who have any concern, you mean such who have some faint wishes for happiness hereafter, and would be glad to have things go well with them in the other world, but will venture nothing in this world for it; these the moderatest punishments you can imagine, will make change their religion. If by any concern, you mean whatever may be between these two; the degrees are so infinite, that to proportion your punishments by that, is to have no measure of them at all.

One thing I cannot but take notice of in this passage, before I leave it: and that is, you say here, “those who have no concern for their salvation, deserve not to be considered.” In other parts of your letter, you pretend to have compassion on the careless, and provide remedies for them: but here, of a sudden, your charity fails you; and you give them up to eternal perdition, without the least regard, the least pity, and say they deserve not to be considered. Our Saviour’s rule was, “the sick and not the whole need a physician.” Your rule here is, those that are careless are not to be considered, but are to be left to themselves. This would seem strange, if one did not observe what drew you to it. You perceived that if the magistrate was to use no punishments but such as would make nobody change their religion, he was to use none at all; for the careless would be brought to the national church, with any slight punishments; and when they are once there, you are, it seems, satisfied, and look no farther after them. So that by your own measures, “if the careless, and those who have no concern for their eternal salvation,” are to be regarded and taken care of; if the salvation of their souls is to be promoted, there is to be no punishment used at all; and therefore you leave them out as not to be considered.

There remains yet one thing to be inquired into, concerning the measure of the punishments, and that is the length of their duration. Moderate punishments that are continued, that men find no end of, know no way out of, sit heavy, and become immoderately uneasy. Dissenters, you would have punished, to make them consider. Your penalties have had the effect on them you intended; they have made them consider; and they have done their utmost in considering. What now must be done with them? They must be punished on; for they are still dissenters. If it were just, if you had reason at first to punish a dissenter, to make him consider, when you did not know but that he had considered alredy; it is as just, and you have as much reason to punish him on, even when he has performed what your punishments were designed for, when he has considered, but yet remains a dissenter. For I may justly suppose, and you must grant, that a man may remain a dissenter, after all the consideration your moderate penalties can bring him to; when we see greater punishments, even those severities you disown, as too great, are not able to make men consider so far as to be convinced, and brought over to the national church.

If your punishments may not be inflicted on men, to make them consider, who have or may have considered already for aught you know; then dissenters are never to be once punished, no more than any other sort of men. If dissenters are to be punished, to make them consider, whether they have considered or no: then their punishments, though they do consider, must never cease, as long as they are dissenters; which whether it be to punish them only to bring them to consider, let all men judge. This I am sure; punishments, in your method, must either never begin upon dissenters, or never cease. And so pretend moderation as you please, the punishments which your method requires, must be either very immoderate, or none at all.

And now, you having yielded to our author, and that upon very good reasons which you yourself urge, and which I shall set down in your own words, “that to prosecute men with fire and sword, or to deprive them of their estates, to maim them with corporal punishments, to starve and torture them in noisome prisons, and in the end even to take away their lives, to make them christians, is but an ill way of expressing men’s desire of the salvation of those whom they treat in this manner. And that it will be very difficult to persuade men of sense, that he who with dry eyes and satisfaction of mind can deliver his brother to the executioner, to be burnt alive, does sincerely and heartily concern himself to save that brother from the flames of hell in the world to come. And that these methods are so very improper, in respect to the design of them, that they usually produce the quite contrary effect. For whereas all the use which force can have for the advancing true religion, and the salvation of souls, is (as has already been showed) by disposing men to submit to instruction, and to give a fair hearing to the reasons which are offered, for the enlightening their minds, and discovering the truth to them; these cruelties have the misfortune to be commonly looked upon as so just a prejudice against any religion that uses them, as makes it needless to look any farther into it; and to tempt men to reject it, as both false and detestable, without ever vouchsafing to consider the rational grounds and motives of it. This effect they seldom fail to work upon the sufferers of them; and as to the spectators, if they be not before-hand well instructed in those grounds and motives, they will be much tempted likewise, not only to entertain the same opinion of such a religion, but withal to judge much more favourably of that of the sufferers; who, they will be apt to think, would not expose themselves to such extremities, which they might avoid by compliance, if they were not thoroughly satisfied of the justice of their cause.” And upon these reasons you conclude, “that these severities are utterly unapt and improper for the bringing men to embrace that truth which must save them.” Again, you having acknowledged, “that the authority of the magistrate is not an authority to compel any one to his religion.” And again, “that the rigour of laws and force of penalties are not capable to convince and change men’s minds.” And yet farther, “that you do not require that men should have no rule, but the religion of the court; or that they should be put under a necessity to quit the light of their own reason, and oppose the dictates of their own consciences, and blindly resign up themselves to the will of their governors; but that the power you ascribe to the magistrate, is given him to bring men not to his own, but to the true religion.” Now you having, I say, granted this, whereby you directly condemn and abolish all laws that have been made here, or anywhere else, that ever I heard of, to compel men to conformity; I think the author, and whosoever else are most for liberty of conscience, might be content with the toleration you allow, by condemning the laws about religion, now in force; and are testified, until you had made your new method consistent and practicable, by telling the world plainly and directly,

Who are to be punished.

For what.

With what punishments.

How long.

What advantage to true religion it would be, if magistrates every-where did so punish.

And lastly, whence the magistrate had commission to do so.

When you have done this plainly and intelligibly, without keeping in the uncertainty of general expressions, and without supposing all along your church in the right, and your religion the true; which can no more be allowed to you in this case, whatever your church or religion be, than it can be to a papist or a lutheran, a presbyterian or an anabaptist; nay no more to you, than it can be allowed to a jew or a mahometan; when, I say, you have by settling these points framed the parts of your new engine, set it together, and show that it will work, without doing more harm than good in the world; I think then men may be content to submit to it. But imagining this, and an engine to show the perpetual motion, will be found out together, I think toleration in a very good state, notwithstanding your answer; wherein you have said so much for it, and for aught I see nothing against it: unless an impracticable chimera be, in your opinion, something mightily to be apprehended.

We have now seen and examined the main of your treatise; and therefore I think I might here end, without going any farther. But, that you may not think yourself, or any of your arguments neglected, I will go over the remainder, and give you my thoughts on every thing I shall meet with in it, that seems to need any answer. In one place you argue against the author thus: if then the author’s fourth proposition, as you call it, viz. That force is of no use for promoting true religion and the salvation of souls, “be not true (as perhaps by this time it appears it is not) then the last proposition, which is built upon it, must fall with it;” which last proposition is this, viz. “that nobody can have any right to use any outward force or compulsion to bring men to the true religion, and so to salvation.” If this proposition were built, as you allege, upon that which you call his fourth, then indeed if the fourth fell, this built upon it would fall with it. But that not being the author’s proposition, as I have showed, nor this built wholly on it, but on other reasons, as I have already proved, and any one may see in several parts of his letter, particularly , 352, what you allege falls of itself.

The business of the next paragraph is to prove, that if “force be useful, then somebody must certainly have a right to use it.” The first argument you go about to prove it by, is this, “That usefulness is as good an argument to prove there is somewhere a right to use it, as uselessness is to prove nobody has such a right.” If you consider the things of whose usefulness or uselessness we are speaking, you will perhaps be of another mind. It is punishment, or force used in punishing. Now all punishment is some evil, some inconvenience, some suffering; by taking away or abridging some good thing, which he who is punished has otherwise a right to. Now to justify the bringing any such evil upon any man, two things are requisite. First, That he who does it has commission and power so to do. Secondly, That it be directly useful for the procuring some greater good. Whatever punishment one man uses to another, without these two conditions, whatever he may pretend, proves an injury and injustice, and so of right ought to have been let alone. And therefore, though usefulness, which is one of the conditions that makes punishments just, when it is away, may hinder punishments from being lawful in any body’s hands; yet usefulness, when present, being but one of those conditions, cannot give the other, which is a commission to punish; without which also punishment is unlawful. From whence it follows, That though useless punishment be unlawful from any hand, yet useful punishment from every hand is not lawful. A man may have the stone, and it may be useful, more than indirectly, and at a distance useful, to him to be cut; but yet this usefulness will not justify the most skilful surgeon in the world, by force to make him endure the pain and hazard of cutting; because he has no commission, no right without the patient’s own consent to do so. Nor is it a good argument, cutting will be useful to him, therefore there is a right somewhere to cut him, whether he will or no. Much less will there be an argument for any right, if there be only a possibility that it may prove useful indirectly and by accident.

Your other argument is this: If force or punishment be of necessary use, “then it must be acknowledged, that there is a right somewhere to use it; unless we will say (what without impiety cannot be said) that the wise and benign disposer and governor of all things has not furnished mankind with competent means for the promoting his own honour in the world, and the good of souls.” If your way of arguing be true, it is demonstration, that force is not of necessary use. For I argue thus, in your form: We must acknowledge force not to be of necessary use; “unless we will say (what without impiety cannot be said) that the wise disposer and governor of all things did not, for above three hundred years after Christ, furnish his church with competent means for promoting his own honour in the world, and the good of souls.” It is for you to consider whether these arguments be conclusive or no. This I am sure, the one is as conclusive as the other. But if your supposed usefulness places a right somewhere to use it, pray tell me in whose hands it places it in Turkey, Persia, or China, or any country where christians of different churches live under a heathen or mahometan sovereign? And if you cannot tell me in whose hands it places it there, as I believe you will find it pretty hard to do; there are then, it seems, some places where, upon your supposition of the necessary usefulness of force, “the wise and benign governor and disposer of all things has not furnished men with competent means for promoting his own honour and the good of souls;” unless you will grant that the “wise and benign disposer and governor of all things hath, for the promoting of his honour and the good of souls, placed a power in mahometan or heathen princes to punish christians, to bring them to consider reasons and arguments proper to convince them.” But this is the advantage of so fine an invention, as that of force doing some service indirectly and at a distance; which usefulness, if we may believe you, places a right in mahometan or pagan princes hands, to use force upon christians; for fear lest mankind in those countries should be unfurnished with means for the promoting God’s honour and the good of souls. For thus you argue: “if there be so great use of force, then there is a right somewhere to use it. And if there be such a right somewhere, where should it be but in the civil sovereign?” Who can deny now, but that you have taken care, great care, for the promoting of truth and the christian religion? But yet it is as hard for me, I confess, and I believe for others, to conceive how you should think to do any service to truth and the christian religion, by putting a right into mahometans or heathens hands to punish christians; as it was for you to conceive how the author should think “to do any service to the truth, and the christian religion,” by exempting the professors of it from punishment everywhere, since there are more pagan, mahometan, and erroneous princes in the world, than orthodox; truth, and the christian religion, taking the world as we find it, is sure to be more punished and suppressed, than errour and falsehood.

The author having endeavoured to show that no-body at all, of any rank or condition, had a power to punish, torment, or use any man ill, for matters of religion; you tell us “you do not yet understand, why clergymen are not as capable of such power as other men.” I do not remember that the author any-where, by excepting ecclesiastics more than others, gave you any occasion to show your concern in this point. Had he foreseen that this would have touched you so nearly, and that you set your heart so much upon the clergy’s power of punishing; it is like he would have told you, he thought ecclesiastics as capable of it as any men; and that if forwardness and diligence in the exercise of such power may recommend any to it, clergymen in the opinion of the world stand fairest for it. However, you do well to put in your claim for them, though the author excludes them no more than their neighbours. Nay, they must be allowed the pretence of the fairest title. For I never read of any severities that were to bring men to Christ, but those of the law of Moses; which is therefore called a pedagogue, (Gal. iii. 24.) And the next verse tells us, that “after that faith is come, we are no longer under a schoolmaster.” But yet if we are still to be driven to Christ by a rod, I shall not envy them the pleasure of wielding it: only I desire them, when they have got the scourge into their hands, to remember our Saviour, and follow his example, who never used it but once; and that they would, like him, employ it only to drive vile and scandalous traffickers for the things of this world, out of their church, rather than to drive whoever they can into it. Whether the latter be not a proper method to make their church what our Saviour there pronounced of the temple, they who use it were best look. For in matters of religion, none are so easy to be driven, as those who have nothing of religion at all; and next to them, the vicious, the ignorant, the worldling, and the hypocrite; who care for no more of religion but the name, nor no more of any church, but its prosperity and power: and who, not unlike those described by our Saviour, (Luke xx. 47.) for a show come to, or cry up the prayers of the church, “that they may devour widows, and other helpless people’s houses.” I say not this of the serious professors of any church, who are in earnest in matters of religion. Such I value, who conscientiously, and out of a sincere persuasion, embrace any religion, though different from mine, and in a way, I think, mistaken. But no-body can have reason to think otherwise than what I have said, of those who are wrought upon to be of any church, by secular hopes and fears. Those truly place trade above all other considerations, and merchandize with religion itself, who regulate their choice by worldly profit and loss.

You endeavour to prove, against the author, that civil society is not instituted only for civil ends, i. e. the procuring, preserving, and advancing men’s civil interests: your words are, “I must say, that our author does but beg the question, when he affirms that the commonwealth is constituted only for the procuring, preserving, and advancing of the civil interests of the members of it. That commonwealths are instituted for these ends, no man will deny. But if there be any other ends besides these, attainable by the civil society and government, there is no reason to affirm, that these are the only ends, for which they are designed. Doubtless commonwealths are instituted for the attaining of all the benefits which political government can yield. And therefore, if the spiritual and eternal interests of men may any way be procured or advanced by political government, the procuring and advancing those interests must in all reason be reckoned among the ends of civil societies, and so, consequently, fall within the compass of the magistrate’s jurisdiction.” I have set down your words at large, to let the reader see, that you of all men had the least reason to tell the author, he does but beg the question; unless you mean to justify yourself by the pretence of his example. You argue thus, “If there be any other ends attainable by civil society, then civil interests are not the only ends for which commonwealths are instituted.” And how do you prove there be other ends? Why thus, “Doubtless commonwealths are instituted for the attaining of all the benefits which political government can yield.” Which is as clear a demonstration, as doubtless can make it to be. The question is, whether civil society be instituted only for civil ends? You say, no; and your proof is, because doubtless it is instituted for other ends. If I now say, doubtless this is a good argument; is not every one bound without more ado to admit it for such? If not, doubtless you are in danger to be thought to beg the question.

But notwithstanding you say here, that the author begs the question; in the following page you tell us, “That the author offers three considerations which seem to him abundantly to demonstrate, that the civil power neither can, nor ought in any manner to be extended to the salvation of souls.” He does not then beg the question. For the question being, “Whether civil interest be the only end of civil society,” he gives this reason for the negative, “That civil power has nothing to do with the salvation of souls;” and offers three considerations for the proof of it. For it will always be a good consequence, that, if the civil power has nothing to do with the salvation of souls, “then civil interest is the only end of civil society.” And the reason of it is plain; because a man having no other interest but either in this world or the world to come; if the end of civil society reach not to a man’s interest in the other world, all which is comprehended in the salvation of his soul, it is plain that the sole end of civil society is civil interest, under which the author comprehends the good things of this world.

And now let us examine the truth of your main position, viz. “That civil society is instituted for the attaining all the benefits that it may any way yield.” Which, if true, then this position must be true, viz. “That all societies whatsoever are instituted for the attaining all the benefits that they may any way yield;” there being nothing peculiar to civil society in the case, why that society should be instituted for the attaining all the benefits it can any way yield, and other societies not. By which argument it will follow, that all societies are instituted for one and the same end: i. e. “for the attaining all the benefits that they can any way yield.” By which account there will be no difference between church and state; a commonwealth and an army; or between a family, and the East-India company; all which have hitherto been thought distinct sorts of societies instituted for different ends. If your hypothesis hold good, one of the ends of the family must be to preach the gospel, and administer the sacraments; and one business of an army to teach languages, and propagate religion; because these are benefits some way or other attainable by those societies; unless you take want of commission and authority to be a sufficient impediment; and that will be so too in other cases.

It is a benefit to have true knowledge and philosophy embraced and assented to, in any civil society or government. But will you say, therefore, that it is a benefit to the society, or one of the ends of government, that all who are not peripatetics should be punished, to make men find out the truth and profess it? This indeed might be thought a fit way to make some men embrace the peripatetic philosophy, but not a proper way to find the truth. For perhaps the peripatetic philosophy may not be true; perhaps a great many may have not time, nor parts to study it; and perhaps a great many who have studied it, cannot be convinced of the truth of it: and therefore it cannot be a benefit to the commonwealth, nor one of the ends of it, that these members of the society should be disturbed, and diseased to no purpose, when they are guilty of no fault. For just the same reason, it cannot be a benefit to civil society, that men should be punished in Denmark, for not being lutherans; in Geneva, for not being calvinists; and in Vienna, for not being papists; as a means to make them find out the true religion. For so, upon your grounds, men must be treated in those places, as well as in England, for not being of the church of England. And then I beseech you, consider the great benefit will accrue to men in society by this method; and I suppose it will be a hard thing for you to prove, that ever civil governments were instituted to punish men for not being of this, or that sect in religion: however by accident, indirectly and at a distance, it may be an occasion to one perhaps of a thousand, or an hundred, to study that controversy, which is all you expect from it. If it be a benefit, pray tell me what benefit it is. A civil benefit it cannot be. For men’s civil interests are disturbed, injured, and impaired by it. And what spiritual benefit can that be to any multitude of men, to be punished for dissenting from a false or erroneous profession, I would have you find out: unless it be a spiritual benefit to be in danger to be driven into a wrong way. For if in all differing sects, all but one is in the wrong, it is a hundred to one but that from which one dissents, and is punished for dissenting from, is the wrong.

I grant it is past doubt, that the nature of man is so covetous of good, that no one would have excluded from any action he does, or from any institution he is concerned in, any manner of good or benefit that it might any way yield. And if this be your meaning, it will not be denied you. But then you speak very improperly, or rather very mistakenly, if you call such benefits as may any way, i. e. indirectly, and at a distance, or by accident, be attained by civil or any other society, the ends for which it is instituted. Nothing can “in reason be reckoned amongst the ends of any society,” but what may in reason be supposed to be designed by those who enter into it. Now no-body can in reason suppose, that any one entered into civil society, for the procuring, securing, or advancing the salvation of his soul; when he, for that end, needed not the force of civil society. “The procuring, therefore, securing, and advancing the spiritual and eternal interest of men, cannot in reason be reckoned amongst the ends of civil societies;” though perhaps it might so fall out, that in some particular instance, some man’s spiritual interest might be advanced by your or any other way of applying civil force. A nobleman, whose chapel is decayed or fallen, may make use of his diningroom for praying and preaching. Yet whatever benefit were attainable by this use of the room, no-body can in reason reckon this among the ends for which it was built; no more than the accidental breeding of some bird in any part of it, though it were a benefit it yielded could in reason be reckoned among the ends of building the house.

But, say you, “doubtless commonwealths are instituted for the attaining of all the benefits which political government can yield; and therefore if the spiritual and eternal interests of men may any way be procured or advanced by political government, the procuring and advancing those interests, must in all reason be reckoned amongst the ends of civil society, and so consequently fall within the compass of the magistrate’s jurisdiction.” Upon the same grounds, I thus reason: Doubtless churches are instituted for the attaining of all the benefits which ecclesiastical government can yield; and therefore, if the temporal and secular interests of men may any way be procured or advanced by ecclesiastical polity, the procuring and advancing those interests must in all reason be reckoned among the ends of religious societies, and so consequently fall within the compass of churchmen’s jurisdiction. The church of Rome has openly made its advantage of “secular interests to be procured or advanced, indirectly, and at a distance, and in ordine ad spiritualia;” all which ways, if I mistake not English, are comprehended under your “any way.” But I do not remember that any of the reformed churches have hitherto directly professed it. But there is a time for all things. And if the commonwealth once invades the spiritual ends of the church, by meddling with the salvation of souls, which she has always been so tender of, who can deny, that the church should have liberty to make herself some amends by reprisals?

But, sir, however you and I may argue from wrong suppositions, yet unless the apostle, Eph. iv. where he reckons up the church-officers which Christ hath instituted in his church, had told us they were for some other ends than “for the perfecting of the saints, for the work of the ministry, for the edifying of the body of Christ;” the advancing of their secular interests will scarce be allowed to be their business, or within the compass of their jurisdiction. Nor till it can be shown that civil society is instituted for spiritual ends, or that the magistrate has commission to interpose his authority, or use force in matters of religion; your supposition “of spiritual benefits indirectly and at a distance attainable” by political government, will never prove the advancing of those interests by force to be the magistrate’s business, “and to fall within the compass of his jurisdiction.” And till then, the force of the arguments which the author has brought against it, in the 319th and following pages of his letter, will hold good.

Commonwealths, or civil societies and governments, if you will believe the judicious Mr. Hooker, are, as St. Peter calls them, (1 Pet. ii. 13.) ἀνϑρωπίνη ϰτίσις, the contrivance and institution of man; and he shows there for what end; viz. “for the punishment of evil-doers, and the praise of them that do well.” I do not find any-where, that it is for the punishment of those who are not in church-communion with the magistrate, to make them study controversies in religion, or hearken to those who will tell them, “they have mistaken their way, and offer to show them the right one.” You must show them such a commission, if you say it is from God. And in all societies instituted by man, the ends of them can be no other than what the institutors appointed; which I am sure could not be their spiritual and eternal interest. For they could not stipulate about these one with another, nor submit this interest to the power of the society, or any sovereign they should set over it. There are nations in the West-Indies, which have no other end of their society, but their mutual defence against their common enemies. In these, their captain, or prince, is sovereign commander in time of war; but in time of peace, neither he nor any body else has any authority over any of the society. You cannot deny but other, even temporal ends, are attainable by these commonwealths, if they had been otherwise instituted and appointed to these ends. But all your saying, “doubtless commonwealths are instituted for the attaining of all the benefits which they can yield,” will not give authority to any one, or more, in such a society, by political government or force, to procure directly or indirectly other benefits than that for which it was instituted: and therefore there it falls not within the compass of those princes jurisdiction to punish any one of the society for injuring another; because he has no commission so to do; whatever reason you may think there is, that that should be reckoned amongst the ends of their society.

But to conclude: your argument has that defect in it which turns it upon yourself. And that is, that the procuring and advancing the spiritual and eternal interests of souls, your way, is not a benefit to the society: and so upon your own supposition, “the procuring and advancing the spiritual interest of souls, any way, cannot be one of the ends of civil society;” unless the procuring and advancing the spiritual interest of souls, in a way proper to do more harm than good towards the salvation of souls, be to be accounted such a benefit as to be one of the ends of civil societies. For that yours is such a way, I have proved already. So that were it hard to prove that political government, whose only instrument is force, could no way by force, however applied, more advance than hinder the spiritual and eternal interest of men; yet having proved it against your particular new way of applying force, I have sufficiently vindicated the author’s doctrine from any thing you have said against it. Which is enough for my present purpose.

Your next page tells us, that this reasoning of the author, viz. “that the power of the magistrate cannot be extended to the salvation of souls, because the care of souls is not committed to the magistrate; is proving the thing by itself.” As if you should say, when I tell you that you could not extend your power to meddle with the money of a young gentleman you travelled with, as tutor, because the care of his money was not committed to you, were proving the thing by itself. For it is not necessary that you should have the power of his money: it may be entrusted to a steward who travels with him: or it may be left to himself. If you have it, it is but a delegated power. And, in all delegated powers, I thought this a fair proof; you have it not, or cannot use it, which is what the author means here by extended to, because it is not committed to you. In the summing up of this argument (.), the author says, “no-body therefore, in fine, neither commonwealths, &c. hath any title to invade the civil rights and worldly goods of another, upon pretence of religion.” Which is an exposition of what he means in the beginning of the argument, by “the magistrate’s power cannot be extended to the salvation of souls.” So that if we take these last cited words equivalent to those in the former place, his proof will stand thus, “the magistrate has no title to invade the civil rights or worldly goods of any one, upon pretence of religion; because the care of souls is not committed to him.” This is the same in the author’s sense with the former. And whether either this, or that, be a proving the same thing by itself, we must leave to others to judge.

You quote the author’s argument, which he brings to prove that the care of souls is not committed to the magistrate, in these words; “it is not committed to him by God, because it appears not that God has ever given any such authority to one man over another, as to compel any one to his religion.” This, when first I read it, I confess, I thought a good argument. But you say, “this is quite beside the business;” and the reason you give, is, “for the authority of the magistrate is not an authority to compel any to his religion, but only an authority to procure all his subjects the means of discovering the way of salvation, and to procure withal, as much as in him lies, that none remain ignorant of it,” &c. I fear, sir, you forget yourself. The author was not writing against your new hypothesis, before it was known in the world. He may be excused if he had not the gift of prophecy, to argue against a notion which was not yet started. He had in view only the laws hitherto made, and the punishments, in matters of religion, in use in the world. The penalties, as I take it, are lain on men for being of different ways of religion. Which, what is it other, but to compel them to relinquish their own, and to conform themselves to that from which they differ? If this be not to compel them to the magistrate’s religion, pray tell us what is? This must be necessarily so understood; unless it can be supposed that the law intends not to have that done, which with penalties it commands to be done; or that punishments are not compulsion, not that compulsion the author complains of. The law says “do this and live;” embrace this doctrine, conform to this way of worship, and be at ease, and free; or else be fined, imprisoned, banished, burned. If you can show among the laws that have been made in England, concerning religion, and I think I may say any-where else, any one that punishes men “for not having impartially examined the religion they have embraced, or refused,” I think I may yield you the cause. Law-makers have been generally wiser than to make laws that could not be executed: and therefore their laws were against non-conformists, which could be known; and not for impartial examination, which could not. It was not then besides the author’s business, to bring an argument against the persecutions here in fashion. He did not know that any one, who was so free as to acknowledge that “the magistrate has not authority to compel any one to his religion,” and thereby at once, as you have done, give up all the laws now in force against dissenters; had yet rods in store for them, and by a new trick would bring them under the lash of the law, when the old pretences were too much exploded to serve any longer. Have you never heard of such a thing as the religion established by law? Which is, it seems, the lawful religion of a country, and to be complied with as such. There being such things, such notions yet in the world, it was not quite besides the author’s business to allege, that “God never gave such authority to one man over another as to compel any one to his religion.” I will grant, if you please, “religion established by law” is a pretty odd way of speaking in the mouth of a christian; and yet it is much in fashion: as if the magistrate’s authority could add any force or sanction to any religion, whether true or false. I am glad to find you have so far considered the magistrate’s authority, that you agree with the author, that “he hath none to compel men to his religion.” Much less can he, by any establishment of law, add any thing to the truth or validity of his own, or any religion whatsoever.

It remains now to examine, whether the author’s argument will not hold good, even against punishments in your way; “for if the magistrate’s authority be, as you here say, only to procure all his subjects, (mark what you say, all his subjects) the means of discovering the way of salvation, and to procure withal, as much as in him lies, that none remain ignorant of it, or refuse to embrace it, either for want of using those means, or by reason of any such prejudices as may render them ineffectual.” If this be the magistrate’s business, in reference to all his subjects, I desire you, or any man else, to tell me how this can be done by the application of force only to a part of them: unless you will still vainly suppose ignorance, negligence, or prejudice, only amongst that part which anywhere differs from the magistrate. If those of the magistrate’s church may be ignorant of the way of salvation; if it be possible there may be amongst them those “who refuse to embrace it, either for want of using those means, or by reason of any such prejudices as may render them ineffectual:” What, in this case, becomes of the magistrate’s authority to procure all his subjects the means of discovering the way of salvation? Must these of his subjects be neglected, and left without the means he has authority to procure them? Or must he use force upon them too? And then, pray, show me how this can be done. Shall the magistrate punish those of his own religion, “to procure them the means of discovering the way of salvation, and to procure as much as in him lies, that they remain not ignorant of it, or refuse not to embrace it?” These are such contradictions in practice, this is such condemnation of a man’s own religion, as no one can expect from the magistrate; and I dare say you desire not of him. And yet this is that he must do, “if his authority be to procure all his subjects the means of discovering the way to salvation.” And if it be so needful as you say it is, that he should use it, I am sure force cannot do that till it be applied wider, and punishment be laid upon more than you would have it; for “if the magistrate be by force to procure, as much as in him lies, that none remain ignorant of the way of salvation;” must he not punish all those who are ignorant of the way of salvation? And pray tell me how this is any way practicable, but by supposing none in the national church ignorant, and all out of it ignorant of the way of salvation. Which, what is it, but to punish men barely for not being of the magistrate’s religion; the very thing you deny he has authority to do? So that the magistrate having, by your own confession, no authority thus to use force; and it being otherways impracticable “for the procuring all his subjects the means of discovering the way of salvation;” there is an end of force. And so force being laid aside, either as unlawful, or impracticable, the author’s argument holds good against force, even in your way of applying it.

But if you say, as you do in the foregoing page, that the magistrate has authority “to lay such penalties upon those who refuse to embrace the doctrine of the proper ministers of religion, and to submit to their spiritual government, as to make them bethink themselves so as not to be alienated from the truth: (for, as for foolish humour, and uncharitable prejudice,” &c. which are but words of course that opposite parties give one another, as marks of dislike and presumption, I omit them, as signifying nothing to the question; being such as will with the same reason be retorted by the other side), against that also the author’s argument holds, that the magistrate has no such authority. 1. Because God never gave the magistrate an authority to be judge of truth for another man in matters of religion: and so he cannot be judge whether any man be alienated from the truth or no. 2. Because the magistrate had never authority given him “to lay any penalties on those who refuse to embrace the doctrine of the proper ministers of his religion, or of any other, or to submit to their spiritual government,” more than on any other men.

To the author’s argument, that the magistrate cannot receive such authority from the people; because no man has power to leave it to the choice of any other man to choose a religion for him; you give this pleasant answer: “As the power of the magistrate, in reference to religion, is ordained for the bringing men to take such care as they ought of their salvation, that they may not blindly leave it to the choice, neither of any other person, nor yet of their own lusts and passions, to prescribe to them what faith or worship they shall embrace; so if we suppose this power to be vested in the magistrate by the consent of the people; this will not import their abandoning the care of their salvation, but rather the contrary. For if men, in choosing their religion, are so generally subject, as has been showed, when left wholly to themselves, to be so much swayed by prejudice and passion, as either not at all, or not sufficient to regard the reasons and motives which ought alone to determine their choice; then it is every man’s true interest, not to be left wholly to himself in this matter; but that care should be taken, that, in an affair of so vast concernment to him, he may be brought even against his own inclination, if it cannot be done otherwise (which is ordinarily the case), to act according to reason and sound judgment. And then what better course can men take to provide for this, than by vesting the power I have described in him who bears the sword?” — Wherein I beseech you consider, 1. Whether it be not pleasant, that you say— “the power of the magistrate is ordained to bring men to take such care;” and thence infer, “Then it is every one’s interest to vest such power in the magistrate?” For if it be the power of the magistrate, it is his. And what need the people vest it in him, unless there be need, and it be the best course they can take, to vest a power in the magistrate, which he has already? 2. Another pleasant thing you here say, is, “That the power of the magistrate is to bring men to such a care of their salvation, that they may not blindly leave it to the choice of any person, or their own lusts, or passions, to prescribe to them what faith or worship they shall embrace; and yet that it is their best course to vest a power in the magistrate,” liable to the same lusts and passions as themselves, to choose for them. For if they vest a power in the magistrate to punish them, when they dissent from his religion; “to bring them to act, even against their own inclination, according to their reason and sound judgment;” which is, as you explain yourself in another place, to bring them to consider reasons and arguments proper and sufficient to convince them: How far is this from leaving it to the choice of another man to prescribe to them what faith or worship they shall embrace? Especially if we consider that you think it a strange thing, that the author would have the care of every man’s soul left to himself alone. So that this care being vested “in the magistrate, with a power to punish men to make them consider reasons and arguments proper and sufficient to convince them” of the truth of his religion; the choice is evidently in the magistrate, as much as it can be in the power of one man to choose for another what religion he shall be of; which consists only in a power of compelling him by punishments to embrace it.

I do neither you nor the magistrate injury, when I say that the power you give the magistrate of “punishing men, to make them consider reasons and arguments proper and sufficient to convince them” is to convince them of the truth of his religion, and to bring them to it. For men will never, in his opinion, “act according to reason and sound judgment,” which is the thing you here say men should be brought to by the magistrate, even against their “own inclination;” till they embrace his religion. And if you have the brow of an honest man, you will not say the magistrate will ever punish you “to bring you to consider any other reasons and arguments, but such as are proper to convince you” of the truth of his religion, and to bring you to that. Thus you shift forwards and backwards. You say “the magistrate has no power to punish men, to compel them to his religion,” but only to “compel them to consider reasons and arguments proper to convince them” of the truth of his religion, which is all one as to say, no-body has power to choose your way for you to Jerusalem; but yet the lord of the manor has power to punish you, “to bring you to consider reasons and arguments proper and sufficient to convince you.” Of what? That the way he goes in, is the right, and so to make you join in company, and go along with him. So that, in effect, what is all your going about, but to come at last to the same place again; and put a power into the magistrate’s hands, under another pretence, to compel men to his religion; which use of force the author has sufficiently overthrown, and you yourself have quitted. But I am tired to follow you so often round the same circle.

You speak of it here as the most deplorable condition imaginable, that “men should be left to themselves, and not be forced to consider and examine the grounds of their religion, and search impartially and diligently after the truth.” This you make the great miscarriage of mankind. And for this you seem solicitous, all through your treatise, to find out a remedy; and there is scarce a leaf wherein you do not offer yours. But what if, after all now, you should be found to prevaricate? “Men have contrived to themselves, say you, a great variety of religions:” it is granted. “They seek not the truth in this matter with that application of mind, and that freedom of judgment which is requisite:” it is confessed. “All the false religions now on foot in the world have taken their rise from the slight and partial consideration, which men have contented themselves with, in searching after the true; and men take them up, and persist in them, for want of due examination:” be it so. “There is need of a remedy for this, and I have found one whose success cannot be questioned:” very well. What is it? Let us hear it. “Why, dissenters must be punished.” Can any body that hears you say so, believe you in earnest; and that want of examination is the thing you would have amended, when want of examination is not the thing you would have punished? If want of examination be the fault, want of examination must be punished; if you are, as you pretend, fully satisfied, that punishment is the proper and only means to remedy it. But if, in all your treatise, you can show me one place, where you say that the ignorant, the careless, the inconsiderate, the negligent in examining thoroughly the truth of their own and others religion, &c. are to be punished; I will allow your remedy for a good one. But you have not said any thing like this: and which is more, I tell you before-hand, you dare not say it. And whilst you do not, the world has reason to judge, that however want of examination be a general fault, which you with great vehemency have exaggerated; yet you use it only for a pretence to punish dissenters; and either distrust your remedy, that it will not cure this evil, or else care not to have it generally cured. This evidently appears from your whole management of the argument. And he that reads your treatise with attention, will be more confirmed in this opinion, when he shall find, that you who are so earnest to have men punished to bring them to consider and examine, so that they may discover the way to salvation, have not said one word of considering, searching, and hearkening to the scripture; which had been as good a rule for a christian to have sent them to, “as to reasons and arguments proper to convince them” of you know not what; “as to the instruction and government of the proper ministers of religion,” which who they are, men are yet far from being agreed; “or as to the information of those who tell them they have mistaken their way, and offer to show them the right; and to the like uncertain and dangerous guides; which were not those that our Saviour and the apostles sent men to, but to the scriptures.” “Search the scriptures, for in them you think you have eternal life,” says our Saviour to the unbelieving persecuting jews, (John 39.) and it is the scriptures which, St. Paul says, “are able to make wise unto salvation,” (2 Tim. iii. 15.)

Talk no more, therefore, if you have any care of your reputation, how much “it is every man’s interest not to be left to himself, without molestation, without punishment in matters of religion. Talk not of bringing men to embrace the truth that must save them, by putting them upon examination.” Talk no more “of force and punishment, as the only way left to bring men to examine.” It is evident you mean nothing less. For though want of examination be the only fault you complain of, and punishment be in your opinion the only way to bring men to it; and this the whole design of your book; yet you have not once proposed in it, that those, who do not impartially examine, should be forced to it. And that you may not think I talk at random, when I say you dare not; I will, if you please, give you some reasons for my saying so.

Because, if you propose that all should be punished, who are ignorant, who have not used “such consideration as is apt and proper to manifest the truth; but to have been determined in the choice of their religion by impressions of education, admiration of persons, worldly respects, prejudices, and the like incompetent motives; and have taken up their religion, without examining it as they ought;” you will propose to have several of your own church, be it what it will, punished; which would be a proposition too apt to offend two many of it, for you to venture on. For whatever need there be of reformation, every one will not thank you for proposing such an one as must begin at, or at least reach to the house of God.

Because, if you should propose that all those who are ignorant, careless, and negligent in examining, should be punished, you would have little to say in this question of toleration. For if the laws of the state were made, as they ought to be, equal to all the subjects, without distinction of men of different professions in religion; and the faults to be amended by punishments, were impartially punished, in all who are guilty of them; this would immediately produce a perfect toleration, or show the uselessness of force in matters of religion. If therefore you think it so necessary, as you say, for the “promoting of true religion, and the salvation of souls, that men should be punished to make them examine;” do but find a way to apply force to all that have not thoroughly and impartially examined, and you have my consent. For though force be not the proper means of promoting religion; yet there is no better way to show the uselessness of it, than the applying it equally to miscarriages, in whomsoever found; and not to distinct parties or persuasions of men, for the reformation of them alone, when others are equally faulty.

Because without being for as large a toleration as the author proposes, you cannot be truly and sincerely for a free and impartial examination. For whoever examines, must have the liberty to judge, and follow his judgment; or else you put him upon examination to no purpose. And whether that will not as well lead men from, as to your church, is so much a venture, that, by your way of writing, it is evident enough you are loth to hazard it; and if you are of the national church, it is plain your brethren will not bear with you in the allowance of such a liberty. You must therefore either change your method; and if the want of examination be that great and dangerous fault you would have corrected, you must equally punish all that are equally guilty of any neglect in this matter, and then take your only means, your beloved force, and make the best of it; or else you must put off your mask, and confess that you design not your punishments to bring men to examination, but to conformity. For the fallacy you have used, is too gross to pass upon this age.

What follows to . I think I have considered sufficiently already. But there you have found out something worth notice. In this page, out of abundant kindness, when the dissenters have their heads, without any cause, broken, you provide them a plaister. For, say you, “if upon such examination of the matter” (i. e. brought to it by the magistrate’s punishment) “they chance to find, that the truth does not lie on the magistrate’s side; they have gained thus much however, even by the magistrate’s misapplying his power, that they know better than they did before, where the truth does lie.” Which is as true, as if you should say, upon examination I find such a one is out of the way to York; therefore I know better than I did before, that I am in the right. For neither of you may be in the right. This were true indeed, if there were but two ways in all, a right and a wrong. But where there be an hundred ways, and but one right; your knowing upon examination, that that which I take is wrong, makes you not know any thing better than before, that yours is the right. But if that be the best reason you have for it, it is ninety-eight to one still against you, that you are in the wrong. Besides, he that has been punished, may have examined before, and then you are sure he gains nothing. However you think you do well to encourage the magistrate in punishing, and comfort the man who has suffered unjustly, by showing what he shall gain by it. Whereas, on the contrary, in a discourse of this nature, where the bounds of right and wrong are inquired into, and should be established, the magistrate was to be showed the bounds of his authority, and warned of the injury he did when he misapplies his power, and punished any man who deserved it not; and not be soothed into injustice, by consideration of gain that might thence accrue to the sufferer. “Shall we do evil that good may come of it?” There are a sort of people who are very wary of touching upon the magistrate’s duty, and tender of showing the bounds of his power, and the injustice and ill consequences of his misapplying it; at least, so long as it is misapplied in favour of them and their party. I know not whether you are of their number. But this I am sure, you have the misfortune here to fall into their mistake. The magistrate, you confess, may in this case misapply his power; and instead of representing to him the injustice of it, and the account he must give to his sovereign, one day, of this great trust put into his hands, for the equal protection of all his subjects: you pretend advantages which the sufferer may receive from it: and so instead of disheartening from, you give encouragement to, the mischief. Which, upon your principle, joined to the natural thirst in man after arbitrary power, may be carried to all manner of exorbitancy, with some pretence of right.

For thus stands your system: “If force, i. e. punishment, may be any way useful for the promoting the salvation of souls, there is a right somewhere to use it. And this right, say you, is in the magistrate.” Who then, upon your grounds, may quickly find reason, where it suits his inclination, or serves his turn, to punish men directly to bring them to his religion. For if he may use force, because it “may be, indirectly and at a distance, any way useful towards the salvation of men’s souls,” towards the procuring any degree of glory; why may he not, by the same rule, use it where it may be useful, at least indirectly and at a distance, towards the procuring a greater degree of glory? For St. Paul assures us, “that the afflictions of this life work for us a far more exceeding weight of glory.” So that why should they not be punished, if in the wrong, to bring them into the right way; if in the right, to make them by their sufferings, “gainers of a far more exceeding weight of glory?” But whatever you say “of punishment being lawful, because, indirectly and at a distance, it may be useful;” I suppose upon cooler thoughts, you will be apt to suspect that, however sufferings may promote the salvation of those who make a good use of them, and so set men surer in the right way, or higher in a state of glory; yet those who make men unduly suffer, will have the heavier account, and greater weight of guilt upon them, to sink them deeper in the pit of perdition; and that therefore they should be warned to take care of so using their power. Because whoever be gainers by it, they themselves will, without repentance and amendment, be sure to be losers. But by granting that the magistrate misapplies his power, when he punishes those who have the right on their side, whether it be to bring them to his own religion, or whether it be “to bring them to consider reasons and arguments proper to convince them,” you grant all that the author contends for. All that he endeavours is to show the bounds of civil power; and that in punishing others for religion, the magistrate misapplies the force he has in his hands, and so goes beyond right, beyond the limits of his power. For I do not think the author of the letter so vain, I am sure for my part I am not, as to hope by arguments, though ever so clear, to reform presently all the abuses in this matter; especially whilst men of art, and religion, endeavour so industriously to palliate and disguise, what truth, yet sometimes unawares, forces from them.

Do not think I make a wrong use of your saying, “the magistrate misapplies his power,” when I say you therein grant all that the author contends for. For if the magistrate misapplies, or makes wrong use of his power, when he punishes in matters of religion any one who is in the right, though it be but to make him consider, as you grant he does; he also misapplies, or makes wrong use of his power, when he punishes any one whomsoever in matters of religion, to make him consider. For every one is here judge for himself, what is right; and in matters of faith, and religious worship, another cannot judge for him. So that to punish any one in matters of religion, though it be but to make him consider, is by your own confession beyond the magistrate’s power. And that punishing in matters of religion is beyond the magistrate’s power, is what the author contends for.

You tell us in the following words, “all the hurt that comes to them by it, is only the suffering some tolerable inconveniencies, for their following the light of their own reason, and the dictates of their own consciences; which certainly is no such mischief to mankind, as to make it more eligible, that there should be no such power vested in the magistrate, but the care of every man’s soul should be left to himself alone (as this author demands it should be;) that is, that every man should be suffered, quietly, and without the least molestation, either to take no care at all of his soul, if he be so pleased; or, in doing it, to follow his own groundless prejudices, or unaccountable humour, or any crafty seducer, whom he may think fit to take for his guide.” Why should not the care of every man’s soul be left to himself, rather than the magistrate? Is the magistrate like to be more concerned for it? Is the magistrate like to take more care of it? Is the magistrate commonly more careful of his own, than other men are of theirs? Will you say the magistrate is less exposed, in matters of religion, to prejudices, humours, and crafty seducers, than other men? If you cannot lay your hand upon your heart, and say all this, what then will be got by the change? And “why may not the care of every man’s soul be left to himself?” Especially if a man be in so much danger to miss the truth, “who is suffered quietly, and without the least molestation, either to take no care of his soul, if he be so pleased, or to follow his own prejudices,” &c. For if want of molestation be the dangerous state, wherein men are likeliest to miss the right way; it must be confessed, that, of all men, the magistrate is most in danger to be in the wrong, and so the unfittest, if you take the care of men’s souls from themselves, of all men to be intrusted with it. For he never meets with that great and only antidote of yours against errour, which you here call molestation. He never has the benefit of your sovereign remedy, punishment, to make him consider; which you think so necessary, that you look on it as a most dangerous state for men to be without it; and therefore tell us, “it is every man’s true interest not to be left wholly to himself in matters of religion.”

Thus, sir, I have gone through your whole treatise, and, as I think, have omitted nothing in it material. If I have, I doubt not but I shall hear of it. And now I refer it to yourself, as well as to the judgment of the world, whether the author of the letter, in saying no-body hath a right, or you, in saying the magistrate hath a right, to use force in matters of religion, has most reason. In the mean time, I leave this request with you: that if ever you write again, about “the means of bringing souls to salvation,” which certainly is the best design any one can employ his pen in, you would take care not to prejudice so good a cause, by ordering it so, as to make it look as if you writ for a party.

I am, Sir,

Your most humble servant,

Philanthropus.

May 27, 1690.

A THIRD LETTER FOR TOLERATION

TO THE AUTHOR OF THE THIRD LETTER CONCERNING TOLERATION.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I.

CHAPTER II. OF THE MAGISTRATE’S COMMISSION TO USE FORCE IN MATTERS OF RELIGION.

CHAPTER III. WHO ARE TO BE PUNISHED BY YOUR SCHEME.

CHAPTER IV. WHAT DEGREES OF PUNISHMENT.

CHAPTER V. HOW LONG YOUR PUNISHMENTS ARE TO CONTINUE.

CHAPTER VI. OF THE END FOR WHICH FORCE IS TO BE USED.

CHAPTER VII. OF YOUR BRINGING MEN TO THE TRUE RELIGION.

CHAPTER VIII. OF SALVATION TO BE PROCURED BY FORCE, YOUR WAY.

CHAPTER IX. OF THE USEFULNESS OF FORCE IN MATTERS OF RELIGION.

CHAPTER X. OF THE NECESSITY OF FORCE, IN MATTERS OF RELIGION.

CHAPTER I.

SIR,

The business which your Letter concerning Toleration found me engaged in, has taken up so much of the time my health would allow me ever since, that I doubt whether I should now at all have troubled you or the world with an answer, had not some of my friends, sufficiently satisfied of the weakness of your arguments, with repeated instances, persuaded me it might be of use to truth, in a point of so great moment, to clear it from those fallacies which might perhaps puzzle some unwary readers; and therefore prevailed on me to show the wrong grounds and mistaken reasonings you make use of to support your new way of persecution. Pardon me, sir, that I use that name, which you are so much offended at; for if punishment be punishment, though it come short of the discipline of fire and faggot, it is as certain that punishment for religion truly persecution, though it be only such punishment as you in your clemency think fit to call “moderate and convenient penalties.” But however you please to call them, I doubt not but to let you see, that if you will be true to your own principles, and stand to what you have said, you must carry your “some degrees of force,” as you phrase it, to all those degrees which in words you declare against.

You have indeed in this last letter of yours altered the question; for, , you tell me the question between us, is “whether the magistrate hath any right to use force to bring men to the true religion?” Whereas you yourself own the question to be, “whether the magistrate has a right to use force in matters of religion?” Whether this alteration be at all to the advantage of truth, or your cause, we shall see. But hence you take occasion all along to lay a load on me for charging you with the absurdities of a power in the magistrates to punish men, to bring them to their religion; whereas you here tell us they have a right to use force “only to bring men to the true.” But whether I were more to blame to suppose you to talk coherently and mean sense, or you in expressing yourself so doubtfully and uncertainly, where you were concerned to be plain and direct, I shall leave to our readers to judge; only here in the beginning, I shall endeavour to clear myself of that imputation, I so often meet with, of charging on you consequences you do not own, and arguing against an opinion that is not yours, in those places, where I show how little advantage it would be to truth, or the salvation of men’s souls, that all magistrates should have a right to use force to bring men to embrace their religion. This I shall do by proving, that if upon your grounds the magistrate, as you pretend, be obliged to use force to bring men to the true religion, it will necessarily follow that every magistrate, who believes his religion to be true, is obliged to use force to bring men to his.

You tell us, “that by the law of nature the magistrate is invested with coactive power, and obliged to use it for all the good purposes which it might serve, and for which it should be found needful, even for the restraining of false and corrupt religion: and that it is the magistrate’s duty, to which he is commissioned by the law of nature, but the scripture does not properly give it him.”

I suppose you will grant me, that any thing laid upon the magistrate as a duty, is some way or other practicable. Now the magistrate being obliged to use force in matters of religion, but yet so as to bring men only to the true religion, he will not be in any capacity to perform this part of his duty, unless the religion he is thus to promote be what he can certainly know, or else what it is sufficient for him to believe, to be the true: either his knowledge or his opinion must point out that religion to him, which he is by force to promote; or else he may promiscuously and indifferently promote any religion, and punish men at a venture, to bring them from that they are in, to any other. This last I think no-body has been so wild as to say.

If therefore it must be either his knowledge or his persuasion that must guide the magistrate herein, and keep him within the bounds of his duty; if the magistrates of the world cannot know, certainly know, the true religion to be the true religion, but it be of a nature to exercise their faith; (for where vision, knowledge, and certainty is, there faith is done away;) then that which gives them the last determination herein, must be their own belief, their own persuasion.

To you and me the christian religion is the true, and that is built, to mention no other articles of it, on this, that Jesus Christ was put to death at Jerusalem, and rose again from the dead. Now do you or I know this? I do not ask with what assurance we believe it, for that in the highest degree not being knowledge, is not what we now inquire after. Can any magistrate demonstrate to himself, and if he can to himself, he does ill not to do it to others, not only all the articles of his church, but the fundamental ones of the christian religion? For whatever is not capable of demonstration, as such remote matters of fact are not, is not, unless it be self-evident, capable to produce knowledge, how well grounded and great soever the assurance of faith may be wherewith it is received; but faith it is still, and not knowledge; persuasion, and not certainty. This is the highest the nature of the thing will permit us to go in matters of revealed religion, which are therefore called matters of faith: a persuasion of our own minds, short of knowledge, is the last result that determines us in such truths. It is all God requires in the gospel for men to be saved: and it would be strange if there were more required of the magistrate for the direction of another in the way to salvation, than is required of him for his own salvation. Knowledge then, properly so called, not being to be had of the truths necessary to salvation, the magistrate must be content with faith and persuasion for the rule of that truth he will recommend and enforce upon others; as well as of that whereon he will venture his own eternal condition. If therefore it be the magistrate’s duty to use force to bring men to the true religion, it can be only to that religion which he believes to be true: so that if force be at all to be used by the magistrate in matters of religion, it can only be for the promoting that religion which he only believes to be true, or none at all. I grant that a strong assurance of any truth settled upon prevalent and well-grounded arguments of probability, is often called knowledge in popular ways of talking: but being here to distinguish between knowledge and belief, to what degrees of confidence soever raised, their boundaries must be kept, and their names not confounded. I know not what greater pledge a man can give of a full persuasion of the truth of any thing, than his venturing his soul upon it, as he does, who sincerely embraces any religion, and receives it for true. But to what degree soever of assurance his faith may rise, it still comes short of knowledge. Nor can any one now, I think, arrive to greater evidence of the truth of the christian religion, than the first converts in the time of our Saviour and the apostles had; of whom yet nothing more was required but to believe.

But supposing all the truths of the christian religion necessary to salvation could be so known to the magistrate, that, in his use of force for the bringing men to embrace these, he could be guided by infallible certainty; yet I fear this would not serve your turn, nor authorise the magistrate to use force to bring men in England, or any-where else, into the communion of the national church, in which ceremonies of human institution were imposed, which could not be known, nor, being confessed things in their own nature indifferent, so much as thought necessary to salvation.

But of this I shall have occasion to speak in another place; all the use I make of it here, is to show, that the cross in baptism, kneeling at the sacrament, and suchlike things, being impossible to be known necessary to salvation, a certain knowledge of the truth of the articles of faith of any church could not authorise the magistrate to compel men to embrace the communion of that church, wherein any thing were made necessary to communion, which he did not know was necessary to salvation.

By what has been already said, I suppose it is evident, that if the magistrate be to use force only for promoting the true religion, he can have no other guide but his own persuasion of what is the true religion, and must be led by that in his use of force, or else not use it at all in matters of religion. If you take the latter of these consequences, you and I are agreed: if the former, you must allow all magistrates, of whatsoever religion, the use of force to bring men to theirs, and so be involved in all those ill consequences which you cannot it seems admit, and hoped to decline by your useless distinction of force to be used, not for any, but for the true religion.

“It is the duty,” you say, “of the magistrate to use force for promoting the true religion.” And in several places you tell us, he is obliged to it. Persuade magistrates in general of this, and then tell me how any magistrate shall be restrained from the use of force, for the promoting what he thinks to be the true? For he being persuaded that it is his duty to use force to promote the true religion, and being also persuaded his is the true religion, what shall stop his hand? Must he forbear the use of force till he be got beyond believing, into a certain knowledge that all he requires men to embrace, is necessary to salvation? If that be it you will stand to, you have my consent, and I think there will be no need of any other toleration. But if the believing his religion to be the true, be sufficient for the magistrate to use force for the promoting of it, will it be so only to the magistrates of the religion that you profess? And must all other magistrates sit still and not do their duty till they have your permission? If it be your magistrate’s duty to use force for the promoting the religion he believes to be the true, it will be every magistrate’s duty to use force for the promoting what he believes to be the true, and he sins if he does not receive and promote it as if it were true. If you will not take this upon my word, yet I desire you to do it upon the strong reason of a very judicious and reverend prelate [Dr. John Sharp, archbishop of York] of the present church of England. In a discourse concerning conscience, printed in quarto, 1687, , you will find these following words, and much more to this purpose: “Where a man is mistaken in his judgment, even in that case it is always a sin to act against it. Though we should take that for a duty which is really a sin, yet so long as we are thus persuaded, it will be highly criminal in us to act in contradiction to this persuasion: and the reason of this is evident, because by so doing we wilfully act against the best light which at present we have for direction of our actions. So that when all is done, the immediate guide of our actions can be nothing but our conscience, our judgment and persuasion. If a man for instance, should of a jew become a christian, whilst yet in his heart he believed that the Messiah is not yet come, and that our Lord Jesus was an impostor: or if a papist should renounce the communion of the Roman church, and join with ours, whilst yet he is persuaded that the Roman church is the only catholic church, and that our reformed churches are heretical or schismatical; though now there is none of us that will deny that the men in both these cases have made a good change, as having changed a false religion for a true one, yet for all that I dare say we should all agree they were both of them great villains for making that change; because they made it not upon honest principles, and in pursuance of their judgment, but in direct contradiction to both.” So that it being the magistrate’s duty to use force to bring men to the true religion, and he being persuaded his is the true, I suppose you will no longer question but that he is as much obliged to use force to bring men to it, as if it were the true; and then, Sir, I hope you have too much respect for magistrates, not to allow them to believe the religions to be true which they profess. — These things put together, I desire you to consider whether if magistrates are obliged to use force to bring men to the true religion, every magistrate is not obliged to use force to bring men to that religion he believes to be true?

This being so, I hope I have not argued so wholly beside the purpose, as you all through your letter accuse me, for charging on your doctrine all the ill consequences, all the prejudice it would be to the true religion, that magistrates should have power to use force to bring men to their religions; and I presume you will think yourself concerned to give to all these places in the first and second letter concerning toleration, which show the inconveniencies and absurdities of such an use of force, some other answer, than that “you are for punishing only such as reject the true religion. That it is plain the force you speak of is not force, my way applied, i. e. applied to the promoting the true religion only, but to the promoting all the national religions in the world.” And again, to my arguing that force your way applied, if it can propagate any religion, it is likelier to be the false than the true, because few of the magistrates of the world are in the right way; you reply, “this would have been to the purpose, if you” had asserted that every magistrate may use force “your” indirect way (or any way) to bring men to his “own religion, whatever that be. But if “you” asserted no such thing (as no man you think but an atheist will assert it), then this is quite beside the business.” This is the great strength of your answer, and your refuge almost in every page. So that I will presume it reasonable to expect that you should clearly and directly answer what I have here said, or else find some other answer than what you have done to the second letter concerning toleration; however acute you are, in your way, in several places, on this occasion, as , 12, for my answer to which I shall refer you to another place.

To my argument against force, from the magistrate’s being as liable to errour as the rest of mankind, you answer, That I “might have considered that this argument concerns none but those who assert that every magistrate has a right to use force to promote his own religion, whatever it be, which “you” think no man that has any religion will assert.” I suppose you may think now this answer will scarce serve, and you must assert either no magistrate to have right to promote his religion by force, or else be involved in the condemnation you pass on those who assert it of all magistrates. And here I think, as to the decision of the question betwixt us, I might leave this matter: but there being in your letter a great many other gross mistakes, wrong suppositions, and fallacious arguings, which in those general and plausible terms you have made use of in several places, as best served your turn, may possibly have imposed on yourself, as well as they are fitted to do so on others, and therefore will deserve to have some notice taken of them; I shall give myself the trouble of examining your letter a little farther.

To my saying “It is not for the magistrate, upon an imagination of its usefulness, to make use of any other means than what the author and finisher of our faith had directed;” you reply, “which, how true soever, is not, I think, very much to the purpose; for if the magistrate does only assist that ministry which our Lord has appointed, by using so much of his coactive power for the furthering their service, as common experience discovers to be useful and necessary for that end; there is no manner of ground to say, that, upon an imagination of its usefulness, he makes use of any other means for the salvation of men’s souls, than what the author and finisher of our faith has directed. It is true indeed the author and finisher of our faith has given the magistrate no new power or commission, nor was there any need that he should, (if himself had had any temporal power to give:) for he found him already, even by the law of nature, the minister of God to the people for good, and bearing the sword not in vain, i. e. invested with coactive power, and obliged to use it for all the good purposes which it might serve, and for which it should be found needful; even for the restraining of false and corrupt religion; as Job long before (perhaps before any part of the scriptures were written) acknowledged, when he said, that the worshipping the sun or the moon was an iniquity to be punished by the judge. But though our Saviour has given the magistrates no new power, yet being king of kings, he expects and requires that they should submit themselves to his sceptre, and use the power which always belonged to them, for his service, and for the advancing his spiritual kingdom in the world. And even that charity which our great Master so earnestly recommends and so strictly requires of all his disciples, as it obliges all men to seek and promote the good of others, as well as their own, especially their spiritual and eternal good, by such means as their several places and relations enable them to use; so does it especially oblige the magistrate to do it as a magistrate, i. e. by that power which enables him to do it above the rate of other men.

“So far therefore is the christian magistrate, when he gives his helping hand to the furtherance of the gospel, by laying convenient penalties upon such as reject it, or any part of it, from using any other means for the salvation of men’s souls, than what the author and finisher of our faith has directed, that he does no more than his duty to God, to his Redeemer, and to his subjects, requires of him.”

The sum of your reply amounts to this, that by the law of nature the magistrate may make use of his coactive power where it is useful and necessary for the good of the people. If it be from the law of nature, it must be to all magistrates equally; and then I ask, whether this good they are to promote without any new power or commission from our Saviour, be what they think to be so, or what they certainly know to be so. If it be what they think to be so, then all magistrates may use force to bring men to their religion: and what good this is like to be to men, or of what use to the true religion, we have elsewhere considered. If it be only that good which they certainly know to be so, they will be very ill enabled to do what you require of them, which you here tell us is to assist that ministry which our Lord has appointed. Which of the magistrates of your time did you know to have so well studied the controversies about ordination and church government, to be so well versed in church-history and succession, that you can undertake that he certainly knew which was the ministry which our Lord had appointed, either that of Rome, or that of Sweden; whether the episcopacy in one part of this island, or the presbytery in another, were the ministry which our Lord had appointed? If you say, being firmly persuaded of it be sufficient to authorize the magistrate to use force; you, with the atheists, as you call them, who do so, give the people up in every country to the coactive force of the magistrate to be employed for the assisting the ministers of his religion; and king Lewis of good right comes in with his dragoons; for it is not much doubted that he as strongly believed his popish priests and jesuits to be the ministry which our Lord appointed, as either king Charles or king James the second believed that of the church of England to be so. And of what use such an exercise of the coactive power of all magistrates is to the people, or to the true religion, you are concerned to show. But it is, you know, but to tell me, I only trifle, and this is all answered.

What in other places you tell us, is to make men “hear, consider, study, embrace, and bring men to the true religion,” you here do very well to tell us is to assist the ministry; and to that, it is true, “common experience discovers the magistrate’s coactive force to be useful and necessary,” viz. to those who taking the reward, but not over-busying themselves in the care of souls, find it for their ease, that the magistrate’s coactive power should supply their want of pastoral care, and be made use of to bring those into an outward conformity to the national church, whom either for want of ability they cannot, or want of due and friendly application, joined with an exemplary life, they never so much as endeavoured to prevail on heartily to embrace it. That there may be such neglects in the best-constituted national church in the world, the complaints of a very knowing bishop of our church, [Dr. Gilbert Burnet, bishop of Salisbury,] in a late discourse of the pastoral care, is too plain an evidence.

Without so great an authority, I should scarce have ventured, though it lay just in my way, to have taken notice of what is so visible, that it is in every one’s mouth; for fear you should have told me again, “I made myself an occasion to show my good-will toward the clergy;” for you will not, I suppose, suspect that eminent prelate to have any ill-will to them.

If this were not so, that some were negligent, I imagine the preachers of the true religion, which lies, as you tell us, so obvious and exposed, as to be easily distinguished from the false, would need or desire no other assistance, from the magistrate’s coactive power, but what should be directed against the irregularity of men’s lives; their lusts being that alone, as you tell us, that makes force necessary to assist the true religion; which, were it not for our depraved nature, would by its light and reasonableness have the advantage against all false religions.

You tell us too, that the magistrate may impose creeds and ceremonies: indeed you say sound creeds, and decent ceremonies, but that helps not your cause; for who must be judge of that sound, and that decent? If the imposer, then those words signify nothing at all, but that the magistrate may impose those creeds and ceremonies which he thinks sound and decent, which is in effect such as he thinks fit. Indeed you telling us a little above, in the same page, that it is, “a vice not to worship God in ways prescribed by those to whom God has left the ordering of such matters;” you seem to make other judges of what is sound and decent, and the magistrate but the executor of their decrees, with the assistance of his coactive power. A pretty foundation to establish creeds and ceremonies on, that God has left the ordering of them to those who cannot order them! But still the same difficulty returns; for, after they have prescribed, must the magistrate judge them to be sound and decent, or must he impose them, though he judge them not sound or decent? If he must judge them so himself, we are but where we were: if he must impose them when prescribed, though he judge them not sound nor decent, it is a pretty sort of drudgery put on the magistrate. And how far is this short of implicit faith? But if he must not judge what is sound and decent, he must judge at least who are those to whom God has left the ordering of such matters; and then the king of France is ready again with his dragoons for the sound doctrine and decent ceremonies of his prescribers in the council of Trent; and that upon this ground, with as good right as any other as for the prescriptions of any others. Do not mistake me again, Sir; I do not say he judges as right; but I do say, that whilst he judges the council of Trent, or the clergy of Rome to be those to whom God has left the ordering of those matters, he has as much right to follow their decrees, as any other to follow the judgment of any other set of mortal men whom he believes to be so.

But whoever is to be judge of what is sound or decent in the case, I ask,

Of what use and necessity is it to impose creeds and ceremonies? For that use and necessity is all the commission you can find the magistrate hath to use his coactive power to impose them.

Of what use and necessity is it among christians that own the scripture to be the word of God and rule of faith to make and impose a creed? What commission for this hath the magistrate from the law of nature? God hath given a revelation that contains in it all things necessary to salvation, and of this his people are all persuaded. What necessity now is there? How does their good require it, that the magistrate should single out, as he thinks fit, any number of those truths as more necessary to salvation than the rest, if God himself has not done it?

But next, are these creeds in the words of the scripture or not? If they are, they are certainly sound, as containing nothing but truth in them: and so they were before, as they lay in the scripture. But thus though they contain nothing but sound truths, yet they may be imperfect, and so unsound rules of faith, since they may require more or less than God requires to be believed as necessary to salvation. For what greater necessity, I pray, is there that a man should believe that Christ suffered under Pontius Pilate, than that he was born at Bethlehem of Judah? Both are certainly true, and no christian doubts of either: but how comes one to be made an article of faith, and imposed by the magistrate as necessary to salvation, (for otherwise there can be no necessity of imposition) and the other not?

Do not mistake me here, as if I would lay by that summary of the christian religion, which is contained in that which is called the apostle’s creed; which though nobody, who examines the matter, will have reason to conclude of the apostles compiling, yet is certainly of reverend antiquity, and ought still to be preserved in the church. I mention it not to argue against it, but against your imposition; and to show that even that creed, though of that antiquity, though it contain in it all the credenda necessary to salvation, cannot yet upon your principles be imposed by the coercive power of the magistrate, who, even by the commission you have found out for him, can use his force for nothing but what is absolutely necessary to salvation.

But if the creed to be imposed be not in the words of divine revelation; then it is in plainer, more clear and intelligible expressions, or not: If no plainer, what necessity of changing those, which men inspired by the Holy Ghost made use of? If you say, they are plainer; then they explain and determine the sense of some obscure and dubious places of scripture; which explication not being of divine revelation, though sound to one man, may be unsound to another, and cannot be imposed as truths necessary to salvation. Besides that, this destroys what you tell us of the obviousness of all truths necessary to salvation.

And as to rites and ceremonies, are there any necessary to salvation, which Christ has not instituted? If not, how can the magistrate impose them? What commission has he, from the care he ought to have for the salvation of men’s souls, to use his coactive force for the establishment of any new ones which our Lord and Saviour, with due reverence be it spoken, had forgotten? He instituted two rites in his church; can any one add any new one to them? Christ commanded simply to baptize in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost; but the signing the cross, how came that necessary? “Human authority, which is necessary to assist the truth against the corruption of nature,” has made it so. But it is a “decent” ceremony. I ask, is it so decent that the administration of baptism, simply, as our Saviour instituted, would be indecent without it? If not, then there is no reason to impose it for decency’s sake; for there can be no reason to alter or add any thing to the institution of Christ, or introduce any ceremony or circumstance into religion for decency, where the action would be decent without it. The command to “do all things decently, and in order,” gave no authority to add to Christ’s institution any new ceremony; it only prescribed the manner how, what was necessary to be done in the congregation, should be there done, viz. after such a manner, that if it were omitted, there would appear some indecency, whereof the congregation or collective body was to be judge, for to them that rule was given: And if that rule go beyond what I have said, and gives power to men to introduce into religious worship whatever they shall think decent, and impose the use of it; I do not see how the greatest part of the infinite ceremonies of the church of Rome could be complained of, or refused, if introduced into another church, and there imposed by the magistrate. But if such a power were given to the magistrate, that whatever he thought a decent ceremony he might de novo impose, he would need some express commission from God in Scripture, since the commission you say he has from the law of nature, will never give him a power to institute new ceremonies in the christian religion, which, be they decent, or what they will, can never be necessary to salvation.

The gospel was to be preached in their assemblies; the rule then was, that the habit, gesture, voice, language, &c. of the preacher, for these were necessary circumstances of the action, should have nothing ridiculous or indecent in it. The praises of God were to be sung; it must be then in such postures and tunes as became the solemnity of that action. And so a convert was to be baptized; Christ instituted the essential part of that action, which was washing with water in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost: in which care was also to be had, that in the doing this nothing should be omitted that preserved a decency in all the circumstances of the action. But nobody will say, that, if the cross were omitted, upon that account there would be any thing indecent in baptism.

What is to be done in the assemblies of christians for the salvation of souls, is sufficiently prescribed in scripture: but since the circumstances of the actions were so various, and might in several countries and ages have different appearances, as that appears decent in one country which is quite contrary in another; concerning them there could be no other rule given than what is, viz. “decently, in order, and to edification;” and in avoiding indecencies, and not adding any new ceremonies, how decent soever, this rule consists.

I judge no man in the use of the cross in baptism. The imposition of that, or any other ceremony not instituted by Christ himself, is what I argue against, and say, is more than you upon your principles can make good.

Common sense has satisfied all mankind, that it is above their reach to determine what things, in their own nature indifferent, were fit to be made use of in religion, and would be acceptable to the superiour beings in their worship, and therefore they have every-where thought it necessary to derive that knowledge from the immediate will and dictates of the gods themselves, and have taught that their forms of religion and outward modes of worship were founded upon revelation: nobody daring to do so absurd and insolent a thing, as to take upon him to presume with himself, or to prescribe to others by his own authority, which should in these indifferent and mean things be worthy of the Deity, and make an acceptable part of his worship. Indeed they all agreed in the duties of natural religion, and we find them by common consent owning that piety and virtue, clean hands, and a pure heart not polluted with the breaches of the law of nature, was the best worship of the gods. Reason discovered to them that a good life was the most acceptable thing to the Deity; this the common light of nature put past doubt. But for their ceremonies and outward performances, for them they appeal always to a rule received from the immediate direction of the superiour powers themselves, where they made use of, and had need of revelation. A plain confession of mankind that in these things we have neither knowledge to discern, nor authority to prescribe: that men cannot by their own skill find out what is fit, or by their own power make any thing worthy to be a part of religious worship. It is not for them to invent or impose ceremonies that shall recommend men to the Deity. It was so obvious and visible, that it became men to have leave from God himself, before they dared to offer to the divine majesty any of these trifling, mean, and to him useless things, as a grateful and valuable part of his worship; that no-body any-where, amongst the various and strange religions they led men into, bid such open defiance to common sense, and the reason of all mankind, as to presume to do it without vouching the appointment of God himself. Plato, who of all the heathens seems to have had the most serious thoughts about religion, says that the magistrate, or whoever has any sense, will never introduce of his own head any new rites into his religion: for which he gives this convincing reason: “for,” says he, “he must know it is impossible for human nature to know any thing certainly concerning these matters.” Epinom. post medium. It cannot therefore but be matter of astonishment, that any who call themselves christians, who have so sure, and so full a revelation, which declares all the counsel of God concerning the way of attaining eternal salvation; should dare by their own authority to add any thing to what is therein prescribed, and impose it on others as a necessary part of religious worship, without the observance of which human inventions, men shall not be permitted the public worship of God. If those rites and ceremonies prescribed to the jews by God himself, and delivered at the same time and by the same hand to the jews that the moral law was; were called beggarly elements under the gospel, and laid by as useless and burthensome; what shall we call those rites which have no other foundation, but the will and authority of men, and of men very often, who have not much thought of the purity of religion, and practised it less?

Because you think your argument for the magistrate’s right to use force has not had its due consideration, I shall here set it down in your own words, as it stands, and endeavour to give you satisfaction to it. You say there, “If such a degree of outward force as has been mentioned, be of great and even necessary use, for the advancing those ends, (as taking the world as we find it, I think it appears to be) then it must be acknowledged that there is a right somewhere to use it for the advancing those ends, unless we will say (what without impiety cannot be said) that the wise and benign disposer and governor of all things has not furnished mankind with competent means for the promoting his own honour in the world, and the good of souls. And if there be such a right somewhere, where should it be, but where the power of compelling resides? That is principally, and in reference to the public, in the civil sovereign.” Which words, if they have any argument in them, it in short stands thus: Force is useful and necessary: The good and wise God, who without impiety cannot be supposed not to have furnished men with competent means for their salvation, has therefore given a right to some men to use it, and those men are the civil sovereigns.

To make this argument of any use to your purpose, you must speak a little more distinctly, for here you, according to your laudable and safe way of writing, are wrapped up in the uncertainty of general terms, and must tell us, besides the end for which it is useful and necessary, to whom it is useful and necessary. Is it useful and necessary to all men? That you will not say, for many are brought to embrace the true religion by bare preaching without any force. Is it then necessary to all those, and those only, who, as you tell us, “reject the true religion tendered with sufficient evidence, or at least so far manifested to them, as to oblige them to receive it, and to leave them without excuse if they do not?” To all therefore, who rejecting the true religion so tendered, are without excuse, your moderate force is useful and necessary. But is it to all those competent, i. e. sufficient means? That, it is evident in matter of fact, it is not; for, after all, many stand out. It is like, you will say, which is all you have to say, that those are such, to whom, having resisted this last means, moderate force, God always refuseth his grace to, without which no means is efficacious. So that you are competent, at last, are only such means as are the utmost that God has appointed, and will have used, and which when men resist, they are without excuse, and shall never after have the assistance of his grace to bring them to that truth they have resisted, and so be as the apostle, 2 Tim. iii. 8. calls such, “men of corrupt minds, reprobate concerning the faith.” If then it shall be, that the day of grace shall be over to all those who reject the truth manifested to them, with such evidence, as leaves them without excuse, and that bare preaching and exhortation shall be according to the good pleasure of the benign disposer of all things enough, when neglected, “to make their hearts fat, their ears heavy, and shut their eyes that they should not perceive nor understand, nor be converted that God should heal them:” I say, if this should be the case, then your force, whatever you imagine of it, will neither be competent, useful, nor necessary. So that it will rest upon you to prove that your moderate degrees of force are those means of grace which God will have, as necessary to salvation, tried upon every one before he will pass that sentence in Isaiah, “Make his heart fat, &c.” and that your degree of moderate force is that beyond which God will have no other or more powerful means used, but that those whom that works not upon, shall be left reprobate concerning the faith. And till you have proved this, you will in vain pretend your moderate force, whatever you might think of it, if you had the ordering of that matter in the place of God, to be useful, necessary, and competent means. For if preaching, exhortation, instruction, &c. as seems by the whole current of the scripture (and it appears not that Isaiah in the place above-cited made their hearts fat with any thing but his words) be that means, which when rejected to such a degree, as he sees fit, God will punish with a reprobate mind, and that there be no other means of grace to come after; you must confess, that whatever good opinion you have of your moderate force after this sentence is passed, it can do no good, have no efficacy, neither directly or indirectly and at a distance, towards the bringing men to the truth.

If your moderate force be not that precise utmost means of grace, which when ineffectual, God will not afford his grace to any other, then your moderate force is not the competent means you talk of. This therefore you must prove, that preaching alone is not, but that your moderate force joined to it, is that means of grace, which when neglected or resisted, God will assist no other means with his grace to bring men into the obedience of the truth; and this, let me tell you, you must prove by revelation. For it is impossible to know, but by revelation, the just measures of God’s long-suffering, and what those means are, which when men’s corruptions have rendered ineffectual, his spirit shall no longer strive with them, nor his grace assist any other means for their conversion or salvation. When you have done this, there will be some ground for you to talk of your moderate force, as the means which God’s wisdom and goodness are engaged to furnish men with; but to speak of it as you do now, as if it were that both necessary and competent means, that it would be an imputation to the wisdom and goodness of God, if men were not furnished with it, when it is evident, that that greatest part of mankind have always been destitute of it; will I fear be not easily cleared from that impiety you mention; for though the magistrate had the right to use it, yet wherever that moderate force was not made use of, there men were not furnished with your competent means of salvation.

It is necessary for the vindication of God’s justice and goodness, that those who miscarry should do so by their own fault, that their destruction should be from themselves, and they be left inexcusable: But pray how will you show us, that it is necessary, that any who have resisted the truth tendered to them only by preaching, should be saved, any more than it is necessary that those who have resisted the truth when moderate force has been joined to the same preaching, should be saved? They are inexcusable one as well as the other, and thereby have incurred the wrath of God, under which he may justly leave the one as well as the other; and therefore he cannot be said not to have been furnished with competent means of salvation, who having rejected the truth preached to him, has never any penalties laid on him by the magistrate to make him consider the truths he before rejected.

All the stress of your hypothesis for the necessity of force, lies on this, That the majority of mankind are not prevailed on by preaching, and therefore the goodness and wisdom of God are obliged to furnish them some more effectual means, as you think. But who told you that the majority of mankind should ever be brought into the strait way and narrow gate? Or that force in your moderate degree was the necessary and competent, i. e. the just fit means to do it, neither over nor under, but that that only, and nothing but that could do it? If to vindicate his wisdom and goodness God must furnish mankind with other means, as long as the majority, yet unwrought upon, shall give any forward demander occasion to ask, “What other means is there left?” He must also, after your moderate penalties have left the greater part of mankind unprevailed on, be bound to furnish mankind with higher degrees of force upon this man’s demand: and those degrees of force proving ineffectual to the majority to make them truly and sincerely christians; God must be bound to furnish the world again with a new supply of miracles upon the demand of another wise controller, who having set his heart upon miracles, as you have yours on force, will demand, what other means is there left but miracles? For it is like this last gentleman would take it very much amiss of you, if you should not allow this to be a good and unquestionable way of arguing; or if you should deny that, after the utmost force had been used, miracles might not do some service at least, indirectly and at a distance, towards the bringing men to embrace the truth. And if you cannot prove that miracles may not thus do some service, he will conclude just as you do, that the cause is his.

Let us try your method a little farther. Suppose that when neither the gentlest admonitions, nor the most earnest entreaties will prevail, something else is to be done as the only means left. What is it must be done? What is this necessary competent means that you tell us of? “It is to lay briars and thorns in their way.” This therefore being supposed necessary, you say, “there must somewhere be a right to use it.” Let it be so. Suppose I tell you that right is in God, who certainly has a power to lay briars and thorns in the way of those who are got into a wrong one, whenever he has graciously pleased that other means besides instructions and admonitions should be used to reduce them. And we may as well expect that those thorns and briars laid in their way by God’s providence, without telling them for what end, should work upon them as effectually, though indirectly and at a distance, as those laid in their way by the magistrate, without telling them for what end. God alone knows where it is necessary, and on whom it will be useful, which no man being capable of knowing, no man, though he has coercive power in his hand, can be supposed to be authorized to use it by the commission he has to do good, on whomsoever you shall judge it to be of great and even necessary use: no more than your judging it to be of great and even necessary use would authorize any one, who had got one of the incision-knives of the hospital in his hand, to cut those for the stone with it, whom he could not know needed cutting, or that cutting would do them any good, when the master of the hospital had given him no express order to use his incision-knife in that operation; nor was it known to any but the master, who needed, and on whom it would be useful; nor would he fail to use it himself wherever he found it necessary.

Be force of as great and necessary use as you please; let it be so the competent means for the promoting the honour of God in the world, and the good of souls, that the right to use it must necessarily be somewhere. This right cannot possibly be, where you would have it, in the civil sovereigns, and that for the very reason you give, viz. because it must be where the power of compelling resides. For since civil sovereigns cannot compel themselves, nor can the compelling power of one civil sovereign reach another civil sovereign; it will not in the hands of the civil sovereigns reach the most considerable part of mankind, and those who, both for their own and their subjects good, have most need of it. Besides, if it go along with the power of compelling, it must be in the hands of all civil sovereigns alike; which, by this, as well as several other reasons I have given, being unavoidable to be so, this right will be so far from useful, that whatever efficacy force has, it will be employed to the doing more harm than good; since the greatest part of civil sovereigns being of false religions, force will be employed for the promoting of those.

But let us grant what you can never prove, that though all civil sovereigns have compelling power, yet only those of the true religion have a right to use force in matters of religion: your own argument of mankind being unfurnished, which is impiety to say, with competent means for the promoting the honour of God, and the good of souls, still presses you. For the compelling power of each civil sovereign not reaching beyond his own dominions, the right of using force in the hands only of the orthodox civil sovereigns, leaves the rest, which is the far greater part of the world, destitute of this your necessary and competent means for promoting the honour of God in the world, and the good of souls.

Sir, I return you my thanks for having given me this occasion to take a review of your argument, which you told me I had mistaken; which I hope I now have not, and have answered to your satisfaction.

I confess I mistook when I said that cutting, being judged useful, could not authorize even a skilful surgeon to cut a man without any farther commission: for it should have been thus: that though a man has the instruments in his hand, and force enough to cut with, and cutting be judged by you of great and even necessary use in the stone; yet this, without any farther commission, will not authorize any one to use his strength and knife in cutting, who knows not who has the stone, nor has any light or measures to judge to whom cutting may be necessary or useful.

But let us see what you say in answer to my instance: 1. “That the stone does not always kill, though it be not cured; but men do often live to a great age with it, and die at last of other distempers. But aversion to the true religion is certainly and inevitably mortal to the soul, if not cured, and so of absolute necessity to be cured.” Is it of absolute necessity to be cured in all? If so, will you not here again think it requisite that the wise and benign disposer and governor of all things should furnish competent means for what is of absolute necessity? For will it not be impiety to say, that God has so left mankind unfurnished of competent, i. e. sufficient means for what is absolutely necessary? For it is plain, in your account, men have not been furnished with sufficient means for what is of absolute necessity to be cured in all, if in any of them it be left uncured. For as you allow none to be sufficient evidence, but what certainly gains assent; so by the same rule you cannot call that sufficient means, which does not work the cure. It is in vain to say, the means were sufficient, had it not been for their own fault, when that fault of theirs is the very thing to be cured. You go on: “and yet if we should suppose the stone as certainly destructive of this temporal life, as that aversion is of men’s eternal salvation: even so the necessity of curing it would be as much less than the necessity of curing that aversion, as this temporal life falls short in value of that which is eternal.” This is built upon a supposition, that the necessity of the means is increased by the value of the end, which being in this case the salvation of men’s souls, that is of infinite concernment to them, you conclude salvation absolutely necessary: which makes you say that aversion, &c. being inevitably mortal to the soul, is of absolute necessity to be cured. Nothing is of absolute necessity but God: whatsoever else can be said to be of necessity, is so only relatively in respect to something else; and therefore nothing can indefinitely thus be said to be of absolute necessity, where the thing it relates to is not absolutely necessary. We may say, wisdom and power in God are absolutely necessary, because God himself is absolutely necessary; but we cannot crudely say, the curing in men their aversion to the true religion, is absolutely necessary, because it is not absolutely necessary that men should be saved. But this is very proper and true to be said, that curing this aversion is absolutely necessary in all that shall be saved. But I fear that would not serve your turn, though it be certain, that your absolute necessity in this case reaches no farther than this, that to be cured of this aversion is absolutely necessary to salvation, and salvation is absolutely necessary to happiness; but neither of them, nor the happiness itself of any man, can be said to be absolutely necessary.

This mistake makes you say, that supposing “the stone certainly destructive of this temporal life, yet the necessity of curing it would be as much less than the necessity of curing that aversion, as this temporal life falls short in value of that which is eternal.” Which is quite otherwise: for if the stone will certainly kill a man without cutting, it is as absolutely necessary to cut a man for the stone for the saving of his life, as it is to cure the aversion for the saving of his soul. Nay, if you have but eggs to fry, fire is as absolutely necessary as either of the other, though the value of the end be in these cases infinitely different; for in one of them you lose only your dinner, in the other your life, and in the other your soul. But yet, in these cases, fire, cutting, and curing that aversion, are each of them absolutely and equally necessary to their respective ends, because those ends cannot be attained without them.

You say farther, “Cutting for the stone is not always necessary in order to the cure: but the penalties you speak of are altogether necessary (without extraordinary grace) to cure that pernicious and otherwise untractable aversion.” Let it be so; but do the surgeons know who has this stone, this aversion, so that it will certainly destroy him, unless he be cut? Will you undertake to tell when the aversion is such in any man, that it is incurable by preaching, exhortation, and intreaty, if his spiritual physician will be instant with him in season, and out of season; but certainly curable, if moderate force be made use of? Till you are sure of the former of these, you can never say your moderate force is necessary: Till you are sure of the latter, you can never say, it is competent means. What you will determine concerning extraordinary grace, and when God bestows that, I leave you to consider, and speak clearly of it at your leisure.

You add, that even where “cutting for the stone is necessary, it is withal hazardous by my confession. But your penalties can no way endanger or hurt the soul, but by the fault of him that undergoes them.” If the magistrate use force to bring men to the true religion, he must judge which is the true religion; and he can judge no other to be it but that which he believes to be the true religion, which is his own religion. But for the magistrate to use force to bring men to his own religion, has so much danger in it to men’s souls, that by your own confession, none but an atheist will say that magistrates may use force to bring men to their own religion.

This I suppose is enough to make good all that I aimed at in my instance of cutting for the stone, which was, that though it were judged useful, and I add now necessary to cut men for the stone, yet that was not enough to authorize a surgeon to cut a man, but he must have, besides that general one of doing good, some more special commission; and that which I there mentioned, was the patient’s consent. But you tell me, “That though, as things now stand, no surgeon has any right to cut his calculous patient without his consent; yet if the magistrate should by a public law appoint and authorize a competent number of the most skilful in that art, to visit such as labour under that disease, and to cut those (whether they consent or not) whose lives they unanimously judge it impossible to save otherwise: you are apt to think I would find it hard to prove, that in so doing he exceeded the bounds of his power; and you are sure it would be as hard to prove that those artists would have no right in that case to cut such persons.” Show such a law from the great governor of the universe, and I shall yield that your surgeons shall go to work as fast as you please. But where is the public law? “Where is the competent number of magistrates skilful in the art, who must unanimously judge of the disease and its danger?” You can show nothing of all this, yet you are so liberal of this sort of cure, that one cannot take you for less than cutting Morecraft himself. But, sir, if there were a competent number of skilful and impartial men, who were to use the incision-knife on all in whom they found this stone of aversion to the true religion; what do you think, would they find no work in your hospital?

Aversion to the true religion, you say, is of absolute necessity to be cured: what I beseech you is that true religion? that of the church of England? For that you own to be the only true religion; and whatever you say, you cannot upon your principles name any other national religion in the world, that you will own to be the true. It being then of absolute necessity that men’s aversion to the national religion of England should be cured: has all mankind in whom it has been absolutely necessary to be cured, been furnished with competent and necessary means for the cure of this aversion?

In the next place, what is your necessary and sufficient means for this cure that is of absolute necessity? and that is moderate penalties made use of by the magistrate, where the national is the true religion, and sufficient means are provided for all men’s instruction in the true religion. And here again I ask, have all men to whom this cure is of absolute necessity, been furnished with this necessary means?

Thirdly, How is your necessary remedy to be applied? And that is in a way wherein it cannot work the cure, though we should suppose the true religion the national every-where, and all the magistrates in the world zealous for it. To this true religion say you men have a natural and great aversion of absolute necessity to be cured, and the only cure for it is force your way applied, i. e. penalties must be laid upon all that dissent from the national religion, till they conform. Why are men averse to the true? Because it crosses the profits and pleasures of this life; and for the same reason they have an aversion to penalties: these therefore, if they be opposed one to another, and penalties be so laid that men must quit their lusts, and heartily embrace the true religion, or else endure the penalties, there may be some efficacy in force towards bringing men to the true religion: but if there be no opposition between an outward profession of the true religion and men’s lusts; penalties laid on men till they outwardly conform, are not a remedy laid to the disease. Punishments so applied have no opposition to men’s lusts, nor from thence can be expected any cure. Men must be driven from their aversion to the true religion by penalties they have a greater aversion to. This is all the operation of force. But if by getting into the communion of the national church they can avoid the penalties, and yet retain their natural corruption and aversion to the true religion, what remedy is there to the disease by penalties so applied. You would, you say, have men made uneasy. This no doubt will work on men, and make them endeavour to get out of this uneasy state as soon as they can. But it will always be by that way wherein they can be most easy; for it is the uneasiness alone they fly from, and therefore they will not exchange one uneasiness for another; not for a greater, nor an equal, nor any at all, if they can help it. If therefore it be so uneasy for men to mortify their lusts, as you tell us, which the true religion requires of them, if they embrace it in earnest: but which outward conformity to the true religion, or any national church, does not require; what need or use is there of force applied so, that it meets not at all with men’s lusts, or aversion to the true religion, but leaves them the liberty of a quiet enjoyment of them, free from force and penalties in a legal and approved conformity? Is a man negligent of his soul, and will not be brought to consider? obstinate, and will not embrace the truth? is he careless, and will not be at the pains to examine matters of religion? corrupt, and will not part with his lusts, which are dearer to him than his first-born? It is but owning the national profession, and he may be so still: if he conform, the magistrate has done punishing, he is a son of the church, and need not consider any thing farther for fear of penalties; they are removed, and all is well. So that at last there neither being an absolute necessity that aversion to the true religion should in all men be cured; nor the magistrate being a competent judge who have this stone of aversion, or who have it to that degree as to need force to cure it, or in whom it is curable, were force a proper remedy, as it is not; nor having any commission to use it, notwithstanding what you have answered: it is still not only as, but more reasonable for the magistrate, upon pretence of its usefulness or necessity, to cut any one for the stone without his own consent, than to use force your way to cure him of aversion to the true religion.

To my question, in whose hands this right, we were a little above speaking of, was in Turkey, Persia, or China? you tell me, “you answer roundly and plainly, in the hands of the sovereign, to use convenient penalties for the promoting the true religion.” I will not trouble you here with a question you will meet with elsewhere, who in these countries must be judge of the true religion? But I will ask, whether you or any wise man would have put a right of using force into a mahommedan or pagan prince’s hand, for the promoting of christianity? Which of my pagans or mahommedans would have done otherwise?

But God, you say, has done it, and you make it good by telling me in the following words, “If this startle me, then you must tell me farther, that you look upon the supreme power to be the same all the world over, in what hands soever it is placed, and this right to be contained in it: and if those that have it do not use it as they ought, but instead of promoting true religion by proper penalties set themselves to inforce mahommedism or paganism, or any other false religion: all that can, or that needs be said to the matter, is, that God will one day call them to an account for the neglect of their duty, for the dishonour they do to him, and for the souls that perish by their fault.” Your taking this right to be a part of the supreme power of all civil sovereigns, which is the thing in question, is not, as I take it, proving it to be so. But let us take it so for once, what then is your answer? “God will one day call those sovereigns to an account for the neglect of their duty.” The question is not, what God will do with the sovereigns who have neglected their duty; but how mankind is furnished with your competent means of promoting God’s honour in the world, and the good of souls in countries where the sovereign is of a wrong religion? For there, how clearly soever the right of using it be in the sovereign, yet as long as he uses not force to bring his subjects to the true religion, they are destitute of your competent means. For I imagine you do not make the right to use that force, but the actual application of it by penal laws, to be your useful and necessary means. For if you think the bare having that right be enough, if that be your sufficient means without the actual use of force, we readily allow it you. And, as I tell you elsewhere, I see not then what need you had of miracles “to supply the want of the magistrates assistance till christianity was supported and encouraged by the laws of the empire:” for, by your own rule, the magistrates of the world, during the three first centuries after the publishing the christian religion, had the same right, if that had been enough, that they have now in Turkey, Persia, or China. That this is all that can be said in this matter, I easily grant you; but that it is all that needs be said to make good your doctrine, I must beg your pardon.

In the same sentence wherein you tell me I should have added necessity to usefulness, I call it necessary usefulness, which I imagine is not much different. But that with the following words wherein my argument lay, had the ill luck to be overseen; but if you please to take my argument, as I have now again laid it before you, it will serve my turn.

In your next paragraph you tell me, that what is said by me is with the same ingenuity I have used in other places; my words in that place are these: “The author having endeavoured to show that nobody at all, of any rank or condition, had any power to punish, torment, or use any man ill for matters of religion: you tell us, you do not yet understand why clergymen are not as capable of such power as other men;” which words of mine containing in them nothing but true matter of fact, give you no reason to tax my ingenuity: nor will what you allege make it otherwise than such power; for if the power you there speak of were externally coactive power, is not that the same power the author was speaking of, made use of to those ends he mentions of tormenting and punishing? And do not you own that those who have that power, ought to punish those who offend in rejecting the true religion? As to the remaining part of that paragraph, I shall leave the reader to judge whether I sought any occasion so much as to name the clergy; or whether the itching of your fingers to be handling the rod guided not your pen to what was nothing to the purpose: for the author had not said any thing so much as tending to exclude the clergy from secular employments, but only, if you will take your own report of it, that no ecclesiastical officer, as such, has any externally coactive power, whereupon you cry out, that “you do not yet understand why ecclesiastics or clergymen are not as capable of such power as other men.” Had you stood to be constable of your parish, or of the hundred, you might have had cause to vindicate thus your capacity, if orders had been objected to you; or if your aim be at a justice of the peace, or lord chief justice of England, much more. However you must be allowed to be a man of forecast, in clearing the way to secular power, if you know yourself, or any of your friends desirous of it: otherwise I confess you have reason to be on this occasion a little out of humour, as you are, for bringing this matter in question so wholly out of season. Nor will, I fear, the ill-fitted excuse you bring, give yourself, or one who consults the places in both yours and the author’s letter, a much better opinion of it. However I cannot but thank you for your wonted ingenuity, in saying, that “it seems I wanted an occasion to show my good-will to the clergy, and so I made myself one.” And to find more work for the excellent gift you have this way, I desire you to read over that paragraph of mine again, and tell me, whether you can find any thing said in it not true? Any advice in it that you yourself would disown? any thing that any worthy clergyman that adorns his function is concerned in? And when you have set it down in my words, the world shall be judge, whether I have showed any ill-will to the clergy. Till then I may take the liberty to own, that I am more a friend to them and their calling, than those amongst them who show their forwardness to leave the word of God to serve other employments. The office of a minister of the gospel requires so the whole man, that the very looking after their poor was, by the joint voice of the twelve apostles, called “leaving the word of God, and serving of tables.” Acts iv. 2. But if you think no man’s faults can be spoken of without ill-will, you will make a very ill preacher: or if you think this to be so only in speaking of mistakes in any of the clergy, there must be in your opinion something peculiar in their case, that makes it so much a fault to mention any of theirs; which I must be pardoned for, since I was not aware of it: and there will want but a little cool reflection to convince you, that had not the present church of England a greater number in proportion, than possibly any other age of the church ever had, of those who by their pious lives and labours in their ministry adorn their profession; such busy men as cannot be content to be divines without being laymen too, would so little keep up the reputation which ought to distinguish the clergy, or preserve the esteem due to a holy, i. e. a separate order; that nobody can show greater good-will to them than by taking all occasions to put a stop to any forwardness to be meddling out of their calling. This, I suppose, made a learned prelate of our church, out of kindness to the clergy, mind them of their stipulation and duty in a late treatise, and tell them that “the pastoral care is to be a man’s entire business, and to possess both his thoughts and his time.” Disc. of Past. Care, .

To your saying, “That the magistrate may lay penalties upon those who refuse to embrace the doctrine of the proper ministers of religion, or are alienated from the truth:” I answered, “God never gave the magistrate an authority to be judge of truth for another man.” This you grant: but withal say, “That if the magistrate knows the truth, though he has no authority to judge of truth for another man; yet he may be judge whether other men be alienated from the truth or no; and so may have authority to lay some penalties upon those whom he sees to be so, to bring them to judge more sincerely for themselves.” For example, the doctrine of the proper ministers of religion is, that the three creeds, Nice, Athanasius’s, and that commonly called the Apostles Creed, ought to be thoroughly received and believed: as also that the Old and New Testament contain all things necessary to salvation. The one of these doctrines a papist subject embraces not; and a socinian the other. What now is the magistrate by your commission to do? He is to lay penalties upon them, and continue them: How long? Only till they conform, i. e. till they profess they embrace these doctrines for true. In which case he does not judge of the truth for other men: he only judges that other men are alienated from the truth. Do you not now admire your own subtilty and acuteness? I that cannot comprehend this, tell you my dull sense in the case. He that thinks another man in an error, judges him, as you phrase it, alienated from the truth, and then judges of truth and falsehood only for himself. But if he lays any penalty upon others, which they are to lie under till they embrace for a truth what he judges to be so, he is then so far a judge of truth for those others. This is what I think to judge of truth for another means: If you will tell me what else it signifies, I am ready to learn.

“You grant, you say, God never gave the magistrate any authority to be judge of truth for another man:” and then add, “But how does it follow from thence that he cannot be judge, whether any man be alienated from the truth or no?” And I ask you, who ever said any such thing did follow from thence? That which I say, and which you ought to disprove, is, that whoever punishes others for not being of the religion he judges to be true, judges of truth for others. But you prove that a man may be judge of truth, without having authority to judge of it for other men, or to prescribe to them what they shall believe, which you might have spared, till you meet with somebody that denies it. But yet your proof of it is worth remembering: “rectum, say you, est index sui et obliqui. And certainly whoever does but know the truth, may easily judge whether other men be alienated from it or no.” But though “rectum be index sui et obliqui;” yet a man may be ignorant of that which is the right, and may take error for truth. The truth of religion, when known, shows what contradicts it is false: but yet that truth may be unknown to the magistrate, as well as to any other man. But you conclude, I know not upon what ground, as if the magistrate could not miss it, or were surer to find it than other men. I suppose you are thus favourable only to the magistrate of your own profession, as no doubt in civility a papist or a presbyterian would be to those of his. And then infer: “And therefore if the magistrate knows the truth, though he has no authority to judge of truth for other men, yet he may judge whether other men be alienated from the truth or no.” Without doubt! who denies it him? It is a privilege that he and all men have, that when they know the truth, or believe the truth, or have embraced an errour for truth, they may judge whether other men are alienated from it or no, if those other men own their opinions in that matter.

You go on with your inference, “and so may have authority to lay some penalties upon those whom he sees to be so.” Now, sir, you go a little too fast. This he cannot do without making himself judge of truth for them: the magistrate, or any one, may judge as much as he pleases of men’s opinions and errours; he in that judges only for himself; but as soon as he uses force to bring them from their own to his opinion, he makes himself judge of truth for them; let it be to bring them to judge more sincerely for themselves, as you here call it, or under what pretence or colour soever, for that what you say is but a pretence, the very expression discovers. For does any one ever judge insincerely for himself, that he needs penalties to make him judge more sincerely for himself? A man may judge wrong for himself, and may be known or thought to do so: but who can either know or suppose another is not sincere in the judgment he makes for himself, or, which is the same thing, that any one knowingly puts a mixture of falsehood into the judgment he makes? for as speaking insincerely is to speak otherwise than one thinks, let what he says be true or false; so judging insincerely must be to judge otherwise than one thinks, which I imagine is not very feasible. But how improper soever it be to talk of judging insincerely for one’s self, it was better for you in that place to say, penalties were to bring men to judge more sincerely, rather than to say, more rightly, or more truly: for had you said, the magistrate might use penalties to bring men to judge more truly, that very word had plainly discovered, that he made himself a judge of truth for them. You therefore wisely chose to say what might best cover this contradiction to yourself, whether it were sense or no; which perhaps whilst it sounded well, every one would not stand to examine.

One thing give me leave here to observe to you, which is, that when you speak of the entertainment subjects are to give to truth, i. e. the true religion, you call it believing; but this in the magistrate you call knowing. Now let me ask you whether any magistrate, who laid penalties on any who dissented from what he judged the true religion, or, as you call it here, were alienated from the truth; was or could be determined in his judging of that truth by any assurance greater than believing? When you have resolved that, you will then see to what purpose is all you have said here concerning the magistrate’s knowing the truth; which at last amounting to no more than the assurance wherewith a man certainly believes and receives a thing for true, will put every magistrate under the same, if there be any obligation to use force, whilst he believes his own religion. Besides, if a magistrate knows his religion to be true, he is to use means not to make his people believe, but know it also; knowledge of them, if that be the way of entertaining the truths of religion, being as necessary to the subjects as the magistrate. I never heard yet of a master of mathematics, who had the care of informing of others in those truths, who ever went about to make any one believe one of Euclid’s propositions.

The pleasantness of your answer, notwithstanding what you say, doth remain still the same: for you making, as is to be seen, “the power of the magistrate ordained for the bringing men to take such care as they ought of their salvation;” the reason why it is every man’s interest to vest this power in the magistrate, must suppose this power so ordained, before the people vested it; or else it could not be an argument for their vesting it in the magistrate. For if you had not here built upon your fundamental supposition, that this power of the magistrate is ordained by God to that end, the proper and intelligible way of expressing your meaning had not been to say as you do: “As the power of the magistrate is ordained for bringing, &c. so if we suppose this power vested in the magistrate by the people:” in which way of speaking this power of the magistrate is evidently supposed already ordained. But a clear way of making your meaning understood had been to say, That for the people to ordain such a power of the magistrate, or to vest such a power in the magistrate, which is the same thing, was their true interest: but whether it were your meaning, or your expression that was guilty of the absurdity, I shall leave it with the reader.

As to the other pleasant thing of your answer, it will still appear by barely reciting it: the pleasant thing I charge on you is, that you say, That “the power of the magistrate is to bring men to such a care of their salvation, that they may not blindly leave it to the choice of any person, or their own lusts or passions, to prescribe to them what faith or worship they shall embrace;” and yet that it is their best course “to vest a power in the magistrate,” liable to the same lusts and passions as themselves, to choose for them. To this you answer, by asking, where it is that you say that it is the people’s best course to vest a power in the magistrate to choose for them? That you tell me I do not pretend to show. If you had given yourself the pains to have gone on to the end of the paragraph, or will be pleased to read it as I have here again set it down for your perusal, you will find that I at least pretended to show it; my words are these: “If they vest a power in the magistrate to punish them when they dissent from his religion, to bring them to act even against their own inclination, according to reason and sound judgment,” which is, as you explain yourself in another place, “to bring them to consider reasons and arguments proper and sufficient to convince them; how far is this from leaving it to the choice of another man to prescribe to them, what faith or worship they shall embrace?” Thus far you cite my words, to which let me join the remaining part of the paragraph, to let you see that I pretended to show that the course you proposed to the people as best for them, was to vest a power in the magistrate to choose for them. My words which follow those where you left off, are these: “Especially if we consider, that you think it a strange thing, that the author would have the care of every man’s soul left to himself alone. So that this care being vested in the magistrate, with a power to punish men to make them consider reasons and arguments proper and sufficient to convince them of the truth of his religion; the choice is evidently in the magistrate, as much as it can be in the power of one man to choose for another what religion he shall be of; which consists only in a power of compelling him by punishments to embrace it.” But all this you tell me “is just nothing to the purpose:” Why, I beseech you? “Because you speak not of the magistrate’s religion, but of the true religion, and that proposed with sufficient evidence.”

The case in short is this: men are apt to be misled by their passions, lusts, and other men, in the choice of their religion. For this great evil you propose a remedy, which is, that men (for you must remember you are here speaking of the people putting this power into the magistrate’s hand) should choose some of their fellow-men, and give them a power by force to guard them, that they might not be alienated from the truth by their own passions, lusts, or by other men. So it was in the first scheme; or, as you have it now, to punish them, whenever they rejected the true religion, and that proposed with sufficient evidence of the truth of it. A pretty remedy, and manifestly effectual at first sight; that because men were all promiscuously apt to be misled in their judgment, or choice of their religion, by passion, lust, and other men, therefore they should choose some amongst themselves, who might, they and their successors, men made just like themselves, punish them that rejected the true religion.

“If the blind lead the blind, both shall fall into the ditch,” says our Saviour. If men apt to be misled by their passions and lusts, will guard themselves from falling into errour, by punishments laid on them, by men as apt to be misled by passions and lusts as themselves, how are they safer from falling into errour? Now hear the infallible remedy for this inconvenience, and admire: the men to whom they have given this power, must not use it, till they find those who gave it them in an errour. A friend, to whom I showed this expedient, answered, This is none: For why is not a man as fit to judge for himself when he is in an errour, as another to judge for him, who is as liable to errour himself? I answered, This power however in the other can do him no harm, but may indirectly and at a distance do him good; because the magistrate who has this power to punish him, must never use it but when he is in the right, and he that is punished is in the wrong. But, said my friend, who shall be judge whether he be in the right or no? For men in an errour think themselves in the right, and that as confidently as those who are most so. To which I replied, Nobody must be judge; but the magistrate may know when he is in the right. And so may the subject too, said my friend, as well as the magistrate, and therefore it was as good still to be free from a punishment that gives a man no more security from errour than he had without it. Besides, said he, who must be judge whether the magistrate knows or no? For he may mistake, and think it to be knowledge and certainty, when it is but opinion and belief. It is no matter, for that in this scheme, replied I, the magistrate, we are told, may know which is the true religion, and he must not use force but to bring men to the true religion; and if he does, God will one day call him to an account for it, and so all is safe. As safe as beating the air can make a thing, replied my friend, for if believing, being assured, confidently being persuaded that they know that the religion they profess is true, or any thing else short of true knowledge, will serve the turn, all magistrates will have this power alike, and so men will be well guarded, or recovered from false religions, by putting it into the magistrate’s hand to punish them when they have alienated themselves from it.

If the magistrate be not to punish men but when he knows, i. e. is infallibly certain, (for so is a man in what he knows,) that his national religion is all true, and knows also, that it has been proposed to those he punishes with sufficient evidence of the truth of it: it would have been as good this power had never been given him, since he will never be in a condition to exercise it; and at best it was given him to no purpose, since those who gave it him were one with another as little indisposed to consider impartially, examine diligently, study, find, and infallibly know the truth, as he. But, said he at parting, to talk thus of the magistrate’s punishing men that reject the true religion, without telling us who those magistrates are, who have a power to judge which is the true religion, is to put this power in all magistrates hands alike, or none; for to say he only is to be judge which is the true religion, who is of it, is but to begin the round of inquiries again, which can at last end nowhere but in every one’s supposing his own to be it. But, said he, if you will continue to talk on thus, there is nothing more to be done with you, but to pity or laugh at you; and so he left me.

I assure you, Sir, I urged this part of your hypothesis, with all the advantage I thought your answer afforded me; and if I have erred in it, or there be any way to get out of the strait, (if force must in your way be used,) either of the magistrate’s punishing men for rejecting the true religion, without judging which is the true religion; or else that the magistrate should judge which is the true religion; which way ever of the too you shall determine it, I see not what advantage it can be to the people, to keep them from choosing amiss, that this power of punishing them shall be put into the magistrate’s hands.

And then, if the magistrate must judge which is the true religion; as how he should, without judging, punish any one who rejects it, is hard to find; and punish men who reject it until they embrace it, let it be to make them consider, or what you please, he does, I think, choose their religion for them. And if you have not the dexterity to choose the national religion wherever you are, I doubt not but that you would think so too if you were in France, though there were none but moderate penalties laid on you to bring you even against your own inclination to act according to what they there call reason and sound judgment.

That paragraph and mine to which it is an answer run thus:

L. II. P. 427. —

“I do neither you nor the magistrate injury when I say that the power you give the magistrate of punishing men, to make them consider reasons and arguments proper and sufficient to convince them, is to convince them of the truth of his religion, and to bring them to it. For men will never, in his opinion, act according to reason and sound judgment, which is the thing you here say men should be brought to by the magistrate, even against their own inclination, till they embrace his religion. And if you have the brow of an honest man, you will not say the magistrate will ever punish you, to bring you to consider any other reasons and arguments, but such as are proper to convince you of the truth of his religion, and to bring you to that. Thus you shift forwards and backwards. You say, the magistrate has no power to punish men to compel them to his religion; but only to compel them to consider reasons and arguments proper to convince them of the truth of his religion; which is all one as to say, nobody has power to choose your way for you to Jerusalem; but yet the lord of the manor has power to punish you, to bring you to consider reasons and arguments proper and sufficient to convince you. Of what? that the way he goes in, is the right, and so to make you join in company, and go along with him. So that, in effect, what is all your going about, but to come at last to the same place again; and put a power into the magistrate’s hands, under another pretence, to compel men to his religion? which use of force the author has sufficiently overthrown, and you yourself have quitted. But I am tired to follow you so often round the same circle.”

L. III. P. 67.

“But it seems you have not done with this yet: For you say,” you do neither me nor the magistrate injury, when you say that the power I give the magistrate, of punishing men to make them consider reasons and arguments proper and sufficient to convince them, is to convince them of the truth of his religion, whatever that be, and to bring them to it. “Which seems a little strange and pleasant too But thus you prove it:” For men will never, in his opinion, act according to reason and sound judgment, till they embrace his religion. And if you have the brow of an honest man, you will not say the magistrate will ever punish you, to bring you to consider any other reasons and arguments but such as are proper to convince you of the truth of his religion, and to bring you to that. Which (besides the pleasant talk of such reasons and arguments as are proper and sufficient to convince men of the truth of the magistrate’s religion, “though it be a false one) is just as much as to say, It is so, because in the magistrate’s opinion it is so; and because it is not to be expected that he will act against his opinion. As if the magistrate’s opinion could change the nature of things, and turn a power to promote the true religion into a power to promote a false one. No, Sir, the magistrate’s opinion has no such virtue. It may indeed keep him from exercising the power he has to promote the true religion; and it may lead him to abuse the pretence of it to the promoting a false one: but it can neither destroy that power nor make it any thing but what it is. And therefore, whatever the magistrate’s opinion be, his power was given him (as the apostles power was to them) for edification only, not for destruction: And it may always be said of him, (what St. Paul said of himself) that he can do nothing against the truth, but for the truth. And therefore if the magistrate punishes me to bring me to a false religion; it is not his opinion that will excuse him, when he comes to answer for it to his judge. For certainly men are as accountable for their opinions (those of them, I mean, which influence their practice) as they are for their actions.”

“Here is therefore no shifting forwards and backwards, as you pretend; nor any circle, but in your own imagination. For though it be true that I say,” the magistrate has no power to punish men, to compel them to his religion, “yet I nowhere say, nor will it follow from any thing I do say,” That he has power to compel them to consider reasons and arguments proper to convince them of the truth of his religion. “But I do not much wonder that you endeavour to put this upon me. For I think by this time it is pretty plain, that otherwise you would have but little to say; and it is an art very much in use amongst some sort of learned men, when they cannot confute what an adversary does say, to make him say what he does not; that they may have something which they can confute.”

The beginning of this answer is part of the old song of triumph: “What! reasons and arguments proper and sufficient to convince men of the truth of falsehood?” Yes, Sir, the magistrate may use force to make men consider those reasons and arguments, which he thinks proper and sufficient to convince men of the truth of his religion, though his religion be a false one. And this is as possible for him to do, as for a man as learned as yourself to write a book, and use such arguments, as he thinks proper and sufficient to convince men of the truth of his opinion, though it be a falsehood.

As to the remaining part of your answer, the question is not, whether the “magistrate’s opinion can change the nature of things, or the power he has, or excuse him to his judge for misusing of it?” But this, that since all magistrates, in your opinion, have commission, and are obliged to promote the true religion by force, and they can be guided in the discharge of this duty by nothing but their own opinion of the true religion, what advantage can this be to the true religion, what benefit to their subjects, or whether it amounts to any more than a commission to every magistrate to use force for the promoting his own religion? To this question therefore you will do well to apply your answer, which a man of less skill than you will be scarce able to do.

You tell us indeed, that “whatever the magistrate’s opinion be, his power was given him (as the apostles power was to them) for edification only, and not for destruction.” But if the apostles power had been given them for one end, and St. Paul, St. Peter, and nine other of the twelve had nothing to guide them but their own opinion, which led them to another end; I ask you whether the edification of the church could have been carried on as it was?

You tell us farther, that “it may always be said of the magistrate (what St. Paul said of himself) that he can do nothing against the truth, but for the truth.” Witness the king of France. If you say this in the same sense that St. Paul said it of himself, who, in all things requisite for edification, had the immediate direction and guidance of the unerring spirit of God, and so was infallible, we need not go to Rome for an infallible guide, every country has one in their magistrate. If you apply these words to the magistrate in another sense, than what St. Paul spoke them in of himself, sober men will be apt to think, you have a great care to insinuate into others a high veneration for the magistrate; but that you yourself have no over-great reverence for the scripture, which you thus use; nor for truth, which you thus defend.

To deny the magistrate to have a power to compel men to his religion; but yet to say the magistrate has a power, and is bound to punish men to make them consider, till they cease to reject the true religion; of which true religion he must be judge, or else nothing can be done in discharge of this his duty; is so like going round about to come to the same place, that it will always be a circle in mine and other people’s imagination, and not only there, but in your hypothesis.

All that you say turns upon the truth or falsehood of this proposition: “That whoever punishes any one in matters of religion to make him consider, takes upon him to be judge for another what is right in matters of religion.” This you think plainly involves a contradiction; and so it would if these general terms had in your use of them their ordinary and usual meaning. But, Sir, be but pleased to take along with you, that whoever punishes any man your way in matters of religion, to make him consider, as you use the word consider, takes upon him to be judge for another what is right in matters of religion: and you will find it so far from a contradiction, that it is a plain truth. For your way of punishing is a peculiar way, and is this: that the magistrate, where the national religion is the true religion, should punish those who dissent from it, to make them consider as they ought, i. e. till they cease to reject, or, in other words, till they conform to it. If therefore he punishes none but those who dissent from, and punishes them till they conform to that which he judges the true religion, does he not take on him to judge for them what is the true religion?

It is true indeed what you say, there is no other reason to punish another to make him consider, but that he should judge for himself: and this will always hold true amongst those who, when they speak of considering, mean considering, and nothing else. But then these things will follow from thence; 1. That in inflicting of penalties to make men consider, the magistrate of a country, where the national religion is false, no more misapplies his power, than he whose religion is true; for one has as much right to punish the negligent to make them consider, study, and examine matters of religion, as the other. 2. If the magistrate punishes men in matters of religion, truly to make them consider, he will punish all that do not consider, whether conformists or non-conformists. 3. If the magistrate punishes in matters of religion to make men consider, it is, as you say, “to make men judge for themselves: for there is no use of considering, but in order to judging.” But then when a man has judged for himself, the penalties for not considering are to be taken off: for else your saying “that a man is punished to make him consider, that he may judge for himself,” is plain mockery. So that either you must reform your scheme, or allow this proposition to be true, viz. “Whoever punishes any man in matters of religion, to make him in your sense consider, takes upon him to judge for another what is right in matters of religion;” and with it the conclusion, viz. “Therefore whoever punishes any one in matters of religion, to make him consider, takes upon him to do what no man can do, and consequently misapplies his power of punishing, if he has that power. Which conclusion, you say, you should readily admit as sufficiently demonstrated, if the proposition before-mentioned were true.”

But further, if it could enter into the head of any law-maker but you to punish men for the omission of, or to make them perform any internal act of the mind, such as is consideration; whoever in matters of religion would lay an injunction on men to make them consider, could not do it without judging for them in matters of religion; unless they had no religion at all, and then they come not within our author’s toleration; which is a toleration only of men of different religions, or of different opinions in religion; for supposing you the magistrate with full power, and, as you imagined, right of punishing any one in matters of religion, how could you possibly punish any one to make him consider, without judging for him what is right in matters of religion? I will suppose myself brought before your worship, under what character you please, and then I desire to know what one or more questions you would ask me, upon my answer to which you could judge me fit to be punished to make me consider, without taking upon you to judge for me what is right in matters of religion? For I conclude from the fashion of my coat, or the colour of my eyes, you would not judge that I ought to be punished in matters of religion to make me consider. If you could, I should allow you not only as capable, but much more capable of coactive power than other men.

But since you could not judge me to need punishment in matters of religion, to make me consider, without knowing my thoughts concerning religion, we will suppose you, being of the church of England, would examine me in the catechism and liturgy of that church, which possibly I could neither say nor answer right to. It is like, upon this, you would judge me fit to be punished to make me consider. Wherein, it is evident, you judged for me, that the religion of the church of England was right; for without that judgment of yours you would not have punished me. We will suppose you to go yet further, and examine me concerning the gospel, and truth of the principles of the christian religion, and you will find me answer therein not to your liking: here again no doubt you will punish me to make me consider; but is it not because you judge for me, that the christian religion is the right? Go on thus as far as you will, and till you find I had no religion at all, you could not punish me to make me consider, without taking upon you to judge for me what is right in matters of religion.

To punish without a fault is injustice: and to punish a man without judging him guilty of that fault, is also injustice; and to punish a man who has any religion to make him consider, or, which is the same thing, for not having sufficiently considered; is no more nor less, but punishing him for not being of the religion you think best for him; that is the fault, and that is the fault you judge him guilty of, call it considering as you please: for let him fall into the hands of a magistrate of whose religion he is, he judgeth him to have considered sufficiently. From whence it is plain, it is religion is judged of, and not consideration, or want of consideration. And it is in vain to pretend that he is punished to make him judge for himself; for he that is of any religion, has already judged for himself; and if you punish him after that, under pretence to make him consider that he may judge for himself; it is plain you punish him to make him judge otherwise than he has already judged, and to judge as you have judged for him.

Your next paragraph complains of my not having contradicted the following words of yours, which I had cited out of your A. , which that the reader may judge of, I shall here set down again: “And all the hurt that comes to them by it, is only the suffering some tolerable inconveniences, for their following the light of their own reason, and the dictates of their own consciences: which certainly is no such mischief to mankind, as to make it more eligible, that there should be no such power vested in the magistrate; but the care of every man’s soul should be left to him alone, (as this author demands it should be:) that is, that every man should be suffered quietly, and without the least molestation, either to take no care at all of his soul, if he be so pleased; or, in doing it, to follow his own groundless prejudices, or unaccountable humour, or any crafty seducer, whom he may think fit to take for his guide.” To which I shall here subjoin my answer and your reply:

L. II. P. 432.

“Why should not the care of every man’s soul be left to himself, rather than the magistrate? Is the magistrate like to be more concerned for it? Is the magistrate like to take more care of it? Is the magistrate commonly more careful of his own than other men are of theirs? Will you say the magistrate is less exposed, in matters of religion, to prejudices, humours, and crafty seducers, than other men? If you cannot lay your hand on your heart, and say all this, what then will be got by the change? And why may not the care of every man’s soul be left to himself? Especially, if a man be in so much danger to miss the truth, who is suffered quietly, and without the least molestation, either to take no care of his soul, if he be so pleased, or to follow his own prejudices,” &c. For “if want of molestation be the dangerous state wherein men are likeliest to miss the right way, it must be confessed, that, of all men, the magistrate is most in danger to be in the wrong; and so the unfittest, if you take the care of men’s soul from themselves, of all men, to be intrusted with it. For he never meets with that great and only antidote of yours against errour, which you here call molestation. He never has the benefit of your sovereign remedy, punishment, to make him consider; which you think so necessary, that you look on it as a most dangerous state for men to be without it; and therefore tell us,” It is every “man’s true interest, not to be left wholly to himself in matters of religion.”

L. III. P. 76.

“Which words you set down at large; but instead of contradicting them, or offering to show that the mischief spoken of, is such as makes it more eligible, &c. you only demand,” Why should not the care of every man’s soul be left to himself, rather than the magistrate? Is the magistrate like to be more concerned for it? Is the magistrate like to take more care of it? &c. “As if not to leave the care of every man’s soul to himself alone, were, as you express it afterwards, to take the care of men’s souls from themselves: or as if to vest a power in the magistrate, to procure as much as in him lies (i. e. as far as it can be procured by convenient penalties) that men take such care of their souls as they ought to do, were to leave the care of their souls “to the magistrate rather than to themselves:” “Which no man but yourself will imagine. I acknowledge as freely as you can do, that as every man is more concerned than any man else can be, so he is likewise more obliged to take care of his soul; and that no man can by any means be discharged of the care of his soul; which, when all is done, will never be saved but by his own care of it. But do I contradict any thing of this, when I say, that the care of every man’s soul ought not to be left to himself alone? Or, that it is the interest of mankind, that the magistrate be entrusted and obliged to take care, as far as lies in him, that no man neglect his own soul? I thought, I confess, that every man was in some sort charged with the care of his neighbour’s soul. But, in your way of reasoning, he that affirms this, takes away the care of every man’s soul from himself, and leaves it to his neighbour rather than to himself. But if this be plainly absurd, as every one sees it is, then so it must be likewise to say, that he that vests such a power as we here speak of in the magistrate, takes away the care of men’s souls from themselves, and places it in the magistrate, rather than in themselves.”

“What trifling then is it to say here,” If you cannot lay your hand upon your heart, and say all this, viz. that the magistrate is like to be more concerned for other men’s souls than themselves, &c. What then will be got by the change? “For it is plain, here is no such change as you would insinuate: but the care of souls which I assert to the magistrate, is so far from discharging any man of the care of his own soul, or lessening his obligation to it, that it serves to no other purpose in the world, but to bring men, who otherwise would not, to consider and do what the interest of their souls obliges them to.

“It is therefore manifest, that the thing here to be considered, is not, whether the magistrate be” like to be more concerned for other men’s souls, or to take more care of them than themselves: nor, whether he be commonly more careful of his own soul, than other men are of theirs: nor, whether he be less exposed, in matters of religion, to prejudices, humours, and crafty seducers, than other men: nor yet, whether he be not more in danger to be in the wrong than other men, inregard that he never meets with that great and only antidote of mine (as you call it) against errour, which I here call molestation. “But the point upon which this matter turns, is only this, whether the salvation of souls be not better provided for, if the magistrate be obliged to procure, as much as in him lies, that every man take such care as he ought of his soul, than if he be not so obliged, but the care of every man’s soul be left to himself alone? which certainly any man of common sense may easily determine. For as you will not, I suppose, deny but God has more amply provided for the salvation of your own soul, by obliging your neighbour, as well as yourself, to take care of it; though it is possible your neighbour may not be more concerned for it than yourself: or may not be more careful of his own soul, than you are of yours; or may be no less exposed, in matters of religion, to prejudices, &c. than you are; because if you are yourself wanting to your own soul, it is more likely that you will be brought to take care of it, if your neighbour be obliged to admonish and exhort you to it, than if he be not; though it may fall out that he will not do what he is obliged to do in that case. So I think it cannot be denied, but the salvation of all men’s souls is better provided for, if besides the obligation which every man has to take care of his own soul (and that which every man’s neighbour has likewise to do it) the magistrate also be intrusted and obliged to see that no man neglect his soul; than it would be, if every man were left to himself in this matter; because though we should admit that the magistrate is not like to be, or is not ordinarily more concerned for other men’s souls, than they themselves are, &c. it is nevertheless undeniably true still, that whoever neglects his soul, is more likely to be brought to take care of it, if the magistrate be obliged to do what lies in him to bring him to do it, than if he be not. Which is enough to show, that it is every man’s true interest, that the care of his soul should not be left to himself alone, but that the magistrate should be so far intrusted with it as I contend that he is.”

Your complaint of my not having formally contradicted the words above cited out of A. . looking as if there were some weighty argument in them: I must inform my reader, that they are subjoined to those, wherein you recommend the use of force in matters of religion, by the gain those that are punished shall make by it, though it be misapplied by the magistrate to bring them to a wrong religion. So that these words of yours, “all the hurt that comes to them by it,” is all the hurt that comes to men by a misapplication of the magistrate’s power, who being of a false religion, he uses force to bring men to it. And then your proposition stands thus, “That the suffering what you call tolerable inconveniences for their following the light of their own reasons, and the dictates of their own consciences, is no such mischief to mankind as to make it more eligible, that there should be no power vested in the magistrate” to use force to bring men to the true religion, though the magistrates misapply this power, i. e. use it to bring men to their own religion when false.

This is the sum of what you say, if it has any coherent meaning in it: for it being to show the usefulness of such a power vested in the magistrate, under the miscarriages and misapplications it is in common practice observed to be liable to; can have no other sense. But I having proved, that if such a power be by the law of nature vested in the magistrate, every magistrate is obliged to use it for the promoting of his religion as far as he believes it to be true, shall not much trouble myself, if like a man of art you should use your skill to give it another sense: for such is your natural talent, or great caution, that you love to speak indefinitely, and, as seldom as may be, leave yourself accountable for any propositions of a clear determined sense; but under words of doubtful but seeming plausible signification, conceal a meaning, which plainly expressed would, at first sight, appear to contradict your own positions, or common sense? instances whereof, more than one, we have here in this sentence of yours. For, 1. The words tolerable inconveniencies carry a very fair show of some very slight matter; and yet, when we come to examine them, may comprehend any of those severities lately used in France; for these tolerable inconveniencies are the same you in this very page and elsewhere call convenient penalties. Convenient for what? In this very place they must be such, as may keep men “from following their own groundless prejudices, unaccountable humours, and crafty seducers.” And you tell us, the magistrate may require men “under convenient penalties to forsake their false religions, and embrace the true.” Who now must be judge, in these cases, what are convenient penalties? Common sense will tell us, the magistrate that uses them: but besides, we have your word for it, that the magistrate’s prudence and experience enable him to judge best what penalties do agree with your rule of moderation, which, as I have shown, is no rule at all. So that at last your tolerable inconveniencies are such as the magistrate shall judge convenient to oppose to men’s prejudices, humours, and to seducers; such as he shall think convenient to bring men from their false religions, or to punish their rejecting the true; which, whether they will not reach men’s estates and liberties, or go as far as any the king of France has used, is more than you can be security for. 2. Another set of good words we have here, which at first hearing are apt to engage men’s concern, as if too much could not be done to recover men from so perilous a state as they seem to describe; and those are “men following their own groundless prejudices, unaccountable humours, or crafty seducers.” Are not these expressions to set forth a deplorable condition, and to move pity in all that hear them? Enough to make the unattentive reader ready to cry out, help for the Lord’s sake! do any thing rather than suffer such poor prejudiced seduced people to be eternally lost! Where he that examines what persons these words can in your scheme describe, will find they are only such as anywhere dissent from those articles of faith, and ceremonies of outward worship, which the magistrate, or at least you his director, approve of; for whilst you talk thus of the true religion in general, and that so general, that you cannot allow yourself to descend so near to particulars, as to recommend the searching and study of the scriptures to find it; and that the power in the magistrate’s hands to use force is to bring men to the true religion; I ask, whether you do not think, either he or you must be judge, which is the true religion, before he can exercise that power? and then he must use his force upon all those who dissent from it, who are then the prejudiced, humoursome, and seduced, you here speak of. Unless this be so, and the magistrate be judge, I ask, who shall resolve which is the prejudiced person, the prince with his politics, or he that suffers for his religion? Which the more dangerous seducer, Lewis XIV. with his dragoons, or Mr. Claud with his sermons? It will be no small difficulty to find out the persons who are guilty of following groundless prejudices, unaccountable humours, or crafty seducers, unless in those places where you shall be graciously pleased to decide the question; and out of the plenitude of your power and infallibility to declare which of the civil sovereigns now in being do, and which do not, espouse the one only true religion; and then we shall certainly know that those who dissent from the religion of those magistrates, are these prejudiced, humoursome, seduced persons.

But truly as you put it here, you leave the matter very perplexed, when you defend the eligibleness of vesting a power in the magistrate’s hands, to remedy by penalties men’s following their own groundless prejudices, unaccountable humours, and crafty seducers; when in the same sentence you suppose the magistrate, who is vested with this power, may inflict those penalties on men, “for their following the light of their own reason, and the dictates of their own consciences;” which when you have considered, perhaps you will not think my answer so wholly beside the matter, though it showed you but that one absurdity, without a formal contradiction to so loose and undetermined a proposition, that it required more pains to unravel the sense of what was covered under deceitful expressions, than the weight of the matter contained in them was worth.

For besides what is already said to it: how is it possible for any one, who had the greatest mind in the world to contradiction, to deny it to be more eligible that such a power should be vested in the magistrate, till he knows to whom you affirm it to be more eligible? Is it more eligible to those who suffer by it, for following the light of their own reason, and the dictates of their own consciences? for these you know are gainers by it, for they know better than they did before where the truth does lie. Is it more eligible to those who have no other thoughts of religion, but to be of that of their country without any farther examination? Or is it more eligible to those who think it their duty to examine matters of religion, and to follow that which upon examination appears to them the truth? The former of these two make, I think, the greater part of mankind, though the latter be the better advised: but upon what grounds it should be more eligible to either of them, that the magistrate should, than that he should not, have a power vested in him, to use force to bring men to the true religion, when it cannot be employed but to bring men to that which he thinks the true, i. e. to his own religion; is not easy to guess. Or is it more eligible to the priests and ministers of national religions every-where, that the magistrate should be vested with this power? who being sure to be orthodox, will have right to claim the assistance of the magistrate’s power to bring those whom their arguments cannot prevail on to embrace their true religion, and to worship God in decent ways prescribed by those to whom God has left the ordering of such matters. Or last of all, is it more eligible to all mankind? And are the magistrates of the world so careful or so lucky in the choice of their religion, that it would be an advantage to mankind, that they should have a right to do what in them lies, i. e. to use all the force they have, if they think convenient, to bring men to the religion they think true? When you have told us to which of these, or what other, it is more eligible; I suppose the reader will, without my contradicting it, see how little truth there is in it, or how little to your purpose.

If you will pardon me for not having contradicted that passage of yours we have been considering, I will endeavour to make you amends in what you say in reply to my answer to it, and tell you, that, notwithstanding all you say to the contrary, such a power as you would have to be vested in the magistrate, takes away the care of men’s souls from themselves, and places it in the magistrate rather than in themselves; for if when men have examined, and upon examination embrace what appears to them the true religion, the magistrate has a right to treat them as misled by prejudice, humour, or seducers; if he may use what force, and inflict what punishments, he shall think convenient till they conform to the religion the magistrate judges the true; I think you will scarce deny, but that the care of their souls is by such a power placed rather in the magistrate than in themselves, and taken as much from them as by force and authority it can be. This, whatever you pretend, is the power which your system places in the magistrate. Nor can he upon your principles exercise it otherwise, as I imagine I have showed.

You speak here, as if this power, which you would have to be vested in the magistrate, did not at all discharge, but assist the care every one has or ought to have of his own soul. I grant, were the power you would place in the magistrate such as every man has to take care of his neighbour’s soul, which is to express itself only by counsel, arguments, and persuasion; it left him still the free liberty of judging for himself; and so the care of his soul remained still in his own hands. But if men be persuaded, that the wise and good God has vested a power in the magistrate, to be so far judge for them, what is the true religion, as to punish them for rejecting the religion which the magistrate thinks the true, when offered with such evidence as he judges sufficient to convince them; and to punish them on till they consider so as to embrace it; what remains but that they render themselves to the care and conduct of a guide that God in his goodness has appointed them, who having authority and commission from God to be judge for them, which is the true religion, and what are arguments proper and sufficient to convince any one of it; and he himself being convinced of it; why should they be so foolish, as to suffer punishments in opposition to a power which is in the right, and they ought to submit to? To what purpose should they, under the weight of penalties, waste time and pains in examining, since whatever they should judge upon examination, the magistrate judging the arguments and reasons he offers for the truth of his religion proper and sufficient to convince them, they must still lie under the punishment the magistrate shall think convenient till they do comply?

Besides, when they are thus punished by their magistrate for not conforming, what need they examine? Since you tell them, “It is not strictly necessary to salvation, that all that are of the true religion, should understand the grounds of it.” The magistrate, being of the one only true religion, knows it to be so; and he knows that that religion was tendered to them with sufficient evidence, and therefore is obliged to punish them for rejecting it. This is that which men must upon your scheme suppose; for it is what you yourself must suppose, before the magistrate can exercise that power you contend to be vested in him, as is evident to any one, who will put your system together, and particularly weigh what you say.

When therefore men are put into such a state as this, that the magistrate may judge what is the true religion; the magistrate may judge what is sufficient evidence of its truth; the magistrate may be judge to whom it is tendered with sufficient evidence, and punish them that reject it so proposed with such penalties as he also shall judge convenient; and all this by God’s appointment, and an authority received from the wise and benign Governor of all things; I ask, whether the care of men’s souls is not taken out of their own hands, and put into the magistrate’s? Whether in such a state they can or will think there is any need, or that it is to any purpose for them to examine? And whether this be a cure for the natural aversion that is in men to consider and weigh matters of religion; and the way to force, or so much as encourage them to examine?

But, say you, “the salvation of all men’s souls is better provided for, if, besides the obligation that every man has to take care of his own soul, the magistrate also be entrusted and obliged to see that no man neglect his own soul, than it would be if every man were left to himself in that matter.” Whatever ground another may have to say this, you can have none: You who give so good reason why conformists, though ever so ignorant and negligent in examining matters of religion, cannot yet be punished to make them consider, must acknowledge that “all men’s salvation is not the better provided for by a power vested in the magistrate,” which cannot reach the far greatest part of men, which are every-where the conformists to the national religion. You that plead so well for the magistrate’s not examining whether those that conform, do it upon reason and conviction; but say it is ordinarily presumable they do so; wherein I beseech you do you put this care of men’s salvation that is placed in the magistrate? even in bringing them to outward conformity to the national religion, and there leaving them. And are the souls of all mankind the better provided for, if the magistrates of the world are vested with a power to use force to bring men to an outward profession of what they think the true religion, without any other care of their salvation? For thither, and no farther, reaches their use of force in your way of applying it.

Give me leave therefore to trifle with you once again, and to desire you to lay your hand upon your heart, and tell me what mankind shall gain by the change? For I hope by this time it is not so much a paradox to you, that if the magistrate be commissioned by God to take care of men’s souls, in your way it takes away the care of men’s souls from themselves in all those who have need of this assistance of the magistrate, i. e. all those who neglect to consider, and are averse to examination.

One thing more give me leave to observe to you, and that is, that taking care of men’s souls, or taking care that they neglect not their souls, and laying penalties on them to bring them in outward profession to the national religion, are two very different things: though in this place and elsewhere you confound them, and would have penal laws, requiring church-conformity, pass under the name of care of men’s souls; for that is the utmost your way of applying force does or can reach to; and what care is therein taken of men’s souls, may be seen by the lives and knowledge observable in not a few conformists. This is not said to lay any blame on conformity, but to show how improperly you speak, when you call penal laws made to promote conformity, and force used to bring men to it, a care of men’s souls; when even the exactest observers and most zealous advancers of conformity may be as irreligious, ignorant, and vicious, as any other men.

In the first treatise we heard not a syllable of any other use or end of force in matters of religion, but only to make men consider. But in your second, being forced to own bare-faced the punishing of men for their religion, you call it, “a vice to reject the true faith, and to refuse to worship God in decent ways prescribed by those to whom God has left the ordering it;” and tell us, that “it is a fault which may justly be punished by the magistrate, not to be of the national religion, where the true is the national religion.” To make this doctrine of persecution seem limited, and go down the better, to your telling us it must be only where the national religion is the true, and that the penalties must be moderate and convenient; both which limitations having no other judge but the magistrate, as I have showed elsewhere, are no limitations at all; you in words add a third, that in effect signifies just as much as the other two; and that is, “If there be sufficient means of instruction provided for all for instructing them in the truth of it;” of which provision the magistrate also being to be judge, your limitations leave him as free to punish all dissenters from his own religion, as any persecutor can wish: for what he will think sufficient means of instruction, it will be hard for you to say.

In the mean time, as far as may be gathered from what you say in another place, we will examine what you think sufficient provision for instructing men, which you have expressed in these words: “For if the magistrate provides sufficiently for the instruction of all his subjects in the true religion, and then requires them all under convenient penalties to hearken to the teachers and ministers of it, and to profess and exercise it with one accord under their direction in public assemblies.” — That which stumbles one at the first view of this your method of instruction, is, that you leave it uncertain, whether dissenters must first be instructed, and then profess; or else first profess, and then be instructed in the national religion. This you will do well to be a little more clear in the next time; for your mentioning no instruction but in public assemblies, and perhaps meaning it for a country where there is little other pains taken with dissenters but the confutation and condemnation of them in assemblies, where they are not; they must cease to be dissenters before they can partake of this sufficient means of instruction.

And now for those who do with one accord put themselves under the direction of the ministers of the national, and hearken to these teachers of the true religion: I ask whether one-half of those whereof most of the assemblies are made up, do or can, so ignorant as they are, understand what they hear from the pulpit? And then whether if a man did understand, what in many assemblies ordinarily is delivered once a week there for his instruction, he might not yet at threescore years end be ignorant of the grounds and principles of the christian religion? Your having so often in your letter mentioned sufficient provision of instruction, has forced these two short questions from me. But I forbear to tell you what I have heard very sober people, even of the church of England, say upon this occasion: For you have warned me already, that it shall be interpreted to be a quarrel to the clergy in general, if any thing shall be taken notice of in any of them worthy to be mended. I leave it to those whose profession it is to judge, whether divinity be a science wherein men may be instructed by an harangue or two once a week, upon any subject at a venture, which has no coherence with that which preceded, or that which is to follow, and this made to people that are ignorant of the first principles of it, and are not capable of understanding such discourses. I am sure he that should think this a sufficient means of instructing people in any other science, would at the end of seven or twenty years find them very little advanced in it; and bating perhaps some terms and phrases belonging to it, as far from all true and useful knowledge of it as when they first began. Whether it be so in matters of religion, those who have the opportunity to observe must judge; and if it appear that amongst those of the national church there be very many so ignorant, that there is nothing more frequent than for the ministers themselves to complain of it; it is manifest from those of the national church, whatever may be concluded from dissenters, that the means of instruction provided by the law are not sufficient; unless that be sufficient means of instruction, which men of sufficient capacity for other things, may live under many years, and yet know very little by. If you say it is for want of consideration, must not your remedy of force be used to bring them to it? Or how will the magistrate answer for it, if he use force to make dissenters consider, and let those of his own church perish for want of it?

This being all one can well understand by your sufficient means of instruction, as you there explain it, I do not see but men who have no aversion to be instructed, may yet fail of it, notwithstanding such a provision. Perhaps, by “exercising the true religion with one accord, under the direction of the ministers of it in public assemblies,” you mean something farther; but that not being an ordinary phrase, will need your explication to make it understood.

CHAPTER II. OF THE MAGISTRATE’S COMMISSION TO USE FORCE IN MATTERS OF RELIGION.

Though in the foregoing chapter, on examining your doctrine concerning the magistrates who may or who may not use force in matters of religion, we have in several places happened to take notice of the commission whereby you authorise magistrates to act; yet we shall in this chapter more particularly consider that commission. You tell us, “to use force in matters of religion, is a duty of the magistrate as old as the law of nature, in which the magistrate’s commission lies: for the scripture does not properly give it him, but supposes it.” And more at large you give us an account of the magistrate’s commission in these words: “It is true indeed, the author and finisher of our faith has given the magistrate no new power or commission: nor was there any need that he should (if himself had any temporal power to give:) for he found him already, even by the law of nature, the minister of God to the people for good, and bearing the sword not in vain, i. e. invested with coactive power, and obliged to use it for all the good purposes which it might serve, and for which it should be found needful; even for the restraining of false and corrupt religion: as Job long before (perhaps before any of the scriptures were written) acknowledged, when he said, chap. xxxi. 26, 27, 28, that the worshipping the sun or the moon, was an iniquity to be punished by the judge. But though our Saviour has given the magistrates no new power, yet being king of kings, he expects and requires that they should submit themselves to his sceptre, and use the power which always belonged to them, for his service, and for the advancing his spiritual kingdom in the world. And even that charity which our great master so earnestly recommends, and so strictly requires of all his disciples, as it obliges all men to seek and promote the good of others, as well as their own, especially their spiritual and eternal good, by such means as their several places and relations enable them to use; so does it especially oblige the magistrate, to do it as a magistrate, i. e. by that power which enables him to do it above the rate of other men.

“So far therefore is the christian magistrate, when he gives his helping hand to the furtherance of the gospel, by laying convenient penalties upon such as reject it, or any part of it, from using any other means for the salvation of men’s souls, than what the author and finisher of our faith has directed, that he does no more than his duty to God, to his redeemer, and to his subjects, requires of him.

“Christ, you say, has given no new power or commission to the magistrate:” and for this you give several reasons. 1. “There was no need that he should.” Yet it seems strange that the christian magistrates alone should have an exercise of coactive power in matters of religion, and yet our Saviour should say nothing of it, but leave them to that commission which was common to them with all other magistrates. The christian religion in cases of less moment is not wanting in its rules; and I know not whether you will not charge the New Testament with a great defect, if that law alone which teaches the only true religion, that law which all magistrates who are of the true religion, receive and embrace, should say nothing at all of so necessary and important a duty to those who alone are in a capacity to discharge it, but leave them only to that general law of nature, which others who are not qualified to use this force have in common with them.

This at least seems needful, if a new commission does not, that the christian magistrates should have been instructed what degree of force they should use, and been limited to your moderate penalties; since for above these twelve hundred years, though they have readily enough found out your commission to use force, they never found out your moderate use of it, which is that alone which you assure us is useful and necessary.

You say, “If our Saviour had any temporal power to give;” whereby you seem to give this as a reason why he gave not the civil magistrate power to use force in matters of religion, that he had it not to give. You tell us in the same paragraph, that “he is the king of kings;” and he tells us himself, “That all power is given unto him in heaven and in earth,” Mat. xxviii. 18. So that he could have given what power, to whom, and to what purpose he had pleased: and concerning this there needs no if.

“For he found him already by the law of nature invested with coactive power, and obliged to use it for all the good purposes which it might serve, and for which it should be found needful.” He found also fathers, husbands, masters, invested with their distinct powers by the same law, and under the same obligation; and yet he thought it needful to prescribe to them in the use of those powers. But there was no need he should do so to the civil magistrates in the use of their power in matters of religion; because, though fathers, husbands, masters, were liable to excess in the use of theirs, yet christian magistrates were not, as appears by their having always kept to those moderate measures, which you assure us to be the only necessary and useful.

And what at last is their commission? “Even that of charity, which obliges all men to seek and promote the good of others, especially their spiritual and eternal good, by such means as their several places and relations enable them to use, especially magistrates as magistrates.” This duty of charity is well discharged by the magistrate as magistrate, is it not? in bringing men to an outward profession of any, even of the true religion, and leaving them there? But, Sir, I ask you who must be judge, what is for the spiritual and eternal good of his subjects, the magistrate himself or no? If not he himself, who for him? Or can it be done without any one’s judging at all? If he, the magistrate, must judge every-where himself what is for the spiritual and eternal good of his subjects; as I see no help for it, if the magistrate be every-where by the law of nature obliged to promote their spiritual and eternal good; is not the true religion like to find great advantage in the world by the use of force in the magistrate’s hands? And is not this a plain demonstration that God has by the law of nature given commission to the magistrate to use force for the promoting the true religion, since, as it is evident, the execution of such a commission will do so much more harm than good?

To show that your indirect and at a distance usefulness, with a general necessity of force, authorizes the civil power in the use of it, you use the following words, “That force does some service towards the making of scholars and artists, I suppose you will easily grant. Give me leave therefore to ask, how it does it? I suppose you will say, not by its direct and proper efficacy, (for force is no more capable to work learning or arts, than the belief of the true religion in men, by its direct and proper efficacy;) but by prevailing upon those who are designed for scholars or artists to receive instruction, and to apply themselves to the use of those means and helps which are proper to make them what they are designed to be: that is, it does it indirectly and at a distance. Well then, if all the usefulness of the force towards the bringing scholars or apprentices to the learning or skill they are designed to attain, be only an indirect and at a distance usefulness; I pray what is it that warrants and authorizes schoolmasters, tutors or masters, to use force upon their scholars or apprentices, to bring them to learning, or the skill of their arts and trade, if such an indirect and at a distance usefulness of force, together with that necessity of it which experience discovers, will not do it? I believe you will acknowledge that even such an usefulness, together with that necessity, will serve the turn in these cases. But then I would fain know, why the same kind of usefulness, joined with the like necessity, will not as well do it in the case before us? I confess I see no reason why it should not; nor do I believe you can assign any. You ask here, what authorizes schoolmasters or masters to use force on their scholars and apprentices, if such an indirect and at a distance usefulness, together with necessity, does not do it?” I answer, neither your indirect and at a distance usefulness, nor the necessity you suppose of it. For I do not think you will say that any schoolmaster has a power to teach, much less to use force on any one’s child without the consent and authority of the father: but a father, you will say, has a power to use force to correct his child to bring him to learning or skill in that trade he is designed to; and to this the father is authorized by the usefulness and necessity of force. This I deny, that the mere supposed usefulness and necessity of force authorize the father to use it; for then whenever he judged it useful and necessary for his son, to prevail with him to apply himself to any trade, he might use force upon him to that purpose; which I think neither you nor any body else will say, a father has a right to do on his idle and perhaps married son at thirty or forty years old.

There is then something else in the case; and whatever it be that authorizes the father to use force upon his child, to make him a proficient in it, authorizes him also to choose that trade, art or science he would have him a proficient in: for the father can no longer use force upon his son, to make him attain any art or trade, than he can prescribe to him the art or trade he is to attain. Put your parallel now if you please: The father by the usefulness and necessity of force is authorized to use it upon his child, to make him attain any art or science: therefore the magistrate is authorized to use force to bring men to the true religion, because it is useful and necessary. Thus far you have used it, and you think it does well. But let us go on with the parallel: this usefulness and necessity of force authorizes the father to use it, to make his son apply himself to the use of the means and helps which are proper to make him what he is designed to be, no longer than it authorizes the father to design what his son shall be, and to choose for him the art or trade he shall be of; and so the usefulness and necessity you suppose in force to bring men to any church, cannot authorize the magistrate to use force any farther, than he has a right to choose for any one what church or religion he shall be of. So that if you will stick to this argument, and allow the parallel between a magistrate and a father, and the right they have to use force for the instructing of their subjects in religion, and children in arts, you must either allow the magistrate to have power to choose what religion his subjects shall be of, which you have denied, or else that he has no power to use force to make them use means to be of it.

A father being entrusted with the care and provision for his child, is as well bound in duty, as fitted by natural love and tenderness, to supply the defects of his tender age. When it is born the child cannot move itself for the ease and help of natural necessities, the parents hands must supply that inability, and feed, cleanse, and swaddle it. Age having given more strength, and the exercise of the limbs, the parents are discharged from the trouble of putting meat into the mouth of the child, clothing or unclothing, or carrying him in their arms. The same duty and affection which required such kind of helps to the infant, makes them extend their thoughts to other cares for him when he is grown a little bigger; it is not only a present support, but a future comfortable subsistence begins to be thought on: to this some art or science is necessary, but the child’s ignorance and want of prospect makes him unable to choose. And hence the father has a power to choose for him, that the flexible and docile part of life may not be squandered away, and the time of instruction and improvement be lost for want of direction. The trade or art being chosen by the father, it is the exercise and industry of the child must acquire it to himself: but industry usually wanting in children the spur which reason and foresight gives to the endeavours of grown men; the father’s rod and correction is fain to supply that want, to make him apply himself to the use of those means and helps which are proper to make him what he is designed to be. But when the child is once come to the state of manhood, and to be the possessor and free disposer of his goods and estate, he is then discharged from this discipline of his parents, and they have no longer any right to choose any art, science, or course of life for him, or by force to make him apply himself to the use of those means which are proper to make him be what he designs to be. Thus the want of knowledge to choose a fit calling, and want of knowledge of the necessity of pains and industry to attain skill in it, puts a power into the parents hands to use force where it is necessary to procure the application and diligence of their children in that, which their parents have thought fit to set them to: but it gives this power to the parents only, and to no other, whilst they live; and if they die whilst their children need it, to their substitutes; and there it is safely placed: for since their want of knowledge during their nonage, makes them want direction; and want of reason often makes them need punishment and force to excite their endeavours, and keep them intent to the use of those means that lead to the end they are directed to; the tenderness and love of parents will engage them to use it only for their good, and generally to quit it too, when by the title of manhood they come to be above the direction and discipline of children. But how does this prove that the magistrate has any right to force men to apply themselves to the use of those means and helps which are proper to make them of any religion, more than it proves that the magistrate has a right to choose for them what religion they shall be of?

To your question therefore, “what is it that warrants and authorizes schoolmasters, tutors, and masters to use force upon their scholars or apprentices?” I answer, a commission from the father or mother, or those who supply their places; for without that no indirect or at a distance usefulness, or supposed necessity, could authorize them.

But then you will ask, Is it not this usefulness and necessity that gives this power to the father and mother? I grant it. “I would fain know then, say you, why the same usefulness joined with the like necessity, will not as well do in the case before us?” And I, sir, will as readily tell you: because the understanding of the parents is to supply the want of it in the minority of their children; and therefore they have a right not only to use force to make their children apply themselves to the means of acquiring any art or trade, but to choose also the trade or calling they shall be of. But when being come out of the state of minority, they are supposed of years of discretion to choose what they will design themselves to be, they are also at liberty to judge what application, and industry they will use for the attaining of it; and then how negligent soever they are in the use of the means, how averse soever to instruction or application they are past the correction of a schoolmaster, and their parents can no longer choose or design for them what they shall be, nor “use force to prevail with them to apply themselves to the use of those means and helps which are proper to make them what they are designed to be.” He that imagines a father or tutor may send his son to school at thirty or forty years old, and order him to be whipped there, or that any indirect and at a distance usefulness will authorize him to be so used, will be thought fitter to be sent thither himself, and there to receive due correction.

When you have considered, it is otherwise in the case of the magistrate using force your way in matters of religion; that there his understanding is not to supply the defect of understanding in his subjects, and that only for a time; that he cannot choose for any of his subjects what religion he shall be of, as you yourself confess; and that this power of the magistrate, if it be, as is claimed by you, over men of all ages, parts and endowments; you will perhaps “see some reason why it should not do in the case before us, as well as in that of schoolmasters and tutors, though you believe I cannot assign any.” But, sir, will your indirect and at a distance usefulness, together with your supposed necessity, authorize the master of the shoe-makers company to take any one who comes in his hands, and punish him for not being of the shoe-makers company, and not coming to their guild, when he, who has a right to choose of what trade and company he will be, thinks it not his interest to be a shoe-maker? Nor can he or any body else imagine that this force, this punishment, is used to make him a good shoe-maker, when it is seen and avowed that the punishments cease, and they are free from it who enter themselves of the company, whether they are really shoe-makers, or in earnest apply themselves to be so or no. How much it differs from this, that the magistrate should punish men for not being of his church, who choose not to be of it, and when they are once entered into the communion of it, are punished no more, though they are as ignorant, unskilful, and unpractised in the religion of it as before: how much, I say, this differs from the case I proposed, I leave you to consider. For after all your pretences of using force for the salvation of souls, and consequently to make men really christians, you are fain to allow, and you give reasons for it, that force is used only to those who are out of your church: but whoever are once in it, are free from force, whether they be really christians, and apply themselves to those things which are for the salvation of their souls, or no.

As to what you say, that whether they choose it or no, they ought to choose it; for your magistrate’s religion is the true religion, that is the question between you and them: but be that as it will, if force be to be used in the case, I have proved that be the magistrate’s religion true or false, he, whilst he believes it to be true, is under an obligation to use force, as if it were true.

But since you think your instance of children so weighty and pressing, give me leave to return you your question; I ask you then, are not parents as much authorized to teach their children their religion, as they are to teach them their trade, when they have designed them to it? May they not as lawfully correct them to make them learn their catechism, or the principles of their religion, as they may to make them learn Clenard’s grammar? Or may they not use force to make them go to mass, or whatever they believe to be the worship of the true religion, as to go to school, or to learn any art or trade? If they may, as I think you will not deny, unless you will say, that none but orthodox parents may teach their children any religion: if they may, I say then, pray tell me a reason, if your arguments from the discipline of children be good, why the magistrate may not use force to bring men to his religion, as well as parents may use force to instruct children, and bring them up in theirs? When you have considered this, you will perhaps find some difference between the state of children and grown men, betwixt those under tutelage, and those who are free and at their own disposal; and be inclined to think that those reasons which subject children in their non-age to the use of force, may not, nor do concern men at years of discretion.

You tell us farther, “that commonwealths are instituted for the attaining of all the benefits which political government can yield: and therefore if the spiritual and eternal interests of men may any way be procured or advanced by political government, the procuring and advancing those interests must in all reason be received amongst the ends of civil society, and so consequently fall within the compass of the magistrate’s jurisdiction.” Concerning the extent of the magistrate’s jurisdiction, and the ends of civil society, whether the author or you have begged the question, which is the chief business of your 56th and two or three following pages, I shall leave it to the readers to judge, and bring the matter, if you please, to a shorter issue. The question is, whether the magistrate has any power to interpose force in matters of religion, or for the salvation of souls? The argument against it is, that civil societies are not constituted for that end, and the magistrate cannot use force for ends for which the commonwealth was not constituted.

The end of a commonwealth constituted can be supposed no other, than what men in the constitution of, and entering into it, proposed; and that could be nothing but protection from such injuries from other men, which they desiring to avoid, nothing but force could prevent or remedy; all things but this being as well attainable by men living in neighbourhood without the bounds of a commonwealth, they could propose to themselves no other thing but this in quitting their natural liberty, and putting themselves under the umpirage of a civil sovereign, who therefore had the force of all the members of the commonwealth put into his hands, to make his decrees to this end be obeyed. Now since no man, or society of men, can by their opinions in religion, or ways of worship, do any man who differed from them any injury, which he could not avoid or redress, if he desired it, without the help of force; the punishing any opinion in religion, or ways of worship by the force given the magistrate, could not be intended by those who constituted or entered into the commonwealth; and so could be no end of it, but quite the contrary. For force from a stronger hand to bring a man to a religion, which another thinks the true, being an injury which in the state of nature every one would avoid; protection from such injury is one of the ends of a commonwealth, and so every man has a right to toleration.

If you will say, that commonwealths are not voluntary societies constituted by men, and by men freely entered into; I shall desire you to prove it.

In the mean time allowing it you for good, that commonwealths are constituted by God for ends which he has appointed, without the consent and contrivance of men: If you say, that one of those ends is the propagation of the true religion, and the salvation of men’s souls; I shall desire you to show me any such end expressly appointed by God in revelation; which since, as you confess, you cannot do, you have recourse to the general law of nature; and what is that? The law of reason, whereby every one is commissioned to do good. And the propagating the true religion for the salvation of men’s souls being doing good, you say, the civil sovereigns are commissioned and required by that law to use their force for those ends. But since by this law all civil sovereigns are commissioned and obliged alike to use their coactive power for the propagating the true religion, and the salvation of souls; and it is not possible for them to execute such a commission, or obey that law, but by using force to bring men to that religion which they judge the true; by which use of force, much more harm than good would be done towards the propagating the true religion in the world, as I have showed elsewhere: therefore no such commission, whose execution would do more harm than good, more hinder than promote the end for which it is supposed given; can be a commission from God by the law of nature. And this I suppose may satisfy you about the end of civil societies or commonwealths, and answer what you say concerning the ends attainable by them.

But that you may not think the great position of yours, which is so often ushered in with doubtless; for which you imagine you have sufficient warrant in a misapplied school-maxim, is past over too slightly; and is not sufficiently answered; I shall give you that farther satisfaction.

You say, “civil societies are instituted for the attaining all the benefits which civil society or political government can yield;” and the reason you give for it; “because it has hitherto been universally acknowledged that no power is given in vain;” and therefore “if I except any of those benefits, I shall be obliged to admit that the power of attaining them was given in vain.” And if I do admit it, no harm will follow in human affairs: or if I may borrow an elegant expression of yours out of the foregoing leaf, “the fortune of Europe does not turn upon it.” In the voluntary institution, and bestowing of power, there is no absurdity or inconvenience at all, that power, sufficient for several ends, should be limited by those that give the power only to one or some part of them. The power which a general commanding a potent army has, may be enough to take more towns than one from the enemy; or to suppress a domestic sedition; and yet the power of attaining those benefits, which is in his hand, will not authorize him to employ the force of the army therein, if he be commissioned only to besiege and take one certain place. So it is in a commonwealth. The power that is in the civil sovereign is the force of all the subjects of the commonwealth, which supposing it sufficient for other ends, than the preserving the members of the commonwealth in peace from injury and violence: yet if those who gave him that power, limited the application of it to that sole end, no opinion of any other benefits attainable by it can authorise him to use it otherwise.

Our Saviour tells us expressly, that “all power was given him in heaven and earth,” Matt. xxviii. 11. By which power I imagine you will not say, that the “spiritual and eternal interest” of those men whom you think need the help of political force, and of all other men too, could not any way be procured or advanced; and yet if you will hear him in another place, you will find this power, which being all power, could certainly have wrought on all men, limited to a certain number: he says, “thou hast given him [i.e. thy son] power over all flesh, that he should give eternal life to as many as thou hast given him,” John xvii. 2. Whether your universally acknowledged maxim of logic be true enough to authorize you to say, that any part of this power was given him in vain, and to enable you to draw consequences from it, you were best see.

But were your maxim so true that it proved, that since it might “indirectly and at a distance” do some service towards the “procuring or advancing the spiritual interest” of some few subjects of a commonwealth, therefore force was to be employed to that end; yet that will scarce make good this doctrine of yours: “doubtless, commonwealths are instituted for the attaining all those benefits which political government can yield; therefore if the spiritual and eternal interests of men may any way be procured or advanced by political government, the procuring and advancing those interests must in all reason be reckoned among the ends of civil societies, and so consequently fall within the compass of the magistrate’s jurisdiction.” For granting it true that “commonwealths are instituted for the attaining all those benefits which political government can yield,” it does not follow “that the procuring and advancing the spiritual and eternal interest” of some few members of the commonwealth by an application of power, which indirectly and at a distance, or by accident, may do some service that way, whilst at the same time it prejudices a far greater number in their civil interests; can with reason be reckoned among the ends of civil society.

“That commonwealths are instituted for those ends, viz. for the procuring, preserving, and advancing men’s civil interests, you say, No man will deny.” To sacrifice therefore these civil interests of a great number of people, which are the allowed ends of the commonwealths, to the uncertain expectation of some service to be done indirectly and at a distance to a far less number, as experience has always showed those really converted to the true religion by force to be, if any at all; cannot be one of the ends of the commonwealth. Though the advancing of the spiritual and eternal interest be of infinite advantage to the persons who receive that benefit, yet if it can be thought a benefit to the commonwealth when it is procured them with the diminishing or destroying the civil interests of great numbers of their fellow citizens: then the ravaging of an enemy, the plague, or a famine, may be said to bring a benefit to the commonwealth; for either of these may indirectly and at a distance do some service towards the advancing or procuring the spiritual and eternal interest of some of those who suffer in it.

In the two latter paragraphs you except against my want of exactness, in setting down your opinion I am arguing against. Had it been any way to take off the force of what you say, or that the reader could have been misled by my words in any part of the question I was arguing against, you had had reason to complain: if not, you had done better to have entertained the reader with a clearer answer to my argument, than spent your ink and his time needlessly, to show such niceness.

My argument is as good against your tenet in your own words, as in mine which you except against: your words are, “doubtless commonwealths are instituted for the attaining all the benefits which political government can yield; and therefore if the spiritual and eternal interest of men may any way be procured or advanced by political government, the procuring and advancing those interests must in all reason be reckoned amongst the ends of civil societies.”

To which I answered, that if this be so, “Then this position must be true, viz. That all societies whatsoever are instituted for the attaining all the benefits that they may any way yield: there being nothing peculiar to civil society in the case, why that society should be instituted for the attaining all the benefits it can any way yield, and other societies not. By which argument it will follow, that all societies are instituted for one and the same end, i. e. for the attaining all the benefits that they can any way yield. By which account there will be no difference between church and state, a commonwealth and an army, or between a family and the East-India company; all which have hitherto been thought distinct sorts of societies, instituted for different ends. If your hypothesis hold good, one of the ends of the family must be to preach the gospel, and administer the sacraments; and one business of an army to teach languages, and propagate religion; because these are benefits some way or other attainable by those societies: unless you take want of commission and authority to be a sufficient impediment: and that will be so in other cases.” To which you reply, “Nor will it follow from hence, that all societies are instituted for one and the same end, (as you imagine it will,) unless you suppose all societies enabled by the power they are endued with to attain the same end, which I believe no man hitherto did ever affirm. And therefore, notwithstanding this position, there may be still as great a difference as you please between church and state, a commonwealth and an army, or between a family and the East-India company. Which several societies, as they are instituted for different ends, so they are likewise furnished with different powers proportionate to their respective ends.” In which the reason you give to destroy my inference, I am to thank you for, if you understood the force of it, it being the very same I bring to show that my inference from your way of arguing is good. I say, that from your way of reasoning about the ends of government, “It would follow that all societies were instituted for one and the same end; unless you take want of commission and authority to be a sufficient impediment.” And you tell me here it will not follow, “unless I suppose all societies enabled by the power they are endued with, to attain the same end;” which in other words is, unless I suppose all who have in their hands the force of any society to have all of them the same commission.

The natural force of all the members of any society, or of those who by the society can be procured to assist it, is in one sense called the power of that society. This power of force is generally put into some one or few persons hands with direction and authority how to use it; and this in another sense is called also the power of the society: and this is the power you here speak of, and in these following words, viz. “Several societies, as they are instituted for different ends; so likewise are they furnished with different powers proportionate to their respective ends.” The power therefore of any society in this sense, is nothing but the authority and direction given to those that have the management of the force or natural power of the society, how and to what ends to use it, by which commission the ends of societies are known and distinguished. So that all societies wherein those who are intrusted with the management of the force or natural power of the society, have commission and authority to use the force or natural power of the society to attain the same benefits, are instituted for the same end. And therefore, if in all societies those who have the management of the force or natural power of the society, are commissioned or authorized to use that force to attain all the benefits attainable by it, all societies are instituted to the same end: and so what I said will still be true, viz. “That a family and an army, a commonwealth and a church, have all the same end. And if your hypothesis hold good, one of the ends of a family must be to preach the gospel, and administer the sacraments; and one business of an army to teach languages, and propagate religion, because these are benefits some way or other attainable by those societies; unless you take want of commission and authority to be a sufficient impediment: and that will be so too in other cases.” To which you have said nothing but what does confirm it, which you will a little better see, when you have considered that any benefit attainable by force or natural power of a society, does not prove the society to be instituted for that end; till you also show, that those to whom the management of the force of the society is intrusted, are commissioned to use it to that end.

And therefore to your next paragraph I shall think it answer enough to print here, side by side with it, that paragraph of mine to which you intended it as an answer.

L. II. P. 389.

“It is a benefit to have true knowledge and philosophy embraced and assented to, in any civil society or government. But will you say, therefore, that it is a benefit to the society, or one of the ends of government, that all who are not peripatetics should be punished, to make men find out the truth, and profess it? This indeed might be thought a fit way to make some men embrace the peripatetic philosophy, but not a proper way to find the truth. For perhaps the peripatetic philosophy may not be true; perhaps a great many have not time, nor parts to study it; perhaps a great many who have studied it, cannot be convinced of the truth of it: and therefore it cannot be a benefit to the commonwealth, nor one of the ends of it, that these members of the society should be disturbed, and diseased to no purpose, when they are guilty of no fault. For just the same reason, it cannot be a benefit to civil society, that men should be punished in Denmark for not being lutherans, in Geneva for not being calvinists, and in Vienna for not being papists, as a means to make them find out the true religion. For so, upon your grounds, men must be treated in those places, as well as in England, for not being of the church of England. And then, I beseech you, consider the great benefit will accrue to men in society by this method; and I suppose it will be a hard thing for you to prove, That ever civil governments were instituted to punish men for not being of this or that sect in religion; however by accident, indirectly and at a distance, it may be an occasion to one perhaps of a thousand, or an hundred, to study that controversy, which is all you expect from it. If it be a benefit, pray tell me what benefit it is. A civil benefit it cannot be. For men’s civil interests are disturbed, injured, and impaired by it. And what spiritual benefit that can be to any multitude of men to be punished for dissenting from a false or erroneous profession, I would have you find out; unless it be a spiritual benefit to be in danger to be driven into a wrong way. For if in all differing sects one is in the wrong, it is a hundred to one but that from which any one dissents, and is punished for dissenting from, is the wrong.”

L. III. P. 58. —

To your next paragraph, after what has already been said, I think it may suffice to say as follows. Though perhaps the peripatetic philosophy may not be true, (and perhaps it is no great matter, if it be not,) yet the true religion is undoubtedly true. And though perhaps a great many have not time, nor parts to study that philosophy, (and perhaps it may be no great matter neither, if they have not,) yet all that have the true religion duly tendered them, have time, and all, but idiots and madmen, have parts likewise to study it, as much as it is necessary for them to study it. And though perhaps a great many who have studied that philosophy cannot be convinced of the truth of it, (which perhaps is no great wonder,) yet no man ever studied the true religion with such care and diligence as he might and ought to use, and with an honest mind, but he was convinced of the truth of it. And that those who cannot otherwise be brought to do this, shall be a little disturbed and diseased to bring them to it, I take to be the interest, not only of those particular persons who by this means may be brought into the way of salvation, but of the commonwealth likewise, upon these two accounts.

Because the true religion, which this method propagates, makes good men; and good men are always the best subjects, or members of the commonwealth; not only as they do more sincerely and zealously promote the public good than other men; but likewise in regard of the favour of God, which they often procure to the societies of which they are members. And,

Because this care in any commonwealth, of God’s honour and men’s salvation, entitles it to his special protection and blessing. So that where this method is used, it proves both a spiritual and a civil benefit to the commonwealth.

You tell us, “the true religion is undoubtedly true.” If you had told us too, who is undoubtedly judge of it, you had put all past doubt: but till you will be pleased to determine that, it would be undoubtedly true, that the king of Denmark is as undoubtedly judge of it at Copenhagen, and the emperor at Vienna, as the king of England in this island: I do not say they judge as right, but they are by as much right judges, and therefore have as much right to punish those who dissent from lutheranism and popery in those countries, as any other civil magistrate has to punish any dissenters from the national religion any-where else. And who can deny but these briars and thorns laid in their way by the penal laws of those countries, may do some service indirectly and at a distance, to bring men there severely and impartially to examine matters of religion, and so to embrace the truth that must save them, which the bare outward profession of any religion in the world will not do?

“This true religion, which is undoubtedly true, you tell us too, never any body studied with such care and diligence as he might and ought to use, and with an honest mind, but he was convinced of the truth of it.”

If you will resolve it in your short circular way, and tell me such diligence as one ought to use, is such diligence as brings one to be convinced, it is a question too easy to be asked. If I should desire to know plainly what is to be understood by it, it would be a question too hard for you to answer, and therefore I shall not trouble you with demanding what this diligence which a man may and ought to use, is; nor what you mean by an honest mind. I only ask you, whether force, your way applied, be able to produce them? that so the commonwealth may have the benefits you propose from men’s being convinced of, and consequently embracing, the true religion, which you say nobody can miss, who is brought to that diligence, and that honest mind.

The benefits to the commonwealth are, 1. “That the true religion that this method propagates, makes good men, and good men are always the best subjects, and often procure the favour of God to the society they are members of.” Being forward enough to grant that nothing contributes so much to the benefit of a society, as that it be made up of good men, I began presently to give into your method, which promises so sure a way to make men so study the true religion, that they cannot miss the being convinced of the truth of it, and so hardly avoid being really of the true religion, and consequently good men. But, that I might not mistake in a thing of that consequence, I began to look about in those countries where force has been made use of to propagate what you allowed to be the true religion, and found complaints of as great a scarcity of good men there, as in other places. A friend whom I discoursed on this point, said, It might possibly be that the world had not yet had the benefit of your method: because law-makers had not yet been able to find that just temper of penalties on which your propagation of the true religion was built; and that therefore it was great pity you had not yet discovered this great secret, but it was to be hoped you would. Another, who stood by, said he did not see how your method could make men it wrought on, and brought to conformity, better than others, unless corrupt nature with impunity were like to produce better men in one outward profession than in another. To which I replied, That we did not look on conformists through a due medium; for if we did, with you, allow it presumable that all who conformed did it upon conviction, there could be no just complaint of the scarcity of good men: and so we got over that difficulty.

The second benefit you say your use of force brings to the commonwealth, is, “That this care in any commonwealth, of God’s honour and men’s salvation, entitles it to his special protection and blessing.” — Then certainly all commonwealths, that have any regard to the protection and blessing of God, will not neglect to entitle themselves to it, by using of force to promote that religion they believe to be true. But I beseech you what care is this of the honour of God and men’s salvation you speak of? Is it, as you have owned it, a care by penalties to make men outwardly conform, and without any farther care or inquiry to presume that they do it upon conviction, and with a sincere embracing of, and obedience to the truth? But if the honour of God, and men’s salvation, consists not in an outward conformity to any religion, but in something farther; what blessing they may expect whose care goes so far, and then presume the rest, which is the hardest part, and therefore least to be presumed, the prophet Jeremiah, chap. xlviii. 10, will tell you, who says, “Cursed be he that does the work of the Lord negligently:” which those who think it is the magistrate’s business to use force to bring men heartily to embrace the truth that must save them, were best seriously to consider.

Your next paragraph containing nothing but positions of yours, which you suppose elsewhere proved, and I elsewhere examined, it is not fit the reader should be troubled any farther about them.

I once knew a gentleman, who having cracked himself with an ungovernable ambition, could never afterwards hear the place he aimed at mentioned without showing marks of his distemper. I know not what the matter is, that when there comes in your way but the mention of secular power in your or ecclesiastics hands, you cannot contain yourself: we have instances of it in other parts of your letter; and here again you fall into a fit, which since it produces rather marks of your breeding, than arguments for your cause, I shall leave them as they are to the reader, if you can make them go down with him for reasons from a grave man, or for a sober answer to what I say in that and the following paragraph.

Much-what of the same size is your ingenious reply to what I say in the next paragraph, viz. “That commonwealths, or civil societies and governments, if you will believe the judicious Mr. Hooker, are, as St. Peter calls them, 1 Pet. ii. 13, ἀνθρωπίνη ϰτίσις, the contrivance and institution of man.” To which you smartly reply, for your choler was up, “it is well for St. Peter that he had the judicious Mr. Hooker on his side.” And it would have been well for you too to have seen that Mr. Hooker’s authority was made use of not to confirm the authority of St. Peter, but to confirm that sense I gave of St. Peter’s words, which is not so clear in our translation, but that there are those who, as I doubt not but you know, do not allow of it. But this being said when passion it seems rather employed your wit than your judgment, though nothing to the purpose, may yet perhaps indirectly and at a distance do some service.

And now, sir, if you can but imagine that men in the corrupt state of nature might be authorized and required by reason, the law of nature, to avoid the inconveniencies of that state, and to that purpose to put the power of governing them into some one or more men’s hands, in such forms, and under such agreements as they should think fit; (which governors so set over them for a good end by their own choice, though they received all their power from those, who by the law of nature had a power to confer it on them, may very fitly be called powers ordained of God, being chosen and appointed by those who had authority from God so to do: for he that receives commission, limited according to the discretion of him that gives it, from another who had authority from his prince so to do, may truly be said, so far as his commission reaches, to be appointed or ordained by the prince himself;) it may serve as an answer to your two next paragraphs, and to show that there is no opposition or difficulty in all that St. Peter, St. Paul, or the judicious Mr. Hooker, says; nor any thing, in what either of them says, to your purpose. And though it be true, those powers that are, are ordained of God; yet it may nevertheless be true, that the power any one has, and the ends for which he has it, may be by the contrivance and appointment of men.

To my saying, “the ends of commonwealths appointed by the institutors of them, could not be their spiritual and eternal interest, because they could not stipulate about those one with another, nor submit this interest to the power of the society, or any sovereign they should set over them.” You reply, “very true, sir; but they can submit to be punished in their temporal interest, if they despise or neglect those greater interests.” How they can submit to be punished by any men in their temporal interest, for that which they cannot submit to be judged by any man, when you can show, I shall admire your politics. Besides, if the compact about matters of religion be, that those should be punished in their temporal, who neglect or despise their eternal interest; who I beseech you is by this agreement rather to be punished, a sober dissenter, who appears concerned for religion and his salvation, or an irreligious profane or debauched conformist? By such as despise or neglect those greater interests, you here mean only dissenters from the national religion; for those only you punish, though you represent them under such a description as belongs not peculiarly to them; but that matters not, so long as it best suits your occasion.

In your next paragraph you wonder at my news from the West-Indies; I suppose because you found it not in your books of Europe or Asia. But whatever you may think, I assure you all the world is not Mile-end. But that you may be no more surprised with news, let me ask you, whether it be not possible that men, to whom the rivers and woods afforded the spontaneous provisions of life, and so with no private possessions of land had no enlarged desires after riches or power; should live together in society, make one people of one language under one chieftain, who shall have no other power but to command them in time of common war against their common enemies, without any municipal laws, judges, or any person with superiority established amongst them, but ended all their private differences, if any arose, by the extemporary determination of their neighbours, or of arbitrators chosen by the parties: I ask you, whether in such a commonwealth the chieftain who was the only man of authority amongst them, had any power to use the force of the commonwealth to any other end but the defence of it against an enemy, though other benefits were attainable by it?

The paragraph of mine to which you mean your next for an answer, shall answer for itself.

L. II. P. 392.

“You quote the author’s argument, which he brings to prove that the care of souls is not committed to the magistrate in these words: It is not committed to him by God, because it appears not that God has ever given any such authority to one man over another, as to compel any one to his religion. This, when first I read it, I confess I thought a good argument. But you say, this is quite beside the business; and the reason you give, is, for the authority of the magistrate is not authority to compel any one to his religion, but only an authority to procure all his subjects the means of discovering the way of salvation, and to procure withal, as much as in him lies, that none remain ignorant of it, &c. I fear, Sir, you forget yourself. The author was not writing against your new hypothesis, before it was known in the world. He may be excused, if he had not the gift of prophecy, to argue against a notion which was not yet started. He had in view only the laws hitherto made, and the punishments, in matters of religion, in use in the world. The penalties, as I take it, are laid on men for being of different ways of religion: which, what is it other but to compel them to relinquish their own, and to conform themselves to that from which they differ? If this be not to compel them to the magistrate’s religion, pray tell us what is? This must be necessarily so understood; unless it can be supposed that the law intends not to have that done, which with penalties it commands to be done; or that punishments are not compulsion, not that compulsion the author complains of. The law says, Do this, and live; embrace this doctrine, conform to this way of worship, and be at ease and free; or else be fined, imprisoned, banished, burned. If you can show among the laws that have been made in England concerning religion, (and I think I may say any-where else,) any one that punishes man for not having impartially examined the religion they have embraced or refused, I think I may yield you the cause. Law-makers have been generally wiser than to make laws that could not be executed: and therefore their laws were against nonconformists, which could be known; and not for impartial examination, which could not. It was not then beside the author’s business, to bring an argument against the persecutions here in fashion. He did not know that any one, who was so free as to acknowledge that the magistrate has not an authority to compel any one to his religion, and thereby at once, as you have done, give up all the laws now in force against the dissenters; had yet rods in store for them, and by a new trick would bring them under the lash of the law, when the old pretences were too much exploded to serve any longer. Have you never heard of such a thing as the religion established by law? which is it seems the lawful religion of a country, and to be complied with as such. There being such things, such notions yet in the world, it was not quite beside the author’s business to allege, that God never gave such authority to one man over another, as to compel any one to his religion. I will grant, if you please, religion established by law is a pretty odd way of speaking in the mouth of a christian, and yet it is much in fashion, as if the magistrate’s authority could add any force or sanction to any religion, whether true or false. I am glad to find you have so far considered the magistrate’s authority, that you agree with the author, that he hath none to compel men to his religion. Much less can he, by any establishment of law, add any thing to the truth or validity of his own, or any religion whatsoever.”

L. III. P. 63.

As to your next paragraph, I think I might now wholly pass it over. I shall only tell you, that as I have often heard, so I hope I shall always hear of “religion established by law.” For though the magistrate’s authority can “add no force or sanction to any religion, whether true or false, nor any thing to the truth or validity of his own, or any religion whatsoever;” yet I think it may do much toward the upholding and preserving the true religion, within his jurisdiction; and in that respect may properly enough be said to establish it.

That above annexed is all the answer you think this paragraph of mine deserves. But yet in that little you say, you must give me leave to take notice, “that if, as you say, the magistrate’s authority may do much towards the upholding and preserving the true religion within his jurisdiction;” so also may do much towards the upholding and preserving of a false religion, and in that respect, if you say true, may be said to establish it. For I think I need not mind you here again, that it must unavoidably depend upon his opinion what shall be established for true, or rejected as false.

And thus you have my thoughts concerning the most material of what you say touching the magistrate’s commission to use force in matters of religion, together with some incident places in your answer, which I have taken notice of as they have come in my way.

CHAPTER III. WHO ARE TO BE PUNISHED BY YOUR SCHEME.

To justify the largeness of the author’s toleration, who would not have jews, mahometans, and pagans excluded from the civil rights of the commonwealth, because of their religion; I said, “I feared it will hardly be believed, that we pray in earnest for their conversion, if we exclude them from the ordinary and profitable means of it, either by driving them from, or persecuting them when they are amongst us.” You reply: “now I confess I thought men might live quietly enough among us, and enjoy the protection of the government against all violence and injuries, without being endenizened, or made members of the commonwealth; which alone can entitle them to the civil rights and privileges of it. But as to jews, mahometans, and pagans, if any of them do not care to live among us, unless they may be admitted to the rights and privileges of the commonwealth; the refusing them that favour is not, I suppose, to be looked upon as driving them from us, or excluding them from the ordinary and probable means of conversion; but as a just and necessary caution in a christian commonwealth, in respect to the members of it: who, if such as profess judaism, or mahometanism, or paganism, were permitted to enjoy the same rights with them, would be much the more in danger to be seduced by them; seeing they would lose no worldly advantage by such a change of their religion: whereas if they could not turn to any of those religions, without forfeiting the civil rights of the commonwealth by doing it, it is likely they would consider well before they did it, what ground there was to expect that they should get any thing by the exchange, which would countervail the loss they should sustain by it.” I thought protection and impunity of men, not offending in civil things, might have been accounted the civil rights of the commonwealth, which the author meant: but you to make it seem more, add the word privileges. Let it be so. Live amongst you then jews, mahometans, and pagans may; but endenizened they must not be. But why? Are there not those who are members of your commonwealth, who do not embrace the truth that must save them, any more than they? What think you of socinians, papists, anabaptists, quakers, presbyterians? If they do not reject the truth necessary to salvation, why do you punish them? Or if some that are in the way to perdition, may be members of the commonwealth, why must these be excluded upon the account of religion? For I think there is no great odds, as to saving of souls, which is the only end for which they are punished, amongst those religions, each whereof will make those who are of it miss salvation. Only if there be any fear of seducing those who are of the national church, the danger is most from that religion which comes nearest to it, and most resembles it. However, this you think, “but a just and necessary caution in a christian commonwealth in respect of the members of it.” I suppose, for you love to speak doubtfully, these members of a christian commonwealth you take such care of, are members also of the national church, whose religion is the true; and therefore you call them in the next paragraph, subjects of Christ’s kingdom, to whom he has a special regard. For dissenters, who are punished to be made good christians, to whom force is used “to bring them to the true religion, and to the communion of the church of God,” it is plain are not in your opinion good christians, or of the true religion; unless you punish them to make them what they are already. The dissenters therefore who are already perverted, and reject the truth that must save them, you are not I suppose so careful of, lest they should be seduced. Those who have already the plague, need not be guarded from infection: nor can you fear that men so desperately perverse, that penalties and punishments, joined to the light and strength of the truth, have not been able to bring from the opinions they have espoused into the communion of the church, should be seduced to judaism, mahometism, or paganism, neither of which has the advantage of truth or interest to prevail by. It has therefore those of the national church, as I conclude also from the close of this paragraph, where you speak of God’s own peculiar people, whom you think would be much the more in danger to be seduced by them, if they were endenizened, since they would lose no worldly advantage by such a change of their religion, i. e. by quitting the national church, to turn jews, mahometans, or pagans.

This shows, whatever you say of the sufficient means of instruction provided by the law, how well you think the members of the national church are instructed in the true religion. It shows also, whatever you say of its being presumable that they embrace it upon conviction, how much you are satisfied that the members of the national church are convinced of the truth of the religion they profess, or rather herd with; since you think them in great danger to change it for judaism, mahometanism, or paganism itself upon equal terms, and because they shall lose no worldly advantage by such a change. But if the forfeiting the civil rights of the commonwealth be the proper remedy to keep men in the communion of the church, why is it used to keep men from judaism or paganism, and not from fanaticism? Upon this account why might not jews, pagans, and mahometans be admitted to the rights of the commonwealth, as far as papists, independents, and quakers? But you distribute to every one according to your good pleasure; and doubtless are fully justified by these following words: “And whether this be not a reasonable and necessary caution, any man may judge who does but consider within how few ages after the flood, superstition and idolatry prevailed over the world, and how apt even God’s own peculiar people were to receive that mortal infection, notwithstanding all that he did to keep them from it.”

What the state of religion was in the first ages after the flood, is so imperfectly kown now, that, as I have showed you in another place, you can make little advantage to your cause from thence. And since it was the same corruption then, which, as you own, withdraws men now from the true religion, and hinders it from prevailing by its own light, without the assistance of force; and it is the same corruption that keeps dissenters, as well as jews, mahometans, and pagans, from embracing of the truth; why different degrees of punishments should be used to them, till there be found in them different degrees of obstinacy, would need some better reason. Why this common pravity of human nature should make judaism, mahometism, or paganism more catching than any sort of nonconformity, which hinders men from embracing the true religion; so that jews, mahometans, and pagans must, for fear of infecting others, be shut out from the commonwealth, when others are not; I would fain know? Whatever it was that so disposed the jews to idolatry before the captivity, sure it is, they firmly resisted it, and refused to change, not only where they might have done it on equal terms, but have had great advantage to boot; and therefore it is possible that there is something in this matter, which neither you nor I do fully comprehend, and may with a becoming humility sit down and confess, that in this, as well as other parts of his providence, God’s ways are past finding out. But of this we may be certain from this instance of the jews, that it is not reasonable to conclude, that because they were once inclined to idolatry, that therefore they, or any other people, are in danger to turn pagans, whenever they shall lose no worldly advantage by such a change. But if we may oppose nearer and known instances to more remote and uncertain, look into the world, and tell me, since Jesus Christ brought life and immortality to light through the gospel, where the christian religion meeting judaism, mahometism, or paganism upon equal terms, lost so plainly by it, that you have reason to suspect the members of a christian commonwealth would be in danger to be seduced to either of them, if they should lose no worldly advantage by such a change of their religion, rather than likely to increase among them? Till you can find them some better reason for excluding jews, &c. from the rights of the commonwealth, you must give us leave to look on this as a bare pretence. Besides, I think you are under a mistake, which shows your pretence against admitting jews, mahometans, and pagans to the civil rights of the commonwealth, is ill grounded; for what law I pray is there in England, that they who turn to any of those religions, forfeit the civil rights of the commonwealth by doing it? Such a law I desire you to show me; and if you cannot, all this pretence is out of doors, and men of your church, since on that account they would lose no worldly advantage by the change, are in as much danger to be seduced, whether jews, mahometans, and pagans are endenizened or no.

But that you may not be thought too gracious, you tell us, “That as to pagans particularly, you are so far from thinking that they ought not to be excluded from the civil rights of the commonwealth, because of their religion, that you cannot see how their religion can be suffered by any commonwealth that knows and worships the only true God, if they would be thought to retain any jealousy for his honour, or even for that of human nature.” Thus then you order the matter; jews and mahometans may be permitted to live in a christian commonwealth with the exercise of their religion, but not be endenizened: pagans may also be permitted to live there, but not to have the exercise of their religion, nor be endenizened.

This according to the best of my apprehension is the sense of your words; for the clearness of your thoughts, or your cause, does not always suffer you to speak plainly and directly; as here, having been speaking a whole page before what usage the persons of jews, mahometans, and pagans, were to have, you on a sudden tell us their religion is not to be suffered, but say not what must be done with their persons. For do you think it reasonable that men who have any religion, should live amongst you without the exercise of that religion, in order to their conversion? which is no other but to make them downright irreligious, and render the very notion of a deity insignificant, and of no influence to them in order to their conversion. It being less dangerous to religion in general to have men ignorant of a deity, and so without any religion; than to have them acknowledge a superiour Being, but yet to teach or allow them to neglect or refuse worshipping him in that way, that they believe he requires, to render them acceptable to him: it being a great deal less fault (and that which we were every one of us once guilty of) to be ignorant of him, than acknowledging a God, not to pay him the honour which we think due to him. I do not see therefore how those who retain any jealousy for the honour of God, can permit men to live amongst them in order to their conversion, and require of them not to honour God, according to the best of their knowledge: unless you think it a preparation to your true religion, to require men sensibly and knowingly to affront the Deity; and to persuade them that the religion you would bring them to, can allow men to make bold with the sense they have of him, and to refuse him the honour which in their consciences they are persuaded is due to him, and which must to them and every body else appear inconsistent with all religion. Since therefore to admit their persons without the exercise of their religion, cannot be reasonable, nor conducing to their conversion; if the exercise of their religion, as you say, be not to be suffered amongst us, till they are converted, I do not see how their persons can be suffered amongst us, if that exception must be added, till they are converted; and whether then they are not excluded from the ordinary means of conversion, I leave you to consider.

I wonder this necessity had not made you think on another way of their having the ordinary means of conversion, without their living amongst us, that way by which in the beginning of christianity it was brought to the heathen world by the travels and preaching of the apostles. But the successors of the apostles are not, it seems, successors to this part of the commission, Go and teach all nations. And indeed it is one thing to be an ambassador from God to people that are already converted, and have provided good benefices; another to be an ambassador from heaven in a country where you have neither the countenance of the magistrate, nor the devout obedience of the people. And who sees not how one is bound to be zealous for the propagating of the true religion, and the convincing, converting, and saving of souls in a country where it is established by law? who can doubt but that there those who talk so much of it are in earnest? Though yet some men will hardly forbear doubting, that those men, however they pray for it, are not much concerned for the conversion of pagans, who will neither go to them to instruct them, nor suffer them to come to us for the means of conversion.

It is true what you say, “what pagans call religion is abomination to the Almighty.” But if that requires any thing from those who retain any jealousy for the honour of God, it is something more than barely about the place where those abominations shall be committed. The true concern for the honour of God is not, that idolatry should be shut out of England, but that it should be lessened every-where, and by the light and preaching of the gospel be banished out of the world. If pagans and idolaters are, as you say, the “greatest dishonour conceivable to God almighty,” they are as much so on the other side of Tweed, or the sea, as on this; for he from his throne equally beholds all the dwellers upon earth. Those therefore who are truly jealous for the honour of God, will not, upon the account of his honour, be concerned for their being in this or that place, while there are idolaters in the world; but that the number of those who are such a dishonour to him, should every day be as much as possible diminished, and they be brought to give him his due tribute of honour and praise in a right way of worship. It is in this that a jealousy, which is in earnest for God’s honour, truly shows itself, in wishing and endeavouring to abate the abomination, and drive idolatry out of the world; not in driving idolaters out of any one country, or sending them away to places and company, where they shall find more encouragement to it. It is a strange jealousy for the honour of God, that looks not beyond such a mountain or river as divides a christian and pagan country. Wherever idolatry is committed, there God’s honour is concerned; and thither men’s jealousy for his honour, if it be sincere indeed, will extend, and be in pain to lessen and take away the provocation. But the place God is provoked and dishonoured in, which is a narrow consideration in respect of the Lord of all the earth, will no otherwise employ their zeal, who are in earnest, than as it may more or less conduce to their conversion of the offenders.

But if your jealousy for the honour of God engages you so far against men’s committing idolatry in certain places, that you think those ought to be excluded from the rights of the commonwealth, and not to be suffered to be denizens, who, according to that place in the Romans brought by you, are “without excuse, because when they knew God, they glorified him not as God, but became vain in their imagination, and changed the glory of the incorruptible God into an image made like to corruptible man.” I shall only change some of the words in the text you cite of Isaiah, “I have baked part thereof on the coals, and eaten it, and shall I make the residue thereof a God? shall I fall down to that which comes of a plant?” and so leave them with you to consider whether your jealousy in earnest carries you so far as you talk of; and whether when you have looked about you, you are still of the mind, that those who do such things shall be disfranchised and sent away, and the exercise of no such religion be any-where permitted amongst us? for those things are no less an abomination to God under a christian than pagan name. One word more I have to say to your jealousy for the honour of God, that if it be any thing more than in talk, it will set itself no less earnestly against other abominations, and the practisers of them, than against that of idolatry.

As to that in Job xxxi. 26, 27, 28, where he says “idolatry is to be punished by the judge;” this place alone were there no other, is sufficient to confirm their opinion, who conclude that book writ by a jew. And how little the punishing of idolatry in that commonwealth concerns our present case, I refer you for information to the author’s letter. But how does your jealousy for the honour of God carry you to an exclusion of the pagan religion from amongst you, but yet admit of the jewish and mahometan? Or is not the honour of God concerned in their denying our Saviour?

If we are to look upon Job to have been writ before the time of Moses, as the author would have it, , and so by a stranger to the commonwealth of Israel; it is plain the general apostacy he lays so much stress on, was not spread so far, but that there was a government by his own confession, established out of Judea, free from, nay zealous against idolatry: and why there might not be many more as well as this, which we hear of but by chance, it will concern him to show.

You go on, “But as to the converting jews, mahometans, and pagans to christianity, I fear there will be no great progress made in it, till christians come to a better agreement and union among themselves. I am sure our Saviour prayed that all that should believe in him, might be one in the Father and him.” (i. e. I suppose in that holy religion which he taught them from the Father) that the world might believe that the Father had sent him: “and therefore when he comes to make inquisition, why no more jews, mahometans, and pagans have been converted to his religion; I very much fear, that a great part of the blame will be found to lie upon the authors and promoters of sects and divisions among the professors of it: which therefore, I think, all that are guilty, and all that would not be guilty, ought well to consider.”

I easily grant that “our Saviour prayed that all might be one in that holy religion which he taught them;” and in that very prayer teaches what that religion is, “This is life eternal, that they might know thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom thou hast sent.” John xvii. 3. But must it be expected, that therefore they should all be of one mind in things not necessary to salvation? for whatever unity it was our Saviour prayed for here, it is certain the apostles themselves did not all of them agree in every thing: but even the chief of them have had differences amongst them in matters of religion, as appears, Gal. ii. 11.

An agreement in truths necessary to salvation, and the maintaining of charity and brotherly kindness with the diversity of opinions in other things, is that which will very well consist with christian unity, and is all possibly to be had in this world, in such an incurable weakness and difference of men’s understandings. This probably would contribute more to the conversion of jews, mahometans, and pagans, if there were proposed to them and others, for their admittance into the church, only the plain simple truths of the gospel necessary to salvation, than all the fruitless pudder and talk about uniting christians in matters of less moment, according to the draught and prescription of a certain set of men any-where.

“What blame will lie on the authors and promoters of sects and divisions,” and, let me add, animosities amongst christians, “when Christ comes to make inquisition why no more jews, mahometans, and pagans were converted, they who are concerned ought certainly well to consider.” And to abate in great measure this mischief for the future, they who talk so much of sects and divisions, would do well to consider too, whether those are not most authors and promoters of sects and divisions, who impose creeds, and ceremonies and articles of men’s making; and make things not necessary to salvation, the necessary terms of communion, excluding and driving from them such as out of conscience and persuasion cannot assent and submit to them; and treating them as if they were utter aliens from the church of God, and such as were deservedly shut out as unfit to be members of it: who narrow christianity within bounds of their own making, which the gospel knows nothing of; and often, for things by themselves confessed indifferent, thrust men out of their communion, and then punish them for not being of it.

Who sees not, but the bond of unity might be preserved, in the different persuasions of men concerning things not necessary to salvation, if they were not made necessary to church communion? What two thinking men of the church of England are there, who differ not one from the other in several material points of religion, who nevertheless are members of the same church, and in unity one with another? Make but one of those points the shibboleth of a party, and erect it into an article of the national church, and they are presently divided; and he of the two, whose judgment happens not to agree with national orthodoxy, is immediately cut off from communion. Who I beseech you is it in this case that makes the sect? Is it not those who contract the church of Christ within limits of their own contrivance? who, by articles and ceremonies of their own forming, separate from their communion all that have not persuasions which just jump with their model?

It is frivolous here to pretend authority. No man has or can have authority to shut any one out of the church of Christ, for that for which Christ himself will not shut him out of heaven. Whosoever does so, is truly the author and promoter of schism and division, sets up a sect, and tears in pieces the church of Christ, of which every one who believes, and practises what is necessary to salvation, is a part and member; and cannot, without the guilt of schism, be separated from, or kept out of its external communion. In this “lording it over the heritage of God,” 1 Pet. v. 2, 3, and thus over-seeing by imposition on the unwilling, and not consenting, (which seems to be the meaning of St. Peter,) most of the lasting sects which so mangle christianity, had their original, and continue to have their support: and were it not for these established sects under the specious names of national churches, which, by their contracted and arbitrary limits of communion, justify against themselves the separation and like narrowness of others; the difference of opinions which do not so much begin to be, as to appear and be owned under toleration, would either make no select nor division; or else, if they were so extravagant as to be opposite to what is necessary to salvation, and so necessitate a separation, the clear light of the gospel, joined with a strict discipline of manners, would quickly chase them out of the world. But whilst needless impositions and moot points in divinity are established by the penal laws of kingdoms, and the specious pretences of authority; what hope is there, that there should be such an union amongst christians anywhere, as might invite a rational Turk or infidel to embrace a religion, whereof he is told they have a revelation from God, which yet in some places he is not suffered to read, and in no place shall he be permitted to understand for himself, or to follow according to the best of his understanding, when it shall at all thwart (though in things confessed not necessary to salvation) any of those select points of doctrine, discipline, or outward worship, whereof the national church has been pleased to make up its articles, polity, and ceremonies? And I ask, what a sober sensible heathen must think of the divisions amongst christians not owing to toleration, if he should find in an island, where christianity seems to be in its greatest purity, the south and north parts establishing churches upon the differences of only whether fewer or more, thus and thus chosen, should govern; though the revelation they both pretend to be their rule, say nothing directly one way or the other: each contending with so much eagerness, that they deny each other to be churches of Christ, that is, in effect, to be true christians? To which if one should add transubstantiation, consubstantiation, real presence, articles and distinctions set up by men without authority from scripture; and other less differences, which good christians may dissent about without endangering their salvation, established by law in the several parts of Christendom: I ask, whether the magistrates interposing in matters of religion, and establishing national churches by the force and penalties of civil laws, with their distinct (and at home reputed necessary) confessions and ceremonies, do not by law and power authorize and perpetuate sects among christians, to the great prejudice of christianity, and scandal to infidels, more than any thing that can arise from a mutual toleration, with charity and a good life?

Those who have so much in their mouths, “the authors of sects and divisions,” with so little advantage to their cause, I shall desire to consider, whether national churches established as now they are, are not as much sects and divisions in christianity, as smaller collections, under the name of distinct churches, are in respect of the national? Only with this difference, that these subdivisions and discountenanced sects, wanting power to enforce their peculiar doctrines and discipline, usually live more friendly like christians, and seem only to demand christian liberty; whereby there is less appearance of unchristian division among them; whereas those national sects, being backed by the civil power, which they never fail to make use of, at least as a pretence of authority over their brethren, usually breathe out nothing but force and persecution, to the great reproach, shame, and dishonour of the christian religion.

I said, “that if the magistrates would severely and impartially set themselves against vice in whomsoever it is found, and leave men to their own consciences in their articles of faith, and ways of worship, true religion would spread wider, and be more fruitful in the lives of its professors than ever hitherto it has done by the imposing of creeds and ceremonies.” Here I call only immorality of manners, vice; you on the contrary, in your answer, give the name of vice to errours in opinion, and difference in ways of worship from the national church: for this is the matter in question between us, express it as you please. This being a contest only about the signification of a short syllable in the English tongue, we must leave to the masters of that language to judge which of these two is the proper use of it. But yet, from my using the word vice, you conclude presently, taking it in your sense, not mine, that the magistrate has a power in England, for England we are speaking of, to punish dissenters from the national religion, because it is a vice. I will, if you please, in what I said, change the word vice into that I meant by it, and say thus, if the magistrates will severely and impartially set themselves against the dishonesty and debauchery of men’s lives, and such immoralities as I contra-distinguish from errours in speculative opinions of religion, and ways of worship; and then pray see how your answer will look, for thus it runs: “It seems then with you the rejecting the true religion, and refusing to worship God in decent ways prescribed by those to whom God has left the ordering of those matters, are not comprehended in the name vice.” But you tell me, “If I except these things, and will not allow them to be called by the name of vice, perhaps other men may think it as reasonable to except some other things [i. e. from being called vices] which they have a kindness for: for instance, some may perhaps except arbitrary divorce, polygamy, concubinage, simple fornication, or marrying within degress thought forbidden.” Let them except these, and if you will, drunkenness, theft and murder too, from the name of vice; nay, call them virtues: will they, by their calling them so, be exempt from the magistrate’s power of punishing them? Or can they claim an impunity by what I have said? Will these immoralities by the names any one shall give, or forbear to give them, “become articles of faith, or ways of worship?” Which is all, as I expressly say in the words you here cite of mine, that I would have the magistrates leave men to their own consciences in. But, sir, you have, for me, liberty of conscience to use words in what sense you please: only I think, where another is concerned, it savours more of ingenuity and love of truth, rather to mind the sense of him that speaks, than to make a dust and noise with a mistaken word, if any such advantage were given you.

You say, “that some men would through carelessness never acquaint themselves with the truths which must save them, without being forced to do it, which (you suppose) may be very true, notwithstanding that (as I say) some are called at the third hour, some at the ninth, and some at the eleventh hour; and whenever they are called, they embrace all the truths necessary to salvation. At least I do not show why it may not: and therefore this may be no slip, for any thing I have said to prove it to be one.” This I take not to be an answer to my argument, which was, that, since some are not called till the eleventh hour, nobody can know who those are, “who would never acquaint themselves with those truths that must save them, without force,” which is therefore necessary, and may indirectly and at a distance do them some service. Whether that was my argument or no, I leave the reader to judge: but that you may not mistake it now again, I tell you here it is so, and needs another answer.

Your way of using punishments in short is this, that all that conform not to the national church, where it is true, as in England, should be punished; what for? “to make them consider.” This I told you had something of impracticable. To which you reply, that you used the word only in another sense, which I mistook. Whether I mistook your meaning in the use of that word or no, or whether it was natural so to take it, or whether that opinion which I charged on you by that mistake, when you tell us, “that not examining, is indeed the next end for which they are punished,” be not your opinion, let us leave to the reader; for when you have that word in what sense you please, what I said will be nevertheless true, viz. “That to punish dissenters, as dissenters, to make them consider, has something impracticable in it, unless not to be of the national religion, and not to consider, be the same thing.” These words you answer nothing to, having as you thought a great advantage of talking about my mistake of your word only. But unless you will suppose, not to be of the national church, and not to consider, be the same thing, it will follow, that to punish dissenters, as dissenters, to make them consider, has something of impracticable in it.

The law punishes all dissenters: for what? To make them all conform, that’s evident; to what end? To make them all consider, say you: that cannot be, for it says nothing of it; nor is it certain that all dissenters have not considered; nor is there any care taken by the law to inquire whether they have considered, when they do conform; yet this was the end intended by the magistrate. So then with you it is practicable and allowable in making laws, for the legislator to lay punishments by law on men, for an end which they may be ignorant of, for he says nothing of it; on men, whom he never takes care to inquire, whether they have done it or no, before he relax the punishment, which had no other next end but to make them do it. But though he says nothing of considering, in laying on the penalties, nor asks any thing about it, when he takes them off; yet every body must understand that he so meant it. Sir, Sancho Pancha, in the government of his island, did not expect that men should understand his meaning by his gaping: but in another island it seems, if you had the management, you would not think it to have any thing of impracticable or impolitic in it: for how far the provision of means of instruction takes this off, we shall see in another place. And, lastly, to lay punishments on men for an end which is already attained, for some among the dissenters may have considered, is what other law-makers look on as impracticable, or at least unjust. But to this you answer, in your usual way of circle, That “if” I “suppose you are for punishing dissenters whether they consider or no,” I “am in a great mistake; for the dissenters (which is my word, not yours) whom” you “are for punishing, are only such as reject the true religion proposed to them, with reasons and arguments sufficient to convince them of the truth of it, who therefore can never be supposed to consider those reasons and arguments as they ought, whilst they persist in rejecting that religion, or (in my language) continue dissenters; for if they did so consider them, they would not continue dissenters.” Of the fault for which men were to be punished, distinguished from the end for which they were to be punished, we heard nothing, as I remember, in the first draught of your scheme, which we had in “the argument considered,” &c. But I doubt not but in your general terms you will be able to find it, or what else you please: for now having spoken out, that men, who are of a different religion from the true which has been tendered them with sufficient evidence, (and who are they whom the wise and benign disposer and governor of all things has not furnished with competent means of salvation?) are criminal, and are by the magistrate to be punished as such, it is necessary your scheme should be completed; and whither that will carry you, it is easy to see.

But pray, sir, are there no conformists that so reject the true religion? and would you have them punished too, as you here profess? Make that practicable by your scheme, and you have done something to persuade us that your end in earnest, in the use of force, is to make men consider, understand, and be of the true religion; and that the rejecting the true religion tendered with sufficient evidence, is the crime which bonâ fide you would have punished; and till you do this, all that you may say concerning punishing men “to make them consider as they ought, to make them receive the true religion, to make them embrace the truth that must save them,” &c. will, with all sober, judicious, and unbiassed readers, pass only for the mark of great zeal, if it scape amongst men as warm and as sagacious as you are, a harsher name: whilst those conformists, who neglect matters of religion, who reject the saving truths of the gospel, as visibly and as certainly as any dissenters, have yet no penalties laid upon them.

You talk much “of considering and not considering as one ought; of embracing and rejecting the true religion,” and abundance more to this purpose; which all, however very good and savoury words, that look very well, when you come to the application of force to procure that end expressed in them, amount to no more but conformity and non-conformity. If you see not this, I pity you; for I would fain think you a fair man, who means well, though you have not light upon the right way to the end you propose: but if you see it, and persist in your use of these good expressions to lead men into a mistake in this matter; consider what my pagans and mahometans could do worse to serve a bad cause.

Whatever you may imagine, I write so in this argument, as I have before my eyes the account I shall one day render for my intention and regard to truth in the management of it. I look on myself as liable to errour as others; but this I am sure of, I would neither impose on you, myself, nor any-body; and should be very glad to have the truth in this point clearly established: and therefore it is, I desire you again to examine, whether all the ends you name to be intended by your use of force, do in effect, when force is to be your way put in practice, reach any farther than bare outward conformity? Pray consider whether it be not that which makes you so shy of the term dissenters, which you tell me is mine, not your word. Since none are by your scheme to be punished, but those who do not conform to the national religion, dissenters, I think, is the proper name to call them by; and I can see no reason you have to boggle at it, unless your opinion has something in it you are unwilling should be spoke out, and called by its right name: but whether you like it or no, persecution and persecution of dissenters, are names that belong to it as it stands now.

And now I think I may leave you your question, wherein you ask, “But cannot dissenters be punished for not being of the national religion, as the fault, and yet only to make them consider, as the end for which they are punished?” to be answered by yourself, or to be used again, where you think there is any need of so nice a distinction, as between the fault for which men are punished by laws, and the end for which they are punished. For to me I confess it is hard to find any other immediate end of punishment in the intention of human laws, but the amendment of the fault punished: though it may be subordinate to other and remoter ends. If the law be only to punish non-conformity, one may truly say, to cure that fault, or to produce conformity, is the end of that law: and there is nothing else immediately aimed at by that law, but conformity; and whatever else it tends to as an end, must be only as a consequence of conformity, whether it be edification, increase of charity, or saving of souls, or whatever else may be thought a consequence of conformity. So that in a law, which with penalties requires conformity, and nothing else; one cannot say, properly I think, that consideration is the end of that law; unless consideration be a consequence of conformity, to which conformity is subordinate, and does naturally conduce, or else is necessary to it.

To my arguing that it is unjust as well as impracticable, you reply, “Where the national church is the true church of God, to which all men ought to join themselves, and sufficient evidence is offered to convince men that it is so: there it is a fault to be out of the national church, because it is a fault not to be convinced that the national church is that true church of God. And therefore since there men’s not being so convinced, can only be imputed to their not considering as they ought, the evidence which is offered to convince them; it cannot be unjust to punish them to make them so to consider it.” Pray tell me which is a man’s duty, to be of the national church first; or to be convinced first, that its religion is true, and then to be of it? If it be his duty to be convinced first, why then do you punish him for not being of it, when it is his duty to be convinced of the truth of its religion, before it is his duty to be of it? If you say it is his duty to be of it first; why then is not force used to him afterwards, though he be still ignorant and unconvinced? But you answer, “It is his fault not to be convinced.” What, every one’s fault every-where? No, you limit it to places where “sufficient evidence is offered to convince men that the national church is the true church of God.” To which pray let me add, the national church is so the true church of God, that nobody out of its communion can embrace the truth that must save him, or be in the way to salvation. For if a man may be in the way to salvation out of the national church, he is enough in the true church, and needs no force to bring him into any other: for when a man is in the way to salvation, there is no necessity of force to bring him into any church of any denomination, in order to his salvation. So that not to be of the national church, though true, will not be a fault which the magistrate has a right to punish, until sufficient evidence is offered to prove that a man cannot be saved out of it. Now since you tell us, that by sufficient evidence you mean such as will certainly win assent; when you have offered such evidence to convince men that the national church, any-where, is so the true church, that men cannot be saved out of its communion, I think I may allow them to be so faulty as to deserve what punishment you shall think fit. If you hope to mend the matter by the following words, where you say, that where such “evidence is offered, there men’s not being convinced can only be imputed to men’s not considering as they ought,” they will not help you. For “to consider as they ought,” being, by your own interpretation, “to consider so as not to reject;” then your answer amounts to just thus much, “That it is a fault not to be convinced that the national church is the true church of God, where sufficient evidence is offered to convince men that it is so. Sufficient evidence is such as will certainly gain assent with those who consider as they ought, i. e. who consider so as not to reject, or to be moved heartily to embrace,” which I think is to be convinced. Who can have the heart now to deny any of this? Can there be any thing surer, than that men’s not being convinced, is to be imputed to them if they are not convinced, where such evidence is offered to them as does convince them? And to punish all such, you have my free consent.

Whether all you say have any thing more in it than this, I appeal to my readers: and should willingly do it to you, did not I fear, that the jumbling of those good and plausible words in your head, “of sufficient evidence, consider as one ought,” &c. might a little jargogle your thoughts, and lead you hoodwinked the round of your own beaten circle. This is a danger those are much exposed to, who accustom themselves to relative and doubtful terms, and so put together, that, though asunder they signify something, yet, when their meaning comes to be cast up as they are placed, it amounts to just nothing.

You go on, “What justice it would be for the magistrate to punish one for not being a cartesian, it will be time enough to consider when I have proved it to be as necessary for men to be cartesians, as it is to be christians, or members of God’s church.” This will be a much better answer to what I said, when you have proved that to be a christian or a member of God’s church, it is necessary for a dissenter to be of the church of England. If it be not justice to punish a man for not being a cartesian, because it is not as necessary to be a cartesian, as to be a christian; I fear the same argument will hold against punishing a man for not using the cross in baptism, or not kneeling at the Lord’s Supper; and it will lie on you to prove, that it is as necessary to use the cross in baptism, or kneeling at the Lord’s Supper, as it is to be a christian: for if they are not as necessary as it is to be a christian, you cannot by your own rule, without injustice, punish men for not conforming to a church wherein they are made an indispensable part of conformity; and by this rule it will be injustice to punish any man for not being of that church wherein any thing is required not necessary to salvation; for that, I think, is the necessity of being a christian.

To show the unreasonableness of punishing dissenters to make them examine, I said, “that so they were punished for not having offended against a law; for there is no law of the land that requires them to examine.” Your reply is, That “you think the contrary is plain enough: for where the laws provide sufficient means of instruction in the true religion, and then require all men to embrace that religion; you think the most natural construction of those laws is, that they require men to embrace it upon instruction and conviction, as it cannot be expected they should do without examining the grounds upon which it stands.” Your answer were very true, if they could not embrace without examining and conviction. But since there is a shorter way to embracing, which costs no more pains than walking as far as the church, your answer no more proves that the law requires examining, than if a man at Harwich being subpœnaed to appear in Westminster-Hall next term, you should say the subpœna required him to come by sea, because there was sufficient means provided for his passage in the ordinary boat that by appointment goes constantly from Harwich to London: but he taking it to be more for his ease and dispatch, goes the shorter way by land, and finds that having made his appearance in court as was required, the law is satisfied, and there is no inquiry made, what way he came thither.

If therefore men can embrace so as to satisfy the law without examining, and it be true that they so “fly from the means of right information, are so negligent in, and averse to examining,” that there is need of penalties to make them do it, as you tell us at large; how is it a natural construction of those laws, that they require men to examine, which having provided sufficient means of instruction, require men only to conform, without saying any thing of examining? especially when the cause assigned by you of men’s neglecting to examine, is not want of “means of instruction, but want of penalties to over-balance their aversion” to the using those means; which you yourself confess, where you say, “When the best provision is made that can be, for the instruction of the people, you fear a great part of them will still need penalties to bring them to hear and receive instruction:” and therefore perhaps the remainder of that paragraph, when you have considered it again, will not appear so impertinent a declamation as you are pleased to think it: for it charged your method, as it then stood, of punishing men for not considering and examining, with these absurdities, that it punished men for not doing that which the law did not require of them, nor declare the neglect of to be a fault; contrary to the ends of all laws, contrary to the common sense of mankind, and the practice of all law-makers; who always first declared the fault, and then denounced penalties against those who after a time set should be found guilty of it. It charged your method, that it allows not impunity to the innocent, but punishes whole tribes together, the innocent with the guilty; and that the thing designed in the law was not mentioned in it, but left to the people, whose fault was want of consideration, to be by consideration found out.

To avoid these absurdities, you have reformed your scheme, and now in your reply own with the frankest persecutors, that you punish men downright for their religion, and that to be a dissenter from the true religion is a fault to be punished by the magistrate. This indeed is plain dealing, and clears your method from these absurdities as long as you keep to it: but wherever you tell us, that your laws are to make men hear, to make men consider, to make men examine; whilst the laws themselves say nothing of hearing, considering, and examining; there you are still chargeable with all these absurdities: nor will the distinction, which without any difference you would set up, between the fault for which men were to be punished, and the end for which they are to be punished, do you any service herein, as I have showed you in another place.

To what I said L. II. from to , concerning those who by your scheme are to be punished, you having thought fit not to answer any thing, I shall here again offer it to your consideration:

“Let us inquire, first, Who it is you would have be punished. In the place above cited, they are those who are got into a wrong way, and are deaf to all persuasions. If these are the men to be punished, let a law be made against them: you have my consent; and that is the proper course to have offenders punished. For you do not, I hope, intend to punish any fault by a law, which you do not name in the law; nor make a law against any fault you would not have punished. And now, if you are sincere, and in earnest, and are, as a fair man should be, for what your words plainly signify, and nothing else; what will such a law serve for? Men in the wrong way are to be punished: but who are in the wrong way, is the question. You have no more reason to determine it against one, who differs from you, than he has to conclude against you, who differ from him: no, not though you have the magistrate and the national church on your side. For if to differ from them be to be in the wrong way; you who are in the right way in England, will be in the wrong way in France. Every one here must be judge for himself: and your law will reach nobody, till you have convinced him he is in the wrong way: and then there will be no need of punishment to make him consider: unless you will affirm again what you have denied, and have men punished for embracing the religion they believe to be true, when it differs from yours or the public.

“Besides being in the wrong way, those who you would have punished, must be such as are deaf to all persuasions. But any such, I suppose, you will hardly find, who hearken to nobody, not to those of their own way. If you mean by deaf to all persuasions, all persuasions of a contrary party, or of a different church; such, I suppose, you may abundantly find in your own church, as well as elsewhere; and I presume to them you are so charitable, that you would not have them punished for not lending an ear to seducers. For constancy in the truth, and perseverance in the faith, is, I hope, rather to be encouraged, than by any penalties checked in the orthodox. And your church, doubtless, as well as all others, is orthodox to itself in all its tenets. If you mean by all persuasion, all your persuasion, or all persuasion of those of your communion; you do but beg the question, and suppose you have a right to punish those who differ from, and will not comply with you.

“Your next words are, — When men fly from the means of a right information, and will not so much as consider how reasonable it is thoroughly and impartially to examine a religion, which they embraced upon such inducements as ought to have no sway at all in the matter, and therefore with little or no examination of the proper grounds of it; what human method can be used to bring them to act like men, in an affair of such consequence, and to make a wiser and more rational choice, but that of laying such penalties upon them, as may balance the weight of those prejudices which inclined them to prefer a false way before the true, and recover them to so much sobriety and reflection, as seriously to put the question to themselves, Whether it be really worth the while to undergo such inconveniences for adhering to a religion, which, for any thing they know, may be false, or for rejecting another (if that be the case) which, for any thing they know, may be true, till they have brought it to the bar of reason, and given it fair trial there? — Here you again bring in such as prefer a false way before a true: to which having answered already, I shall here say no more, but that, since our church will not allow those to be in a false way who are out of the church of Rome, because the church of Rome, which pretends infallibility, declares hers to be the only true way; certainly no one of our church, nor any other, which claims not infallibility, can require any one to take the testimony of any church, as a sufficient proof of the truth of her own doctrine. So that true and false, as it commonly happens, when we suppose them for ourselves, or our party, in effect, signify just nothing, or nothing to the purpose; unless we can think that true or false in England, which will not be so at Rome or Geneva; and vice versâ. As for the rest of the description of those, on whom you are here laying penalties; I beseech you consider whether it will not belong to any of your church, let it be what it will. Consider, I say, if there be none in your church who have embraced her religion upon such inducements as ought to have no sway at all in the matter, and therefore with little or no examination of the proper grounds of it; who have not been inclined by prejudices; who do not adhere to a religion which for any thing they know may be false; and who have rejected another, which for any thing they know may be true. If you have any such in your communion, and it will be an admirable, though I fear but a little flock, that has none such in it, consider well what you have done. You have prepared rods for them, for which I imagine they will con you no thanks. For to make any tolerable sense of what you here propose, it must be understood that you would have men of all religions punished, to make them consider whether it be really worth the while to undergo such inconveniences for adhering to a religion, which for any thing they know may be false. If you hope to avoid that, by what you have said of true and false; and pretend that the supposed preference of the true way in your church ought to preserve its members from your punishment; you manifestly trifle. For every church’s testimony, that it has chosen in the true way, must be taken for itself; and then none will be liable; and your new invention of punishment is come to nothing; or else the differing churches testimonies must be taken one for another; and then they will be all out of the true way, and your church need penalties as well as the rest. So that upon your principles, they must all or none be punished. Choose which you please; one of them, I think, you cannot escape.

“What you say in the next words: Where instruction if stiffly refused, and all admonitions and persuasions prove vain and ineffectual; differs nothing, but in the way of expressing, from deaf to all persuasions: and so that is answered already.

“In another place, you give us another description of those you think ought to be punished, in these words: Those who refuse to embrace the doctrine, and submit to the spiritual government of the proper ministers of religion, who by special designation are appointed to exhort, admonish, reprove, &c. Here then, those to be punished, are such who refuse to embrace the doctrine, and submit to the government of the proper ministers of religion. Whereby we are as much still at uncertainty as we were before, who those are who, by your scheme, and laws suitable to it, are to be punished; since every church has, as it thinks, its proper ministers of religion: and if you mean those that refuse to embrace the doctrine, and submit to the government of the ministers of another church; then all men will be guilty, and must be punished, even those of your own church as well as others. If you mean those who refuse, &c. the ministers of their own church, very few will incur your penalties: but if by these proper ministers of religion, the ministers of some particular church are intended, why do you not name it? Why are you so reserved in a matter, wherein, if you speak not out, all the rest that you say will be to no purpose? Are men to be punished for refusing to embrace the doctrine, and submit to the government of the proper ministers of the church of Geneva? For this time, since you have declared nothing to the contrary, let me suppose you of that church; and then I am sure, that is it that you would name: for of whatever church you are, if you think the ministers of any one church ought to be hearkened to, and obeyed, it must be those of your own. There are persons to be punished, you say; this you contend for all through your book, and lay so much stress on it, that you make the preservation and propagation of religion, and the salvation of souls, to depend on it: and yet you describe them by so general and equivocal marks, that, unless it be upon suppositions which nobody will grant you, I dare say, neither you nor any-body else will be able to find one guilty. Pray find me if you can, a man whom you can judicially prove (for he that is to be punished by law, must be fairly tried) is in a wrong way, in respect of his faith; I mean who is deaf to all persuasions, who flies from all means of a right information, who refuses to embrace the doctrine, and submit to the government of the spiritual pastors. And when you have done that, I think I may allow you what power you please to punish him, without any prejudice to the toleration the author of the letter proposes.

“But why, I pray, all this boggling, all this loose talking, as if you knew not what you meant, or durst not speak it out? Would you be for punishing somebody, you know not whom? I do not think so ill of you. Let me then speak out for you. The evidence of the argument has convinced you that men ought not to be persecuted for their religion: That the severities in use amongst christians cannot be defended: That the magistrate has not authority to compel any one to his religion. This you are forced to yield. But you would fain retain some power in the magistrate’s hands to punish dissenters, upon a new pretence, viz. not for having embraced the doctrine and worship they believe to be true and right, but for not having well considered their own and the magistrate’s religion. To show you that I do not speak wholly without book, give me leave to mind you of one passage of yours: the words are, — Penalties to put them upon a serious and impartial examination of the controversy between the magistrates and them. Though these words be not intended to tell us who you would have punished, yet it may be plainly inferred from them. And they more clearly point out whom you aim at, than all the foregoing places, where you seem to, and should, describe them. For they are such as between whom and the magistrate there is a controversy; that is, in short, who differ from the magistrate in religion. And now indeed you have given us a note by which these you would have punished, may be known. We have with much ado found at last whom it is we may presume you would have punished. Which in other cases is usually not very difficult: because there the faults to be amended easily design the persons to be corrected. But yours is a new method, and unlike all that ever went before it.

“In the next place, let us see for what you would have them punished. You tell us, and it will easily be granted you, that not to examine and weigh impartially, and without prejudice or passion, all which, for shortness sake, we will express by this one word consider, the religion one embraces or refuses, is a fault very common, and very prejudicial to true religion, and the salvation of men’s souls. But penalties and punishments are very necessary, say you, to remedy this evil.

“Let us see now how you apply this remedy. Therefore, say you, let all dissenters be punished. Why? Have no dissenters considered of religion? Or have all conformists considered? That you yourself will not say. Your project therefore is just as reasonable as if a lethargy growing epidemical in England, you should propose to have a law made to blister and scarify, and shave the heads of all who wear gowns; though it be certain that neither all who wear gowns are lethargic, nor all who are lethargic wear gowns:

— “Dii te, Damasippe, Deæque Verum ob consilium donent tonsore.

“For there could not be certainly a more learned advice, than that one man should be pulled by the ears, because another is asleep. This, when you have considered of it again, (for I find, according to your principle, all men have now and then need to be jogged,) you will, I guess, be convinced is not like a fair physician, to apply a remedy to a disease; but, like an enraged enemy, to vent one’s spleen upon a party. Common sense, as well as common justice, requires, that the remedies of laws and penalties, should be directed against the evil that is to be removed, wherever it be found. And if the punishment you think so necessary be, as you pretend, to cure the mischief you complain of, you must let it pursue, and fall on the guilty, and those only, in what company soever they are; and not, as you here propose, and is the highest injustice, punish the innocent considering dissenter, with the guilty; and on the other side, let the inconsiderate guilty conformist escape, with the innocent. For one may rationally presume that the national church has some, nay, more, in proportion, of those who little consider or concern themselves about religion, than any congregation of dissenters. For conscience, or the care of their souls, being once laid aside; interest, of course, leads men into that society, where the protection and countenance of the government, and hopes of preferment, bid fairest to all their remaining desires. So that if careless, negligent, inconsiderate men in matters of religion, who, without being forced, would not consider, are to be rouzed into a care of their souls, and a search after truth, by punishments; the national religion, in all countries, will certainly have a right to the greatest share of those punishments, at least, not to be wholly exempt from them.

“This is that which the author of the letter, as I remember, complains of, and that justly, viz. That the pretended care of men’s souls always expresses itself, in those who would have force any way made use of to that end, in very unequal methods; some persons being to be treated with severity, whilst others guilty of the same faults, are not to be so much as touched. Though you are got pretty well out of the deep mud, and renounce punishments directly for religion; yet you stick still in this part of the mire; whilst you would have dissenters punished to make them consider, but would not have any thing done to conformists, though ever so negligent in this point of considering. The author’s letter pleased me, because it is equal to all mankind, is direct, and will, I think, hold every where; which I take to be a good mark of truth. For I shall always suspect that neither to comport with the truth of religion, or the design of the gospel, which is suited to only some one country or party. What is true and good in England, will be true and good at Rome too, in China or Geneva. But whether your great and only method for the propagating of truth, by bringing the inconsiderate by punishments to consider, would, according to your way of applying your punishments only to dissenters from the national religion, be of use in those countries, or any-where but where you suppose the magistrate to be in the right; judge you. Pray, sir, consider a little, whether prejudice has not some share in your way of arguing, for this is your position: Men are generally negligent in examining the grounds of their religion. This I grant. But could there be a more wild and incoherent consequence drawn from it, than this; therefore dissenters must be punished?” —

All this you are pleased to pass over without the least notice: but perhaps you think you have made me full satisfaction in your answer to my demand, who are to be punished? We will here therefore consider that as it stands, where you tell us, “Those who are to be punished according to the whole tenour of your answer, are no other but such, as having sufficient evidence tendered them of the true religion, do yet reject it: whether utterly refusing to consider that evidence, or not considering as they ought, viz. with such care and diligence as the matter deserves and requires, and with honest and unbiassed minds; and what difficulty there is in this, you say, you cannot imagine.” You promised you would tell the world who they were, plainly and directly, And though you tell us, you cannot imagine what difficulty there is in this your account of who are to be punished, yet there are some things in it, that make it to my apprehension not very plain and direct. For first they must be only those who have the true religion tendered them with sufficient evidence; wherein there appears some difficulty to me, who shall be judge what is the true religion: and for that, in every country it is most probable the magistrate will be. If you think of any other, pray tell us. Next there seems some difficulty to know, who shall be judge what is sufficient evidence. For where a man is to be punished by law, he must be convicted of being guilty; which since in this case he cannot be, unless it be proved he has had the true religion tendered to him with sufficient evidence, it is necessary that somebody there must be judge what is the true religion, and what is sufficient evidence; and others to prove it has been so tendered. If you were to be of the jury, we know what would be your verdict concerning sufficient evidence, by these words of yours, “To say that a man who has the true religion proposed to him with sufficient evidence of its truth, may consider it as he ought, or do his utmost in considering, and yet not perceive the truth of it, is neither more nor less, than to say that sufficient evidence is not sufficient: for what does any man mean by sufficient evidence, but such as will certainly win assent, wherever it is duly considered?” Upon which his conforming or not conforming, would without any farther questions determine the point. But whether the rest of the jury could upon this be able ever to bring in any man guilty, and so liable to punishment, is a question. For if sufficient evidence be only that which certainly wins assent, wherever a man does his utmost in considering; it will be very hard to prove that a man who rejects the true religion has had it tendered with sufficient evidence, because it will be very hard to prove he has not done his utmost in considering it. So that, notwithstanding all you have here said, to punish any man by your method is not yet so very practicable.

But you clear all in your following words, which say, “there is nothing more evident than that those who reject the true religion, are culpable, and deserve to be punished.” By whom? By men: that is so far from being evident, as you talk, that it will require better proofs than I have yet seen for it. Next you say, “It is easy enough to know when men reject the true religion.” Yes, when the true religion is known, and agreed on what shall be taken to be so in judicial proceedings, which can scarce be till it is agreed who shall determine what is true religion, and what not. Suppose a penalty should in the university be laid on those who rejected the true peripatetic doctrine, could that law be executed on any one, unless it were agreed who should be judge what was the true peripatetic doctrine? If you say it may be known out of Aristotle’s writings: then I answer, that it would be a more reasonable law to lay the penalty on any one, who rejected the doctrine contained in the books allowed to be Aristotle’s, and printed under his name. You may apply this to the true religion, and the books of the scripture, if you please: though, after all, there must be a judge agreed on, to determine what doctrines are contained in either of those writings, before the law can be practicable.

But you go on to prove, that “it is easy to know when men reject the true religion: for, say you, that requires no more than that we know that that religion was tendered to them with sufficient evidence of the truth of it. And that it may be tendered to men with such evidence, and that it may be known when it is so tendered, these things, you say, you take leave here to suppose.” You suppose then more than can be allowed you. For that it can be judicially known that the true religion has been tendered to any one with sufficient evidence, is, what I deny, and that for reasons above-mentioned, which, were there no other difficulty in it, were sufficient to show the impracticableness of your method.

You conclude this paragraph thus, “which is all that needs be said upon this head to show the consistency and practicableness of this method: and what do you any-where say against this?” Whether I say any thing or no against it, I will bring a friend of yours that will say that dissenters ought to be punished for being out of the communion of the church of England. I will ask you now, how it can be proved that such an one is guilty of rejecting the one only true religion? Perhaps it is because he scruples the cross in baptism, or godfathers and godmothers as they are used, or kneeling at the Lord’s Supper; perhaps it is because he cannot pronounce all damned that believe not all Athanasius’s Creed; or cannot join with some of those repetitions in our Common-prayer; thinking them to come within the prohibition of our Saviour; each of which shuts a man out from the communion of the church of England, as much as if he denied Jesus Christ to be the Son of God. Now, sir, I beseech you, how can it be known, that every sufficient evidence was tendered to such a dissenter to prove, that what he rejects is a part of that one only true religion, which unless he be of, he cannot be saved? Or indeed how can it be known, that any dissenter rejects that one only true religion, when being punished barely for not conforming, he is never asked, what part it is he dissents from or rejects? And so it may be some of those things which I imagine will always want sufficient evidence to prove them to be parts of that only one true religion, without the hearty embracing whereof no man can be saved.

CHAPTER IV. WHAT DEGREES OF PUNISHMENT.

How much soever you have endeavoured to reform the doctrine of persecution to make it serve your turn, and give it the colour of care and zeal for the true religion in the country where alone you are concerned it should be made use of; yet you have laboured in vain, and done no more, but given the old engine a new varnish to set it off the better, and make it look less frightful: for, by what has been said in the foregoing chapters, I think it will appear, that if any magistrate have power to punish men in matters of religion, all have; and that dissenters from the national religion must be punished every-where or no-where. The horrid cruelties that in all ages, and of late in our view, have been committed under the name, and upon the account of religion, give so just an offence and abhorrence to all who have any remains, not only of religion, but humanity left, that the world is ashamed to own it. This objection therefore, as much as words or professions can do, you have laboured to fence against; and to exempt your design from the suspicion of any severities, you take care in every page almost to let us hear of moderate force, moderate penalties; but all in vain: and I doubt not but when this part too is examined, it will appear, that as you neither have, nor can limit the power of punishing to any distinct sort of magistrates, nor exempt from punishment the dissenters from any national religion; so neither have, nor can you, limit the punishment to any degree short of the highest, if you will use punishments at all in matters of religion. What you have done in this point besides giving us good words, I will now examine.

You tell me, “I have taken a liberty which will need pardon,” because I say, “You have plainly yielded the question by owning those greater severities to be improper and unfit.” But if I shall make it out, that those are as proper and fit as your moderate penalties; and that if you will use one, you must come to the other, as will appear from what you yourself say; whatever you may think, I shall not imagine other readers will conclude I have taken too great liberty, or shall much need pardon. For if, as you say in the next page, “authority may reasonably and justly use some degrees of force where it is needful;” I say they may also use any degree of force where it is needful. Now upon your grounds, fire and sword, tormenting and undoing, and those other punishments which you condemn, will be needful, even to torments of the highest severity, and be as necessary as those moderate penalties which you will not name. For I ask you, to what purpose do you use any degrees of force? Is it to prevail with men to do something that is in their power, or that is not? The latter I suppose you will not say, till your love of force is so increased, that you shall think it necessary to be made use of to produce impossibilities: if force then be to be used only to bring men to do what is in their power, what is the necessity you assign of it? only this, as I remember, viz. That “when gentle admonitions and earnest entreaties will not prevail, what other means is there left but force?” And I upon the same ground reply: If lesser degress of force will not prevail, what other means is there left but greater? If the lowest degree of force be necessary where gentler means will not prevail, because there is no other means left; higher degrees of force are necessary, where lower will not prevail, for the same reason. Unless you will say all degrees of force work alike; and that lower penalties prevail as much on men as greater, and will equally bring them to do what is in their power. If so, a philip on the forehead, or a farthing mulct, may be penalty enough to bring men to what you propose. But if you shall laugh at these, as being for their smallness insufficient, and therefore will think it necessary to increase them; I say, wherever experience shows any degree of force to be insufficient to prevail, there will be still the same necessity to increase it. For whereever the end is necessary, and force is the means, the only means left to procure it, both which you suppose in our case; there it will be found always necessary to increase the degrees of force, where the lower prove ineffectual, as well till you come to the highest as when you begin with the lowest. So that in your present case I do not wonder you use so many shifts, as I shall show by and by you do, to decline naming the highest degree of what you call moderate. If any degree be necessary, you cannot assign any one, condemn it in words as much as you please, which may not be so, and which you must not come to the use of. If there be no such necessity of force as will justify those higher degrees of it, which are severities you condemn; neither will it justify the use of your lower degrees.

If, as you tell us, “false religions prevail against the true, merely by the advantage they have in the corruption and pravity of human nature left to itself unbridled by authority;” if the not receiving the true religion be a mark and effect merely of the prevalency of the corruption of human nature; may not, nay, must not the magistrate, if less will not do, use his utmost force to bring men to the true religion? his force being given him to suppress that corruption; especially since you give it for a measure of the force to be used, that it must be “so much, as without which ordinarily they will not embrace the truth that must save them.” What ordinarily signifies here to make any determinate measure, is hard to guess; but signify it what it will, so much force must be used, as “without which men will not embrace the truth;” which, if it signify any thing intelligible, requires, that where lower degrees will not do, greater must be used, till you come to what will ordinarily do; but what that ordinarily is, no man can tell. If one man will not be wrought on by as little force as another, must not greater degrees of force be used to him? Shall the magistrate who is obliged to do what lies in him, be excused, for letting him be damned, without the use of all the means that were in his power? And will it be sufficient for him to plead, that though he did not all that lay in him, yet he did what ordinarily prevailed, or what prevailed on several others? Force, if that be the remedy, must be proportioned to the opposition. If the dose that has frequently wrought on others, will not purge a man whose life lies on it; must it not therefore be made sufficient and effectual, because it will be more than what is called ordinary? Or can any one say the physician has done his duty, who lets his patient in an extraordinary case perish in the use of only moderate remedies, and pronounces him incurable, before he has tried the utmost he can with the powerfullest remedies which are in his reach?

Having renounced loss of estate, corporal punishments, imprisonment, and such sort of severities, as unfit to be used in matters of religion; you ask, “Will it follow from hence that the magistrate has no right to use any force at all?” Yes, it will follow, till you give some answer to what I say in that place, viz. “That if you give up punishments of a man in his person, liberty and estate, I think we need not stand with you, for any punishments may be made use of.” But this you pass by without any notice. I doubt not but you will here think you have a ready answer, by telling me, you mean only “depriving men of their estates, maiming them with corporal punishments, starving and tormenting them in noisome prisons,” and other such severities which you have by name excepted; but lower penalties may yet be used: for penalties is the word you carefully use, and disclaim that of punishment, as if you disowned the thing. I wish you would tell us too by name what those lower penalties are you would have used, as well as by name you tell us those severities you disallow. They may not maim a man with corporal punishments; may they use any corporal punishments at all? They may not starve and torment them in noisome prisons for religion; that you condemn as much as I. May they put them in any prison at all? They may not deprive men of their estates; I suppose you mean their whole estates: May they take away half, or a quarter, or an hundreth part? It is strange you should be able to name the degrees of severity that will hinder more than promote the progress of religion, and cannot name those degrees that will promote rather than hinder it; that those who would take their measures by you, and follow your scheme, might know how to proceed so, as not to do more harm than good: for since you are so certain, that there are degrees of punishments or penalties that will do good, and other degrees of them that will do harm; ought you not to have told us, what that true degree is, or how it may be known, without which all your goodly scheme is of no use? For allowing all you have said to be as true as you would have it, no good can be done without showing the just measure of punishment to be used.

If the degree be too great, it will, you confess, do harm: can one then not err on the other hand, by using too little? If you say so, we are agreed, and I desire no better toleration. If therefore too great will do harm, and too little, in your opinion, will do no good; you ought to tell us the just mean. This I pressed upon you; whereof that the reader may be judge, I shall here trouble him with the repetition:

“There is a third thing, that you are as tender and reserved in, as either naming the criminals to be punished, or positively telling us the end for which they should be punished: and that is, with what sort of penalties, what degree of punishment, they should be forced. You are indeed so gracious to them, that you renounce the severities and penalties hitherto made use of. You tell us, they should be but moderate penalties. But if we ask you what are moderate penalties, you confess you cannot tell us: so that by moderate here, you yet mean nothing. You tell us, the outward force to be applied, should be duly tempered. But what that due temper is, you do not, or cannot say; and so, in effect, it signifies just nothing. Yet if in this you are not plain and direct, all the rest of your design will signify nothing. For it being to have some men, and to some end punished; yet if it cannot be found what punishment is to be used, it is, notwithstanding all you have said, utterly useless. You tell us modestly, That to determine precisely the just measure of the punishment, will require some consideration. If the faults were precisely determined, and could be proved, it would require no more consideration to determine the measure of the punishment in this, than it would in any other case, where those were known. But where the fault is undefined, and the guilt not to be proved, as I suppose it will be found in this present business of examining; it will without doubt require consideration to proportion the force to the design: just so much consideration as it will require to fit a coat to the moon, or proportion a shoe to the feet of those who inhabit her. For to proportion a punishment to a fault that you do not name, and so we in charity ought to think you do not yet know, and a fault that when you have named it, it will be impossible to be proved who are or are not guilty of it, will, I suppose, require as much consideration as to fit a shoe to feet whose size and shape are not known.

“However, you offer some measures whereby to regulate your punishments; which when they are looked into, will be found to be just as good as none, they being impossible to be any rule in the case. The first is, So much force, or such penalties as are ordinarily sufficient to prevail with men of common discretion, and not desperately perverse and obstinate, to weigh matters of religion carefully and impartially, and without which ordinarily they will not do this. Where it is to be observed:

“First, That who are these men of common discretion, is as hard to know, as to know what is a fit degree of punishment in the case; and so you do but regulate one uncertainty by another. Some men will be apt to think, that he who will not weigh matters of religion, which are of infinite concernment to him, without punishment, cannot in reason be thought a man of common discretion. Many women of common discretion enough to manage the ordinary affairs of their families, are not able to read a page in an ordinary author, or to understand and give an account what it means, when read to them. Many men of common discretion in their callings, are not able to judge when an argument is conclusive or no; much less to trace it through a long train of consequences. What penalties shall be sufficient to prevail with such, who upon examination, I fear, will not be found to make the least part of mankind, to examine and weigh matters of religion carefully and impartially? The law allows all to have common discretion, for whom it has not provided guardians or Bedlam. So that, in effect, your men of common discretion, are all men not judged idiots or madmen: and penalties sufficient to prevail with men of common discretion, are penalties sufficient to prevail with all men but idiots and madmen; which what a measure it is to regulate penalties by, let all men of common discretion judge.

“Secondly, you may be pleased to consider, that all men of the same degree of discretion, are not apt to be moved by the same degree of penalties. Some are of a more yielding, some of a more stiff temper; and what is sufficient to prevail on one, is not half enough to move the other; though both men of common discretion. So that common discretion will be here of no use to determine the measure of punishment; especially, when in the same clause you except men desperately perverse and obstinate; who are as hard to be known, as what you seek, viz. the just proportions of punishments necessary to prevail with men to consider, examine, and weigh matters of religion: wherein, if a man tells you he has considered, he has weighed, he has examined, and so goes on in his former course, it is impossible for you ever to know whether he has done his duty, or whether he be desperately perverse and obstinate. So that this exception signifies just nothing.

“There are many things in your use of force and penalties, different from any I ever met with elsewhere. One of them, this clause of yours concerning the measure of punishments, now under consideration, offers me: wherein you proportion your punishments only to the yielding and corrigible, not to the perverse and obstinate; contrary to the common discretion which has hitherto made laws in other cases, which levels the punishments against refractory offenders, and never spares them because they are obstinate. This however I will not blame as an oversight in you. Your new method, which aims at such impracticable and inconsistent things as laws cannot bear, nor penalties be uselful to, forced you to it. The uselessness, absurdity, and unreasonableness of great severities, you had acknowledged in the foregoing paragraphs: Dissenters you would have brought to consider by moderate penalties. They lie under them; but whether they have considered or no, for that you cannot tell, they still continue dissenters. What is to be done now? Why, the incurable are to be left to God, as you tell us. Your punishments were not meant to prevail on the desperately perverse and obstinate, as you tell us here. And so whatever be the success, your punishments are however justified.”

The fulness of your answer to my question, “With what punishments?” made you possibly pass by these two or three pages without making any particular reply to any thing I said in them: we will therefore examine that answer of yours, where you tell us, “That having in your answer declared that you take the severities so often mentioned (which either destroy men, or make them miserable) to be utterly unapt and improper (for reasons there given) to bring men to embrace the truth that must save them: but just how far within those bounds that force extends itself, which is really serviceable to that end, you do not presume to determine.” To determine how far moderate force reaches, when it is necessary to your business that it should be determined, is not presuming: you might with more reason have called it presuming to talk of moderate penalties, and not to be able to determine what you mean by them; or to promise, as you do, that you will tell plainly and directly, with what punishments; and here to tell us, you do not presume to determine. But you give a reason for this modesty of yours, in what follows, where you tell me, I have not shown any cause why you should. And yet you may find in what is above repeated to you, these words, “If in this you are not plain and direct, all the rest of your design will signify nothing.” But had I failed in showing any cause why you should; and your charity would not enlighten us, unless driven by my reasons; I dare say yet, if I have not shown any cause why you should determine in this point, I can show a cause why you should not. For I will be answerable to you, that you cannot name any degree of punishment, which will not be either so great, as to come among those you condemn, and show what your moderation, what your aversion to persecution is; or else too little to attain those ends for which you propose it. But whatever you tell me, that I have shown no cause why you should determine, I thought it might have passed for a cause why you should determine more particularly, that, as you will find in those pages, I had proved that the measures you offer, whereby to regulate your punishments, are just as good as none.

Your measures in your “argument considered,” and which you repeat here again, are in these words: “so much force, or such penalties as are ordinarily sufficient to prevail with men of common discretion, and not desperately perverse, to weigh matters of religion carefully and impartially, and without which ordinarily they will not do this: so much force or such penalties may fitly and reasonably be used for the promoting true religion in the world, and the salvation of souls. And what just exception this is liable to, you do not understand.” Some of the exceptions it is liable to, you might have seen in what I have here again caused to be reprinted, if you had thought them worth your notice. But you go on to tell us here, “that when you speak of men of common discretion, and not desperately perverse and obstinate, you think it is plain enough, that by common discretion you exclude not idiots only, and such as we usually call madmen, but likewise the desperately perverse and obstinate, who perhaps may well enough deserve that name, though they be not wont to be sent to Bedlam.”

Whether by this you have at all taken off the difficulty, and shown your measure to be any at all in the use of force, I leave the reader to judge. I asked, since great ones are unfit, what degrees of punishment or force are to be used? You answer, “So much force, and such penalties as are ordinarily sufficient to prevail with men of ordinary discretion.” I tell you it is as hard to know who those men of common discretion are, as what degree of punishment you would have used; unless we will take the “determination of the law, which allows all to have common discretion, for whom it has not provided guardians or Bedlam:” so that in effect, your men of common discretion are all men not judged idiots or madmen. To clear this, you tell us, “when you speak of men of common discretion, and not desperately perverse and obstinate, you think it is plain enough, by common discretion you exclude not idiots only, and such as are usually called madmen, but likewise the desperately perverse and obstinate.” It may be you did, for you best know what you meant in writing; but if by men of common discretion, you excluded the desperately perverse and obstinate, let us put what you meant by the words, men of common discretion, in the place of those words themselves, and then, according to your meaning, your rule stands thus: penalties ordinarily sufficient to prevail with men not desperately perverse and obstinate, and with men not desperately perverse and obstinate: so that at last, by men of common discretion, either you excluded only idiots and madmen; or if we must take your word for it, that by them you excluded likewise the desperately perverse and obstinate, and so meant something else; it is plain, you meant only a very useless and insignificant tautology.

You go on, and tell us, “If the penalties you speak of, be intended for the curing men’s unreasonable prejudices and refractoriness against the true religion, then the reason why the desperately perverse and obstinate are not to be regarded in measuring these penalties, is very apparent. For as remedies are not provided for the incurable, so in the preparing and tempering them, regard is to be had only to those for whom they are designed.” Which, true or false, is nothing to the purpose, in a place where you profess to inform us, what punishments are to be used. We are inquiring who are the desperately perverse and obstinate, and not whether they are to be punished or no. You pretend to give us a rule to know what degrees of force are to be used, and tell us, “it is so much as is ordinarily sufficient to prevail with men of common discretion, and not desperately perverse and obstinate.” We again ask, who are your men of common discretion? You tell us, “such as are not madmen or idiots, or desperately perverse and obstinate.” Very well, but who are those desperately perverse and obstinate, how shall we know them? and to this you tell us, “they are not to be regarded in measuring these penalties.” Whereby certainly we have got a plain measure of your moderate penalties. No, not yet; you go on in your next paragraph to perfect it, where you say, “To prevent a little cavil, it may be needful to note that there are degrees of perverseness and obstinacy, and that men may be perverse and obstinate without being desperately so.” So then now we have your measure complete; and to determine the just degrees of punishments, and to clear up the doubt, who are the desperately perverse and obstinate, we need but be told that “there are degrees of perverseness and obstinacy;” and that men may be perverse and obstinate without being desperately so: and that therefore “some perverse and obstinate persons may be thought curable, though such as are desperately so, cannot.” But does all this tell us, who are the desperately perverse and obstinate? which is the thing we want to be informed in; nor till you have told us that, have you removed the objection.

But if by desperately perverse and obstinate, you will tell us, you meant those, that are not wrought upon by your moderate penalties, as you seem to intimate in your reason why the desperately perverse and obstinate are not to be regarded in measuring these penalties: “for, say you, as remedies are not provided for the incurable; so in preparing and tempering them, regard is to be had only to those for whom they are designed.” So that by the desperately perverse and obstinate, you will perhaps say, it was plain you meant the incurable; for you ordinarily shift off the doubtfulness of one place, by appealing to as doubtful an expression in another. If you say then, that by desperately perverse and obstinate, you mean incurable; I ask you again by what incurable? by your lower degrees of force? For I hope where force is proper to work, those who are not wrought on by lower degrees, may yet be by higher. If you mean so, then your answer will amount to thus much: moderate penalties are such as are sufficient to prevail on those who are not desperately perverse and obstinate. The desperately perverse and obstinate are those who are incurable, and the incurable are those on whom moderate penalties are not sufficient to prevail: whereby at last we have got a sure measure of what are moderate penalties; just such an one, as if having a sovereign universal medicine put into your hand, which will never fail if you can hit the right dose, which the inventor tells you must be moderate: you should ask him what was the moderate quantity it is to be given in; and he should answer, in such a quantity as was ordinarily sufficient to work on common constitutions, and not desperately perverse and obstinate. And to your asking again, who were of desperately perverse and obstinate constitutions? it should be answered, those that were incurable. And who were incurable? Those whom a moderate quantity would not work on. And thus to your satisfaction you know the moderate dose by the desperately perverse and obstinate; and the desperately perverse and obstinate by being incurable; and the incurable by the moderate dose. For if, as you say, remedies are not provided for the incurable, and none but moderate penalties are to be provided, is it not plain, that you mean, that all that will not be wrought on by your moderate penalties, are in your sense incurable!

To ease you, sir, of justifying yourself, and showing that I have mistaken you, do but tell us positively what in penalties is the highest degree of moderate; who are desperately perverse and obstinate; or who are incurable; without this relative and circular way of defining one by the other; and I will yield myself to have mistaken you, as much as you please.

If by incurable, you mean such as no penalties, no punishments, no force is sufficient to work on; then your measure of moderate penalties will be this, that they are such as are sufficient to prevail with men not incurable, i. e. who cannot be prevailed on by any punishments, any force whatsoever; which will be a measure of moderate punishments, which (whatsoever you do) some will be very apt to approve of.

But let us suppose by these marks, since you will afford us no better, that we can find who are desperately perverse and obstinate, we are yet as far as ever from finding the measures of your moderate punishments, till it can be known, what degree of force it is, that is ordinarily sufficient to prevail with all that are men of common discretion, and not desperately perverse and obstinate; for you are told, that all men of the same degree of discretion are not apt to be moved with the same degree of penalties: but to this too you answer nothing, and so we are still without any rule or means of knowing how to adjust your punishments, that being ordinarily sufficient to prevail upon one, the double whereof is not ordinarily sufficient to prevail on another.

I tell you in the same place, “that you have given us in another place, something like another boundary to your moderate penalties: but when examined, it proves just like the rest, amusing us only with good words, so put together as to have no direct meaning; an art very much in use amongst some sort of learned men: the words are these: such penalties as may not tempt persons who have any concern for their eternal salvation (and those who have none, ought not to be considered) to renounce a religion which they believe to be true, or profess one which they do not believe to be so. If by any concern, you mean such as men ought to have for their eternal salvation; by this rule you may make your punishments as great as you please; and all the severities you have disclaimed may be brought in play again: for none of those will be able to make a man, who is truly concerned for his eternal salvation, renounce a religion he believes to be true, or profess one he does not believe to be so. If by those who have any concern, you mean such, who have some faint wishes for happiness hereafter, and would be glad to have things go well with them in the other world, but will venture nothing in this world for it; these the moderatest punishments you can imagine, will make to change their religion. If by any concern, you mean whatever may be between these two; the degrees are so infinite, that to proportion your punishments by that, is to have no measure of them at all.” To which all the reply I can find is only this, “that there are degrees of carelessness in men of their salvation, as well as of concern for it. So that such as have some concern for their salvation may yet be careless of it to a great degree. And therefore if those who have any concern for their salvation, deserve regard and pity; then so may some careless persons: though those who have no concern for their salvation, deserve not to be considered, which spoils a little harangue you give us.” P. 382. If you think this to be an answer to what I said, or that it can satisfy one concerning the way of knowing what degrees of punishment are to be used, pray tell us so. The inquiry is “what degrees of punishment will tempt a man who has any concern for his eternal salvation, to renounce a religion he believes to be true?” And it is answered, “There are degrees of carelessness in men of their salvation, as well as concern for it.” A happy discovery: what is the use of it? “So that such as have some concern for their salvation, may yet be careless of it to a great degree.” Very true: by this we may know what degree of force is to be used. No, not a word of that, but the inference is, “and therefore if those who have any concern for their salvation, deserve regard and pity, then so may some careless persons; though those who have no concern for their salvation, deserve not to be considered.” And by this time we know what degree of force will make a man, who has any concern for his salvation, renounce a religion he believes true, and profess one he does not believe to be so. This might do well at cross questions: but you are satisfied with what you have done, and what that is, you tell me in the next words, “which spoils a little harangue of yours given us,” P. 382. The harangue I suppose is contained in these words:

“One thing I cannot but take notice of in this passage before I leave it: and that is that you say here, those who have no concern for their salvation, deserve not to be considered. In other parts of your letter you pretend to have compassion on the careless, and provide remedies for them: but here of a sudden your charity fails you, and you give them up to eternal perdition, without the least regard, the least pity, and say, they deserve not to be considered. Our Saviour’s rule was, the sick and not the whole need a physician: your rule here is, those that are careless are not to be considered, but are to be left to themselves. This would seem strange, if one did not observe what drew you to it. You perceived that if the magistrate was to use no punishments, but such as would make nobody change their religion, he was to use none at all: for the careless would be brought to the national church with any slight punishments; and when they are once there, you are it seems satisfied, and look no farther after them. So that by your own measures, if the careless, and those who have no concern for their eternal salvation, are to be regarded and taken care of, if the salvation of their souls is to be promoted, there are to be no punishments to be used at all; and therefore you leave them out as not to be considered.”

What you have said, is so far from spoiling that harangue, as you are pleased to call it, that you having nothing else to say to it, allow what is laid to your charge in it.

You wind up all concerning the measures of your force in these words: “And as those medicines are thought safe and adviseable, which do ordinarily cure, though not always (as none do); so those penalties or punishments, which are ordinarily found sufficient (as well as necessary) for the ends for which they are designed, may fitly and reasonably be used for the compassing these ends.” Here your ordinarily comes to your help again; and here one would think that you meant such as cure sometimes, not always; some, though not all: and in this sense will not the utmost severities come within your rule? For can you say, if punishments are to be used to prevail on any, that the greater will, where lower fail, prevail on none? At least can you be sure of it till they have been tried for the compassing these ends? which, as we shall see in another place, you have assigned various enough. I shall only take notice of two or three often repeated by you, and those are to make men hear, to make men consider, to make men consider as they ought, i. e. as you explain it, to make men consider so, as not to reject. The greatness of the force then according to this measure, must be sufficient to make men hear, sufficient to make men consider, and sufficient to make men embrace the true religion.

And now the magistrate has all your rules about the measures of punishments to be used, and may, confidently and safely, go to work to establish it by a law; for he having these marks to guide him, that they must be great enough ordinarily to prevail with those who are not idiots or madmen, nor desperately perverse and obstinate; great enough ordinarily to prevail with men to hear, consider, and embrace the true religion, and yet not so great as might tempt persons, who have any concern for their eternal salvation, to renounce a religion which they believe to be true, or profess one which they do not believe to be so: do you not think you have sufficiently instructed him in your meaning, and enabled him to find the just temper of his punishments according to your scheme, neither too much, nor too little? But however you may be satisfied with them, I suppose others, when it comes to be put in practice, will by these measures, which are all I can find in your scheme, be scarce able to find, what are the punishments you would have used.

In Eutopia there is a medicine called hiera picra, which it is supposed would cure a troublesome disease of that country: but it is not to be given, but in the dose prescribed by the law, and in adjusting the dose lies all the skill: for, if you give too much, it heightens the distemper, and spreads the mortal contagion; and if too little it does no good at all. With this difficulty the law-makers have been perplexed these many ages, and could not light on the right dose, that would work the cure, till lately there came an undertaker, who would show them how they could not mistake. He bid them then prescribe so much, as would ordinarily be effectual upon all that were not idiots or madmen, or in whom the humour was not desperately perverse and obstinate, to produce the end for which it was designed; but not so much as would make a man in health, who had any concern for his life, fall into a mortal disease. These were good words, and he was rewarded for them: but when by them they came to fix the dose, they could not tell whether it ought to be a grain, a dram, or an ounce, or an whole pound, any more than before; and so the dose of their hiera picra, notwithstanding this gentleman’s pains, is as uncertain, and that sovereign remedy as useless as ever it was.

In the next paragraph you tell us, “You do not see what more can be required to justify the rule here given.” So quick a sight needs no spectacles. “For if I demand that it should express what penalties particularly are such as it says may fitly and reasonably be used; this I must give you leave to tell me is a very unreasonable demand.” It is an unreasonable demand, if your rule be such, that by it I may know without any more ado the particular penalties that are fit; otherwise it is not unreasonable to demand them by name, if your marks be not sufficient to know them by. But let us hear your reason, “For what rule is there that expresses the particulars that agree with it?” And it is an admirable rule with which one can find no particulars that agree; for I challenge you to instance in one; “a rule, you say, is intended for a common measure by which particulars are to be examined, and therefore must necessarily be general.” So general, loose, and inconsistent, that no particulars can be examined by it: for again I challenge you, or any man living, to measure out any punishment by this your common measure, and establish it by a law. You go on; “And those to whom it is given are supposed to be able to apply it, and to judge of particulars by it. Nay it is often seen that they are better able to do this than those who give it: and so it is in the present case; the rule hereby laid down is that by which you suppose governors and law-givers ought to examine the penalties they use for the promoting the true religion, and the salvation of souls.” Such a rule it ought to be I grant, and such an one is desired: but that yours is such a rule as magistrates can take any measure by, for the punishments they are to settle by law, is denied, and you are again desired to show. You proceed: “But certainly no man doubts but their prudence and experience enables them to use and apply it better than other men, and to judge more exactly what penalties do agree with it, and what do not; and therefore you think I must excuse you if you do not take upon you to teach them what it becomes you rather to learn from them.” If we are not to doubt but their prudence and experience enables magistrates to judge best what penalties are fit, you have indeed given us at last a way to know the measure of punishments to be used: but it is such an one as puts an end to your distinction of moderate penalties: for no magistrates that I know, when they once began to use force to bring men to their religion, ever stopped till they came to some of those severities you condemn; and if you pretend to teach them moderation for the future, with hopes to succeed; you ought to have showed them the just bounds, beyond which they ought not to go, in a model so wholly new, and besides all experience. But if it be to be determined by their prudence and experience, whatever degrees of force they shall use, will always be the right.

Law-makers and governors however beholden to you for your good opinion of their prudence and experience, yet have no reason to thank you for your compliment, by giving such an exercise to their prudence and experience as to put it upon them to find out the just measures of punishments, by rules you give them; which are such, that neither yourself, nor any-body else, can find out any measures by. The other part of your compliment will be suspected not to be so much out of your abundant respect to law-makers and governors, as out of the great regard you have to yourself; for you in vain pretend you forbear to name any particular punishments, because you will not take upon you to teach governors and law-makers; when you yourself own in the same breath, that you are laying down rules by which they are to proceed in the use of penalties for promoting religion; which is little different from teaching: and your whole book is nothing else but about the magistrate’s power and duty. I excuse you therefore for your own sake from naming any particular punishments by your rules: for you have a right to it, as all men have a right to be excused from doing what is impossible to be done.

Since therefore you grant that those severities you have named, “are more apt to hinder than promote true religion;” and you cannot assign any measures of punishment, short of those great ones you have condemned, which are fit to promote it; I think it argument enough to prove against you, that no punishments are fit; till you have showed some others, either by name, or such marks as they may be certainly known by, which are fit to promote the true religion: and therefore nothing you have said there, or any-where else, will serve to show that “it is with little reason, as you tell me, that I say, that if your indirect and at a distance serviceableness may authorize the magistrate to use force in religion, all the cruelties used by the heathens against christians, by papists against protestants, and all the persecuting of christians one amongst another, are all justifiable.” To which you add, “Not to take notice at present how oddly it sounds, that that which authorizes the magistrates to use moderate penalties to promote the true religion, should justify all the cruelties that ever were used to promote heathenism or popery.”

As oddly as it sounds to you, it will be evidently true, as long as that which authorizes one, authorizes all magistrates of any religion which they believe to be true, to use force to promote it: and as long as you cannot assign any bounds to your moderate punishments, short of those great ones; which you therefore are not able to do, because your principles, whatever your words deny, will carry you to those degrees of severity, which in profession you condemn: and this, whatever you do, I dare say every considering reader besides you will plainly see. So that this imputation is not so unreasonable; since it is evident, that you must either renounce all punishments whatsoever in religion, or make use of those you condemn: for in the next page you tell us, “That all who have sufficient means of instruction provided for them, may justly be punished for not being of the national religion, where the true is the national religion; because it is a fault in all such not to be of the national religion.” In England then, for example, not to be of the national religion is a fault, and a fault to be punished by the magistrate. The magistrate to cure this fault lays, on those who dissent, a lower degree of penalties, a fine of 1d. per month. This proving insufficient, what is the magistrate to do? If he be obliged, as you say, to amend this fault by penalties, and that low one of 1d. per month be not sufficient to procure its amendment, is he not to increase the penalty? He therefore doubles the fine to 2d. per month. This too proves ineffectual, and therefore it is still for the same reason doubled, till it comes to 1s. 5s. 10l. 100l. 1000l. None of these penalties working, but yet by being constantly levied, leaving the delinquents no longer able to pay; imprisonment and other corporal punishments follow to enforce an obedience; till at last this gradual increase of penalties and force, each degree whereof wrought on some few, rises to the highest severities against those who stand out. For the magistrate, who is obliged to correct this vice, as you call it, and to do what in him lies to cure this fault, which opposes their salvation; and who, (if I mistake not, you tell us,) is answerable for all that may follow from his neglect; had no reason to raise the fine from 1d. to 2d. but because the first was ineffectual: and if that were a sufficient reason for raising from the first to the second degree; why is it not as sufficient to proceed from the second to the third, and so gradually on? I would fain have any one show me where, and upon what ground, such a gradual increase of force can stop, till it come to the utmost extremities. If therefore dissenting from the church of England be a fault to be punished by the magistrate, I desire you to tell me, where he shall hold his hand; to name the sort or degree of punishment, beyond which he ought not to go in the use of force, to cure them of that fault, and bring them to conformity. Till you have done that, you might have spared that paragraph, where you say, “With what ingenuity I draw you in to condemn force in general, only because you acknowledge the ill effects of prosecuting men with fire and sword, &c. you may leave every man to judge.” And I leave whom you will to judge, whether from your own principles it does not unavoidably follow, that if you condemn any penalties you must condemn all, as I have shown; if you will retain any, you must retain all: you must either take or leave all together. For, as I have said, and you deny not, “Where there is no fault, there no punishment is moderate;” so I add, Where there is a fault to be corrected by the magistrate’s force, there no degree of force, which is ineffectual, and not sufficient to amend it, can be immoderate; especially if it be a fault of great moment in its consequences, as certainly that must be, which draws after it the loss of men’s eternal happiness.

You will, it is likely, be ready to say here again, (for a good subterfuge is never to be forsaken) that you except the “desperately perverse and obstinate.” I desire to know for what reason you except them? Is it because they cease to be faulty? Next I ask you, who are in your sense the desperately perverse and obstinate? Those that 1s. or 5s. or 5l. or 100l. or no fine will work upon? Those who can bear loss of estate, but not loss of liberty? or loss of liberty and estate, but not corporal pains and torments? or all this but not loss of life? For to these degrees do men differently stand out. And since there are men wrought on by the approaches of fire and faggot, which other degrees of severity could not prevail with; where will you bound your desperately perverse and obstinate? The king of France, though you will allow him not to have truth of his side, yet when he came to dragooning, found few so desperately perverse and obstinate, as not to be wrought on. And why should truth, which in your opinion wants force, and nothing but force, to help it, not have the assistance of those degrees of force, when less will not do to make it prevail, which are able to bring men over to false religions, which have no light and strength of their own to help them? You will do well therefore to consider whether your name of severities, in opposition to the moderate punishments you speak of, has or can do you any service; whether the distinction between compelling and coactive power, be of any use or difference at all. For you deny the magistrate to have power to compel; and you contend for his use of his coactive power; which will then be a good distinction, when you can find a way to use coactive, or, which is the same, compelling power, without compulsion. I desire you also to consider, if in matters of religion punishments are to be employed, because they may be useful; whether you can stop at any degree that is ineffectual to the end which you propose, let that end be what it will. If it be barely to gain a hearing, as in some places you seem to say; I think for that small punishments will generally prevail, and you do well to put that and moderate penalties together. If it be to make men consider, as in other places you speak; you cannot tell when you have obtained that end. But if your end be, which you seem most to insist on, to make men consider as they ought, i. e. till they embrace; there are many on whom all your moderate penalties, all under those severities you condemn, are too weak to prevail. So that you must either confess, not considering so as to “embrace the true religion, i. e. not considering as one ought,” is no fault to be punished by the coactive force of the magistrate; or else you must resume those severities which you have renounced; choose you whether of the two you please.

Therefore it was not so much at random that I said, “That thither at last persecution must come.” Indeed from what you had said of falling under the stroke of the sword, which was nothing to the purpose; I added, “That if by that you meant any thing to the business in hand, you seem to have a reserve for greater punishments, when less are not sufficient to bring men to be convinced.” Which hath produced this warm reply of yours: “And will you ever pretend to conscience or modesty after this? For I beseech you, sir, what words could I have used more express or effectual to signify, that in my opinion no dissenters from the true religion ought to be punished with the sword, but such as choose rather to rebel against the magistrate, than to submit to lesser penalties? (For how any should refuse to submit to those penalties, but by rebelling against the magistrate, I suppose you will not undertake to tell me.) It was for this very purpose that I used those words to prevent cavils; (as I was then so simple as to think I might:) and I dare appeal to any man of common sense and common honesty, whether they are capable of any other meaning. And yet the very thing which I so plainly disclaim in them you pretend (without so much as offering to show how) to collect from them. Thither, you say, at last, viz. to the taking away men’s lives for the saving of their souls, persecution must come: as you fear, notwithstanding my talk of moderate punishments, I myself intimate in those words: and if I mean any thing in them to the business in hand, I seem to have a reserve for greater punishments, when lesser are not sufficient to bring men to be convinced. Sir, I should expect fairer dealing from one of your pagans or mahometans. But I shall only add, that I would never wish that any man who has undertaken a bad cause should more plainly confess it than by serving it, as here (and not here only) you serve yours.” Good sir, be not so angry, lest to observing men you increase the suspicion. One may, without forfeiture of modesty or conscience, fear what men’s principles threaten, though their words disclaim it. Nonconformity to the national, when it is the true religion, as in England, is a fault, a vice, say you, to be corrected by the coactive power of the magistrate. If so, and force be the proper remedy, he must increase it, till it be strong enough to work the cure; and must not neglect his duty; for so you make it, when he has force enough in his hand to make this remedy more powerful. For wherever force is proper to work on men, and bring them to a compliance, its not producing that effect can only be imputed to its being too little: and if so, whither at last must it come, but to the late methods of procuring conformity, and as his most christian majesty called it, saving of souls, in France, or severities like them, when more moderate ones cannot produce it? For to continue inefficacious penalties, insufficient upon trial to master the fault they are applied to, is unjustifiable cruelty; and that which nobody can have a right to use, it serving only to disease and harm people, without amending them: for you tell us, they should be such penalties as should make them uneasy.

He that should vex and pain a sore you had, with frequent dressing it with some moderate, painful, but inefficacious plaister, that promoted not the cure; would justly be thought, not only an ignorant, but a dishonest surgeon. If you are in the surgeon’s hands, and his help is requisite, and the cure that way to be wrought; corrosives and fire are the most merciful, as well as only justifiable way of cure, when the case needs them. And therefore I hope I may still pretend to modesty and conscience, though I should have thought you so rational a man, as to be led by your own principles; and so honest, charitable, and zealous for the salvation of men’s souls, as not to vex and disease them with inefficacious remedies to no purpose, and let them miss of salvation, for want of more vigorous prosecutions. For if conformity to the church of England be necessary to salvation; for else what necessity can you pretend of punishing men at all to bring them to it? it is cruelty to their souls (if you have authority for any such means) to use some, and not to use sufficient force to bring them to conform. And I dare say you are satisfied that the French discipline of dragooning would have made many in England conformists, whom your lower penalties will not prevail on to be so.

But to inform you that my apprehensions were not so wholly out of the way, I beseech you to read here what you have writ in these words; “For how confidently soever you tell me here, that it is more than I can say for my political punishments, that they were ever useful for the promoting true religion; I appeal to all observing persons, whether wherever true religion or sound christianity has been nationally received and established by moderate penal laws, it has not always lost ground by the relaxation of those laws: whether sects and heresies, (even the wildest and most absurd) and even epicurism and atheism, have not continually thereupon spread themselves; and whether the very spirit and life of christianity has not sensibly decayed, as well as the number of sound professors of it been daily lessened upon it: not to speak of what at this time our eyes cannot but see, for fear of giving offence; though I hope it will be none to any, that have a just concern for truth and piety, to take notice of the books and pamphlets which now fly so thick about this kingdom, manifestly tending to the multiplying of sects and divisions, and even to the promoting of scepticism in religion among us.” Here you bemoan the decaying state of religion amongst us at present, by reason of taking off the penalties from protestant dissenters: and I beseech you what penalties were they? Such whereby many have been ruined in their fortunes; such whereby many have lost their liberties, and some their lives in prisons; such as have sent some into banishment, stripped of all they had. These were the penal laws by which the national religion was established in England; and these you call moderate: for you say, “Wherever true religion or sound christianity has been nationally received and established by moderate penal laws;” and I hope you do not here exclude England from having its religion so established by law, which we so often hear of; or if to serve the present occasion you should, would you also deny, that in the following words you speak of the present relaxation in England? where after your appeal to all observing people for the dismal consequences, which you suppose to have every-where followed from such relaxations, you add these pathetical words, “Not to speak of what at this time our eyes cannot but see, for fear of giving offence:” so heavy does the present relaxation sit on your mind; which since it is of penal laws you call moderate, I shall show you what they are.

In the first year of queen Elizabeth, there was a penalty of 1s. a Sunday and holy-day laid upon every one who came not to the common prayer then established. This penalty of 1s. a time not prevailing, as was desired, in the twenty-third year of her reign was increased to 20l. a month, and imprisonment for nonpayment within three months after judgment given. In the twenty-ninth year of Elizabeth, to draw this yet closer, and make it more forcible, it was enacted, That whoever upon one conviction did not continue to pay on the 20l. per month, without any other conviction or proceedings against him till he submitted and conformed, should forfeit all his goods, and two-thirds of his land for his life. But this being not yet thought sufficient, it was in the thirty-fifth year of that queen completed, and the moderate penal laws, upon which our national religion was established, and whose relaxation you cannot bear, but from thence date the decay of the very spirit and life of christianity, were brought to perfection. For then going to conventicles, or a month’s absence from church, was to be punished with imprisonment, till the offender conformed; and if he conformed not within three months, then he was to abjure the realm, and forfeit all his goods and chattels for ever, and his lands and tenements during his life: and if he would not abjure, or, abjuring, did not depart the realm within a time prefixed, or returned again, he was to suffer death as a felon. And thus your moderate penal laws stood for the established religion, till their penalties were, in respect of protestant dissenters, lately taken off. And now let the reader judge whether your pretence to moderate punishments, or my suspicion of what a man of your principles might have in store for dissenters, have more of modesty or conscience in it; since you openly declare your regret for the taking away such an establishment, as by the gradual increase of penalties reached men’s estates, liberties, and lives; and which you must be presumed to allow and approve of, till you tell us plainly, where, according to your measures, those penalties should, or, according to your principles, they could, have stopped.

You tell us, That where this only true religion, viz. of the church of England, is received, other religions ought “to be discouraged in some measure.” A pretty expression for undoing, imprisonment, banishment; for those have been some of the discouragements given to dissenters here in England. You will again, no doubt, cry aloud, that you tell me you condemn these as much as I do. If you heartily condemn them, I wonder you should say so little to discourage them; I wonder you are so silent in representing to the magistrate the unlawfulness and danger of using them, in a discourse where you are treating of the magistrate’s power and duty in matters of religion; especially this being the side on which, as far as we may guess by experience, their prudence is aptest to err: but your modesty, you know, leaves all to the magistrates prudence and experience on that side, though you over and over again encourage them not to neglect their duty in the use of force, to which you set no bounds.

You tell us, “Certainly no man doubts but the prudence and experience of governors and law-givers enables them to use and apply it,” viz. your rule for the measure of punishments, which I have showed to be no rule at all: “And to judge more exactly what penalties do agree with it; and therefore you must be excused if you do not take upon you to teach them what it becomes you rather to learn from them.” If your modesty be such, and you then did what became you, you could not but learn from your governors and law-givers, and so be satisfied till within this year or two, that those penalties which they measured out for the establishment of the true religion, though they reached to men’s estates, liberties, and lives, were such as were fit. But what you have learned of your lawmakers and governors since the relaxation, or what opinion you have of their experience and prudence now, is not so easy to say.

Perhaps you will say again, that you have in express words declared against “fire and sword, loss of estate, maiming with corporal punishments, starving and tormenting in noisome prisons;” and one cannot either in modesty or conscience disbelieve you: yet in the same letter you with sorrow and regret speak of the relaxation of such penalties laid on nonconformity, by which men have lost their estates, liberties, and lives too, in noisome prisons, and in this too must we not believe you? I dare say, there are very few who read that passage of yours, so feelingly it is penned, who want modesty or conscience to believe you therein to be in earnest; and the rather, because what drops from men by chance, when they are not upon their guard, is always thought the best interpretation of their thoughts.

You name “loss of estate, of liberty, and tormenting, which is corporal punishment, as if you were against them:” certainly you know what you meant by these words, when you said, you condemned them; was it any degree of loss of liberty or estate, any degree of corporal punishment that you condemned, or only the utmost, or some degree between these? unless you had then some meaning, and unless you please to tell us, what that meaning was; where it is, that in your opinion the magistrate ought to stop; who can believe you are in earnest? This I think you may and ought to do for our information in your system, without any apprehension that governors and law-givers will deem themselves much taught by you, which your modesty makes you so cautious of. Whilst you refuse to do this, and keep yourself under the mask of moderate, convenient, and sufficient force and penalties, and other such-like uncertain and undetermined punishments, I think a conscientious and sober dissenter might expect fairer dealing from one of my pagans or mahometans, as you please to call them, than from one, who so professes moderation, that what degrees of force, what kind of punishments will satisfy him, he either knows not, or will not declare. For your moderate and convenient may, when you come to interpret them, signify what punishments you please: for the cure being to be wrought by force, that will be convenient, which the stubbornness of the evil requires; and that moderate, which is but enough to work the cure. And therefore I shall return your own compliment. “That I would never wish that any man who has undertaken a bad cause, should more plainly confess it than by serving it, as here (and not here only) you serve yours.” I should beg your pardon for this sort of language, were it not your own. And what right you have to it, the skill you show in the management of general and doubtful words and expressions, of uncertain and undetermined signification, will, I doubt not, abundantly convince the reader. An instance we have in the argument before us; for I appeal to any sober man, who shall carefully read what you write, where you pretend to tell the world plainly and directly what punishments are to be used by your scheme, whether, after having weighed all you say concerning that matter, he can tell, what a nonconformist is to expect from you, or find any thing but such acuteness and strength as lie in the uncertainty and reserve of your way of talking; which whether it be any way suited to your modesty and conscience, where you have undertaken to tell us what the punishments are, whereby you would have men brought to embrace the true religion, I leave you to consider.

If having said, “Whether true religion or sound christianity has been nationally received and established by moderate penal laws;” you shall for your defence of the establishment of the religion in England by law, say, which is all is left you to say, that though such severe laws were made, yet it was only by the execution of moderate penal laws, that it was established and supported: but that those severe laws that touched men’s estates, liberties, and lives, were never put in execution. Why then do you so seriously bemoan the loss of them? But I advise you not to make use of that plea, for there are examples in the memory of hundreds now living, of every one of those laws of queen Elizabeth being put in execution; and pray remember, if by denying it you require this truth to be made good, it is you that force the publishing of a catalogue of men that have lost their estates, liberties, and lives in prison, which it would be more for the advantage of the religion established by law, should be forgotten.

But to conclude this great accusation of yours: if you were not conscious to yourself of some tendency that way, why such an outcry? Why were modesty and conscience called in question? Why was it less fair dealing than you could have expected from a pagan or mahometan, for me to say, if in those words “you meant any thing to the business in hand, you seemed to have a reserve for greater punishments?” Your business there being to prove, that there was a power vested in the magistrate to use force in matters of religion, what could be more beside the business in hand, than to tell us, as you interpret your meaning here, that the magistrate had a power to use force against those who rebelled; for whoever denied that, whether dissenters or not dissenters? Where was it questioned by the author or me, that “whoever rebelled, were to fall under the stroke of the magistrate’s sword?” And therefore, without breach of modesty or conscience, I might say, what I again here repeat, “That if in those words you meant any thing to the business in hand, you seemed to have a reserve for greater punishments.”

One thing more give me leave to add in defence of my modesty and conscience, or rather to justify myself from having guessed so wholly beside the matter, if I should have said, which I did not, “that I feared you had a reserve for greater punishments.” For I having brought the instances of Ananias and Sapphira, to show that the apostles wanted not power to punish, if they found it necessary to use it; you infer, that therefore “punishment may be sometimes necessary.” What punishments I beseech you, for theirs cost them their lives? He that, as you do, concludes from thence, that therefore “punishments may be sometimes necessary,” will hardly avoid, whatever he says, to conclude capital punishments necessary: and when they are necessary, it is you know the magistrate’s duty to use them. You see how natural it is for men to go whither their principles lead them, though at first sight perhaps they thought it too far.

If to avoid this, you now say you meant it of the punishment of the incestuous Corinthian, whom I also mentioned in the same place; I think, supposing your self to lie under the imputation of a reserve of greater punishments, you ought in prudence to have said so there. Next you know not what punishment it was the incestuous Corinthian underwent; but it being “for the destruction of the flesh,” it seems to be no very light one: and if you will take your friend St. Austin’s word for it, as he in the very epistle you quote tells us, it was a very severe one, making as much difference between it, and the severities men usually suffer in prison, as there is between the cruelty of the devil and that of the most barbarous jailor: so that if your moderate punishments will reach to that laid on the incestuous Corinthian for the destruction of the flesh, we may presume them to be what other people call severities.

CHAPTER V. HOW LONG YOUR PUNISHMENTS ARE TO CONTINUE.

The measure of punishments being to be estimated as well by the length of their duration, as the intenseness of their degrees, it is fit we take a view also of your scheme in this part:

“I told you, that moderate punishments that are continued, that men find no end of, know no way out of, sit heavy, and become immoderately uneasy. Dissenters you would have punished to make them consider. Your penalties have had the effect on them you intended; they have made them consider; and they have done their utmost in considering. What now must be done with them? They must be punished on, for they are still dissenters. If it were just, and you had reason at first to punish a dissenter, to make him consider, when you did not know but that he had considered already; it is as just, and you have as much reason to punish him on, even when he has performed what your punishment was designed for, and has considered, but yet remains a dissenter. For I may justly suppose, and you must grant, that a man may remain a dissenter after all the consideration your moderate penalties can bring him to: when we see great punishments, even those severities you disown as too great, are not able to make men consider so far as to be convinced, and brought over to the national church. If your punishments may not be inflicted on men, to make them consider, who have or may have considered already, for ought you know; then dissenters are never to be once punished, no more than any other sort of men. If dissenters are to be punished, to make them consider, whether they have considered or no; then their punishments, though they do consider, must never cease as long as they are dissenters; which whether it be to punish them only to bring them to consider, let all men judge. This I am sure; punishments in your method must either never begin upon dissenters, or never cease. And so pretend moderation if you please, the punishments which your method requires, must be either very immoderate, or none at all.” But to this you say nothing, only for the adjusting of the length of your punishments, and therein vindicating the consistency and practicableness of your scheme, you tell us, “that as long as men reject the true religion duly proposed to them, so long they offend and deserve punishment, and therefore it is but just that so long they should be left liable to it.” You promised to answer to this question, amongst others, “plainly and directly.” The question is, how long they are to be punished? And your answer is, “It is but just that so long they should be liable to punishment.” This extraordinary caution in speaking out, if it were not very natural to you, would he apt to make one suspect it was accommodated more to some difficulties of your scheme, than to your promise of answering plainly and directly; or possibly you thought it would not agree to that character of moderation you assume, to own, that all the penal laws which were lately here in force, and whose relaxation you bemoan, should be constantly put in execution. But your moderation in this point comes too late. For as your charity, as you tell us in the next paragraph, “requires that they be kept subject to penalties;” so the watchful charity of others in this age hath found out ways to encourage informers, and put it out of the magistrate’s moderation to stop the execution of the law against dissenters, if he should be inclined to it.

We will therefore take it for granted, that if penal laws be made concerning religion, (for more zeal usually animates them than others,) they will be put in execution: and indeed I have heard it argued to be very absurd to make or continue laws, that are not constantly put in execution. And now to show you how well your answer consists with other parts of your scheme, I shall need only to mind you, that if men must be punished as long as they reject the true religion; those who punish them must be judges what is the true religion. But this objection, with some others, to which this part of your answer is obnoxious, having been made to you more at large elsewhere, I shall here omit, and proceed to other parts of your answer.

You begin with your reason for the answer you afterwards give us in the words I last quoted: your reason runs thus: “For certainly nothing is more reasonable than that men should be subject to punishment as long as they continue to offend. And as long as men reject the true religion tendered them with sufficient evidence of the truth of it, so long it is certain they offend.” It is certainly very reasonable, that men should be subject to punishment from those they offend as long as they continue to offend: but it will not from hence follow, that those who offend God, are always subject to punishment from men. For if they be, why does not the magistrate punish envy, hatred, and malice, and all uncharitableness? If you answer, because they are not capable of judicial proofs: I think I may say it is as easy to prove a man guilty of envy, hatred, or uncharitableness, as it is to prove him guilty of “rejecting the true religion tendered him with sufficient evidence of the truth of it.” But if it be his duty to punish all offences against God; why does the magistrate never punish lying, which is an offence against God, and is an offence capable of being judicially proved? It is plain therefore that it is not the sense of all mankind, that it is the magistrate’s duty to punish all offences against God; and where it is not his duty to use force, you will grant the magistrate is not to use it in matters of religion; because where it is necessary, it is his duty to use it: but where it is not necessary, you yourself say, it is not lawful. It would be convenient therefore for you to reform your proposition from that loose generality it now is in, and then prove it, before it can be allowed you to be to your purpose; though it be ever so true, that “you know not a greater crime a man can be guilty of, than rejecting the true religion.”

You go on with your proof, that so long as men reject the true religion, &c. so long they offend, and consequently may justly be punished: “Because, say you, it is impossible for any man innocently to reject the true religion so tendered to him. For whoever rejects that religion so tendered, does either apprehend and perceive the truth of it, or he does not. If he does, I know not what greater crime any man can be guilty of. If he does not perceive the truth of it, there is no account to be given of that, but either that he shuts his eyes against the evidence which is offered him, and will not at all consider it; or that he does not consider it as he ought, viz. with such care as is requisite, and with a sincere desire to learn the truth; either of which does manifestly involve him in guilt. To say here that a man who has the true religion proposed to him with sufficient evidence of its truth, may consider it as he ought,” or do his utmost in considering, “and yet not perceive the truth of it; is neither more nor less, than to say, that sufficient evidence is not sufficient evidence. For what does any man mean by sufficient evidence, but such as will certainly win assent wherever it is duly considered?”

I shall not trouble myself here to examine when requisite care, duly considered, and such other words, which bring one back to the same place from whence one set out, are cast up, whether all this fine reasoning will amount to any thing, but begging what is in the question: but shall only tell you, that what you say here and in other places about sufficient evidence, is built upon this, that the evidence wherewith a man proposes the true religion, he may know to be such, as will not fail to gain the assent of whosoever does what lies in him in considering it. This is the supposition, without which all your talk of sufficient evidence will do you no service, try it where you will. But it is a supposition that is far enough from carrying with it sufficient evidence to make it be admitted without proof.

Whatever gains any man’s assent, one may be sure had sufficient evidence in respect of that man: but that is far enough from proving it evidence sufficient to prevail on another, let him consider it as long and as much as he can. The tempers of men’s minds; the principles settled there by time and education, beyond the power of the man himself to alter them; the different capacities of men’s understandings, and the strange ideas they are often filled with; are so various and uncertain, that it is impossible to find that evidence, especially in things of a mixed disquisition, depending on so long a train of consequences, as some points of the true religion may, which one can confidently say will be sufficient for all men. It is demonstration that 31876 is the product of 9467172 divided by 297, and yet I challenge you to find one man of a thousand, to whom you can tender this proposition with demonstrative or sufficient evidence to convince him of the truth of it in a dark room; or ever to make this evidence appear to a man, that cannot write and read, so as to make him embrace it as a truth, if another, whom he hath more confidence in, tells him it is not so. All the demonstrative evidence the thing has, all the tender you can make of it, all the consideration he can employ about it, will never be able to discover to him that evidence which shall convince him it is true, unless you will at threescore and ten, for that may be the case, have him neglect his calling, go to school, and learn to write and read, and cast accounts, which he may never be able to attain to.

You speak more than once of men’s being brought to lay aside their prejudices to make them consider as they ought, and judge right of matters in religion; and I grant without doing so they cannot: but it is impossible for force to make them do it, unless it could show them which are prejudices in their minds, and distinguish them from the truths there. Who is there almost that has not prejudices, that he does not know to be so; and what can force do in that case? It can no more remove them, to make way for truth, than it can remove one truth to make way for another; or rather remove an established truth, or that which is looked on as an unquestionable principle, (for so are often men’s prejudices,) to make way for a truth not yet known, nor appearing to be one. It is not every one knows, or can bring himself to Des Cartes’s way of doubting, and strip his thoughts of all opinions, till he brings them to self-evident principles, and then upon them builds all his future tenets.

Do not think all the world, who are not of your church, abandon themselves to an utter carelessness of their future state. You cannot but allow there are many Turks who sincerely seek truth, to whom yet you could never bring evidence sufficient to convince them of the truth of the christian religion, whilst they looked on it as a principle not to be questioned, that the Koran was of divine revelation. This possibly you will tell me is a prejudice, and so it is; but yet if this man shall tell you it is no more a prejudice in him, than it is a prejudice in any one amongst christians, who having not examined it, lays it down as an unquestionable principle of his religion, that the scripture is the word of God; what will you answer to him? And yet it would shake a great many christians in their religion if they should lay by that prejudice, and suspend their judgment of it, until they had made it out to themselves with evidence sufficient to convince one who is not prejudiced in favour of it: and it would require more time, books, languages, learning and skill, than falls to most men’s share to establish them therein; if you will not allow them, in this so distinguishing and fundamental a point, to rely on the learning, knowledge, and judgment of some persons whom they have in reverence or admiration. This though you blame it as an ill way, yet you can allow in one of your own religion, even to that degree, that he may be ignorant of the grounds of his religion. And why then may you not allow it to a Turk, not as a good way, or as having led him to the truth; but as a way as fit for him, as for one of your church to acquiesce in; and as fit to exempt him from your force, as to exempt any one of your church from it?

To prevent your commenting on this, in which you have shown so much dexterity, give me leave to tell you, that for all this I do not think all religions equally true or equally certain. But this, I say, is impossible for you, or me, or any man, to know, whether another has done his duty in examining the evidence on both sides, when he embraces that side of the question, which we, perhaps upon other views, judge false: and therefore we can have no right to punish or persecute him for it. In this, whether and how far any one is faulty, must be left to the Searcher of hearts, the great and righteous Judge of all men, who knows all their circumstances, all the powers and workings of their minds; where it is they sincerely follow, and by what default they at any time miss truth: and he, we are sure, will judge uprightly.

But when one man shall think himself a competent judge, that the true religion is proposed with evidence sufficient for another; and thence shall take upon him to punish him as an offender, because he embraces not, upon evidence that he the proposer judges sufficient, the religion that he judges true; he had need be able to look into the thoughts of men, and know their several abilities; unless he will make his own understanding and faculties to be the measure of those of all mankind; which if they be no higher elevated, no larger in their comprehension, no more discerning, than those of some men, he will not only be unfit to be a judge in that, but in almost any case whatsoever.

But since, 1. You make it a condition to the making a man an offender in not being of the true religion, that it has been tendered him with sufficient evidence. 2. Since you think it so easy for men to determine when the true religion has been tendered to any one with sufficient evidence. And 3. Since you pronounce “it impiety to say that God hath not furnished mankind with competent means for the promoting his own honour in the world, and the good of souls.” Give me leave to ask you a question or two. 1. Can any one be saved without embracing the one only true religion? 2. Were any of the Americans of that one only true religion, when the Europeans first came amongst them? 3. Whether any of the Americans, before the christians came amongst them, had offended in rejecting the true religion tendered with sufficient evidence? When you have thought upon, and fairly answered these questions, you will be fitter to determine, how competent a judge man is, what is sufficient evidence; who do offend in not being of the true religion; and what punishments they are liable to for it.

But methinks here, where you spend almost a whole page upon the crime of rejecting the true religion duly tendered, and the punishment that is justly due to it from the magistrate, you forget yourself, and the foundation of your plea for force; which is, that it is necessary: when you are so far from proving it to be so in this case of punishing the offence of rejecting the true religion, that in this very page you distinguished it from what is necessary, where you tell us, “your design does rather oblige you to consider how long men may need punishment, than how long it may be just to punish them.” So that though they offend, yet if they do not need punishment, the magistrate cannot use it, if you ground, as you say you do, the lawfulness of force for promoting the true religion upon the necessity of it. Nor can you say, that by his commission from the law of nature, of doing good, the magistrate, besides reducing his wandering subjects out of the wrong into the right way, is appointed also to be the avenger of God’s wrath on unbelievers, or those that err in matters of religion. This at least you thought not fit to own in the first draught of your scheme; for I do not remember, in all your “Argument considered,” one word of crime or punishment: nay, in writing this second treatise, you were so shy of owning any thing of punishment, that to my remembrance, you scrupulously avoided the use of that word, till you came to this place; and always where the repeating my words did not oblige you to it, carefully used the term of penalties for it, as any one may observe, who reads the preceding part of this letter of yours, which I am now examining. And you were so nice in the point, that three or four leaves backwards, where I say, By your rule dissenters must be punished, you mend it, and say, “or if I please, subjected to moderate penalties.” But here when the inquiry, how long force was to be continued on men, showed the absurdity of that pretence, that they were to be punished on without end, to make them consider; rather than part with your beloved force, you open the matter a little farther, and profess directly the punishing men for their religion. For though you do all you can to cover it under the name of rejecting the true religion duly proposed; yet it is in truth no more but being of a religion different from yours, that you would have them punished for: for all that the author pleads for, and you can oppose in writing against him, is toleration of religion. Your scheme therefore being thus mended, your hypothesis enlarged, being of a different religion from the national found criminal, and punishments found justly to belong to it; it is to be hoped, that in good time your punishments may grow too, and be advanced to all those degrees you in the beginning condemned; when having considered a little farther, you cannot miss finding, that the obstinacy of the criminals does not lessen their crime, and therefore justice will require severer execution to be done upon them.

But you tell us here, “Because your design does rather oblige you to consider how long men may need punishment, than how long it may be just to punish them; therefore you shall add, that as long as men refuse to embrace the true religion, so long penalties are necessary for them to dispose them to consider and embrace it; and that therefore as justice allows, so charity requires, that they be kept subject to penalties, till they embrace the true religion.” Let us therefore see the consistency of this with other parts of your hypothesis, and examine it a little by them.

Your doctrine is, that where intreaties and admonitions upon trial do not prevail, punishments are to be used; but they must be moderate. Moderate punishments have been tried, and they prevail not; what now is to be done? Are not greater to be used? No. For what reason? Because those whom moderate penalties will not prevail on, being desperately perverse and obstinate, remedies are not to be provided for the incurable, as you tell us in the page immediately preceding.

Moderate punishments have been tried upon a man once, and again, and a third time, but prevail not at all, make no impression; they are repeated as many times more, but are still found ineffectual: pray tell me a reason why such a man is concluded so desperately perverse and obstinate, that greater degrees will not work upon him; but yet not so desperately perverse and obstinate, but that the same degrees repeated may work upon him? I will not urge here, that this is to pretend to know the just degree of punishment that will or will not work on any one; which I should imagine a pretty intricate business: but this I have to say, that if you can think it reasonable and useful to continue a man several years, nay his whole life, under the same repeated punishments, without going any higher, though they work not at all; because it is possible some time or other they may work on him; why is it not as reasonable and useful, I am sure it is much more justifiable and charitable, to leave him all his life under the means, which all agree God has appointed, without going any higher; because it is not impossible that some time or other preaching, and a word spoken in due season, may work upon him? For why you should despair of the success of preaching and persuasion upon a fruitless trial, and thereupon think yourself authorized to use force; and yet not so despair of the success of moderate force, as after years of fruitless trial to continue it on, and not to proceed to higher degrees of punishment; you are concerned for the vindication of your system to show a reason.

I mention the trial of preaching and persuasion, to show the unreasonableness of your hypothesis, supposing such a trial made: not that in yours, or the common method, there is or can be a fair trial made what preaching and persuasion can do. For care is taken by punishments and ill treatment to indispose and turn away men’s minds, and to add aversion to their scruples; an excellent way to soften men’s inclinations, and temper them for the impression of arguments and intreaties; though these too are only talked of: for I cannot but wonder to find you mention, as you do, giving ear to admonitions, intreaties, and persuasions, when these are seldom, if ever made use of, but in places, where those, who are to be wrought on by them, are known to be out of hearing; nor can be expected to come there, till by such means they have been wrought on.

It is not without reason therefore you cannot part with your penalties, and would have no end put to your punishments, but continue them on; since you leave so much to their operation, and make so little use of other means to work upon dissenters.

CHAPTER VI. OF THE END FOR WHICH FORCE IS TO BE USED.

He that should read the beginning of your “Argument considered,” would think it in earnest to be your design to have force employed to make men seriously consider, and nothing else: but he that shall look a little farther into it, and to that add also your defence of it, will find by the variety of ends you design your force for, that either you know not well what you would have it for; or else, whatever it was you aimed at, you called it still by that name which best fitted the occasion, and would serve best in that place to recommend the use of it.

You ask me, “Whether the mildness and gentleness of the gospel destroys the coactive power of the magistrate?” I answer, as you supposed, No: upon which you infer, “Then it seems the magistrate may use his coactive power, without offending against the mildness and gentleness of the gospel.” Yes, where he has commission and authority to use it. “And so, say you, it will consist well enough with the mildness and gentleness of the gospel for the magistrate to use his coactive power to procure them” [I suppose you mean the ministers and preachers of the national religion] “a hearing where their prayers and intreaties will not do it.” No, it will not consist with the gentle and mild method of the gospel, unless the gospel has directed it, or something else to supply its want, till it could be had. As for miracles, which you pretend to have supplied the want of force in the first ages of christianity, you will find that considered in another place. But, sir, show me a country where the ministers and teachers of the national and true religion go about with prayers and intreaties to procure a hearing, and cannot obtain it; and there I think I need not stand with you for the magistrate to use force to procure it them; but that I fear will not serve your turn.

To show the inconsistency and impracticableness of your method, I had said, “Let us now see to what end they must be punished: sometimes it is, To bring them to consider those reasons and arguments which are proper and sufficient to convince them: of what? That it is not easy to set Grantham steeple upon Paul’s church? Whatever it be you would have them convinced of, you are not willing to tell us; and so it may be any thing. Sometimes it is, To incline them to lend an ear to those who tell them they have mistaken their way, and offer to show them the right. Which is, to lend an ear to all who differ from them in religion, as well crafty seducers, as others. Whether this be for the procuring the salvation of their souls, the end for which you say this force is to be used, judge you. But this I am sure, whoever will lend an ear to all who will tell them they are out of the way, will not have much time for any other business.

“Sometimes it is, To recover men to so much sobriety and reflection, as seriously to put the question to themselves, whether it be really worth their while to undergo such inconveniencies, for adhering to a religion which, for any thing they know, may be false; or for rejecting another (if that be the case) which, for aught they know, may be true; till they have brought it to the bar of reason, and given it a fair trial there. Which in short amounts to thus much, viz. To make them examine whether their religion be true, and so worth the holding, under those penalties that are annexed to it. Dissenters are indebted to you for your great care of their souls. But what, I beseech you, shall become of those of the national church, everywhere, which make far the greater part of mankind, who have no such punishments to make them consider; who have not this only remedy provided for them, but are left in that deplorable condition, you mention, of being suffered quietly, and without molestation, to take no care at all of their souls, or in doing of it to follow their own prejudices, humours, or some crafty seducers? Need not those of the national church, as well as others, bring their religion to the bar of reason, and give it a fair trial there? And if they need to do so, as they must, if all national religions cannot be supposed true; they will always need that which you say is the only means to make them do so. So that if you are sure, as you tell us, that there is need of your method; I am sure, there is as much need of it in national churches as any other. And so, for aught I can see, you must either punish them, or let others alone: unless you think it reasonable that the far greater part of mankind should constantly be without that sovereign and only remedy, which they stand in need of equally with other people.

“Sometimes the end for which men must be punished is, to dispose them to submit to instruction, and to give a fair hearing to the reasons offered for the enlightening their minds, and discovering the truth to them. If their own words may be taken for it, there are as few dissenters as conformists, in any country, who will not profess they have done, and do this. And if their own words may not be taken, who, I pray, must be judge? You and your magistrates? If so, then it is plain you punish them not to dispose them to submit to instruction, but to your instruction; not to dispose them to give a fair hearing to reasons offered for the enlightening their minds, but to give an obedient hearing to your reasons. If you mean this, it had been fairer and shorter to have spoken out plainly, than thus in fair words, of indefinite signification, to say that which amounts to nothing. For what sense is it to punish a man to dispose him to submit to instruction, and give a fair hearing to reasons offered for the enlightening his mind, and discovering truth to him, who goes two or three times a week several miles on purpose to do it, and that with the hazard of his liberty or purse; unless you mean your instructions, your reasons, your truth? Which brings us but back to what you have disclaimed, plain persecution for differing in religion.

“Sometimes this is to be done, To prevail with men to weigh matters of religion carefully and impartially. Discountenance and punishment put into one scale, with impunity and hopes of preferment put into the other, is as sure a way to make a man weigh impartially, as it would be for a prince to bribe and threaten a judge to make him judge uprightly.

“Sometimes it is, To make men bethink themselves, and put it out of the power of any foolish humour, or unreasonable prejudice, to alienate them from truth and their own happiness. Add but this, to put it out of the power of any humour or prejudice of their own, or other men’s; and I grant the end is good, if you can find the means to procure it. But why it should not be put out of the power of other men’s humour or prejudice, as well as their own, wants, and will always want, a reason to prove. Would it not, I beseech you, to an indifferent by-stander, appear humour or prejudice, or something as bad; to see men who profess a religion revealed from heaven, and which they own contains all in it necessary to salvation, exclude men from their communion, and persecute them with the penalties of the civil law, for not joining in the use of ceremonies, which are no-where to be found in that revealed religion? Would it not appear humour or prejudice, or some such thing, to a sober impartial heathen, to see christians exclude and persecute one of the same faith, for things which they themselves confess to be indifferent, and not worth the contending for? Prejudice, humour, passion, lusts, impressions of education, reverence and admiration of persons, worldly respects, love of their own choice, and the like; to which you justly impute many men’s taking up and persisting in their religion; are indeed good words; and so, on the other side, are these following, truth, the right way, enlightening, reason, sound judgment; but they signify nothing at all to your purpose, till you can evidently and unquestionably show the world, that the latter, truth, and the right way, etc. are always, and in all countries, to be found only in the national church: and the former, viz. passion and prejudice, etc. only amongst the dissenters. But to go on:

“Sometimes it is, To bring men to take such care as they ought of their salvation. What care is such as men ought to take, whilst they are out of your church, will be hard for you to tell me. But you endeavour to explain yourself in the following words: that they may not blindly leave it to the choice neither of any other person, nor yet of their own lusts and passions, to prescribe to them what faith or worship they shall embrace. You do well to make use of punishment to shut passion out of the choice; because you know fear of suffering is no passion. But let that pass. You would have men punished, to bring them to take such care of their salvation, that they may not blindly leave it to the choice of any other person to prescribe to them. Are you sincere? Are you in earnest? Tell me then truly: did the magistrate or the national church, any-where, or yours in particular, ever punish any man, to bring him to have this care, which, you say, he ought to take of his salvation? Did you ever punish any man, that he might not blindly leave it to the choice of his parishpriest, or bishop, or the convocation, what faith or worship he should embrace? It will be suspected, care of a party, or any thing else, rather than care of the salvation of men’s souls; if, having found out so useful, so necessary a remedy, the only method there is room left for, you will apply it but partially, and make trial of it only on those whom you have truly least kindness for. This will unavoidably give one reason to imagine, you do not think so well of your remedy as you pretend, who are so sparing of it to your friends; but are very free of it to strangers, who in other things are used very much like enemies. But your remedy is like the helleboraster, that grew in the woman’s garden, for the cure of worms in her neighbours children: for truly it wrought too roughly to give it to any of her own. Methinks your charity, in your present persecution, is much-what as prudent, as justifiable, as that good woman’s. I hope I have done you no injury, that I here suppose you of the church of England; if I have I beg your pardon. It is no offence of malice, I assure you: for I suppose no worse of you, than I confess of myself.

“Sometimes this punishment that you contend for, is, to bring men to act according to reason and sound judgment:

Tertius è cœlo cecidit Cato.

“This is reformation indeed. If you can help us to it, you will deserve statues to be erected to you, as to the restorer of decayed religion. But if all men have not reason and sound judgment, will punishment put it into them? Besides, concerning this matter mankind is so divided, that he acts according to reason and sound judgment at Augsburg, who would be judged to do quite the contrary at Edinburgh. Will punishment make men know what is reason and sound judgment? If it will not, it is impossible it should make them act according to it. Reason and sound judgment are the elixir itself, the universal remedy: and you may as reasonably punish men to bring them to have the philosopher’s stone, as to bring them to act according to reason and sound judgment.

“Sometimes it is, To put men upon a serious and impartial examination of the controversy between the magistrate and them, which is the way for them to come to the knowledge of the truth. But what if the truth be on neither side, as I am apt to imagine you will think it is not; where neither the magistrate nor the dissenter is either of them of your church; how will the examining the controversy between the magistrate and him be the way to come to the knowledge of the truth? Suppose the controversy between a lutheran and a papist; or, if you please, between a presbyterian magistrate and a quaker subject; will the examining the controversy between the magistrate and the dissenting subject, in this case, bring him to the knowledge of the truth? If you say, Yes, then you grant one of these to have the truth on his side. For the examining the controversy between a presbyterian and a quaker, leaves the controversy either of them has with the church of England, or any other church, untouched. And so one, at least, of those being already come to the knowledge of the truth, ought not to be put under your discipline of punishment; which is only to bring him to the truth. If you say, No, and that the examining the controversy between the magistrate and the dissenter, in this case, will not bring him to the knowledge of the truth; you confess your rule to be false, and your method to no purpose.

“To conclude, your system is, in short, this: You would have all men, laying aside prejudice, humour, passion, etc. examine the grounds of their religion, and search for the truth. This, I confess, is heartily to be wished. The means that you propose to make men to do this, is, that dissenters should be punished to make them do so. It is as if you had said, men generally are guilty of a fault; therefore let one sect, who have the ill luck to be of an opinion different from the magistrate, be punished. This, at first sight, shocks any one who has the least spark of sense, reason, or justice. But having spoken of this already, and concluding that, upon second thoughts, you yourself will be ashamed of it; let us consider it put so as to be consistent with common sense, and with all the advantage it can bear, and then let us see what you can make of it. Men are negligent in examining the religions they embrace, refuse, or persist in; therefore it is fit they should be punished to make them do it. This is a consequence indeed which may, without defiance to common sense, be drawn from it. This is the use, the only use, which you think punishment can indirectly and at a distance have in matters of religion. You would have men by punishments driven to examine. What? Religion. To what end? To bring them to the knowledge of the truth. But I answer,

“First, Every one has not the ability to do this.

“Secondly, Every one has not the opportunity to do it.

“Would you have every poor protestant, for example, in the palatinate, examine thoroughly whether the pope be infallible, or head of the church; whether there be a purgatory; whether saints are to be prayed to, or the dead prayed for; whether the scripture be the only rule of faith; whether there be no salvation out of the church; and whether there be no church without bishops; and an hundred other things in controversy between the papists and those protestants: and when he had mastered these, go on to fortify himself against the opinions and objections of other churches he differs from? This, which is no small task, must be done, before a man can have brought his religion to the bar of reason, and given it a fair trial there. And if you will punish men till this be done, the countryman must leave off plowing and sowing, and betake himself to the study of Greek and Latin; and the artisan must sell his tools, to buy fathers and schoolmen, and leave his family to starve. If something less than this will satisfy you, pray tell me what is enough. Have they considered and examined enough, if they are satisfied themselves where the truth lies? If this be the limits of their examination, you will find few to punish; unless you will punish them to make them do what they have done already. For, however he came by his religion, there is scarce any one to be found who does not own himself satisfied that he is in the right. Or, else, must they be punished to make them consider and examine, till they embrace that which you choose for truth? If this be so, what do you but in effect choose for them? when yet you would have men punished, to bring them to such a care of their souls that no other person might choose for them? If it be truth in general you would have them by punishments driven to seek; that is to offer matter of dispute, and not a rule of discipline. For to punish any one to make him seek till he find truth, without a judge of truth, is to punish for you know not what; and is all one as if you should whip a scholar to make him find out the square root of a number you do not know. I wonder not therefore that you could not resolve with yourself what degree of severity you would have used, nor how long continued; when you dare not speak out directly whom you would have punished, and are far from being clear to what end they should be under penalties.

“Consonant to this uncertainty, of whom, or what, to be punished; you tell us, that there is no question of the success of this method. Force will certainly do, if duly proportioned to the design of it.

“What, I pray, is the design of it? I challenge you, or any man living, out of what you have said in your book, to tell me directly what it is. In all other punishments that ever I heard of yet, till now that you have taught the world a new method, the design of them has been to cure the crime they are denounced against; and so I think it ought to be here. What, I beseech you, is the crime here? Dissenting? That you say not, any-where, is a fault. Besides you tell us, that the magistrate hath not an authority to compel any one to his religion. And that you do not require that men should have no rule but the religion of the country. And the power you ascribe to the magistrate is given him to bring men, not to his own, but to the true religion. If dissenting be not the fault; is it that a man does not examine his own religion, and the grounds of it? Is that the crime your punishments are designed to cure? Neither that dare you say, lest you displease more than you satisfy with your new discipline. And then again, as I said before, you must tell us how far you would have them examine, before you punish them for not doing it. And I imagine, if that were all we required of you, it would be long enough before you would trouble us with a law, that should prescribe to every one how far he was to examine matters of religion: wherein if he failed, and came short, he was to be punished; if he performed, and went in his examination to the bounds set by the law, he was acquitted and free. Sir, when you consider it again, you will perhaps think this a case reserved to the great day, when the secrets of all hearts shall be laid open. For I imagine it is beyond the power or judgment of man, in that variety of circumstances, in respect of parts, tempers, opportunities, helps, etc. men are in, in this world, to determine what is every one’s duty in this great business of search, inquiry, examination; or to know when any one has done it. That which makes me believe you will be of this mind, is, that where you undertake for the success of this method, if rightly used, it is with a limitation, upon such as are not altogether incurable. So that when your remedy is prepared according to art, (which art is yet unknown,) and rightly applied, and given in a due dose, (all which are secrets,) it will then infallibly cure. Whom? All that are not incurable by it. And so will a pippin-posset, eating fish in lent, or a presbyterian lecture, certainly cure all that are not incurable by them. For I am sure you do not mean it will cure all, but those who are absolutely incurable; because you yourself allow one means left of cure, when yours will not do, viz. The grace of God. Your words are, what means is there left (except the grace of God) to reduce them, but to lay thorns and briars in their way? And here also in the place we were considering, you tell us, the incurable are to be left to God. Whereby, if you mean they are to be left to those means he has ordained for men’s conversion and salvation, yours must never be made use of: for he indeed has prescribed preaching and hearing of his word; but as for those who will not hear, I do not find any-where that he has commanded that they should be compelled or beaten to it.”

I must beg my reader’s pardon for so long a repetition, which I was forced to, that he might be judge whether what I there said either deserves no answer, or be fully answered in that paragraph, where you undertake to vindicate your method from all impracticableness and inconsistency chargeable upon it, in reference to the end for which you would have men punished. Your words are: For what? By which, you say, “you perceive I mean two things: for sometimes I speak of the fault, and sometimes of the end for which men are to be punished; (and sometimes I plainly confound them.) Now if it be inquired, for what fault men are to be punished? you answer, for rejecting the true religion, after sufficient evidence tendered them of the truth of it: which certainly is a fault, and deserves punishment. But if I inquire for what end such as do reject the true religion, are to be punished; you say, to bring them to embrace the true religion; and in order to that to bring them to consider, and that carefully and impartially, the evidence which is offered to convince them of the truth of it, which are undeniably just and excellent ends; and which, through God’s blessing, have often been procured, and may yet be procured by convenient penalties inflicted for that purpose. Nor do you know of any thing I say against any part of this, which is not already answered.” Whether I in this confound two things distinct, or you distinguish where there is no difference, the reader may judge by what I have said elsewhere. I shall here only consider the ends of punishing, you here again in your reply to me assign; and those, as I find them scattered, are these:

Sometimes you speak of this end, as if it were “barely to gain a hearing to those who by prayers and intreaty cannot:” And those may be the preachers of any religion. But I suppose you mean the preachers of the true religion. And who I beseech you must be judge of that?

“Where the law provides sufficient means of instruction for all, as well as punishment for dissenters, it is plain to all concerned, that the punishment is intended to make them consider.” What? The means the law provides for their instruction. Who then is judge of what they are to be instructed in, and the means of instruction, but the law-maker?

“It is to bring men to hearken to instruction:” From whom? From any body? “And to consider and examine matters of religion as they ought to do, and to bring those who are out of the right way to hear, consider, and embrace the truth.” When is this end attained, and the penalties which are the means to this end taken off? When a man conforms to the national church. And who then is judge of what is the truth, to be embraced, but the magistrate?

“It is to bring men to consider those reasons and arguments which are proper and sufficient to convince them; but which, without being forced, they would not consider.” And when have they done this? When they have once conformed: for after that there is no force used to make them consider farther.

“It is to make men consider as they ought;” and that, you tell us, is so to consider, “as to be moved heartily to embrace, and not to reject truth necessary to salvation.” And when is the magistrate, that has the care of men’s souls, and does all this for their salvation, satisfied that they have so considered? As soon as they outwardly join in communion with the national church.

“It is to bring men to consider and examine those controversies which they are bound to consider and examine, i. e. those wherein they cannot err without dishonouring God, and endangering their own and other men’s salvations. And to study the true religion with such care and diligence as they might and ought to use, and with an honest mind.” And when, in your opinion, is it presumable that any man has done all this? Even when he is in the communion of your church.

“It is to cure men’s unreasonable prejudices and refractoriness against, and aversion to, the true religion.” Whereof none retain the least tincture or suspicion, who are once got within the pale of your church.

“It is to bring men into the right way, into the way of salvation,” which force does, when it has conducted them within the church porch, and there leaves them.

“It is to bring men to embrace the truth that must save them.” And here in the paragraph wherein you pretend to tell us for what force is to be used, you say, “It is to bring men to embrace the true religion, and in order to that to bring them to consider, and that carefully and impartially, the evidence which is offered to convince them of the truth of it, which, as you say, are undeniably just and excellent ends;” but yet such as force in your method can never practically be made a means to, without supposing what you say you have no need to suppose, viz. That your religion is the true; unless you had rather every-where leave it to the magistrate to judge which is the right way, what is the true religion; which supposition, I imagine, will less accommodate you than the other. But take which of them you will you must add this other opposition to it, harder to be granted you than either of the former, viz. that those who conform to your church here, if you make yourself the judge, or to the national church any-where, if you make the magistrate judge of the truth that must save men, and those only, have attained these ends.

The magistrate, you say, is obliged to do what in him lies to bring all his subjects “to examine carefully and impartially matters of religion, and to consider them as they ought, i. e. so as to embrace the truth that must save them.” The proper and necessary means, you say, to attain these ends is force. And your method of using this force is to punish all the dissenters from the national religion, and none of those who outwardly conform to it. Make this practicable now in any country in the world, without allowing the magistrate to be judge what is the truth that must save them, and without supposing also, that whoever do embrace the outward profession of the national religion, do in their hearts embrace, i. e. believe and obey, the truth that must save them; and then I think nothing in government can be too hard for your undertaking.

You conclude this paragraph in telling me, “You do not know of any thing I say against any part of this, which is not already answered.” Pray tell me where it is you have answered those objections I made to those several ends which you assigned in your “Argument considered,” and for which you would have force used, and which I have here reprinted again, because I do not find you so much as take notice of them: and therefore the reader must judge whether they needed any answer or no.

But to show that you have not here, where you promise and pretend to do it clearly and directly, told us for what force and penalties are to be used, I shall in the next chapter examine what you mean, “by bringing men to embrace the true religion.”

CHAPTER VII. OF YOUR BRINGING MEN TO THE TRUE RELIGION.

True religion is on all hands acknowledged to be so much the concern and interest of all mankind, that nothing can be named, which so much effectually bespeaks the approbation and favour of the public. The very entitling one’s self to that sets a man on the right side. Who dares question such a cause, or oppose what is offered for the promoting the true religion? This advantage you have secured to yourself from inattentive readers as much as by the often repeated mention of the true religion is possible, there being scarce a page wherein the true religion does not appear, as if you had nothing else in your thoughts, but the bringing men to it for the salvation of their souls. Whether it be so in earnest, we will now see.

You tell us, “Whatever hardships some false religions may impose, it will however always be easier to carnal and worldly-minded men, to give even their first-born for their transgressions, than to mortify the lusts from which they spring, which no religion but the true requires of them.” Upon this you ground the necessity of force to bring men to the true religion, and charge it on the magistrate as his duty to use it to that end. What now in appearance can express greater care to bring men to the true religion? But let us see what you say in , and we shall find that in your scheme nothing less is meant; there you tell us, “The magistrate inflicts the penalties only upon them that break the laws:” and that law requiring nothing but conformity to the national religion, none but nonconformists are punished. So that unless an outward profession of the national religion be by the mortification of men’s lusts harder than their giving their first-born for their transgressions, all the penalties you contend for concern not, nor can be intended to bring men effectually to the true religion: since they leave them before they come to the difficulty, which is to mortify their lusts, as the true religion requires. So that your bringing men to the true religion being to bring them to conformity to the national, for then you have done with force; how far that outward conformity is from being heartily of the true religion, may be known by the distance there is between the easiest and the hardest thing in the world. For there is nothing easier than to profess in words; nothing harder, than to subdue the heart, and bring thoughts and deeds into obedience of the truth: the latter is what is required to be of the true religion; the other all that is required by penalties your way applied. If you say, conformists to the national religion are required by the law civil and ecclesiastical to lead good lives, which is the difficult part of the true religion: I answer, these are not the laws we are here speaking of, nor those which the defenders of toleration complain of; but the laws that put a distinction between outward conformists and non-conformists: and those they say, whatever may be talked of the true religion, can never be meant to bring men really to the true religion, as long as the true religion is, and is confessed to be, a thing of so much greater difficulty than outward conformity.

Miracles, say you, supplied the want of force in the beginning of christianity; and therefore so far as they supplied that want, they must be subservient to the same end. The end then was to bring men into the christian church, into which they were admitted and received as brethren, when they acknowledged that Jesus was the Christ, the son of God. Will that serve the turn? No: force must be used to make men embrace creeds and ceremonies, i. e. outwardly conform to the doctrine and worship of your church. Nothing more than that is required by your penalties; nothing less than that will excuse from punishment: that, and nothing but that, will serve the turn; that therefore, and only that, is what you mean by the true religion you would have force used to bring men to.

When I tell you, “You have a very ill opinion of the religion of the church of England, and must own it can only be propagated and supported by force, if you do not think it would be a gainer by a general toleration all the world over:” You ask, “Why you may not have as good an opinion of the church of England’s, as you have of Noah’s religion, notwithstanding you think it cannot now be propagated or supported without using some kinds or degrees of force.” When you have proved that Noah’s religion, that from eight persons spread and continued in the world till the apostles times, as I have proved in another place, was propagated and supported all that while by your kinds or degrees of force, you may have some reason to think as well of the religion of the church of England, as you have of Noah’s religion; though you think it cannot be propagated and supported without some kinds or degrees of force. But till you can prove that, you cannot upon that ground say you have reason to have so good an opinion of it.

You tell me, “If I will take your word for it, you assure me you think there are many other countries in the world besides England, where my toleration would be as little useful to truth as in England.” If you will name those countries, which will be no great pains, I will take your word for it, that you believe toleration there would be prejudicial to truth: but if you will not do that, neither I nor any-body else can believe you. I will give you a reason why I say so, and that is, because nobody can believe that, upon your principles, you can allow any national religion, differing from that of the church of England, to be true; and where the national religion is not true, we have already your consent, as in Spain and Italy, &c. for toleration. Now that you cannot, without renouncing your own principles, allow any national religion, differing from that established here by law, to be true, is evident: For why do you punish non-conformists here? “To bring them, say you, to the true religion.” But what if they hold nothing, but what that other differing national church does, shall they be nevertheless punished if they conform not? You will certainly say, yes: and if so, then you must either say, they are not of the true religion; or else you must own you punish those, to bring them to the true religion, whom you allow to be of the true religion already.

You tell me, “If I own with our author, that there is but one true religion, and I owning myself to be of the church of England, you cannot see how I can avoid supposing, that the national religion now in England, backed by the public authority of the law, is the only true religion.” If I own, as I do, all that you here expect from me, yet it will not serve to draw that conclusion from it, which you do, viz. That the national religion now in England is the only true religion; taking the true religion in the sense that I do, and you ought to take it. I grant that there is but one true religion in the world, which is that whose doctrine and worship are necessary to salvation. I grant too that the true religion, necessary to salvation, is taught and professed in the church of England: and yet it will not follow from hence, that the religion of the church of England, as established by law, is the only true religion; if there be any thing established in the church of England by law, and made part of its religion, which is not necessary to salvation, and which any other church, teaching and professing all that is necessary to salvation, does not receive.

If the national religion now in England, backed by the authority of the law, be, as you would have it, the only true religion; so the only true religion, that a man cannot be saved without being of it; pray reconcile this with what you say in the immediately preceding paragraph, viz. “That there are many other countries in the world where my toleration would be as little useful as in England.” For if there be other national religions differing from that of England, which you allow to be true, and wherein men may be saved, the national religion of England, as now established by law, is not the only true religion, and men may be saved without being of it. And then the magistrate can upon your principles have no authority to use force to bring men to be of it. For you tell us, force is not lawful, unless it be necessary; and therefore the magistrate can never lawfully use it, but to bring men to believe and practise what is necessary to salvation. You must therefore either hold, that there is nothing in the doctrine, discipline, and ceremonies of the church of England, as it is established by law, but what is necessary to salvation: or else you must reform your terms of communion, before the magistrate upon your principles can use penalties to make men consider till they conform; or you can say that the national religion of England is the only true religion, though it contain the only true religion in it; as possibly most, if not all, the differing christian churches now in the world do.

You tell us farther in the next paragraph, “That wherever this only true religion, i. e. the national religion now in England, is received, all other religions ought to be discouraged.” Why I beseech you discouraged, if they be true any of them? For if they be true, what pretence is there for force to bring men who are of them to the true religion? If you say all other religions, varying at all from that of the church of England, are false; we know then your measure of the one only true religion. But that your care is only of conformity to the church of England, and that by the true religion you mean nothing else, appears too from your way of expressing yourself in this passage, where you own that you suppose that as this only true religion, to wit, the national religion now in England, backed with the public authority of law, “ought to be received wherever it is preached; so wherever it is received, all other religions ought to be discouraged in some measure by the civil powers.” If the religion established by law in England, be the only true religion, ought it not to be preached and received every-where, and all other religions discouraged throughout the world? and ought not the magistrates of all countries to take care that it should be so? But you only say, wherever it is preached it ought to be received; and wherever it is received, other religions ought to be discouraged, which is well suited to your scheme for enforcing conformity in England, but could scarce drop from a man whose thoughts were on the true religion, and the promoting of it in other parts of the world.

Force then must be used in England, and penalties laid on dissenters there. For what? “to bring them to the true religion,” whereby it is plain you mean not only the doctrine but discipline and ceremonies of the church of England, and make them a part of the only true religion: why else do you punish all dissenters for rejecting the true religion, and use force to bring them to it? When yet a great, if not the greatest, part of dissenters in England own and profess the doctrine of the church of England, as firmly as those in the communion of the church of England. They therefore, though they believe the same religion with you, are excluded from the true church of God, that you would have men brought to, and are amongst those who reject the true religion.

I ask whether they are not in your opinion out of the way of salvation, who are not joined in communion with the true church? and whether there can be any true church without bishops? If so, all but conformists in England that are of any church in Europe, beside the lutherans and papists, are out of the way of salvation; and so according to your system have need of force to be brought into it: and these too, one for their doctrine of transubstantiation, the other for that of consubstantiation, to omit other things vastly differing from the church of England, you will not, I suppose, allow to be of the true religion: and who then are left of the true religion but the church of England? For the Abyssines have too wide a difference in many points for me to imagine, that is one of those places you mean where toleration would do harm as well as in England. And I think the religion of the Greek church can scarce be supposed by you to be the true. For if it should, it would be a strong instance against your assertion, that the true religion cannot subsist, but would quickly be effectually extirpated without the assistance of authority; since this has subsisted without any such assistance now above two hundred years. I take it then for granted, and others with me cannot but do the same; till you tell us what other religion there is of any church, but that of England, which you allow to be the true religion; that all you say of bringing men to the true religion, is only bringing them to the religion of the church of England. If I do you an injury in this, it will be capable of a very easy vindication: for it is but naming that other church differing from that of England, which you allow to have the true religion, and I shall yield myself convinced, and shall allow these words, viz. “The national religion now in England, backed by the public authority of law, being the only true religion,” only as a little hasty sally of your zeal. In the mean time I shall argue with you about the use of force to bring men to the religion of the church of England, as established by law; since it is more easy to know what that is, than what you mean by the true religion, if you mean any thing else.

To proceed therefore; in the next place I tell you, by using force your way to bring men to the religion of the church of England, you mean only to bring them to an outward profession of that religion; and that, as I have told you elsewhere, because force used your way, being applied only to dissenters, and ceasing as soon as they conform, (whether it be intended by the lawmaker for any thing more or no, which we have examined in another place;) cannot be to bring men to any thing more than outward conformity. For if force be used to dissenters, and them only, to bring men to the true religion, and always, as soon as it has brought men to conformity, it be taken off, and laid aside as having done all is expected from it; it is plain, that by bringing men to the true religion, and bringing them to outward conformity, you mean the same thing. You use and continue force upon dissenters, because you expect some effect from it: when you take it off, it has wrought that effect, or else being in your power, why do you not continue it on? The effect then that you talk of, being the embracing the true religion, and the thing you are satisfied with, without any further punishment, expectation, or enquiry, being outward conformity, it is plain embracing the true religion and outward conformity, with you, are the same things.

Neither can you say it is presumable that those who outwardly conform do really understand, and inwardly in their hearts embrace with a lively faith and a sincere obedience, the truth that must save them. 1. Because it being, as you tell us, the magistrate’s duty to do all that in him lies for the salvation of all his subjects, and it being in his power to examine, whether they know and live suitable to the truth that must save them, as well as conform; he can or ought no more to presume that they do so, without taking an account of their knowledge and lives, than he can or ought to presume that they conform, without taking any account of their coming to church. Would you think that physician discharged his duty, and had, as was pretended, a care of men’s lives; who having got them into his hands, and knowing no more of them, but that they come once or twice a week to the apothecary’s shop, to hear what is prescribed them, and sit there a while; should say it was presumable they were recovered, without ever examining whether his prescriptions had any effect, or what estate their health was in?

It cannot be presumable, where there are so many visible instances to the contrary. He must pass for an admirabie presumer, who will seriously affirm that it is presumable that all those who conform to the national religion where it is true, do so understand, believe, and practise it, as to be in the way of salvation.

It cannot be presumable, that men have parted with their corruption and lusts to avoid force, when they fly to conformity, which can shelter them from force without quitting their lusts. That which is dearer to men than their first-born, is, you tell us, their lusts; that which is harder than the hardships of false religions, is the mortifying those lusts: here lies the difficulty of the true religion, that it requires the mortifying of those lusts; and till that be done, men are not of the true religion, nor in the way of salvation: and it is upon this account only that you pretend force to be needful. Force is used to make them hear; it prevails, men hear: but that is not enough, because the difficulty lies not in that; they may hear arguments for the truth, and yet retain their corruption. They must do more, they must consider those arguments. Who requires it of them? The law that inflicts the punishment, does not; but this we may be sure their love of their lusts, and their hatred of punishment, requires of them, and will bring them to, viz. to consider how to retain their beloved lusts, and yet to avoid the uneasiness of the punishment they lie under; this is presumable they do; therefore they go one easy step farther, they conform, and then they are safe from force, and may still retain their corruption. Is it therefore presumable they have parted with their corruption, because force has driven them to take sanctuary against punishment in conformity, where force is no longer to molest them, or pull them from their darling inclinations? The difficulty in religion is, you say, for men to part with their lusts; this makes force necessary: men find out a way by conforming to avoid force without parting with their lusts; therefore it is presumable when they conform, that force which they can avoid without quitting their lusts, has made them part with them: which is indeed not to part with their lusts because of force, but to part with them gratis; which if you can say is presumable, the foundation of your need of force, which you place in the prevalency of corruption, and men’s adhering to their lusts, will be gone, and so there will be no need of force at all. If the great difficulty in religion be for men to part with or mortify their lusts, and the only counter-balance in the other scale, to assist the true religion, to prevail against their lusts, be force; which, I beseech you is presumable, if they can avoid force, and retain their lusts, that they should quit their lusts, and heartily embrace the true religion, which is incompatible with them; or else that they should avoid the force, and retain their lusts? To say the former of these, is to say that it is presumable, that they will quit their lusts, and heartily embrace the true religion for its own sake: for he that heartily embraces the true religion, because of a force which he knows he can avoid at pleasure, without quitting his lusts, cannot be said so to embrace it, because of that force: since a force he can avoid without quitting his lusts, cannot be said to assist truth in making him quit them: for in this truth has no assistance from it at all. So that this is to say there is no need of force at all in the case.

Take a covetous wretch, whose heart is so set upon money, that he would give his first-born to save his bags; who is pursued by the force of the magistrate to an arrest, and compelled to hear what is alleged against him; and the prosecution of the law threatening imprisonment or other punishment, if he do not pay the just debt which is demanded of him: if he enters himself in the King’s-bench, where he can enjoy his freedom without paying the debt, and parting with his money; will you say that it is presumable he did it to pay the debt, and not to avoid the force of the law? The lust of the flesh and pride of life are as strong and prevalent as the lust of the eye: and if you will deliberately say again, that it is presumable, that men are driven by force to consider, so as to part with their lusts, when no more is known of them, but that they do what discharges them from the force, without any necessity of parting with their lusts; I think I shall have occasion to send you to my pagans and mahometans, but shall have no need to say any thing more to you of this matter myself.

I agree with you, that there is but one only true religion; I agree too that that one only true religion is professed and held in the church of England; and yet I deny, if force may be used to bring men to that true religion, that upon your principles it can lawfully be used to bring men to the national religion in England, as established by law: because force according to your own rule, being only lawful because it is necessary, and therefore unfit to be used where not necessary, i. e. necessary to bring men to salvation; it can never be lawfully used to bring a man to any thing that is not necessary to salvation, as I have more fully shown in another place. If therefore in the national religion of England, there be any thing put in as necessary to communion, that is, though true, yet not necessary to salvation; force cannot be lawfully used to bring men to that communion, though the thing so required in itself may perhaps be true.

There be a great many truths contained in scripture, which a man may be ignorant of, and consequently not believe, without any danger to his salvation, or else very few would be capable of salvation; for I think I may truly say, there was never any one, but he that was the wisdom of the Father, who was not ignorant of some, and mistaken in others of them. To bring men therefore to embrace such truths, the use of force by your own rule cannot be lawful: because the belief or knowledge of those truths themselves not being necessary to salvation, there can be no necessity men should be brought to embrace them, and so no necessity to use force to bring men to embrace them.

The only true religion which is necessary to salvation, may in one national church have that joined with it, which in itself is manifestly false and repugnant to salvation; in such a communion no man can join without quitting the way to salvation. In another national church, with this only true religion may be joined what is neither repugnant nor necessary to salvation: and of such there may be several churches differing from one another in confession, ceremonies, and discipline, which are usually called different religions; with either or each of which a good man, if satisfied in his own mind, may communicate without danger, whilst another, not satisfied in conscience concerning something in the doctrine, discipline, or worship, cannot safely, nor without sin, communicate with this or that of them. Nor can force be lawfully used, on your principles, to bring any man to either of them; because such things are required to their communion, which not being requisite to salvation, men may seriously and conscientiously differ, and be in doubt about, without endangering their souls.

That which here raises a noise, and gives credit to it, whereby many are misled into an unwarrantable zeal, is, that these are called different religions; and every one thinking his own the true, the only true, condemns all the rest as false religions. Whereas those who hold all things necessary to salvation, and add not thereto any thing in doctrine, discipline, or worship, inconsistent with salvation, are of one and the same religion, though divided into different societies or churches, under different forms: which whether the passion and polity of designing; or the sober and pious intention of well-meaning men, set up: they are no other than the contrivances of men, and such they ought to be esteemed in whatsoever is required in them, which God has not made necessary to salvation, however in its own nature it may be indifferent, lawful, or true. For none of the articles, or confessions of any church, that I know, containing in them all the truths of religion, though they contain some that are not necessary to salvation; to garble thus the truths of religion, and by their own authority take some not necessary to salvation, and make them the terms of communion, and leave out others as necessary to be known and believed; is purely the contrivance of men; God never having appointed any such distinguishing system: nor, as I have showed, can force, upon your principles, lawfully be used to bring men to embrace it.

Concerning ceremonies, I shall here only ask you whether you think kneeling at the Lord’s Supper, or the cross in baptism, are necessary to salvation? I mention these as having been matter of great scruple: if you will not say they are, how can you say that force can be lawfully used to bring men into a communion, to which these are made necessary? If you say, Kneeling is necessary to a decent uniformity, (for of the cross in baptism I have spoken elsewhere,) though that should be true, yet it is an argument you cannot use for it, if you are of the church of England: for if a decent uniformity may be well enough preversed without kneeling at prayer, where decency requires it at least as much as at receiving the sacrament, why may it not well enough be preserved without kneeling at the sacrament? Now that uniformity is thought sufficiently preserved without kneeling at prayer, is evident by the various postures men are at liberty to use, and may be generally observed, in all our congregations, during the minister’s prayer in the pulpit, before and after his sermon, which it seems can consist well enough with decency and uniformity; though it be a prayer addressed to the great God of heaven and earth; to whose majesty it is that the reverence to be expressed in our gestures is due, when we put up petitions to him, who is invariably the same, in what or whose words soever we address ourselves to him.

The preface to the Book of Common-Prayer tells us, “That the rites and ceremonies appointed to be used in divine worship, are things in their own nature indifferent and alterable.” Here I ask you, whether any human power can make any thing, in its own nature indifferent, necessary to salvation? If it cannot, then neither can any human power be justified in the use of force, to bring men to conformity in the use of such things. If you think men have authority to make any thing, in itself indifferent, a necessary part of God’s worship, I shall desire you to consider what our author says of this matter, which has not yet deserved your notice.

“The misapplying his power, you say, is a sin in the magistrate, and lays him open to divine vengeance.” And is it not a misapplying of his power, and a sin in him, to use force to bring men to such a compliance in an indifferent thing, which in religious worship may be a sin to them? Force, you say, may be used to punish those who dissent from the communion of the church of England. Let us suppose now all its doctrines not only true, but necessary to salvation; but that there is put into the terms of its communion some indifferent action which God has not enjoined, nor made a part of his worship, which any man is persuaded in his conscience not to be lawful? suppose kneeling at the sacrament, which having been superstitiously used in adoration of the bread, as the real body of Christ, may give occasion of scruple to some now, as well as eating of flesh offered to idols did to others in the apostles time; which though lawful in itself, yet the apostle said, “he would eat no flesh while the world standeth, rather than to make his weak brother offend,” 1 Cor. viii. 13. And if to lead, by example, the scrupulous into any action, in itself indifferent, which they thought unlawful, be a sin, as appears at large, Rom. xiv. how much more is it to add force to our example, and to compel men by punishments to that, which, though indifferent in itself, they cannot join in without sinning? I desire you to show me how force can be necessary in such a case, without which you acknowledge it not to be lawful. Not to kneel at the Lord’s Supper, God not having ordained it, is not a sin; and the apostles receiving it in the posture of sitting or lying, which was then used at meat, is an evidence it may be received not kneeling. But to him that thinks kneeling is unlawful, it is certainly a sin. And for this you may take the authority of a very judicious and reverend prelate of our church, in these words: “Where a man is mistaken in his judgment, even in that case, it is always a sin to act against it; by so doing, he wilfully acts against the best light which at present he has for the direction of his actions.” Disc. of Conscience, . I need not here repeat his reasons, having already quoted him above more at large; though the whole passage, writ, as he uses, with great strength and clearness, deserves to be read and considered. If therefore the magistrate enjoins such an unnecessary ceremony, and uses force to bring any man to a sinful communion with our church in it, let me ask you, doth he sin or misapply his power or no?

True and false religions are names that easily engage men’s affections on the hearing of them: the one being the aversion, the other the desire, at least as they persuade themselves, of all mankind. This makes men forwardly give in to these names, wherever they meet with them; and when mention is made of bringing men from a false to the true religion, very often without knowing what is meant by those names, they think nothing can be done too much in such a business, to which they entitle God’s honour, and the salvation of men’s souls.

I shall therefore desire of you, if you are that fair and sincere lover of truth you profess, when you write again, to tell us what you mean by true, and what by a false religion, that we may know which in your sense are so: for, as you now have used these words in your treatise, one of them seems to stand only for the religion of the church of England, and the other for that of all other churches. I expect here you should make the same outcries against me, as you have in your former letter, for imposing a sense upon your words contrary to your meaning; and for this you will appeal to your own words in some other places: but of this I shall leave the reader to judge, and tell him, this is a way very easy and very usual for men, who having not clear and consistent notions, keep themselves as much as they can under the shelter of general and variously applicable terms; that they may save themselves from the absurdities or consequences of one place, by a help from some general or contrary expression in another: whether it be a desire of victory, or a little too warm zeal for a cause you have been hitherto persuaded of, which hath led you into this way of writing; I shall only mind you, that the cause of God requires nothing, but what may be spoken out plainly in a clear determined sense, without any reserve or cover. In the mean time this I shall leave with you as evident, that force upon your ground cannot be lawfully used to bring men to the communion of the church of England; (that being all that I can find you clearly mean by the true religion;) till you have proved that all that is required of one in that communion, is necessary to salvation.

However therefore you tell us, “That convenient force used to bring men to the true religion, is all that you contend for, and all that you allow.” That it is for “promoting the true religion.” That it is to “bring men to consider, so as not to reject the truth necessary to salvation. To bring men to embrace the truth that must save them.” And abundance more to this purpose. Yet all this talk of the true religion amounting to no more but the national religion established by law in England; and your bringing men to it, to no more than bringing them to an outward profession of it; it would better have suited that condition, viz. without prejudice, and with an honest mind, which you require in others, to have spoke plainly what you aimed at, rather than prepossess men’s minds in favour of your cause, by the impressions of a name that in truth did not properly belong to it.

It was not therefore without ground that I said, “I suspected you built all on this lurking supposition, that the national religion now in England, backed by the public authority of the law, is the only true religion, and therefore no other is to be tolerated; which being a supposition equally unavoidable, and equally just in other countries; unless we can imagine, that, every-where but in England, men believe what at the same time they think to be a lye,” &c. Here you erect your plumes, and to this your triumphant logic gives you not patience to answer, without an air of victory in the entrance: “How, sir, is this supposition equally unavoidable, and equally just in other countries, where false religions are the national? (for that you must mean, or nothing to the purpose.)” Hold, sir, you go too fast; take your own system with you, and you will perceive it will be enough to my purpose, if I mean those religions which you take to be false: for if there be any other national churches, which agreeing with the church of England in what is necessary to salvation, yet have established ceremonies different from those of the church of England; should not any one who dissented here from the church of England upon that account, as preferring that to our way of worship, be justly punished? If so, then punishment in matters of religion being only to bring men to the true religion; you must suppose him not to be yet of it: and so the national church he approves of not to be of the true religion. And yet is it not equally unavoidable, and equally just, that that church should suppose its religion the only true religion, as it is that yours should do so; it agreeing with yours in things necessary to salvation, and having made some things, in their own nature indifferent, requisite to conformity for decency and order, as you have done? So that my saying, It is equally unavoidable, and equally just in other countries; will hold good, without meaning what you charge on me, that that supposition is equally unavoidable, and equally just where the national religion is absolutely false.

But in that large sense too, what I said will hold good; and you would have spared your useless subtilties against it, if you had been as willing to take my meaning, and answer my argument, as you were to turn what I said to a sense which the words themselves show I never intended. My argument in short was this, That granting force to be useful to propagate and support religion, yet it would be no advantage to the true religion, that you, a member of the church of England, supposing yours to be the true religion, should thereby claim a right to use force; since such a supposition to those who were members of other churches, and believed other religions, was equally unavoidable, and equally just. And the reason I annexed, shows both this to be my meaning, and my assertion to be true: my words are, “Unless we can imagine that, every-where but in England, men believe what at the same time they think to be a lye.” Having therefore never said, nor thought that it is equally unavoidable, or equally just, that men in every country should believe the national religion of the country: but that it is equally unavoidable, and equally just, that men believing the national religion of their country, be it true or false, should suppose it to be true; and let me here add also, should endeavour to propagate it; however you go on thus to reply: “If so, then I fear it will be equally true too, and equally rational: for otherwise I see not how it can be equally unavoidable, or equally just: for if it be not equally true, it cannot be equally just; and if it be not equally rational, it cannot be equally unavoidable. But if it be equally true, and equally rational, then either all religions are true, or none is true: for if they be all equally true, and one of them be not true, then none of them can be true.” I challenge any one to put these four good words, unavoidable, just, rational, and true, more equally together, or to make a better-wrought deduction; but after all, my argument will nevertheless be good, that it is no advantage to your cause, for you or any one of it, to suppose yours to be the only true religion; since it is equally unavoidable, and equally just for any one, who believes any other religion, to suppose the same thing. And this will always be so, till you can show, that men cannot receive false religions upon arguments that appear to them to be good; or that having received falsehood under the appearance of truth, they can, whilst it so appears, do otherwise than value it, and be acted by it, as if it were true. For the equality that is here the question, depends not upon the truth of the opinion embraced; but on this, that the light and persuasion a man has at present, is the guide which he ought to follow, and which in his judgment of truth he cannot avoid to be governed by. And therefore the terrible consequences you dilate on in the following part of that page I leave you for your private use on some fitter occasion.

You therefore who are so apt, without cause, to complain of want of ingenuity in others; will do well hereafter to consult your own, and another time change your style; and not under the undefined name of the true religion, because that is of more advantage to your argument, mean only the religion established by law in England, shutting out all other religions now professed in the world. Though when you have defined what is the true religion, which you would have supported and propagated by force; and have told us it is to be found in the liturgy and thirty-nine articles of the church of England; and it be agreed to you, that that is the only true religion; your argument of force, as necessary to men’s salvation, from the want of light and strength enough in the true religion to prevail against men’s lusts, and the corruption of their nature, will not hold; because your bringing men by force, your way applied, to the true religion, be it what you will, is but bringing them to an outward conformity to the national church. But the bringing them so far, and no farther, having no opposition to their lusts, no inconsistency with their corrupt nature, is not on that account at all necessary, nor does at all help, where only, on your grounds, you say, there is need of the assistance of force towards their salvation.

CHAPTER VIII. OF SALVATION TO BE PROCURED BY FORCE, YOUR WAY.

There cannot be imagined a more laudable design than the promoting the salvation of men’s souls, by any one who shall undertake it. But if it be a pretence made use of to cover some other by-interest; nothing can be more odious to men, nothing more provoking to the great God of heaven and earth, nothing more misbecoming the name and character of a christian. With what intention you took your pen in hand to defend and encourage the use of force in the business of men’s salvation, it is fit in charity we take your word; but what your scheme, as you have delivered it, is guilty of, it is my business to take notice of, and represent to you.

To my saying, that “if persecution, as is pretended, were for the salvation of men’s souls, bare conformity would not serve the turn, but men should be examined whether they do it upon reason and conviction;” you answer, “Who they be that pretend that persecution is for the salvation of men’s souls, you know not.” Whatever you know not, I know one, who in the letter under consideration pleads for force, as useful for the promoting “the salvation of men’s souls; and that the use of force is no other means for the salvation of men’s souls, than what the author and finisher of our faith has directed. That so far is the magistrate, when he gives his helping hand to the furtherance of the gospel, by laying convenient penalties upon such as reject it, or any part of it, from using any other means for the salvation of men’s souls than what the author and finisher of our faith has directed, that he does no more than his duty for the promoting the salvation of souls. And as the means by which men may be brought into the way of salvation.” Ay, but where do you say that persecution is for the salvation of souls? I thought you had been arguing against my meaning, and against the things I say, and not against my words in your meaning, which is not against me. That I used the word persecution for what you call force and penalties, you know: for in , that immediately precedes this, you take notice of it, with some little kind of wonder, in these words, “persecution, so it seems you call all punishments for religion.” That I do so then, whether properly or improperly, you could not be ignorant; and then, I beseech you, apply your answer here to what I say: my words are, “If persecution, as is pretended, were for the salvation of men’s souls, men that conform would be examined whether they did so upon reason and conviction.” Change my word persecution into punishment for religion, and then consider the truth or ingenuity of your answer: for, in that sense of the word persecution, do you know nobody that pretends persecution is for the salvation of men’s souls? So much for your ingenuity, and the arts you allow yourself to serve a good cause. What do you think of one of my pagans or mahometans? Could he have done better? For I shall often have occasion to mind you of them. Now to your argument. I said, “That I thought those who make laws, and use force, to bring men to church-conformity in religion, seek only the compliance, but concern themselves not for the conviction of those they punish, and so never use force to convince. For pray tell me, when any dissenter conforms, and enters into the church communion, is he ever examined to see whether he does it upon reason and conviction, and such grounds as would become a christian concerned for religion? If persecution, as is pretended, were for the salvation of men’s souls, this would be done, and men not driven to take the sacrament to keep their places, or obtain licences to sell ale: for so low have these holy things been prostituted.” To this you here reply, “As to those magistrates, who having provided sufficiently for the instruction of all under their care, in the true religion, do make laws, and use moderate penalties, to bring men to the communion of the church of God, and conformity to the rules and orders of it; I think their behaviour does plainly enough speak them to seek and concern themselves for the conviction of those whom they punish, and for their compliance only as the fruit of their conviction.” If means of instruction were all that is necessary to convince people, the providing sufficiently for instruction would be an evidence, that those that did so, did seek and concern themselves for men’s conviction: but if there be something as necessary for conviction as the means of instruction, and without which those means will signify nothing, and that be severe and impartial examination; and if force be, as you say, so necessary to make men thus examine, that they can by no other way but force be brought to do it: if magistrates do not lay their penalties on non-examination, as well as provide means of instruction; whatever you may say you think, few people will find reason to believe you think those magistrates seek and concern themselves much for the conviction of those they punish, when that punishment is not levelled at that, which is a hindrance to their conviction, i. e. against their aversion to severe and impartial examination. To that aversion no punishment can be pretended to be a remedy, which does not reach and combat the aversion; which it is plain no punishment does, which may be avoided without parting with, or abating the prevalency of that aversion. This is the case, where men undergo punishments for not conforming, which they may be rid of, without severely and impartially examining matters of religion.

To show that what I mentioned was no sign of unconcernednesss in the magistrate for men’s conviction; you add, “Nor does the contrary appear from the not examining dissenters when they conform, to see whether they do it upon reason and conviction: for where sufficient instruction is provided, it is ordinarily presumable that when dissenters conform, they do it upon reason and conviction.” Here if ordinarily signifies any thing, (for it is a word you make much use of, whether to express or cover your sense, let the reader judge,) then you suppose there are cases wherein it is not presumable; and I ask you, whether in those, or any cases, it be examined whether dissenters, when they conform, do it upon reason and conviction? At best that it is ordinarily presumable, is but gratis dictum; especially since you suppose, that it is the corruption of their nature that hinders them from considering as they ought, so as upon reason and conviction to embrace the truth: which corruption of nature, that they may retain with conformity, I think is very presumable. But be that as it will, this I am sure is ordinarily and always presumable, that if those who use force were as intent upon men’s conviction, as they are on their conformity, they would not wholly content themselves with the one, without ever examining and looking into the other.

Another excuse you make for this neglect, is, “That as to irreligious persons who only seek their secular advantage, how easy it is for them to pretend conviction, and to offer such grounds (if that were required) as would become a christian concerned for religion; that is what no care of man can certainly prevent.” This is an admirable justification of your hypothesis. Men are to be punished: to what end? To make them severely and impartially consider matters of religion, that they may be convinced, and thereupon sincerely embrace the truth. But what need of force or punishment for this? Because their lusts and corruption will otherwise keep them both from considering as they ought, and embracing the true religion; and therefore they must lie under penalties till they have considered as they ought, which is when they have upon conviction embraced. But how shall the magistrate know when they upon conviction embrace, that he may then take off their penalties? That indeed cannot be known, and ought not to be inquired after, because irreligious persons who only seek their secular advantage; or, in other words, all those who desire at their ease to retain their beloved lusts and corruption; may “easily pretend conviction, and offer such grounds (if it were required) as would become a christian concerned for religion: this is what no care of man can certainly prevent.” Which is reason enough, why no busy forwardness in man to disease his brother, should use force upon pretence of prevailing against men’s corruptions, that hinder their considering and embracing the truth upon conviction, when it is confessed, it cannot be known, whether they have considered, are convinced, or have really embraced the true religion or no. And thus you have shown us your admirable remedy, which is not it seems for the irreligious, (for it is easy, you say, for them to pretend to conviction, and so avoid punishment,) but for those who would be religious without it.

But here, in this case, as to the intention of the magistrate, how can it be said, that the force he uses is designed, by subduing men’s corruptions, to make way for considering and embracing the truth; when it is so applied, that it is confessed here, that a man may get rid of the penalties without parting with the corruptions they are pretended to be used against? But you have a ready answer, “This is what no care of man can certainly prevent;” which is but in other words to proclaim the ridiculousness of your use of force, and to avow that your method can do nothing. If by not certainly you mean, it may any way or to any degree prevent; why is it not so done? If not, why is a word that signifies nothing put in, unless it be for a shelter on occasion? a benefit you know how to draw from this way of writing: but this here, taken how you please, will only serve to lay blame on the magistrate, or your hypothesis, choose you whether. I for my part have a better opinion of the ability and management of the magistrate: what he aimed at in his laws, that I believe he mentions in them; and, as wise men do in business, spoke out plainly what he had a mind should be done. But certainly there cannot a more ridiculous character be put on law-makers, than to tell the world they intended to make men consider, examine, &c. but yet neither required nor named any thing in their laws but conformity. Though yet when men are certainly to be punished for not really embracing the true religion, there ought to be certain matters of fact, whereby those that do and those that do not so embrace the truth, should be distinguished; and for that you have, it is true, a clear and established criterion, i. e. conformity and non-conformity: which do very certainly distinguish the innocent from the guilty; those that really and sincerely do embrace the truth that must save them from those that do not.

But, sir, to resolve the question, whether the conviction of men’s understandings, and the salvation of their souls, be the business and aim of those who use force to bring men into the profession of the national religion; I ask, whether if that were so, there could be so many as there are, not only in most country parishes, but, I think I may say, may be found in all parts of England, grossly ignorant in the doctrines and principles of the christian religion, if a strict inquiry were made into it? If force be necessary to be used to bring men to salvation, certainly some part of it would find out some of the ignorant and unconsidering that are in the national church, as well as it does so diligently all the nonconformists out of it, whether they have considered, or are knowing or no. But to this you give a very ready answer: “Would you have the magistrate punish all indifferently, those who obey the law as well as them that do not?” What is the obedience the law requires? That you tell us in these words, “If the magistrate provides sufficiently for the instruction of all his subjects in the true religion, and then requires them all under convenient penalties to hearken to the teachers and ministers of it, and to profess and exercise it with one accord under their direction in public assemblies:” which in other words is but conformity; which here you express a little plainer in these words: “But as to those magistrates who, having provided sufficiently for the instruction of all under their care in the true religion, do make laws, and use moderate penalties to bring men to the communion of the church of God, and to conform to the rules and orders of it.” You add, “Is there any pretence to say that in so doing, he [the magistrate] applies force only to a part of his subjects, when the law is general, and excepts none?” There is no pretence, I confess, to say that in so doing he applies force only to a part of his subjects, to make them conformists; from that it is plain the law excepts none. But if conformists may be ignorant, grossly ignorant of the principles and doctrines of christianity; if there be no penalties used to make them consider as they ought, so as to understand, be convinced of, believe and obey the truths of the gospel; are not they exempt from that force which you say “is to make men consider and examine matters of religion as they ought to do?” Force is applied to all indeed to make them conformists; but if being conformists once, and frequenting the places of public worship, and there showing an outward compliance with the ceremonies prescribed; (for that is all the law requires of all, call it how you please;) they are exempt from all force and penalties, though they are ever so ignorant, ever so far from understanding, believing, receiving the truth of the gospel; I think it is evident that then force is not applied to all “to procure the conviction of the understanding. — To bring men to consider those reasons and arguments which are proper to convince the mind, and which without being forced they would not consider. — To bring men to that consideration, which nothing else but force (besides the extraordinary grace of God) would bring them to. — To make men good christians. — To make men receive instruction. — To cure their aversion to the true religion. — To bring men to consider and examine the controversies which they are bound to consider and examine, i. e. those wherein they cannot err without dishonouring God, and endangering their own and other men’s eternal salvation. — To weigh matters of religion carefully and impartially. — To bring men to the true religion and to salvation.” — That then force is not applied to all the subjects for these ends, I think you will not deny. These are the ends for which yon tell us in the places quoted, that force is to be used in matters of religion: it is by its usefulness and necessity to these ends, that you tell us the magistrate is authorized and obliged to use force in matters of religion. Now if all these ends be not attained by a bare conformity, and yet if by a bare conformity men are wholly exempt from all force and penalties in matters of religion; will you say that for these ends force is applied to all the magistrate’s subjects? If you will, I must send you to my pagans and mahometans for a little conscience and modesty. If you confess force is not applied to all for these ends, notwithstanding any laws obliging all to conformity; you must also confess, that what you say concerning the laws being general, is nothing to the purpose; since all that are under penalties for not conforming, are not under any penalties for ignorance, irreligion, or the want of those ends for which you say penalties are useful and necessary.

You go on, “And therefore if such persons profane the sacrament to keep their places, or to obtain licences to sell ale, this is an horrible wickedness.” I excuse them not. “But it is their own, and they alone must answer for it.” Yes, and those who threatened poor ignorant and irreligious ale-sellers, whose livelihood it was, to take away their licences, if they did not conform and receive the sacrament; may be thought perhaps to have something to answer for. You add, “But it is very unjust to impute it to those who make such laws, and use such force, or to say that they prostitute holy things, and drive men to profane them.” Nor is it just to insinuate in your answer, as if that had been said which was not. But if it be true, that a poor ignorant, loose, irreligious wretch should be threatened to be turned out of his calling and livelihood, if he would not take the sacrament: may it not be said these holy things have been so low prostituted? And if this be not profaning them, pray tell me what is?

This I think may be said without injustice to any body, that it does not appear, that those who make strict laws for conformity, and take no care to have it examined upon what grounds men conform; are not very much concerned, that men’s understandings should be convinced: and though you go on to say, that “they design by their laws to do what lies in them to make men good christians:” that will scarce be believed, if what you say be true, that force is necessary to bring “those who cannot be otherwise brought to it, to study the true religion, with such care and diligence as they might and ought to use, and with an honest mind.” And yet we see a great part, or any of those who are ignorant in the true religion, have no such force applied to them; especially since you tell us, in the same place, that “no man ever studied the true religion with such care and diligence as he might and ought to use and with an honest mind, but he was convinced of the truth of it.” If then force and penalties can produce that study, care, diligence, and honest mind, which will produce knowledge and conviction; and that (as you say in the following words) make good men; I ask you, if there be found in the communion of the church, exempt from force upon the account of religion, ignorant, irreligious, ill men; and that to speak moderately, not in great disproportion fewer than amongst the nonconformists; will you believe yourself, when you say “the magistrates do by their laws all that in them lies to make them good christians;” when they use not that force to them which you, not I, say is necessary: and that they are, where it is necessary, obliged to use? And therefore I give you leave to repeat again the words you subjoin here, “But if after all they (i. e. the magistrates) can do, wicked and godless men will still resolve to be so; they will be so, and I know not who but God Almighty can help it.” But this being spoken of conformists, on whom the magistrates lay no penalties, use no force for religion, give me leave to mind you of the ingenuity of one of my pagans or mahometans.

You tell us, That the usefulness of force to make scholars learn, authorizes schoolmasters to use it. And would you not think a schoolmaster discharged his duty well, and had a great care of their learning, who used his rod only to bring boys to school; but if they come there once a week, whether they slept or only minded their play, never examined what proficiency they made, or used the rod to make them study and learn, though they would not apply themselves without it?

But to show you how much you yourself are in earnest for the salvation of souls in this your method, I shall set down what I said, , of my letter on that subject, and what you answer, , of yours.

L. II. P. 129.

“You speak of it here as the most deplorable condition imaginable, that men should be left to themselves, and not be forced to consider and examine the grounds of their religion, and search impartially and diligently after the truth. This you make the great miscarriage of mankind; and for this you seem solicitous, all through your treatise, to find out a remedy; and there is scarce a leaf wherein you do not offer yours. But what if after all, now you should be found to prevaricate? Men have contrived to themselves, say you, a great variety of religions. It is granted. They seek not the truth in this matter with that application of mind, and freedom of judgment which is requisite; it is confessed. All the false religions now on foot in the world, have taken their rise from the slight and partial consideration, which men have contented themselves with in searching after the true; and men take them up, and persist in them for want of due examination: be it so. There is need of a remedy for this; and I have found one whose success cannot be questioned: very well. What is it? Let us hear it. Why, dissenters must be punished. Can any body that hears you say so, believe you in earnest; and that want of examination is the thing you would have amended, when want of examination is not the thing you would have punished? If want of examination be the fault, want of examination must be punished; if you are, as you pretend, fully satisfied that punishment is the proper and only means to remedy it. But if in all your treatise you can show me one place where you say that the ignorant, the careless, the inconsiderate, the negligent in examining thoroughly the truth of their own and others’ religion, &c. are to be punished, I will allow your remedy for a good one. But you have not said any thing like this; and which is more, I tell you before-hand, you dare not say it. And whilst you do not, the world has reason to judge, that however want of examination be a general fault, which you with great vehemency have exaggerated; yet you use it only for a pretence to punish dissenters; and either distrust your remedy, that it will not cure this evil, or else care not to have it generally cured. This evidently appears, from your whole management of the argument. And he that reads your treatise with attention, will be more confirmed in this opinion, when he shall find that you, who are so earnest to have men punished, to bring them to consider and examine, that so they may discover the way of salvation, have not said one word of considering, searching, and hearkening to the scripture: which had been as good a rule for a christian to have sent them to, as to reasons and arguments proper to convince them of you know not what; as to the instruction and government of the proper ministers of religion, which who they are, men are yet far from being agreed; or as to the information of those, who tell them they have mistaken their way, and offer to show them the right; and to the like uncertain and dangerous guides; which were not those that our Saviour and the apostles sent men to, but to the scriptures: Search the scriptures, for in them you think you have eternal life, says our Saviour to the unbelieving persecuting Jews, John, v. 39. And it is the scriptures which, St. Paul says, are able to make wise unto salvation, 2 Tim. iii. 15.

“Talk no more therefore, if you have any care of your reputation, how much it is every man’s interest not to be left to himself, without molestation, without punishment in matters of religion. Talk not of bringing men to embrace the truth that must save them, by putting them upon examination. Talk no more of force and punishment, as the only way left to bring men to examine. It is evident you mean nothing less: for though want of examination be the only fault you complain of, and punishment be in your opinion the only way to bring men to it; and this the whole design of your book; yet you have not once proposed in it, that those who do not impartially examine, should be forced to it. And that you may not think I talk at random, when I say you dare not; I will, if you please, give you some reasons for my saying so.

“First, Because if you propose that all should be punished, who are ignorant, who have not used such consideration as is apt and proper to manifest the truth; but have been determined in the choice of their religion by impressions of education, admiration of persons, worldly respects, prejudices, and the like incompetent motives; and have taken up their religion, without examining it as they ought; you will propose to have several of your own church, be it what it will, punished; which would be a proposition too apt to offend too many of it, for you to venture on. For whatever need there be of reformation, every one will not thank you for proposing such an one as must begin at, or at least reach to, the house of God.

“Secondly, Because if you should propose that all those who are ignorant, careless, and negligent in examining, should be punished, you would have little to say in this question of toleration: for if the laws of the state were made as they ought to be, equal to all the subjects, without distinction of men of different professions in religion; and the faults to be amended by punishments, were impartially punished in all who are guilty of them; this would immediately produce a perfect toleration, or show the uselessness of force in matters of religion. If therefore you think it so necessary, as you say, for the promoting of true religion, and the salvation of souls, that men should be punished to make them examine, do but find a way to apply force to all that have not thoroughly and impartially examined, and you have my consent. For though force be not the proper means of promoting religion; yet there is no better way to show the usefulness of it, than the applying it equally to miscarriages, in whomsoever found, and not to distinct parties or persuasions of men for the reformation of them alone, when others are equally faulty.

“Thirdly, Because without being for as large a toleration as the author proposes, you cannot be truly and sincerely for a free and impartial examination. For whoever examines, must have the liberty to judge, and follow his judgment; or else you put him upon examination to no purpose. And whether that will not as well lead men from as to your church, is so much a venture, that by your way of writing, it is evident enough you are loth to hazard it; and if you are of the national church, it is plain your brethren will not bear with you in the allowance of such a liberty. You must therefore either change your method; and if the want of examination be that great and dangerous fault you would have corrected, you must equally punish all that are equally guilty of any neglect in this matter; and then take your only means, your beloved force, and make the best of it; or else you must put off your mask, and confess that you design not your punishments to bring men to examination, but to conformity. For the fallacy you have used, is too gross to pass upon this age.”

L. III. P. 68.

Your next paragraph runs high, and charges me with nothing less than prevarication. For whereas, as you tell me, I speak of it here as the most deplorable condition imaginable, that men should be left to themselves, and not be forced to consider and examine the grounds of their religion, and search impartially and diligently after the truth, &c. It seems all the remedy I offer, is no more than this, “Dissenters must be punished.” Upon which thus you insult: “Can anybody that hears you say so, believe you in earnest,” &c. Now here I acknowledge, that though want or neglect of examination be a general fault, yet the method I propose for curing it, does not reach to all that are guilty of it, but is limited to those who reject the true religion, proposed to them with sufficient evidence. But then to let you see how little ground you have to say that I prevaricate in this matter, I shall only desire you to consider, what it is that the author and myself were inquiring after: for it is not, what course is to be taken to confirm and establish those in the truth, who have already embraced it; nor, how they may be enabled to propagate it to others; (for both which purposes I have already acknowledged it very useful, and a thing much to be desired, that all such persons should as far as they are able, search into the grounds upon which their religion stands, and challenges their belief:) but the subject of our inquiry is only, what method is to be used, to bring men to the true religion. Now if this be the only thing we were enquiring after, (as you cannot deny it to be,) then every one sees that in speaking to this point, I had nothing to do with any who have already embraced the true religion; because they are not to be brought to that religion, but only to be confirmed and edified in it; but was only to consider how those who reject it, may be brought to embrace it. So that how much soever any of those who own the true religion, may be guilty of neglect of examination: it is evident, I was only concerned to show how it may be cured in those who, by reason of it, reject the true religion, duly proposed or tendered to them. And certainly to confine myself to this, is not to prevaricate, unless to keep within the bounds which the question under debate prescribes me, be to prevaricate.

In telling me therefore that “I dare not say that the ignorant, the careless, the inconsiderate, the negligent in examining, &c. (i. e. all that are such) are to be punished,” you only tell me that I dare not be impertinent. And therefore I hope you will excuse me, if I take no notice of the three reasons you offer in your next page for your saying so. And yet if I had a mind to talk impertinently, I know not why I might not have dared to do so, as well as other men.

There is one thing more in this paragraph, which though nothing more pertinent than the rest, I shall not wholly pass over. It lies in these words: “He that reads your treatise with attention, will be more confirmed in this opinion,” (viz. That I use want of examination only for a pretence to punish dissenters, &c.) “when he shall find that you, who are so earnest to have men punished, to bring them to consider and examine, that so they may discover the way of salvation, have not said one word of considering, searching, and hearkening to the scripture; which had been as good a rule for a christian to have sent them to, as to reasons and arguments proper to convince them of you know not what, &c.” How this confirms that opinion, I do not see; nor have you thought fit to instruct me. But as to the thing itself, viz. “my not saying one word of considering, searching and hearkening to the scripture;” whatever advantage a captious adversary may imagine he has in it, I hope it will not seem strange to any indifferent and judicious person, who shall but consider that throughout my treatise I speak of the true religion only in general, i. e. not as limited to any particular dispensation, or to the times of the scriptures; but as reaching from the fall of Adam to the end of the world, and so comprehending the times which preceded the scriptures; wherein yet God left not himself without witness, but furnished mankind with sufficient means of knowing him and his will, in order to their eternal salvation. For I appeal to all men of art, whether, speaking of the true religion under this generality, I could be allowed to descend to any such rules of it, as belong only to some particular times, or dispensations; such as you cannot but acknowledge the Old and New Testaments to be.

In this your answer, you say, “the subject of our inquiry is only what method is to be used to bring men to the true religion.” He that reads what you say, again and again, “That the magistrate is impowered and obliged to procure as much as in him lies, i. e. as far as by penalties it can be procured, that no man neglect his soul,” and shall remember how many pages you employ, A. , &c. And here, , &c. to show that it is the corruption of human nature which hinders men from doing what they may and ought for the salvation of their souls; and that therefore penalties, no other means being left, and force were necessary to be used by the magistrate to remove these great obstacles of lusts and corruptions, that “none of his subjects might remain ignorant of the way of salvation, or refuse to embrace it.” One would think “your inquiry had been after the means of curing men’s aversion to the true religion, (which,” you tell us, , “if not cured, is certainly destructive of men’s eternal salvation,”) that so they might heartily embrace it for their salvation. But here you tell us, “your inquiry is only what method is to be used to bring men to the true religion:” whereby you evidently mean nothing but outward conformity to that which you think the true church, as appears by the next following words: “Now if this be the only thing we were inquiring after, then every one sees that in speaking to this point I had nothing to do with any who have already embraced the true religion.” And also every one sees that since amongst those with whom (having already embraced the true religion) you and your penalties having nothing to do; there are those who have not considered and examined matters of religion as they ought, whose lusts and corrupt natures keep them as far alienated from believing, and as averse to a real obeying the truth that must save them, as any other men: it is manifest that embracing the true religion in your sense is only embracing the outward profession of it, which is nothing but outward conformity. And that being the farthest you would have your penalties pursue men, and there leave them with as much of their ignorance of the truth, and carelessness of their souls, as they please: who can deny but that it would be impertinent in you to consider how want of impartial examination, or aversion to the true religion, should in them be cured? Because they are none of those subjects of the commonwealth, whose spiritual and eternal interests are by political government to be procured or advanced; none of those subjects whose salvation the magistrate is to take care of.

And therefore I excuse you, as you desire, for not taking notice of my three reasons; but whether the reader will do so or no, is more than I can undertake. I hope you too will excuse me for having used so harsh a word as prevaricate, and impute it to my want of skill in the English tongue. But when I find a man pretend to a great concern for the salvation of men’s souls, and make it one of the great ends of civil government, that the magistrate should make use of force to bring all his subjects to consider, study, and examine, believe and embrace the truth that must save them; when I shall have to do with a man, who to this purpose hath writ two books to find out and defend the proper remedies for that general backwardness and aversion, which depraved human nature keeps men in, to an impartial search after, and hearty embracing the true religion; and who talks of nothing less than obligations on sovereigns, both from their particular duty, as well as from common charity, to take care that none of their subjects should want the assistance of this only means left for their salvation; nay, who has made it so necessary to men’s salvation, that he talks as if the wisdom and goodness of God would be brought in question, if those who needed it should be destitute of it; and yet, notwithstanding all this show of concern for men’s salvation, contrives the application of this sole remedy so, that a great many who lie under the disease, should be out of the reach and benefit of his cure, and never have this only remedy applied to them: when this I say is so manifestly in his thoughts all the while, that he is forced to confess “that, though want or neglect of examination be a general fault, yet the method he proposes for curing it does not reach to all that are guilty of it;” but frankly owns, that he was not concerned to show how the neglect of examination might be cured in those who conform, but only in those who by reason of it reject the true religion duly proposed to them: which rejecting the true religion will require a man of art to show to be here any thing but nonconformity to the national religion: when, I say, I meet with a man another time that does this, who is so much a man of art, as to talk of all, and mean but some; talk of hearty embracing the true religion, and mean nothing but conformity to the national; pretend one thing, and mean another; if you please to tell me what name I shall give it, I shall not fail: for who knows how soon again I may have an occasion for it?

If I would punish men for nonconformity without owning of it, I could not use a better pretence than to say it was to make them hearken to reasons and arguments proper to convince them, or to make them submit to the instruction and government of the proper ministers of religion, without any thing else; supposing still at the bottom the arguments for, and the ministers of my religion to be these, that till they outwardly complied with, they were to be punished. But if, instead of outward conformity to my religion covered under these indefinite terms, I should tell them, they were to examine the scripture, which was the fixed rule for them and me; not examining could not give me a pretence to punish them, unless I would also punish conformists, as ignorant and unversed in scripture as they, which would not do my business.

But what need I use arguments to show, that your punishing to make men examine, is designed only against dissenters, when in your answer to this very paragraph of mine, you in plain words “acknowledge, that though want of examination be a general fault, yet the method you propose for curing does not reach to all that are guilty of it?” To which if you please to add what you tell us, That when dissenters conform, the magistrate cannot know, and therefore never examines whether they do it upon reason and conviction or no; though it be certain that, upon conforming, penalties, the necessary means, cease, it will be obvious that, whatever be talked, conformity is all that is aimed at, and that want of examination is but the pretence to punish dissenters.

And this I told you, any one must be convinced of, who observes that you, who are so earnest to have men punished to bring them to consider and examine, that so they may discover the way of salvation, have not said one word of considering, searching, and hearkening to the scripture, which, you were told, was as good a rule for a christian to have sent men to, as to “the instruction and government of the proper ministers of religion, or to the information of those who tell them they have mistaken their way, and offer to show them the right.” For this passing by the scripture you give us this reason, that, “throughout your treatise you speak of the true religion only in general, i. e. not as limited to any particular dispensation, or to the times of the scriptures, but as reaching from the fall of Adam to the end of the world, &c. And then you appeal to all men of art, whether speaking of the true religion, under this generality, you could be allowed to descend to any such rules of it as belong only to some particular times or dispensations, such as I cannot but acknowledge the Old and New Testaments to be.”

The author that you write against, making it his business, as nobody can doubt who reads but the first page of his letter, to show that it is the duty of christians to tolerate both christians and others who differ from them in religion; it is pretty strange, in asserting against him that the magistrate might and ought to use force to bring men to the true religion, you should mean any other magistrate than the christian magistrate, or any other religion than the christian religion. But it seems you took so little notice of the design of your adversary, which was to prove, that christians were not to use force to bring any one to the christian religion; that you would prove, that christians were now to use force, not only to bring men to the christian, but also to the jewish religion; or that of the true church before the law, or to some true religion so general that it is none of these. “For, say you, throughout your treatise you speak of the true religion only in general, i. e. not as limited to any particular dispensation:” though one that were not a man of art would suspect you to be of another mind yourself, when you told us, the shutting out of the jews from the rights of the commonwealth “is a just and necessary caution in a christian commonwealth;” which you say to justify your exception in the beginning of your “argument,” against the largeness of the author’s toleration, who would not have jews excluded. But speak of the true religion only in general as much as you please, if your true religion be that by which men must be saved, can you send a man to any better guide to that true religion now than the scripture?

If when you were in your altitudes, writing the first book, your men of art could not allow you to descend to any such rule as the scripture, (though even there you acknowledge the severities spoken against are such as are used to make men christians;) because there, (by an art proper to yourself,) you were to speak of true religion under a generality, which had nothing to do with the duty of christians, in reference to toleration. Yet when here in your second book, where you condescend all along to speak of the christian religion, and tell us, “that the magistrates have authority to make laws for promoting the christian religion; and do by their laws design to contribute what in them lies to make men good christians;” and complain of toleration as the very bane of the life and spirit of christianity, &c. and have vouchsafed particularly to mention the gospel; why here, having been called upon for it, you could not send men to the scriptures, and tell them directly, that those they were to study diligently, those they were impartially and carefully to examine, to bring them to the true religion, and into the way of salvation; rather than talk to them as you do, of receiving instruction, and considering reasons and arguments proper and sufficient to convince them; rather than propose, as you do all along, such objects of examination and inquiry in general terms, as are as hard to be found, as the thing itself for which they are to be examined: why, I say, you have here again avoided sending men to examine the scriptures; is just matter of inquiry. And for this you must apply yourself again to your men of art, to furnish you with some other reason.

If you will but cast your eyes back to your next page, you will there find that you build upon this, that the subject of your and the author’s inquiry “is only what method is to be used to bring men to the true religion.” If this be so, your men of art, who cannot allow you to descend to any such rule as the scriptures, because you speak of the true religion in general, i. e. not as limited to any particular dispensation, or to the times of the scriptures, must allow, that you deserve to be head of their college; since you are so strict an observer of their rules, that though your inquiry be, “What method is to be used to bring men to the true religion,” now under the particular dispensation of the gospel, and under scripture-times; you think it an unpardonable fault to recede so far from your generality, as to admit the study and examination of the scripture into your method; for fear, it is like, your method would be too particular, if it would not now serve to bring men to the true religion, who lived before the flood. But had you had as good a memory, as is generally thought needful to a man of art, it is believed you would have spared this reason, for your being so backward in putting men upon examination of the scripture. And any one, but a man of art, who shall read what you tell us the magistrate’s duty is; and will but consider how convenient it would be, that men should receive no instruction but from the ministry, that you there tell us the magistrate assists; examine no arguments, hear nothing of the gospel, receive no other sense of the scripture, but what that ministry proposes; (who, if they had but the coactive power, you think them as capable of as other men,) might assist themselves; he, I say, who reflects but on these things, may perhaps find a reason that may better satisfy the ignorant and unlearned, who have not had the good luck to arrive at being of the number of these men of art, why you cannot descend to propose to men the studying of the scripture.

Let me for once suppose you in holy orders, (for we that are not of the adepti, may be allowed to be ignorant of the punctilios in writing observed by the men of art,) and let me then ask what art is this, whose rules are of that authority, that one, who has received commission from heaven to preach the gospel in season and out of season for the salvation of souls, may not allow himself to propose the reading, studying, examining, of the scripture, which has for at least these sixteen hundred years contained the only true religion in the world, for fear such a proposal should offend against the rules of this art, by being too particular, and confined to the gospel-dispensation; and therefore could not pass muster, nor find admittance, in a treatise wherein the author professes it his only business to “inquire what method is to be used to bring men to the true religion?” Do you expect any other dispensation; that you are so afraid of being too particular, if you should recommend the use and study of the scripture, to bring men to the true religion now in the times of the gospel? Why might you not as well send them to the scriptures, as to the ministers and teachers of the true religion? Have those ministers any other religion to teach, than what is contained in the scriptures? But perhaps you do this out of kindness and care, because possibly the scriptures could not be found; but who were the ministers of the true religion, men could not possibly miss. Indeed you have allowed yourself to descend to what belongs only to some particular times and dispensations, for their sake, when you speak of the ministers of the gospel. But whether it be as fully agreed on amongst christians, who are the ministers of the gospel that men must hearken to, and be guided by; as which are the writings of the apostles and evangelists, that, if studied, will instruct them in the way to heaven; is more than you or your men of art can be positive in. Where are the canons of this over-ruling art to be found, to which you pay such reverence? May a man of no distinguishing character be admitted to the privilege of them? For I see it may be of notable use at a dead-lift, and bring a man off with flying colours, when truth and reason can do him but little service. The strong guard you have in the powers you write for; and when you have engaged a little too far, the safe retreat you have always at hand in an appeal to these men of art; made me almost at a stand, whether I were not best make a truce with one who had such auxiliaries. A friend of mine finding me talk thus, replied briskly, it is a matter of religion, which requires not men of art; and the assistance of such art as savours so little of the simplicity of the gospel, both shows and makes the cause the weaker. And so I went on to your two next paragraphs.

In them, to vindicate a pretty strange argument for the magistrate’s use of force, you think it convenient to repeat it out of your A. ; and so, in compliance with you, shall I do here again. There you tell us, “The power you ascribe to the magistrate is given him to bring men, not to his own, but to the true religion: and though (as our author puts us in mind) the religion of every prince is orthodox to himself; yet if this power keep within its bounds, it can serve the interest of no other religion but the true, among such as have any concern for their eternal salvation; (and those that have none deserve not to be considered;) because the penalties it enables him that has it to inflict, are not such as may tempt such persons either to renounce a religion which they believe to be true, or to profess one which they do not believe to be so; but only such as are apt to put them upon a serious and impartial examination of the controversy between the magistrate and them, which is the way for them to come to the knowledge of the truth. And if, upon such examination of the matter, they chance to find that the truth does not lie on the magistrate’s side, they have gained thus much however, even by the magistrate’s misapplying his power; that they know better than they did before, where the truth doth lie; and all the hurt that comes to them by it, is only the suffering some tolerable inconveniencies for their following the light of their own reason, and the dictates of their own consciences; which certainly is no such mischief to mankind as to make it more eligible that there should be no such power vested in the magistrate, but the care of every man’s soul should be left to himself alone, (as this author demands it).”

To this I tell you, “That here, out of abundant kindness, when dissenters have their heads, without any cause, broken, you provide them a plaister.” For, say you, “if upon such examination of the matter, (i. e. brought to it by the magistrate’s punishment,) they chance to find that the truth doth not lie on the magistrate’s side, they have gained thus much however, even by the magistrate’s misapplying his power, that they know better than they did before, where the truth does lie. Which is as true as if you should say: Upon examination I find such an one is out of the way to York, therefore I know better than I did before that I am in the right. For neither of you may be in the right. This were true indeed, if there were but two ways in all, a right and a wrong.” To this you reply here: “That whoever shall consider the penalties, will, you persuade yourself, find no heads broken, and so but little need of a plaister. The penalties, as you say, are to be such as will not tempt such as have any concern for their eternal salvation, either to renounce a religion which they believe to be true, or profess one which they believe not to be so; but only such as, being weighed in gold scales, are just enough, or, as you express it, are apt to put them upon a serious and impartial examination of the controversy between the magistrate and them.” If you had been pleased to have told us what penalties those were, we might have been able to guess whether there would have been broken heads or no. But since you have not vouch-safed to do it, and, if I mistake not, will again appeal to your men of art for another dispensation rather than ever do it; I fear nobody can be sure these penalties will not reach to something worse than a broken head: especially if the magistrate shall observe that you impute the rise and growth of false religions (which it is the magistrate’s duty to hinder) to the pravity of human nature, unbridled by authority; which by what follows he may have reason to think is to use force sufficient to counterbalance the folly, perverseness, and wickedness of men: and whether then he may not lay on penalties sufficient, if not to break men’s heads, yet to ruin them in their estates and liberties, will be more than you can undertake. And since you acknowledge here, that the magistrate may err so far in the use of this his power, as to mistake the persons that he lays his penalties on; will you be security that he shall not also mistake in the proportion of them, and not lay on such as men would willingly exchange for a broken head? All the assurance you give us of this is, “If this power keep within its bounds, i. e. as you here explain it, If the penalties the magistrate makes use of to promote a false religion, do not exceed the measure of those which he may warrantably use for the promoting the true.” The magistrate may, notwithstanding any thing you have said, or can say, use any sort of penalties, any degree of punishment; you having neither showed the measure of them, nor will be ever able to show the utmost measure which may not be exceeded, if any may be used.

But what is this I find here? “If the penalties the magistrate make use of to promote a false religion.” Is it possible that the magistrate can make use of penalties to promote a false religion; of whom you told us but three pages back, “That may always be said of him (what St. Paul said of himself), That he can do nothing against the truth but for the truth?” By that one would have thought you had undertaken to us, that the magistrate could no more use force to promote a false religion, than St. Paul could preach to promote a false religion. If you say, the magistrate has no commission to promote a false religion, and therefore it may always be said of him what St. Paul said of himself, &c. I say, no minister was ever commissioned to preach falsehood; and therefore “it may always be said of every minister (what St. Paul said of himself) that he can do nothing against the truth, but for the truth:” whereby we shall very commodiously have an infallible guide in every parish, as well as one in every commonwealth. But if you thus use scripture, I imagine you will have reason to appeal again to your men of art, whether, though you may not be allowed to recommend to others the examination and use of scripture, to find the true religion, yet you yourself may not use the scripture to what purpose, and in what sense you please, for the defence of your cause.

To the remainder of what I said in that paragraph, your answer is nothing but an exception to an inference I made. The argument you were upon, was to justify the magistrate’s inflicting penalties to bring men to a false religion, by the gain those that suffered them would receive.

Their gain was this: “That they would know better than they did before, where the truth does lie.” To which I replied, “Which is as true, as if you should say, upon examination I find such an one is out of the way to York; therefore I know better than I did before, that I am in the right.” This consequence you find fault with, and say it should be thus: “Therefore I know better than I did before, where the right way lies.” This, you tell me, “would have been true; which was not for my purpose.” These consequences, one or the other, are much-what alike true. For he that of an hundred ways, amongst which there is but one right, shuts out one that he discovers certainly to be wrong, knows as much better than he did before, that he is in the right, as he knows better than before, where the right way lies. For before it was ninety-nine to one that he was not in the right; and now he knows it is but ninety-eight to one that he is not in the right; and therefore knows so much better than before, that he is in the right, just as much as he knows better than he did before, where the right way lies. For let him upon your supposition proceed on and every day, upon examination of a controversy with some one in one of the remaining ways, discover him to be in the wrong; he will every day know better than he did before, equally, where the right way lies, and that he is in it; till at last he will come to discover the right way itself, and himself in it. And therefore your inference, whatever you think, is as much as the other for my purpose; which was to show what a no-table gain a man made in the variety of false opinions and religions in the world, by discovering that the magistrate had not the truth on his side; and what thanks he owed the magistrate, for inflicting penalties upon him so much for his improvement, and for affording him so much knowledge at so cheap a rate. And should not a man have reason to boast of his purchase, if he should by penalties be driven to hear and examine all the arguments that can be proposed by those in power for all their foolish and false religions? And yet this gain is what you propose, as a justification of magistrates inflicting penalties for promoting their false religions. And an “impartial examination of the controversy between them and the magistrate, you tell us here, is the way for such as have any concern for their eternal salvation to come to the knowledge of the truth.”

To my saying, “He that is punished may have examined before, and then I am sure he gains nothing:” You reply, “But neither does he lose much, if it be true, which you there add, that all the hurt that befalls him, is only the suffering some tolerable inconvenience for his following the light of his own reason, and the dictates of his conscience.” So it is therefore you would have a man rewarded for being an honest man; (for so is he who follows the light of his own reason, and the dictates of his conscience;) only with the suffering some tolerable inconveniencies. And yet those tolerable inconveniencies are such as are to counterbalance men’s lusts, and the corruption of depraved nature; which you know any slight penalty is sufficient to master. But that the magistrate’s discipline shall stop at those your tolerable inconveniencies, is what you are loth to be guarantee for: for all the security you dare give of it, is, “If it be true which you there add.” But if it should be otherwise, the hurt may be more I see than you are willing to answer.

L. II. P. 133.

“However, you think you do well to encourage the magistrate in punishing, and comfort the man who has suffered unjustly, by showing what he shall gain by it. Whereas, on the contrary, in a discourse of this nature, where the bounds of right and wrong are inquired into, and should be established, the magistrate was to be showed the bounds of his authority, and warned of the injury he did when he misapplied his power, and punished any man who deserved it not; and not be soothed into injustice, by consideration of gain that might thence accrue to the sufferer. Shall we do evil, that good may come of it? There are a sort of people who are very wary of touching upon the magistrate’s duty, and tender of showing the bounds of his power, and the injustice and ill consequences of his misapplying it; at least, so long as it is misapplied in favour of them, and their party. I know not whether you are of their number; but this I am sure, you have the misfortune here to fall into their mistake. The magistrate, you confess, may in this case misapply his power: and instead of representing to him the injustice of it, and the account he must give to his sovereign one day of this great trust put into his hands, for the equal protection of all his subjects; you pretend advantages which the sufferer may receive from it: and so instead of disheartening from, you give encouragement to the mischief. Which, upon your principle, joined to the natural thrist in man after arbitrary power, may be carried to all manner of exorbitancy, with some pretence of right.”

L. III. P. 71.

As to what you say here of the nature of my discourse, I shall only put you in mind that the question there debated is: Whether the magistrate has any right or authority to use force for the promoting the true religion. Which plainly supposes the unlawfulness and injustice of using force to promote a false religion, as granted on both sides. So that I could no way be obliged to take notice of it in my discourse, but only as occasion should be offered.

And whether I have not showed the bounds of the magistrate’s authority, as far as I was any way obliged to do it, let any indifferent person judge. But to talk here of a “sort of people who are very wary of touching upon the magistrate’s duty, and tender of showing the bounds of his power,” where I tell the magistrate that the power I ascribe to him, in reference to religion, is given him to bring men, “not to his own, but to the true religion;” and that he misapplies it, when he endeavours to promote a false religion by it; is, methinks, at least a little unseasonable.

Nor am I any more concerned in what you say of the magistrate’s misapplying his power in favour of a party. For as you have not yet proved that his applying his power to the promoting the true religion (which is all that I contend for) is misapplying it; so much less can you prove it to be misapplying it in favour of a party.

But that “I encourage the magistrate in punishing men to bring them to a false religion, (for that is the punishing we here speak of,) and sooth him into injustice, by showing what those who suffer unjustly shall gain by it,” when in the very same breath I tell him that by so punishing he misapplies his power; is a discovery which I believe none but yourself could have made. When I say that the magistrate misapplies his power by so punishing; I suppose all other men understand me to say, that he sins in doing it, and lays himself open to divine vengeance by it. And can he be encouraged to this, by hearing what others may gain, by what (without repentance) must cost him so dear?

Here your men of art will do well to be at hand again. For it may be seasonable for you to appeal to them, whether the nature of your discourse will allow you to descend to show “the magistrate the bounds of his authority, and warn him of the injury he does, if he misapplies his power.”

You say, “the question there debated, is, whether the magistrate has any right or authority to use force for promoting the true religion; which plainly supposes the unlawfulness and injustice of using force to promote a false religion, as granted on both sides.” Neither is that the question in debate; nor, if it were, does it suppose what you pretend. But the question in debate is, as you put it, Whether any body has a right to use force in matters of religion? You say, indeed, “The magistrate has, to bring men to the true “religion.” If thereupon you think the magistrate has none to bring men to a false religion, whatever your men of art may think, it is probable other men would not have thought it to have been beside the nature of your discourse, to have warned the magistrate, that he should consider well, and impartially examine the grounds of his religion before he use any force to bring men to it. This is of such moment to men’s temporal and eternal interests, that it might well deserve some particular caution addressed to the magistrate; who might as much need to be put in mind of impartial examination as other people. And it might, whatever your men of art may allow, be justly expected from you: who think it no deviation from the rules of art, to tell the subjects that they must submit to the penalties laid on them, or else fall under the sword of the magistrate; which, how true soever, will hardly by any body be found to be much more to your purpose in this discourse, than it would have been to have told the magistrate of what ill consequence it would be to him and his people, if he misused his power, and warned him to be cautious in the use of it. But not a word that way. Nay even where you mention the account he shall give for so doing, it is still to satisfy the subjects that they are well provided for, and not left unfurnished of the means of salvation, by the right God has put into the magistrate’s hands to use his power to bring them to the true religion; and therefore they ought to be well content; because if the magistrate misapply it, the Great Judge will punish him for it. Look, sir, and see whether what you say, any-where, of the magistrate’s misuse of his power, have any other tendency: and then I appeal to the sober reader, whether if you had been as much concerned for the bounding, as for the exercise, of force in the magistrate’s hands, you would not have spoke of it after another manner.

The next thing you say, is “that the question (being, whether the magistrate has any right to use force to bring men to the true religion,) supposes the unlawfulness of using force to promote a false religion as granted on both sides;” which is so far from true, that I suppose quite the contrary, viz. That if the magistrate has a right to use force to promote the true, he must have a right to use force to promote his own religion; and that for reasons I have given you elsewhere. But the supposition of a supposition serves to excuse you from speaking any thing directly of setting bounds to the magistrate’s power, or telling him his duty in that point; though you are very frequent in mentioning the obligation he is under, that men should not want the assistance of his force; and how answerable he is if any body miscarry for want of it; though there be not the least whisper of any care to be taken, that nobody be misled by it. And now I recollect myself I think your method would not allow it: for if you should have put the magistrate upon examining, it would have supposed him as liable to errour as other men; whereas, to secure the magistrate’s acting right, upon your foundation of never using force but for the true religion, I see no help for it, but either he or you (who are to license him) must be got past the state of examination into that of certain knowledge and infallibility.

Indeed, as you say, “you tell the magistrate that the power you ascribe to him in reference to religion, is given him to bring men not to his own, but to the true religion.” But do you put him upon a severe and impartial examination which, amongst the many false, is the only true religion he must use force to bring his subjects to; that he may not mistake and misapply his power in a business of that consequence? Not a syllable of this. Do you then tell him which it is he must take, without examination, and promote with force; whether that of England, France, or Denmark? This, methinks, is as much as the pope, with all his infallibility, could require of princes. And yet what is it less than this you do, when you suppose the religion of the church of England to be the only true; and upon this your supposition, tell the magistrate it is his duty, by force, to bring men to it, without ever putting him upon examining, or suffering him or any body else to question, whether it be the only true religion or no? For if you will stick to what you in another place say: “That it is enough to suppose that there is one true religion, and but one, and that that religion may be known by those who profess it;” what authority will this knowableness of the true religion give to the king of England, more than to the king of France, to use force, if he does not actually know the religion he professes to be the true; or to the magistrate more than the subject, if he has not examined the grounds of his religion? But if he believes you when you tell him your religion is the true, all is well; he has authority enough to use force, and he need not examine any farther. If this were not the case; why you should not be careful to prepare a little advice to make the magistrate examine, as well as you are solicitous to provide force to make the subject examine, will require the skill of a man of art to discover.

Whether you are not of the number of those men I there mentioned, (for that there have been such men in the world, instances might be given;) one may doubt from your principles. For if, upon a supposition that yours is the true religion, you can give authority to the magistrate to inflict penalties on all his subjects that dissent from the communion of the national church, without examining whether theirs too may not be that only true religion which is necessary to salvation; is not this to demand, that the magistrate’s power should be applied only in favour of a party? And can any one avoid being confirmed in this suspicion, when he reads that broad insinuation of yours, , as if our magistrates were not concerned for truth or piety, because they granted a relaxation of those penalties, which you would have employed in favour of your party: for so it must be called, and not the church of God, exclusive of others: unless you will say men cannot be saved out of the communion of your particular church, let it be national where you please.

You do not, you say, encourage the magistrate to misapply his power; because “in the very same breath you tell him he misapplies his power.” I answer, let all men understand you, as much as you please, to say that he sins in doing it; that will not excuse you from encouraging him there; unless it be impossible that a man may be encouraged to sin. If your telling the magistrate that his subjects gain by his misapplying of force, be not an encouragement to him to misapply it, the doing good to others must cease to be an encouragement to any action. And whether it be not a great encouragement in this case to the magistrate, to go on in the use of force, without impartially examining whether his or his subjects be the true religion; when he is told that, be his religion true or false, his subjects, who suffer, will be sure to be gainers by it; let any one judge. For the encouragement is not, as you put it, to the magistrate to use force to bring men to what he thinks a false religion; but it is an encouragement to the magistrate, who presumes his to be the true religion, to punish his dissenting subjects, without due and impartial examination on which side the truth lies. For having never told the magistrate, that neglect of examination is a sin in him; if you should tell him a thousand times, that he who uses his power to bring men to a false religion misapplies it; he would not understand by it that he sinned, whilst he thought his the true; and so it would be no restraint to the misapplying his power.

And thus we have some prospect of this admirable machine you have set up for the salvation of souls.

The magistrate is to use force to bring men to the true religion. But what if he misapplies it to bring men to a false religion? It is well still for his subjects: they are gainers by it. But this may encourage him to a misapplication of it. No; you tell him that he that uses it to bring men to a false religion, misapplies it; and therefore he cannot but understand that you say “his sins, and lays himself open to divine vengeance.” No; he believes himself in the right; and thinks as St. Paul, whilst a persecutor, that he does God good service. And you assure him here, he makes his suffering subjects gainers; and so he goes on as comfortably as St. Paul did. Is there no remedy for this? Yes, a very ready one, and that is, that the “one only true religion may be kown by those who profess it to be the only true religion.”

To which, if we add how you moderate as well as direct the magistrate’s hand in punishing; by making the last regulation of your convenient penalties to lie in the prudence and experience of magistrates themselves; we shall find the advantages of your method. For are not your necessary means of salvation, which lie in moderate penalties used to bring men to the true religion, brought to an happy state; when that which is to guide the magistrate in the knowledge of the true religion, is, “that the true religion may be known by those who profess it to be the only true religion;” and the convenient penalties to be used for the promoting of it, are such as the magistrate shall in his prudence think fit; and that whether the magistrate applies it right or wrong, the subject will be a gainer by it? If in either of your discourses, you have given the magistrate any better direction than this to know the true religion by, which he is by force to promote; or any other intelligible measure to moderate his penalties by; or any other caution to restrain the misuse of his power; I desire you to show it me: and then I shall think I have reason to believe, that in this debate you have had more care of the true religion, and the salvation of souls, than to encourage the magistrate to use the power he has, by your direction, and without examination; and to what degree he shall think fit, in favour of a party. For the matter thus stated, if I mistake not, will serve any magistrate to use any degree of force against any that dissent from his national religion.

Having recommended to the subjects the magistrate’s persecution by a show of gain, which will accrue to them by it; you do well to bring in the example of Julian; who whatever he did to the christians, would, no more than you, own that it was persecution; but for their advantage in the other world. But whether his pretending gain to them, upon grounds which he did not believe; or your pretending gain to them, which nobody can believe to be one; be a greater mockery, you were best look. This seems reasonable, that his talk of philanthropy, and yours of moderation, should be bound up together. For till you speak and tell them plainly what they may trust to, the advantage the persecuted are to receive from your clemency, may, I imagine, make a second part to what the christians of that age received from his. But you are solicitous for the salvation of souls, and dissenters shall find the benefit of it.

CHAPTER IX. OF THE USEFULNESS OF FORCE IN MATTERS OF RELIGION.

You having granted that in all pleas for any thing, because of its usefulness, it is not enough to say that it may be serviceable; but it must be considered, not only what it may, but what it is likely to produce; and the greater good or harm likely to come from it ought to determine the use of it; I think there need nothing more to be said to show the usefulness of force in the magistrate’s hands for promoting the true religion, after it has been proved that, if any, then all magistrates, who believe their religion to be true, are under an obligation to use it. But since the usefulness and necessity of force is the main foundation on which you build your hypothesis, we will in the two remaining chapters examine particularly what you say for them.

To the author’s saying, “That truth seldom hath received, and he fears never will receive much assistance from the power of great men, to whom she is but rarely known, and more rarely welcome;” you answer, “And yet God himself foretold and promised that kings should be nursing fathers, and queens nursing mothers to his church.” If we may judge of this prophecy by what is past or present, we shall have reason to think it concerns not our days; or if it does, that God intended not that the church should have many such nursing fathers and nursing mothers, that were to nurse them up with moderate penalties, if those were to be the swaddling-clouts of this nursery. Perhaps, if you read that chapter, you will think you have little reason to build much on this promise, till the restoring of Israel: and when you see the gentiles bring thy (i. e. as the style of the chapter seems to import, the sons of the Israelites) “sons in their arms, and thy daughters be carried upon their shoulders,” as is promised in the immediately preceding words; you may conclude that then “kings shall be thy (i. e. Israel’s) nursing fathers, and queens thy nursing mothers.” This seems to me to be the time designed by that prophecy; and I guess to a great many others, upon an atttentive reading that chapter in Isaiah. And to all such this text will do you little service, till you make out the meaning of it better than by barely quoting of it; which will scarce ever prove, that God hath promised that so many princes shall be friends to the true religion, that it will be better for the true religion that princes should use force for the imposing or propagating of their religions, than not. For unless it prove that, it answers not the author’s argument; as an indifferent reader must needs see. For he says not “truth never, but she seldom hath received, and he fears never will receive (not any, but) much assistance from the power of great men, to whom she is but rarely known, and more rarely welcome.” And therefore to this of Isaiah pray join that of St. Paul, 1 Cor. i. 26, “Not many wise, not many mighty, not many noble.”

But supposing many kings were to be nursing fathers to the church, and that this prophecy were to be fulfilled in this age, and the church were now to be their nursery; it is I think more proper to understand this figurative promise, that their pains and discipline were to be employed on those in the church, and that they should feed and cherish them, rather than that these words meant that they should whip those that were out of it. And therefore this text will, I suppose, upon a just consideration of it, signify very little against the known matter of fact, which the author urges; unless you can find a country where the cudgel and the scourge are more the badges and instruments of a good nurse, than the breast and the bib; and that she is counted a good nurse of her own child, who busies herself in whipping children not hers, nor belonging to her nursery.

“The fruits which give you no encouragement to hope for any advantage from the author’s toleration, which almost all but the church of England enjoyed in the times of the blessed reformation, as it was called, you tell us, were sects and heresies.” Here your zeal hangs a little in your light. It is not the author’s toleration which here you accuse. That, you know, is universal: and the universality of it is that which a little before you wondered at, and complained of. Had it been the author’s toleration, it could not have been almost all but the church of England; but it had been the church of England and all others. But let us take it, that sects and heresies were, or will be the fruits of a free toleration; i. e. men are divided in their opinions and ways of worship. Differences in ways of worship, wherein there is nothing mixed inconsistent with the true religion, will not hinder men from salvation, who sincerely follow the best light they have; which they are as likely to do under toleration as force. And as for difference of opinions, speculative opinions in religion; I think I may safely say, that there are scarce any-where three considering men (for it is want of consideration you would punish) who are in their opinions throughout of the same mind. Thus far then, if charity be preserved (which it is likelier to be where there is toleration, than where there is persecution), though without uniformity, I see no great reason to complain of those ill fruits of toleration.

But men will run, as they did in the late times, into “dangerous and destructive errours, and extravagant ways of worship.” As to errours in opinion, if men upon toleration be so apt to vary in opinions, and run so wide one from another, it is evident they are not so averse to thinking as you complain. For it is hard for men, not under force, to quit one opinion and embrace another, without thinking of them. But if there be danger of that, it is most likely the national religion should sweep and draw to itself the loose and unthinking part of men, who without thought, as well as without any contest with their corrupt nature, may embrace the profession of the countenanced religion, and join in outward communion with the great and ruling men of the nation. For he that troubles not his head at all about religion, what other can so well suit him as the national, with which the cry and preferments go; and where, it being, as you say, presumable that he makes that his profession upon conviction, and that he is in earnest; he is sure to be orthodox, without the pains of examining, and has the law and government on his side to make it good that he is in the right.

But seducers, if they be tolerated, will be ready at hand, and diligent; and men will hearken to them. Seducers have surely no force on their side, to make people hearken. And if this be so, there is a remedy at hand, better than force; if you and your friends will use it, which cannot but prevail; and that is, let the ministers of truth be as diligent; and they bringing truth with them, truth obvious and easy to be understood, as you say what is necessary to salvation is, cannot but prevail.

But seducers are hearkened to, because they teach opinions favourable to men’s lusts. Let the magistrate, as is his duty, hinder the practices which their lusts would carry them to, and the advantage will be still on the side of truth.

After all, sir, if, as the apostle tells the Corinthians, 1 Cor. xi. 19, “There must be heresies amongst you, that they which are approved may be made manifest;” which, I beseech you, is best for the salvation of men’s souls; that they should enquire, hear, examine, consider, and then have the liberty to profess what they are persuaded of; or that, having considered, they should be forced not to own or follow their persuasions; or else that, being of the national religion, they should go ignorantly on without any consideration at all? In one case, if your penalties prevail, men are forced to act contrary to their consciences, which is not the way to salvation; and if the penalties prevail not, you have the same fruits, sects and heresies, as under toleration: in the other, it is true, those ignorant, loose, unthinking conformists do not break company with those who embrace the truth that will save them; but I fear can no more be said to have any share in it, than those who openly dissent from it. For it is not being in the company, but having on the wedding-garment, that keeps men from being bound hand and foot, and cast into the dreadful and eternal prison.

You tell us, “Force has a proper efficacy to procure the enlightening of the understanding, and the production of belief,” viz. by making men consider. But your ascribing men’s aversion to examine matters of religion to the corruption of their nature; force, your way applied (i. e. so that men avoid the penalties by an outward conformity), cannot have any proper efficacy to procure consideration; since men may outwardly conform, and retain their corruption and aversion to consideration; and upon this account force your way applied is absolutely impertinent.

But further; if force has such a proper efficacy to procure the production of belief, it will do more harm than good, employed by any but orthodox magistrates. But how to put it only into orthodox hands is the difficulty. For I think I have proved, that if orthodox magistrates may, and ought to use force, for the promoting their religion; all that think themselves orthodox are obliged to use it too. And this may serve for an answer to all that you have said, .

I having said, “Whatever indirect efficacy there be in force applied by the magistrate your way, it makes against you; force used by the magistrate to bring men to consider those reasons and arguments which are proper and sufficient to convince them, but which, without being forced, they would not consider; may, say you, be serviceable indirectly and at a distance to make men embrace the truth which must save them. And thus, say I, it may be serviceable to bring men to receive and embrace falsehood, which will destroy them.” To this you, with great triumph, reply,— “How, sir, may force be used by the magistrate, to bring men to consider those reasons and arguments which are proper and sufficient to convince them, be serviceable to bring men to embrace falsehood, such falsehood as will destroy them? It seems then there are reasons and arguments which are proper and sufficient to convince men of the truth of falsehood, which will destroy. Which is certainly a very extraordinary discovery, though such as no man can have any reason to thank you for.”

In the first place let me ask you, Where did you find, or from what words of mine do you infer that notable proposition, “That there are reasons and arguments proper and sufficient to convince men of the truth of falsehood?” If a magistrate of the true religion may use force to make men consider reasons and arguments proper to convince men of the truth of his religion, may not a prince of a false religion use force to make men consider reasons and arguments proper and sufficient to convince them of what he believes to be true? And may not force thus be serviceable to bring men to receive and embrace falsehood?

In the next place, did you, who argue with so much school-subtility, as if you drank it in at the very fountain; never hear of such an ill way of arguing as “a conjunctis ad divisa?” There are no arguments proper and sufficient to bring a man into the belief of what is in itself false, whilst he knows or believes it to be false; therefore there are no arguments proper and sufficient to bring a man into the belief of what is in itself false, which he neither knows nor believes to be so. A senior sophister would be laughed at for such logic. And yet this is all you say in that sentence you erect for a trophy, “to convince men of the truth of falsehood;” which, though not my words, but such as you in your way supply from what I said, you are exceedingly pleased with, and think their very repeating a triumph. But though there are no arguments proper and sufficient to convince men of the truth of falsehood, as falsehood; yet I hope you will allow that there are arguments proper and sufficient to make men receive falsehoods for truths; why else do you complain of seducers? And those who embrace falsehoods for truths, do it under the appearance of truth, misled by those arguments which make it appear so, and so convince them. And that magistrates, who take their religion to be true, though it be not so, may with force use such arguments, you will, I think, grant.

But you talk, as if nobody could have arguments proper and sufficient to convince another, but he that was of your way, or your church. This indeed is a new and very extraordinary discovery, and such as your brethren, if you can convince them of it, will have reason to thank you for. For if any one was ever by arguments and reasons brought off, or seduced from your church, to be a dissenter; there were then, I think, reasons and arguments proper and sufficient to convince him. I will not name to you again Mr. Reynolds, because you have charity enough to question his sincerity. Though his leaving his country, friends, and acquaintance, may be presumed as great a mark of his being convinced and in earnest, as it is for one to write for a national religion in a country where it is uppermost. I will not yet deny, but that, in you, it may be pure zeal for the true religion, which you would have assisted with the magistrate’s force. And since you seem so much concerned for your sincerity in the argument, it must be granted you deserve the character of a well-meaning man, who own your sincerity in a way so little advantageous to your judgment.

But if Mr. Reynolds, in your opinion, was misled by corrupt ends, or secular interest; what do you think of a prince [James II.] now living? Will you doubt his sincerity? or that he was convinced of the truth of the religion he professed, who ventured three crowns for it? What do you think of Mr. Chillingworth, when he left the church of England for the Romish profession? Did he do it without being convinced that that was right? Or was he convinced with reasons and arguments, not proper or sufficient to convince him?

But certainly this could not be true, because, as you say, , the scripture does not teach any thing of it. Or perhaps those that leave your communion do it always without being convinced, and only think they are convinced when they are not: or are convinced with arguments not proper and sufficient to convince them. If nobody can convince another, but he that has truth on his side, you do more honour to the “first and second letter concerning toleration,” than is for the advantage of your cause, when you impute to them the increase of sects and heresies amongst us. And there are some, even of the church of England, have professed themselves so fully satisfied by the reasons and arguments in the first of them, that though I dare not be positive to you, whose privilege it is to convince men that they are convinced; yet I may say it is as presumable they are convinced, having owned it, as it is presumable that all that are conformists are made so upon reason and conviction.

This I suppose, may serve for an answer to your next words, “That God in his just judgment will send such as receive not the love of truth, that they may be saved, but reject it for the pleasure they have in unrighteousness, ἐνέργειαν πλάνης, strong delusion, i. e. such reasons and arguments as will prevail with men, so disposed, to believe a lie, that they may be damned; this you confess the scripture plainly teaches us. But that there are any such reasons or arguments as are proper and sufficient to convince or satisfy any but such resolute and obdurate sinners, of the truth of such falsehood as will destroy them, is a position which you are sure the scripture doth not teach us; and which, you tell me, when I have better considered it, you hope I will not undertake to maintain. And yet if it be not maintainable, what I say here is to no purpose: for if there be no such reasons and arguments as here we speak of, it is in vain to talk of the magistrate’s using force to make men consider them.”

But if you are still of the mind, that no magistrate but those who are of the true religion, can have arguments backed with force, proper and sufficient to convince; and that in England none but resolute obdurate sinners ever forsook or forbore the communion of the church of England, upon reasons and arguments that satisfy or convince them, I shall leave you to enjoy so charitable an opinion.

But as to the usefulness of force, your way applied, I shall lay you down again the same argument I used before; though in words lest fitted for your way of reasoning on them, now I know your talent. If there be any efficacy in force to bring men to any persuasion, it will, your way applied, bring more men to errour than to truth. Your way of using it is only to punish men for not being of the national religion; which is the only way you do, or can apply force, without a toleration. Nonconformity is the fault that is punished; which fault, when it ceases, the punishment ceases. But yet to make them consider, is the end for which they are punished; but whether it be or be not intended to make men consider, it alters nothing in the case. Now, I say, that since all magistrates who believe their religion to be true, are as much obliged to use force to bring their subjects to it, as if it were true; and since most of the national religions of the world are erroneous if force made use of to bring men to the national religion, by punishing dissenters, have any efficacy, let it be what it will; indirect and at a distance, if you please; it is like to do twenty times more harm than good; because of the national religions of the world, to speak much within compass, there are above twenty wrong for one that is right.

Indeed, could force be directed to drive all men indifferently, who are negligent and backward in it, to study, examine, and consider seriously matters of religion, and search out the truth; and if men were, upon their study and examination, permitted to follow what appears to them to be right; you might have some pretence for force, as serviceable to truth in making men consider. But this is impossible, but under a toleration. And I doubt whether, even there, force can be so applied, as to make men consider and impartially examine what is true in the professed religions of the world, and to embrace it. This at least is certain, that where punishments pursue men, like outlying deer, only to the pale of the national church; and, when once they are within that, leave them free there and at ease; it can do no service to the true religion, even in a country where the national is the true. For the penalties ceasing as soon as men are got within the pale and communion of the church, they help not men at all against that which you assign as the great hindrance to the true religion, and which therefore, in your opinion, makes force necessary to assist it.

For there being no necessity that men should leave either their vices or corruption, or so much as their ignorance, to get within the pale of the church; force, your way applied, serves only to bring them, even in the few christian and orthodox countries, to the profession, not to the knowledge, belief, or practice, of the true religion.

You say, corrupt nature inclines men from the true religion to false ones; and moderate force is requisite to make such men consider. But such men as, out of corrupt nature, and for their ease and carnal pleasures, choose an erroneous religion without considering, will again, as soon as they can find their choice incommoded by those penalties, consult the same corrupt nature and carnal appetites, and, without considering any thing further, conform to that religion where they can best enjoy themselves. It is only the conscientious part of dissenters, such as dissent not out of indulgence to corrupt nature, but out of persuasion, who will not conform without considering as they ought. And therefore your argument from corrupt nature, is out of doors. If moderate penalties serve only to work on those who are led by corrupt nature, they are of no use but to fill the church with hypocrites; that is, to make those men worse hypocrites than they were before, by a new act of hypocrisy; and to corrupt the manners of the rest of the church, by their converse with these. And whether this be for the salvation of souls, as is pretended, or for some other end, that the priests of all religions have generally so earnestly contended for it, I leave to be considered. For as for those who dissent out of persuasion, I suspect your moderate penalties will have little effect upon them. For such men being awed by the fear of hell-fire, if that fear will not make them consider better than they have done, moderate penalties will be too weak to work upon them. It is well if dragooning and martyring can do it.

But you add, “May it not be true, nevertheless, that force your way applied may be serviceable, indirectly and at a distance, to bring men to embrace the truth which may save them? which is all you are concerned here to make good.” So that if it may possibly happen that it should ever bring two men to embrace the truth, you have gained your point, and overthrown toleration, by the usefulness and necessity there is of force. For without being forced these two men would never have considered; which is more yet than you know, unless you are of his private council, who only can tell when the season of grace is past, and the time come that preaching, intreaty, instruction, and persuasion shall never after prevail upon a man. But whatever you are here concerned to make good, are you not also concerned to remember what you say; where declaring against the magistrate’s having a power to use what may any way, at any time, upon any person, by any accident, be useful towards the promoting the true religion, you say, “Who sees not that however such means might chance to hit right in some few cases, yet, upon the whole matter, they would certainly do a great deal more harm than good; and in all pleas (making use of my words) for any thing because of its usefulness, it is not enough to say that it may be serviceable, but it must be considered, not only what it may, but what it is likely to produce; and the greater good or harm like to come from it, ought to determine the use of it?”

You proceed and tell me, that I, “not content to say that force your way applied (i. e. to bring men to embrace the truth which must save them) may be serviceable to bring men to embrace falsehood which will destroy them; and so is proper to do as much harm as good (which seems strange enough;) I add (to increase the wonder), that in your indirect way it is much more proper and likely to make men receive and embrace errour, than the truth: and that, 1. Because men out of the right way are apt, and I think I may say apter, to use force than others; which is doubtless an irrefragable demonstration, that force used by the magistrate to bring men to receive and embrace the truth which must save them, is much more proper and likely to make men receive errour than the truth.” And then you ask me, “How we come to talk here of what men out of the right way are apt to do, to bring others into their, i. e. a wrong way; where we are only inquiring, what may be done to bring men to the right way. For you must put me in mind, you say, that this is our question, viz. Whether the magistrate has any right to use force to bring men to the true religion.” Whether the magistrate has a right to use force in matters of religion, as you more truly state it, , is the main question between us, I confess. But the question here between us is about the usefulness of force your way applied; which being to punish dissenters as dissenters, to make them consider, I showed would do more harm than good. And to this you were here answering. Whereby, I suppose, it is plain that the question here is about the usefulness of force, so applied. And I doubt not but my readers, who are not concerned, when the question in debate will not serve your turn, to have another substituted, will take this for a regular and natural way of arguing, viz. “That force, your way applied, is more proper and likely to make men embrace errour than the truth; because men out of the right way are as apt, I think I may say apter, to use force than others.” You need not then ask as you do, “How we come to talk here of men out of the “right way.” You see how. If you do not, I know not what help there is for your eyes. And I must content myself that any other reader that has eyes, will not miss it. And I wonder that you should: since you know I have on several occasions argued against the use of force in matters of religion, upon a supposition, that if any one, then all magistrates, have a just pretence and right to use it; which has served you in some places for matter of great reproof, and, in others, of sport and diversion. But because so plain a thing as that was so strange to you, that you thought it a ridiculous paradox to say, “That for all magistrates to suppose the religion they believed to be true, was equally just and reasonable;” and because you took no notice of the words adjoined that proved it, viz. “Unless we can imagine every-where but in England [or where the national religion is the true] men believe what at the same time they think to be a lye;” I have taken the pains to prove it to you more at large in another place, and therefore shall make bold to use it here as an argument against force, viz. That if it have any efficacy, it will do more harm than good: “Because men out of “the right way are as apt, or apter to use it:” and I shall think it a good one till you have answered it.

It is a good and a sure way, and shows a zeal to the cause, still to hold fast the conclusion, and, whatever be in debate, return still to one’s old position. I arguing against what you say for the use of force, viz. “That force used not to convince by its own proper efficacy, but only to make men consider, might indirectly, and at a distance, do some service towards the bringing men to embrace the truth;” after other arguments against it, I say, that “whatever efficacy there is in force, your way applied, i. e. to punish all, and none but, dissenters from the national church, makes against you:” and the first reason I give for it, is in these words: “Because men out of the right way, are as apt or apter to use force than others.” Which is what you are here answering. And what can be done better to answer it, than to the words I have above cited, to subjoin these following? “Now whereas our author says, that penalties of force is absolutely impertinent in this case, because it is not proper to convince the mind; to which you answer, that, though force be not proper to convince the mind, yet it is not absolutely impertinent in this case, because it may, however, do some service towards the bringing men to embrace the truth which must save them, by bringing them to consider those reasons and arguments which are proper to convince the mind; and which, without being forced, they would not consider.” Here I tell you, “No; but it is much more proper and likely to make men receive and embrace errour than truth; because men out of the right way are as apt, and perhaps apter, to use force than others.” Which you tell me, “is as good a proof you believe as the thing would admit; for otherwise, you suppose, I would have given you a better.” And thus you have certainly gained the cause. For I having proved that force, your way applied, whatever efficacy it had, would do more harm than good, have not sufficiently proved that it cannot do some service towards the bringing men to embrace the truth; and therefore it is not absolutely impertinent. But since you think this apt enough to prove the use of force in matters of religion impertinent, I shall farther show you that force, applied your way to make people consider, and so to make them embrace the truth, is impertinent.

Your way is to lay penalties on men for nonconformity, as you say, to make men consider: now here let me ask any one but you, whether it be not utterly impertinent so to lay penalties on men, to make them consider, when they can avoid those penalties without considering? But because it is not enough to prove force your way applied, utterly impertinent, I shall show you in the next place, that were a law made to punish not barely nonconformity, but nonconsideration, those penalties, laid on not considering, would be utterly impertinent; because it could never be proved that a man had not considered the arguments offered him. And therefore all law-makers till you, in all their penal laws about religion, laid all their penalties upon not embracing; and it was against that that our author was arguing, when he said penalties, in this case, are absolutely impertinent; because they are not proper to convince the mind. For in that case, when penalties are laid on men for not embracing, it is plain they are used as a means to make men embrace; which, since those who are careless in matters of religion can do without considering, and those who are conscientious cannot do without conviction; and since penalties can in no wise convince; this use of them is absolutely impertinent, and will always be so till you can show a way how they can be used in religion, not as motives to embrace, but as motives barely to make men consider. For if you punish them on when they tell you they have considered your arguments, but are not convinced by them; and you judge of their having not considered, by nothing but their not embracing; it is plain you use penalties instead of arguments to convince them; since without conviction, those whom our author pleads for, cannot embrace; and those who do embrace without conviction, it is all one as if they did not embrace at all; they being not one jot the more in the way of salvation; and so penalties are absolutely impertinent. But embracing in the sense of the law and yours too, when you say men have not considered as they ought as long as they reject; is nothing but outward conformity, or an outward profession of embracing, wherewith the law is satisfied, and upon which the penalties cease. Now penalties used to make men in this sense embrace, are absolutely impertinent to bring men to embrace in earnest, or as the author calls it, believe: because an outward profession, which in this case is the immediate end to which penalties are directed, and beyond which they do not reach, is no proper means to produce in men consideration, conviction, or believing.

What can be more impertinent than to vex and disease people with the use of force, to no purpose? and that force must needs be to no purpose, which is so applied as to leave the end for which it is pretended to be used, without the means, which is acknowledged necessary for its attainment. That this is so in your way of using force, will easily appear from your hypothesis. You tell us at large in your “Argument considered,” that men’s lusts hinder them from even impartial consideration and examination of matters in religion: and therefore force is necessary to remove this hindrance. You tell us likewise at large in your letter, that men’s corrupt nature and beloved lusts hinder them also from embracing the true religion, and that force is necessary likewise to remove this obstacle. Now in your way of using force, wherein penalties are laid on men till, and no longer than till, they are made outwardly to conform, force is so applied, that notwithstanding the intention of the law-maker, let it be what it will, neither the obstacle to impartial examination, arising from men’s lusts, nor the aversion to the embracing the true religion, arising from men’s corrupt nature, can be removed, unless they can be removed without that, which you suppose necessary to their removal. For since a man may conform, without being under the necessity of impartial examining or embracing on the one hand, or suffering the penalties on the other; it is unavoidable, that he should neither impartially examine nor embrace, if penalties are necessary to make him do either; because penalties, which are the necessary remedies to remove those hindrances, were never applied to them; and so those obstacles not being removed for want of their necessary remedy, must continue on to hinder both examining and embracing. For penalties cannot be used as a means to any end, or be applied to the procuring any action to be done, which a man from his lusts, or any other cause, has an aversion to; but by putting them as it were in one scale as a counterbalance to that aversion, and the action in the other scale, and putting a man under the necessity of choosing the one or the other: where that is not done, the penalty may be avoided, the aversion or obstacle hath nothing to remove it, and so the action must remain undone. So that if penalties be necessary to make men impartially examine and really embrace; if penalties are not so laid on men as to make the alternative to be either suffering the penalties or conforming; it is impossible that men who without penalties would not impartially examine, or really embrace, the true religion, should ever do either; and then I beseech you consider whether penalties, your way applied, be impertinent or no.

The necessity of penalties is only where there is some inclination or bias in a man, whencesoever arising, that keeps him from doing something in his power, which he cannot be brought to without the inconveniencies of some penal infliction. The efficacy of penalties lies in this, that the inconvenience to be suffered by the penalties overbalances the bias or inclination which leans the man the other way, and so removes the obstacle; and the application of this remedy lies only in putting a man under the necessary choice either of doing the action, or suffering the penalty: so that in whatever case a man has not been put under that necessity, there penalties have never been applied to the procuring that action: for the obstacle, or aversion to it, has never had its necessary remedy.

Perhaps you will say, it is not absolutely impertinent, because it may possibly “do some service indirectly and at a distance,” and be the occasion that some may consider and embrace. If whatever may by accident contribute to any end, may be used not impertinently as a means to that end, nothing that I know can be impertinent; and a penalty of twelve pence a time laid on them for being drunk, may be said to be a pertinent means, to make men cartesians, or conformists: because it may indirectly and at a distance do some service, by being an occasion to make some men consider their mispending their time; whereby it may happen that one may betake himself to the study of philosophy, where he may meet with arguments proper and fit to convince him of the truth of that philosophy; as another betaking himself to the study of divinity, may consider arguments proper and fit to make him, whether it be in England, Holland, or Denmark, of the national profession, which he was not of before.

Just thus, and no otherwise, does twelve pence a Sunday, or any other penalty laid on nonconformity, make men study and embrace the true religion; and whatever you will call the service it does, direct or indirect, near or at a distance, it is plain it produces that effect, and conduces to that end merely by accident; and therefore must be allowed to be impertinent to be used to that purpose.

That your way of using force in matters of religion, even in a country where the magistrate is of the true religion, is absolutely impertinent; I shall further shew you from your own position.

Here in the entrance give me leave to observe to you, that you confound two things very different, viz. your way of applying force, and the end for which you pretend to use it. And this perhaps may be it which contributes to cast that mist about your eyes, that you always return to the same place, and stick to the same gross mistake. For here you say; “Force, your way applied, i. e. to bring men to embrace the truth which must save them:” but, sir, to bring men to embrace the truth, is not your way of applying force, but the end for which you pretend it is applied. Your way to punish men, as you say, moderately for being dissenters from the national religion; this is your way of using force. Now, if in this way of using it, force does service merely by accident, you will then, I suppose, allow it to be absolutely impertinent. For you say, “If by doing service by accident, I mean, doing it but seldom, and beside the intention of the agent, you assure me that it is not the thing you mean when you say force may, indirectly and at a distance, do some service.” For in that use of force, which you defend, the effect is both intended by him that uses it, and withal, you “doubt not, so often attained, as abundantly to manifest the usefulness of it.” Whereby it is plain the two marks, whereby you distinguished your indirect and at a distance usefulness, from that which is by accident, are that, that by accident does service but seldom, and beside the intention of the agent, but yours the contrary.

First, as to the intention, you tell us, in the use of force, which you defend, “the effect is intended by him that uses it;” that is, those who made laws to punish nonconformists, designed those penalties to make all men under their power, “consider so as to be convinced of, and embrace the truths that should save them.” If one should ask you how you knew it to be their intention, can you say, they ever told you so? If they did not, then so far you and I know their intentions alike. Did they ever say so in those laws? nor that neither. Those versed then in the interpretation of laws, will tell you nothing can be known to be the intention of the law-makers in any law, of which the law is wholly silent: that way then you cannot know it to have been their intention, if the law says nothing of it. Whatever was the intention of former law-makers, if you had read with attention the last act of uniformity of Car. II. printed before the common-prayer book, I conclude you would have been better satisfied about the intention of the then law-makers in that law; for I think nothing can be plainer to any one who will look into that statute, than that their only end in that law was, what they have expressed in these words: “And to the end that uniformity in the public worship of God (which is so much desired) may be speedily effected;” which was driven with such speed, that if all concerned had opportunity to get and peruse the then established liturgy, it is certain they had not overmuch time seriously and deliberately to consider of all the parts of it before the day set for the use of it.

But you think they ought to have intended, and therefore they did: and I think they neither ought, nor could, in making those laws, intend so impracticable a thing: and therefore they did not. Which being as certain a way of knowledge as yours, if you know it by that way, it is possible you and I may at the same time know contraries.

But you know it, by their “having provided sufficient means of instruction for all under their care, in the true religion;” of this sufficient means, we have something to say in another place. Penalties laid expressly on one fault, have no evidence that they were designed to mend another, though there are sufficient means provided of mending it, if men would make a sufficient use of them; unless those two faults are so connected, as one cannot be mended without the other. Now if men cannot conform without so considering as to be convinced of, and embrace the truth that must save them; you may know that penalties laid on nonconformity, were intended to make men so consider: but if men may conform, without so considering, one cannot know nor conclude those penalties were intended to make men so consider, whatever provision there is made of means of instruction.

But you will say, it is evident that penalties on nonconformists were intended to make them use these means of instruction, because they are intended for the bringing men to church, the place of instruction. That they are intended to bring men to church, the place of preaching, that I grant; but that those penalties that are laid on men, for not coming to church, can be known thereby to be intended to make men so consider, as to be convinced and embrace the true religion, that I deny: and it is utterly impossible it should be so, if what you say be true, where you tell us, that “the magistrates concern themselves for compliance or conformity, only as the fruit of their conviction.” If therefore the magistrates are concerned for men’s conformity, only as the fruit of their conviction, and coming to church be that conformity; coming to church cannot be intended as a means of their conviction: unless it be intended they should be convinced, before they are convinced.

But to show you, that you cannot pretend the penalty of laws for conformity to proceed from a care of the souls of all under the magistrate’s power, and so to be intended to make them all consider, in any sense: can you, or any one, know, or suppose, that penalties which are laid by the law on nonconformity, are intended to make all men consider; where it is known that a great number, under the magistrate’s power, are dispensed with, and privileged from those penalties? How many, omitting the jews, are there, for example, in the king of England’s dominions, under his care and power, of the Walloon and French church; to whom force is never applied, and they live in security from it? How many pagans are there in the plantations, many whereof born in his dominions, of whom there was never any care taken, that they should so much as come to church, or be in the least instructed in the christian religion? And yet must we believe, or can you pretend, that the magistrate’s use of force, against nonconformists, is to make all his subjects consider, “so as to be convinced of, and embrace the truth that must save them?” If you say, in your way you mean no such indulgence: I answer, the question is not of yours, but the magistrate’s intention: though what your intention is, who would have the want of consideration, or knowledge, in conformists, exempt from force, is visible enough.

Again, Those penalties cannot be supposed to be intended to make men consider, which are laid on those who have, or may have already considered; and such you must grant to be the penalties laid in England on nonconformists; unless you will deny, that any nonconformist has, or can consider, so as to be convinced, or believe, and embrace the truth that must save him. So that you cannot vouch the intention of the magistrate where his laws say nothing, much less affirm, that force is intended to produce a certain end in all his subjects, which is not applied to them all, and is applied to some who have attained that end already: unless you have a privilege to affirm, against all appearance, whatsoever may serve your cause. But to learn some moderation in this, I shall send you to my pagans and mahometans. For whatever charitable wishes magistrates may sometimes have in their thoughts, which I meddle not with; nobody can say, that in making the laws, or in the use of force, we are speaking of, they intended to make men consider and examine, so as to “be convinced of, and heartily to embrace the truth that must save them,” but he that gives himself the liberty to say any thing.

The service that force does, indirectly and at a distance, you tell us in the following page, is to make people “apply themselves to the use of those means, and helps, which are proper to make them what they are designed to be.” In the case before us, What are men designed to be? Holy believers of the gospel in this world, without which no salvation, no seeing of God in the next. Let us see now, whether force, your way applied, can be suited to such a design, and so intended for that end.

You hold, that all out of the national church, where the religion of the national church is true, should be punished, and ought to have force used to them: and again, you grant that those who are in the communion of the national church, ought not to be punished, or be under the stroke of force; nor indeed in your way can they. If now the effect be to prevail with men to consider as they ought, so that they may become what they are designed to be: how can any one think, that you, and they who use force thus, intend, in the use of it, that men should really be christians, both in persuasion and practice, without which there is no salvation; if they leave off force before they have attained that effect? Or how can it be imagined, that they intend any thing but conformity by their use of force, if they leave off the use of it as soon as men conform? unless you will say that an outward conformity to the national church, whose religion is the true religion, is such an embracing of the truth as is sufficient to salvation: or that an outward profession of the christian religion is the same with being really a christian; which possibly you will not be very forward to do, when you recollect what you meet with in the sermons, and printed discourses, of divines of the church of England, concerning the ignorance and irreligion of conformists themselves: For penalties can never be thought, by any one, but he that can think against common sense, and what he pleases, to be intended for any end; which by that constitution, and law whereby they are imposed, are to cease before that end be attained. And will you say, that all who are conformable, have so well considered, that they believe, and heartily embrace the truths of the gospel, that must save them: when perhaps it will be found that a great many conformists do not so much as understand them? But the ignorance or irreligiousness to be found amongst conformists, which your way of talking forces me in some places to take notice of, let me here tell you once for all, I lay not the blame of upon conformity, but upon your use of force to make men conform. For whatever the religion be, true or false, it is natural for force, and penalty, so applied, to bring the irreligious, and those who are careless and unconcerned for the true, into the national profession: but whether it be fitter for such to be kept out, rather than by force to be driven into, the communion of any church, and owned as members of it; those who have a due care and respect for truly religious and pious conformists, were best consider.

But farther, if, as you say, the opposition to the true religion lies only in men’s lusts, it having light and strength enough, were it not for that, to prevail: and it is upon that account only that force is necessary; there is no necessity at all to use force on men, only till they conform, and no farther; since I think you will not deny, but that the corruption of human nature is as great in conformists as in nonconformists; in the professors of, as in the dissenters from, the national religion. And therefore either force was not necessary before, or else it is necessary still, after men are conformists; unless you will say, that it is harder for a man to be a professor, than a christian indeed: and that the true religion, by its own light and strength, can, without the help of force, prevail over a man’s lusts, and the corruption of his nature; but it has need of the help of force, to make him a conformist, and an outward professor. And so much for the effect, which is intended by him that uses it, in that use of force which you defend.

The other argument you bring to show, that your indirect and at a distance usefulness of force, your way applied, is not by accident, is the frequent success of it. Which I think is not the true mark of what is not by accident: for an effect may not be by accident, though it has never been produced but once; and is certainly as little by accident the first time, as when it has been produced a thousand times. That then, by which any thing is excused from being by accident, is not the frequency of the event, but that whereon the frequency of the event depends, when frequent trials are made: and that is the proper, natural, direct efficacy of the cause or means, which produces the effect. As in the case before us, penalties are the cause or means used to produce an end; the proper and immediate effect of penalties, is to produce some pain or inconvenience; and the natural effect of that is to make a man, who naturally flies from all pain or inconvenience, to endeavour to avoid; whereby it naturally and directly works upon the will of man, by proposing to him this unavoidable choice of doing some action, or enduring the pain or inconvenience of the penalty annexed to its omission. When the pain of doing the action is outweighed in the sense of him that lies under the penalty, the pain, that by the law is annexed to the omission, operates upon his will, as naturally, as thirteen ounces in one scale, laid against twelve ounces in the other, incline the balance, and bring it down on that side. And this is by a direct and natural efficacy, wherein there is nothing of chance.

Let us see then, how far this will go in your indirect and at a distance usefulness. In your method, the action you propose to be done, is considering, or a severe and impartial examining matters of religion, which, you tell us, men by their great negligence or aversion are kept from doing. What now is a proper means to produce this? “Penalties, without which, you tell us, it will not be done.” How now is it applied in your method? Conformity, and men’s neglect or aversion to it, is laid in one scale, and the penalty joined to the omission of it, laid in the other; and in this case, if the inconvenience of the penalty overweighs the pains of, or aversion to conformity, it does by a direct and natural efficacy produce conformity: but if it produces a severe and impartial examination, that is merely by accident; because the inconvenience of the penalty is not laid against men’s aversion or backwardness to examine impartially, as a counterbalance to that, but against their aversion or backwardness to conform; and so whatever it does, indirectly and at a distance, it is certain its making men severely and impartially examine, if ever that happens, is as much by accident, as it would be by accident, if a piece of lead in one scale, as a counterpoise to feathers in the opposite scale, should move or weigh down gold that was put in the scale of another pair of balances, which had no counterpoise laid against it. Unless you will say there is a necessary connexion between conformity, and a severe and impartial examination.

But you will say, perhaps, that though it be not possible that penalties should produce examination but by mere accident, because examination has no necessary connexion with conformity, or the profession of any religion; yet since there are some who will not take up any profession without a severe and impartial examination, penalties for nonconformity will, by a direct and natural efficacy, produce examination in all such. To which I answer, That those are, if we may believe what you say, so very few, that this your remedy, which you put into the magistrate’s hands to bring all his subjects to consider and examine, will not work upon one in a thousand; nay, it can work on none at all, to make them severely and impartially examine, but merely by accident. For if they are men, whom a slight and partial examination, which upon your principles you must say, sufficed to make nonconformists, a slight and partial examination will as well serve to make them conformists; and so penalties laid on them to make them conform, can only by accident produce a severe and impartial examination, in such men, who can take up the profession of any religion without a severe and impartial examination; no more than it can otherwise than by accident produce any examination in those who, without any examination, can take up the profession of any religion.

And in those very few, who take not up the profession of any religion without a severe and impartial examination, that penalties can do any service, to bring them either to the truth that must save them, or so much as to outward conformity, but merely by accident; that is also evident. Because all such in a country where they dissent from the national religion, must necessarily have severely and impartially examined already, or else you destroy the supposition this argument is built on, viz. that they are men who do severely and impartially examine before they choose. And if you lay, or continue your penalties on men, that have so examined; it is plain you use them instead of reasons and arguments; in which use of them, you confess they have no proper efficacy, and therefore if they do any service, is is merely by accident.

But now let us see the success you boast of, and for that you tell us, that you doubt not but it is “so often attained, as abundantly to manifest the usefulness of it.” You speak here of it as a thing tried, and so known, that you doubt not. Pray tell us where your moderate (for great ones you acknowledge to do harm, and to be useless) penalties have been used, with such success, that we may be past doubt too. If you can show no such place; do you not vouch experience where you have none? and show a willingness not to doubt, where you have no assurance? In all countries, where any force is used to bring men to the profession of the national religion, and to outward conformity, it is not to be doubted, but that force joining with their natural corruption, in bringing them into the way of preferment, countenance, protection, ease, and impunity, should easily draw in all the loose and careless in matters of religion, which are every-where the far greater number: but is it those you count upon, and will you produce them as examples of what force has done to make men consider, study, and embrace the true religion? Did the penalties laid on nonconformity make you “consider, so as to study, be convinced, and embrace the true religion?” Or can you give an instance of any one, in whom it produced this effect? If you cannot, you will have some reason to doubt of what you have said, and not to be so confident that the effect you talk of is so often attained. Not that I deny, but that God may sometimes have made these punishments the occasions to men of setting themselves seriously on considering religion; and thence they may have come into the national religion upon a real conviction: but the instances of it I believe to be so few, that you will have reason to remember your own words, where you speak of such things as “Any way, at any time, upon any person by any accident, may be useful towards the promoting of true religion: if men should thence take occasion to apply such things generally: who sees not, that however they might chance to hit right in some few cases, yet, upon the whole matter, they would certainly do a great deal more harm than good.” You and I know a country wherein, not long since, greater severities were used than you pretend to approve of. Were there not, for all that, great numbers of several professions stood out, who, by your rule, ought now to have your moderate penalties tried upon them? And can you think less degrees of force can work, and often, as you say, prevail, where greater could not? But perhaps they might prevail on many of those to return, who having been brought into the communion of the church by former penal laws, have now upon the relaxation left it again. A manifest demonstration, is it not? that “their compliance was the fruit of their conviction; and that the magistrate was concerned for their compliance only as the fruit of their conviction:” when they, as soon as any relaxation of those laws took off the penalties, left again the communion of the national church? For the lessening the number of conformists, is, I suppose, one of those things which you say your “eyes cannot but see at this time;” and which you, with concern, impute to the late relaxation. A plain evidence how presumable it is, even in your own opinion, that those who conform, do it upon real conviction.

To conclude, these proofs, though I do not pretend to bring as good as the thing will admit, will serve my turn to show, that force is impertinent; since by your own confession it has no direct efficacy to convince men, and, by its being indirect and at a distance useful, is not at all distinguished from being barely so by accident: since you can neither prove it to be intended for that end, nor frequently to succeed; which are the two marks whereby you put a difference between indirect and at a distance, and by accident: this I say, is enough to show what the author said is true, that the use of force is wholly impertinent. Which, whatever others do, you upon another reason must be forced to allow.

You profess yourself of the church of England, and if I may guess, are so far of it as to have subscribed the XXXIX Articles; which if you have done, and assented to what you subscribed, you must necessarily allow that all force, used for the bringing men to the true religion, is “absolutely impertinent;” for that must be absolutely impertinent to be used as a means, which can contribute nothing at all to the end for which it is used. The end here is to make a man a true christian, that he may be saved; and he is then, and then only, a true christian, and in the way of salvation, when he believes, and with sincerity obeys the gospel. By the thirteenth article of the church of England, you hold, that works done before the grace of Christ, and the inspiration of his Spirit, are not pleasing to God; for as much as they spring not of faith in Jesus Christ; neither do they make men meet to receive grace, or, as the school-authors say, deserve grace or congruity; yea rather, for that they are not done, as God has willed and commanded them to be done, we doubt not but they have the nature of sin. Now if it be impertinent to use force to make a man do more than he can, and a man can do nothing to procure grace, unless sin can procure it; and without grace, a man cannot believe, or live so as to be a true christian; it is certainly wholly impertinent to use force to bring a man to be truly a christian. To hear and consider, is in men’s power, you will say, and to that force may be pertinent: I grant to make men hear, but not to make them consider in your sense, which you tell us, is to “consider so as to embrace;” if you mean by embracing any thing but outward conformity: and that according to your article contributes nothing to the attaining of grace; because without grace, your article says, it is a sin; and to conform to, and outwardly profess a religion which a man does not understand and heartily believe, every one, I think, judges to be a sin, and no fit means to procure the grace of God.

But you tell us, “That God denies his grace to none who seriously ask it.” If that be so, methinks force should most properly and pertinently be used to make men seriously pray to God for grace. But how, I beseech you, will this stand with your thirteenth article? For if you mean by seriously, so as will make his seeking acceptable to God; that cannot be, because he is supposed yet to want grace, which alone can make it acceptable: and if his asking has the nature of sin, as in the article you do not doubt but it has, can you expect that sinning should procure the grace of God? You will I fear here, without some great help in a very nice distinction from the school-authors, be forced either to renounce your article in the plain sense of it, and so become a dissenter from the church of England; or else acknowledge force to be wholly impertinent to the business of true religion and salvation.

Another reason I gave against the usefulness of force in matters of religion, was, “Because the magistrates of the world, being few of them in the right way; not one of ten, take which side you will, perhaps not one of a hundred, being of the true religion; it is likely your indirect way of using force would do a hundred, or at least ten times as much harm as good.” To which you reply, “Which would have been to the purpose if you had asserted that every magistrate may use force, your indirect way (or any way) to bring men to his own religion, whatever that be. But if you assert no such thing, (as no man you think but an atheist will assert it,) then this is quite beside the business.” I think I have proved, that if magistrates of the true religion may use force to bring men to their religion, every magistrate may use force to bring men to his own religion, when he thinks it the true, and then do you look where the atheism will light.

In the next paragraph, having quoted these following words of mine, where I say, “Under another pretence, you put into the magistrate’s hands as much force to bring them to his religion, as any the openest persecutors can pretend to. I ask what difference is there between punishing them to bring them to mass, and punishing them to make them consider those reasons and arguments which are proper and sufficient to convince them that they ought to go to mass?” You reply: “A question which you shall then think yourself obliged to answer, when I have produced those reasons and arguments which are proper and sufficient to convince men that they ought to go to mass.” But if you had not omitted the three or four immediately preceding lines, (an art to serve a good cause, which puts me in mind of my pagans and mahometans,) the reader would have seen that your reply was nothing at all to my argument. My words were these:

“Especially, if you consider, that as the magistrate will certainly use it [force] to force men to hearken to the proper ministers of his religion, let it be what it will; so you having set no time nor bounds to this consideration of arguments and reasons short of being convinced, you under another,” &c. My argument is to show of what advantage force, your way applied, is like to be to the true religion, since it puts as much force into the magistrate’s hands as the openest persecutors can pretend to, which the magistrates of wrong persuasions may and will use as well as those of the true; because your way sets no other bounds to considering, short of complying. And then I ask, “What difference there is between punishing you to bring you to mass, or punishing you to consider those reasons and arguments which are proper and sufficient to convince you that you ought to go to mass?” To which you reply, That it is a “question you shall then think yourself obliged to answer, when I have produced those reasons and arguments that are proper and sufficient to convince men that they ought to go to mass.” Whereas the objection is the same, whether there be, or be not, reasons and arguments proper to convince men, that they ought to go to mass; for men must be punished on till they have so considered as to comply: and what difference is there then between punishing men to bring them to mass, and punishing them to make them consider so as to go to mass? But though I pretend not to produce any reasons and arguments proper and sufficient to convince you or all men, that they ought to go to mass; yet do you think there are none proper and sufficient to convince any men? And that all the papists in the world go to mass without believing it their duty? And whosoever believes it to be his duty, does it upon reasons and arguments proper and sufficient to convince him (though perhaps not to convince another) that it is so; or else I imagine he would never believe at all. What think you of those great numbers of Japaneses, that resisted all sorts of torments, even to death itself, for the Romish religion? And had you been in France some years since, who knows but the arguments the king of France produced might have been proper and sufficient to have convinced you that you ought to go to mass? I do not by this think you less confident of the truth of your religion, than you profess to be. But arguments set on with force, have a strange efficacy upon human frailty; and he must be well assured of his own strength, who can peremptorily affirm, he is sure he should have stood what above a million of people sunk under: amongst which, it is great confidence to say, there was not one so well persuaded of the truth of his religion, as you are of yours: though some of them gave great proofs of their persuasion in their sufferings for it. But what the necessary method of force may be able to do, to bring any one, in your sense, to any religion, i. e. to an outward profession of it; he that thinks himself secure against, must have a greater assurance of himself, than the weakness of decayed and depraved nature will well allow. If you have any spell against the force of arguments, driven with penalties and punishments, you will do well to teach it the world: for it is the hard luck of well-meaning people to be often misled by them; and even the confident themselves have not seldom fallen under them, and betrayed their weakness.

To my demanding if you meant “reasons and arguments proper and sufficient to convince men of the truth, why did you not say so?” you reply, “As if it were possible for any man that reads your answer to think otherwise.” Whoever reads that passage in your A. . cannot possibly think you meant to speak out, and possibly you found some difficulty to add any thing to your words (which are these, “Force used to bring men to consider reasons and arguments proper and sufficient to convince them”) that might determine their sense. For if you had said, to convince them of truth; then the magistrate must have made laws, and used force to make men search after truth in general, and that would not have served your turn: if you had said to convince them of the truth of the magistrate’s religion, that would too manifestly have put the power in every magistrate’s hands, which, you tell us, “none but an atheist will say.” If you had said, to convince them of the truth of your religion, that had looked too ridiculous to be owned, though it were the thing you meant; and therefore in this strait, where nothing you could say would well fit your purpose, you wisely choose to leave the sense imperfect, and name nothing they were to be convinced of; but leave it to be collected by your reader out of your discourse, rather than add three words to made it good grammar, as well as intelligible sense.

To my saying, “That if you pretend it must be arguments to convince men of the truth, it would in this case do you little service; because the mass in France is as much supposed the truth, as the liturgy here.” You reply, “So that it seems, that in my opinion, whatsoever is supposed the truth, it is the truth, for otherwise this reason of mine is none at all.” If, in my opinion, the supposition of truth authorizes the magistrate to use the same means to bring men to it, as if it were true; my argument will hold good, without taking all to be true which some men suppose true. According to this answer of yours, to suppose or believe his religion the true, is not enough to authorize the magistrate to use force; he must know, i. e. be infallibly certain that his is the true religion. We will for once suppose you our magistrate, with force promoting our national religion. I will not ask you, whether you know that all required of conformists, is necessary to salvation: but will suppose one of my pagans asking you, whether you know christianity to be the true religion? If you say, Yes; he will ask you how you know it? and no doubt but you will give the answer, whereby our Saviour proved his mission, John v. 36, that “the works which our Saviour did, bear witness of him, that the Father sent him.” The miracles that Christ did, are a proof of his being sent from God, and so his religion the true religion. But then you will be asked again, whether you know that he did those miracles, as well as those who saw them done? If you answer, Yes; then it is plain that miracles are not yet withdrawn, but do still accompany the christian religion with all the efficacy and evidence that they had upon the eye-witnesses of them; and then, upon your own grounds, there will be no necessity of the magistrate’s assistance; miracles still supplying the want of it. If you answer, that matter of fact done out of your sight, at such a distance of time and place, cannot be known to you as certainly, as it was to the eye-witnesses of it, but that you upon very good grounds firmly believe it; you are then come to believing, that yours is the true religion, and if that be sufficient to authorize you to use force, it will authorize any other magistrate of any other religion, to use force also. For whoever believes any thing, takes it to be true, and as he thinks upon good grounds; and those often who believe on the weakest grounds, have the strongest confidence: and thus all magistrates who believe their religion to be true, will be obliged to use force to promote it, as if it were the true.

To my saying that the usefulness of force, your way applied, amounts to no more but this, that it is not impossible but that it may be useful: you reply, “I leave it to be judged by what has been said;” and I leave it to you yourself to judge: only, that you may not forget, I shall here remind you in short of some of the reasons I have to say so: 1. You grant that force has no direct efficacy to bring men to embrace the truth. 2. You distinguish the indirect and at a distance usefulness of your force, from that which is barely by accident; by these two marks, viz. First, That punishment on dissenters for nonconformity, is, by those that use it, intended to make men consider: and, secondly, That your moderate punishments, by experience, are found often successful; and your having neither of these marks, it must be concluded to be useful only by accident: and such an usefulness, as I said, “One cannot deny to auricular confession, doing of penance, going pilgrimages to saints, and what not? Yet our church does not think fit to use them; though it cannot be denied but they may have some of your indirect and at a distance usefulness; that is, perhaps may do some service indirectly, and by accident.” If the intention of those that use them, and the success they will tell you they find in the use of them, be a proof of doing service more than by accident; that cannot be denied to them more than to penalties, your way applied. To which let me add, that the niceness and difficulty there is, to hit that just degree of force, which, according to your hypothesis, must be neither so much as to do harm, nor so little as to be ineffectual; for you yourself cannot determine it; makes its usefulness yet more uncertain and accidental. And after all, let its efficacy to work upon men’s minds be what it will, great or little, it being sure to be employed ten, or, possibly, a hundred times to bring men to errour, for once that it is employed to bring men to the truth; and where it chances to be employed on the side of truth, it being liable to make a hundred, or perhaps a thousand outward conformists, for one true and sincere convert; I leave it also to be judged, what usefulness it is like to be of.

To show the usefulness of force, your way applied, I said, “Where the law punished dissenters without telling them it is to make them consider, they may through ignorance and oversight neglect to do it.” Your answer is, “But where the law provides sufficient means of instruction for all, as well as punishment for dissenters, it is so plain to all concerned, that the punishment is intended to make them consider, that you see no danger of men’s neglecting to do it, through ignorance or oversight.” I hope you mean by consider, so to consider as not only to embrace in an outward profession, for then all you say is but a poor fallacy, for such a considering amounts to no more but bare outward conformity; but so to consider, study, and examine matters of religion, as really to embrace what one is convinced to be the true, with faith and obedience. If it be so plain and easy to understand, that a law, that speaks nothing of it, should yet be intended to make men consider, search, and study, to find out the truth that must save them; I wish you had showed us this plainness. For I confess many of all degrees, that I have purposely asked about it, did not ever see, or so much as dream, that the act of uniformity, or against conventicles, or the penalties in either of them, were ever intended to make men seriously study religion, and make it their business to find the truth which must save them; but barely to make men conform. But perhaps you have met with handicrafts-men, and country-farmers, maid-servants, and day-labourers, who have quicker understandings, and reason better about the intention of the law; for these as well as others are concerned. If you have not, it is to be feared your saying “it is so plain that you see no danger of men’s neglecting to do it, through ignorance or oversight,” is more for its serving your purpose, than from any experience you have that it is so.

When you will enquire into this matter, you will, I guess, find the people so ignorant amidst that great plainness you speak of, that not one of twenty of any degree amongst the conformists or nonconformists, ever understood the penalty of twelve pence a Sunday, or any other of our penal laws against nonconformity, to be intended to set men upon studying the true religion, and impartially examining what is necessary to salvation. And if you would come to Hudibras’s decision, I believe he would have a good wager of it, who should give you a guinea for each one who had thought so, and receive but a shilling for every one who had not. Indeed you do not say, it is plain every-where, but only “where the law provides sufficient means of instruction for all as well as punishments for dissenters.” From whence, I think it will follow, that that contributes nothing to make it plain; or else that the law has not provided sufficient means of instruction in England, where so very few find this to be so plain. If by this sufficient provision of means of instruction for all, you mean persons maintained at the public charge to preach and officiate in the public exercise of the national religion; I suppose you needed not this restriction, there being few places which have an established national religion, where there is not such means of instruction provided; if you intend any other means of instruction, I know none the law has provided in England but the XXXIX articles, the liturgy, and the scripture; and how either of them by itself, or these altogether, with a national clergy, make it plain, that the penalties laid on nonconformity are intended to make men consider, study, and impartially examine matters of religion, you would do well to show. For magistrates usually know (and therefore make their laws accordingly) that the people seldom carry either their interpretation or practice beyond what the express letter of the law requires of them. You would do well also to show that a sufficient provision of means of instruction cannot but be understood to require an effectual use of them, which the law that makes that provision says nothing of; but, on the contrary, contents itself with something very short of it: for conformity, or coming to church, is at least as far from considering, studying, and impartially examining matters of religion, so as to embrace the truth upon conviction and with an obedient heart; as being present at a discourse concerning mathematics, and studying mathematics, so as to become a knowing mathematician, are different one from the other.

People generally think they have done their duties abundantly, if they have been at church, whether they mind any thing done there or no: this they call serving of God, as if it were their whole duty; so backward are they to understand more, though it be plain the law of God expressly requires more. But that they have fully satisfied the law of the land, nobody doubts; nor is it easy to answer what was replied to me on this occasion, viz. If the magistrate intended any thing more in those laws but conformity, would he not have said it? To which let me add, if the magistrate intended conformity as the fruit of conviction, would he not have taken some care to have them instructed before they conformed and examined when they did? But it is presumable their ignorance, corruption, and lusts, all drop off in the church-porch, and that they become perfectly good christians as soon as they have taken their seats in the church.

If there be any whom your example or writing hath inspired with acuteness enough to find out this; I suspect the vulgar, who have scarce time and thought enough to make inferences from the law, which scarce one of ten of them ever so much as reads, or perhaps understands when read; are still, and will be ignorant of it: and those who have the time and abilities to argue about it, will find reason to think that those penalties were not intended to make men examine the doctrine and ceremonies of religion; since those who should examine, are prohibited by those very laws to follow their own judgments (which is the very end and use of examination), if they at all differ from the religion established by law. Nor can it appear so “plain to all concerned that the punishment is intended to make them consider and examine,” when they see the punishments you say are to make people consider, spare those who consider and examine matters of religion, as little as any of the most ignorant and careless dissenters.

To my saying, Some dissenters may have considered “already, and then force employed upon them must needs be useless; unless you can think it useful to punish a man to make him do that which he has done already:” You reply, “No man who rejects truth necessary to his salvation, has considered already as he ought to consider.” The words “as he ought,” are not, as I take it, in the question: and so your answer is, “No man who rejects the truth necessary to his salvation, hath considered, studied, or examined matters of religion.” But we will let that go: and yet with that allowance, your answer will be nothing to the purpose, unless you will dare to say, that all dissenters reject truth necessary to salvation. For without the supposition, that all dissenters reject the truth necessary to salvation, the argument and answer will stand thus: It may be useless to punish all dissenters to make them consider, because some of them may have considered already. To which the answer is, Yes, some of them may have considered already, but those who reject truth necessary to their salvation have not considered as they ought.

I said, “The greatest part of mankind, being not able to discern betwixt truth and falsehood, that depends upon long and many proofs, and remote consequences; nor having ability enough to discover the false grounds, and resist the captious and fallacious arguments of learned men versed in controversies; are so much more exposed, by the force, which is used to make them hearken to the information and instruction of men appointed to it by the magistrate, or those of his religion, to be led into falsehood and errour, than they are likely this way to be brought to embrace the truth which must save them; by how much the national religions of the world are, beyond comparison, more of them false or erroneous, than such as have God for their author, and truth for their standard.” You reply, “If the first part of this be true, then an infallible guide, and implicit faith, are more necessary than ever you thought them.” Whether you conclude from thence or no, that then there will be a necessity of an infallible guide, and an implicit faith, it is nevertheless true, that the greatest part of men are unable to discern, as I said, between truth and falsehood depending upon long and many proofs, &c. But whether that will make an infallible guide necessary or no, imposition in matters of religion certainly will: since there can be nothing more absurd imaginable, than that a man should take upon him to impose on others in matters of their eternal concernment, without being, or so much as pretending to be infallible: for colour it with the name of considering, as much as you please, as long as it is to make men consider as they ought, and considering as they ought, is so to consider, as to embrace; the using of force to make men consider, and the using of force to make them embrace any doctrine or opinion, is the same thing: and to show a difference betwixt imposing an opinion, and using force to make it be embraced, would require such a piece of subtilty, as I heard lately from a learned man out of the pulpit, who told us, that though two things, he named, were all one, yet for distinction’s sake he would divide them. Your reason for the necessity of an infallible guide, is, “For if the greatest part of mankind be not able to discern betwixt truth and falsehood, in matters concerning their salvation (as I must mean if I speak to the purpose), their condition must needs be very hazardous, if they have not some guide or judge, to whose determination and direction they may securely resign themselves.” And therefore they must resign themselves to the determination and direction of the civil magistrate, or be punished. Here it is like you will have something again to say to my modesty and conscience, for imputing to you what you no where say. I grant it, in direct words, but in effect, as plainly as may be. The magistrate may impose sound creeds and decent ceremonies, i.e. such as he thinks fit, for what is sound and decent he I hope must be judge; and if he be judge of what is sound and decent, it amounts to no more but what he thinks fit: and if it be not what he thinks fit, why is one ceremony preferred to another? Why one doctrine of the scripture put into the creed and articles, and another as sound left out? They are truths necessary to salvation. We shall see that in good time: here only I ask, does the magistrate only believe them to be truths and ceremonies necessary to salvation, or does he certainly know them to be so? If you say he only believes them to be so, and that that is enough to authorize him to impose them, you, by your own confession, authorize magistrates to impose what they think necessary for the salvation of their subjects souls; and so the king of France did what he was obliged to, when he said he would have all his subjects saved, and so fell to dragooning.

If you say the magistrate certainly knows them to be necessary to salvation, we are luckily come to an infallible guide. Well then, the sound creeds are agreed on; the confession and liturgy are framed; the ceremonies pitched on; and the terms of communion thus set up; you have religion established by law; and what now is the subject to do? He is to conform. No; he must first consider. Who bids him consider? Nobody; he may if he pleases; but the law says nothing to him of it: consider or not consider, if he conforms, it is well, and he is approved of and admitted. He does consider the best he can, but finds some things he does not understand, other things he cannot believe, assent or consent to. What now is to be done with him? He must either be punished on, or resign himself up to the determination and direction of the civil magistrate; which, till you can find a better name for it, we will call implicit faith. And thus you have provided a remedy for the hazardous condition of weak understandings, in that which you suppose necessary in the case, viz. an infallible guide and implicit faith, in matters concerning men’s salvation.

But you say, “For your part, you know of no such guide of God’s appointing.” Let that be your rule, and the magistrate with his coactive power will be left out too. You think there is no need of any such; because notwithstanding the long and many proofs and remote consequences, the false grounds and the captious and fallacious arguments of learned men versed in controversies, “with which I (as well as those of the Roman communion) endeavour to amuse you; through the goodness of God the truth which is necessary to salvation, lies so obvious and exposed to all that sincerely and diligently seek it, that no such persons shall ever fail of attaining the knowledge of it.” This then is your answer, that “truths necessary to salvation are obvious; so that those who seek them sincerely and diligently, are not in danger to be misled or exposed in those to errour, by the weakness of their understandings. This will be a good answer to what I objected from the danger most are in to be led into errour, by the magistrate’s adding force to the arguments for their national established religions; when you have shown that nothing is wont to be imposed in national religions, but what is necessary to salvation; or which will a little better accommodate your hypothesis, when you can show that nothing is imposed, or required for communion with the church of England, but what is necessary to salvation; and consequently is very easy and obvious to be known, and distinguished from falsehood. And indeed, besides what you say here, upon your hypothesis, that force is lawful only because it is necessary to bring men to salvation; it cannot be lawful to use it, to bring men to any thing, but what is absolutely necessary to salvation. For if the lawfulness of force be only from the need men have of it to bring them to salvation, it cannot lawfully be used to bring men to that which they do not need, or is not necessary to their salvation; for in such an application of it, it is not needful to their salvation. Can you therefore say that there is nothing required to be believed and professed in the church of England, but what lies “so obvious and exposed to all that sincerely and diligently seek it, that no such person shall ever fail of attaining the knowledge of it?” What think you of St. Athanasius’s creed? Is the sense of that so obvious and exposed to every one who seeks it; which so many learned men have explained so different ways, and which yet a great many profess they cannot understand? Or is it necessary to your or my salvation, that you or I should believe and pronounce all those damned who do not believe that creed, i. e. every proposition in it? which I fear would extend to not a few of the church of England; unless we can think that people believe, i. e. assent to the truth of propositions they do not at all understand. If ever you were acquainted with a country parish, you must needs have a strange opinion of them, if you think all the plowmen and milkmaids at church understood all the propositions in Athanasius’s creed; it is more, truly, than I should be apt to think of any one of them; and yet I cannot hence believe myself authorized to judge or pronounce them all damned: it is too bold an intrenching on the prerogative of the Almighty; to their own master they stand or fall.

The doctrine of original sin, is that which is professed and must be owned by the members of the church of England, as is evident from the XXXIX articles, and several passages in the liturgy: and yet I ask you, whether this be “so obvious and exposed to all that diligently and sincerely seek the truth,” that one who is in the communion of the church of England, sincerely seeking the truth, may not raise to himself such difficulties, concerning the doctrine of original sin, as may puzzle him though he be a man of study; and whether he may not push his inquiries so far, as to be staggered in his opinion?

If you grant me this, as I am apt to think you will, then I inquire whether it be not true, notwithstanding what you say concerning the plainness and obviousness of truths necessary to salvation, that a great part of mankind may not be able to discern between truth and falsehood, in several points, which are thought so far to concern their salvation, as to be made necessary parts of the national religion?

If you say it may be so, then I have nothing further to inquire; but shall only advise you not to be so severe hereafter in your censure of Mr. Reynolds, as you are, where you tell me, that “famous instance I give of the two Reynolds’s is not of any moment to prove the contrary; unless I can undertake, that he that erred was as sincere in his inquiry after that truth, as I suppose him able to examine and judge.”

You will, I suppose, be more charitable another time, when you have considered, that neither sincerity, nor freedom from errour, even in the established doctrines of their own church, is the privilege of those who join themselves in outward profession to any national church whatsoever. And it is not impossible, that one who has subscribed the XXXIX articles, may yet make it a question, “Whether it may be truly said that God imputes the first sin of Adam to his posterity?” &c. But we are apt to be so fond of our own opinions, and almost infallibility, that we will not allow them to be sincere, who quit our communion; whilst at the same time we tell the world, it is presumable, that all who embrace it do it sincerely, and upon conviction; though we cannot but know many of them to be but loose, inconsiderate, and ignorant people. This is all the reason you have, when you speak of the Reynolds’s, to suspect one of the brothers more than the other: and to think that Mr. Chillingworth had not as much sincerity when he quitted, as when he returned to the church of England, is a partiality which nothing can justify without pretending to infallibility.

To show that you do not fancy your force to be useful, but that you “judge so upon just and sufficient grounds, you tell us, the strong probability of its success is grounded upon the consideration of human nature, and the general temper of mankind, apt to be wrought upon by the method you speak of, and upon the indisputable attestation of experience.” The consideration of human nature, and the general temper of mankind, will teach one this, that men are apt, in things within their power, to be wrought upon by force, and the more wrought upon, the greater the force or punishments are: so that where moderate penalties will not work, great severities will. Which consideration of human nature, if it be a just ground to judge any force useful, will I fear necessarily carry you, in your judgment, to severities beyond the moderate penalties, so often mentioned in your system, upon a strong probability of the success of greater punishments, where less would not prevail.

But if to consider so as you require, i. e. so as to embrace, and believe, be not in their power, then no force at all, great or little, is or can be useful. You must therefore (consider it which way you will) either renounce all force as useful, or pull off your mask, and own all the severities of the cruelest persecutors.

The other reason of your judging force to be useful, you say, is grounded on the indisputable attestation of experience. Pray tell us where you have this attestation of experience for your moderate, which is the only useful, force: name the country where true religion or sound christianity has been nationally received, and established by moderate penal laws, that the observing persons you appeal to, may know where to employ their observation: tell us how long it was tried, and what was the success of it? And where there has been the relaxation of such moderate penal laws, the fruits whereof have continually been epicurism and atheism? Till you do this, I fear, that all the world will think there is a more indisputable attestation of experience for the success of dragooning, and the severities you condemn, than of your moderate method; which we shall compare with the king of France’s, and see which is most successful in making proselytes to church conformity: (for yours as well as his reach no farther than that) when you produce your examples: the confident talk whereof is good to countenance a cause, though experience there be none in the case.

But you “appeal, you say, to all observing persons, whether wherever true religion or sound christianity have been nationally received and established by moderate penal laws, it has not always visibly lost ground by the relaxation of those laws?” True or false religions, sound or unsound christianity, wherever established into national religions by penal laws, always have lost, and always will lose ground, i. e. lose several of their conforming professors upon the relaxation of those laws. But this concerns not the true, more than other religions, nor is any prejudice to it; but only shows that many are, by the penalties of the law, kept in the communion of the national religion, who are not really convinced or persuaded of it: and therefore, as soon as liberty is given, they own the dislike they had many of them before, and out of persuasion, curiosity, &c. seek out and betake themselves to some other profession. This need not startle the magistrates of any religion, much less those of the true; since they will be sure to retain those, who more mind their secular interest than the truth of religion; who are every-where the greater number, by the advantages of countenance and preferment: and if it be the true religion, they will retain those also, who are in earnest about it, by the strong tie of conscience and conviction.

You go on, “Whether sects and heresies (even the wildest and most absurd, and even epicurism and atheism) have not continually thereupon spread themselves, and whether the very life of christianity has not sensibly decayed, as well as the number of sound professors of it been daily lessened upon it.” As to atheism and epicurism, whether they spread more under toleration, or national religions, established by moderate penal laws; when you show us the countries where fair trial hath been made of both, that we may compare them together, we shall better be able to judge.

“Epicurism and atheism, say you, are found constantly to spread themselves upon the relaxation of moderate penal laws.” We will suppose your history to be full of instances of such relaxations, which you will in good time communicate to the world, that wants this assistance from your observation. But were this to be justified out of history, yet would it not be any argument against toleration; unless your history can furnish you with a new sort of religion founded in atheism. However, you do well to charge the spreading of atheism upon toleration in matters of religion, as an argument against those who deny atheism, which takes away all religion, to have any right to toleration at all. But perhaps, as is usual for those who think all the world should see with their eyes, and receive their systems for unquestionable verities, zeal for your own way makes you call all atheism, that agrees not with it. That which makes me doubt of this, are these following words: “Not to speak of what at this time our eyes cannot but see, for fear of giving offence: though I hope it will be none to any, that have a just concern for truth and piety, to take notice of the books and pamphlets which now fly so thick about this kingdom, manifestly tending to the multiplying of sects and divisions, and even to the promoting of scepticism in religion amongst us. In which number, you say, you shall not much need my pardon, if you reckon the first and second letter concerning toleration.” Wherein, by a broad insinuation, you impute the spreading of atheism amongst us, to the late relaxation made in favour of protestant dissenters: and yet all that you can take notice of as a proof of this, is, “the books and pamphlets which now fly so thick about this kingdom, manifestly tending to the multiplying of sects and divisions, and even to the promoting of scepticism in religion amongst us;” and, for instance, you name the first and second letter concerning toleration. If one may guess at the others by these; the atheism and scepticism you accuse them of will have but little more in it, than an opposition to your hypothesis; on which the whole business of religion must so turn, that whatever agrees not with your system, must presently, by interpretation, be concluded to tend to the promoting of atheism or scepticism in religion. For I challenge you to show, in either of those two letters you mention, one word tending to epicurism, atheism, or scepticism in religion.

But, sir, against the next time you are to give an account of books and pamphlets tending to the promoting scepticism in religion amongst us, I shall mind you of the “Third letter concerning toleration,” to be added to the catalogue, which asserting and building upon this, that “true religion may be known by those who profess it to be the only true religion” does not a little towards betraying the christian religion to sceptics. For what greater advantage can be given them, than to teach, that one may know the true religion? thereby putting into their hands a right to demand it to be demonstrated to them, that the christian religion is true, and bringing on the professors of it a necessity of doing it. I have heard it complained of as one great artifice of sceptics, to require demonstrations where they neither could be had, nor were necessary. But if the true religion may be known to men to be so, a sceptic may require, and you cannot blame him if he does not receive your religion, upon the strongest probable arguments without demonstration.

And if one should demand of you a demonstration of the truths of your religion, which I beseech you, would you do, either renounce your assertion, that it may be known to be true, or else undertake to demonstrate it to him?

And as for the decay of the very life and spirit of christianity, and the spreading of epicurism amongst us: I ask, what can more tend to the promoting of them than this doctrine, which is to be found in the same letter, viz. That it is presumable that those who conform, do it upon reason and conviction? When you can instance in any thing so much tending to the promoting of scepticism in religion and epicurism, in the first or second letter concerning toleration, we shall have reason to think you have some ground for what you say.

As to epicurism, the spreading whereof you likewise impute to the relaxation of your moderate penal laws; that, so far as it is distinct from atheism, I think regards men’s lives more than their religions, i. e. speculative opinions in religion and ways of worship, which is what we mean by religion, as concerned in toleration. And for the toleration of corrupt manners, and the debaucheries of life, neither our author nor I do plead for it; but say it is properly the magistrate’s business by punishments to restrain and suppress them. I do not therefore blame your zeal against atheism and epicurism; but you discover a great zeal against something else, in charging them on toleration, when it is in the magistrate’s power to restrain and suppress them by more effectual laws than those for church conformity. For there are those who will tell you, that an outward profession of the national religion, even where it is the true religion, is no more opposite to, or inconsistent with atheism or epicurism, than the owning of another religion, especially any christian profession, that differs from it. And therefore you in vain impute atheism or epicurism to the relaxation of penal laws, that require no more than an outward conformity to the national church.

As to the sects and unchristian divisions, (for other divisions there may be without prejudice to christianity,) at whose door they chiefly ought to be laid, I have showed you elsewhere.

One thing I cannot but take notice of here, that having named “sects, heresies, epicurism, atheism, and a decay of the spirit and life of christianity,” as the fruits of relaxation, for which you had the attestation of former experience, you add these words, “Not to speak of what our eyes at this time cannot but see, for fear of giving offence.” Whom is it, I beseech you, you are so afraid of offending, if you should speak of the “epicurism, atheism, and decay of the spirit and life of christianity,” amongst us? But I see, he that is so moderate in one part of his letter, that he will not take upon him to teach law-makers and governors, even what they cannot know without being taught by him, i. e. what he calls moderate penalties or force; may yet, in another part of the same letter, by broad insinuations, use reproaches, wherein it is a hard matter to think law-makers and governors are not meant. But whoever be meant, it is at least adviseable, in accusations that are easier suggested than made out, to cast abroad the slander in general, and leave others to apply it, for fear those who are named, and so justly offended with a false imputation, should be entitled to ask, as in this case, how it appears, “that sects and heresies have multiplied, epicurism and atheism spread themselves, and that the life and spirit of christianity is decayed” more within these two years, than it was before; and that all this mischief is owing to the late relaxation of the penal laws against protestant dissenters?

You go on, “And if these have always been the fruits of the relaxation of moderate penal laws, made for the preserving and advancing true religion; you think this consideration alone is abundantly sufficient to show the usefulness and benefit of such laws. For if these evils have constantly sprung from the relaxation of those laws, it is evident they were prevented before by those laws.” One would think by your saying, “always been the fruits, and constantly sprung,” that moderate penal laws, for preserving the true religion, had been the constant practice of all christian commonwealths; and that relaxations of them, in favour of a free toleration, had frequently happened; and that there were examples both of the one and the other, as common and known, as of princes that have persecuted for religion, and learned men who have employed their skill to make it good. But till you show us in what ages or countries your moderate establishments were in fashion, and where they were again removed to make way for our author’s toleration; you to as little purpose talk of the fruits of them, as if you should talk of the fruit of a tree which nobody planted, or was no-where suffered to grow till one might see what fruit came from it.

Having laid it down as one of the conditions for a fair debate of this controversy, “That it should be without supposing all along your church in the right, and your religion the true;” I add these words: “Which can no more be allowed to you in this case, whatever your church or religion be, than it can be to a papist or a lutheran, a presbyterian or an anabaptist; nay, no more to you, than it can be allowed to a jew or mahometan.” To which you reply, “No, Sir? Not whatever your church or religion be? That seems somewhat hard. And you think I might have given you some reason for what I say: for certainly it is not so self-evident as to need no proof. But you think it is no hard matter to guess at my reason, though I did not think fit expressly to own it. For it is obvious enough, there can be no other reason for this assertion of mine, but either the equal truth, or at least the equal certainty (or uncertainty) of all religions. For whoever considers my assertion, must see, that to make it good I shall be obliged to maintain one of these two things: either, 1. That no religion is the true religion, in opposition to other religions: which makes all religions true or false, and so either way indifferent. Or, 2. That though some one religion be the true religion, yet no man can have any more reason than another man of another religion may have, to believe his to be the true religion. Which makes all religions equally certain, (or uncertain, whether I please,) and so renders it vain and idle to inquire after the true religion, and only a piece of good luck if any man be of it; and such good luck as he can never know that he has, till he come into the other world. Whether of these two principles I will own, you know not. But certainly one or other of them lies at the bottom with me, and is the lurking supposition upon which I build all that I say.”

Certainly no, Sir, neither of these reasons you have so ingenuously and friendly found out for me, lies at the bottom; but this, that whatever privilege or power you claim, upon your supposing yours to be the true religion, is equally due to another, who supposes his to be the true religion, upon the same claim: and therefore that is no more to be allowed to you than to him. For whose is really the true religion, yours or his, being the matter in contest betwixt you, your supposing can no more determine it on your side, than his supposing on his; unless you can think you have a right to judge in your own cause. You believe yours to be the true religion, so does he believe his; you say you are certain of it, so says he, he is: you think you have “arguments proper and sufficient” to convince him, if he would consider them; the same thinks he of his. If this claim, which is equally on both sides, be allowed to either, without any proof; it is plain he, in whose favour it is allowed, is allowed to be judge in his own cause, which nobody can have a right to be, who is not at least infallible. If you come to arguments and proofs, which you must do, before it can be determined whose is the true religion, it is plain your supposition is not allowed.

In our present case, in using punishments in religion, your supposing yours to be the true religion, gives you or your magistrate no more advantage over a papist, presbyterian, or mahometan, or more reason to punish either of them for his religion, than the same supposition in a papist, presbyterian, or mahometan, gives any of them, or a magistrate of their religion, advantage over you, or reason to punish you for your religion: and therefore this supposition, to any purpose or privilege of using force, is no more to be allowed to you, than to any one of any other religion. This the words, in this case, which I there used, would have satisfied any other to have been my meaning: but whether your charity made you not to take notice of them, or the joy of such an advantage as this, not to understand them, this is certain, you were resolved not to lose the opportunity, such a place as this afforded you, of showing your gift, in commenting and guessing shrewdly at a man’s reasons, when he does not think fit expressly to own them himself.

I must own you are a very lucky hand at it; and as you do it here upon the same ground, so it is just with the same success, as you in another place have exercised your logic on my saying something to the same purpose, as I do here. But, Sir, if you will add but one more to your plentiful stock of distinctions, and observe the difference there is between the ground of any one’s supposing his religion is true, and the privilege he may pretend to by supposing it true, you will never stumble at this again; but you will find, that though upon the former of these accounts, men of all religions cannot be equally allowed to suppose their religions true, yet, in reference to the latter, the supposition may and ought to be allowed, or denied equally to all men. And the reason of it is plain, viz. because the assurance wherewith one man supposes his religion to be true, being no more an argument of its truth to another, than vice versâ; neither of them can claim by the assurance, wherewith he supposes his religion the true, any prerogative or power over the other, which the other has not by the same title an equal claim to over him. If this will not serve to spare you the pains another time of any more such reasonings, as we have twice had on this subject, I think I shall be forced to send you to my mahometans or pagans: and I doubt whether I am not less civil to your parts than I should be, that I do not send you to them now.

You go on, and say, “But as unreasonable as this condition is, you see no need you have to decline it, nor any occasion I had to impose it upon you. For certainly the making what I call your new method consistent and practicable, does no way oblige you to suppose all along your religion the true, as I imagine.” And as I imagine it does: for without that supposition, I would fain have you show me, how it is in any one country practicable to punish men to bring them to the true religion. For if you will argue for force, as necessary to bring men to the true religion, without supposing yours to be it; you will find yourself under some such difficulty as this, that then it must be first determined (and you will require it should be) which is the true religion, before any one can have a right to use force to bring men to it; which, if every one did not determine for himself, by supposing his own the true; nobody, I think, will desire toleration any longer than till that be settled.

You go on: “No, Sir, it is enough for that purpose that there is one true religion, and but one.” Suppose not the national religion established by law in England to be that, and then even upon your principles of its being useful, and that the magistrate has a commission to use force for the promoting the true religion, prove, if you please, that the magistrate has a power to use force to bring men to the national religion in England. For then you must prove the national religion, as established by law in England, to be that one true religion, and so the true religion; that he rejects the true religion who dissents from any part of it; and, so rejecting the true religion, cannot be saved. But of this more in another place.

Your other two suppositions, which you join to the foregoing, are, “That that religion may be known by those who profess it, to be the only true religion; and may also be manifested to be such by them to others, so far at least, as to oblige them to receive it, and to leave them without excuse, if they do not.”

These, you say, are suppositions, “enough for the making your method consistent and practicable.” They are, I guess, more than enough, for you, upon them, to prove any national religion in the world the only true religion. And till you have proved (for you profess here to have quitted the supposition of any one’s being true, as necessary to your hypothesis) some national religion to be that only true religion, I would gladly know how it is any-where practicable to use force to bring men to the true religion.

You suppose “there is one true religion, and but one.” In this we are both agreed: and from hence, I think, it will follow, since whoever is of this true religion shall be saved, and without being of it no man shall be saved, that upon your second and third suppositions it will be hard to show any national religion to be this only true religion. For who is it will say, he knows, or that it is knowable, that any national religion (wherein must be comprehended all that, by the penal laws, he is required to embrace) is that only true religion; which if men reject, they shall; and which, if they embrace, they shall not; miss salvation? Or can you undertake that any national religion in the world can be manifested to be such, i. e. in short, to contain all things necessary to salvation, and nothing but what is so? For that, and that alone, is the one only true religion, without which nobody can be saved; and which is enough for the salvation of every one who embraces it. And therefore whatever is less or more than this, is not the one only true religion; or that which there is a necessity for their salvation men should be forced to embrace.

I do not hereby deny, that there is any national religion which contains all that is necessary to salvation; for so doth the Romish religion, which is not for all that, so much as a true religion. Nor do I deny, that there are national religions that contain all things necessary to salvation, and nothing inconsistent with it, and so may be called true religions. But since they all of them join with what is necessary to salvation, a great deal that is not so, and make that as necessary to communion, as what is necessary to salvation, not suffering any one to be of their communion, without taking all together; nor to live amongst them free from punishment, out of their communion; will you affirm, that any of the national religions of the world, which are imposed by penal laws, and to which men are driven with force; can be said to be that one only true religion, which if men embrace, they shall be saved; and which, if they embrace not, they shall be damned? And therefore your two suppositions, true or false, are not enough to make it practicable, upon your principles of necessity, to use force upon dissenters from the national religion, though it contain in it nothing but truth; unless that which is required to communion be all necessary to salvation. For whatever is not necessary to salvation, there is no necessity any one should embrace. So that whenever you speak of the true religion, to make it to your purpose, you must speak only of what is necessary to salvation; unless you will say, that in order to the salvation of men’s souls, it is necessary to use force to bring them to embrace something, that is not necessary to their salvation. I think that neither you, or any body-else, will affirm, that it is necessary to use force to bring men to receive all the truths of the christian religion, though they are truths God has thought fit to reveal. For then, by your own rule, you who profess the christian religion, must know them all, and must be able to manifest them to others; for it is on that here you ground the necessity and reasonableness of penalties used to bring men to embrace the truth. But I suspect it is the good word religion (as in other places other words) has misled you, whilst you content yourself with good sounds, and some confused notions, that usually accompany them, without annexing to them any precise determined signification. To convince you that it is not without ground I say this, I shall desire you but to set down what you mean here by true religion; that we may know what in your sense is, and what is not contained in it. Would you but do this fairly, and define your words, or use them in one constant settled sense, I think the controversy between you and me would be at an end, without any further trouble.

Having showed of what advantage they are like to be to you for the making your method practicable; in the next place let us consider your suppositions themselves. As to the first, “there is one true religion, and but one,” we are agreed. But what you say in the next place, that “that one true religion may be known by those who profess it,” will need a little examination. As, first, it will be necessary to inquire, what you mean by known; whether you mean by it knowledge properly so called, as contra-distinguished to belief; or only the assurance of a firm belief? If the latter, I leave you your supposition to make your use of it; only with this desire, that to avoid mistakes, when you do make any use of it, you would call it believing. If you mean that the true religion may be known with the certainty of knowledge properly so called; I ask you farther, whether that true religion be to be known by the light of nature, or needed a divine revelation to discover it? If you say, as I suppose you will, the latter; then I ask whether the making out of that to be a divine revelation, depends not upon particular matters of fact, whereof you were no eyewitness; but were done many ages before you were born? and if so, by what principles of science they can be known to any man now living?

The articles of my religion, and of a great many such other short-sighted people as I am, are articles of faith, which we think there are so good grounds to believe, that we are persuaded to venture our eternal happiness on that belief: and hope to be of that number of whom our Saviour said, “Blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed.” But we neither think that God requires, nor has given us faculties capable of knowing in this world several of those truths, which are to be believed to salvation. If you have a religion, all whose general truths are either self-evident, or capable of demonstration, (for matters of fact are not capable of being any way known but to the by-standers,) you will do well to let it be known, for the ending of controversies, and banishing of errour, concerning any of those points, out of the world. For whatever may be known, besides matter of fact, is capable of demonstration; and when you have demonstrated to any one any point in religion, you shall have my consent to punish him if he do not assent to it. But yet let me tell you, there are many truths even in mathematics, the evidence whereof one man seeing, is able to demonstrate to himself, and so may know them: which evidence yet he not being able to make another see, (which is to demonstrate to him,) he cannot make known to him, though his scholar be willing, and with all his power applies himself to learn it.

But granting your supposition, “that the one true religion may be known by those who profess it to be the only true religion;” will it follow from hence, that because it is knowable to be the true religion, therefore the magistrate who professes it actually knows it to be so? Without which knowledge, upon your principles, he cannot use force to bring men to it. But if you are but at hand to assure him which is the true religion, for which he ought to use force, he is bound to believe you; and that will do as well as if he examined and knew himself, or perhaps better. For you seem not well satisfied with what the magistrates have lately done, without your leave, concerning religion in England. And I confess the easiest way to remove all difficulties in the case, is for you to be the magistrate’s infallible guide in matters of religion. And therefore you do well here also to keep to your safe style, lest if your sense were clear and determined, it might be more exposed to exceptions; and therefore you tell us the true religion may be known by those who profess it. For not saying by some of those, or by all those, the errour of what you say is not so easily observed, and requires the more trouble to come at: which I shall spare myself here, being satisfied that the magistrate, who has so full an employment of his thoughts in the cares of his government, has not an overplus of leisure to attain that knowledge which you require, and so usually contents himself with believing.

Your next supposition is, that “the one true religion may also be manifested to be such, by them, to others; so far, at least, as to oblige them to receive it, and leave them without excuse if they do not.” That it can be manifested to some, so as to oblige, i. e. cause them to receive it, is evident, because it is received. But because this seems to be spoken more in reference to those who do not receive it, as appears by these following words of yours: “then it is altogether as plain, that it may be very reasonable and necessary for some men to change their religion; and that it may be made appear to them to be so. And then, if such men will not consider what is offered to convince them of the reasonableness and necessity of doing it; it may be very fit and reasonable,” you tell me, “for any thing I have said to the contrary, in order to the bringing them to the consideration, to require them, under convenient penalties, to forsake their false religions, and embrace the true.” You suppose the true religion may be so manifested by a man that is of it, to all men so far as to leave them, if they do not embrace it, without excuse. Without excuse, to whom I beseech you? To God indeed, but not to the magistrate; who can never know whether it has been so manifested to any man, that it has been through his fault that he has not been convinced; and not through the fault of him to whom the magistrate committed the care of convincing him: and it is a sufficient excuse to the magistrate, for any one to say to him, I have not neglected to consider the arguments that have been offered me, by those whom you have employed to manifest it to me; but that yours is the only true religion I am not convinced. Which is so direct and sufficient an excuse to the magistrate, that had he an express commission from heaven to punish all those who did not consider; he could not yet justly punish any one whom he could not convince had not considered. But you endeavour to avoid this, by what you infer from this supposition, viz. “That then it may be very fit and reasonable, for any thing I have said to the contrary, to require men under convenient penalties to forsake their false religions, to embrace the true, in order to the bringing them to consideration.” Whether I have said any thing to the contrary, or no, the readers must judge, and I need not repeat. But now, I say, it is neither just nor reasonable to require men under penalties, to attain one end, in order to bring them to use the means not necessary to that, but to another end. For where is it you can say (unless you will return to your old supposition, of yours being the true religion; which you say is not necessary to your method) that men are by the law “required to forsake their false religions, and embrace the true?” The utmost is this, in all countries where the national religion is imposed by law, men are required under the penalties of those laws outwardly to conform to it; which you say is in order to make them consider. So that your punishments are for the attaining one end, viz. Conformity, in order to make men use consideration, which is a means not necessary to that, but another end, viz. finding out and embracing the one true religion. For however consideration may be a necessary means to find and embrace the one true religion, it is not at all a necessary means to outward conformity in the communion of any religion.

To manifest the consistency and practicableness of your method to the question, what advantage would it be to the true religion, if magistrates did every-where so punish? You answer, That “by the magistrates punishing, if I speak to the purpose, I must mean their punishing men for rejecting the true religion, (so tendered to them, as has been said,) in order to the bringing them to consider and embrace it. Now before we can suppose magistrates every-where so to punish, we must suppose the true religion to be every-where the national religion. And if this were the case, you think it is evident enough, what advantage to the true religion it would be, if magistrates every-where did so punish. For then we might reasonably hope that all false religions would soon vanish, and the true become once more the only religion in the world; whereas if magistrates should not so punish, it were much to be feared (especially considering what has already happened) that on the contrary false religions and atheism, as more agreeable to the soil, would daily take deeper root, and propagate themselves, till there were no room left for the true religion (which is but a foreign plant) in any corner of the world.”

If you can make it practicable that the magistrate should punish men for rejecting the true religion, without judging which is the true religion; or if true religion could appear in person, take the magistrate’s seat, and there judge all that rejected her, something might be done. But the mischief of it is, it is a man that must condemn, men must punish; and men cannot do this but by judging who is guilty of the crime which they punish. An oracle, or an interpreter of the law of nature, who speaks as clearly, tells the magistrate he may and ought to punish those, “who reject the true religion, tendered with sufficient evidence:” the magistrate is satisfied of his authority, and believes this commission to be good. Now I would know how possibly he can execute it, without making himself the judge first what is the true religion; unless the law of nature at the same time delivered into his hands the XXXIX articles of the one only true religion; and another book wherein all the ceremonies and outward worship of it are contained. But it being certain, that the law of nature has not done this; and as certain, that the articles, ceremonies, and discipline of this one only true religion, have been often varied in several ages and countries, since the magistrate’s commission by the law of nature was first given: there is no remedy left, but that the magistrate must judge what is the true religion, if he must punish them who reject it. Suppose the magistrate be commissioned to punish those who depart from right reason; the magistrate can yet never punish any one, unless he be judge what is right reason; and then judging that murder, theft, adultery, narrow cart-wheels, or want of bows and arrows in a man’s house, are against right reason, he may make laws to punish men guilty of those, as rejecting right reason.

So if the magistrate in England or France, having a commission to punish those who reject the one only true religion, judges the religion of his national church to be it; it is possible for him to lay penalties on those who reject it, pursuant to that commission; otherwise, without judging that to be the one only true religion, it is wholly impracticable for him to punish those who embrace it not, as rejecters of the one only true religion.

To provide as good a salvo as the thing will bear, you say, in the following words, “Before we can suppose magistrates every-where so to punish, we must suppose the true religion to be every-where the national.” That is true of actual punishment, but not of laying on penalties by law; for that would be to suppose the national religion makes or chooses the magistrate, and not the magistrate the national religion. But we see the contrary; for let the national religion be what it will before, the magistrate doth not always fall into it and embrace that; but if he thinks not that, but some other the true, the first opportunity he has, he changes the national religion into that which he judges the true, and then punishes the dissenters from it; where his judgment, which is the true religion, always necessarily precedes, and is that which ultimately does, and must determine who are rejecters of the true religion, and so obnoxious to punishment. This being so, I would gladly see how your method can be any way practicable to the advantage of the true religion, whereof the magistrate every-where must be judge, or else he can punish nobody at all.

You tell me that whereas I say, that to justify punishment it is requisite that it be directly useful for the procuring some greater good than that which it takes away; you “wish I had told you why it must needs be directly useful for that purpose.” However exact you may be in demanding reasons of what is said, I thought here you had no cause to complain; but you let slip out of your memory the foregoing words of this passage, which together stands thus, “Punishment is some evil, some inconvenience, some suffering, by taking away or abridging some good thing, which he who is punished has otherwise a right to. Now to justify the bringing any such evil upon any man, two things are requisite; 1. That he that does it has a commission so to do. 2. That it be directly useful for the promoting some greater good.” It is evident by these words, that punishment brings direct evil upon a man, and therefore it should not be used but where it is directly useful for the promoting some greater good. In this case, the signification of the word directly, carries a manifest reason in it, to any one who understands what directly means. If the taking away any good from a man cannot be justified, but by making it a means to procure a greater; is it not plain it must be so a means as to have, in the operation of causes and effects, a natural tendency to that effect? and then it is called directly useful to such an end: and this may give you a reason, “why punishment must be directly useful for that purpose.” I know you are very tender of your indirect and at a distance usefulness of force, which I have in another place showed to be, in your way, only useful by accident; nor will the question you here subjoin excuse it from being so, viz. “Why penalties are not as directly useful for the bringing men to the true religion, as the rod of correction is to drive foolishness from a child, or to work wisdom in him?” Because the rod works on the will of the child, to obey the reason of the father, whilst under his tuition; and thereby makes it supple to the dictates of his own reason afterwards, and disposes him to obey the light of that when being grown to be a man, that is to be his guide, and this is wisdom. If your penalties are so used, I have nothing to say to them.

Your way is charged to be impracticable to those ends you propose which you endeavour to clear, . That there may be fair play on both sides, the reader shall have in the same view what we both say:

L. II. P. 125.

“It remains now to examine, whether the author’s argument will not hold good, even against punishments in your way. For if the magistrate’s authority be, as you here say, only to procure all his subjects (mark what you say, all his subjects) the means of discovering the way of salvation and to procure withal, as much as in him lies, that none remain ignorant of it, or refuse to embrace it, either for want of using those means or by reason of any such prejudices as may render them ineffectual. If this be the magistrate’s business, in reference to all his subjects; I desire you, or any man else, to tell me how this can be done, by the application of force only to a part of them; unless you will still vainly suppose ignorance, negligence, or prejudice, only amongst that part which anywhere differs from the magistrate. If those of the magistrate’s church may be ignorant of the way of salvation; if it be possible there may be amongst them those who refuse to embrace it, either for want of using those means, or by reason of any such prejudices as may render them ineffectual; what in this case becomes of the magistrate’s authority to procure all his subjects the means of discovering the way of salvation? Must these of his subjects be neglected, and left without the means he has authority to procure them? Or must he use force upon them too? And then, pray show me how this can be done. Shall the magistrate punish those of his own religion to procure them the means of discovering the way of salvation, and to procure, as much as in him lies, that they remain not ignorant of it, or refuse not to embrace it? These are such contradictions in practice, this is such condemnation of a man’s own religion, as no one can expect from the magistrate; and I dare say you desire not of him. And yet this is that he must do, if his authority be to procure all his subjects the means of discovering the way to salvation. And if it be so needful, as you say it is, that he should use it; I am sure force cannot do that till it be applied wider, and punishment be laid upon more than you would have it. For if the magistrate be by force to procure, as much as in him lies, that none remain ignorant of the way of salvation, must he not punish all those who are ignorant of the way of salvation? And pray tell me how is this any way practicable, but by supposing none in the national church ignorant, and all out of it ignorant, of the way of salvation? Which what is it, but to punish men barely for not being of the magistrate’s religion; the very thing you deny he has authority to do? So that the magistrate having by your own confession, no authority thus to use force; and it being otherways impracticable for the procuring all his subjects the means of discovering the way of salvation; there is an end of force. And so force being laid aside, either as unlawful, or impracticable, the author’s argument holds good against force, even in your way of applying it.”

L. III. P. 63.

But how little to the purpose this request of yours is, will quickly appear. For if the magistrate provides sufficiently for the instruction of all his subjects in the true religion; and then requires them all, under convenient penalties, to hearken to the teachers and ministers of it, and to profess and exercise it with one accord, under their direction, in public assemblies: is there any pretence to say, that in so doing he applies force only to a part of his subjects; when the law is general, and excepts none? It is true, the magistrate inflicts the penalties in that case only upon them that break the law. But is that the thing you mean by his “applying force only to a part of his subjects?” Would you have him punish all indifferently? them that obey the law, as well as them that do not?

As to ignorance, negligence, and prejudice, I desire you, or any man else, to tell me what better course can be taken to cure them, than that which I have mentioned. For if after all that God’s ministers and the magistrate can do, some will still remain ignorant, negligent, or prejudiced; I do not take that to be any disparagement to it: for certainly that is a very extraordinary remedy, which infallibly cures all diseased persons to whom it is applied.

The backwardness and lusts that hinder an impartial examination, as you describe it, is general. The corruption of nature which hinders a real embracing the true religion, that also you tell us here, is universal, I ask a remedy for these in your way. You say the law for conformity is general, excepts none. Very likely, none that do not conform; but punishes none who, conforming, do neither impartially examine, nor really embrace the true religion. From whence I conclude there is no corruption of nature in those who are brought up or join in outward communion with the church of England. But as to ignorance, negligence, and prejudice, you say “you desire me, or any man else, to tell what better course can be taken to cure them, than that which you have mentioned.” If your church can find no better way to cure ignorance and prejudice, and the negligence that is in men to examine matters of religion, and heartily embrace the true, than what is impracticable upon conformists; then, of all others, conformists are in the most deplorable state. But, as I remember, you have been told of a better way, which is, the discoursing with men seriously and friendly about matters in religion, by those whose profession is the care of souls; examining what they do understand, and where, either through laziness, prejudice, or difficulty, they do stick; and applying to their several diseases proper cures; which it is as impossible to do by a general harangue, once or twice a week out of the pulpit, as to fit all men’s feet with one shoe, or cure all men’s ails with one, though very wholesome, diet-drink. To be thus “instant in season, and out of season,” some men have thought a better way of cure than a desire only to have men driven by the whip, either in your, or the magistrate’s hand, into the sheepfold: where when they are once, whether they understand, or no, their minister’s sermons; whether they are, or can be better for them or no; whether they are ignorant and hypocritical conformists, and in that way like to remain so, rather than to become knowing and sincere converts: some bishops have thought it not sufficiently inquired: but this nobody is to mention, for whoever does so, “makes himself an occasion to show his goodwill to the clergy.”

This had not been said by me here, now I see how apt you are to be put out of temper with any thing of this kind, though it be in every serious man’s mouth; had not you desired me to show you a better way than force, your way applied. And to use your way of arguing, since bare preaching, as now used, it is plain, will not do, there is no other means left but this to deal with the corrupt nature of conformists; for miracles are now ceased, and penalties they are free from; therefore, by your way of concluding, no other being left, this of visiting at home, conferring and instructing, and admonishing men there, and the like means, proposed by the reverend author of the Pastoral Care, is necessary; and men, whose business is the care of souls, are obliged to use it: for you “cannot prove, that it cannot do some service,” I think I need not say, “indirectly and at a distance.” And if this be proper and sufficient to bring conformists, notwithstanding the corruption of their nature, “to examine impartially, and really embrace the truth that must save them;” it will remain to show, why it may not do as well on nonconformists, whose, I imagine, is the common corruption of nature, to bring them to examine and embrace the truth that must save them? And though it be not so extraordinary a remedy as will infallibly cure all diseased persons to whom it is applied: yet since the corruption of nature, which is the same disease, and hinders the “impartial examination, and hearty embracing the truth that must save them,” is equally in both, conformists and nonconformists; it is reasonable to think it should in both have the same cure, let that be what it will.

CHAPTER X. OF THE NECESSITY OF FORCE, IN MATTERS OF RELIGION.

You tell us “you do not ground the lawfulness of such force, as you take to be useful for the promoting the true religion, upon the bare usefulness of such force, but upon the necessity as well as usefulness of it; and therefore you declare it to be no fit means to be used, either for that purpose or any other, where it is not necessary as well as useful.”

How useful force in the magistrate’s hand for bringing men to the true religion, is like to be, we have shown in the foregoing chapter, in answer to what you have said for it. So that it being proved not useful, it is impossible it should be necessary. However we will examine what you say to prove the necessity of it. The foundation you build on for its necessity we have in your Argument considered, ; where having at large dilated on men’s inconsiderateness in the choice of their religions, and their persisting in those they have once chosen, without due examination, you conclude thus: “Now if this be the case, if men are so averse to a due consideration, if they usually take up their religion, without examining it as they ought, what other means is there left?” Wherein you suppose force necessary, instead of proving it to be so; for preaching and persuasion not prevailing upon all men, you upon your own authority think fit something else should be done; and that being resolved, you readily pitch on force, because you say you can find nothing else; which in effect is only to tell us, if the salvation of men’s souls were only left to your discretion, how you would order the matter.

And in your answer to me, you very confidently tell us, “the true religion cannot prevail without the assistance either of miracles or of authority.” I shall here only observe one or two things, and then go on to examine how you make this good.

The first thing I shall observe is, that in your “argument considered,” &c. you suppose force necessary only to master the aversion there is in men to considering and examination: and here in your answer to me, you make force necessary to conquer the aversion there is in men to embrace and obey the true religion. Which are so very different, that the former justifies the use of force only to make men consider; the other justifies the use of force to make men embrace religion. If you meant the same thing when you writ your first treatise, it was not very ingenuous to express yourself in such words as were not proper to give your reader your true meaning: it being a far different thing to use force to make men consider; which is an action in their power to do or omit; and to use force to make them embrace, i. e. believe any religion; which is not a thing in any one’s power to do or forbear as he pleases. If you say you meant barely considering in your first paper, as the whole current of it would make one believe; then I see your hypothesis may mend, as we have seen in other parts, and, in time, may grow to its full stature.

Another thing I shall remark to you, is, that in your first paper, besides preaching and persuasion, and the grace of God, nothing but force was necessary. Here in your second, it is either miracles or authority, which how you make good, we will now consider.

You having said, you had “no reason from any experiment to expect that the true religion should be any way the gainer by toleration,” I instanced in the prevailing of the gospel, by its own beauty, force, and reasonableness in the first ages of christianity. You reply, that it has not the same beauty, force, and reasonableness now, that it had then, unless “I conclude miracles too, which are now ceased; and, as you tell us, were not withdrawn, till by their help christianity had prevailed to be received for the religion of the empire, and to be encouraged and supported by the laws of it.”

If therefore we will believe you upon your own word, force being necessary, (for prove it necessary you never can,) you have entered into the counsel of God, and tell us, when force could not be had, miracles were employed to supply its want: “I cannot but think, say you, it is highly probable (if we may be allowed to guess at the counsels of infinite wisdom) that God was pleased to continue them till then,” i. e. till the laws of the empire supported christianity, “not so much for any necessity there was of them all that time, for the evincing the truth of the christian religion; as to supply the want of the magistrate’s assistance.” You allow yourself to guess very freely, when you will make God use miracles to supply a means he no-where authorized or appointed. How long miracles continued we shall see anon.

Say you, “If we may be allowed to guess:” this modesty of yours where you confess you guess, is only concerning the time of the continuing of miracles; but as to their supplying the want of coactive force, that you are positive in, both here and where you tell us, “Why penalties were not necessary at first, to make men to give ear to the gospel, has already been shown;” and a little after, “the great and wonderful things which were to be done for the evidencing the truth of the gospel, were abundantly sufficient to procure attention,” &c. How you come to know so undoubtedly that miracles were made use of to supply the magistrate’s authority, since God no-where tells you so, you would have done well to show.

But in your opinion force was necessary, and that could not then be had, and so God must use miracles. For, say you, “Our Saviour was no magistrate, and therefore could not inflict political punishments upon any man; so much less could he impower his apostles to do it.” Could not our Saviour impower his apostles to denounce or inflict punishments on careless or obstinate unbelievers, to make them hear and consider? You pronounce very boldly methinks of Christ’s power, and set very narrow limits to what at another time you would not deny to be infinite: but it was convenient here for your present purpose, that it should be so limited. But, they not being magistrates, “he could not impower his apostles to inflict political punishments.” How is it of a sudden, that they must be political punishments? You tell us all that is necessary, is to “lay briars and thorns in men’s ways, to trouble and disease them to make them consider.” This I hope our Saviour had power to do, if he had found it necessary, without the assistance of the magistrate; he could have always done by his apostles and ministers, if he had so thought fit, what he did once by St. Peter, have dropped briars and thorns into their very minds, that should have pricked, troubled, and diseased them sufficiently. But sometimes it is briars and thorns only, that you want; sometimes it must be human means; and sometimes, as here, nothing will serve your turn but political punishments; just as will best suit your occasion, in the argument you have then before you.

That the apostles could lay on punishments, as troublesome and as great as any political ones when they were necessary, we see in Ananias and Sapphira: and he that had “all power given him in heaven and in earth,” could, if he had thought fit, have laid briars and thorns in the way of all that received not his doctrine.

You add, “But as he could not punish men to make them hear him, so neither was there any need that he should. He came as a prophet sent from God to reveal a new doctrine to the world: and therefore to prove his mission, he was to do such things as could only be done by a divine power: and the works which he did were abundantly sufficient both to gain him a hearing, and to oblige the world to receive his doctrine.” Thus the want of force and punishments is supplied. How far? so far as they are supposed necessary to gain a hearing, and so far as to oblige the world to receive Christ’s doctrine; whereby, as I suppose, you mean sufficient to lay an obligation on them to receive his doctrine, and render them inexcusable if they did not: but that they were not sufficient to make all that saw them effectually to receive and embrace the gospel, I think is evident; and you will not I imagine say, that all who saw Christ’s miracles believed on him. So that miracles were not to supply the want of such force, as was to be continued on men to make them consider as they ought, i. e. till they embraced the truth that must save them. For we have little reason to think that our Saviour, or his apostles, contended with their neglect or refusal by a constant train of miracles, continued on to those who were not wrought upon by the gospel preached to them. St. Matthew tells us, chap. xiii. 58, that he did not many mighty works in his own country, because of their unbelief; much less were miracles to supply the want of force in that use you make of it, where you tell us it is to punish the fault of not being of the true religion: for we do not find any miraculously punished to bring them in to the gospel. So that the want of force to either of these purposes not being supplied by miracles, the gospel it is plain subsisted and spread itself without force so made use of, and without miracles to supply the want of it; and therefore it so far remains true, that the gospel having the same beauty, force, and reasonableness now as it had at the beginning, it wants not force to supply the defect of miracles, to that for which miracles were no-where made use of. And so far, at least, the experiment is good, and this assertion true, that the gospel is able to prevail by its own light and truth, without the continuance of force on the same person, or punishing men for not being of the true religion.

You say, “Our Saviour, being no magistrate, could not inflict political punishments; much less could he impower his apostles to do it.” I know not what need there is, that it should be political; so there were so much punishment used, as you say is sufficient to make men consider, it is not necessary it should come from this or that hand: or if there be any odds in that, we should be apt to think it would come best, and most effectually, from those who preached the gospel, and could tell them it was to make them consider; than from the magistrate, who neither doth, nor according to your scheme can, tell them it is to make them consider. And this power, you will not deny, but our Saviour could have given to the apostles.

But if there were such absolute need of political punishments, Titus or Trajan might as well have been converted as Constantine. For how true it is, that miracles supplied the want of force from those days till Constantine’s, and then ceased, we shall see by and by. I say not this to enter boldly into the counsels of God, or to take upon me to censure the conduct of the Almighty, or to call his providence to an account; but to answer your saying, “Our Saviour was no magistrate, and therefore could not inflict political punishments.” For he could have had both magistrates and political punishments at his service, if he had thought fit; and needed not to have continued miracles longer “than there was necessity for evincing the truth of the christian religion, as you imagine, to supply the want of the magistrate’s assistance, by force, which is necessary.”

But how come you to know that force is necessary? Has God revealed it in his word? no-where. Has it been revealed to you in particular? that you will not say. What reason have you for it? none at all but this, That having set down the grounds, upon which men take up and persist in their religion, you conclude, “what means is there left but force?” Force therefore you conclude necessary, because without any authority, but from your own imagination, you are peremptory, that other means, besides preaching and persuasion, is to be used, and therefore it is necessary, because you can think of no other.

When I tell you there is other means, and that by your own confession the grace of God is another means, and therefore force is not necessary; you reply, “Though the grace of God be another means, and you thought fit to mention it, to prevent cavils: yet it is none of the means of which you were speaking, in the place I refer to; which any one who reads that paragraph will find to be only human means: and therefore though the grace of God be both a proper and sufficient means, and such as can work by itself, and without which neither penalties nor any other means can do any thing; yet it may be true however, that when admonitions and intreaties fail, there is no human means left, but penalties, to bring prejudiced persons to hear and consider what may convince them of their errours, and discover the truth to them. And then penalties will be necessary in respect to that end as a human means.”

In which words, if you mean an answer to my argument, it is this, that force is necessary, because to bring men into the right way there is other human means necessary, besides admonitions and persuasions. For else what have we to do with human in the case? But it is no small advantage one owes to logic, that where sense and reason fall short, a distinction ready at hand may eke it out. Force, when persuasions will not prevail, is necessary, say you, because it is the only means left. When you are told it is not the only means left, and so cannot be necessary on that account: you reply, that “when admonitions and intreaties fail, there is no human means left, but penalties, to bring prejudiced persons to hear and consider what may convince them of their errors, and discover the truth to them: and then penalties will be necessary in respect to that end, as a human means.”

Suppose it be urged to you, when your moderate lower penalties fail, there is no human means left but dragooning and such other severities; which you say you condemn as much as I, “to bring prejudiced persons to hear and consider what may convince them of their errours, and discover the truth to them.” And then dragooning, imprisonment, scourging, fining, &c. will be necessary in respect to that end, as a human means. What can you say but this? that you are impowered to judge what degrees of human means are necessary, but others are not. For without such a confidence in your own judgment, where God has said how much, nor that any force is necessary; I think this is as good an argument for the highest, as yours is for the lower penalties. When “admonitions and intreaties will not prevail, then penalties, lower penalties, some degrees of force will be necessary, say you, as a human means.” And when your lower penalties, your some degrees of force will not prevail, then higher degrees will be necessary, say I, as a human means. And my reason is the same with yours, because there is no other means, i. e. human means, left. Show me how your argument concludes for lower punishments being necessary, and mine not for higher, even to dragooning, “& eris mihi magnus Apollo.”

But let us apply this to your succedaneum of miracles, and then it will be much more admirable. You tell us, admonitions and intreaties not prevailing to bring men into the right way, “force is necessary, because there is no other means left.” To that it is said, yes, there is other means left, the grace of God. Ay, but, say you, that will not do; because you speak only of human means. So that according to your way of arguing, some other human means is necessary: for you yourself tell us, that the means you were speaking of where you say, “that when admonitions and intreaties will not do, what other means is there left but force? were human means.” Your words are, “which any one, who reads that paragraph, will find to be only human means.” By this argument then other human means are necessary besides preaching and persuasion, and those human means you have found out to be either force or miracles: the latter are certainly notable human means. And your distinction of human means serves you to very good purpose, having brought miracles to be one of your human means. Preaching and admonitions, say you, are not sufficient to bring men into the right way, something else is necessary; yes, the grace of God; no, say you, that will not do, it is not human means: it is necessary to have other human means; therefore, in the three or four first centuries after christianity, the insufficiency of preaching and admonitions was made up with miracles, and thus the necessity of other human means is made good. But to consider a little farther your miracles as supplying the want of force.

The question between us here is, whether the christian religion did not prevail in the first ages of the church, by its own beauty, force, and reasonableness, without the assistance of force? I say it did, and therefore external force is not necessary. To this you reply, “That it cannot prevail by its own light and strength, without the assistance either of miracles, or of authority; and therefore the christian religion not being still accompanied with miracles, force is now necessary.” So that to make your equivalent of miracles correspond with your necessary means of force, you seem to require an actual application of miracles, or of force, to prevail with men to receive the gospel; i. e. men could not be prevailed with to receive the gospel without actually seeing of miracles. For when you tell us, that “you are sure I cannot say the christian religion is still accompanied with miracles, as it was at its first planting;” I hope you do not mean that the gospel is not still accompanied with an undoubted testimony that miracles were done by the first publishers of it; which was as much of miracles, as I suppose the greatest part of those had, with whom the christian religion prevailed, till it was “supported and encouraged, as you tell us, by the laws of the empire;” for I think you will not say, or if you should, you could not expect to be believed, that all, or the greatest part of those, that embraced the christian religion, before it was supported by the laws of the empire, which was not till the fourth century, had actually miracles done before them, to work upon them. And all those, who were not eye-witnesses of miracles done in their presence, it is plain had no other miracles than we have; that is, upon report; and it is probable not so many, nor so well attested as we have. The greatest part then, of those who were converted, at least in some of those ages, before christianity was supported by the laws of the empire, I think you must allow, were wrought upon by bare preaching, and such miracles as we still have, miracles at a distance, related miracles. In others, and those the greatest number, prejudice was not so removed, that they were prevailed on to consider, to consider as they ought, i. e. in your language, to consider so as to embrace. If they had not so considered in our day’s what, according to your scheme, must have been done to them, that did not consider as they ought? Force must have been applied to them. What therefore in the primitive church was to be done to them? Why! your succedaneum miracles, actual miracles, such as you deny the christian religion to be still accompanied with, must have been done in their presence, to work upon them. Will you say this was so, and make a new church-history for us, and outdo those writers who have been thought pretty liberal of miracles? If you do not, you must confess miracles supplied not the place of force; and so let fall all your fine contrivance about the necessity either of force or miracles; and perhaps you will think it at last a more becoming modesty, not to set the divine power and providence on work by rules, and for the ends of your hypothesis, without having any thing in authentic history, much less in divine and unerring revelation to justify you. But force and power deserve something more than ordinary and allowable arts or arguments, to get and keep them: “si violandum sit jus, regnandi causa violandum est.”

If the testimony of miracles having been done were sufficient to make the gospel prevail, without force, on those who were not high eye-witnesses of them; we have that still, and so upon that account need not force to supply the want of it; but if truth must have either the law of the country, or actual miracles to support it; what became of it after the reign of Constantine the great, under all those emperors that were erroneous or heretical? It supported itself in Piedmont, and France, and Turkey, many ages without force or miracles: and is spread itself in divers nations and kingdoms of the north and east, without any force, or other miracles than those that were done many ages before. So that I think you will, upon second thoughts, not deny, but that the true religion is able to prevail now, as it did at first, and has done since in many places, without assistance from the powers in being; by its own beauty, force, and reasonableness, whereof well-attested miracles are a part.

But the account you give us of miracles will deserve to be a little examined. We have it in these words, Considering that those extraordinary means were not withdrawn, till by their help christianity had prevailed to be received for the religion of the empire, and to be supported and encouraged by the laws of it; you cannot, you say, but think it highly probable (if we may be allowed to guess at the counsels of infinite wisdom) that God was pleased to continue them till then; not so much for any necessity there was of them all that while, for the evincing the truth of the christian religion; as to supply the want of the magistrate’s assistance.” Miracles then, if what you say be true, were continued till “christianity was received for the religion of the empire, not so much to evince the truth of the christian religion, as to supply the want of the magistrate’s assistance.” But in this the learned author, whose testimony you quote, fails you. For he tells you that the chief use of miracles in the church, after the truth of the christian religion had been sufficiently confirmed by them in the world, was to oppose the false and pretended miracles of heretics and heathens; and answerable hereunto miracles ceased and returned again, as such oppositions made them more or less necessary. Accordingly miracles, which before had abated, in Trajan’s and Hadrian’s time, which was in the latter end of the first, or beginning of the second century, did again revive to confound the magical delusions of the heretics of that time. And in the third century the heretics using no such tricks, and the faith being confirmed, they by degrees ceased, of which there then, he says, could be no imaginable necessity. His words are, “Et quidem eo minus necessaria sunt pro veterum principiis recentiora illa miracula, quod hæreticos, quos appellant, nullos adversarios habeant, qui contraria illis dogmata astruant miraculis. Sic enim vidimus, apud veteres, dum nulli ecclesiam exercerent adversarii, seu hæretici, seu Gentiles; aut satis illi præteritis miraculis fuissent refutati; aut nullas ipsi præstigias opponerent quæ veris essent miraculis oppugnandæ; subductam deinde paulatim esse mirificam illam spiritus virtutem. Ortos sub Trajano Hadrianoque hæreticos ostendimus præstigiis magicis fuisse usos, & proinde miraculorum verorum in ecclesia usum una revixisse. Ne dicam præstigiatores etiam Gentiles eodem illo seculo sane frequentissimos, Apuleium in Africa, in Asia Alexandrum Pseudomantim, multosque alios quorum meminit Aristides. Tertio seculo orto, hæretici Hermogenes, Praxeas, Noetus, Theodotus, Sabellius, Novatianus, Artemas, Samosatenus, nulla, ut videtur, miracula ipsi venditabant, nullis propterea miraculis oppugnandi. Inde vidimus, apud ipsos etiam Catholicos, sensim defecisse miracula. Et quidem, hæreticis nulla in contrarium miracula ostentantibus, quæ tandem fingi potest miraculorum necessitas traditam ab initio fidem, miraculisque adeo jamdudum confirmatam prædicantibus? Nulla certe prorsus pro primævo miraculorum exemplo. Nulla denique consciis vere primævam esse fidem quam novis miraculis suscipiunt confirmandam.” Dodwell, Dissertat. in Iræn. Diss. II. Sect. 65.

The history therefore you have from him, of miracles, serves for his hypothesis, but not at all for yours. For if they were continued to supply the want of force, which was to deal with the corruption of depraved human nature; that being, without any great variation in the world, constantly the same, there could be no reason why they should abate and fail, and then return and revive again. So that there being then, as you suppose, no necessity of miracles for any other end, but to supply the want of the magistrate’s assistance; they must, to suit that end, be constant and regularly the same as you would have force to be, which is steadily and uninterruptedly to be applied, as a constantly necessary remedy to the corrupt nature of mankind.

If you allow the learned Dodwell’s reasons, for the continuation of miracles, till the fourth century, your hypothesis, that they were continued to supply the magistrate’s assistance, will be only precarious. For if there was need of miracles till that time to other purposes; the continuation of them in the church, though you could prove them to be as frequent and certain as those of our Saviour and the apostles; it would not advantage your cause: since it would be no evidence, that they were used for that end; which as long as there were other visible uses of them, you could not, without revelation, assure us were made use of by divine Providence “to supply the want of the magistrate’s assistance.” You must therefore confute his hypothesis, before you can make any advantage of what he says, concerning the continuation of miracles, for the establishing of yours. For till you can show, that that which he assigns was not the end, for which they were continued in the church; the utmost you can say, is, that it may be imagined, that one reason of their continuation was to supply the want of the magistrate’s assistance: but what you can without proof imagine possible, I hope you do not expect should be received as an unquestionable proof that it was so. I can imagine it possible they were not continued for that end, and one imagination will be as good a proof as another.

To do your modesty right therefore, I must allow, that you do faintly offer at some kind of reason, to prove that miracles were continued to supply the want of the magistrate’s assistance: and since God has no-where declared, that it was for that end, you would persuade us in this paragraph, that it was so, by two reasons. One is, that the truth of the christian religion being sufficiently evinced by the miracles done by our Saviour and his apostles, and perhaps their immediate successors; there was no other need of miracles to be continued till the fourth century; and therefore they were used by God to supply the want of the magistrate’s assistance. This I take to be the meaning of these words of yours, “I cannot but think it highly probable that God was pleased to continue them till then; not so much for any necessity there was of them all that while for the evincing the truth of the christian religion, as to supply the want of the magistrate’s assistance.” Whereby I suppose, you do not barely intend to tell the world what is your opinion in the case; but use this as an argument, to make it probable to others, that this was the end for which miracles were continued; which at the best will be but a very doubtful probability to build such a bold assertion on, as this of yours is, viz. That “the christian religion is not able to subsist and prevail in the world, by its own light and strength, without the assistance either of force, or actual miracles.” And therefore you must either produce a declaration from heaven that authorizes you to say, that miracles were used to supply the want of force; or show that there was no other use of them but this. For if any other use can be assigned of them, as long they continued in the church, one may safely deny, that they were to supply the want of force: and it will lie upon you to prove it by some other way than by saying you think it highly probable. For I suppose you do not expect that your thinking any thing highly probable, should be a sufficient reason for others to acquiesce in, when perhaps, the history of miracles considered, nobody could bring himself to say he thought it probable, but one whose hypothesis stood in need of such a poor support.

The other reason you seem to build on is this, that when christianity was received for the religion of the empire, miracles ceased; because there was then no longer any need of them: which I take to be the argument insinuated in these words, “Considering that those extraordinary means were not withdrawn till by their help christianity had prevailed to be received for the religion of the empire.” If then you can make it appear that miracles lasted till christianity was received for the religion of the empire, without any other reason for their continuation, but to supply the want of the magistrate’s assistance; and that they ceased as soon as the magistrates became christians; your argument will have some kind of probability, that within the Roman empire this was the method God used for the propagating the christian religion. But it will not serve to make good your position, “that the christian religion cannot subsist and prevail by its own strength and light, without the assistance of miracles or authority,” unless you can show, that God made use of miracles to introduce and support it in other parts of the world, not subject to the Roman empire, till the magistrates there also became christians. For the corruption of nature being the same without, as within the bounds of the Roman empire: miracles, upon your hypothesis, were as necessary to supply the want of the magistrate’s assistance in other countries as in the Roman empire. For I do not think you will find the civil sovereigns were the first converted in all those countries, where the christian religion was planted after Constantine’s reign: and in all those it will be necessary for you to show us the assistance of miracles.

But let us see how much your hypothesis is favoured by church-history. If the writings of the fathers of greatest name and credit are to be believed, miracles were not withdrawn when christianity had prevailed to be received for the religion of the empire. Athanasius, the great defender of the catholic orthodoxy, writ the life of his contemporary St. Anthony, full of miracles; which though some have questioned, yet the learned Dodwell allows to be writ by Athanasius: and the style evinces it to be his, which is also confirmed by other ecclesiastical writers.

“Palladius tells us, That Ammon did many miracles: but that particularly St. Athanasius related in the life of Anthony, that Ammon, going with some monks Anthony had sent to him, when they came to the river Lycus, which they were to pass, was afraid to strip for fear of seeing himself naked; and whilst he was in dispute of this matter, he was taken up, and in an ecstasy carried over by an angel, the rest of the monks swimming the river. When he came to Anthony, Anthony told him he had sent for him, because God had revealed many things to him concerning him, and particularly his translation. And when Ammon died, in his retirement, Anthony saw his soul carried into heaven by angels.” Palladius in vita Ammonis.

“Socrates tells us, That Anthony saw the soul of Ammon taken up by angels, as Athanasius writes in the life of Anthony.”

And again, says he, “It seems superfluous for me to relate the many miracles Anthony did; how he fought openly with devils, discovering all their tricks and cheats: for Athanasius bishop of Alexandria has prevented me on that subject, having writ a book particularly of his life.”

“Anthony was thought worthy of the vision of God, and led a life perfectly conformable to the laws of Christ. This, whoever reads the book, wherein is contained the history of his life, will easily know; wherein he will also see prophecy shining out: for he prophesied very clearly of those who were infected with the Arian contagion, and foretold what mischief from them was threatened to the churches; God truly revealing all these things to him, which is certainly the principal evidence of the catholic faith, no such man being to be found amongst the heretics. But do not take this upon my word, but read and study the book itself.”

This account you have from St. Chrysostom, whom Mr. Dodwell calls the contemner of fables.

St. Hierom, in his treatise “De viro perfecto,” speaks of the frequency of miracles done in his time, as a thing past question: besides those, not a few which he has left upon record, in the lives of Hilarion and Paul, two monks, whose lives he has writ. And he that has a mind to see the plenty of miracles of this kind, need but read the collection of the lives of the fathers, made by Rosweydus.

Ruffin tells us, That Athanasius lodged the bones of St. John Baptist in the wall of the church, knowing by the spirit of prophecy the good they were to do to the next generation: and of what efficacy and use they were, may be concluded from the church with the golden roof, built to them soon after, in the place of the temple of Serapis.

St. Austin tells us, “That he knew a blind man restored to sight by the bodies of the Milan martyrs, and some other such things; of which kind there were so many done in that time, that many escaped his knowledge; and those which he knew, were more than he could number.” More of this you may see Epist. 137.

He further assure us, that by the single reliques of St. Stephen “a blind woman received her sight. Lucullus was cured of an old fistula; Eucharius of the stone; three gouty men recovered; a lad killed with a cart-wheel going over him, restored to life safe and sound, as if he had received no hurt: a nun lying at the point of death, they sent her coat to the shrine, but she dying before it was brought back, was restored to life by its being laid on her dead body. The like happened at Hippo to the daughter of Bassus; and two others,” whose names he sets down, were by the same reliques raised from the dead.

After these and other particulars there set down, of miracles done in his time by those reliques of St. Stephen, the holy father goes on thus: “What shall I do? Pressed by my promise of dispatching this work, I cannot here set down all: and without doubt many, when they shall read this, will be troubled that I have omitted so many particles, which they truly know as well as I. For if I should, passing by the rest, write only the miraculous cures which have been wrought by this most glorious martyr Stephen, in the colony of Calama, and this of ours, I should fill many books, and yet should not take in all of them: but only those of which there are collections published, which are read to the people: for this I took care should be done, when I saw that signs of divine power, like those of old, were frequent also in our times. It is not now two years since that shrine has been at Hippo: and many of the books which I certainly knew to be so, not being published, those which are published concerning those miraculous operations, amounted to near fifty when I writ this. But at Calama, where this shrine was before, there are more published, and their number is incomparably greater. At Uzal also a colony, and near Utica, we know many famous things to have been done by the same martyr.”

Two of those books he mentions, are printed in the appendix of the tenth tome of St. Austin’s works of Plantin’s edit. One of them contains two miracles; the other, as I remember, about seventeen. So that at Hippo alone, in two years time, we may count, besides those omitted, there were published above 600 miracles, and, as he says, incomparably more at Calama: besides what were done by other reliques of the same St. Stephen, in other parts of the world, which cannot be supposed to have had less virtue than those sent to this part of Africa. For the reliques of St. Stephen, discovered by the dream of a monk, were divided and sent into distant countries, and there distributed to several churches.

These may suffice to show, that if the fathers of the church of greatest name and authority are to be believed, miracles were not withdrawn, but continued down to the latter end of the fourth century, long after “christianity had prevailed to be received for the religion of the empire.”

But if these testimonies of Athanasius, Chrysostom, Palladius, Ruffin, St. Hierom, and St. Austin, will not serve your turn, you may find much more to this purpose in the same authors; and if you please, you may consult also St. Basil, Gregory Nazianzen, Gregory Nyssen, St. Ambrose, St. Hilary, Theodoret, and others.

This being so, you must either deny the authority of these fathers, or grant that miracles continued in the church after “christianity was received for the religion of the empire: and then they could not be to supply the want of the magistrate’s assistance,” unless they were to supply the want of what was not wanting: and therefore they were continued for some other end. Which end of the continuation of miracles, when you are so far instructed in as to be able to assure us, that it was different from that for which God made use of them in the second and third centuries; when you are so far admitted into the secrets of divine Providence, as to be able to convince the world that the miracles between the apostles’ and Constantine’s time, or any other period you shall pitch on, were to supply the want of the magistrate’s assistance, and those after, for some other purpose, what you say may deserve to be considered. Until you do this, you will only show the liberty you take to assert with great confidence, though without any ground, whatever will suit your system; and that you do not stick to make bold with the counsels of infinite wisdom, to make them subservient to your hypothesis.

And so I leave you to dispose of the credit of ecclesiastical writers, as you shall think fit; and by your authority to establish, or invalidate, theirs as you please. But this, I think, is evident, that he who will build his faith or reasonings upon miracles delivered by church-historians, will find cause to go no farther than the apostles’ time, or else not to stop at Constantine’s: since the writers after that period, whose word we readily take as unquestionable in other things, speak of miracles in their time with no less assurance, than the fathers before the fourth century; and a great part of the miracles of the second and third centuries stand upon the credit of the writers of the fourth. So that that sort of argument which takes and rejects the testimony of the ancients at pleasure, as may best suit with it, will not have much force with those who are not disposed to embrace the hypothesis, without any arguments at all.

You grant, “That the true religion has always light and strength of its own, i. e. without the assistance of force or miracles, sufficient to prevail with all that considered it seriously, and without prejudice; that therefore, for which the assistance of force is wanting, is to make men consider seriously, and without prejudice.” Now whether the miracles that we have still, miracles done by Christ and his apostles, attested, as they are, by undeniable history, be not fitter to deal with men’s prejudices, than force, and than force which requires nothing but outward conformity, I leave the world to judge. All the assistance the true religion needs from authority, is only a liberty for it to be truly taught; but it has seldom had that, from the powers in being, in its first entry into their dominions, since the withdrawing of miracles: and yet I desire you to tell me, into what country the gospel, accompanied, as now it is, only with past miracles, hath been brought by the preaching of men, who have laboured in it after the example of the apostles, where it did not so prevail over men’s prejudices, that “as many as were ordained to eternal life” considered and believed it. Which, as you may see, Acts xiii. 48, was all the advance it made, even when assisted with the gift of miracles: for neither then were all, or the majority, wrought on to consider and embrace it.

But yet the gospel “cannot prevail by its own light and strength;” and therefore miracles were to supply the place of force. How was force used? A law being made, there was a continued application of punishment to all those whom it brought not to embrace the doctrine proposed. Were miracles so used till force took place? For this we shall want more new church-history, and I think contrary to what we read in that part of it which is unquestionable: I mean in the Acts of the Apostles, where we shall find, that the then promulgators of the gospel, when they had preached, and done what miracles the spirit of God directed, if they prevailed not, they often left them; “Then Paul and Barnabas waxed bold, and said it was necessary that the word of God should first have been spoken to you: but seeing you put it from you, and judge yourselves unworthy, we turn to the gentiles, Acts xiii. 46. They shook off the dust of their feet against them, and came unto Iconium, Acts xiii. 51. But when divers were hardened, and believed not, but spake evil of that way before the multitude, he departed from them, and separated the disciples, Acts xix. 9. Paul was pressed in spirit, and testified to the jews that Jesus was Christ; and when they opposed themselves, and blasphemed, he shook his raiment, and said unto them, Your blood be upon your own heads: I am clean: from henceforth I will go unto the gentiles.” Acts xviii. 6. Did the christian magistrates ever do so, who thought it necessary to support the christian religion by laws? Did they ever, when they had a while punished those whom persuasions and preaching had not prevailed on, give off, and leave them to themselves, and make trial of their punishment upon others? Or is this your way of force and punishment? If it be not, yours is not what miracles came to supply the room of, and so is not necessary. For you tell us, they are punished to make them consider, and they can never be supposed to consider “as they ought, whilst they persist in rejecting;” and therefore they are justly punished to make them so consider: so that not so considering being the fault for which they are punished, and the amendment of that fault the end which is designed to be attained by punishing, the punishment must continue. But men were not always beat upon with miracles. To this, perhaps, you will reply, that the seeing of a miracle or two, or half a dozen, was sufficient to procure a hearing; but that being punished once or twice, or half a dozen times, is not: for you tell us, “the power of miracles communicated to the apostles, served altogether as well as punishment, to procure them a hearing:” where, if you mean by hearing, only attention; who doubts but punishment may also procure that? If you mean by hearing, receiving and embracing what is proposed; that even miracles themselves did not effect upon all eye-witnesses. Why then, I beseech you, if one be to supply the place of the other, is one to be continued on those who do reject; when the other was never long continued, nor, as I think we may safely say, often repeated to those who persisted in their former persuasions?

After all, therefore, may not one justly doubt, whether miracles supplied the place of punishment? nay, whether you yourself, if you be true to your own principles, can think so? You tell us, that not to join “themselves to the true church, where sufficient evidence is offered to convince men that it is so, is a fault that it cannot be unjust to punish.” Let me ask you now; did the apostles by their preaching and miracles offer sufficient evidence to convince men that the church of Christ was the true church; or, which is, in this case, the same thing, that the doctrine they preached was the true religion? If they did, were not those, who persisted in unbelief, guilty of a fault? And if some of the miracles done in those days should now be repeated, and yet men should not embrace the doctrine, or join themselves to the church which those miracles accompanied; would you not think them guilty of a fault which the magistrate might justly, nay ought to punish? If you would answer truly and sincerely to this question, I doubt you would think your beloved punishments necessary notwithstanding miracles, “there being no other human means left.” I do not make this judgment of you from any ill opinion I have of your good-nature; but it is consonant to your principles: for if not professing the true religion, where sufficient evidence is offered by bare preaching, be a fault, and a fault justly to be punished by the magistrate, you will certainly think it much more his duty to punish a greater fault, as you must allow it is, to reject truth proposed with arguments and miracles, than with bare arguments: since you tell us, that the magistrate is “obliged to procure, as much as in him lies, that every man take care of his own soul; i. e. consider as he ought; which no man can be supposed to do, whilst he persists in rejecting:” as you tell us, .

Miracles, say you, supplied the want of force, “till by their help christianity had prevailed to be received for the religion of the empire.” Not that the magistrates had not as much commission then, from the law of nature, to use force for promoting the true religion, as since: but because the magistrates then, not being of the true religion, did not afford it the assistance of their political power. If this be so, and there be a necessity either of force or miracles, will there not be the same reason for miracles ever since, even to this day, and so on to the end of the world, in all those countries where the magistrate is not of the true religion? “Unless, as you urge it, you will say (what without impiety cannot be said) that the wise and benign disposer of all things has not furnished mankind with competent means for the promoting his own honour in the world, and the good of souls.”

But to put an end to your pretence to miracles, as supplying the place of force. Let me ask you, whether, since the withdrawing of miracles, your moderate degree of force has been made use of, for the support of the christian religion? If not, then miracles were not made use of to supply the want of force, unless it were for the supply of such force as christianity never had; which is for the supply of just no force at all; or else for the supply of the severities which have been in use amongst christians, which is worse than none at all. Force, you say, is necessary; what force? “not fire and sword, not loss of estates, not maiming with corporal punishments, not starving and tormenting in noisome prisons:” those you condemn. “Not compulsion: these severities, you say, are apter to hinder, than promote the true religion; but moderate lower penalties, tolerable inconveniencies, such as should a little disturb and disease men.” This assistance not being to be had from the magistrates, in the first ages of christianity, miracles, say you, were continued till “christianity became the religion of the empire, not so much for any necessity there was of them, all that while, for the evincing the truth of the christian religion, as to supply the want of the magistrate’s assistance. For the true religion not being able to support itself by its own light and strength, without the assistance either of miracles, or of authority,” there was a necessity, of the one or the other; and therefore, whilst the powers in being assisted not with necessary force, miracles supplied that want. Miracles then being to supply necessary force, and necessary force being only “lower moderate penalties, some inconveniencies, such as only disturb and disease a little;” if you cannot show that in all countries, where the magistrates have been christian, they have assisted with such force; it is plain that miracles supplied not the want of necessary force; unless to supply the want of your necessary force, for a time, were to supply the want of an assistance, which true religion had not upon the with-drawing of miracles; and I think I may say, was never thought on by any authority, in any age or country, till you now, above thirteen hundred years after, made this happy discovery. Nay, sir, since the true religion, as you tell us, cannot prevail or subsist without miracles or authority, i. e. your moderate force, it must necessarily follow, that the christian religion has, in all ages and countries, been accompanied either with actual miracles, or such force: which, whether it be so or no, I leave you and all sober men to consider. When you can show, that it has been so, we shall have reason to be satisfied with your bold assertion: that the christian religion, as delivered in the New Testament, cannot “prevail by its own light and strength, without the assistance” of your moderate penalties, or of actual miracles accompanying it. But if ever since the withdrawing of miracles in all christian countries, where force has been thought necessary by the magistrate to support the national, or, as every-where it is called, the true religion, those severities have been made use of, which you, for a good reason, “condemn, as apter to hinder than promote the true religion;” it is plain that miracles supplied the want of such an assistance from the magistrate, as was apter to hinder than promote the true religion. And your substituting of miracles to supply the want of moderate force will show nothing, for your cause, but the zeal of a man so fond of force, that he will without any warrant from scripture enter into the counsels of the Almighty; and without authority from history talk of miracles, and political administrations, as may best suit his system.

To my saying, a religion that is from God, wants not the assistance of human authority to make it prevail; you answer, “This is not simply nor always true. Indeed when God takes the matter wholly into his own hands, as he does at his first revealing any religion, there can be no need of any assistance of human authority; but when God has once sufficiently settled his religion in the world, so that if men from thenceforth will do what they may and ought, in their several capacities, to preserve and propagate it, it may subsist and prevail without that extraordinary assistance from him, which was necessary for its first establishment.” By this rule of yours, how long was there need of miracles to make christianity subsist and prevail? If you will keep to it, you will find there was no need of miracles, after the promulgation of the gospel by Christ and his apostles: for I ask you, was it not then so “sufficiently settled in the world, that if men would from thenceforth have done what they might and ought, in their several capacities,” it would have subsisted and prevailed without that extraordinary assistance of miracles? unless you will on this occasion retract what you say in other places, viz. that it is a fault not to receive the “true religion, where sufficient evidence is offered to convince men that it is so.” If then, from the times of the apostles, the christian religion has had sufficient evidence that it is the true religion, and men did their duty, i. e. receive it; it would certainly have subsisted and prevailed, even from the apostles times, without that extraordinary assistance; and then miracles after that were not necessary.

But perhaps you will say, that by men in their several capacities, you mean the magistrates. A pretty way of speaking, proper to you alone: but, even in that sense, it will not serve your turn. For then there will be need of miracles, not only in the time you propose, but in all times after. For if the magistrate, who is as much subject as other men to that corruption of human nature, by which you tell us false religions prevail against the true, should not do what he may and ought, so as to be of the true religion, as it is the odds he will not; what then will become of the true religion, which according to you cannot subsist or prevail without either the assistance of miracles or authority? Subjects cannot have the assistance of authority, where the magistrate is not of the true religion; and the magistrate wanting the assistance of authority to bring him to the true religion, that want must be still supplied with miracles, or else, according to your hypothesis, all must go to wreck; and the true religion, that cannot subsist by its own strength and light, must be lost in the world. For, I presume, you are scarce yet such an adorer of the powers of the world, as to say, that magistrates are privileged from that common corruption of mankind, whose opposition to the true religion you suppose cannot be overcome, without the assistance of miracles or force. The flock will stray, unless the bell-wether conduct them right; the bell-wether himself will stray, unless the shepherd’s crook and staff, which he has as much need of as any sheep of the flock, keep him right: ergo, the whole flock will stray, unless the bell-wether have that assistance which is necessary to conduct him right. The case is the same here. So that by your own rule, either there was no need of miracles to supply the want of force, after the apostles’ time, or there is need of them still.

But your answer, when looked into, has something in it more excellent. I say, a religion that is of God, wants not the assistance of human authority to make it prevail. You answer, “True, when God takes the matter into his own hands. But when once he has sufficiently settled religion, so that if men will but do what they may and ought, it may subsist without that extraordinary assistance from heaven; then he leaves it to their care.” Where you suppose, if men will do their duties in their several capacities, true religion, being once established, may subsist without miracles. And is it not as true, that if they will, in their several capacities, do what they may and ought, true religion will also subsist without force? But you are sure magistrates will do what they may and ought, to preserve and propagate the true religion, but subjects will not. If you are not, you must bethink yourself how to answer that old question,

— “Sed quis custodiet ipsos Custodes?” —

To my having said, that prevailing without the assistance of force, I thought was made use of as an argument for the truth of the christian religion: You reply that you hope “I am mistaken; for sure this is a very bad argument, That the christian religion, so contrary in the nature of it, as well to flesh and blood, as to the powers of darkness; should prevail as it did, and that not only without any assistance from authority, but even in spite of all the opposition which authority and a wicked world, joined with those infernal powers, could make against it. This, I acknowledge, has deservedly been insisted upon by christians as a very good proof of their religion. But to argue the truth of the christian religion, from its mere prevailing in the world, without any aid from force, or the assistance of the powers in being; as if whatever religion should so prevail, must needs be the true religion; whatever may be intended, is really not to defend the christian religion, but to betray it.” How you have mended the argument by putting in “mere,” which is not any where used by me, I will not examine. The question is, whether the christian religion, such as it was then, (for I know not any other christian religion) and is still “contrary to flesh and blood, and to the powers of darkness,” prevailed not without the assistance of human force, by those aids it has still? This, I think, you will not deny to be an argument used for its truth by christians, and some of our church. How far any one in the use of this argument pleases, or displeases you, I am not concerned. All the use I made of it was to show, that it is confessed that the christian religion did prevail, without that human means of the coactive power of the magistrate, which you affirmed to be necessary; and this, I think, makes good the experiment I brought. Nor will your seeking, your way, a refuge in miracles, help you to evade it; as I have already shown.

But you give a reason for what you say, in these following words: “for neither does the true religion always prevail without the assistance of the powers in being: nor is that always the true religion, which does so spread and prevail.” Those who use the argument of its prevailing without force, for the truth of the christian religion, it is like will tell you, that, if it be true, as you say, that the christian religion, which at other times does, sometimes does not, prevail without the assistance of the powers in being; it is, because when it fails, it wants the due assistance and diligence of the ministers of it: “How shall they hear without a preacher?” How shall the gospel be spread and prevail, if those who take on them to be the ministers and preachers of it, either neglect to teach it others as they ought; or confirm it not by their lives? If therefore you will make this argument of any use to you, you must show, where it was, that the ministers of the gospel, doing their duty by the purity of their lives, and their uninterrupted labour, in being instant in season, and out of season, have not been able to make it prevail. An instance of this, it is believed, you will scarce find: and if this be the case, that it fails not to prevail where those, whose charge it is, neglect not to teach and spread it with that care, assiduity, and application, which they ought; you may hereafter know where to lay the blame; not on the want of sufficient light and strength in the gospel to prevail; (wherein methinks you make very bold with it;) but on the want of what the apostle requires in the ministers of it; some part whereof you may read in these words to Timothy: “But thou, O man of God, follow after righteousness, godliness, faith, love, patience, meekness: give attendance to reading, to exhortation, to doctrine: preach the word, be instant in season and out of season; reprove, rebuke, exhort, with all long-suffering and doctrine;” and more to this purpose in his epistles to Timothy and Titus.

That the christian religion has prevailed, and supported itself in the world now above these sixteen hundred years, you must grant; and that it has not been by force, is demonstration. For wherever the christian religion prevailed, it did it, as far as we know any thing of the means of its propagation and support, without the help of that force, moderate force, which you say is alone useful and necessary. So that if the severities you condemn be, as you confess, apter to hinder than promote the gospel; and it has no-where had the assistance of your moderate penalties; it must follow, that it prevailed without force, only by its own strength and light, displayed and brought home to the understandings and hearts of the people, by the preachings, intreaties, and exhortations of its ministers. This at least you must grant, that force can be by no means necessary to make the gospel prevail any-where, till the utmost has been tried that can be done by arguments and exhortations, prayers and intreaties, and all the friendly ways of persuasion.

As to the other part of your assertion, “Nor is that always the true religion that does so spread and prevail,” it is like they will demand instances of you, where false religions ever prevailed against the gospel, without the assistance of force on the one side, or the betraying of it by the negligence and carelessness of its teachers on the other? So that if the gospel any-where wants the magistrate’s assistance, it is only to make the ministers of it do their duty. I have heard of those, and possibly there are instances of it now wanting, who by their pious lives, peaceable and friendly carriage, and diligent application to the several conditions and capacities of their parishioners, and screening them as much as they could from the penalties of the law, have in a short time scarce left a dissenter in a parish, where, notwithstanding the force had been before used, they scarce found any other. But how far this has recommended such ministers to those who ought to encourage or follow the example, I wish you would inform yourself, and then tell me. But who sees not that a justice of peace’s warrant is a shorter, and much easier way for the minister, than all this ado of instruction, debates, and particular application? Whether it be also more christian, or more effectual to make real converts, others may be apt to inquire. This, I am sure, it is not justifiable, even by your very principles, to be used till the other has been thoroughly tried.

How far our Saviour is like to approve of this method in those whom he sends; what reward he is like to bestow on ministers of his word, who are forward to bring their brethren under such correction; those who call themselves successors of the apostles, will do well to consider from what he himself says to them, Luke xii. 42. For that that was spoken particularly to the apostles and preachers of the gospel, is evident not only from the words themselves, but from St. Peter’s question. Our Saviour having in the foregoing verses declared in a parable the necessity of being watchful, St. Peter, verse 41, asks him, “Lord, speakest thou this parable unto us, or even to all?” To this demand our Saviour replies in these words: “Who then is that faithful and wise steward whom his lord shall make ruler over his household, to give them their portion of meat in due season? Blessed is that servant whom the Lord, when he cometh, shall find so doing. Of a truth, I say unto you, he will make him ruler over all that he hath. But, and if that servant say in his heart, My lord delayeth his coming; and shall begin to beat the menservants, and maidens, and to eat and drink, and to be drunken: the lord of that servant will come in a day when he looketh not for him, and at an hour when he is not aware; and will cut him in sunder, and will appoint him his portion with unbelievers; or with hypocrites,” as it is, Matt. xxiv. 51.

But if there be any thing in the argument for the truth of christianity, (as God forbid there should not,) that it has, and consequently can prevail without force; I think it can scarce be true in matter of fact, that false religions do also prevail against the christian religion, when they come upon equal terms in competition; and as much diligence and industry is used by the teachers of it, as by seducers to false religions, the magistrate using his force on neither side. For if in this case, which is the fair trial, christianity can prevail, and false religions too; it is possible contrarieties may prevail against one another both together. To make good therefore your assertion, you must show us, where ever any other religion so spread and prevailed, as to drive christianity out of any country without force, where the ministers of it did their duty to teach, adorn, and support it.

As to the following words, “Nor is that always the true religion which does so spread and prevail; as I doubt not but you will acknowledge with me, when you have but considered within how few generations after the flood, the worship of false gods prevailed against that which Noah professed and taught his children, which was undoubtedly the true religion, almost to the utter exclusion of it (though that at first was the only religion in the world), without any aid from force, or assistance from the powers in being.” This will need something more than a negative proof, as we shall see by and by.

Where I say, “The inventions of men need the force and help of men: a religion that is from God, wants not the assistance of human authority.” The first part of those words you take no notice of; neither grant nor deny it to be so; though perhaps it will prove a great part of the controversy between us.

To my question, “Whether if such a toleration as is proposed by the author of the first letter, were established in France, Spain, Italy, Portugal, &c. the true religion would not be a gainer by it?” You answer, That the “true religion would be a loser by it in those few places where it is now established as the national religion;” and particularly you name England. It is then, it seems, by your way of moderate force and lower penalties, that in all countries where it is national the true religion hath prevailed and subsists. For the controversy is between the author’s universal toleration, and your new way of force; for greater degrees of force, you condemn as hurtful. Say then that in England, and wherever the true religion is national, it has been beholden to your force for the advantages and support it has had, and I will yield you the cause. But of national religions, and particularly that of England, I have occasion to speak more in another place.

In the next place you answer, That you suppose I do not hope I shall persuade the world to consent to my toleration. I think by your logic, a proposition is not less true or false, because the world will or will not be persuaded to consent to it. And therefore, though it will not consent to a general toleration, it may nevertheless be true that it would be advantageous to the true religion: and if nobody must speak truth till he thinks all the world will be persuaded by it, you must have a very good opinion of your oratory, or else you will have a very good excuse to turn your parsonage, when you have one, into a sinecure. But though I have not so good an opinion of my gift of persuasion, as perhaps you have of yours; yet I think I may without any great presumption hope, that I may as soon persuade England, the world, or any government in it, to consent to my toleration, as you persuade it to content itself with moderate penalties.

You farther answer, If such a toleration established there would permit the doctrine of the church of England to be truly preached, and its worship set up in any popish, mahometan, or pagan country, you think true religion would be a “gainer by it for some time; but you think withal, that an universal toleration would ruin it both there and every-where else in the end.” You grant it then possible, notwithstanding the corruption of human nature, that the true religion may gain some-where, and for some time, by toleration: it will gain under a new toleration you think, but decay under an old one; would you had told us the reason why you think so. “But you think there is great reason to fear, that without God’s extraordinary providence, it would in a much shorter time, than any one, who does not well consider the matter, will imagine, be most effectually extirpated by it throughout the world.” If you have considered right, and the matter be really so, it is demonstration that the christian religion, since Constantine’s time, as well as the true religion before Moses’s time, must needs have been totally extinguished out of the world, and have so continued, unless by miracle and immediate revelation restored. For those men, i. e. the magistrates, upon whose being of the true religion, the preservation of it, according to you, depends, living all of them under a free toleration, must needs lose the true religion effectually and speedily from among them; and, they quitting the true religion, the assistance of force, which should support it against a general defection, be utterly lost.

The princes of the world are, I suppose, as well infected with the depraved nature of man, as the rest of their brethren. These, whether a hundred or a thousand, suppose they lived together in one society, wherein with the true religion, there were a free toleration, and no coactive power of the magistrate employed about matters of religion; would the true religion be soon extirpated amongst them? If you say it would not, you must grant toleration not to be so destructive of the true religion, as you say; or you must think them of another race, than the rest of corrupt men, and free from that general taint. If you grant that the true religion would be quickly extirpated amongst them, by toleration, living together in one society; the same will happen to them, living as princes, where they are free from all coactive power of the magistrate in matters of religion, and have as large a toleration as can be imagined. Unless you will say, that depraved human nature works less in a prince than a subject; and is most tame, most mortified, where it has most liberty and temptation. Must not then, if your maxim be true, toleration quickly deprive the few orthodox princes that are in the world (take it when you will) of the true religion; and with them take away the assistance of authority, which is necessary to support it amongst their subjects? Toleration then does not, whatever your fears are, make that woeful wreck on true religion which you talk of.

I shall give you another evidence of it, and then come to examine your great reason taken from the corruption of human nature, and the instance you so often repeat, and build so much on, the apostacy after the flood. Toleration, you say, would quickly and effectually extirpate the true religion throughout the world. What now is the means to preserve true religion in the world? If you may be believed, it is force; but not all force, great severities, fire, faggot, imprisonment, loss of estate, &c. These will do more harm than good; it is only lower and moderate penalties, some tolerable inconveniencies, can do the business. If then moderate force hath not been all along, no, nor any-where, made use of for the preservation of the true religion; the maintenance and support of the true religion in the world, has not been owing to what you oppose to toleration; and so your argument against toleration is out of doors.

You give us in this and the foregoing pages the grounds of your fear; it is the corruption of human nature which opposes the true religion. You express it thus, “Idolatry prevailing against it [the true religion] not by its own light and strength, for it could have nothing of either, but merely by the advantage it had in the corruption and pravity of human nature, finding out to itself more agreeable religions than the true. For, say you, whatever hardships some false religions may impose, it will however always be easier to carnal worldly-minded men, to give even their first-born for their transgressions, than to mortify their lusts from which they spring; which no religion but the true requires of them.” I wonder, saying this, how you could any longer mistake the magistrate’s duty, in reference to religion, and not see wherein force truly can and ought to be serviceable to it. What you have said, plainly shows you, that the assistance the magistrate’s authority can give to the true religion, is in subduing of lusts; and its being directed against pride, injustice, rapine, luxury, and debauchery, and those other immoralities which come properly under his cognizance, and may be corrected by punishments; and not by the imposing of creeds and ceremonies, as you tell us. Sound and decent, you might have left out, whereof their fancies, and not the law of God, will always be judge, and consequently the rule.

The case between the true and false religions as you have stated it, in short, stands thus, “True religion has always light and strength of its own, sufficient to prevail with all that seriously consider it, and without prejudice. Idolatry or false religions have nothing of light or strength to prevail with.” Why then does not the true religion prevail against the false, having so much the advantage in light and strength? The counterbalance of prejudice hinders. And wherein does that consist? The drunkard must part with his cups and companions, and the voluptuous man with his pleasures. The proud and vain must lay by all excess in apparel, furniture, and attendance; and money (the support of all these) must be got only by the ways of justice, honesty, and fair industry: and every one must live peaceably, uprightly, and friendly with his neighbour. Here then the magistrate’s assistance is wanting: here they may and ought to interpose their power, and by severities against drunkenness, lasciviousness, and all sorts of debauchery; by a steady and unrelaxed punishment of all the ways of fraud and injustice; and by their administration, countenance, and example, reduce the irregularities of men’s manners into order, and bring sobriety, peaceableness, industry, and honesty into fashion. This is their proper business every-where; and for this they have a commission from God, both by the light of nature and revelation; and by this, removing the great counterpoise, which lies in strictness of life, and is so strong a bias, with the greatest part, against the true religion, they would cast the balance on that side. For if men were forced by the magistrate to live sober, honest and strict lives, whatever their religion were, would not the advantage be on the side of truth, when the gratifying of their lusts were not to be obtained by forsaking her? In men’s lives lies the main obstacle to right opinions in religion: and if you will not believe me, yet what a very rational man of the church of England says in the case [Dr. Bentley, in his sermon of the folly of atheism, .] will deserve to be remembered. “Did religion bestow heaven, without any forms and conditions, indifferently upon all; if the crown of life was hereditary, and free to good and bad, and not settled by covenant on the elect of God only, such as live soberly, righteously, and godly in this present world; I believe there would be no such thing as an infidel among us. And without controversy it is the way and means of attaining to heaven, that makes profane scoffers so willing to let go the expectation of it. It is not the articles of the creed, but their duty to God and their neighbour, that is such an inconsistent incredible legend. They will not practise the rules of religion, and therefore they cannot believe the ‘doctrines’ of it.” The ingenious author will pardon me the change of one word, which I doubt not but suits his opinion, though it did not so well that argument he was then on.

You grant the true religion has always light and strength to prevail; false religions have neither. Take away the satisfaction of men’s lusts, and which then, I pray, hath the advantage? Will men, against the light of their reason, do violence to their understandings, and forsake truth, and salvation too, gratis? You tell us here, “No religion but the true requires of men the difficult task of mortifying their lusts.” This being granted you, what service will this do you to prove the necessity of force to punish all dissenters in England? Do none of their religions require the mortifying of lusts as well as yours?

And now, let us consider your instance whereon you build so much, that we hear of it over and over again. For you tell us, “Idolatry prevailed, but yet not by the help of force, as has been sufficiently shown.” And again, “That truth left to shift for herself will not do well enough, as has been sufficiently shown.” What you have done to show this, is to be seen, where you tell us, “Within how few generations after the flood, the worship of false gods prevailed against the religion which Noah professed, and taught his children, (which was undoubtedly the true religion,) almost to the utter exclusion of it, (though that at first was the only religion in the world,) without any aid from force, or the assistance of the powers in being, for any thing we find in the history of those times, as we may reasonably believe, considering that it found an entrance into the world, and entertainment in it when it could have no such aid or assistance. Of which (besides the corruption of human nature) you suppose there can no other cause be assigned, or none more probable than this, that the powers then in being did not do what they might and ought to have done, towards the preventing or checking that horrible apostacy.” Here you tell us, that the “worship of false gods, within a very few generations after the flood, prevailed against the true religion, almost to the utter exclusion of it.” This you say indeed, but without any proofs, and unless that be showing, you have not, as you pretend, any way shown it. Out of what records, I beseech you, have you it, that the true religion was almost wholly extirpated out of the world, within a few generations after the flood? The scripture, the largest history we have of those times, says nothing of it; nor does, as I remember, mention any as guilty of idolatry, within two or three hundred years after the flood. In Canaan itself, I do not think that you can out of any credible history show, that there was any idolatry within ten or twelve generations after Noah; much less that it had so overspread the world, and extirpated the true religion, out of that part of it, where the scene lay of those actions recorded in the history of the Bible. In Abraham’s time, Melchisedec, who was king of Salem, was also the priest of the most high God. We read that God, with an immediate hand, punished miraculously, first mankind, at the confusion of Babel, and afterwards Sodom, and four other cities; but in neither of these places is there any the least mention of idolatry, by which they provoked God, and drew down vengeance on themselves. So that truly you have shown nothing at all; and what the scripture shows is against you. For besides, that it is plain by Melchisedec the king of Salem, and priest of the most high God, to whom Abraham paid tithes, that all the land of Canaan was not yet overspread with idolatry, though afterwards in the time of Joshua, by the forfeiture was therefore made of it to the Israelites, one may have reason to suspect it were more defiled with it than any part of the world; besides Salem, I say, he that reads the story of Abimelech, Gen. xx. xxi. xxvi. will have reason to think, that he also and his kingdom, though Philistines, were not then infected with idolatry.

You think they, and almost all mankind were idolaters, but you may be mistaken; and that which may serve to show it, is the example of Elijah the prophet, who was at least as infallible a guesser as you, and was as well instructed in the state and history of his own country and time, as you can be in the state of the whole world three or four thousand years ago. Elijah thought that idolatry had wholly extirpated the true religion out of Israel, and complains thus to God: “The children of Israel have forsaken thy covenant, thrown down thy altars, and slain thy prophets with the sword: and I, even I alone, am left, and they seek my life, to take it away,” 1 Kings xix. 10. And he is so fully persuaded of it, that he repeats it again, verse 14; and yet God tells him, that he had there yet seven thousand knees that had not bowed to Baal, seven thousand that were not idolaters; though this was in the reign of Ahab, a king zealous for idolatry; and in a kingdom set up in an idolatrous worship, which had continued the national religion, established and promoted by the continued succession of several idolatrous princes. And though the national religions soon after the flood were false, which you are far enough from proving; how does it thence follow, that the true religion was near extirpated? which it must needs quite have been, before St. Peter’s time, if there were so great reason to fear, as you tell us, that the true religion, without the assistance of force, “would in a much shorter time, than any one that does not well consider the matter would imagine, be most effectually extirpated throughout the world.” For above two thousand years after Noah’s time, St. Peter tells us, “that in every nation, he that feareth God, and worketh righteousness, is accepted by him,” Acts x. 35. By which words, and by the occasion on which they were spoken, it is manifest, that in countries where for two thousand years together no force had been used for the support of Noah’s true religion, it was not yet wholly extirpated. But that you may not think it was so near, that there was but one left, only Cornelius, if you will look into Acts xvii. 4, you will find a great multitude of them at Thessalonica, “And of the devout Greeks a great multitude believed, and consorted with Paul and Silas.” And again, verse 17, more of them in Athens, a city wholly given to idolatry. For that those σε[Editor: illegible character]όμενοι which we translate devout, and whereof many are mentioned in the Acts, were gentiles, who worshipped the true God, and kept the precepts of Noah, Mr. Mede has abundantly proved. So that whatsoever you, “who have well considered the matter,” may imagine of the shortness of time, wherein Noah’s religion would be “effectually extirpated throughout the world,” without the assistance of force; we find it at Athens, at Philippi, at Corinth, amongst the Romans, in Antioch of Pisidia, in Thessalonica, above two thousand years after, and that not so near being extinguished, but that in some of those places the professors of it were numerous; at Thessalonica they are called a great multitude: at Antioch many: and how many of them were in other parts of the world, whereof there was no occasion to make mention in that short history of the Acts of the Apostles, who knows? If they answered, in other places, to what were found in these, as what reason is there to suppose they should not? I think we may imagine them to be as many, as there were effectually of the true religion christians in Europe, a little before the reformation; notwithstanding the assistance the christian religion had from authority, after the withdrawing of miracles.

But you have a salvo, for you write warily, and endeavour to save yourself on all hands; you say, “There is great reason to fear, that without God’s extraordinary providence, it would in a much shorter time, than any one, who does not well consider the matter, would imagine, be most effectually extirpated by it throughout the world.” It is without doubt the providence of God which governs the affairs both of the world and his church; and to that, whether you call it ordinary or extraordinary, you may trust the preservation of his church, without the use of such means, as he has no-where appointed or authorized. You fancy force necessary to preserve the true religion, and hence you conclude the magistrate authorized, without any farther commission from God, to use it, “if there be no other means left:” and therefore that must be used: if religion should be preserved without it, it is by the extraordinary providence of God; where extraordinary signifies nothing, but beginning the thing in question. The true religion has been preserved many ages, in the church, without force. Ay, say you, that was by the “extraordinary providence of God.” His providence, which over-rules all events, we easily grant it: but why extraordinary providence? because force was necessary to preserve it. And why was force necessary? because otherwise, without “extraordinary providence,” it cannot be preserved. In such circles, covered under good words, but misapplied, one might show you taking many a turn in your answer, if it were fit to waste other time to trace your wanderings. God has appointed preaching, teaching, persuasion, instruction, as a means to continue and propagate his true religion in the world; and if it were any-where preserved and propagated without that, we might call it his “extraordinary providence;” but the means he has appointed being used, we may conclude, that men have done their duties, and so may leave it to his providence, however we will call it, to preserve the little flock, which he bids not to fear, till the end of the world.

But let us return again to what you say, to make good this hypothesis of yours, That idolatry entered first into the world by the contrivance, and spread itself by the endeavours of private men, without the assistance of the magistrates, and those in power. To prove this, you tell us, “that it found entrance into the world, and entertainment in it, when it could have no such aid or assistance.” When was this, I beseech you, that idolatry found this entrance into the world? Under what king’s reign was it, that you are so positive it could have no such aid or assistance? If you had named the time, the thing, though of no great moment to you, had been sure. But now we may very justly question this bare assertion of yours. For since we find, as far back as we have any history of it, that the great men of the world were always forward to set up and promote idolatry and false religions; you ought to have given us some reason why, without authority from history, you affirm that idolatry, at its entrance into the world, had not the assistance from men in power, which it never failed of afterwards. Who they were that made Israel to sin, the scripture tells us. Their kings were so zealous promoters of idolatry, that there is scarce any one of them, that has not that brand left upon him in holy writ.

One of the first false religions, whose rise and way of propagating we have an account of in sacred history, was by an ambitious usurper, who, having rebelled against his master, with a false title set up a false religion, to secure his power and dominion. Why this might not have been done before Jeroboam’s days, and idols set up at other places, as well as at Dan and Bethel, to serve political ends, will need some other proof, than barely saying, it could not be so at first. The devil, unless much more ignorant, was not less busy in those days to engage princes in his favour; and to weave religion into affairs of state; the better to introduce his worship, and support idolatry, by accommodating it to the ambition, vanity, or superstition, of men in power: and therefore you may as well say, that the corruption of human nature, as that the assistance of the powers in being, did not, in those days, help forward false religions; because your reading has furnished you with no particular mention of it out of history. But you need but say, that the “worship of false gods prevailed without any aid from force, or the assistance of the powers in being, for any thing we find in the history of those times,” and then you have sufficiently shown, what? even that you have just nothing to show for your assertion.

But whatever that any thing is, which you find in history, you may meet with men, whose reading yet I will not compare with yours, who think they have found in history, that princes and those in power, first corrupted the true religion, by setting up the images and symbols of their predecessors in their temples, which by their influence, and the ready obedience of the priests they appointed, were in succession of time proposed to the people as objects of their worship. Thus they think they find in history that Isis, queen of Egypt, with her counsellor Thoth, instituted the funeral rites of king Osiris, by the honour done to the sacred ox. They think they find also in history, that the same Thoth, who was also king of Egypt in his turn, invented the figures of the first Egyptian gods, Saturn, Dagon, Jupiter Hammon, and the rest: that is, the figures of their statues or idols: and that he instituted the worship and sacrifices of these gods; and his institutions were so well assisted by those in authority, and observed by the priests they set up, that the worship of those gods soon became the religion of that, and a pattern to other nations. And here we may perhaps, with good reason, place the rise and original of idolatry after the flood, there being nothing of this kind more ancient. So ready was the ambition, vanity, or superstition of princes, to introduce their predecessors into the divine worship of the people; to secure to themselves the greater veneration from their subjects, as descended from the gods; or to erect such a worship, and such a priesthood, as might awe the blinded and seduced people into that obedience they desired. Thus Ham, by the authority of his successors, the rulers of Egypt, is first brought for the honour of his name and memory into their temples; and never left, till he is erected into a god, and made Jupiter Hammon, &c. which fashion took afterwards with the princes of other countries.

Was not the great god of the eastern nations, Baal, or Jupiter Belus, one of the first kings of Assyria? And which, I pray, is the more likely, that courts, by their instruments the priests, should thus advance the honour of kings amongst the people for the ends of ambition and power; or the people find out these refined ways of doing it, and introduce them into courts for the enslaving themselves? What idolatry does your history tell you of among the Greeks, before Phoroneus and Danaus kings of the Argives, and Cecrops and Theseus kings of Attica, and Cadmus king of Thebes, introduced it? An art of rule it is probable they borrowed from the Egyptians. So that if you had not vouched the silence of history, without consulting it, you would possibly have found, that in the first ages princes, by their influence and aid; by the help and artifice of the priests they employed; their fables of their gods, their mysteries and oracles, and all the assistance they could give it by their authority; did so much against the truth before direct force was grown into fashion, and appeared openly; that there would be little reason of putting the guard and propagation of the true religion into their hands now, and arming them with force to promote it.

That this was the original of idolatry in the world, and that it was borrowed by other magistrates from the Egyptians, is farther evident, in that this worship was settled in Egypt, and grown the national religion there, before the gods of Greece and several other idolatrous countries were born. For though they took their pattern of deifying their deceased princes from the Egyptians, and kept, as near as they could, to the number and genealogies of the Egyptian gods; yet they took the names still of some great men of their own, which they accommodated to the mythology of the Egyptians. Thus, by the assistance of the powers in being, idolatry entered into the world after the flood. Whereof, if there were not so clear footsteps in history, why yet should you not imagine princes and magistrates, engaged in false religions, as ready to employ their power for the maintaining and promoting their false religions in those days, as we find them now? And therefore what you say in the next words, of the entrance of idolatry into the world, and the entertainment it found in it, will not pass for so very evident, without proof; though you tell us ever so confidently, that you “suppose, besides the corruption of human nature, there can no other cause be assigned of it, or none more probable than this, that the powers then in being did not what they might and ought to have done,” i.e. if you mean it to your purpose, use force your way, to make men consider; or to, “impose creeds and ways of worship, towards the preventing that horrible apostasy.”

I grant that the entrance and growth of idolatry might be owing to the negligence of the powers in being, in that they did not do what they might and ought to have done, in using their authority to suppress the enormities of men’s manners, and correct the irregularity of their lives. But this was not all the assistance they gave to that horrible apostasy: they were, as far as history gives us any light, the promoters of it, and leaders in it; and did what they ought not to have done, by setting up false religions, and using their authority to establish them, to serve their corrupt and ambitious designs.

National religions, established by authority, and enforced by the powers in being, we hear of every-where, as far back as we have any account of the rise and growth of the religions of the world. Show me any place, within those few generations, wherein you say the apostasy prevailed after the flood, where the magistrates being of the true religion, the subjects by the liberty of a toleration were led into false religions; and then you will produce something against liberty of conscience. But to talk of that great apostasy, as wholly owing to toleration, when you cannot produce one instance of toleration then in the world, is to say what you please.

That the majority of mankind were then, and always have been, by the corruption and pravity of human nature, led away, and kept from embracing the true religion, is past doubt. But whether this be owing to toleration in matters of religion, is the question. David describes an horrible corruption and apostasy in his time, so as to say, “There is none that doeth good, no not one,” Psal. xiv. and yet I do not think you will say a toleration then in that kingdom was the cause of it. If the greatest part cannot be ill without a toleration, I am afraid you must be fain to find out a toleration in every country, and in all ages of the world. For I think it is true, of all times and places, that the broad way that leadeth to destruction, has had most travellers. I would be glad to know where it was that force your way applied, i. e. with punishments only upon nonconformists; ever prevailed to bring the greater number into the narrow way, that leads into life; which our Saviour tells us, there are few that find.

The corruption of human nature, you say, opposes the true religion. I grant it you. There was also, say you, an horrible apostasy after the flood; let this also be granted you: and yet from hence it will not follow, that the true religion cannot subsist and prevail in the world without the assistance of force, your way applied; till you have shown, that the false religions, which were the inventions of men, grew up under toleration, and not by the encouragement and assistance of the powers in being.

How near soever therefore the true religion was to be extinguished within a few generations after the flood; (which whether more in danger then, than in most ages since, is more than you can show:) this will be still the question, whether the liberty of toleration, or the authority of the powers in being, contributed most to it? And whether there can be no other, nor more probable cause assigned, than the want of force your way applied, I shall leave the reader to judge. This I am sure, whatever causes any one else shall assign, are as well proved as yours, if they offer them only as their conjectures.

Not but that I think men could run into false and foolish ways of worship without the instigation or assistance of human authority; but the powers of the world, as far as we have any history, having been always forward enough (true religion as little serving princes as private men’s lusts) to take up wrong religions, and as forward to employ their authority to impose the religion, good or bad, which they had once taken up; I can see no reason why the not using of force, by the princes of the world, should be assigned as the sole, or so much as the most probable cause of propagating the false religions of the world, or extirpating the true; or how you can so positively say, idolatry prevailed without any assistance from the powers in being.

Since therefore history leads us to the magistrates, as the authors and promoters of idolatry in the world; to which we may suppose their not suppressing of vice, joined as another cause of the spreading of false religions; you were best consider, whether you can still suppose there can no other cause be assigned of the prevailing of the worship of false gods, but the magistrate’s not interposing his authority in matters of religion. For that that cannot with any probability at all be assigned as any cause, I shall give you this farther reason. You impute the prevailing of false religions to “the corruption and pravity of human nature, left to itself, unbridled by authority.” Now if force your way applied, does not at all bridle the corruption and pravity of human nature; the magistrate’s not so interposing his authority, cannot be assigned as any cause at all of that apostasy. So that let that apostasy have what rise, and spread as far as you please, it will not make one jot for force, your way applied; or show that that can receive any assistance your way from authority. For your use of authority and force, being only to bring men to an outward conformity to the national religion, it leaves the corruption and pravity of human nature as unbridled as before, as I have shown elsewhere.

You tell us, “that it is not true, that the true religion will prevail by its own light and strength, without miracles, or the assistance of the powers in being, because of the corruption of human nature.” And for this you give us an instance in the apostasy presently after the flood. And you tell us, that without the assistance of force it would presently be extirpated out of the world. If the corruption of human nature be so universal, and so strong, that, without the help of force the true religion is too weak to stand it, and cannot at all prevail, without miracles or force; how come men ever to be converted, in countries where the national religion is false? If you say by extraordinary providence; what that amounts to has been shown. If you say this corruption is so potent in all men, as to oppose and prevail against the gospel, not assisted by force or miracles; that is not true. If in most men; so it is still, even where force is used. For I desire you to name me a country, where the greatest part are really and truly christians, such as you confidently believe Christ, at the last day, will own to be so. In England having, as you do, excluded all the dissenters; (or else why would you have them punished, to bring them to embrace the true religion?) you must, I fear, allow yourself a great latitude in thinking, if you think that the corruption of human nature does not so far prevail, even amongst conformists, as to make the ignorance, and lives, of great numbers amongst them, such as suits not at all with the spirit of true christianity. How great their ignorance may be, in the more spiritual and elevated parts of the christian religion, may be guessed, by what the reverend bishop, before cited, says of it, in reference to a rite of the church, the most easy and obvious to be instructed in, and understood. His words are, “In the common management of that holy rite [confirmation] it is but too visible, that of those multitudes that crowd to it, the far greater part come merely as if they were to receive the bishop’s blessing without any sense of the vow made by them, and of their renewing their baptismal engagements in it,” Past. Care, . And if Origen were now alive, might he not find many in our church, to whom these words of his might be applied, “Whose faith signifies only thus much, and goes no farther than this, viz. that they come duly to the church, and bow their heads to the priest,” &c.? Hom. in Jos. IX. For it seems it was then the fashion to bow to the priest as it is now to the altar. If therefore you say force is necessary, because without it no men will so consider as to embrace the true religion, for the salvation of their souls; that I think is manifestly false. If you say it is necessary to use such means as will make the greatest part so embrace it; you must use some other means than force, your way applied; for that does not so far work on the majority. If you say it is necessary, because possibly it may work on some, which bare preaching and persuasion will not; I answer, if possibly your moderate punishments may work on some, and therefore they are necessary; it is as possible, that greater punishments may work on others, and therefore they are necessary, and so on to the utmost severities.

That the corruption of human nature is every-where spread, and that it works powerfully in the children of disobedience, “who receive not the love of the truth, but have pleasure in unrighteousness;” and therefore God gives them up to believe a lye; nobody, I think, will deny. But that this corruption of human nature works equally in all men, or in all ages; and so, that God will, or ever did, give up all men, not restrained by force, your way modified and applied, to believe a lye, (as all false religions are,) that I yet see no reason to grant. Nor will this instance of Noah’s religion, you so much rely on, ever persuade, till you have proved, that from those eight men which brought the true religion with them into the new world, there were not eight thousand, or eighty thousand, which retained it in the world in the worst times of the apostasy. And secondly, till you have proved that the false religions of the world prevailed, without any aid from force, or the assistance of the powers in being. And, thirdly, that the decay of the true religion was for want of force, your moderate force; neither of which you have at all proved, as I think it manifest.

One consideration more touching Noah, and his religion, give me leave to suggest, and that is, if force were so necessary for the support of true religion, as you make it; it is strange, God, who gave him precepts about other things should never reveal this to him, nor any-body else, that I know. To this you, who have confessed the “Scripture not to have given the magistrate this commission,” must say, that it is plain enough in the commission that he has from the law of nature, and so needed not any revelation, to instruct the magistrate in the right he has to use force. I confess the magistrates have used force in matters of religion, and have been as confidently and constantly put upon it by their priests, as if they had as clear a commission from heaven, as St. Peter had to preach the gospel to the gentiles. But yet it is plain, notwithstanding that commission from the law of nature, there needs some farther instruction from revelation; since it does not appear, that they have found out the right use of force, such as the true religion requires for its preservation; and though you have, after several thousands of years, at last discovered it; yet it is very imperfectly; you not being able to tell, if a law were now to be made against those who have not considered as they ought, what are those moderate penalties which are to be employed against them; though yet without that all the rest signifies nothing. But however doubtful you are in this, I am glad to find you so direct, in putting men’s rejecting the true religion, upon the difficulty they have to “mortify their lusts, which the true religion requires of them,” and I desire you to remember it in other places, where I have occasion to mind you of it.

To conclude, That we may see the great advantage your cause will receive from that instance, you so much rely on, of the apostasy after the flood, I shall oppose another to it. You say, that “idolatry prevailed in the world in a few generations, almost to the utter exclusion of the true religion, without any aid from force, or assistance of the powers in being, by reason of toleration.” And therefore you think there is great reason to fear, that “the true religion would by toleration, quickly be most effectually extirpated throughout the world:” And I say, that after christianity was received for the religion of the empire, and whilst political laws, and force, interposed in it, an horrible apostasy prevailed to almost the utter exclusion of true religion, and a general introducing of idolatry. And therefore I think there is great reason to fear more harm than good, from the use of force in religion.

This I think as good an argument against, as yours for force, and something better; since what you build on is only presumed by you, not proved from history: whereas the matter of fact here is well known; nor will you deny it, when you consider the state of religion in christendom under the assistance of that force, which you tell us succeeded and supplied the place of withdrawn miracles, which in your opinion are so necessary in the absence of force, that you make that the reason of their continuance; and tell us they “were continued till force could be had; not so much for evincing the truth of the christian religion, as to supply the want of the magistrate’s assistance.” So that whenever force failed, there according to your hypothesis, are miracles to supply its want; for, without one of them, the true religion, if we may believe you, will soon be utterly extirpated; and what force, in the absence of miracles, produced in christendom several ages before the reformation, is so well known, that it will be hard to find what service your way of arguing will do any but the Romish religion.

But to take your argument in its full latitude, you say, but you say it without book, that there was once a toleration in the world to the almost utter extirpation of the true religion; and I say to you, that as far as records authorize either opinion, we may say force has been always used in matters of religion, to the great prejudice of the true religion, and the professors of it. And there not being an age wherein you can show me, upon a fair trial of an established national toleration, that the true religion was extirpated, or endangered, so much as you pretend by it: (whereas there is no age, whereof we have sufficient history to judge of this matter, wherein it will not be easy to find that the true religion, and its followers, suffered by force:) you will in vain endeavour, by instances, to prove the ill effects, or uselessness of toleration, such as the author proposed; which I challenge you to show me was ever set up in the world, or that the true religion suffered by it; and it is to the want of it, and the restraints and disadvantages the true religion has laboured under, its so little spreading in the world will justly be imputed: until, from better experiments, you have something to say against it.

Our Saviour has promised that he will build his church on this fundamental truth, that he is “Christ the son of God; so that the gates of hell shall not prevail against it:” and this I believe, though you tell us the true religion is not able to subsist without the assistance of force, when miracles cease. I do not remember that our Saviour any-where promises any other assistance but that of his Spirit; or gives his little flock any encouragement to expect much countenance or help from the great men of the world; or the coercive power of the magistrates; nor any-where authorizes them to use it for the support of his church; “not many wise men after the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble,” 1 Cor. i. 26, is the style of the gospel; and I believe will be found to belong to all ages of the church militant, past and to come, as well as to the first: for God, as St. Paul tells us, has chosen the “foolish things of the world to confound the wise, and the weak things of the world to confound the mighty;” and this not only till miracles ceased, but ever since. “To be hated for Christ’s name sake, and by much tribulation to enter into the kingdom of heaven,” has been the general and constant lot of the people of God, as well as it seems to be the current strain of the New Testament; which promises nothing of secular power or greatness; says nothing of “kings being nursing fathers, or queens nursing mothers:” which prophecy, whatever meaning it have, it is like our Saviour would not have omitted to support his church with some hopes and assurance of such assistance, if it were to have any accomplishment before his second coming; when Israel shall come in again, and with the gentiles make up the fulness of his glorious kingdom. But the tenour of the New Testament is, “All that will live godly in Jesus Christ, shall suffer persecution,” 2 Tim. iii. 12.

In your “Argument considered,” you tell us, “that no man can fail of finding the way of salvation that seeks it as he ought.” In my answer, I take notice to you, that the places of scripture you cite to prove it, point out this way of seeking as we ought, to be a good life: as particularly that of St. John, “If any one will do his will, he shall know of the doctrine whether it be of God:” upon which I use these words: “So that these places, if they prove what you cite them for, that no man can fail of finding the way of salvation, who seeks it as he ought; they do also prove, that a good life is the only way to seek as we ought; and that therefore the magistrates, if they would put men upon seeking the way of salvation as they ought, should by their laws and penalties force them to a good life; a good conversation being the surest and readiest way to a right understanding. And that if magistrates will severely and impartially set themselves against vice, in whomsoever it is found, true religion will be spread wider — than ever hitherto it has been by the imposition of creeds and ceremonies.” To this you reply, “Whether the magistrates setting themselves severely and impartially against what you suppose I call vice; or the imposition of sound creeds and decent ceremonies; does more conduce to the spreading the true religion, and rendering it fruitful in the lives of its professors, we need not examine; you confess, you think both together do best; and this, you think, is as much as needs be said to that paragraph.” If it had been put to you, whether a good living, or a good prebend, would more conduce to the enlarging your fortune, I think it would be allowed you as no improper or unlikely answer, what you say here, “I think both together would do best;” but here the case is otherwise: your thinking determines not the point: and other people of equal authority may, and I will answer for it, do think otherwise: but because I pretend to no authority, I will give you a reason, why your thinking is insufficient. You tell us, that “force is not a fit means, where it is not necessary as well as useful;” and you prove it to be necessary, because there is no other means left. Now if the severity of the magistrate, against what I call vice, will, as you will not deny, promote a good life, and that be the right way to seek the truths of religion; here is another means besides imposing of creeds and ceremonies, to promote the true religion; and therefore your argument for its necessity, because of no other means left, being gone, you cannot say “both together are best,” when one of them being not necessary, is therefore, by your own confession, not to be used.

I having said, That if such an indirect and at a distance usefulness were sufficient to justify the use of force, the magistrate might make his subjects eunuchs for the kingdom of heaven: you reply, that you “suppose I will not say castration is necessary, because you hope I acknowledge, that marriage, and that grace which God denies to none, who seriously ask it, are sufficient for that purpose.” And I hope you acknowledge, that preaching, admonitions, and instructions, and that grace which God denies to none, who seriously ask it, are sufficient for salvation. So that by this answer of yours, there being no more necessity of force to make men of the true religion, than there is of castration to make men chaste; it will still remain that the magistrate, when he thinks fit, may, upon your principles, as well castrate men to make them chaste, as use force to make them embrace the truth that must save them.

If castration be not necessary, “because marriage and the grace of God are sufficient,” without it: nor will force be necessary, because preaching and the grace of God are sufficient without it; and this, I think, by your own rule, where you tell us, “Where there are many useful means, and some of them are sufficient without the rest, there is no necessity of using them all.” So that you must either quit your necessity of force, or take in castration too: which, however it might not go down with the untractable and desperately perverse and obstinate people in these western countries, yet is a doctrine, you may hope, may meet with a better reception in the Ottoman empire, and recommend you to some of my mahometans.

To my saying, “If what we are apt to think useful, were thence to be concluded so, we might be in danger to be obliged to believe the pretended miracles of the church of Rome, by your way of reasoning; unless we will say, that which without impiety cannot be said, that the wise and benign disposer and governor of all things does not use all useful means for promoting his own honour in the world, and the good of souls.” This, I think, will conclude as much for miracles as for force: you reply, “you think it will not; for in the place I intend, you speak not of useful, but of competent, i. e. sufficient means. Now competent or sufficient means are necessary; but you think no man will say that all useful means are so: and therefore though, as you affirm, it cannot be said without impiety, that the wise and benign disposer and governor of all things has not furnished mankind with competent means for the promoting his own honour in the world, and the good of souls; yet it is very agreeable with piety, and with truth too, to say that he does not now use all useful means: because as none of his attributes obliges him to use more than sufficient means; so he may use sufficient means, without using all useful means. For where there are many useful means, and some of them are sufficient without the rest, there is no necessity of them all. So that from God’s not using miracles now, to promote the true religion, I cannot conclude that he does not think them useful now, but only that he does not think them necessary. And therefore, though what we are apt to think useful, were thence to be concluded so; yet if whatever is useful, be not likewise to be concluded necessary, there is no reason to fear that we should be obliged to believe the miracles pretended to by the church of Rome. For if miracles be not now necessary, there is no inconvenience in thinking the miracles pretended to by the church of Rome to be but pretended miracles.” To which I answer, Put it how you will, for competent means, or useful means, it will conclude for miracles still as much as for force. Your words are these, “If such a degree of outward force, as has been mentioned, be really of great and necessary use for the advancing these ends, as taking the world as we find it, you say, you think it appears to be; then it must be acknowledged there is a right somewhere to use it for the advancing those ends; unless we will say, what without impiety cannot be said, that the wise and benign disposer of all things has not furnished mankind with competent means for the promoting his own honour in the world, and the good of souls.” What, I beseech you, now is the sum of this argument, but this, “force is of great and necessary use; therefore the wise and benign disposer of all things, who will not leave mankind unfurnished (which it would be impiety to say) of competent means for the promoting his honour in the world, and the good of souls, has given somewhere a right to use it?”

Let us try it now, whether it will not do as well for miracles. Miracles “are of great and necessary use, as great and necessary at least as force; therefore the wise and benign disposer of all things, who will not leave mankind unfurnished, which it would be impiety to say, of competent means for the promoting his honour in the world, and the good of souls,” has given somewhere a power of miracles. I ask you, when I in the second letter used your own words, applied to miracles instead of force, would they not conclude then as well for miracles as for force? For you must remember there was not then in all your scheme one word of miracles to supply the place of force. Force alone was mentioned, force alone was necessary, all was laid on force. Nor was it easy to divine, that miracles should be taken in, to mend the defects of your hypothesis; which in your answer to me you now have done, and I easily allow it, without holding you to any thing you have said, and shall always do so. For seeking truth, and not triumph, as you frequently suggest, I shall always take your hypothesis as you please to reform it, and either embrace it, or show you why I do not.

Let us see, therefore, whether this argument will do any better now your scheme is mended, and you make force or miracles necessary. If force or miracles are of “great and necessary use for the promoting true religion, and the salvation of souls; then it must be acknowledged, that there is somewhere a right to use the one, or a power to do the other, for the advancing those ends; unless we will say, what without impiety cannot be said, that the wise and benign disposer and governor of all things has not furnished mankind with competent means for the promoting his own honour, and the good of souls.” From whence it will follow, if your argument be good, that where men have not a right to use force; there still we are to expect miracles, unless we will say, &c. Now where the magistrates are not of the true religion, there by this part of your scheme there is a right in nobody to use force: for if there were, what need of miracles, as you tell us there was, in the first ages of christianity, to supply that want? Since the magistrates, who were of false religions then, were furnished with as much right, if that were enough, as they are now. So that where the magistrates are of false religions, there you must, upon your principles, affirm miracles are still to supply the want of force; “unless you will say, what without impiety cannot be said, that the wise and benign disposer and governor of all things hath not furnished mankind with competent means for the promoting his own honour in the world, and the good of souls.” Now how far this will favour the pretences of the church of Rome to miracles in the East and West Indies, and other parts not under popish governments, you were best consider. This is evident, that in all countries where the true religion is not received for the religion of the state, and supported and encouraged by the laws of it; you must allow miracles to be as necessary now, as ever they were any-where in the world, for the supply of the want of force, before the magistrates were christians. And then what advantage your doctrine gives to the church of Rome, is very visible. For they, like you, supposing theirs the only true religion, are supplied by you with this argument for it, viz. “That the true religion will not prevail by its own light and strength, without the assistance of miracles or authority. Which are the competent means, which, without impiety, it cannot be said, that the wise and benign disposer and governor of all things has not furnished mankind with.” From whence they will not think it hard to draw this consequence, that therefore the wise and benign governor of all things has continued in their church the power of miracles; (which yours does not so much as pretend to;) to supply the want of the magistrate’s assistance, where that cannot be had to make the true religion prevail. And if a papist should press you with this argument, I would gladly know what you would reply to him.

Though this be enough to make good what I said, yet since I seek truth, more than my own justification, let us examine a little what it is you here say of “competent means. Competent means, you say, are necessary, but you think no man will say, all useful means are so.” If you think you speak plain, clear, determined sense, when you used this good English word competent, I pity you: if you did it with skill, I send you to my pagans and mahometans. But this safe way of talking, though it be not altogether so clear, yet it so often occurs in you, that it is hard to judge, whether it be art or nature. Now pray what do you mean by “mankind’s being furnished with competent means?” If it be such means as many are prevailed on by to embrace the truth that must save them, preaching is a competent means, for by preaching alone, without force, many are prevailed on, and become truly christians; and then your force, by your own confession, is not necessary. If by competent, you understand such means, by which all men are prevailed on, or the majority, to become truly christians, I fear your force is no competent means.

Which way ever you put it, you must acknowledge mankind to be destitute of competent means, or your moderate force not to be that necessary competent means: since whatever right the magistrates may have had any-where to use it, wherever it has not been used, let the cause be what it will that kept this means from being used, there the people have been destitute of that means.

But you will think there is little reason to complain of obscurity, you having abundantly explained what you mean by competent, in saying competent, i. e. sufficient means. So that we have nothing to do but to find out what you mean by sufficient: and the meaning of that word, in your use of it, you happily give us in these following, “What does any man mean by sufficient evidence, but such as will certainly win assent whereever it is duly considered.” Apply this to your means, and then tell me, whether your force be such competent, i. e. sufficient means, that it certainly produced embracing the truth, wherever it was duly, i. e. your way applied; if it did not, it is plain it is not your competent sufficient means, and so the world, without any such imputation to the divine wisdom and benignity, might be without it. If you will say it was sufficient, and did produce that end wherever it was applied, I desire you then to tell me whether mankind hath been always furnished with competent means. You have it now in your choice, either to talk impiously, or renounce force, and disown it to be competent means; one of the two I do not see how, by your own argument, you can avoid.

But to lay by your competent and sufficient means, and to ease you of the uncertainty and difficulty you will be in to determine what is so, in respect of mankind; I suppose it will be little less “impious to say, that the wise and benign disposer and governor hath not furnished mankind with necessary means, as to say he hath not furnished them with competent means.” Now, sir, if your moderate penalties, and nothing else, be, since the withdrawing of miracles, this necessary means, what will be left you to say, by your argument, of the wisdom and benignity of God in all those countries, where moderate penalties are not made use of? where men are not furnished with this means to bring them to the true religion? For unless you can say, that your moderate penalties have been constantly made use of in the world for the support and encouragement of the true religion, and to bring men to it, ever since the withdrawing of miracles; you must confess that not only some countries (which yet were enough against you,) but mankind in general, have been unfurnished of the “necessary means for the promoting the honour of God in the world, and the salvation of men’s souls.” This argument out of your own mouth, were there no other, is sufficient to show the weakness and unreasonableness of your scheme; and I hope the due consideration of it will make you cautious another time, how you intitle the wisdom and benignity of God to the support of what you once fancy to be of great and necessary use.

I having thereupon said, “Let us not therefore be more wise than our Maker in that stupendous and supernatural work of our salvation. The scripture,” &c.

You reply, “Though the work of our salvation be, as I justly call it, stupendous and supernatural; yet you suppose no sober man doubts, but it both admits and ordinarily requires the use of natural and human means, in subordination to that grace which works it.”

If you had taken notice of these immediately following words of mine, “The scripture that reveals it to us, contains all that we can know or do, in order to it; and where that is silent, it is presumption in us to direct;” you would not have thought what you here say a sufficient answer: for though God does make use of natural and human means in subordination to grace, yet it is not for man to make use of any means, in subordination to his grace, which God has not appointed; out of a conceit it may do some service indirectly and at a distance.

The whole covenant and work of grace is the contrivance of God’s infinite wisdom. What it is, and by what means he will dispense his grace, is known to us by revelation only; which is so little suited to human wisdom, that the apostle calls it “the foolishness of preaching.” In the scripture is contained all that revelation, and all things necessary for that work, all the means of grace: there God has declared all that he would have done for the salvation of souls; and if he had thought force necessary to be joined with the foolishness of preaching, no doubt but he would have somewhere or other have revealed it, and not left it to the wisdom of man; which, how disproportioned and opposite it is to the ways and wisdom of God in the gospel, and how unfit to be trusted in the business of salvation, you may see, I Cor. i. from verse 17 to the end.

“The work of grace admits and ordinarily requires the use of natural and human means.” I deny it not: let us now hear your inference: “Therefore till I have shown that no penal laws, that can be made, can do any service towards the salvation of men’s souls in subordination to God’s grace, or that God has forbidden the magistrate” to use force, for so you ought to put it, but you rather choose, according to your ordinary way, to use general and doubtful words; and therefore you say, “to serve him in that great work with the authority which he has given him; there will be no occasion for the caution I have given,” not to be wiser than our Maker in that stupendous work of our salvation. By which way of arguing, any thing that I cannot show, cannot possibly, cannot indirectly and at a distance, or by accident, do any service, or God has not forbidden, may be made use of for the salvation of souls. I suppose you mean expressly forbidden, for else I might think these words [“Who has required this at your hands?”] sufficient prohibition of it. The sum of your argument is, “what cannot be showed not to do any service, may be used as a human means in subordination to grace, in the work of salvation.” To which I reply, That what may, through the grace of God, sometimes do some service, cannot, without a further warrant from revelation than such usefulness, be required, or made use of as a subordinate means to grace. For if so, then auricular confession, penance, pilgrimages, processions, &c. which nobody can show do not ever do any service, at least indirectly and at a distance, towards the salvation of souls, may all be justified.

It is not enough that it cannot be shown that it cannot do any service to justify its usefulness: for what is there that may not, indirectly and at a distance, or by accident, do some service? To show that it is a human means, that God has no-where appointed, in subordination to grace, in the supernatural work of salvation, is enough to prove it an unwarrantable boldness to use it: and much more so in the present case of force, which, if put into the magistrate’s hands with power to use it in matters of religion, will do more harm than good, as I think I have sufficiently shown.

And therefore, since, according to you, the magistrate’s commission to use force for the salvation of souls, is from the law of nature; which commission reaches to none, since the revelation of the gospel, but christian magistrates; it is more natural to conclude, were there nothing else in the case but the silence of scripture, that the christian magistrate has no such power, because he has no such commission any-where in the gospel, wherein all things are appointed necessary to salvation; than that there was so clear a commission given to all magistrates by the law of nature, that it is necessary to show a prohibition from revelation, if one will deny christian magistrates to have that power. Since the commission of the law of nature, to magistrates, being only that general one, of doing good according to the best of their judgments: if that extends to the use of force in matters of religion, it will abundantly more oppose than promote the true religion, if force in the case has any efficacy at all, and so do more harm than good: which though it shows not, what you here demand, that it cannot do any service towards the salvation of men’s souls, for that cannot be shown of any thing; yet it shows the disservice, it does, is so much more, than any service can be expected from it, that it can never be proved, that God has given power to magistrates to use it by the commission they have of doing good, from the law of nature.

But whilst you tell me, “Till I have shown that force and penalties cannot do any service towards the salvation of souls, there will be no occasion for the caution I gave you,” not to be wiser than our Maker in that stupendous and supernatural work; you have forgot your own confession, that it is not enough to authorize the use of force, that it may be useful, if it be not also necessary. And when you can prove such means necessary, which though it cannot be shown, never upon any occasion to do any service; yet may be, and is abundantly shown to do little service, and so uncertainly, that if it be used, it will, if it has any efficacy, do more harm than good: if you can, I say, prove such a means as that necessary, I think I may yield you the cause. But the use of it has so much certain harm, and so little and uncertain good in it, that it can never be supposed included or intended in the general commission to the magistrates, of doing good; which may serve for an answer to your next paragraph.

Only let me take notice, that you here make this commission of the law of nature to extend the use of force, only to “induce those, who would not otherwise, to hear what may and ought to move them to embrace the truth.” They have heard all that is offered to move them to embrace, i. e. believe, but are not moved: is the magistrate by the law of nature commissioned to punish them for what is not in their power? for faith is the gift of God, and not in a man’s power: or is the magistrate commissioned by the law of nature, which impowers him in general, only to do them good? Is he, I say, commissioned to make them lye, and profess that which they do not believe? And is this for their good? If he punish them till they embrace, i. e. believe, he punishes them for what is not in their power; if till they embrace, i. e. barely profess, he punishes them for what is not for their good: to neither of which can he be commissioned by the law of nature.

To my saying, “Till you can show us a commission in scripture, it will be fit for us to obey that precept of the gospel, Mark iv. 24, which bids us take heed what we hear.” You reply, That this “you suppose is only intended for the vulgar reader; for it ought to be rendered, attend to what you hear;” which you prove out of Grotius. What if I or my readers are not so learned, as to understand either the Greek original, or Grotius’s Latin comment? Or if we did, are we to be blamed for understanding the scripture in that sense, which the national, i. e. as you say, the true religion authorizes, and which you tell us would be a fault in us if we did not believe?

For if, as you suppose, there be sufficient provision made in England for the instructing all men in the truth; we cannot then but take the words in this sense, it being that which the public authority has given them; for if we are not to follow the sense as it is given us in the translation authorized by our governors, and used in our worship established by law; but must seek it elsewhere; it will be hard to find, how there is any other provision made for instructing men in the sense of the scripture, which is the truth that must save them, but to leave them to their own inquiry and judgment, and to themselves, to take whom they think best for interpreters and expounders of scripture, and to quit that of the true church, which she has given in her translation. This is the liberty you take to differ from the true church, when you think fit, and it will serve your purpose. She says, “Take heed what you hear;” but you say, the true sense is, “Attend to what you hear.” Methinks you should not be at such variance with dissenters; for, after all, nothing is so like a nonconformist as a conformist. Though it be certainly every one’s right to understand the scripture in that sense which appears truest to him, yet I do not see how you, upon your principles, can depart from that which the church of England has given it: but you, I find, when you think fit, take that liberty; and so much liberty as that, would, I think, satisfy all the dissenters in England.

As to your other place of scripture; if St. Paul, as it seems to me, in that tenth to the Romans, where showing that the gentiles were provided with all things necessary to salvation as well as the jews; and that by having men sent to them to preach the gospel, that provision was made; what you say in the two next paragraphs will show us that you understand, that the Greek word ἀχοὴ, signifies both hearing and report; but does no more answer the force of those two verses, against you, than if you had spared all you said with your Greek criticism. The words of St. Paul are these: “How then shall they call on him on whom they have not believed? And how shall they believe in him of whom they have not heard? And how shall they hear without a preacher? And how shall they preach, except they be sent? So then faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the word of God,” Rom. x. 14, 15, 17. In this deduction of the means of propagating the gospel, we may well suppose St. Paul would have put in miracles or penalties, if, as you say, one of them had been necessary. But whether or no every reader will think St. Paul set down in that place all necessary means, I know not; but this, I am confident, he will think, that the New Testament does; and then I ask, Whether there be in it one word of force to be used to bring men to be christians, or to hearken to the good tidings of salvation offered in the gospel?

To my asking, “What if God, for reasons best known to himself, would not have men compelled?” You answer, “If he would not have them compelled, now miracles are ceased, as far as moderate penalties compel, (otherwise you are not concerned in the demand,) he would have told us so.” Concerning miracles supplying the want of force, I shall need to say nothing more here: but to your answer, that “God would have told us so;” I shall in few words state the matter to you. You first suppose force necessary to compel men to hear; and thereupon suppose the magistrate invested with a power to compel them to hear; and from thence peremptorily declare, that if God would not have force used, he would have told us so. You suppose also, that, it must be only moderate force. Now may we not ask one, that is so far of the council of the Almighty, that he can positively say what he would or would not have; to tell us, whether it be not as probable that God, who knows the temper of man that he has made, who knows how apt he is not to spare any degree of force when he believes he has a commission to compel men to do any thing in their power; and who knows also how prone man is to think it reasonable to do so: whether, I say, it is not as probable that God, if he would have the magistrate to use none but moderate force to compel men to hear, would also have told us so? Fathers are not more apt than magistrates to strain their power beyond what is convenient for the education of their children; and yet it has pleased God to tell them in the New Testament, of this moderation, by a precept more than once repeated.

To my demanding, “What if God would have men left to their freedom in this point, if they will hear, or if they will forbear; will you constrain them? Thus we are sure he did with his own people,” &c. You answer, “But those words, whether they will hear, or whether they will forbear, which we find thrice used in the prophet Ezekiel, are nothing at all to my purpose. For by hearing there, no man understands the bare giving an ear to what was to be preached; nor yet the considering it only; but the complying with it, and obeying it; according to the paraphrase which Grotius gives of the words.” Methinks, for this once, you might have allowed me to have hit upon something to the purpose, you having denied me it in so many other places: if it were but for pity; and one other reason; which is, that all you have to say against it is, that “by hearing there, no man understands the bare giving an ear to what was to be preached; nor yet the considering it; but the complying with it, and obeying it.” If I misremember not, your hypothesis pretends the use of force to be not barely to make men give an ear, nor yet to consider; but to make them consider as they ought; i. e. so as not to reject; and therefore, though this text out of Ezekiel be nothing to the purpose against bare giving an ear; yet, if you please, let it stand as if it were to the purpose against your hypothesis, till you can find some other answer to it.

If you will give yourself the pains to turn to Acts xxviii. 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, you will read these words, “And some believed the things that were spoken, and some believed not. And when they agreed not among themselves they departed, after that Paul had spoken one word, Well spake the Holy Ghost by Esaias the prophet, unto our fathers, saying, Go unto this people, and say, hearing, ye shall hear, and shall not understand; and seeing, ye shall see, and not perceive. For the heart of this people is waxed gross, and their ears are dull of hearing, and their eyes have they closed; lest they should see with their eyes, and hear with their ears, and understand with their heart, and should be converted, and I should heal them. Be it known therefore unto you, that the salvation of God is sent unto the gentiles, and that they will hear it.”

If one should come now, and out of your treatise, called “The Argument of the Letter concerning Toleration considered and answered,” reason thus, “It is evident that these jews have not sought the truth in this matter, with that application of mind, and freedom of judgment, which was requisite; whilst they suffered their lusts and passions to sit in judgment, and manage the inquiry. The impressions of education, the reverence and admiration of persons, worldly respects, and the like incompetent motives, have determined them. Now if this be the case; if these men are averse to a due consideration of things, where they are most concerned to use it; what means is there left (besides the grace of God) to reduce them out of the wrong way they are in, but to lay thorns and briars in it?” Would you not think this a good argument to show the necessity of using force and penalties upon these men in the Acts, who refused to be brought to embrace the true religion upon the preaching of St. Paul? “For what other means was left, what human method could be used to bring them to make a wiser and more rational choice, but laying such penalties upon them as might balance the weight of such prejudices, which inclined them to prefer a false way before the true?” Tell me, I beseech you, would you not, had you been a christian magistrate in those days, have thought yourself obliged to try, by force, “to overbalance the weight of those prejudices which inclined them to prefer a false way to the true?” For there was no other human means left; and if that be not enough to prove the necessity of using it, you have no proof of any necessity of force at all.

If you would have laid penalties upon them, I ask you, what if God, for reasons best known to himself, thought it not necessary to use any other human means but preaching and persuasion? You have a ready answer, there is no other human means but force, and some other human means besides preaching is necessary, i. e. in your opinion: and is it not fit your authority should carry it? For as to miracles, whether you think fit to rank them amongst human means or no; or whether or no there were any showed to these unbelieving jews, to supply the want of force; I guess, in this case, you will not be much helped, whichever you suppose: though to one unbiassed, who reads that chapter, it will, I imagine, appear most probable that St. Paul, when he thus parted with them, had done no miracles amongst them.

But you have, at the close of the paragraph before us, provided a salvo for all, in telling us, “However the penalties you defend, are not such as can any way be pretended to take away men’s freedom in this point.” The question is, whether there be a necessity of using other human means but preaching, for the bringing men to embrace the truth that must save them; and whether force be it? God himself seems, in the places quoted, and others, to teach us, that he would have left men to their freedom from any constraint of force in that point; and you answer, “The penalties you defend are not such as can any ways be pretended to take away men’s freedom in this point.” Tell us what you mean by these words of yours, “take away men’s freedom in this point;” and then apply it. I think it pretty hard to use penalties and force to any man, without taking away his freedom from penalties and force. Farther, the penalties you think necessary, if we may believe you yourself, are to “be such as may balance the weight of those prejudices, which incline men to prefer a false way before a true:” whether these be such as you will defend, is another question. This, I think, is to be made plain, that you must go beyond the lower degrees of force, and moderate penalties, to balance those prejudices.

To my saying, “That the method of the gospel is to pray and beseech, and that if God had thought it necessary to have men punished to make them give ear, he could have called magistrates to be spreaders of the gospel, as well as poor fishermen; or Paul, a persecutor; who yet wanted not power to punish Ananias and Sapphira, and the incestuous Corinthian.” You reply, “Though it be the method of the gospel, for the ministers of it to pray and beseech men; yet it appears from my own words here, both that punishments may be sometimes necessary; and that punishing, and that even by those who are to pray and beseech, is consistent with that method.” I fear, sir, you so greedily lay hold upon any examples of punishment, when on any account they come in your way: that you give yourself not liberty to consider whether they are for your purpose or no; or else you would scarce infer, as you do from my words, that, in your case, “punishments may be sometimes necessary.” Ananias and Sapphira were punished: “therefore it appears, say you, that punishments may be sometimes necessary.” For what, I beseech you? For the only end, you say, punishments are useful in religion, i. e. to make men consider. So that Ananias and Sapphira were struck dead: for what end? To make them consider. If you had given yourself the leisure to have reflected on this, and the other instance of the incestuous Corinthian; it is possible you would have found neither of them to have served very well to show punishment necessary to bring men to embrace the true religion; for both these were punishments laid on those who had already embraced the true religion, and were in the communion of the true church: and so can only show, if you will infer any thing concerning the necessity of punishments from them, that punishments may be sometimes necessary for those who are in the communion of the true church. And of that you may make your advantage.

As to your other inferences from my words, viz. “That punishing, and that even by those who are, as ambassadors, to pray and beseech; is consistent with that method;” when they can do it as the apostles did, by the immediate direction and assistance of the spirit of God, I shall easily allow it to be consistent with the method of the gospel. If that will not content you, it is plain, you have an itch to be handling the secular sword; and since Christ has not given you the power you desire, you would be executing the magistrate’s pretended commission from the law of nature. One thing more let me remind you of, and that is, that if, from the punishments of Ananias and Sapphira, and the incestuous Corinthian, you can infer a necessity of punishment to make men consider; it will follow that there was a necessity of punishment to make men consider, notwithstanding miracles; which cannot therefore be supposed to supply the want of punishments.

To my asking, “What if God, foreseeing this force would be in the hands of men, as passionate, as humoursome, as liable to prejudice and errour, as the rest of their brethren, did not think it a proper means to bring men into the right way?” You reply, “But if there be any thing of an argument in this, it proves that there ought to be no civil government in the world; and so proving too much, proves nothing at all.” This you say; but you being one of those mortals who is liable to error as well as your brethren, you cannot expect it should be received for infallible truth, till you have proved it; and that you will never do, till you can show, that there is as absolute a necessity of force in the magistrate’s hands for the salvation of souls, as there is of force in the magistrate’s hand for the preservation of civil society; and next, till you have proved that force, in the hands of men, as passionate and humoursome; or liable to prejudice and errour as their brethren: would contribute as much to the bringing men, and keeping them in the right way to salvation, as it does to the support of civil society, and the keeping men at peace in it.

Where men cannot live together without mutual injuries, not to be avoided without force, reason has taught them to seek a remedy in government; which always places power somewhere in the society to restrain and punish such injuries; which power, whether placed in the community itself, or some chosen by the community to govern it, must still be in the hands of men; and where, as in societies of civilized and settled nations, the form of the government places this power out of the community itself, it is unavoidable, that out of men, such as they are, some should be made magistrates, and have coercive power of force put into their hands, to govern and direct the society for the public good; without which force, so placed in the hands of men, there could be no civil society; nor the ends for which it is instituted, to any degree, attained. And thus government is the will of God.

It is the will of God also, that men should be saved; but to this, it is not necessary that force or coactive power should be put into men’s hands; because God can and hath provided other means to bring men to salvation: to which, you indeed suppose, but can never prove force necessary.

The passions, humours, liableness to prejudices and errours, common to magistrates with other men, do not render force in their hands so dangerous and unuseful to the ends of society, which is the public peace, as to the ends of religion, which is the salvation of men’s souls. For though men of all ranks could be content to have their own humours, passions, and prejudices satisfied; yet when they come to make laws, which are to direct their force in civil matters, they are driven to oppose their laws to the humours, passions, and prejudices of men in general, whereby their own come to be restrained: for if law-makers, in making of laws, did not direct them against the irregular humours, prejudices, and passions of men, which are apt to mislead them; if they did not endeavour, with their best judgment, to bring men from their humours and passions, to the obedience and practice of right reason; the society could not subsist; and so they themselves would be in danger to lose their station in it, and be exposed to the unrestrained humours, passions, and violence of others. And hence it comes, that be men as humoursome, passionate, and prejudiced, as they will, they are still by their own interest obliged to make use of their best skill, and with their most unprejudiced and sedatest thoughts, take care of the government, and endeavour to preserve the commonwealth; and therefore, notwithstanding their humours and passions, their liableness to errour and prejudice; they do provide pretty well for the support of society, and the power in their hands is of use to the maintenance of it.

But in matters of religion it is quite otherwise: you had told us, about the latter end of your “Argument,” , how liable men were in choosing their religion to be misled by humour, passion, and prejudice; and therefore it was not fit that in a business of such concernment they should be left to themselves: and hence, in this matter of religion, you would have them subjected to the coactive power of the magistrate. But this contrivance is visibly of no advantage to the true religion, nor can serve at all to secure men from a wrong choice. For the magistrates, by their humours, prejudices, and passions, which they are born to like other men, being as liable, and likely to be misled in the choice of their religion, as any of their brethren, as constant experience hath always shown; what advantage could it be to mankind, for the salvation of their souls, that the magistrates of the world should have power to use force to bring men to that religion which they, each of them, by whatsoever humour, passion, or prejudice influenced, had chosen to themselves as the true? For whatsoever you did, I think with reverence we may say, that God foresaw, that whatever commission one magistrate had by the law of nature, all magistrates had: and that commission, if there were any such, could be only to use their coactive power to bring men to the religion they believed to be true; whether it were really the true or no; and therefore I shall, without taking away government out of the world, or so much as questioning it, still think this a reasonable question: “What if God, foreseeing this force would be in the hands of men, as passionate, as humoursome, as liable to prejudice and errour, as the rest of their brethren; did not think it a proper means, in such hands, to bring men into the right way?” And that it needs a better answer than you have given to it: and therefore you might have spared the pains you have taken in this paragraph, to prove that the magistrate’s being liable as much as other men to humour, prejudice, passion, and errour, makes not force, in his hands, wholly unserviceable to the administration of civil government; which is what nobody denies: and you would have better employed it to prove, that if the magistrate’s being as liable to passion, humour, prejudice, and errour, as other men, made force, in his hands, improper to bring men to the true religion; this would take away government out of the world: which is a consequence, I think, I may deny.

To which let me now add, what if God foresaw, that if force, of any kind or degree whatsoever, were allowed in behalf of truth, it would be used by erring, passionate, prejudiced men, to the restraint and ruin of truth; as constant experience in all ages has shown; and therefore commanded that the tares should be suffered to grow with the wheat, till the harvest; when the infallible judge shall sever them. That parable of our Saviour’s plainly tells us, if force were once permitted, even in favour of the true religion, what mischief it was like to do in the misapplication of it, by forward, busy, mistaken men; and therefore he wholly forbid it; and yet, I hope, this does not take away civil government out of the world.

To my demanding, “What if there be other means?” and saying, “Then yours ceases to be necessary upon that account, that there is no other means left; for the grace of God is another means.” You answer, That “though the grace of God is another means, yet it is none of the means of which you were speaking in the place I refer to; which any one, who reads that paragraph, will find to be only human means.” In that place you were endeavouring to prove force necessary to bring men to the true religion, as appears; and there having dilated for four or five pages together upon the “carelessness, prejudices, passions, lusts, impressions of education, worldly respects,” and other the like causes, which you think mislead and keep men from the true religion; you at last conclude force necessary to bring men to it, because admonitions and intreaties not prevailing, there is no other means left. To this, grace being instanced in as another means, you tell us here you mean no other human means left. So that to prove force necessary, you must prove that God would have other human means used besides praying, preaching, persuasion, and instruction; and for this, you will need to bring a plain direction from revelation for your moderate punishments; unless you will pretend to know, by your own natural wisdom, what means God has made necessary; without which, those whom he hath foreknown and predestinated, and will in his good time call, Romans viii. 29, by such means as he thinks fit, according to his purpose; cannot be brought into the way of salvation. Perhaps you have some warrant we know not of, to enter thus boldly into the counsel of God; without which, in another man, a modest Christian would be apt to think it presumption.

You say, there are many who are not prevailed on by prayers, intreaties, and exhortations, to embrace the true religion. What then is to be done? “Some degrees of force are necessary” to be used? Why? Because there is no other human means left. Many are not prevailed on by your moderate force; What then is to be done? Greater degrees of force are necessary, because there is no other human means left. No, say you, God has made moderate force necessary, because there is no other human means left where preaching and intreaties will not prevail; but he has not made greater degrees of force necessary, because there is no other human means left where moderate force will not prevail. So that your rule changing, where the reason continues the same, we must conclude you have some way of judging concerning the purposes and ways of the Almighty in the work of salvation, which every one understands not. You would not else, upon so slight ground as you have yet produced for it, which is nothing but your own imagination, make force, your moderate force so necessary, that you bring in question the wisdom and bounty of the Disposer and Governor of all things, as if he “had not furnished mankind with competent means for the promoting his own honour in the world, and the good of souls,” if your moderate force were wanting to bring them to the true religion; whereas you know, that most of the nations of the world always were destitute of this human means to bring them to the true religion. And I imagine you would be put to it, to name me one now, that is furnished with it.

Besides, if you please to remember what you say in the next words: “And therefore, though the grace of God be both a proper and sufficient means, and such as can work by itself, and without which neither penalties nor any other means can do any thing;” and by consequence can make any means effectual: how can you say any human means, in this supernatural work, unless what God has declared to be so, is necessary? Preaching, and instruction, and exhortation, are human means that he has appointed: these, therefore, men may and ought to use; they have a commission from God, and may expect his blessing and the assistance of his grace; but to suppose, when they are used and prevail not, that force is necessary, because these are not sufficient, is to exclude grace, and ascribe this work to human means; as in effect you do, when you call force competent and sufficient means, as you have done. For if bare preaching, by the assistance of grace, can and will certainly prevail; and moderate penalties, as you confess, or any kind of force, without the assistance of grace, can do nothing; how can you say, that force is in any case a more necessary, or a more competent, or sufficient means, than bare preaching and instruction? unless you can show us, that God hath promised the cooperation and assistance of his grace to force, and not to preaching? The contrary whereof has more of appearance. Preaching and persuasion are not competent means, you say; Why? because, without the co-operation of grace, they can do nothing: but by the assistance of grace they can prevail even without force. Force too, without grace, you acknowledge can do nothing: but, joined with preaching and grace, it can prevail. Why then, I pray, is it a more competent means than preaching; or why necessary, where preaching prevails not? since it can do nothing without that, which, if joined to preaching, can make preaching effectual without it.

You go on, “Yet it may be true however, that when admonitions and intreaties fail, there is no human means left but penalties, to bring prejudiced persons to hear and consider what may convince them of their errours, and discover the truth to them: and then penalties will be necessary in respect to that end, as an human means.” Let it be true or not true, that when treaties, &c. fail, there is no human means left but penalties: your inference I deny, that then penalties will be necessary as an human means. For I ask you, since you lay so much stress to so little purpose on human means, is some human means necessary? if that be your meaning, you have human means in the case, viz. admonitions, intreaties; being instant in season and out of season. I ask you again, Are penalties necessary because the end could not be obtained by preaching, without them? that you cannot say, for grace co-operating with preaching will prevail: are penalties then necessary, as sure to produce that end? nor so are they necessary; for without the assistance of grace, you confess, they can do nothing. So that penalties, neither as human means, nor as any means, are at all necessary. And now you may understand what I intend, by saying that the grace of God is the only means, which is the inquiry of your next paragraph, viz. this I intend, that it is the only efficacious means, without which all human means is ineffectual. You tell me, If by it “I intend that it does either always, or ordinarily exclude all other means; you see no ground I have to say it.” And I see no ground you have to think I intended, that it excludes any other means that God in his goodness will be pleased to make use of; but this I intend by it, and this, I think, I have ground to say, that it excludes all the human means of force from being necessary, or so much as lawful to be used; unless God hath required it by some more authentic declaration than your bare saying or imagining it is necessary. And you must have more than human confidence, if you continue to mix this poor and human contrivance of yours with the wisdom and counsel of God in the work of salvation; since he having declared the means and methods to be used for the saving men’s souls, has in the revelation of the Gospel, by your own confession, prescribed no such human means.

To my saying, “God alone can open the ear that it may hear, and open the heart that it may understand:” You reply, “But, by your favour, this does not prove that he makes use of no means in doing of it.” Nor needs it: it is enough for me, if it proves, that if preaching and instruction do not open the ear, or the heart, it is not necessary any one should try his strength with a hammer or an auger. Man is not in this business (where no means can be effectual, without the assistance and co-operation of his grace) to make use of any means which God hath not prescribed. You here set up a way of propagating Christianity according to your fancy, and tell us how you would have the work of the gospel carried on: you commission the magistrate by the argument of congruity: you find an efficacy in punishment towards the converting of men; you limit the force to be used to low and moderate degrees; and to countries where sufficient means of instruction are provided by the law, and where the magistrate’s religion is the true, i. e. where it pleases you; and all this without any direction from God, or any authority so much as pretended from the Gospel; and without its being truly for the propagation of Christianity, but only so much of it as you think fit, and what else you are pleased to join to it. Why else, in the religion you are content to have established by law, and promoted by penalties, is any thing more or less required, than is expressly contained in the New Testament?

This indeed is well suited to any one, who would have a power of punishing those that differ from his opinion, and would have men compelled to conformity in England. But in this your fair contrivance, what becomes of the rest of mankind, left to wander in darkness out of this Goshen, who neither have, nor (according to your scheme) can have, your necessary means of force and penalties to bring them to embrace the truth that must save them? For if that be necessary, they cannot without a miracle, either prince or people, be wrought on without it. If a papist at Rome, a lutheran at Stockholm, or a calvinist at Geneva, should argue thus for his church, would you not say, that such as these looked like the thoughts of a poor prejudiced mind? But they may mistake, and you cannot; they may be prejudiced, but you cannot. Say too, if you please, you are confident you are in the right, but they cannot be confident they are so. This I am sure, God’s thoughts are not as man’s thoughts, nor his ways as man’s ways, Isaiah lv. 8. And it may abate any one’s confidence of the necessity or use of punishments, for not receiving our Saviour, or his religion, when those who had the power of miracles were told, that “they knew not what manner of spirit they were of,” when they would have commanded down fire from heaven, Luke ix. 55. But you do well to take care to have the church you are of supported by force and penalties, whatever becomes of the propagation of the gospel, or the salvation of men’s souls, in other parts of the world, as not coming within your hypothesis.

In your next paragraph, to prove that God does bless the use of force, you say you suppose I mean, by the words you there cite, that “the magistrate has no ground to hope that God will bless any penalties that he may use to bring men to hear and consider the doctrine of salvation; or (which is the same thing) that God does not (at least not ordinarily) afford his grace and assistance to them who are brought by such penalties to hear and consider that doctrine, to enable them to hear and consider it as they ought, i. e. so as to be moved heartily to embrace it.” You tell me, “If this be my meaning, then to let me see that it is not true, you shall only desire me to tell you, whether they that are so brought to hear and consider, are bound to believe the gospel or not? If I say they are; (and you suppose I dare not say otherwise;) then it evidently follows, that God does afford them that grace which is requisite to enable them to believe the gospel: because without that grace it is impossible for them to believe it; and they cannot be bound to believe what it is impossible for them to believe.” To which, I shall only answer, that by this irrefragable argument it is evident, that wherever due penalties have been used, for those you tell us are sufficient and competent means, to make men hear and consider as they ought: there all men were brought to believe the gospel: which, whether you will resolve with yourself to be true or false, will be to me indifferent, and on either hand equally advantage your cause. Had you appealed to experience for the success of the use of force by the magistrate, your argument had not shown half so much depth of theological learning: but the mischief is, that if you will not make it all of a piece scholastic; and by arguing that all whom the magistrates use force upon, “are brought to consider as they ought, and to all that are so wrought upon God does afford that grace which is requisite;” and so roundly conclude for a greater success of force, to make men believe the gospel, than ever our Saviour and the apostles had by their preaching and miracles: for that wrought not on all; your unanswerable argument comes to nothing. And in truth, as you have in this paragraph ordered the matter, by being too sparing of your abstract metaphysical reasoning, and employing it by halves, we are fain, after all, to come to the dull way of experience: and must be forced to count, as the parson does his communicants, by his Easter-book, how many those are so brought to hear and consider, to know how far God blesses penalties. Indeed, were it to be measured by conforming, the Easter-book would be a good register to determine it. But since you put it upon believing, that will be of somewhat a harder disquisition.

To my saying, (upon that place out of Isaiah, vi. 10, “Make the heart of this people fat, lest they understand, and convert, and be healed.) will all the force you can use be a means to make such people hear and understand, and be converted?” You reply, “No, sir, it will not. But what then? What if God declares that he will not heal those who have long resisted all his ordinary methods, and made themselves, morally speaking, incurable by them? (which is the utmost, you say, I can make of the words I quote.) Will it follow from thence that no good can be done by penalties upon others, who are not so far gone in wickedness and obstinacy? If it will not, as it is evident it will not, to what purpose is this said?” It is said to this purpose, viz. to show that force ought not to be used at all. Those ordinary methods which, resisted, are punished with a reprobate sense; are the ordinary methods of instruction, without force: as is evident from this place and many others, particularly Romans i. From whence I argue; that what state soever you will suppose men in, either as past or not yet come to the day of grace; nobody can be justified in using force to work upon them. For till the ordinary methods of instruction and persuasion can do no more, force is not necessary; for you cannot say, what other means is there left, and so by your own rule, not lawful. For till God hath pronounced this sentence here, on any one, “make his heart fat,” &c. the ordinary means of instruction and persuasion may, by the assistance of God’s grace, prevail. And when this sentence is once passed upon them, and “God will not afford them his grace to heal them;” (I take it, you confess in this place;) I am sure you must confess, your force to be wholly useless, and so utterly impertinent; unless that can be pertinent to be used, which you own can do nothing. So that whether it will follow or no, from men’s being given up to a reprobate mind, for having resisted the preaching of salvation, “that no good can be done by penalties upon others;” this will follow, that not knowing whether preaching may not, by the grace of God, yet work upon them; or whether the day of grace be past with them; neither you nor any body else can say that force is necessary; and if it be not necessary, you yourself tell us it is not to be used.

In your next paragraph, you complain of me, as representing your argument, as you say, “I commonly do, as if you allowed any magistrate, of what religion soever, to lay penalties upon all that dissent from him.” Unhappy magistrates that have not your allowance! But to console them, I imagine they will find that they are all under the same obligation, one as another, to propagate the religion they believe to be the true; whether you allow it them or no. For to go no farther than the first words of your argument, which you complain I have misrepresented, and which you tell me runs thus, “When men fly from the means of right information;” I ask you here, who shall be judge of those means of right information; the magistrate who joins force with them to make them be hearkened to, or no? When you have answered that, you will have resolved a great part of the question, what magistrates are to use force?

But that you may not complain again of my misrepresenting, I must beg my readers leave to set down your argument at large in your own words, and all you say upon it: “When men fly from the means of a right information, and will not so much as consider how reasonable it is thoroughly and impartially to examine a religion, which they embraced upon such inducements as ought to have no sway at all in the matter, and therefore with little or no examination of the proper grounds of it; what human method can be used to bring them to act like men in an affair of such consequence, and to make a wiser and more rational choice, but that of laying such penalties upon them as may balance the weight of those prejudices, which inclined them to prefer a false way before the true?” &c. Now this argument, you tell me, I pretend to retort in this manner: “and I say, I see no other means left, (taking the world as we now find it, wherein the magistrate never lays penalties for matters of religion upon those of his own church, nor is it to be expected they ever should,) to make men of the national church, any-where, thoroughly and impartially examine a religion, which they embraced upon such inducements as ought to have no sway at all in the matter, and therefore with little or no examination of the proper grounds of it; and therefore I conclude the use of force by dissenters upon conformists necessary. I appeal to all the world, whether this be not as just and natural a conclusion as yours?” And you say you are “well content the world should judge. And when it determines, that there is the same reason to say, that to bring those who conform to the national church to examine their religion, it is necessary for dissenters (who cannot possibly have the coactive power, because the national church has that on its side, and cannot be national without it) to use force upon conformists; as there is to say, that where the national church is the true church, there to bring dissenters (as I call them) to examine their religion, it is necessary for the magistrate (who has the coactive power) to lay moderate penalties upon them for dissenting: you say, when the world determines thus, you will never pretend any more to judge what is reasonable, in any case whatsoever. For you doubt not but you may safely presume, that the world will easily admit these two things. 1. That though it be very fit and desirable, that all that are of the true religion, should understand the true grounds of it; that so they may be the better able both to defend themselves against the assaults of seducers, and to reduce such as are out of the way; yet this is not strictly necessary to their salvation: because experience shows (as far as men are capable to judge of such matters) that many do heartily believe and profess the true religion, and conscientiously practice the duties of it, who yet do not understand the true grounds upon which it challenges their belief: and no man doubts, but whosoever does so believe, profess, and practise the true religion, if he perseveres to the end, shall certainly attain salvation by it. 2. That how much soever it concerns those who reject the true religion (whom I may call dissenters if I please) to examine and consider why they do so; and how needful soever penalties may be to bring them to this; it is, however, utterly unreasonable, that such as have not the coactive power should take upon them to inflict penalties for that purpose: because, as that is not consistent with order and government, which cannot stand, where private persons are permitted to usurp the coactive power; so there is nothing more manifest, than that the prejudice which is done to religion, and to the interest of men’s souls, by destroying government, does infinitely outweigh any good that can possibly be done by that which destroys it. And whoever admits and considers these things, you say, you are very secure will be far enough from admitting, that there is any parity of reason in the cases we here speak of, or that mine is as just and natural a conclusion as yours.”

The sum of what you say, amounts to thus much: men being apt to take up their religion, upon inducements that ought to have no sway at all in the matter, and so, with little or no examination of the grounds of it; therefore penalties are necessary to be laid on them, to make them thoroughly and impartially examine. But yet penalties need not be laid on conformists, in England, to make them examine; because they, and you, believe yours to be the true religion: though it must be laid on presbyterians and independents, &c. to make them examine, though they believe theirs to be the true religion, because you believe it not to be so. But you give another very substantial reason, why penalties cannot be laid on conformists, to make them examine; and that is, “because the national church has the coactive power on its side,” and therefore they have no need of penalties to make them examine. The national church of France, too, has the coactive power on its side, and therefore, they who are of it have no need of penalties, any of them, to make them examine.

If your argument be good, that men take up their religions upon wrong inducements, and without due examination of the proper grounds of it; and that therefore they have need of penalties to be laid on them to make them examine, as they ought, the grounds of their religion; you must confess there are some in the church of England, to whom penalties are necessary: unless you will affirm, that all, who are in the communion of the church of England, have so examined: but that I think you will not do, however you endeavour to palliate their ignorance and negligence in this matter. There being therefore a need of penalties, I say, it is as necessary that presbyterians should lay penalties on the conformists of the church of England to make them examine, as for the church of England to lay penalties on the presbyterians to make them do so: for they each equally believe their religion to be true; and we suppose, on both sides, there are those who have not duly examined. But here you think you have a sure advantage, by saying it is not consistent with the “order of government, and so it is impracticable.” I easily grant it. But is yours more practicable? When you can make your way practicable, for the end for which you pretend it necessary, viz. to make “all, who have taken up their religion upon such inducements as ought to have no sway at all in the matter, to examine thoroughly and impartially the proper grounds of it;” when, I say, you can show your way practicable, to this end, you will have cleared it of one main objection, and convinced the world that yours is a more just and natural conclusion than mine.

If your cause were capable of any other defence, I suppose we should not have had so long and elaborate an answer as you have given us in this paragraph, which at last bottoms only on these two things: 1. That there are in you, or those of your church, some approaches towards infallibility in your belief that your religion is true, which is not to be allowed those of other churches, in the belief of theirs. 2. That it is enough if any one does but conform to it, and remain in the communion of your church: or else one would think there should be as much need for conformists too of your church to examine the grounds of their religion, as for any others.

“To understand the true grounds of the true religion is not, you say, strictly necessary to salvation.” Yet, I think, you will not deny but it is as strictly necessary to salvation, as it is to conform to a national church in all those things it imposes: some whereof are not necessary to salvation; some whereof are acknowledged by all to be indifferent; and some whereof, to some conscientious men, who thereupon decline communion, appear unsound or unlawful. If not being strictly necessary to salvation, will excuse from penalties in the one case, why will it not in the other? And now I shall excuse the world from determining my conclusion to be as natural as yours: for it is pity so reasonable a disputant as you are, should take so desperate a resolution as “never to pretend any more to judge what is reasonable in any case whatsoever.”

Whether you have proved that force, used by the magistrate, be a means prescribed by God to procure the gift of faith from him, which is all you say in the next paragraph, others must judge.

In that following, you quote these words of mine: “If all the means God has appointed to make men hear and consider, be exhortation in season and out of season, &c. together with prayer for them, and the example of meekness, and a good life; this is all ought to be done, whether they will hear, or whether they will forbear.” To which you thus reply, “But if these be not all the means God has appointed, then these things are not all that ought to be done.” But if I ask you, How do you know that this is not all God has appointed? you have nothing to answer, to bring it to your present purpose, but that you know it by the light of nature. For all you say is but this, that by the light of nature you know force to be useful and necessary to bring men into the way of salvation; by the light of nature you know the magistrate has a commission to use force to that purpose; and by the same light of nature, you know that miracles were appointed to supply the want of force till the magistrates were christians. I imagine, sir, you would scarce have thought this a reasonable answer, if you had taken notice of my words in the same paragraph immediately preceding those you have cited; which, that you may see the scope of my argument, I will here trouble you again; and they are these: “It is not for you and me, out of an imagination that they may be useful, or are necessary, to prescribe means in the great and mysterious work of salvation, other than what God himself has directed. God has appointed force as useful and necessary, and therefore it is to be used; is a way of arguing becoming the ignorance and humility of poor creatures. But I think force useful or necessary, and therefore it is to be used; has methinks a little too much presumption in it. You ask what means else is there left? None, say I, to be used by man, but what God himself has directed in the scriptures, wherein are contained all the means and methods of salvation. Faith is the gift of God. And we are not to use any other means to procure this gift to any one, but what God himself has prescribed. If he has there appointed, that any should be forced to hear those who tell them they have mistaken their way, and offer to show them the right; and that they should be punished by the magistrate, if they did not; it will be past doubt, it is to be made use of. But till that can be done, it will be in vain to say, what other means is there left.”

My argument here lies plainly in this: That all the means and methods of salvation are contained in the scripture: which either you were to have denied, or else have shown where it was in scripture, that force was appointed. But instead of that, you tell us, that God appointed miracles in the beginning of the gospel. And though, when these ceased, the means I mention were all the ministers had left, yet this proves not that the magistrate was not to use force. Your words are, As to the first spreaders of the gospel, it has already been shown, that God appointed other means besides these for them to use, to induce men to hear and consider: and though when those extraordinary means ceased, these means which I mention (viz. preaching, &c.) were the only means left to the ministers of the gospel; yet that is no proof that the magistrate, when he became christian, could not lawfully use such means as his station enabled him to use, when they became needful.” I said, in express words, “no means was to be used by man, but what God himself has directed in the scripture.” And you answer, this is no proof that the christian magistrate may not use force. Perhaps when they so peremptorily interpose their decisive decrees in the business of salvation, establish religions by laws and penalties, with what articles, creeds, ceremonies, and discipline, they think fit; (for this we see done almost in all countries;) when they force men to hear those, and those only, who by their authority are chosen and allowed to tell men they have mistaken their way, and offer to show them the right; it may be thought necessary to prove magistrates to be men. If that needs no proof, what I said needs some other answer.

But let us examine a little the parts of what you here say: “As to the first spreaders of the gospel, say you, it has already been shown, that God appointed other means besides exhortation in season and out of season, prayer, and the example of a good life; for them to use to induce men to hear and consider.” What were those other means? To that you answer readily, miracles. Ergo, men are directed now by scripture to use miracles. Or else what answer do you make to my argument, which I gave you in these words, “No means is to be used by man, but what God himself has directed in the scriptures, wherein are contained all the means and methods of salvation?” No, they cannot use miracles now as a means, say you, for they have them not. What then? Therefore the magistrate, who has it, must use force to supply the want of those extraordinary means which are now ceased. This indeed is an inference of yours, but not of the scriptures. Does the scripture say any thing of this? Not a word; not so much as the least intimation towards it in all the New Testament. Be it then true or false, that force is a means to be used by men in the absence of miracles; this is yet no answer to my argument: this is no proof that it is appointed in scripture; which is the thing my argument turns on.

Revelation then fails you. Let us see now how reason and common sense, that common light of nature, will help you out.

You then reason thus: bare preaching, &c. will not prevail on men to hear and consider; and therefore some other means is necessary to make them do so. Pray what do you mean by men, or any other of those indefinite terms, you have always used in this case? Is it that bare preaching will prevail on no men? Does reason (under which I comprehend experience too, and all the ways of knowledge contra-distinguished to revelation) discover any such thing to you? I imagine you will not say that; or pretend that nobody was ever brought, by preaching or persuasion, to hear and consider the truths of the gospel, (mean by considering what you will,) without other means used by those who applied themselves to the care of converting them. To such therefore as may be brought to hear and consider, without other means, you will not say that other means are necessary.

In the next place, therefore, When you say bare preaching will not prevail on men, do you mean that it will not prevail on all men, and therefore it is necessary that men should use other means? Neither, I think, will reason authorize you to draw such a consequence: because neither will preaching alone, nor preaching assisted with force, or any other means man can use, prevail on all men. And therefore no other means can be pretended to be necessary to be used by man, to do what men by those means never did, nor ever can do.

That some men shall be saved, and not all, is, I think, past question to all that are christians: and those that shall be saved, it is plain, are the elect. If you think not this plain enough in scripture, I desire you to turn to the seventeenth of the XXXIX articles of the church of England, where you will read these words: “Predestination to life is the everlasting purpose of God, whereby (before the foundations of the world were laid) he hath constantly decreed by his counsel secret to us, to deliver from curse and damnation those whom he has chosen in Christ out of mankind, and to bring them by Christ to everlasting salvation, as vessels made to honour. Wherefore they which be endued with so excellent a benefit of God, be called according to God’s purpose by his spirit working in due season; they through grace obey the calling; they be justified freely; they be made sons of God by adoption; they be made like the image of his only begotten Son Jesus Christ; they walk religiously in good works; and at length, by God’s mercy, they attain to everlasting felicity.” Now pray tell me whether bare preaching will not prevail on all the elect to hear and consider without other means to be used by men. If you say it will; the necessity of your other means, I think, is out of doors. If you say it will not; I desire you to tell me how you do know it without revelation? And whether by your own reason you can tell us, whether any, and what means God has made necessary besides what he has appointed in scripture for the calling his elect? When you can do this, we shall think you no ordinary divine, nor a stranger to the secret counsels of the infinitely wise God. But till then your mixing your opinion with the divine wisdom in the great work of salvation, and, from arguments of congruity, taking upon you to declare the necessity or usefulness of means, which God has not expressly directed, for the gathering in of his elect; will scarce authorize the magistrate to use his coactive power for the edifying and completing the body of Christ, which is his church. “Those whom God hath chosen in Christ out of mankind, before the foundations of the world, are called according to God’s purpose, by his spirit working in due season, and through grace obey the calling;” say you in your article. The outward means that God has appointed for this, is preaching. Ay, but preaching is not enough; that is, is not sufficient means, say you. And I ask you how you know it; since the scripture, which declares all that we can know in this matter, says nothing of the insufficiency of it, or of the necessity of any other? Nor can there be a necessity of any other means than what God expressly appoints, in a matter wherein no means can operate effectually, without the assistance of his grace; and where the assistance of his grace can make any outward means, he appoints effectual.

I must desire you here to take notice, that by preaching which I use for shortness, I mean exhortation, instruction, intreaty, praying for; and, in fine, any outward means of persuasion in the power of man, separate from force.

You tell us here, “as to the first spreaders of the gospel, God appointed other means, viz. miracles, for them to use to induce men to hear and consider.” If by the first spreaders of the gospel, you mean the twelve apostles and seventy disciples, whom Christ himself sent to preach the gospel; they indeed were appointed, by his immediate command, to show miracles by the power which he had bestowed upon them. But will you say, all the ministers and preachers of the gospel had such a commission, and such a power, all along from the apostles time; and that they, every one, did actually show miracles to induce men to hear and consider, quite down till christianity was supported by the law of the empire? Unless you could show this, though you could produce some well-attested miracles, done by some men in every age till that time; yet it would not be sufficient to prove that miracles were appointed to be constantly used to induce men to hear and consider; and so by your reasoning to supply the want of force, till that necessary assistance could be had from the authority of the magistrate become christian. For since it is what you build upon, that men will not hear and consider upon bare preaching: and I think you will forwardly enough agree, that till christianity was made the religion of the empire, there were those every-where that heard the preachers of it so little, or so little considered what they said, that they rejected the gospel; and that therefore miracles or force are necessary means to make men hear and consider; you must own that those who preached without the power of miracles, or the coactive power of the magistrate accompanying them, were unfurnished of competent and sufficient means to make men hear and consider; and so to bring them to the true religion. If you will say the miracles done by others were enough to accompany their preaching to make it be heard and considered; the preaching of the ministers at this day is so accompanied, and so will need no assistance of force from the magistrate. If the report of miracles done by one minister of the gospel some time before, and in another place, were sufficient to make the preaching of ten or a thousand others be heard and considered; why is it not so now? For the credibility and attestation of the report is all that is of moment, when miracles done by others in other places are the argument that prevails. But this, I fear, will not serve your turn in the business of penalties; and, whatever might satisfy you in the case of miracles, I doubt you would not think the salvation of souls sufficiently provided for, if the report of the force of penalties, used some time since on one side of the Tweed, were all that should assist the preachers of the true religion on the other, to make men hear and consider.

St. Paul, in his epistle to Titus, instructs him what he, and the presbyters he should ordain in the cities of Crete, were to do for the propagating of the gospel, and bringing men heartily to embrace it. His directions are, that they should be “blameless, not rioters, not self-willed, not soon angry, not given to wine or filthy lucre, not strikers, not unruly; lovers of hospitality, and of good men; sober, just, holy, temperate; to be able by sound doctrine both to exhort and convince gainsayers; in all things to be a pattern of good works; in doctrine showing uncorruptedness, gravity, sincerity, sound speech that cannot be condemned, that he that is of the contrary part may be ashamed, having no evil to say of you. These things speak, and exhort, and rebuke, with all authority. Avoid foolish questions, and genealogies, and contentions. A man that is an heretic, after the first and second admonition, reject.” To repay you the favour of your Greek, it is παραιτ[Editor: illegible character]; which, if I may take your liberty of receding from our translation, I would read “avoid.”

The Cretans, by the account St. Paul gives of them, were a people that would require all the means that were needful to prevail with any strangers to the gospel to hear and consider. But yet we find nothing directed for the support and propagation of the gospel in this island, but preaching, exhortation, reproof, &c. with the example of a good life. In all this epistle, writ on purpose to instruct the preachers of the gospel, in the means they were to use among the Cretans, for their conversion, not a word about miracles, their power, or use: which one would think strange, if they were the means appointed, and necessary to make men hear and consider, and without which they would not do it. Preaching, admonition, exhortation, intreaties, instruction, by the common light of reason, were known, and natural to be used, to persuade men. There needed not much to be said to convince men of it. But, if miracles were a necessary means, it was a means wholly new, unexpected, and out of the power of other teachers. And therefore one would think, if they were appointed for the ends you propose, one should hear something of that appointment: since that they were to be used; or how, and when; was farther from common apprehension, and seems to need some particular direction.

If you say the same spirit that gave them the power of miracles, would also give them the knowledge both that they had it, and how to use it; I am far enough from limiting the operations of that infinitely wise spirit, who will not fail to bring all the elect of God into the obedience of truth, by those means, and in that manner he shall think necessary. But yet our Saviour, when he sent abroad his disciples, with the power of miracles, not only put it in their commission, whereby they were informed, that they had that extraordinary gift, but added instructions to them in the use of it: “Freely you have received, freely give;” a caution as necessary to the Cretan elders, in the use of miracles, if they had that power; there being nothing more liable to be turned to the advantage of filthy lucre.

I do not question but the spirit of God might give the power, and stir up the mind of the first spreaders of the gospel to do miracles on some extraordinary occasion. But if they were a necessary means to make men hear and consider what was preached to them, till force supplied their place, and so were ordinarily to accompany the preaching of the gospel, unless it should be preached without the means appointed and necessary to make it prevail; I think in that case we may expect it should expressly have made a part of the preacher’s commission; it making a necessary part of the effectual execution of his function.

But the apostle, it seems, thought fit to lay the stress upon instructing others, and living well themselves; upon “being instant in season and out of season;” and therefore directs all his advices for the ordering the Cretan church, and the propagating the gospel there, to make them attend to those necessary things of life and doctrine, without so much as mentioning the appointment, need, or use of miracles.

I said, “But whatever neglect or aversion there is in some men, impartially and thoroughly to be instructed; there will, upon a due examination, I fear, be found no less a neglect and aversion in others, impartially and thoroughly to instruct them. It is not the talking even general truths in plain and clear language; much less a man’s own fancies in scholastical or uncommon ways of speaking, an hour or two, once a week, in public; that is enough to instruct even willing hearers in the way of salvation, and the grounds of their religion;” and that politic discourses and invectives from the pulpit, instead of friendly and christian debates with people at their houses, were not the proper means to inform men in the foundations of religion; and that if there were not a neglect in this part, I thought there would be little need of any other means. To this, you tell me, in the next paragraph, “you do not see how pertinent my discourse, about this matter, is to the present question.” If the showing the neglects, observable in the use of what is agreed to be necessary means, will not be allowed by you to be pertinent, in a debate about necessary means; when possibly those very neglects may serve to make other means seem requisite, which really are not so; yet if you are not of those who will never think any such discourse pertinent; you will allow me to mind you of it again, as not impertinent in answer to your last letter, wherein you so often tell us of the sufficient provision made for instruction. For wherever the neglect be, it can scarce be said there is sufficient provision made for instruction in a christian country, where great numbers of those, who are in the communion of the national church, are grossly ignorant of the grounds of the christian religion. And I ask you, whether it be in respect of such conformists you say, as you do in the same paragraph, that “when the best provision is made that can be, for the instruction of the people, you fear a great part of them will still need some moderate penalties to bring them to hear and receive instruction?”

But what if all the means that can, be not used for their instruction? That there are neglects of this kind, you will, I suppose, take the word of a reverend prelate of our church, who thought he could not better show his good-will to the clergy, than by a seasonable discourse of the pastoral care, to cure that neglect for the future. There he tells you, , 118, that “ministers should watch over and feed their flock, and not enjoy their benefices as farms, &c. Which reproach, says he, whatever we may be, our church is free of; which he proves by the stipulation and convenant they make with Christ, that they will never cease their labour, care and diligence, till they have done all that lieth in them, according to their bounden duty; towards all such as are, or should be committed to their care, to bring them to a ripeness of age in Christ.” And a page or two after, having repeated part of the promise by those who take orders, he adds: “In this is expressed the so much neglected, but so necessary duty, which incumbents owe their flock in a private way; visiting, instructing, and admonishing; which is one of the most useful and important parts of their duty, how generally soever it may be disused or forgotten. P. 187, he says, every priest that minds his duty will find, that no part of it is so useful as catechistical discourses; by means whereof, his people will understand all his sermons the better, when they have once a clear notion of all those terms that must run through them; for those not being understood, renders them all unintelligible. Another part of the priest’s duty he tells you, , is with relation to them that are without, who are of the side of the church of Rome, or among the dissenters. Other churches and bodies are noted for their zeal in making proselytes; for their restless endeavours, as well as their unlawful methods in it: they reckoning perhaps that all will be sanctified by the increasing their party; which is the true name of making converts; except they become at the same time good men as well as votaries to a side or cause. We are certainly very remiss in this of both hands. Little pains is taken to gain either upon papists or nonconformists: the law has been so much trusted to, that that method only was thought sure; it was much valued, and others at the same time were much neglected. And whereas, at first, without force or violence, in forty years time, popery, from being the prevailing religion, was reduced to a handful: we have now, in above twice that number of years, made very little progress,” &c.

Perhaps here again you will tell me, you “do not see how this is pertinent to the present question,” which, that you may see, give me leave to put you in mind, that neither you, nor any body else, can pretend force necessary, till all the means of persuasion have been used; and nothing neglected that can be done by all the softer ways of application. And since it is your own doctrine, that force is not lawful, unless where it is necessary; the magistrate, upon your principles, can neither lawfully use force, nor the ministers of any national church plead for it any-where, but where they themselves have first done their duties: a draft whereof, adapted to our present circumstances, we have in the newly published discourse of the pastoral care. And he that shall press the use of force as necessary, before he can answer it to himself and the world, that those who have taken on them the care of souls have performed their duties; were best consider, whether he does not draw up an accusation against the men of that holy order: or against the magistrate who suffers them to neglect any part of their duty. For whilst what that learned bishop, in the passages above cited, and in other places, mentions, is neglected; it cannot be said, that no other means but force is left; those, which are on all hands acknowledged necessary and useful means, not having yet been made use of.

To vindicate your method from novelty, you tell me, it is as old as St. Austin. Whatever he says in the place you quote, it shows only his opinion; but not that it was ever used. Therefore, to show it not to be new in practice, you add, that you “think it has been made use of by all those magistrates, who having made all requisite provisions for the instructing their people in the truth, have likewise required them under convenient penalties to embrace it.” Which is as much as to say, that those magistrates who used your method did use your method. And that certainly you may think safely, and without fear of being gainsaid.

But now I will tell you what I think, in my turn; and that is, if you could have found any magistrates who had made use of your method, as well as you think you have found a divine that approves of it; you would have named those magistrates as forwardly as you do St. Austin. If I think amiss, pray correct me yet, and name them.

That which makes me imagine you will hardly find any examples of it, is what I there said in these words; “All other law-makers have constantly taken this method; that where any thing was to be amended, the fault was first declared, and then penalties denounced against all those who, after a time set, should be found guilty of it. This the common sense of mankind, and the very reason of laws, (which are intended not for punishment, but correction,) has made so plain, that the subtilest and most refined lawmakers have not gone out of this course, nor have the most ingnorant and barbarous nations missed it. But you have outdone Solon and Lycurgus, Moses and our Saviour; and are resolved to be a law-maker of a way by yourself. It is an old and obsolete way, and will not serve your turn, to begin with warnings and threats of penalties, to be inflicted on those who do not reform, but continue to do that which you think they fail in. To allow of impunity to the innocent, or the opportunity of amendment to those who would avoid the penalties, are formalities not worth your notice. You are for a shorter and surer way. Take a whole tribe, and punish them at all adventures, whether guilty or no of the miscarriage which you would have amended; or without so much as telling them what it is you would have them do, but leaving them to find it out if they can. All these absurdities are contained in your way of proceeding, and are impossible to be avoided by any one, who will punish dissenters, and only dissenters, to make them consider and weigh the grounds of their religion, and impartially examine whether it be true or no; and upon what grounds they took it up; that so they may find and embrace the truth that must save them.” These absurdities, I fear, must be removed, before any magistrates will find your method practicable.

I having said, “Your method is not altogether unlike the plea made use of to excuse the late barbarous usage of the protestants in France, from being a persecution for religion, viz. That it was not a punishment for religion, but for disobeying the king’s laws, which required them to come to mass: so by your rule dissenters must be punished, not for the religion they have embraced, but the religion they have rejected.” In answer to this, in the next paragraph, you take abundance of pains to prove, that the king of France’s laws, that require going to mass, are no laws. You were best to say so on the other side of the water. It is sure the punishments were punishments, and the dragooning was dragooning. And if you think that plea excused them not, I am of your mind. But nevertheless am of opinion, as I was, that it will prove as good a plea as yours; which is what you argue against in your next paragraph, in the words following, wherein you examine the likeness of your new method to this plea. You tell me, “I say, by your rule, the dissenters (from the true religion, for you speak of no other) must be punished (or, if I please, subjected to moderate penalties, such as shall make them uneasy, but neither destroy or undo them:) for what?” Indeed I thought by your first book you meant not for their religion, but to make them consider; but here you ask me, “where it is you say that dissenters from the true religion are not to be punished for their religion? So then, it seems in your opinion now, dissenters from the true religion are to be punished,” or, as you are pleased to mollify the expression, for the thing is the same, “subjected to moderate penalties for their religion.” I think I shall not need to prove, to any one but one of your nice style, that the execution of penal laws, let the penalties be great or small, are punishments.

If therefore the religion of dissenters from the true, be a fault to be punished by the magistrate; who is to judge who are guilty of that fault? Must it be the magistrate every-where; or the magistrate in some countries, and not in others; or the magistrate no-where? If the magistrate no-where is to be judge who are dissenters from the true religion, he can no-where punish them. If he be to be every-where judge; then the king of France, or the great Turk, must punish those whom they judge dissenters from the true religion, as well as other potentates. If some magistrates have a right to judge, and others not: that yet, I fear, how absurd soever it be, should I grant it, will not do your business. For besides that, they will hardly agree to make you their infallible umpire in the case, to determine who of them have, and who have not this right to judge which is the true religion; or if they should, and you should declare the king of England had that right; viz. whilst he complied to support the orthodoxy, ecclesiastical polity, and those ceremonies which you approve of; but that the king of France, and the great Turk, had it not; and so could have no right to use force on those they judged dissenters from the true religion; you ought to bethink yourself what you will reply to one that should use your own words: “If such a degree of outward force, as has been mentioned, be really of great and even necessary use, for the advancing of the true religion, and salvation of souls; then it must be acknowledged, that in France and Turkey, &c. there is a right somewhere to use it, for the advancing those ends; unless we will say (what without impiety cannot be said) that the wise and benign Disposer and Governor of all things, has not in France and Turkey furnished mankind with competent means for the promoting his own honour, and the good of souls.”

You go on, and tell us, they are to be punished, not for following the light of their own reason, nor for obeying the dictates of their own consciences, “but rather for the contrary. For the light of their own reason and the dictates of their own conscience (if their reason and their consciences were not perverted and abused) would undoubtedly lead them to the same thing, to which the method you speak of is designed to bring them;” i. e. to the same thing to which your reason and your conscience leads you. For if you were to argue with a papist, or a presbyterian, in the case, what privilege have you to tell him, that his reason and conscience is perverted, more than he has to tell you that yours is so? Unless it be this insupportable presumption, that your reason and conscience ought to be the measure of all reason and conscience in all others; which how you can claim without pretending to infallibility, is not easy to discern.

The divertion you give yourself about the likeness and unlikeness of two pleas, I shall not trouble myself with; since, when your fit of mirth was over, you were forced to confess, That “as I have made your plea for you; you think there is no considerable difference, as to the fairness of them; excepting what arises from the different degrees of punishment, in the French discipline, and your method. But if the French plea be not true; and that which I make to be yours, be not yours;” — I must beg your pardon, sir, I did not think it was your opinion, nor do I yet remember that you any-where said in your “Argument,” &c. that men were to be punished for their religion; but that it was purely to make men “examine the religion they had embraced, and the religion that they had rejected.” And if that were of moment, I should think myself sufficiently justified for this my mistake, by what yon say in your “Argument,” &c. from to 12. But since you explain yourself otherwise here, I am not unwilling to take your hypothesis, as you from time to time shall please to reform it. You answer then, that “to make them examine, is indeed the next end for which they are to be punished.” But what is that to my question? Which, if it be pertinent, demands for what fault, not for what end, they are to be punished: as appears even by my next words. “So that they are punished, not for having offended against a law, i. e. not for any fault: for there is no law in England that requires them to examine.” This, I must confess, was to show, that here, as in France, whatever was pretended, yet the true reason why people were punished, was their religion. And it was for this agreement, that in both places religion was meant, though something else was talked of, that I said your plea was like that made use of in France. But I see I might have spared my pains to prove that you punish dissenters for their religion, since you here own it.

You tell me, in the same place, I was impertinent in my question; which was this, “For what then are they to be punished?” that I demanded for what end, and not for what fault they are to be punished. In good earnest, sir, I was not so subtile as to distinguish them. I always thought that the end of all laws was to amend those faults which were forbidden; and that when any one was punished, the fault for which he was punished, was the transgression of the law, in that particular which was by the law commanded or forbidden; and the end of the punishment, was the amendment of that fault for the future. For example; if the law commanded to hear, not hearing was the fault punished; and the end of that punishment, was to make the offenders hear. If the law commanded to examine, the fault punished, when that law was put in execution, was not examining: and the end of the punishment, to make the offenders examine. If the law commanded conformity, the fault was nonconformity, and the end of it to make men conform.

This was my apprehension concerning laws, and ends of punishments. And I must own myself still so dull as not to distinguish otherwise between “the fault for which men are to be punished, and the end for which they are to be punished;” but only as the one is past, the other future. The transgression, or fault, is an omission or action that a man is already guilty of; the end of the punishment, that it be not again repeated. So that if a man be punished for the religion he professes, I can see no other end for which he is punished, but to make him quit that religion. No other immediate end, I mean; for other remote ends, to which this is subordinate, it may have. So that, if not examining the religion which men have embraced; and the religion they have rejected; be not the fault for which men are punished; I would be glad you would show me how it can be the next end, as you say it is, of their being punished. And that you may not think my dulness gives you a labour without ground, I will tell you the reason why I cannot find any other next end of punishment, but the amendment of the fault forbidden; and that is, because that seems to me to be the end, the next end, of any action; which, when obtained, the action is to cease; and not cease till it be attained. And thus, I think, it is in punishments ordained by the law. When the fault forbidden is amended, the punishment is to cease; and not till then. This is the only way I have to know the end, or final cause for which any action is done. If you have any other, you will do me a kindness to instruct me. This it is which makes me conclude, (and I think with me all those who have not had the leisure and happiness to attain the utmost refining of the schools,) that if their religion be the fault for which dissenters are punished, examining is not the end for which they are punished, but the change of their religion: though examining may, perhaps, in some men, precede their change, and help to it. But that is not necessary. A man may change his religion without it: and when he has changed, let the motive be what it will, the end the law aims at is obtained, and the punishment ceases. So on the other side, if not hearing, not examining, be the fault for which men are punished; conformity is not the next end for which they are punished, though it may perhaps, in some, be a consequence of it; but hearing and examining must be understood to be the ends for which they are punished. If they are not the ends, why does the punishment cease, when those ends are attained? And thus you have my thoughts concerning this matter, which perhaps will not be very pertinent, as mine have not the good luck always to be to you; to a man of nicer distinctions.

But let us consider your hypothesis as it now stands, and see what advantage you have got to your cause by this new explication. “Dissenters from the true religion are to be punished, say you, for their religion.” Why? Because it is a fault. Against whom? Against God. Thence it follows indeed, that God, if he pleases, may punish it. But how will you prove that God has given the magistrates of the earth a power to punish all faults against himself? Covetousness, or not loving our neighbour as ourselves, are faults or sins against God. Ought the magistrate to punish these? But I shall not need to trouble you much with that question. This matter, I think, will be decided between us without going so far.

If the magistrate may punish any one for not being of the true religion, must the magistrate judge what is that true religion, or no? If he must not, what must guide him in the punishing of some, and not of others? For so it is in all places where there is a national religion established by penal laws. If the magistrate be commissioned by the same law of nature (for that is all the commission you pretend to) to judge what is the true religion, by which he is authorized to punish those who dissent from it; must not all magistrates judge, and accordingly punish those who dissent from that, which they judge the true religion, i. e. in effect, those who dissent from theirs? And if all magistrates have a power to punish those who are not of their religion; I ask you, whether it be of more use or disadvantage to the promoting true religion, and salvation of souls? And when you have resolved that question, you will then be able to tell me, whether the usefulness of it, which must be determined by the greater good or harm it is like to do, is such as to justify your doctrine about it, or the magistrate’s use of it.

Besides, your making the dissenting from the true religion a fault to be punished by the magistrate, puts an end to your pretence to moderate punishments; which, in this place, you make use of to distinguish yours from the French method; saying, that “your method punishes men with punishments which do not deserve to be called so, when compared with those of the French discipline.” But if the dissenting from the true religion be a fault that the magistrate is to punish, and a fault of that consequence, that it draws with it the loss of a man’s soul; I do not see how other magistrates, whose duty it is to punish faults under their cognizance, and by punishing to amend them; can be more remiss than the king of France has been, and forbear declaring that they will have all their people saved, and endeavour by such ways as he has done to effect it: especially since you tell us, that “God now leaves religion to the care of men, under his ordinary providence, to try whether they will do their duties in their several capacities or not, leaving them answerable for all that may follow from their neglect.” In the correcting of faults, “malo nodo malus cuneus,” is not only what is justifiable, but what is requisite. But of this more fully in another place.

In the next place, I do not see how, by your method, as you explain it here, the magistrate can punish any one for not being of the true religion, though we should grant him to have a power to do it; whilst you tell us, that “your method punishes men for rejecting the true religion, proposed to them with sufficient evidence; which certainty is a fault.” By this part of your scheme it is plain, that you allow the magistrate to punish none but those to whom the true religion is proposed with sufficient evidence; and sufficient evidence, you tell us, “is such as will certainly win assent where-ever it is duly considered.” Now by this rule there will be very few that the magistrate will have a right to punish; since he cannot know whether those who dissent, do it for want of due consideration in them, or want of sufficient evidence in what is proposed; unless you mean by due consideration, such consideration that always does bring men actually to assent; which is in effect to say nothing at all. For then your rule amounts to thus much, “that sufficient evidence is such as will certainly win assent wherever it is considered duly,” i. e. so as to win assent. This being like some of those other rules we have met with, and ending in a circle; which after you have traced, you at last find yourself just where you were at setting out; I leave it to you to own as you think fit: and tell you, if by duly considering, you mean considering to his utmost; that then, that which is proposed to one with sufficient evidence to win assent, may not be so to another.

There are propositions extant in geometry, with their demonstrations annexed; and that with such sufficient evidence to some men of deep thought and penetration, as to make them see the demonstration, and give assent to the truth: whilst there are many others, and those no novices in mathematics, who, with all the consideration and attention they can use, are never able to attain unto it. It is so in other parts of truth. That which hath evidence enough to make one man certain, has not enough to make another so much as guess it to be true; though he has spared no endeavour or application in examining it. And therefore, if the magistrate be to punish none but those who reject the true religion, when it has been offered with sufficient evidence; I imagine he will not have many to punish, if he will, as he ought, distinguish between the innocent and the guilty.

Upon your forwardness to encourage the magistrate’s use of force in matters of religion, by its usefulness; even so far as to pretend advantages from what yourself acknowledge the misapplication of it; I say that “So instead of disheartening from, you give encouragement to the mischief; which upon your principle, joined to the natural thirst in man after arbitrary power; may be carried to all manner of exorbitancy, with some pretence of right.” To which your reply is, That you “speak no-where but of the use and necessity of force.” What think you in the place mentioned of the gain that you tell the sufferers they shall make by the magistrate’s punishing them to bring them to a wrong religion? You do not, as I remember, there say, that force is necessary in that case; though they gaining, as you say, by it this advantage, “that they know better than they did before, where the truth does lie,” you cannot but allow, that such a misapplication of force “may do some service, indirectly and at a distance, towards the salvation of souls.”

But that you may not think, whilst I had under consideration the dangerous encouragement you gave to men in power, to be very busy with their force in matters of religion; by all the sorts of usefulness you could imagine of it, however applied, right or wrong; that I declined mentioning the necessity you pretend of force, because it would not as well serve to the purpose for which I mention its usefulness; I shall here take it so, that the reader may see what reason you had to complain of my not doing it before.

Thus then stands your system: “The procuring and advancing any way of the spiritual and eternal interests of men, is one of the ends of civil society.” And force is put into the magistrate’s hands, as necessary for the attaining those ends, where no other means are left, “Who then upon your grounds may quickly find reason, where it suits his inclination, or serves his turn, to punish men directly to bring them to his religion.” For if he may use force because it is necessary, as being the only means left to make men consider those reasons and arguments, which otherwise they would not consider; why may he not by the same rule use force, as the only means left to procure men degrees of glory, which otherwise they would not attain; and so to advance their eternal interests? For St. Paul assures us, that “the afflictions of this life work for us a far more exceeding weight of glory.” So that whether the magistrate may not, when it may serve his turn, argue thus from your principles, judge you: dissenters from my religion must be punished, if in the wrong, to bring them into the right way; if in the right, to make them by their sufferings gainers of a far more exceeding weight of glory.

But you say, “unless it be as necessary for men to attain any greater degree of glory, as it is to attain glory, it will not follow, that if the magistrate may use force, because it may be indirectly, &c. useful towards the procuring any degree of glory, he may by the same rule use it where it may be in that manner useful towards the procuring a greater degree of glory. But that there is the same necessity of men’s attaining a greater degree of glory, as there is of their attaining glory, no man will affirm. For without attaining glory, they cannot escape the damnation of hell; which yet they may escape, without any greater degree of glory.” One of the ends of a commonwealth is, say you, the advancing men’s eternal interests. The procuring greater degrees of glory, is the advancing a man’s eternal interest. The use of force to make men suffer for the truth, what otherwise they would not suffer, is as necessary for the attaining a higher degree of glory, as using force to make men consider, what otherwise they would not consider, is necessary for the attaining any degree of glory. But you will say, “Attaining glory is absolutely necessary, but the attaining any greater degree of glory, however desirable, is not so necessary. Now if there be not the same necessity of the one of these, as there is of the other; there can be no pretence to say, that whatever is lawful in respect of one of them, is likewise so in respect of the other.” But there will always be a just pretence to say, if advancing the eternal interests of men be one of the ends of a commonwealth, and that the force in the magistrate’s hands be necessary to the attaining that end; that then the magistrate is obliged to use it; whether you will think that end absolutely necessary, or as necessary as another, or no. I shall not here trouble you again with your mistake about what is absolutely necessary; having taken notice of it in another place. Only I shall desire you to show me, that the attaining of glory is absolutely necessary, when next time you have occasion to affirm it. Attaining of glory is necessary in order to happiness: and attaining a greater degree of glory, is necessary in order to greater happiness: but neither of them is absolutely necessary, but in order to their respective ends.

And now, though as you say, “you do not think yourself bound to take notice of all that may be done with some pretence of right:” yet, I suppose, upon cooler thoughts, when you have considered of what dangerous consequence an argument, managed as yours is, may be to the true religion, and the sincere professors of it; and what occasion or encouragement it may give to men in power warmed with zeal, and excited by the proper ministers of their own religion, to make a wrong and exorbitant use of force in matters of religion; you will another time think yourself bound not to let it go abroad again without some caution to the magistrate in the use of it; without one word of advice at least, that since it is given him, as you say, only for promoting the true religion, he should take care, and examine impartially whether what he employs it for, be the one only true religion. It being your opinion, whenever he makes use of force in matters of religion, for the promoting any thing but that, he goes beyond his commission; injures his subjects, and endangers his own soul.

By this time, sir, I suppose you see upon what grounds I think you have not cleared those difficulties which were charged by me on your method: and my reader will see what reason there was for those imputations, which, with so loud an outcry, you laid upon me of unfair dealing; since there is not one of them which cannot be made good to be contained either in your book, or in your hypothesis; and so clearly, that I could not imagine that a man who had so far considered government, as to engage in print, in such a controversy as this; could miss seeing it as soon as mentioned to him. One of them which very much offends you, and makes you so often tell me what I say is impertinent, and nothing to the purpose, and sometimes to use warmer expressions, is, that I argue against a power in the magistrate to bring men to his own religion: for I could not imagine that, to a man of any thought, it could need proving, that if there were a commission given to all magistrates by the law of nature, which obliged them to use force to bring men to the true religion; it was not possible for them to put this commission in execution, without being judges what was the true religion; and then there needed no great quickness to perceive, that every magistrate, when your commission came to be put in execution, would, one as well as another, find himself obliged to use force to bring men to that which he believed to be the true religion. But since this was so hard for you to see, I now have been at the pains to prove it, and thereby to clear all those imputations. I shall not instance in any other; they are all of a like kind. Only where you complain I have not cited your words fairly, if you can show that I have done it any where in this or the second letter, to the advantage of my cause; or to avoid any argument in them, not answered; if you please to show it me, I shall either let you see your mistake, or acknowledge mine.

And now, whether you shall think what I have said worth that consideration you promise, or take it all for cavils and impertinencies, to me is very indifferent. Enjoy, as you please, that short and easy way of answering. But if the party you write for be, as you say, God, and the souls of men; it will require you seriously to weigh your scheme, examine and put together the parts of it; observe the tendency and consequences; and, in a word, consider things, and not words. For the party of God and souls needs not any help from obscurity or uncertainty of general and equivocal terms; but may be spoke out clearly and distinctly; needs no retreat in the round of equivalent, or the uncertainty of misapplied expressions, that may serve to amuse and deceive the unwary, but instruct nobody; and, lastly, needs no leave nor allowance from men of art, to direct both subjects and magistrates to the examination of the scriptures, wherein God has revealed to the world the ways and means of salvation. In doing of this, in a treatise where you profess “the subject of your inquiry is only what method is to be used to bring men to the true religion,” the party you profess to write for, would have justified you against the rules of any lawful art: and no christian man, of what art soever, would have denied you that liberty; and if I mistake not, the party, you say you write for, demands it of you.

If you find upon a review of the whole, that you have managed your cause for God and the souls of men, with that sincerity and clearness that satisfies your own reason, and you think may satisfy that of other men: I shall congratulate to you so happy a constitution. But if all your magnified and necessary means of force, in the way you contend for, reaches no further than to bring men to a bare outward conformity to the church of England; wherein you can sedately affirm, that it is presumable that all that are of it are so upon reason and conviction; I suppose there needs no more to be said to convince the world what party you write for.

The party you write for is God, you say. But if all you have said aims or amounts to nothing more, than that the church of England, as now established by law, in its doctrines, ceremonies, and discipline, should be supported by the power of the magistrate, and men by force be driven into it; I fear the world will think you have very narrow thoughts of God: or that that is not the party you write for. It is true, you all along speak of bringing men to the true religion. But to evidence to you, that by the one only true religion, you mean only that of the church of England, I tell you, that upon your principles, you cannot name any other church now in the world; (and I again demand of you to do it) for the promoting whereof, or punishing dissenters from it, the magistrate has the same right to use force, as you pretend he has here in England. Till you therefore name some such other true church and true religion, besides that of England, your saying, that God is the party you write for, will rather show that you make bold with his name, than that you do not write for another party.

You say too, you write not for any party, but the souls of men. You write indeed, and contend earnestly, that men should be brought into an outward conformity to the church of England. But that they embrace that profession upon reason and conviction; you are content to have it presumable, without any farther enquiry or examination. And those who are once in the outward communion of the national church, however ignorant or irreligious they are, you leave there unassisted by your only competent means, force; without which, you tell us, the true religion, by its own light and strength, is not able to prevail against men’s lusts, and the corruption of nature, so as to be considered as it ought, and heartily embraced. And this dropped not from your pen by chance; but you professedly make excuses for those of the national religion, who are ignorant of the grounds of it; and give us reasons why force cannot be used to those who outwardly conform, to make them consider so as sincerely to embrace, believe, and obey the truth that must save them. But the reverend author of the Pastoral Care tells you, , “Party is the true name of making converts, except they become at the same time good men.”

If the use of force be necessary for the salvation of souls, and men’s souls be the party you write for: you will be suspected to have betrayed your party, if your method and necessary means of salvation reach no further than to bring men to outward conformity, though to the true church; and after that abandons them to their lusts and depraved natures, destitute of the help of force; your necessary and competent means of salvation.

This way of managing the matter, whatever you intend, seems rather, in the fitness of it, to be for another party. But since you assure us, you write for nothing but God and men’s souls; it can only be said you had a good intention, but ill luck: since your scheme, put into the language of the country, will fit any national church and clergy in the world, that can but suppose itself the true; and that I presume none of them will fail to do.

You were more than ordinary reserved and gracious, when you tell me, That “what party I write for, you will not undertake to say.” But having told me, that my letter tends to the promoting of scepticism in religion; you thought, it is like, that was sufficient to show the party I write for; and so you might safely end your letter with words that looked like civil. But that you may another time be a little better informed what party I write for, I will tell you. They are those who in every nation fear God, work righteousness, and are accepted with him; and not those who in every nation are zealous for human constitutions: cry up nothing so much as outward conformity to the national religion; and are accepted by those who are the promoters of it. Those that I write for are those, who, according to the light of their own consciences, are every-where in earnest in matters of their own salvation, without any desire to impose on others; a party so seldom favoured by any of the powers or sects of the world; a party that has so few preferments to bestow; so few benefices to reward the endeavours of any one who appears for it; that I conclude I shall easily be believed when I say, that neither hopes of preferment, nor a design to recommend myself to those I live amongst, have biassed my understanding, or misled me in my undertaking. So much truth as serves the turn of any particular church, and can be accommodated to the narrow interest of some human constitution, is indeed often received with applause, and the publisher finds his account in it. But I think I may say, truth, in its full latitude of those generous principles of the gospel, which so much recommend and inculcate universal charity, and a freedom from the inventions and impositions of men in the things of God; has so seldom had a fair and favourable hearing anywhere, that he must be very ignorant of the history and nature of man, however dignified and distinguished, who proposes to himself any secular advantage by writing for her at that rate.

As to your request in the close of your letter, I hope this will satisfy you, that you might have spared it; and you, with the rest of the world, will see that all I writ in my former was so true, that you need not have given me any caution for the future. As to the pertinence of what I say, I doubt whether I shall please you; because I find by your last letter, that what is brought by me to show the weakness, absurdities, or insignificancy of what you write, you are very apt to call impertinent and nothing to the purpose. You must pardon me therefore, if I have endeavoured more to please other readers than you in that point. I hope they will find, in what I have said, not much beside the matter. But to a man who, supposing himself in the right, builds all upon that supposition, and takes it for an injury to have that privilege denied him; to a man who would sovereignly decide for all the world, what is the true religion; and thereby empower what magistrates he thinks fit, and what not, to use force; to such a man, not to seem impertinent, would be really to be so. This makes me pleased with your reply to so many passages of my letter, that they were nothing to the purpose: and it is in your choice whether in your opinion any thing in this shall be so.

But since this depends upon your keeping steadily to clear and settled notions of things, separate from words and expressions used in a doubtful and undetermined signification; wherewith men of art often amuse themselves and others; I shall not be so unreasonable as to expect, whatever you promise, that you should lay by your learning to embrace truth, and own what will not perhaps suit very well with your circumstances and interest.

I see, my design not to omit any thing that you might think looks like an argument in yours, has made mine grow beyond the size of a letter. But an answer to any one being very little different from a letter, I shall let it go under that title. I have in it also endeavoured to bring the scattered parts of your scheme into some method, under distinct heads; to give a fuller and more distinct view of them; wherein, if any of the arguments, which give support to your hypothesis, have escaped me unawares, be pleased to show them me, and I shall either acknowledge their force, or endeavour to show their weakness.

I am, SIR, Your most humble servant,

June 20, 1692.

Philanthropus.

A FOURTH LETTER FOR TOLERATION

SIR,

A fresh revival of the controversy formerly between you and me, is what I suppose nobody did expect from you after twelve years silence. But reputation, a sufficient cause for a new war, as you give the world to understand, hath put a resolution into your heart, and arms into your hands, to make an example of me, to the shame and confusion of all those who could be so injurious to you, as to think you could quit the opinion you had appeared for in print, and agree with me in the matter of Toleration. It is visible how tender even men of the most settled calmness are in point of reputation, and it is allowed the most excusable part of human frailty; and therefore nobody can wonder to see a report thought injurious laboured against with might and main, and the assistance and cause of religion itself taken in and made use of to put a stop to it. But yet for all this there are sober men who are of opinion, that it better becomes a Christian temper, that disputes, especially of religion, should be waged purely for the sake of truth, and not for our own: self should have nothing to do in them. But since as we see it will crowd itself in, and be often the principal agent; your ingenuity in owning what has brought you upon the stage again, and set you on work, after the ease and quiet you resolutely maintained yourself in so many years; ought to be commended, in giving us a view of the discreet choice you have made of a method suited to your purpose, which you publish to the world in these words, : “Being desirous to put a stop to a report so injurious, as well as groundless, as I look upon this to be, I think, it will be no improper way of doing it, if I thus signify to you and the reader, that I find nothing more convincing in this your long letter, than I did in your two former; giving with all a brief Specimen of the answerableness of it: which I choose to do upon a few pages at the beginning, where you have placed your greatest strength, or at least so much of it, as you think sufficient to put an end to this controversy.”

Here we have your declaration of war, of the grounds that moved you to it, and of your compendious way to assured victory; which I must own is very new and very remarkable. You choose a few pages out of the beginning of my Third Letter; in these, you say, “I have placed my greatest strength.” So that, what I have there said being baffled, it gives you a just triumph over my whole long Letter; and all the rest of it being but pitiful, weak, impertinent stuff, is by the overthrow of this forlorn hope fully confuted.

This is called answering by Specimen. A new way, which the world owes to your invention; an evidence that whilst you said nothing you did not spare thinking. And indeed it was a noble thought, a stratagem, which I believe scarce any other but yourself would have found out in a meditation of twice twelve years; how to answer arguments without saying a word to them, or so much as reciting them; and, by examining six or seven pages in the beginning of a book, reduce to nothing above three hundred pages of it that follow. This is indeed a decisive stroke that lays all flat before you. Who can stand against such a conqueror, who, by barely attacking of one, kills an hundred? This would certainly be an admirable way, did it not degrade the conqueror, whose business is to do; and turn him into a mere talking gazetteer, whose boasts are of no consequence. For after slaughter of foes, and routing of armies by such a dead-doing hand, nobody thinks it strange to find them all alive again safe and sound upon their feet, and in a posture of defending themselves. The event in all sorts of controversies, hath often better instructed those who have, without bringing it to trial, presumed on the weakness of their adversaries. However, this which you have set up, of confuting without arguing; cannot be denied to be a ready way, and well thought on to set you up high, and your reputation secure in the thoughts of your believing readers; if that be, as it seems it is, your business: but as I take it, tends not at all to the informing their understandings, and making them see the truth and grounds it stands on. That perhaps is too much for the profane vulgar to know; it is enough for them that you know it for them, and have assured them, that you can, when you please to condescend so far, confound all that any one offers against your opinion. An implicit faith of your being in the right, and ascribing victory to you, even in points whereof you have said nothing; is that which some sort of men think most useful; and so their followers have but tongues for their champion to give him the praise and authority he aims at, it is no matter whether they have any eyes for themselves to see on which side the truth lies. Thus methinks you and I both find our account in this controversy under your management; you in setting your reputation safe from the blemish it would have been to it that you were brought over to my opinion; and I in seeing (if you will forgive me so presumptuous a word) that you have left my cause safe in all those parts you have said nothing to, and not very much damaged in that part you have attacked; as I hope to show the indifferent reader. You enter upon your specimen, , by minding me that I tell you, “That I doubt not but to let you see, that if you will be true to your own principles, and stand to what you have said, you must carry some degrees of force to all those degrees which in words you declare against; even to the discipline of fire and faggot.” And you say, “if I make my word good, you assure me you will carry a faggot yourself to the burning what you have written for so unmerciful and outrageous a discipline: but till I have done that, you suppose the discipline you have endeavoured to defend, may remain safe and unhurt; as it is in its own nature, harmless and salutary to the world.”

To promise fairly is then the part of an honest man, when the time of performance is not yet come. But it falls out unluckily here, for you who have undertaken, by answering some parts of my second Letter, to show the answerableness of the whole; that instead of answering, you promise to retract, “if I make good my word, in proving upon your own principles you must carry your some degrees of force to fire and faggot.”

Sir, my endeavours to make my word good, have lain before you a pretty competent time; the world is witness of it, and will, as I imagine, think it time for you, since you yourself have brought this question upon the stage, either to acknowledge that I have made my word good; or by invalidating my arguments, show that I have not. He that after a debt of so many years only promises what brave things he will do hereafter, is hardly thought upon the Exchange to do what he ought. The account in his hand requires to be made up and balanced; and that will show, not what he is to promise, but, if he be a fair man, what he is to perform. If the schools make longer allowances of time, and admit evasions for satisfaction; it is fit you use your privilege, and take more time to consider; only I crave leave in the mean while to refer my reader to what I have said on this argument, chap. iv. of my third Letter, that he may have a view of your way of answering by specimen, and judge whether all that I have there urged be answered by what you say here; or what you promise here be ever like to be performed.

The next sample you give to show the answerableness of my Letter, is not much more lucky than the former; it may be seen, and 4, where you say, that I tell you, , “That you have altered the question;” for it seems, , you tell me the question between us is, “Whether the magistrate has a right to use force, to bring men to the true religion? Whereas, , you yourself, I say, own the question to be, whether the magistrate has a right to use force in matters of religion?” “Which affirmation, of mine, you must take leave to tell me, is a mere fiction, for neither , nor any-where else, do you own the question to be what I say you do.”

“And as to using force in matters of religion (which you say are my words not yours,) if I mean by it the using force to bring men to any other religion besides the true; you are so far from owning the question to be, whether the magistrate has a right to use force for such a purpose, that you have always thought it out of question, that no man in the world, magistrate or other, can have any right to use either force, or any other means that I can name, to bring men to any false religion; how much soever he may persuade himself that it is true.”

“It is not therefore from any alteration, but from the true state of the question, that you take occasion, as I complain without cause, to lay a load on me for charging you with the absurdities of a power in the magistrates to punish men, to bring them to their religion.” “But it seems, having little to say against what you do assert, you say, I find it necessary myself to alter the question, and to make the world believe that you assert what you do not; that I may have something before me which I can confute.”

In this paragraph you positively deny, that it is anywhere owned by you as the question between us “Whether the magistrate has a right of using force in matters of religion?” Indeed these words are not as they are cited in of your former Letter; but he that will turn over the leaf, may, in , read these words of yours, viz. that “You refer it to me, whether I, in saying nobody has a right, or you, in saying the magistrate has a right to use force in matters of religion, have most reason:” though you positively tell me, “that neither , nor any-where else, do you own the question to be what I say you do.” And now let the reader judge between us. I should not perhaps have so much as taken notice of this, but that you who are so sparing of your answer, that you think a brief specimen upon some few pages of the beginning of my Letter, sufficient to confute all I have said in it; do yet spend the better part of two pages on this: which if I had been mistaken in, it had been of no great consequence; of which I see no other use you have, but to cast on me some civil reflections of your fashion; and fix on me the imputation of fiction, mere fiction; a compliment which I shall not return you, though you say, “using force in matters of religion,” are my words, not yours. Whether they are your words or not, let of your former Letter decide; where you own yourself to say, that “the magistrate has a right to use force in matters of religion.” So that this, as I take it, is a specimen of your being very positive in a mistake, and about a plain matter of fact; about an action of your own; and so will scarce prove a specimen of the answerableness of all I say in my letter; unless we must allow that truth and falsehood are equally answerable, when you declare against either of them.

The next part of your specimen we have, , 5, where you tell me that I undertake to prove, that “if upon your grounds the magistrate be obliged to use force to bring men to the true religion; it will necessarily follow, that every magistrate, who believes his religion to be true, is obliged to use force to bring men to his.”

“Now because this undertaking is so necessary for me; and my whole cause seems to depend upon the success of it: you shall the more carefully consider how well I perform it. But before you do this, it will be fit to let me know, in what sense you grant my inference, and in what sense you deny it. Now that every magistrate, who upon just and sufficient grounds believes his religion to be true, is obliged to use some moderate penalties, (which is all the force you ever contended for,) to bring men to his religion, you freely grant; because that must needs be the true religion; since no other can, upon such grounds, be believed to be true. But that any magistrate, who upon weak and deceitful grounds believes a false religion to be true, (and he can never do it upon better grounds,) is obliged to use the same, or any other means, to bring men to his religion; this you flatly deny; nor can it by any rules of reasoning be inferred from what you assert.”

Here you tell me you grant my inference in this sense, viz. “That every magistrate, who upon just and sufficient grounds believes his religion to be true, is bound to use force to bring men to it.”

Here you grant that every magistrate, without knowing that his religion is true, is obliged, upon his believing it to be true, to use force to bring men to it; indeed you add, “who believes it to be true upon just and sufficient grounds.” So you have got a distinction, and that always sets off a disputant, though many times it is of no use to his argument. For here let me ask you, who must be judge, whether the grounds upon which he believes his religion to be true, be just and sufficient? Must the magistrate himself judge for himself, or must you judge for him? A third competitor in this judgment I know not where you will find for your turn. If every magistrate must judge for himself, whether the grounds upon which he believes his religion to be true, are just and sufficient grounds; your limitation of the use of force to such only as believe upon just and sufficient grounds, bating that it is an ornament to your style and learning, might have been spared, since it leaves my inference untouched in the full latitude I have expressed it concerning every magistrate; there not being any one magistrate excluded thereby from an obligation to use force to bring men to his own religion, by this your distinction. For if every magistrate, who upon just and sufficient grounds believes his religion to be true, be obliged to use force to bring men to his religion, and every magistrate be himself judge, whether the grounds he believes upon be just and sufficient; it is visible every magistrate is obliged to use force to bring men to his religion; since any one, who believes any religion to be true, cannot but judge the grounds, upon which he believes it to be true, are just and sufficient: for if he judged otherwise, he could not then believe it to be true. If you say, you must judge for the magistrate, then what you grant is this, That every magistrate who, upon grounds that you judge to be just and sufficient, believes his religion to be true, is obliged to use force to bring men to his religion. If this be your meaning, as it seems not much remote from it, you will do well to speak it out, that the magistrates of the world may know who to have recourse to in the difficulty you put upon them, in declaring them under an obligation to use force to bring men to the true religion; which they can neither certainly know, nor must venture to use force to bring men to, upon their own persuasion of the truth of it; when they have nothing but one of these two, viz. knowledge, or belief that the religion they promote is true, to determine them. Necessity has at last (unless you would have the magistrate act in the dark and use his force wholly at random) prevailed on you to grant, that the magistrate may use force to bring men to that religion which he believes to be true; but, say you, “his belief must be upon just and sufficient grounds.” The same necessity remaining still, must prevail with you to go one step further, and tell me whether the magistrate himself must be judge, whether the grounds, upon which he believes his religion to be true, be just and sufficient; or whether you are to be judge for him. If you say the first, my inference stands good, and then this question, I think, is yielded, and at an end. If you say you are to be judge for the magistrates, I shall congratulate to the magistrates of the world the way you have found out for them to acquit themselves of their duty, if you will but please to publish it, that they may know where to find you; for in truth, sir, I prefer you, in this case, to the pope; though you know that old gentleman at Rome has long since laid claim to all decisions of this kind, and alleges infallibility for the support of his title; which indeed will scarce be able to stand at Rome, or anywhere else, without the help of infallibility. But of this perhaps more in the next paragraph.

You go on with your specimen in your next paragraph, , which I shall crave leave of my reader to set down at large, it being a most exact and studied piece of artificial fencing, wherein, under the cover of good words, and the appearance of nice thinking, nothing is said; and therefore many deserve to be kept, not as a specimen of your answering; for, as we shall see, you answer nothing; but as a specimen of your skill in seeming to say something where you have nothing to answer. You tell me that I say, , that “I suppose that you will grant me (what he must be a hard man indeed that will not grant) that any thing laid upon the magistrate as a duty, is some way or other practicable. Now the magistrate being obliged to use force in matters of religion, but yet so as to bring men only to the true religion; he will not be in any capacity to perform this part of his duty, unless the religion he is to promote be what he can certainly know; or else what it is sufficient for him to believe to be the true: either his knowledge, or his opinion, must point out that religion to him, which he is by force to promote. Where, if by knowing, or knowledge, I mean the effect of strict demonstration; and by believing, or opinion, any sort of assent or persuasion how slightly soever grounded: then you must deny the sufficiency of my division; because there is a third sort or degree of persuasion, which, though not grounded upon strict demonstration; yet in firmness and stability does far exceed that which is built upon slight appearances of probability; being grounded upon such clear and solid proof, as leaves no reasonable doubt in an attentive and unbiassed mind: so that it approaches very near to that which is produced by demonstration; and is therefore, as it respects religion, very frequently and familiarly called in scripture not faith or belief only, but knowledge; and in divers places full assurance; as might easily be shown, if that were needful. Now this kind of persuasion, this knowledge, this full assurance men may, and ought to have of the true religion: but they can never have it of a false one. And this it is, that must point out that religion to the magistrate, which he is to promote by the method you contend for.”

Here the first thing you do is to pretend an uncertainty of what I mean by “knowing or knowledge, and by believing or opinion.” First, As to knowledge, I have said “certainly know.” I have called it “vision; knowledge and certainty; knowledge properly so called.” And for believing or opinion, I speak of believing with assurance; and say, that believing in the highest degree of assurance, is not knowledge. That whatever is not capable of demonstration, is not, unless it be self-evident, capable to produce knowledge, how well grounded and great soever the assurance of faith may be wherewith it is received. That I grant, that a stong assurance of any truth, settled upon prevalent and well-grounded arguments of probability, is often called knowledge in popular ways of talking; but being here to distinguish between knowledge and belief, to what degrees of confidence soever raised, their boundaries must be kept, and their names not confounded; with more to the same purpose, , 121; whereby it is so plain, that by knowledge I mean the effect of strict demonstration; and by believing or opinion, I mean any degree of persuasion even to the highest degree of assurance; that I challenge you yourself to set it down in plainer and more express terms. But nobody can blame you for not finding your adversary’s meaning, let it be ever so plain; when you can find nothing to answer to it. The reason therefore which you allege for the denying the sufficiency of my division, is no reason at all. Your pretended reason is because there is “a third sort or degree of persuasion; which though not grounded upon strict demonstration; yet in firmness and stability does far exceed that which is built upon slight appearances of probability,” &c. Let it be so, that there is a degree of persuasion; not grounded upon strict demonstration, far exceeding that which is built upon slight appearances of probability. But let me ask you what reason can this be to deny the sufficiency of my division, because there is, as you say, a third sort or degree of persuasion; when even that which you call this third sort or degree of persuasion is contained in my division. This is a specimen indeed, not of answering what I have said; but of not answering; and for such I leave it to the reader. “A degree of persuasion, though not grounded on strict demonstration, yet in firmness and stability far exceeding that which is built upon slight appearances of probability, you call here a third sort or degree of persuasion.” Pray tell me which are the two other sorts; for knowledge upon strict demonstration, is not belief or persuasion, but wholly above it. Besides, if the degrees of firmness in persuasion make different sorts of persuasion, there are not only three, but three hundred sorts of persuasion; and therefore the naming of your third sort was with little ground, and to no purpose or tendency to an answer; though the drawing in something like a distinction be always to the purpose of a man who hath nothing to answer; it giving occasion for the use of many good words; which, though nothing to the point, serve to cover the disputant’s saying nothing, under the appearance of learning, to those who will not be at the pains to examine what he says.

You say, “every magistrate is by the law of nature under an obligation to use force to bring men to the true religion.” To this I urge, that the magistrate hath nothing else to determine him in the use of force, for promotion of any religion one before another, but only his own belief or persuasion of the truth of it. Here you had nothing to do, but fairly to grant or deny: but instead thereof you first raise a groundless doubt as I have shown about my meaning, whereof there could be no doubt at all to any one who would but read what I had said: and thereupon having got a pretence for a distinction, you solemnly tell the world “there is a third sort of persuasion, which, though not grounded on strict demonstration; yet in firmness and stability does far exceed that which is built upon slight appearances of probability, leaving no doubt, approaching near to knowledge, being full assurance.” Well, the magistrate hath a “persuasion of firmness and stability, has full assurance;” must he be determined by this his full assurance in the promoting of that religion by force, of whose truth he is in so high a degree of persuasion so fully assured? “No, say you, it must be grounded upon such clear and solid proof as leaves no reasonable doubt in an attentive and unbiassed mind.” To which the magistrate is ready to reply, that he, upon his grounds, can see no reasonable doubt; and that his is an attentive and unbiassed mind; of all which he himself is to be judge, till you can produce your authority to judge for him; though, in the conclusion, you actually make yourself judge for him. “It is such a kind of persuasion, such a full assurance must point out to the magistrate that religion he is to promote by force, which can never be had but of the true religion:” which is in effect, as every one may see, the religion that you judge to be true; and not the religion the magistrate judges to be true. For pray tell me, must the magistrate’s full assurance point out to him the religion which he is by force to promote; or must he by force promote a religion, of whose truth he hath no belief, no assurance at all? If you say the first of these, you grant that every magistrate must use force to promote his own religion; for that is the religion whereof he has so full assurance, that he ventures his eternal state upon it. Ay, say you, that is for want of attention; and because he is not unbiassed. It is like he will say the same of you, and then you are quits. And that he should by force promote that religion which he believes not to be true, is so absurd, that I think you can neither expect it, nor bring yourself to say it. Neither of these therefore being answers that you can make use of, that which lies at the bottom, though you give it but covertly, is this, “That the magistrate ought by force to promote the religion that you believe with full assurance to be true.” This would do admirably well for your purpose, were not the magistrate intitled to ask, “who made you a judge for him in the case?” And ready to retort your own words upon you, that it is want of attention and unbiassedness in you, that puts your religion past doubt with you upon your proofs of it. Try when you please with a bramin, a mahometan, a papist, lutheran, quaker, anabaptist, presbyterian, &c. you will find if you argue with them, as you do here with me, that the matter will rest here between you, and that you are no more a judge for any of them than they are for you. Men in all religions have equally strong persuasions, and every one must judge for himself; nor can any one judge for another, and you least of all for the magistrate; the ground you build upon, that “firmness and stability of persuasion in the highest degree of assurance leaves no doubt, can never be had of a false religion” being false; all your talk of full assurance pointing out to the magistrate the true religion that he is obliged by force to promote, amounts to no more but his own religion, and can point out no other to him.

However, in the next paragraph, you go on with your specimen, and tell me, “Hence appears the impertinency of all I discourse, , 144, concerning the difference between faith and knowledge: where the thing I was concerned to make out, if I would speak to the purpose, was no other but this, that there are as clear and solid grounds for the belief of false religions, as there are for the belief of the true: or that men both as firmly and as rationally believe and embrace false religions as they can the true. This, you confess, is a point, which, you say, when I have well cleared and established it, will do my business, but nothing else will. And therefore my talk of faith and knowledge; however it may amuse such as are prone to admire all that I say; will never enable me, before better judges, from the duty of every magistrate to use moderate penalties for promoting the true religion, to infer the same obligation to lie upon every magistrate in respect of his religion, whatever it be.”

Where the impertinency lies will be seen when it is remembered, that the question between us is not what religion has the most clear and solid grounds for the belief of it; much less whether “there are as clear and solid grounds for the belief of false religions, as there are for the belief of the true,” i. e. whether falsehood has as much truth in it as truth itself? A question, which, I guess, no man but one of your great pertinency, could ever have proposed. But the question here between you and me, is what must point out to the magistrate that religion which he is by force to promote, that so he may be able to perform the duty that you pretend is incumbent on him by the law of nature; and here I proved, that having no certain demonstrative knowledge of the true religion, all that was left him to determine him in the application of force (which you make the proper instrument of promoting the true religion) for the promoting the true religion, was only his persuasion, belief, or assurance of the true religion, which was always his own; and so in this state the religion, which by force the magistrates of the world must of necessity promote, must be either their own or none at all. Thus the argument standing between us, I am apt to think the world may be of opinion, that it had been pertinent to your cause to have answered my argument, if you had any thing to answer; which since you have not done, this specimen also of the facility, wherewith you can answer all I have said in the third Letter, may be joined to the former, and be a specimen of something else than what you intended it. For in truth, sir, the endeavouring to set up a new question absurd in itself, and nothing at all to the purpose, without offering any thing to clear the difficulty you were pressed with; will to understanding readers appear pertinent in one who sets himself up for an arrant Drawcansir, and is giving specimens of himself, that nothing can stand in his way.

It is with the same pertinency, that to this proposition, “that there are as clear and solid grounds for the belief of a false religion as there are for the belief of the true,” you join this following as an equivalent, “Or that men may both as firmly and as rationally believe and embrace false religions as they can the true:” and you would fain have it thought that your cause is gained, unless I will maintain these two absurd propositions, which my argument has nothing to do with.

And you seem to me to build upon these two false propositions:

That in the want of knowledge and certainty of which is the true religion, nothing is fit to set the magistrate upon doing his duty in employing of force to make men consider and embrace the true religion, but the highest persuasion and full assurance of its truth. Whereas his own persuasion of the truth of his own religion, in what degree soever it be, so he believes it to be true; will, if he thinks it his duty by force to promote the true, be sufficient to set him on work. Nor can it be otherwise, since his own persuasion of his own religion, which he judges so well grounded as to venture his future state upon it, cannot but be sufficient to set him upon doing what he takes to be his duty in bringing others to the same religion.

II. Another false supposition you build upon is this, that the true religion is always embraced with the firmest assent. There is scarce any one so little acquainted with the world, that hath not met with instances of men most unmoveably confident, and fully assured in a religion which was not the true. Nor is there among the many absurd religions of the world, almost any one that does not find votaries to lay down their lives for it: and if that be not firm persuasion and full assurance that is stronger than the love of life, and has force enough to make a man throw himself into the arms of death, it is hard to know what is firm persuasion and full assurance. Jews and mahometans have frequently given instances of this highest degree of persuasion. And the bramins religion in the East is entertained by its followers with no less assurance of its truth, since it is not unusual for some of them to throw themselves under the wheels of a mighty chariot, wherein they on solemn days draw the image of their God about in procession, there to be crushed to death, and sacrifice their lives in honour of the God they believe in. If it be objected, that those are examples of mean and common men; but the great men of the world, and the heads of societies, do not so easily give themselves up to a confirmed bigotry. I answer, The persuasion they have of the truth of their own religion, is visibly strong enough to make them venture themselves, and use force to others upon the belief of it. Princes are made like other men; believe upon the like grounds that other men do; and act as warmly upon that belief, though the grounds of their persuasion be in themselves not very clear, or may appear to others to be not of the utmost solidity. Men act by the strength of their persuasion, though they do not always place their persuasion and assent on that side on which, in reality, the strength of truth lies. Reasons that are not thought of, nor heard of, nor rightly apprehended, nor duly weighed, make no impression on the mind: and truth, how richly soever stored with them, may not be assented to, but lie neglected. The only difference between princes and other men herein, is this, that princes are usually more positive in matters of religion, but less instructed. The softness and pleasures of a court, to which they are usually abandoned when young; and affairs of state which wholly possess them when grown up; seldom allow any of them time to consider and examine that they may embrace the true religion. And here your scheme, upon your own supposition, has a fundamental errour that overturns it. For your affirming that force, your way applied, is the necessary and competent means to bring men to the true religion; you leave magistrates destitute of these necessary and competent means of being brought to the true religion, though that be the readiest way, in your scheme the only way, to bring other men to it, and is contended for by you as the only method.

But further, you will perhaps be ready to reply, that you do not say barely, that men may not as firmly, but that they cannot as firmly and rationally, believe and embrace false religions as they can the true. This, be it as true as it will, is of no manner of advantage to your cause. For here the question, necessary to be considered in your way of arguing, returns upon you, who must be judge whether the magistrate believes and embraces his religion rationally or no? If he himself be judge, then he does act rationally, and it must have the same operation on him, as if it were the most rational in the world; if you must be judge for him, whether his belief be rational or no, why may not others judge for him as well as you? or at least he judge for you, as well as you for him; at least till you have produced your patent of infallibility and commission of superintendency over the belief of the magistrates of the earth, and shown the commission whereby you are appointed the director of the magistrates of the world in their belief, which is or is not the true religion? Do not think this said without cause; your whole discourse here has no other tendency, but the making yourself judge of what religion should be promoted by the magistrate’s force; which, let me tell you by the way, every warm zealot in any religion has as much right to be as you. 1 beseech you tell me, are you not persuaded, nay fully assured, that the church of England is in the right, and all that dissent from her are in the wrong: Why else would you have force used to make them consider and conform? If then the religion of the church of England be, as you are fully assured, the only true religion, and the magistrate must ground his persuasion of the truth of his religion on such clear and solid proofs as the true religion alone has, and no false one can have; and by that persuasion the magistrate must be directed in the use of force, (for all this in effect you say, in the sixth and beginning of the seventh page;) what is this but covertly to say, that it is the duty of all magistrates to use force to bring men to embrace the religion of the church of England? Which, since it plainly follows from your doctrine, and I think you cannot deny to be your opinion, and what in effect you contend for; you will do well to speak it out in plain words, and then there will need no more to be said in the question.

And now I desire it may be considered, what advantage this supposition of force, which is supposed put into the magistrate’s hands by the law of nature to be used in religion, brings to the true religion, when it arms five hundred magistrates against the true religion, who must unavoidably in the state of things in the world act against it, for one that uses force for it. I say that this use of force in the magistrate’s hand, is barely supposed by you from the benefit it is like to produce; but it being demonstration, that the prejudice that will accrue to the true religion from such an use of force, is five hundred times more than the advantage can be expected from it; the natural and unavoidable inference from your own ground of benefit, is, that God never gave any such power to the magistrate; and there it will rest till you can by some better argument prove the magistrate to have such a power: to which give me leave to add one word more.

You say the magistrate is obliged by the law of nature to use force to promote the true religion; must he stand still and do nothing till he certainly know which is the true religion? If so, the commission is lost, and he can never do his duty; for to certain knowledge of the true religion, he can in this world never arrive. May he then act upon “firm persuasions and full assurance, grounded upon such clear and solid proofs as the true religion alone has, and no false one can have?” And then indeed you have distinguished yourself into a safe retreat. For who can doubt but your third sort or degree of persuasion, if that be your meaning, will determine the magistrate to the true religion, when it is grounded on those which are the proofs only of the true religion; which if it be all that you intend by your full assurance, (which is the title you give to this your third sort or degree of persuasion,) I must desire you to apply this in answer to my argument. I say, magistrates in general have nothing to determine them in their application of force but their own persuasion; and your answer is, the magistrates of the true religion have their own persuasion to determine them; but of all the other magistrates, which are above an hundred, I might say a thousand to one, you say nothing at all; and thus, by the help of a distinction, the question is resolved. I say, the magistrates are not in a capacity to perform their duty, if they be obliged to use force to promote the true religion, since they have nothing to determine them but their own persuasion of the truth of any religion; which, in the variety of religions which the magistrates of the world have embraced, cannot direct them to the true. Yes, say you, their persuasion, who have embraced the true religion, will direct them to the true religion. Which amounts at last to no more but this, That the magistrate that is in the right, is in the right. A very true proposition without doubt; but whether it removes the difficulty I proposed, any better than begging the question, you were best consider. There are five hundred magistrates of false religions for one that is of the true; I speak much within compass; it is a duty incumbent on them all, say you, to use force to bring men to the true religion. My question is, how can this be compassed by men who are unavoidably determined by the persuasion of the truth of their own religion? It is answered, they who are of the true religion will perform their duty. A great advantage surely to true religion, and worth the contending for, that it should be the magistrate’s duty to use force for promoting the true religion, when in the state of things that is at present in the world, and always hitherto has been, one magistrate in five hundred will use force to promote the true religion, and the other four hundred ninety-nine to promote false ones.

But perhaps you will tell me, That you do not allow that magistrates, who are of false religions, should be determined by their own persuasions, which are “built upon slight appearances of probability; but such as are grounded upon clear and solid proofs,” which the true religion alone has. In answer to this, I ask, Who must be judge whether his persuasion be grounded on clear and solid proofs; the magistrate himself, or you for him? If the magistrate himself, then we are but where we were; and all that you say here, with the distinction that you have made about several sorts of persuasion, serves only to lead us about to the same place: for the magistrate, of what religion soever, must, notwith standing all you have said, be determined by his own persuasion. If you say you must be judge of the clearness and solidity of the proofs upon which the magistrate grounds the belief of his own religion, it is time you should produce your patent, and show the commission whereby you act.

There are other qualifications you assign of the proof, on which you tell us “your third sort or degree of persuasion is grounded; and that is such as leaves no reasonable doubt in an attentive and unbiassed mind:” which, unless you must be judge what is a reasonable doubt, and which is an attentive and unbiassed mind, will do you no manner of service. If the magistrate must be judge for himself in this case, you can have nothing to say to him; but if you must be judge, then any doubt about your religion will be unreasonable, and his not embracing and promoting your religion, will be want of attention and an unbiassed mind. But let me tell you, give but the same liberty of judging for the magistrate of your religion to the men of another religion, which they have as much right to as you have to judge for the magistrate of any other religion in the points mentioned; all this will return upon you. Go into France, and try whether it be not so. So that your plea for the magistrate’s using force for promoting the true religion, as you have stated it, gives as much power and authority to the king of France to use it against his dissenting subjects, as to any other prince in Christendom to use it against theirs; name which you please.

The fallacy in making it the magistrate’s duty to promote by force the only true religion lies in this, that you allow yourself to suppose the magistrate, who is of your religion, to be well-grounded, attentive and unbiassed, and fully and firmly assured that his religion is true; but that other magistrates of other religions different from yours are not so: which, what is it but to erect yourself into a state of infallibility above all other men of different persuasions from yours, which yet they have as good a title to as yourself?

Having thus advanced yourself into the chair, and given yourself the power of deciding for all men which is, and which is not, the true religion; it is not to be wondered that you so roundly pronounce all my discourse, , 144, “concerning the difference between faith and knowledge, to be impertinency;” and so magisterially to tell me, “that the thing I was there concerned to make out, if I would speak to the purpose, was no other but this, that there are as clear and as solid grounds for the belief of false religions, as there are for belief of the true: or, that men may both as firmly and as rationally believe and embrace false religions as they can the true.”

The impertinency in these two or three pages, I shall leave to shift for itself in the judgment of any indifferent reader; and will only, at present, examine what you tell “I was concerned to make out, if I would speak to the purpose.”

My business there was to prove, That the magistrate being taught that it was his duty to use force to promote the true religion, it would thence unavoidably follow, that not having knowledge of the truth of any religion, but only belief that it was true, to determine him in his application of force; he would take himself in duty bound to promote his own religion by force; and thereupon force would inevitably be used to promote false religions, upon those very grounds upon which you pretend to make it serviceable only to the true: and this, I suppose, I have in those pages evidently proved, though you think not fit to give any other answer to what I there say, but that it is impertinent; and I should have proved something else, which you would have done well, by a plain and clear deduction, to have shown from my words.

[the two following leaves of the copy are either lost or mislaid.]

After this new invention of yours, “of answering by specimen,” so happily found out for the ease of yourself and other disputants of renown, that shall please to follow it; I cannot presume you should take notice of any thing I have to say: you have assumed the privilege, by showing your strength against one argument, to pronounce all the rest baffled; and therefore to what purpose is it to offer difficulties to you, who can blow them all off with a breath? But yet, to apologize for myself to the world, for being of opinion that it is not always from want of consideration, attention, or being unbiassed, that men with firmness of persuasion embrace, and with full assurance adhere to, the wrong side in matters of religion; I shall take the liberty to offer the famous instance of the two Reynolds’s, brothers, both men of learning and parts; whereof the one being of the church of England, and the other of the church of Rome, they both desiring each other’s conversion to the religion which he himself was of, writ to one another about it, and that with such appearance of solid and clear grounds on both sides, that they were wrought upon by them: each changed his religion, and that with so firm a persuasion and full an assurance of the truth of that which he turned to, that no endeavours or arguments of either of them could ever after move the other, or bring him back from what he had persuaded him to. If now I should ask to which of these two, full assurance pointed out the true religion; you no doubt, if you would answer at all, would say, To him that embraced the church of England, and a papist would say the other; but if an indifferent man were asked whether this full assurance was sufficient to point out the true religion to either of them, he must answer, No; for if it were, they must necessarily have been both of the same religion.

To sum up then what you answer to my saying, “It cannot be the magistrate’s duty to use force to promote the true religion, because he is not in a capacity to perform that duty; for not having a certain knowledge, but only his own persuasion to point out to him which is the true religion, if he be satisfied it is his duty to use force to promote the true religion, it will inevitably follow, that he must always use it to promote his own.” To which you answer, That a persuasion of a low degree is not sufficient to point out that religion to the megistrate which he is to promote by force; but that a “firmness and stability of persuasion, a full assurance, is that which is to point out to the magistrate that religion which he is by force to promote.” Where if by firmness and stability of persuasion and full assurance, you mean what the words import; it is plain you confess the magistrate’s duty is to promote his own religion by force; for that is the religion which his firm persuasion and full assurance points out to him. If by full assurance you mean any thing but the strength of persuasion; you contradict all that you have said about firmness and stability, and degrees of persuasion; and having in that sense allowed the sufficiency of my division, where I say, “knowledge or opinion must point out that religion to him, which he is by force to promote;” retract it again, and instead thereof, under the name of full assurance, you substitute and put in true religion; and so firmness of persuasion is in effect laid by, and nothing but the name made use of: for pray tell me, is firmness of persuasion, or being of the true religion, either of them by itself sufficient to point out to the magistrate that religion which it is his duty to promote by force? For they do not always go together. If being of the true religion by itself may do it; your mentioning firmness of persuasion, grounded on solid proof that leaves no doubt, is to no purpose, but to mislead your reason; for every one that is of the true religion, does not arrive at that high degree of persuasion, that full assurance which approaches that which is very near to that which is produced by demonstration. And in this sense of full assurance, which you say men may have of the true religion, and can never have of a false one; your answer amounts to this, that full assurance, in him that embraces the true religion, will point out the religion he is by force to promote: where it is plain, that by fulness of assurance you do mean not the firmness of his persuasion that points out to him the religion which he is by force to promote, (for any lower degree of persuasion to him that embraces the true religion would do it as certainly, and to one that embraces not the true religion, the highest degree of persuasion would even in your opinion do nothing at all;) but his being of the true religion, is that which alone guides him to his duty of promoting the true religion by force. So that to my question, how shall a magistrate who is persuaded that it is his and every magistrate’s duty to promote the true religion by force, be determined in his use of force; you seem to say his firm persuasion or full assurance of the truth of the religion he so promotes must determine him; and presently, in other words, you seem to lay the stress upon his actually being of the true religion. The first of these answers is not true; for I have shown that firmness of persuasion may and does point out to magistrates false religions as well as the true: and the second is much what the same, as if to one, who should ask what should enable a man to find the right way who knows it not, it should be answered, the being in it. One of these must be your meaning, choose which you please of them; if you have any meaning at all in your sixth, and beginning of the seventh page, to which I refer the reader; where, if he find nothing else, he cannot fail to find a specimen of school-play, of talking uncertainly in the utmost perfection, nicely and artificially worded, that it may serve for a specimen of a master-piece in that kind; but a specimen of the answerableness of my Letter will require, as I imagine, a little more plain-dealing. And to satisfy readers, that have not attained to the admiration of skilfully saying nothing, you must directly inform them, whether firmness of persuasion be or be not sufficient in a magistrate to enable him to do his duty in promoting the true religion by force; or else this you have pitched on will scarce be a sample of the answerableness of all I have said.

But you stand positive in it, and that is like a master, that it cannot be inferred from the magistrate’s being obliged to promote by force the true religion, that every magistrate is obliged to promote by force his own religion. And that for the same reason you had given before, more perplexed and obscurely, viz. “Because there is this perpetual advantage on the side of the true religion, that it may and ought to be believed on clear and solid grounds, such as will appear the more so, the more they are examined: whereas no other religion can be believed so, but upon such appearances only, as will not bear a just examination.”

This would be an answer to what I have said, if it were so that all magistrates saw the preponderancy of the grounds of belief, which are on the side of the true religion; but since it is not the grounds and reasons of a truth that are not seen, that do or can set the magistrate upon doing his duty in the case; but it is the persuasion of the mind, produced by such reasons and grounds as do affect it, that alone does, or is capable to determine the magistrate in the use of force, for performing of his duty; it necessarily follows, that if two magistrates have equally strong persuasions concerning the truth of their religions respectively, they must both be set on work thereby, or neither; for though one be of a false, and the other of the true religion; yet the principle of operation, that alone which they have to determine them, being equal in both, they must both be determined by it; unless it can be said, that one of them must act according to that principle, which alone can determine; and the other must act against it: that is, do what he cannot do; be determined to one thing, by what at the same time determines him to another. From which incapacity in magistrates to perform their duty by force to promote the true religion, I think it may justly be concluded, that to use force for the promoting any religion cannot be their duty.

You tell us, it is by the law of nature magistrates are obliged to promote the true religion by force. It must be owned, that if this be an obligation of the law of nature, very few magistrates overlook it; so forward are they to promote that religion by force which they take to be true. This being the case, I beseech you tell me what was Huaina Capac, emperor of Peru, obliged to do? Who, being persuaded of his duty to promote the true religion, was not yet within distance of knowing or so much as hearing of the christian religion, which really is the true (so far was he from a possibility to have his belief grounded upon the solid and clear proofs of the true religion.) Was he to promote the true religion by force? That he neither did nor could know any thing of; so that was morally impossible for him to do. Was he to sit still in the neglect of his duty incumbent on him? That is in effect to suppose it a duty and no duty at the same time. If, upon his not knowing which is the true religion, you allow it not his duty to promote it by force, the question is at an end: you and I are agreed, that it is not the magistrate’s duty by force to promote the true religion. If you hold it in that case to be his duty; what remains for him to do, but to use force to promote that religion which he himself is strongly, nay, perhaps to the highest degree of firmness, persuaded is the true? Which is the granting what I contend for, that, if the magistrate be obliged to promote by force the true religion, it will thence follow, that he is obliged to promote by force that religion which he is persuaded is the true; since, as you will have it, force was given him to that end, and it is his duty to use it; and he hath nothing else to determine it to that end but his own persuasion. So that one of these two things must follow, either that in that case it ceases to be his duty, or else he must promote his own religion; choose you which you please

TWO TREATISES OF GOVERNMENT

1764 EDITION

These two famous treatises was first published anonymously in December 1689 as a refutation of Robert Filmer’s Patriarcha, a 1680 book that provides a theory of absolute monarchy and the divine right of kings. King James II of England had been overthrown in 1688 by a union of Parliamentarians and stadtholder of the Dutch Republic William III of Oranje-Nassau (William of Orange), who as a result ascended the English throne as William III of England in the Glorious Revolution. Locke claims in the Preface to the Two Treatises that its purpose is to justify William III’s ascension to the throne.

The First of the treatises attacks patriarchalism in the form of a sentence-by-sentence refutation of Filmer’s Patriarcha. Locke proceeds through Filmer’s arguments, contesting his proofs from Scripture and ridiculing them as senseless, until concluding that no government can be justified by an appeal to the divine right of kings. The Second Treatise outlines Locke’s ideas for a more civilised society based on natural rights and contract theory. Locke begins by describing the state of nature, a picture much more stable than Thomas Hobbes’ state of “war of every man against every man,” and argues that all men are created equal in the state of nature by God. From this, he goes on to explain the hypothetical rise of property and civilization, in the process explaining that the only legitimate governments are those that have the consent of the people. Therefore, any government that rules without the consent of the people can, in theory, be overthrown.

The first edition’s title page

The title page for ‘Patriarcha’, 1680

CONTENTS

PREFACE

BOOK I. OF GOVERNMENT

CHAPTER I.

CHAPTER II. OF PATERNAL AND REGAL POWER.

CHAPTER III. OF ADAM’S TITLE TO SOVEREIGNTY BY CREATION.

CHAPTER IV. OF ADAM’S TITLE TO SOVEREIGNTY BY DONATION, GEN. I. 28.

CHAPTER V. OF ADAM’S TITLE TO SOVEREIGNTY BY THE SUBJECTION OF EVE.

CHAPTER VI. OF ADAM’S TITLE TO SOVEREIGNTY BY FATHERHOOD.

CHAPTER VII. OF FATHERHOOD AND PROPERTY CONSIDERED TOGETHER AS FOUNTAINS OF SOVEREIGNTY.

CHAPTER VIII. OF THE CONVEYANCE OF ADAM’S SOVEREIGN MONARCHICAL POWER.

CHAPTER IX. OF MONARCHY, BY INHERITANCE FROM ADAM.

CHAPTER X. OF THE HEIR TO ADAM’S MONARCHICAL POWER.

CHAPTER XI. WHO HEIR?

BOOK II. OF CIVIL-GOVERNMENT

CHAPTER I.

CHAPTER II. OF THE STATE OF NATURE.

CHAPTER III. OF THE STATE OF WAR.

CHAPTER IV. OF SLAVERY.

CHAPTER V. OF PROPERTY.

CHAPTER VI. OF PATERNAL POWER.

CHAPTER VII. OF POLITICAL OR CIVIL SOCIETY.

CHAPTER VIII. OF THE BEGINNING OF POLITICAL SOCIETIES.

CHAPTER IX. OF THE ENDS OF POLITICAL SOCIETY AND GOVERNMENT.

CHAPTER X. OF THE FORMS OF A COMMON-WEALTH.

CHAPTER XI. OF THE EXTENT OF THE LEGISLATIVE POWER.

CHAPTER XII. OF THE LEGISLATIVE, EXECUTIVE, AND FEDERATIVE POWER OF THE COMMON-WEALTH.

CHAPTER XIII. OF THE SUBORDINATION OF THE POWERS OF THE COMMON-WEALTH.

CHAPTER XIV. OF PREROGATIVE.

CHAPTER XV. OF PATERNAL, POLITICAL, AND DESPOTICAL POWER, CONSIDERED TOGETHER.

CHAPTER XVI. OF CONQUEST.

CHAPTER XVII. OF USURPATION.

CHAPTER XVIII. OF TYRANNY.

CHAPTER XIX. OF THE DISSOLUTION OF GOVERNMENT.

TWO TREATISES OF GOVERNMENT. IN THE FORMER THE FALSE PRINCIPLES AND FOUNDATION OF SIR ROBERT FILMER AND HIS FOLLOWERS ARE DETECTED AND OVERTHROWN.

THE LATTER IS AN ESSAY CONCERNING THE TRUE ORIGINAL EXTENT AND END OF CIVIL GOVERNMENT.

PREFACE

Reader, thou hast here the beginning and end of a discourse concerning government; what fate has otherwise disposed of the papers that should have filled up the middle, and were more than all the rest, it is not worth while to tell thee. These, which remain, I hope are sufficient to establish the throne of our great restorer, our present King William; to make good his title, in the consent of the people, which being the only one of all lawful governments, he has more fully and clearly, than any prince in Christendom; and to justify to the world the people of England, whose love of their just and natural rights, with their resolution to preserve them, saved the nation when it was on the very brink of slavery and ruin. If these papers have that evidence, I slatter myself is to be found in them, there will be no great miss of those which are lost, and my reader may be satisfied without them: for I imagine, I shall have neither the time, nor inclination to repeat my pains, and fill up the wanting part of my answer, by tracing Sir Robert again, through all the windings and obscurities, which are to be met with in the several branches of his wonderful system. The king, and body of the nation, have since so throughly confuted his Hypothesis, that I suppose no body hereafter will have either the confidence to appear against our common safety, and be again an advocate for slavery; or the weakness to be deceived with contradictions dressed up in a popular stile, and well-turned periods: for if any one will be at the pains, himself, in those parts, which are here untouched, to strip Sir Robert’s discourses of the flourish of doubtful expressions, and endeavour to reduce his words to direct, positive, intelligible propositions, and then compare them one with another, he will quickly be satisfied, there was never so much glib nonsense put together in well-sounding English. If he think it not worth while to examine his works all thro’, let him make an experiment in that part, where he treats of usurpation; and let him try, whether he can, with all his skill, make Sir Robert intelligible, and consistent with himself, or common sense. I should not speak so plainly of a gentleman, long since past answering, had not the pulpit, of late years, publicly owned his doctrine, and made it the current divinity of the times. It is necessary those men, who taking on them to be teachers, have so dangerously misled others, should be openly shewed of what authority this their Patriarch is, whom they have so blindly followed, that so they may either retract what upon so ill grounds they have vented, and cannot be maintained; or else justify those principles which they preached up for gospel; though they had no better an author than an English courtier: for I should not have writ against Sir Robert, or taken the pains to shew his mistakes, inconsistencies, and want of (what he so much boasts of, and pretends wholly to build on) scripture-proofs, were there not men amongst us, who, by crying up his books, and espousing his doctrine, save me from the reproach of writing against a dead adversary. They have been so zealous in this point, that, if I have done him any wrong, I cannot hope they should spare me. I wish, where they have done the truth and the public wrong, they would be as ready to redress it, and allow its just weight to this reflection, viz. that there cannot be done a greater mischief to prince and people, than the propagating wrong notions concerning government; that so at last all times might not have reason to complain of the Drum Ecclesiastic. If any one, concerned really for truth, undertake the confutation of my Hypothesis, I promise him either to recant my mistake, upon fair conviction; or to answer his difficulties. But he must remember two things.

First, That cavilling here and there, at some expression, or little incident of my discourse, is not an answer to my book.

Secondly, That I shall not take railing for arguments, nor think either of these worth my notice, though I shall always look on myself as bound to give satisfacton to any one, who shall appear to be conscientiously scrupulous in the point, and shall shew any just grounds for his scruples.

I have nothing more, but to advertise the reader, that Observations stands for Observations on Hobbs, Milton, &c. and that a bare quotation of pages always means pages of his Patriarcha, Edition 1680.

BOOK I. OF GOVERNMENT

CHAPTER I.

§. 1.

Slavery is so vile and miserable an estate of man, and so directly opposite to the generous temper and courage of our nation; that it is hardly to be conceived, that an Englishman, much less a gentleman, should plead for it. And truly I should have taken Sir Robert Filmer’s Patriarcha, as any other treatise, which would persuade all men, that they are slaves, and ought to be so, for such another exercise of wit, as was his who writ the encomium of Nero; rather than for a serious discourse meant in earnest, had not the gravity of the title and epistle, the picture in the front of the book, and the applause that followed it, required me to believe, that the author and publisher were both in earnest. I therefore took it into my hands with all the expectation, and read it through with all the attention due to a treatise that made such a noise at its coming abroad, and cannot but confess my self mightily surprised, that in a book, which was to provide chains for all mankind, I should find nothing but a rope of sand, useful perhaps to such, whose skill and business it is to raise a dust, and would blind the people, the better to mislead them; but in truth not of any force to draw those into bondage, who have their eyes open, and so much sense about them, as to consider, that chains are but an ill wearing, how much care soever hath been taken to file and polish them.

§. 2.

If any one think I take too much liberty in speaking so freely of a man, who is the great champion of absolute power, and the idol of those who worship it; I beseech him to make this small allowance for once, to one, who, even after the reading of Sir Robert’s book, cannot but think himself, as the laws allow him, a freeman: and I know no fault it is to do so, unless any one better skilled in the fate of it, than I, should have it revealed to him, that this treatise, which has lain dormant so long, was, when it appeared in the world, to carry, by strength of its arguments, all liberty out of it; and that from thenceforth our author’s short model was to be the pattern in the mount, and the perfect standard of politics for the future. His system lies in a little compass, it is no more but this,

That all government is absolute monarchy.

And the ground he builds on, is this,

That no man is born free.

§. 3.

In this last age a generation of men has sprung up amongst us, that would flatter princes with an opinion, that they have a divine right to absolute power, let the laws by which they are constituted, and are to govern, and the conditions under which they enter upon their authority, be what they will, and their engagements to observe them never so well ratified by solemn oaths and promises. To make way for this doctrine, they have denied mankind a right to natural freedom; whereby they have not only, as much as in them lies, exposed all subjects to the utmost misery of tyranny and oppression, but have also unsettled the titles, and shaken the thrones of princes: (for they too, by these mens system, except only one, are all born slaves, and by divine right are subjects to Adam’s right heir;) as if they had designed to make war upon all government, and subvert the very foundations of human society, to serve their present turn.

§. 4.

However we must believe them upon their own bare words, when they tell us, we are all born slaves, and we must continue so, there is no remedy for it; life and thraldom we enter’d into together, and can never be quit of the one, till we part with the other. Scripture or reason I am sure do not any where say so, notwithstanding the noise of divine right, as if divine authority hath subjected us to the unlimited will of another. An admirable state of mankind, and that which they have not had wit enough to find out till this latter age. For, however Sir Robert Filmer seems to condemn the novelty of the contrary opinion, Patr. . yet I believe it will be hard for him to find any other age, or country of the world, but this, which has asserted monarchy to be jure divino. And he confesses, Patr. . That Heyward, Blackwood, Barclay, and others, that have bravely vindicated the right of kings in most points, never thought of this, but with one consent admitted the natural liberty and equality of mankind.

§. 5.

By whom this doctrine came at first to be broached, and brought in fashion amongst us, and what sad effects it gave rise to, I leave to historians to relate, or to the memory of those, who were contemporaries with Sibthorp and Manwering, to recollect. My business at present is only to consider what Sir Robert Filmer, who is allowed to have carried this argument farthest, and is supposed to have brought it to perfection, has said in it; for from him every one, who would be as fashionable as French was at court, has learned, and runs away with this short system of politics, viz. Men are not born free, and therefore could never have the liberty to choose either governors, or forms of government. Princes have their power absolute, and by divine right; for slaves could never have a right to compact or consent. Adam was an absolute monarch, and so are all princes ever since.

CHAPTER II. OF PATERNAL AND REGAL POWER.

§. 6.

SIR Robert Filmer’s great position is, that men are not naturally free. This is the foundation on which his absolute monarchy stands, and from which it erects itself to an height, that its power is above every power, caput inter nubila, so high above all earthly and human things, that thought can scarce reach it; that promises and oaths, which tye the infinite Deity, cannot confine it. But if this foundation fails, all his fabric falls with it, and governments must be left again to the old way of being made by contrivance, and the consent of men (Άνϧϛωπίνη ϰτίσιϛ) making use of their reason to unite together into society. To prove this grand position of his, he tells us, . Men are born in subjection to their parents, and therefore cannot be free. And this authority of parents, he calls royal authority, , 14. Fatherly authority, right of fatherhood, , 20. One would have thought he would, in the beginning of such a work as this, on which was to depend the authority of princes, and the obedience of subjects, have told us expresly, what that fatherly authority is, have defined it, though not limited it, because in some other treatises of his he tells us, it is unlimited, and unlimitable; he should at least have given us such an account of it, that we might have had an entire notion of this fatherhood, or fatherly authority, whenever it came in our way in his writings: this I expected to have found in the first chapter of his Patriarcha. But instead thereof, having, 1. en passant, made his obeysance to the arcana imperii, . 2. made his compliment to the rights and liberties of this, or any other nation, . which he is going presently to null and destroy; and, 3. made his leg to those learned men, who did not see so far into the matter as himself, . he comes to fall on Bellarmine, . and, by a victory over him, establishes his fatherly authority beyond any question. Bellarmine being routed by his own confession, . the day is clear got, and there is no more need of any forces: for having done that, I observe not that he states the question, or rallies up any arguments to make good his opinion, but rather tells us the story, as he thinks fit, of this strange kind of domineering phantom, called the fatherhood, which whoever could catch, presently got empire, and unlimited absolute power. He assures us how this fatherhood began in Adam, continued its course, and kept the world in order all the time of the patriarchs till the flood, got out of the ark with Noah and his sons, made and supported all the kings of the earth till the captivity of the Israelites in Egypt, and then the poor fatherhood was under hatches, till God, by giving the Israelites kings, re-established the ancient and prime right of the lineal succession in paternal government. This is his business from . to 19. And then obviating an objection, and clearing a difficulty or two with one half reason, . to confirm the natural right of regal power, he ends the first chapter. I hope it is no injury to call an half quotation an half reason; for God says, Honour thy father and mother; but our author contents himself with half, leaves out thy mother quite, as little serviceable to his purpose. But of that more in another place.

§. 7.

I do not think our author so little skilled in the way of writing discourses of this nature, nor so careless of the point in hand, that he by over-sight commits the fault, that he himself, in his Anarchy of a mixed Monarchy, . objects to Mr. Hunton in these words: Where first I charge the author, that he hath not given us any definition, or description of monarchy in general; for by the rules of method he should have first defined. And by the like rule of method Sir Robert should have told us, what his fatherhood or fatherly authority is, before he had told us, in whom it was to be found, and talked so much of it. But perhaps Sir Robert found, that this fatherly authority, this power of fathers, and of kings, for he makes them both the same, . would make a very odd and frightful figure, and very disagreeing with what either children imagine of their parents, or subjects of their kings, if he should have given us the whole draught together in that gigantic form, he had painted it in his own fancy; and therefore, like a wary physician, when he would have his patient swallow some harsh or corrosive liquor, he mingles it with a large quantity of that which may dilute it; that the scattered parts may go down with less feeling, and cause less aversion.

§. 8.

Let us then endeavour to find what account he gives us of this fatherly authority, as it lies scattered in the several parts of his writings. And first, as it was vested in Adam, he says, Not only Adam, but the succeeding patriarchs, had, by right of fatherhood, royal authority over their children, . This lordship which Adam by command had over the whole world, and by right descending from him the patriarchs did enjoy, was as large and ample as the absolute dominion of any monarch, which hath been since the creation, . Dominion of life and death, making war, and concluding peace, . Adam and the patriarchs had absolute power of life and death, . Kings, in the right of parents, succeed to the exercise of supreme jurisdiction, . As kingly power is by the law of God, so it hath no inferior law to limit it; Adam was lord of all, . The father of a family governs by no other law, than by his own will, . The superiority of princes is above laws, . The unlimited jurisdiction of kings is so amply described by Samuel, . Kings are above the laws, . And to this purpose see a great deal more which our author delivers in Bodin’s words: It is certain, that all laws, privileges, and grants of princes, have no force, but during their life; if they be not ratified by the express consent, or by sufferance of the prince following, especially privileges, Observations, . The reason why laws have been also made by kings, was this; when kings were either busied with wars, or distracted with public cares, so that every private man could not have access to their persons, to learn their wills and pleasure, then were laws of necessity invented, that so every particular subject might find his prince’s pleasure decyphered unto him in the tables of his laws, . In a monarchy, the king must by necessity be above the laws, . A perfect kingdom is that, wherein the king rules all things according to his own will, . Neither common nor statute laws are, or can be, any diminution of that general power, which kings have over their people by right of fatherhood, . Adam was the father, king, and lord over his family; a son, a subject, and a servant or slave, were one and the same thing at first. The father had power to dispose or sell his children or servants; whence we find, that the first reckoning up of goods in scripture, the man-servant and the maid-servant, are numbred among the possessions and substance of the owner, as other goods were, Observations, Pref. God also hath given to the father a right or liberty, to alien his power over his children to any other; whence we find the sale and gift of children to have much been in use in the beginning of the world, when men had their servants for a possession and an inheritance, as well as other goods; whereupon we find the power of castrating and making eunuchs much in use in old times, Observations, . Law is nothing else but the will of him that hath the power of the supreme father, Observations, . It was God’s ordinance that the supremacy should be unlimited in Adam, and as large as all the acts of his will; and as in him so in all others that have supreme power, Observations, .

§. 9.

I have been fain to trouble my reader with these several quotations in our author’s own words, that in them might be seen his own description of his fatherly authority, as it lies scattered up and down in his writings, which he supposes was first vested in Adam, and by right belongs to all princes ever since. This fatherly authority then, or right of fatherhood, in our author’s sense, is a divine unalterable right of sovereignty, whereby a father or a prince hath an absolute, arbitrary, unlimited, and unlimitable power over the lives, liberties, and estates of his children and subjects; so that he may take or alienate their estates, sell, castrate, or use their persons as he pleases, they being all his slaves, and he lord or proprietor of every thing, and his unbounded will their law.

§. 10.

Our author having placed such a mighty power in Adam, and upon that supposition sounded all government, and all power of princes, it is reasonable to expect, that he should have proved this with arguments clear and evident, suitable to the weightiness of the cause; that since men had nothing else left them, they might in slavery have such undeniable proofs of its necessity, that their consciences might be convinced, and oblige them to submit peaceably to that absolute dominion, which their governors had a right to exercise over them. Without this, what good could our author do, or pretend to do, by erecting such an unlimited power, but flatter the natural vanity and ambition of men, too apt of itself to grow and encrease with the possession of any power? and by persuading those, who, by the consent of their fellowmen, are advanced to great, but limited, degrees of it, that by that part which is given them, they have a right to all, that was not so; and therefore may do what they please, because they have authority to do more than others, and so tempt them to do what is neither for their own, nor the good of those under their care; whereby great mischiefs cannot but follow.

§. 11.

The sovereignty of Adam, being that on which, as a sure basis, our author builds his mighty absolute monarchy, I expected, that in his Patriarcha, this his main supposition would have been proved, and established with all that evidence of arguments, that such a fundamental tenet required; and that this, on which the great stress of the business depends, would have been made out with reasons sufficient to justify the confidence with which it was assumed. But in all that treatise, I could find very little tending that way; the thing is there so taken for granted, without proof, that I could scarce believe myself, when, upon attentive reading that treatise, I found there so mighty a structure raised upon the bare supposition of this foundation: for it is scarce credible, that in a discourse, where he pretends to confute the erroneous principle of man’s natural freedom, he should do it by a bare supposition of Adam’s authority, without offering any proof for that authority. Indeed he confidently says, that Adam had royal authority, , and 13. Absolute lordship and dominion of life and death, . An universal monarchy, . Absolute power of life and death, . He is very frequent in such assertions; but, what is strange, in all his whole Patriarcha I find not one pretence of a reason to establish this his great foundation of government; not any thing that looks like an argument, but these words: To confirm this natural right of regal power, we find in the Decalogue, that the law which enjoyns obedience to kings, is delivered in the terms, Honour thy father, as if all power were originally in the father. And why may I not add as well, that in the Decalogue, the law that enjoyns obedience to queens, is delivered in the terms of Honour thy mother, as if all power were originally in the mother? The argument, as Sir Robert puts it, will hold as well for one as the other: but of this, more in its due place.

§. 12.

All that I take notice of here, is, that this is all our author says in this first, or any of the following chapters, to prove the absolute power of Adam, which is his great principle: and yet, as if he had there settled it upon sure demonstration, he begins his second chapter with these words, By conferring these proofs and reasons, drawn from the authority of the scripture. Where those proofs and reasons for Adam’s sovereignty are, bating that of Honour thy father, above mentioned, I confess, I cannot find; unless what he says, . In these words we have an evident confession, viz. of Bellarmine, that creation made man prince of his posterity, must be taken for proofs and reasons drawn from scripture, or for any sort of proof at all: though from thence by a new way of inference, in the words immediately following, he concludes, the royal authority of Adam sufficiently settled in him.

§. 13.

If he has in that chapter, or any where in the whole treatise, given any other proofs of Adam’s royal authority, other than by often repeating it, which, among some men, goes for argument, I desire any body for him to shew me the place and page, that I may be convinced of my mistake, and acknowledge my oversight. If no such arguments are to be found, I beseech those men, who have so much cried up this book, to consider, whether they do not give the world cause to suspect, that it is not the force of reason and argument, that makes them for absolute monarchy, but some other by interest, and therefore are resolved to applaud any author, that writes in favour of this doctrine, whether he support it with reason or no. But I hope they do not expect, that rational and indifferent men should be brought over to their opinion, because this their great doctor of it, in a discourse made on purpose, to set up the absolute monarchical power of Adam, in opposition to the natural freedom of mankind, has said so little to prove it, from whence it is rather naturally to be concluded, that there is little to be said.

§. 14.

But that I might omit no care to inform myself in our author’s full sense, I consulted his Observations on Aristotle, Hobbes, &c. to see whether in disputing with others he made use of any arguments for this his darling tenet of Adam’s sovereignty; since in his treatise of the Natural Power of Kings, he hath been so sparing of them. In his Observations on Mr. Hobbes’s Leviathan, I think he has put, in short, all those arguments for it together, which in his writings I find him any where to make use of: his words are these: If God created only Adam, and of a piece of him made the woman, and if by generation from them two, as parts of them, all mankind be propagated: if also God gave to Adam not only the dominion over the woman and the children that should issue from them, but also over all the earth to subdue it, and over all the creatures on it, so that as long as Adam lived, no man could claim or enjoy any thing but by donation, assignation or permission from him, I wonder, &c. Observations, 165. Here we have the sum of all his arguments, for Adam’s sovereignty and against natural freedom, which I find up and down in his other treatises: and they are these following; God’s creation of Adam, the dominion he gave him over Eve, and the dominion he had as father over his children: all which I shall particularly consider.

CHAPTER III. OF ADAM’S TITLE TO SOVEREIGNTY BY CREATION.

§. 15.

SIR Robert, in his preface to his Observations on Aristotle’s politics, tells us, A natural freedom of mankind cannot be supposed without the denial of the creation of Adam: but how Adam’s being created, which was nothing but his receiving a being immediately from omnipotence and the hand of God, gave Adam a sovereignty over any thing, I cannot see, nor consequently understand, how a supposition of natural freedom is a denial of Adam’s creation, and would be glad any body else (since our author did not vouchsafe us the favour) would make it out for him: for I find no difficulty to suppose the freedom of mankind, though I have always believed the creation of Adam. He was created, or began to exist, by God’s immediate power, without the intervention of parents or the pre-existence of any of the same species to beget him, when it pleased God he should; and so did the lion, the king of beasts, before him, by the same creating power of God: and if bare existence by that power, and in that way, will give dominion, without any more ado, our author, by this argument, will make the lion have as good a title to it, as he, and certainly the antienter. No! for Adam had his title by the appointment of God, says our author in another place. Then bare creation gave him not dominion, and one might have supposed mankind free without the denying the creation of Adam, since it was God’s appointment made him monarch.

§. 16.

But let us see, how he puts his creation and this appointment together. By the appointment of God, says Sir Robert, as soon as Adam was created, he was monarch of the world, though he had no subjects; for though there could not be actual government till there were subjects, yet by the right of nature it was due to Adam to be governor of his posterity: though not in act, yet at least in habit, Adam was a king from his creation. I wish he had told us here, what he meant by God’s appointment: for whatsoever providence orders, or the law of nature directs, or positive revelation declares, may be said to be by God’s appointment: but I suppose it cannot be meant here in the first sense, i. e. by providence; because that would be to say no more, but that as soon as Adam was created he was de facto monarch, because by right of nature it was due to Adam, to be governor of his posterity. But he could not de facto be by providence constituted the governor of the world, at a time when there was actually no government, no subjects to be governed, which our author here confesses. Monarch of the world is also differently used by our author; for sometimes he means by it a proprietor of all the world exclusive of the rest of mankind, and thus he does in the same page of his preface before cited: Adam, says he, being commanded to multiply and people the earth, and to subdue it, and having dominion given him over all creatures, was thereby the monarch of the whole world; none of his posterity had any right to possess any thing but by his grant or permission, or by succession from him. 2. Let us understand then by monarch proprietor of the world, and by appointment God’s actual donation, and revealed positive grant made to Adam, i. Gen. 28. as we see Sir Robert himself does in this parallel place, and then his argument will stand thus, by the positive grant of God: as soon as Adam was created, he was proprietor of the world, because by the right of nature it was due to Adam to be governor of his posterity. In which way of arguing there are two manifest falsehoods. First, It is false, that God made that grant to Adam, as soon as he was created, since, tho’ it stands in the text immediately after his creation, yet it is plain it could not be spoken to Adam, till after Eve was made and brought to him: and how then could he be monarch by appointment as soon as created, especially since he calls, if I mistake not, that which God says to Eve, iii. Gen. 16, the original grant of government, which not being till after the fall, when Adam was somewhat, at least in time, and very much distant in condition, from his creation, I cannot see, how our author can say in this sense, that by God’s appointment, as soon as Adam was created, he was monarch of the world. Secondly, were it true that God’s actual donation appointed Adam monarch of the world as soon as he was created, yet the reason here given for it would not prove it; but it would always be a false inference, that God, by a positive donation, appointed Adam monarch of the world, because by right of nature it was due to Adam to be governor of his posterity: for having given him the right of government by nature, there was no need of a positive donation; at least it will never be a proof of such a donation.

§. 17.

On the other side the matter will not be much mended, if we understand by God’s appointment the law of nature, (though it be a pretty harsh expression for it in this place) and by monarch of the world, sovereign ruler of mankind: for then the sentence under consideration must run thus: By the law of nature, as soon as Adam was created he was governor of mankind, for by right of nature it was due to Adam to be governor of his posterity; which amounts to this, he was governor by right of nature, because he was governor by right of nature: but supposing we should grant, that a man is by nature governor of his children, Adam could not hereby be monarch as soon as created: for this right of nature being founded in his being their father, how Adam could have a natural right to be governor, before he was a father, when by being a father only he had that right, is, methinks, hard to conceive, unless he will have him to be a father before he was a father, and to have a title before he had it.

§. 18.

To this foreseen objection, our author answers very logically, he was governor in habit, and not in act: a very pretty way of being a governor without government, a father without children, and a king without subjects. And thus Sir Robert was an author before he writ his book; not in act it is true, but in habit; for when he had once published it, it was due to him by the right of nature, to be an author, as much as it was to Adam to be governor of his children, when he had begot them: and if to be such a monarch of the world, an absolute monarch in habit, but not in act, will serve the turn, I should not much envy it to any of Sir Robert’s friends, that he thought fit graciously to bestow it upon, though even this of act and habit, if it signified any thing but our author’s skill in distinctions, be not to his purpose in this place. For the question is not here about Adam’s actual exercise of government, but actually having a title to be governor. Government, says our author, was due to Adam by the right of nature: what is this right of nature? A right fathers have over their children by begetting them; generatione jus acquiritur parentibus in liberos, says our author out of Grotius, Observations, 223. The right then follows the begetting as arising from it; so that, according to this way of reasoning or distinguishing of our author, Adam, as soon as he was created, had a title only in habit, and not in act, which in plain English is, he had actually no title at all.

§. 19.

To speak less learnedly, and more intelligibly, one may say of Adam, he was in a possibility of being governor, since it was possible he might beget children, and thereby acquire that right of nature, be it what it will, to govern them, that accrues from thence: but what connection has this with Adam’s creation, to make him say, that as soon as he was created, he was monarch of the world? for it may be as well said of Noah, that as soon as he was born, he was monarch of the world, since he was in possibility (which in our author’s sense is enough to make a monarch, a monarch in habit,) to outlive all mankind, but his own posterity. What such necessary connection there is betwixt Adam’s creation and his right to government, so that a natural freedom of mankind cannot be supposed without the denial of the creation of Adam, I confess for my part I do not see; nor how those words, by the appointment, &c. Observations, 254. how ever explained, can be put together, to make any tolerable sense, at least to establish this position, with which they end, viz. Adam was a king from his creation; a king, says our author, not in act, but in habit, i. e. actually no king at all.

§. 20.

I fear I have tired my reader’s patience, by dwelling longer on this passage, than the weightiness of any argument in it seems to require: but I have unavoidably been engaged in it by our author’s way of writing, who, hudling several suppositions together, and that in doubtful and general terms, makes such a medly and confusion, that it is impossible to shew his mistakes, without examining the several senses wherein his words may be taken, and without seeing how, in any of these various meanings, they will consist together, and have any truth in them: for in this present passage before us, how can any one argue against this position of his, that Adam was a king from his creation, unless one examine, whether the words, from his creation, be to be taken, as they may, for the time of the commencement of his government, as the foregoing words import, as soon as he was created he was monarch; or, for the cause of it, as he says, . creation made man prince of his posterity? how farther can one judge of the truth of his being thus king, till one has examined whether king be to be taken, as the words in the beginning of this passage would persuade, on supposition of his private dominion, which was, by God’s positive grant, monarch of the world by appointment; or king on supposition of his fatherly power over his off-spring, which was by nature, due by the right of nature; whether, I say, king be to be taken in both, or one only of these two senses, or in neither of them, but only this, that creation made him prince, in a way different from both the other? For though this assertion, that Adam was king from his creation, be true in no sense, yet it stands here as an evident conclusion drawn from the preceding words, though in truth it be but a bare assertion joined to other assertions of the same kind, which confidently put together in words of undetermined and dubious meaning, look like a sort of arguing, when there is indeed neither proof nor connection: a way very familiar with our author: of which having given the reader a taste here, I shall, as much as the argument will permit me, avoid touching on hereafter; and should not have done it here, were it not to let the world see, how incoherences in matter, and suppositions without proofs put handsomely together in good words and a plausible stile, are apt to pass for strong reason and good sense, till they come to be looked into with attention.

CHAPTER IV. OF ADAM’S TITLE TO SOVEREIGNTY BY DONATION, GEN. I. 28.

§. 21.

HAVING at last got through the foregoing passage, where we have been so long detained, not by the force of arguments and opposition, but the intricacy of the words, and the doubtfulness of the meaning; let us go on to his next argument, for Adam’s sovereignty. Our author tells us in the words of Mr. Selden, that Adam by donation from God, Gen. i. 28. was made the general lord of all things, not without such a private dominion to himself, as without his grant did exclude his children. This determination of Mr. Selden, says our author, is consonant to the history of the Bible, and natural reason, Observations, 210. And in his Pref. to his Observations on Aristotle, he says thus, The first government in the world was monarchical in the father of all flesh, Adam being commanded to multiply and people the earth, and to subdue it, and having dominion given him over all creatures, was thereby the monarch of the whole world: none of his posterity had any right to possess any thing, but by his grant or permission, or by succession from him: The earth, saith the Psalmist, hath he given to the children of men, which shew the title comes from fatherhood.

§. 22.

Before I examine this argument, and the text on which it is founded, it is necessary to desire the reader to observe, that our author, according to his usual method, begins in one sense, and concludes in another; he begins here with Adam’s propriety, or private dominion, by donation; and his conclusion is, which shew the title comes from fatherhood.

§. 23.

But let us see the argument. The words of the text are these; and God blessed them, and God said unto them, be fruitful and multiply, and replenish the earth and subdue it, and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the earth, i. Gen. 28. from whence our author concludes, that Adam, having here dominion given him over all creatures, was thereby the monarch of the whole world: whereby must be meant, that either this grant of God gave Adam property, or as our author calls it, private dominion over the earth, and all inferior or irrational creatures, and so consequently that he was thereby monarch; or 2dly, that it gave him rule and dominion over all earthly creatures whatsoever, and thereby over his children; and so he was monarch: for, as Mr. Selden has properly worded it, Adam was made general lord of all things, one may very clearly understand him, that he means nothing to be granted to Adam here but property, and therefore he says not one word of Adam’s monarchy. But our author says, Adam was hereby monarch of the world, which, properly speaking, signifies sovereign ruler of all the men in the world; and so Adam, by this grant, must be constituted such a ruler. If our author means otherwise, he might with much clearness have said, that Adam was hereby proprietor of the whole world. But he begs your pardon in that point: clear distinct speaking not serving every where to his purpose, you must not expect it in him, as in Mr. Selden, or other such writers.

§. 24.

In opposition therefore to our author’s doctrine, that Adam was monarch of the whole world, founded on this place, I shall shew,

That by this grant, i. Gen. 28. God gave no immediate power to Adam over men, over his children, over those of his own species; and so he was not made ruler, or monarch, by this charter.

That by this grant God gave him not private dominion over the inferior creatures, but right in common with all mankind; so neither was he monarch, upon the account of the property here given him.

§. 25.

That this donation, i. Gen. 28. gave Adam no power over men, will appear if we consider the words of it: for since all positive grants convey no more than the express words they are made in will carry, let us see which of them here will comprehend mankind, or Adam’s posterity; and those, I imagine, if any, must be these, every living thing that moveth: the words in Hebrew are, השמרה היה i. e. Bestiam Reptantem, of which words the scripture itself is the best interpreter: God having created the fishes and fowls the 5th day, the beginning of the 6th, he creates the irrational inhabitants of the dry land, which, v. 24. are described in these words, let the earth bring forth the living creature after his kind; cattle and creeping things, and beasts of the earth, after his kind, and, v. 2. and God made the beasts of the earth after his kind, and cattle after their kind, and every thing that creepeth on the earth after his kind: here, in the creation of the brute inhabitants of the earth, he first speaks of them all under one general name, of living creatures, and then afterwards divides them into three ranks, 1. Cattle, or such creatures as were or might be tame, and so be the private possession of particular men; 2. היח which, ver. 24, and 25. in our Bible, is translated beasts, and by the Septuagint θηϛία, wild beasts, and is the same word, that here in our text, ver. 28. where we have this great charter to Adam, is translated living thing, and is also the same word used, Gen. ix. 2. where this grant is renewed to Noah, and there likewise translated beast. 3. The third rank were the creeping animals, which ver. 24, and 25. are comprised under the word, השמרח, the same that is used here, ver. 28. and is translated moving, but in the former verses creeping, and by the Septuagint in all these places, ἑρπετἀ, or reptils; from whence it appears, that the words which we translate here in God’s donation, ver.28. living creatures moving, are the same, which in the history of the creation, ver. 24, 25. signify two ranks of terrestrial creatures, viz. wild beasts and reptils, and are so understood by the Septuagint.

§. 26.

When God had made the irrational animals of the world, divided into three kinds, from the places of their habitation, viz. fishes of the sea, fowls of the air, and living creatures of the earth, and these again into cattle, wild beasts, and reptils, he considers of making man, and the dominion he should have over the terrestrial world, ver. 26. and then he reckons up the inhabitants of these three kingdoms, but in the terrestrial leaves out the second rank היח or wild beasts: but here, ver. 28. where he actually exercises this design, and gives him this dominion, the text mentions the fishes of the sea, and fowls of the air, and the terrestrial creatures in the words that signify the wild beasts and reptils, though translated living thing that moveth, leaving out cattle. In both which places, though the word that signifies wild beasts be omitted in one, and that which signifies cattle in the other, yet, since God certainly executed in one place, what he declares he designed in the other, we cannot but understand the same in both places, and have here only an account, how the terrestrial irrational animals, which were already created and reckoned up at their creation, in three distinct ranks of cattle, wild beasts, and reptils, were here, ver. 28. actually put under the dominion of man, as they were designed, ver. 26. nor do these words contain in them the least appearance of any thing that can be wrested to signify God’s giving to one man dominion over another, to Adam over his posterity.

§. 27.

And this further appears from Gen. ix. 2. where God renewing this charter to Noah and his sons, he gives them dominion over the fowls of the air, and the fishes of the sea, and the terrestrial creatures, expressed by היח and שמרר wild beasts and reptils, the same words that in the text before us, i. Gen. 28. are translated every moving thing, that moveth on the earth, which by no means can comprehend man, the grant being made to Noah and his sons, all the men then living, and not to one part of men over another: which is yet more evident from the very next words, ver. 3. where God gives every שמר every moving thing, the very words used, ch. i. 28. to them for food. By all which it is plain that God’s donation to Adam, ch. i. 28. and his designation, ver. 26. and his grant again to Noah and his sons, refer to and contain in them neither more nor less than the works of the creation the 5th day, and the beginning of the 6th, as they are set down from the 20th to 26th ver. inclusively of the 1st ch. and so comprehend all the species of irrational animals of the terraqueous globe, tho’ all the words, whereby they are expressed in the history of their creation, are no where used in any of the following grants, but some of them omitted in one, and some in another. From whence I think it is past all doubt, that man cannot be comprehended in this grant, nor any dominion over those of his own species be conveyed to Adam. All the terrestrial irrational creatures are enumerated at their creation, ver. 25. under the names beasts of the earth, cattle and creeping things; but man, being not then created, was not contained under any of those names; and therefore, whether we understand the Hebrew words right or no, they cannot be supposed to comprehend man, in the very same history, and the very next verses following, especially since that Hebrew word שמר which, if any in this donation to Adam, ch. i. 28. must comprehend man, is so plainly used in contradistinction to him, as Gen. vi. 20. vii. 14, 21, 23. Gen. viii. 17, 19. And if God made all mankind slaves to Adam and his heirs by giving Adam dominion over every living thing that moveth on the earth, ch. i. 28. as our author would have it, methinks Sir Robert should have carried his monarchical power one step higher, and satisfied the world, that princes might eat their subjects too, since God gave as full power to Noah and his heirs, ch. ix. 2. to eat every living thing that moveth, as he did to Adam to have dominion over them, the Hebrew words in both places being the same.

§. 28.

David, who might be supposed to understand the donation of God in this text, and the right of kings too, as well as our author in his comment on this place, as the learned and judicious Ainsworth calls it, in the 8th Psalm, finds here no such charter of monarchical power, his words are, Thou hast made him, i. e. man, the Son of man, a little lower than the angels; thou madest him to have dominion over the works of thy hands; thou hast put all things under his feet, all sheep and oxen, and the beasts of the field, and the fowls of the air, and fish of the sea, and whatsover passeth thro’ the paths of the sea. In which words, if any one can find out, that there is meant any monarchical power of one man over another, but only the dominion of the whole species of mankind, over the inferior species of creatures, he may, for aught I know, deserve to be one of Sir Robert’s monarchs in habit, for the rareness of the discovery. And by this time, I hope it is evident, that he that gave dominion over every living thing that moveth on the earth, gave Adam no monarchical power over those of his own species, which will yet appear more fully in the next thing I am to shew.

§. 29.

Whatever God gave by the words of this grant, i. Gen. 28. it was not to Adam in particular, exclusive of all other men: whatever dominion he had thereby, it was not a private dominion, but a dominion in common with the rest of mankind. That this donation was not made in particular to Adam, appears evidently from the words of the text, it being made to more than one; for it was spoken in the plural number, God blessed them, and said unto them, Have dominion. God says unto Adam and Eve, Have dominion; thereby, says our author, Adam was monarch of the world: but the grant being to them, i. e. spoke to Eve also, as many interpreters think with reason, that these words were not spoken till Adam had his wife, must not she thereby be lady, as well as he lord of the world? If it be said, that Eve was subjected to Adam, it seems she was not so subjected to him, as to hinder her dominion over the creatures, or property in them: for shall we say that God ever made a joint grant to two, and one only was to have the benefit of it?

§. 30.

But perhaps it will be said, Eve was not made till afterward: grant it so, what advantage will our author get by it? The text will be only the more directly against him, and shew that God, in this donation, gave the world to mankind in common, and not to Adam in particular. The word them in the text must include the species of man, for it is certain them can by no means signify Adam alone. In the 26th verse, where God declares his intention to give this dominion, it is plain he meant, that he would make a species of creatures, that should have dominion over the other species of this terrestrial globe: the words are, And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness, and let them have dominion over the fish, &c. They then were to have dominion. Who? even those who were to have the image of God, the individuals of that species of man, that he was going to make; for that them should signify Adam singly, exclusive of the rest that should be in the world with him, is against both scripture and all reason: and it cannot possibly be made sense, if man in the former part of the verse do not signify the same with them in the latter; only man there, as is usual, is taken for the species, and them the individuals of that species: and we have a reason in the very text. God makes him in his own image, after his own likeness; makes him an intellectual creature, and so capable of dominion: for wherein soever else the image of God consisted, the intellectual nature was certainly a part of it, and belonged to the whole species, and enabled them to have dominion over the inferior creatures; and therefore David says in the 8th Psalm above cited, Thou hast made him little lower than the angels, thou hast made him to have dominion. It is not of Adam king David speaks here, for verse 4. it is plain, it is of man, and the son of man, of the species of mankind.

§. 31.

And that this grant spoken to Adam was made to him, and the whole species of man, is clear from our author’s own proof out of the Psalmist. The earth, faith the Psalmist, hath he given to the children of men; which shews the title comes from fatherhood. These are Sir Robert’s words in the preface before cited, and a strange inference it is he makes; God hath given the earth to the children of men, ergo the title comes from fatherhood. It is pity the propriety of the Hebrew tongue had not used fathers of men, instead of children of men, to express mankind: then indeed our author might have had the countenance of the sound of the words, to have placed the title in the fatherhood. But to conclude, that the fatherhood had the right to the earth, because God gave it to the children of men, is a way of arguing peculiar to our author: and a man must have a great mind to go contrary to the sound as well as sense of the words, before he could light on it. But the sense is yet harder, and more remote from our author’s purpose: for as it stands in his preface, it is to prove Adam’s being monarch, and his reasoning is thus, God gave the earth to the children of men, ergo Adam was monarch of the world. I defy any man to make a more pleasant conclusion than this, which cannot be excused from the most obvious absurdity, till it can be shewn, that by children of men, he who had no father, Adam alone is signified; but whatever our author does, the scripture speaks not nonsense.

§. 32.

To maintain this property and private dominion of Adam, our author labours in the following page to destroy the community granted to Noah and his sons, in that parallel place, ix. Gen. 1, 2, 3. and he endeavours to do it two ways.

Sir Robert would persuade us against the express words of the scripture, that what was here granted to Noah, was not granted to his sons in common with him. His words are, As for the general community between Noah and his sons, which Mr. Selden will have to be granted to them, ix. Gen. 2. the text doth not warrant it. What warrant our author would have, when the plain express words of scripture, not capable of another meaning, will not satisfy him, who pretends to build wholly on scripture, is not easy to imagine. The text says, God blessed Noah and his sons, and said unto them, i. e. as our author would have it, unto him: for, faith he, although the sons are there mentioned with Noah in the blessing, yet it may best be understood, with a subordination or benediction in succession, Observations, 211. That indeed is best, for our author to be understood, which best serves to his purpose; but that truly may best be understood by any body else, which best agrees with the plain construction of the words, and arises from the obvious meaning of the place; and then with subordination and in succession, will not be best understood, in a grant of God, where he himself put them not, nor mentions any such limitation. But yet, our author has reasons, why it may best be understood so. The blessing, says he in the following words, might truly be fulfilled, if the sons, either under or after their father, enjoyed a private dominion, Observations, 211. which is to say, that a grant, whose express words give a joint title in present (for the text says, into your hands they are delivered) may best be understood with a subordination or in succession; because it is possible, that in subordination, or in succession, it may be enjoyed. Which is all one as to say, that a grant of any thing in present possession may best be understood of reversion; because it is possible one may live to enjoy it in reversion. If the grant be indeed to a father and to his sons after him, who is so kind as to let his children enjoy it presently in common with him, one may truly say, as to the event one will be as good as the other; but it can never be true, that what the express words grant in possession, and in common, may best be understood, to be in reversion. The sum of all his reasoning amounts to this: God did not give to the sons of Noah the world in common with their father, because it was possible they might enjoy it under, or after him. A very good sort of argument against an express text of scripture: but God must not be believed, though he speaks it himself, when he says he does any thing, which will not consist with Sir Robert’s hypothesis.

§. 33.

For it is plain, however he would exclude them, that part of this benediction, as he would have it in succession, must needs be meant to the sons, and not to Noah himself at all: Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, says God, in this blessing. This part of the benediction, as appears by the sequel, concerned not Noah himself at all; for we read not of any children he had after the flood; and in the following chapter, where his posterity is reckoned up, there is no mention of any; and so this benediction in succession was not to take place till 350 years after: and to save our author’s imaginary monarchy, the peopling of the world must be deferred 350 years; for this part of the benediction cannot be understood with subordination, unless our author will say, that they must ask leave of their father Noah to lie with their wives. But in this one point our author is constant to himself in all his discourses, he takes great care there should be monarchs in the world, but very little that there should be people; and indeed his way of government is not the way to people the world: for how much absolute monarchy helps to fulfil this great and primary blessing of God Almighty, Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, which contains in it the improvement too of arts and sciences, and the conveniences of life, may be seen in those large and rich countries which are happy under the Turkish government, where are not now to be found one third, nay in many, if not most parts of them one thirtieth, perhaps I might say not one hundredth of the people, that were formerly, as will easily appear to any one, who will compare the accounts we have of it at this time, with antient history. But this by the by.

§. 34.

The other parts of this benediction, or grant, are so expressed, that they must needs be understood to belong equally to them all; as much to Noah’s sons as to Noah himself, and not to his sons with a subordination, or in succession. The fear of you, and the dread of you, says God, shall be upon every beast, &c. Will any body but our author say, that the creatures feared and stood in awe of Noah only, and not of his sons without his leave, or till after his death? And the following words, into your hands they are delivered, are they to be understood as our author says, if your father please, or they shall be delivered into your hands hereafter? If this be to argue from scripture, I know not what may not be proved by it; and I can scarce see how much this differs from that fiction and fansie, or how much a surer foundation it will prove, than the opinions of philosophers and poets, which our author so much condemns in his preface.

§. 35.

But our author goes on to prove, that it may best be understood with a subordination, or a benediction in succession; for, says he, it is not probable that the private dominion which God gave to Adam, and by his donation, assignation, or cession to his children, was abrogated, and a community of all things instituted between Noah and his sons —— Noah was left the sole heir of the world; why should it be thought that God would disinberit him of his birth-right, and make him of all men in the world the only tenant in common with his children? Observations, 211.

§. 36.

The prejudices of our own ill-grounded opinions, however by us called probable, cannot authorise us to understand scripture contrary to the direct and plain meaning of the words. I grant, it is not probable, that Adam’s private dominion was here abrogated: because it is more than improbable, (for it will never be proved) that ever Adam had any such private dominion: and since parallel places of scripture are most probable to make us know how they may be best understood, there needs but the comparing this blessing here to Noah and his sons after the flood, with that to Adam after the creation, i. Gen. 28. to assure any one that God gave Adam no such private dominion. It is probable, I confess, that Noah should have the same title, the same property and dominion after the flood, that Adam had before it: but since private dominion cannot consist with the blessing and grant God gave to him and his sons in common, it is a sufficient reason to conclude, that Adam had none, especially since in the donation made to him, there are no words that express it, or do in the least favour it; and then let my reader judge whether it may best be understood, when in the one place there is not one word for it, not to say what has been above proved, that the text itself proves the contrary; and in the other, the words and sense are directly against it.

§. 37.

But our author says, Noah was the sole heir of the world; why should it be thought that God would disinherit him of his birth-right? Heir, indeed, in England, signifies the eldest son, who is by the law of England to have all his father’s land; but where God ever appointed any such heir of the world, our author would have done well to have shewed us; and how God disinherited him of his birth-right, or what harm was done him if God gave his sons a right to make use of a part of the earth for the support of themselves and families, when the whole was not only more than Noah himself, but infinitely more than they all could make use of, and the possessions of one could not at all prejudice, or, as to any use, streighten that of the other.

§. 38.

Our author probably foreseeing he might not be very successful in persuading people out of their senses, and, say what he could, men would be apt to believe the plain words of scripture, and think, as they saw, that the grant was spoken to Noah and his sons jointly; he endeavours to insinuate, as if this grant to Noah conveyed no property, no dominion; because, subduing the earth and dominion over the creatures are therein omitted, nor the earth once named. And therefore, says he, there is a considerable difference between these two texts; the first blessing gave Adam a dominion over the earth and all creatures; the latter allows Noah liberty to use the living creatures for food: here is no alteration or diminishing of his title to a property of all things, but an enlargement only of his commons, Observations, 211. So that in our author’s sense, all that was said here to Noah and his sons, gave them no dominion, no property, but only enlarged the commons; their commons, I should say, since God says, to you are they given, though our author says his; for as for Noah’s sons, they, it seems, by Sir Robert’s appointment, during their father’s life-time, were to keep fasting days.

§. 39.

Any one but our author would be mightily suspected to be blinded with prejudice, that in all this blessing to Noah and his sons, could see nothing but only an enlargement of commons: for as to dominion, which our author thinks omitted, the fear of you, and the dread of you, says God, shall be upon every beast, which I suppose expresses the dominion, or superiority was designed man over the living creatures, as fully as may be; for in that fear and dread seems chiefly to consist what was given to Adam over the inferior animals; who, as absolute a monarch as he was, could not make bold with a lark or rabbet to satisfy his hunger, and had the herbs but in common with the beasts, as is plain from i Gen. 2, 9, and 30. In the next place, it is manifest that in this blessing to Noah and his sons, property is not only given in clear words, but in a larger extent than it was to Adam. Into your hands they are given, says God to Noah and his sons; which words, if they give not property, nay, property in possession, it will be hard to find words that can; since there is not a way to express a man’s being possessed of any thing more natural, nor more certain, than to say, it is delivered into his hands. And ver. 3. to shew, that they had then given them the utmost property man is capable of, which is to have a right to destroy any thing by using it; Every moving thing that liveth, saith God, shall be meat for you; which was not allowed to Adam in his charter. This our author calls, a liberty of using them for food, and only an enlargement of commons, but no alteration of property, Observations, 211. What other property man can have in the creatures, but the liberty of using them, is hard to be understood: so that if the first blessing, as our author says, gave Adam dominion over the creatures, and the blessing to Noah and his sons, gave them such a liberty to use them, as Adam had not; it must needs give them something that Adam with all his sovereignty wanted, something that one would be apt to take for a greater property; for certainly he has no absolute dominion over even the brutal part of the creatures; and the property he has in them is very narrow and scanty, who cannot make that use of them, which is permitted to another. Should any one who is absolute lord of a country, have bidden our author subdue the earth, and given him dominion over the creatures in it, but not have permitted him to have taken a kid or a lamb out of the flock, to satisfy his hunger, I guess, he would scarce have thought himself lord or proprietor of that land, or the cattle on it; but would have found the difference between having dominion, which a shepherd may have, and having full property as an owner. So that, had it been his own case, Sir Robert, I believe, would have thought here was an alteration, nay, an enlarging of property; and that Noah and his children had by this grant, not only property given them, but such a property given them in the creatures, as Adam had not: For however, in respect of one another, men may be allowed to have propriety in their distinct portions of the creatures; yet in respect of God the maker of heaven and earth, who is sole lord and proprietor of the whole world, man’s propriety in the creatures is nothing but that liberty to use them, which God has permitted; and so man’s property may be altered and enlarged, as we see it was here, after the flood, when other uses of them are allowed, which before were not. From all which I suppose it is clear, that neither Adam, nor Noah, had any private dominion, any property in the creatures, exclusive of his posterity, as they should successively grow up into need of them, and come to be able to make use of them.

§. 40.

Thus we have examined our author’s argument for Adam’s monarchy, founded on the blessing pronounced, i. Gen. 28. Wherein I think it is impossible for any sober reader, to find any other but the setting of mankind above the other kinds of creatures, in this habitable earth of ours. It is nothing but the giving to man, the whole species of man, as the chief inhabitant, who is the image of his Maker, the dominion over the other creatures. This lies so obvious in the plain words, that any one, but our author, would have thought it necessary to have shewn, how these words, that seemed to say the quite contrary, gave Adam monarchical absolute power over other men, or the sole property in all the creatures; and methinks in a business of this moment, and that whereon he builds all that follows, he should have done something more than barely cite words, which apparently make against him; for I confess, I cannot see any thing in them, tending to Adam’s monarchy, or private dominion, but quite the contrary. And I the less deplore the dulness of my apprehension herein, since I find the apostle seems to have as little notion of any such private dominion of Adam as I, when he says, God gives us all things richly to enjoy, which he could not do, if it were all given away already, to Monarch Adam, and the monarchs his heirs and successors. To conclude, this text is so far from proving Adam sole proprietor, that, on the contrary, it is a confirmation of the original community of all things amongst the sons of men, which appearing from this donation of God, as well as other places of scripture, the sovereignty of Adam, built upon his private dominion, must fall, not having any foundation to support it.

§. 41.

But yet, if after all, any one will needs have it so, that by this donation of God, Adam was made sole proprietor of the whole earth, what will this be to his sovereignty? and how will it appear, that propriety in land gives a man power over the life of another? or how will the possession even of the whole earth, give any one a sovereign arbitrary authority over the persons of men? The most specious thing to be said, is, that he that is proprietor of the whole world, may deny all the rest of mankind food, and so at his pleasure starve them, if they will not acknowledge his sovereignty, and obey his will. If this were true, it would be a good argument to prove, that there never was any such property, that God never gave any such private dominion; since it is more reasonable to think, that God, who bid mankind increase and multiply, should rather himself give them all a right to make use of the food and raiment, and other conveniences of life, the materials whereof he had so plentifully provided for them; than to make them depend upon the will of a man for their subsistence, who should have power to destroy them all when he pleased, and who, being no better than other men, was in succession likelier, by want and the dependence of a scanty fortune, to tie them to hard service, than by liberal allowance of the conveniences of life to promote the great design of God, increase and multiply: he that doubts this, let him look into the absolute monarchies of the world, and see what becomes of the conveniences of life, and the multitudes of people.

§. 42.

But we know God hath not left one man so to the mercy of another, that he may starve him if he please: God the Lord and Father of all has given no one of his children such a property in his peculiar portion of the things of this world, but that he has given his needy brother a right to the surplusage of his goods; so that it cannot justly be denied him, when his pressing wants call for it: and therefore no man could ever have a just power over the life of another by right of property in land or possessions; since it would always be a sin, in any man of estate, to let his brother perish for want of affording him relief out of his plenty. As justice gives every man a title to the product of his honest industry, and the fair acquisitions of his ancestors descended to him; so charity gives every man a title to so much out of another’s plenty, as will keep him from extreme want, where he has no means to subsist otherwise: and a man can no more justly make use of another’s necessity, to force him to become his vassal, by with-holding that relief, God requires him to afford to the wants of his brother, than he that has more strength can seize upon a weaker, master him to his obedience, and with a dagger at his throat offer him death or slavery.

§. 43.

Should any one make so perverse an use of God’s blessings poured on him with a liberal hand; should any one be cruel and uncharitable to that extremity, yet all this would not prove that propriety in land, even in this case, gave any authority over the persons of men, but only that compact might; since the authority of the rich proprietor, and the subjection of the needy beggar, began not from the possession of the Lord, but the confent of the poor man, who preferred being his subject to starving. And the man he thus submits to, can pretend to no more power over him, than he has consented to, upon compact. Upon this ground a man’s having his stores filled in a time of scarcity, having money in his pocket, being in a vessel at sea, being able to swim, &c. may as well be the foundation of rule and dominion, as being possessor of all the land in the world; any of these being sufficient to enable me to save a man’s life, who would perish if such assistance were denied him; and any thing, by this rule, that may be an oocasion of working upon another’s necessity, to save his life, or any thing dear to him, at the rate of his freedom, may be made a foundation of sovereignty, as well as property. From all which it is clear, that though God should have given Adam private dominion, yet that private dominion could give him no sovereignty; but we have already sufficiently proved, that God gave him no private dominion.

CHAPTER V. OF ADAM’S TITLE TO SOVEREIGNTY BY THE SUBJECTION OF EVE.

§. 44.

THE next place of scripture we find our author builds his monarchy of Adam on, is iii. Gen. 26. And thy defire shall be to thy husband, and he shall rule over thee. Here we have (says he) the original grant of government, from whence he concludes, in the following part of the page, Observations, 244. That the supreme power is settled in the fatherhood, and limited to one kind of government, that is, to monarchy. For let his premises be what they will, this is always the conclusion; let rule, in any text, be but once named, and presently absolute monarchy is by divine right established. If any one will but carefully read our author’s own reasoning from these words, Observations, 244. and consider, among other things, the line and posterity of Adam, as he there brings them in, he will find some difficulty to make sense of what he says; but we will allow this at present to his peculiar way of writing, and consider the force of the text in hand. The words are the curse of God upon the woman, for having been the first and forwardest in the disobedience; and if we will consider the occasion of what God says here to our first parents, that he was denouncing judgment, and declaring his wrath against them both, for their disobedience, we cannot suppose that this was the time, wherein God was granting Adam prerogatives and privileges, investing him with dignity and authority, elevating him to dominion and monarchy: for though, as a helper in the temptation, Eve was laid below him, and so he had accidentally a superiority over her, for her greater punishment; yet he too had his share in the fall, as well as the sin, and was laid lower, as may be seen in the following verses; and it would be hard to imagine, that God, in the same breath, should make him universal monarch over all mankind, and a day-labourer for his life; turn him out of paradise to till the ground, ver. 23. and at the same time advance him to a throne, and all the privileges and ease of absolute power.

§. 45.

This was not a time, when Adam could expect any favours, any grant of privileges, from his offended Maker. If this be the original grant of government, as our author tells us, and Adam was now made monarch, whatever Sir Robert would have him, it is plain, God made him but a very poor monarch, such an one, as our author himself would have counted it no great privilege to be. God sets him to work for his living, and seems rather to give him a spade into his hand, to subdue the earth, than a sceptre to rule over its inhabitants. In the sweat of thy face thou shalt eat thy bread, says God to him, ver. 19. This was unavoidable, may it perhaps be answered, because he was yet without subjects, and had nobody to work for him; but afterwards, living as he did above 900 years, he might have people enough, whom he might command, to work for him; no, says God, not only whilst thou art without other help, save thy wife, but as long as thou livest, shalt thou live by thy labour, In the sweat of thy face, shalt thou eat thy bread, till thou return unto the ground, for out of it wast thou taken, for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return, v. 19. It will perhaps be answered again in favour of our author, that these words are not spoken personally to Adam, but in him, as their representative, to all mankind, this being a curse upon mankind, because of the fall.

§. 46.

God, I believe, speaks differently from men, because he speaks with more truth, more certainty: but when he vouchsafes to speak to men, I do not think he speaks differently from them, in crossing the rules of language in use amongst them: this would not be to condescend to their capacities, when he humbles himself to speak to them, but to lose his design in speaking what, thus spoken, they could not understand. And yet thus must we think of God, if the interpretations of scripture, necessary to maintain our author’s doctrine, must be received for good: for by the ordinary rules of language, it will be very hard to understand what God says, if what he speaks here, in the singular number, to Adam, must be understood to be spoken to all mankind, and what he says in the plural number, i. Gen. 26, and 28. must be understood of Adam alone, exclusive of all others, and what he says to Noah and his sons jointly, must be understood to be meant to Noah alone, Gen. ix.

§. 47.

Farther it is to be noted, that these words here of iii. Gen. 16. which our author calls the original grant of government, were not spoken to Adam, neither indeed was there any grant in them made to Adam, but a punishment laid upon Eve: and if we will take them as they were directed in particular to her, or in her, as their representative, to all other women, they will at most concern the female sex only, and import no more, but that subjection they should ordinarily be in to their husbands: but there is here no more law to oblige a woman to such a subjection, if the circumstances either of her condition, or contract with her husband, should exempt her from it, than there is, that she should bring forth her children in sorrow and pain, if there could be found a remedy for it, which is also a part of the same curse upon her: for the whole verse runs thus, Unto the woman he said, I will greatly multiply thy sorrow and thy conception; in sorrow thou shalt bring forth children, and thy desire shall be to thy husband, and he shall rule over thee. It would, I think, have been a hard matter for any body, but our author, to have found out a grant of monarchical government to Adam in these words, which were neither spoke to, nor of him: neither will any one, I suppose, by these words, think the weaker sex, as by a law, so subjected to the curse contained in them, that it is their duty not to endeavour to avoid it. And will any one say, that Eve, or any other woman, sinned, if she were brought to bed without those multiplied pains God threatens her here with? or that either of our queens, Mary or Elizabeth, had they married any of their subjects, had been by this text put into a political subjection to him? or that he thereby should have had monarchical rule over her? God, in this text, gives not, that I see, any authority to Adam over Eve, or to men over their wives, but only foretels what should be the woman’s lot, how by his providence he would order it so, that she should be subject to her husband, as we see that generally the laws of mankind and customs of nations have ordered it so; and there is, I grant, a foundation in nature for it.

§. 48.

Thus when God says of Jacob and Esau, that the elder should serve the younger, xxv. Gen. 23. no body supposes that God hereby made Jacob Esau’s sovereign, but foretold what should de facto come to pass.

But if these words here spoke to Eve must needs be understood as a law to bind her and all other women to subjection, it can be no other subjection than what every wife owes her husband; and then if this be the original grant of government and the foundation of monarchical power, there will be as many monarchs as there are husbands: if therefore these words give any power to Adam, it can be only a conjugal power, not political; the power that every husband hath to order the things of private concernment in his family, as proprietor of the goods and land there, and to have his will take place before that of his wife in all things of their common concernment; but not a political power of life and death over her, much less over any body else.

§. 49.

This I am sure: if our author will have this text to be a grant, the original grant of government, political government, he ought to have proved it by some better arguments than by barely saying, that thy desire shall be unto thy husband, was a law whereby Eve, and all that should come of her, were subjected to the absolute monarchical power of Adam and his heirs. Thy desire shall be to thy husband, is too doubtful an expression, of whose signification interpreters are not agreed, to build so confidently on, and in a matter of such moment, and so great and general concernment: but our author, according to his way of writing, having once named the text, concludes presently without any more ado, that the meaning is as he would have it. Let the words rule and subject be but found in the text or margent, and it immediately signifies the duty of a subject to his prince; the relation is changed, and though God says husband, Sir Robert will have it king; Adam has presently absolute monarchical power over Eve, and not only over Eve, but all that should come of her, though the scripture says not a word of it, nor our author a word to prove it. But Adam must for all that be an absolute monarch, and so down to the end of the chapter. And here I leave my reader to consider, whether my bare saying, without offering any reasons to evince it, that this text gave not Adam that absolute monarchical power, our author supposes, be not as sufficient to destroy that power, as his bare assertion is to establish it, since the text mentions neither prince nor people, speaks nothing of absolute or monarchical power, but the subjection of Eve to Adam, a wife to her husband. And he that would trace our author so all through, would make a short and sufficient answer to the greatest part of the grounds he proceeds on, and abundantly consute them by barely denying; it being a sufficient answer to assertions without proof, to deny them without giving a reason. And therefore should I have said nothing but barely denied, that by this text the supreme power was settled and founded by God himself, in the fatherhood, limited to monarchy, and that to Adam’s person and heirs, all which our author notably concludes from these words, as may be seen in the same page, Observations, 244. it had been a sufficient answer: should I have desired any sober man only to have read the text, and considered to whom, and on what occasion it was spoken, he would no doubt have wondered how our author found out monarchical absolute power in it, had he not had an exceeding good faculty to find it himself, where he could not shew it others. And thus we have examined the two places of scripture, all that I remember our author brings to prove Adam’s sovereignty, that supremacy, which he says, it was God’s ordinance should be unlimited in Adam, and as large as all the acts of his will, Observations, 254. viz. i. Gen. 28. and iii. Gen. 16. one whereof signifies only the subjection of the inferior ranks of creatures to mankind, and the other the subjection that is due from a wife to her husband, both far enough from that which subjects owe the governors of political societies.

CHAPTER VI. OF ADAM’S TITLE TO SOVEREIGNTY BY FATHERHOOD.

§. 50.

THERE is one thing more, and then I think I have given you all that our author brings for proof of Adam’s sovereignty, and that is a supposition of a natural right of dominion over his children, by being their father: and this title of fatherhood he is so pleased with, that you will find it brought in almost in every page; particularly he says, not only Adam, but the succeeding patriarchs had by right of fatherhood royal authority over their children, . And in the same page, this subjection of children being the fountain of all regal authority, &c. This being, as one would think by his so frequent mentioning it, the main basis of all his frame, we may well expect clear and evident reason for it, since he lays it down as a position necessary to his purpose, that every man that is born is so far from being free, that by his very birth he becomes a subject of him that begets him, Observations, 156. so that Adam being the only man created, and all ever since being begotten, no body has been born free. If we ask how Adam comes by this power over his children, he tells us here it is by begetting them: and so again, Observations, 223. this natural dominion of Adam, says he, may be proved out of Grotius himself, who teacheth, that generatione jus acquiritur parentibus in liberos. And indeed the act of begetting being that which makes a man a father, his right of a father over his children can naturally arise from nothing else.

§. 51.

Grotius tells us not here how far this jus in liberos, this power of parents over their children extends; but our author, always very clear in the point, assures us, it is supreme power, and like that of absolute monarchs over their slaves, absolute power of life and death. He that should demand of him, how, or for what reason it is, that begetting a child gives the father such an absolute power over him, will find him answer nothing: we are to take his word for this, as well as several other things; and by that the laws of nature and the constitutions of government must stand or fall. Had he been an absolute monarch, this way of talking might have suited well enough; proratione voluntas might have been of force in his mouth; but in the way of proof or argument is very unbecoming, and will little advantage his plea for absolute monarchy. Sir Robert has too much lessened a subject’s authority to leave himself the hopes of establishing any thing by his bare saying it; one slave’s opinion without proof is not of weight enough to dispose of the liberty and fortunes of all mankind. If all men are not, as I think they are, naturally equal, I am sure all slaves are; and then I may without presumption oppose my single opinion to his; and be confident that my saying, that begetting of children makes them not slaves to their fathers, as certainly sets all mankind free, as his affirming the contrary makes them all slaves. But that this position, which is the foundation of all their doctrine, who would have monarchy to be jure divino, may have all fair play, let us hear what reasons others give for it, since our author offers none.

§. 52.

The argument, I have heard others make use of, to prove that fathers, by begetting them, come by an absolute power over their children, is this; that fathers have a power over the lives of their children, because they give them life and being, which is the only proof it is capable of: since there can be no reason, why naturally one man should have any claim or pretence of right over that in another, which was never his, which he bestowed not, but was received from the bounty of another. 1. I answer, that every one who gives another any thing, has not always thereby a right to take it away again. But 2. They who say the father gives life to his children, are so dazzled with the thoughts of monarchy, that they do not, as they ought, remember God, who is the author and giver of life: it is in him alone we live, move, and have our being. How can he be thought to give life to another, that knows not wherein his own life consists? Philosophers are at a loss about it after their most diligent enquiries; and anatomists, after their whole lives and studies spent in dissections, and diligent examining the bodies of men, confess their ignorance in the structure and use of many parts of man’s body, and in that operation wherein life consists in the whole. And doth the rude plough-man, or the more ignorant voluptuary, frame or fashion such an admirable engine as this is, and then put life and sense into it? Can any man say, he formed the parts that are necessary to the life of his child? or can he suppose himself to give the life, and yet not know what subject is fit to receive it, nor what actions or organs are necessary for its reception or preservation?

§. 53.

To give life to that which has yet no being, is to frame and make a living creature, fashion the parts, and mould and suit them to their uses, and having proportioned and fitted them together, to put into them a living soul. He that could do this, might indeed have some pretence to destroy his own workmanship. But is there any one so bold, that dares thus far arrogate to himself the incomprehensible works of the almighty? Who alone did at first, and continues still to make a living soul, he alone can breathe in the breath of life. If any one thinks himself an artist at this, let him number up the parts of his child’s body which he hath made, tell me their uses and operations, and when the living and rational soul began to inhabit this curious structure, when sense began, and how this engine, which he has framed, thinks and reasons: if he made it, let him, when it is out of order, mend it, at least tell wherein the defects lie. Shall he that made the eye not see? says the Psalmist, Psalm xciv. 9. See these men’s vanities! the structure of that one part is sufficient to convince us of an all-wise contriver, and he has so visible a claim to us as his workmanship, that one of the ordinary appellations of God in scripture is, God our Maker, and the Lord our Maker. And therefore though our author, for the magnifying his fatherhood, be pleased to say, Observations, 159. That even the power which God himself exerciseth over mankind is by right of fatherhood, yet this fatherhood is such an one as utterly excludes all pretence of title in earthly parents; for he is king, because he is indeed maker of us all, which no parents can pretend to be of their children.

§. 54.

But had men skill and power to make their children, it is not so slight a piece of workmanship, that it can be imagined, they could make them without designing it. What father of a thousand, when he begets a child, thinks farther than the satisfying his present appetite? God in his infinite wisdom has put strong defires of copulation into the constitution of men, thereby to continue the race of mankind, which he doth most commonly without the intention, and often against the consent and will of the begetter. And indeed those who desire and design children, are but the occasions of their being, and when they design and wish to beget them, do little more towards their making, than Deucalion and his wife in the fable did towards the making of mankind, by throwing pebbles over their heads.

§. 55.

But grant that the parents made their children, gave them life and being, and that hence there followed an absolute power. This would give the father but a joint dominion with the mother over them: for no body can deny but that the woman hath an equal share, if not the greater, as nourishing the child a long time in her own body out of her own substance: there it is fashioned, and from her it receives the materials and principles of its constitution: and it is so hard to imagine the rational soul should presently inhabit the yet unformed embrio, as soon as the father has done his part in the act of generation, that if it must be supposed to derive any thing from the parents, it must certainly owe most to the mother. But be that as it will, the mother cannot be denied an equal share in begetting of the child, and so the absolute authority of the father will not arise from hence. Our author indeed is of another mind; for he says, We know that God at the creation gave the sovereignty to the man over the woman, as being the nobler and principal agent in generation, Observations, 172. I remember not this in my Bible; and when the place is brought where God at the creation gave the sovereignty to man over the woman, and that for this reason, because he is the nobler and principal agent in generation, it will be time enough to consider, and answer it. But it is no new thing for our author to tell us his own fancies for certain and divine truths, tho’ there be often a great deal of difference between his and divine revelations; for God in the scripture says, his father and his mother that begot him.

§. 56.

They who alledge the practice of mankind, for exposing or selling their children, as a proof of their power over them, are with Sir Robert happy arguers; and cannot but recommend their opinion, by founding it on the most shameful action, and most unnatural murder, human nature is capable of. The dens of lions and nurseries of wolves know no such cruelty as this: these savage inhabitants of the desert obey God and nature in being tender and careful of their off-spring: they will hunt, watch, fight, and almost starve for the preservation of their young; never part with them; never forsake them, till they are able to shift for themselves. And is it the privilege of man alone to act more contrary to nature than the wild and most untamed part of the creation? doth God forbid us under the severest penalty, that of death, to take away the life of any man, a stranger, and upon provocation? and does he permit us to destroy those, he has given us the charge and care of; and by the dictates of nature and reason, as well as his revealed command, requires us to preserve? He has in all the parts of the creation taken a peculiar care to propagate and continue the several species of creatures, and makes the individuals act so strongly to this end, that they sometimes neglect their own private good for it, and seem to forget that general rule, which nature teaches all things, of self-preservation; and the preservation of their young, as the strongest principle in them, over-rules the constitution of their particular natures. Thus we see, when their young stand in need of it, the timorous become valiant, the fierce and savage kind, and the ravenous tender and liberal.

§. 57.

But if the example of what hath been done, be the rule of what ought to be, history would have furnished our author with instances of this absolute fatherly power in its height and perfection, and he might have shewed us in Peru, people that begot children on purpose to fatten and eat them. The story is so remarkable, that I cannot but set it down in the author’s words. “In some provinces, says he, they were so liquorish after man’s flesh, that they would not have the patience to stay till the breath was out of the body, but would suck the blood as it ran from the wounds of the dying man; they had public shambles of man’s flesh, and their madness herein was to that degree, that they spared not their own children, which they had begot on strangers taken in war: for they made their captives their mistresses, and choicely nourished the children they had by them, till about thirteen years old they butchered and eat them; and they served the mothers after the same fashion, when they grew past child bearing, and ceased to bring them any more roasters,” Garcilasso de la Vega hist. des Yncas de Peru, l. i. c. 12.

§. 58.

Thus far can the busy mind of man carry him to a brutality below the level of beasts, when he quits his reason, which places him almost equal to angels. Nor can it be otherwise in a creature, whose thoughts are more than the sands, and wider than the ocean, where fancy and passion must needs run him into strange courses, if reason, which is his only star and compass, be not that he steers by. The imagination is always restless, and suggests variety of thoughts, and the will, reason being laid aside, is ready for every extravagant project; and in this state, he that goes farthest out of the way, is thought fittest to lead, and is sure of most followers: and when fashion hath once established what folly or craft began, custom makes it sacred, and it will be thought impudence, or madness, to contradict or question it. He that will impartially survey the nations of the world, will find so much of their religions, governments and manners, brought in and continued amongst them by these means, that he will have but little reverence for the practices which are in use and credit amongst men; and will have reason to think, that the woods and forests, where the irrational untaught inhabitants keep right by following nature, are fitter to give us rules, than cities and palaces, where those that call themselves civil and rational, go out of their way, by the authority of example. If precedents are sufficient to establish a rule in this case, our author might have found in holy writ children sacrificed by their parents, and this amongst the people of God themselves: the Psalmist tells us, Psal. cvi. 38. They shed innocent blood, even the blood of their sons and of their daughters, whom they sacrificed unto the idols of Canaan. But God judged not of this by our author’s rule, nor allowed of the authority of practice against his righteous law; but as it follows there, the land was polluted with blood; therefore was the wrath of the Lord kindled against his people, insomuch that he abborred his own inheritance. The killing of their children, though it were fashionable, was charged on them as innocent blood, and so had in the account of God the guilt of murder, as the offering them to idols had the guilt of idolatry.

§. 59.

Be it then, as Sir Robert says, that anciently it was usual for men to sell and castrate their children, Observations, 155. Let it be, that they exposed them; add to it, if you please, for this is still greater power, that they begat them for their tables, to fat and eat them: if this proves a right to do so, we may, by the same argument, justify adultery, incest and sodomy, for there are examples of these too, both ancient and modern; sins, which I suppose have their principal aggravation from this, that they cross the main intention of nature, which willeth the increase of mankind, and the continuation of the species in the highest perfection, and the distinction of families, with the security of the marriage bed, as necessary thereunto.

§. 60.

In confirmation of this natural authority of the father, our author brings a lame proof from the positive command of God in scripture: his words are, To confirm the natural right of regal power, we find in the Decalogue, that the law which enjoins obedience to kings, is delivered in the terms, Honour thy father, . Whereas many confess, that government only in the abstract, is the ordinance of God, they are not able to prove any such ordinance in the scripture, but only in the fatherly power; and therefore we find the commandment, that enjoins obedience to superiors, given in the terms, Honour thy father; so that not only the power and right of government, but the form of the power governing, and the person having the power, are all the ordinances of God. The first father had not only simply power, but power monarchical, as he was father immediately from God, Observations, 254. To the same purpose, the same law is cited by our author in several other places, and just after the same fashion; that is, and mother, as apochryphal words, are always left out; a great argument of our author’s ingenuity, and the goodness of his cause, which required in its defender zeal to a degree of warmth, able to warp the sacred rule of the word of God, to make it comply with his present occasion; a way of proceeding not unusual to those, who embrace not truths because reason and revelation offer them, but espouse tenets and parties for ends different from truth, and then resolve at any rate to defend them; and so do with the words and sense of authors, they would fit to their purpose, just as Procrustes did with his guests, lop or stretch them, as may best fit them to the size of their notions: and they always prove like those so served, deformed, lame, and useless.

§. 61.

For had our author set down this command without garbling, as God gave it, and joined mother to father, every reader would have seen, that it had made directly against him; and that it was so far from establishing the monarchical power of the father, that it set up the mother equal with him, and enjoined nothing but what was due in common, to both father and mother: for that is the constant tenor of the scripture, Honour thy father and thy mother, Exod. xx. He that smiteth his father or mother, shall surely be put to death, xxi. 15. He that curseth his father or mother, shall surely be put to death, ver. 17. Repeated Lev. xx. 9. and by our Saviour, Matth. xv. 4. Ye shall fear every man his mother and his father, Lev. xix. 3. If a man have a rebellious son, which will not obey the voice of his father, or the voice of his mother; then shall his father and his mother lay hold on him, and say, This our son is stubborn and rebellious, he will not obey our voice, Deut. xxi. 18, 19, 20, 21. Cunsed be he that setteth light by his father or his mother, xxviii. 16. My son, hear the instructions of thy father, and forsake not the law of thy mother, are the words of Solomon, a king who was not ignorant of what belonged to him as a father or a king; and yet he joins father and mother together, in all the instructions he gives children quite thro’ his book of Proverbs. Woe unto him, that sayeth unto his father, What begettest thou, or to the woman, What hast thou brought forth? Isa. xi. ver. 10. In thee have they set light by father or mother, Ezek. xxviii. 2. And it shall come to pass, that when any shall yet prophesy, then his father and his mother that begat him, shall say unto him, Thou shalt not live, and his father and his mother that begat him, shall thrust him through when he prophesieth, Zech. xiii. 3. Here not the father only, but the father and mother jointly, had power in this case of life and death. Thus ran the law of the Old Testament, and in the New they are likewise joined, in the obedience of their children, Eph. vi. 1. The rule is, Children, obey your parents; and I do not remember, that I any where read, Children, obey your father, and no more: the scripture joins mother too in that homage, which is due from children; and had there been any text, where the honour or obedience of children had been directed to the father alone, it is not likely that our author, who pretends to build all upon scripture, would have omitted it: nay, the scripture makes the authority of father and mother, in respect of those they have begot, so equal, that in some places it neglects even the priority of order, which is thought due to the father, and the mother is put first, as Lev. xix. 3. from which so constantly joining father and mother together, as is found quite through the scripture, we may conclude that the honour they have a title to from their children, is one common right belonging so equally to them both, that neither can claim it wholly, neither can be excluded.

§. 62.

One would wonder then how our author infers from the 5th commandment, that all power was originally in the father; how he finds monarchical power of government settled and fixed by the commandment, Honour thy father and thy mother. If all the honour due by the commandment, be it what it will, be the only right of the father, because he, as our author says, has the sovereignty over the woman, as being the nobler and principler agent in generation, why did God afterwards all along join the mother with him, to share in his honour? can the father, by this sovereignty of his, discharge the child from paying this honour to his mother? The scripture gave no such licence to the Jews, and yet there were often breaches wide enough betwixt husband and wife, even to divorce and separation: and, I think, no body will say a child may with-hold honour from his mother, or, as the scripture terms it, set light by her, though his father should command him to do so; no more than the mother could dispense with him for neglecting to honour his father: whereby it is plain, that this command of God gives the father no sovereignty, no supremacy.

§. 63.

I agree with our author that the title to this honour is vested in the parents by nature, and is a right which accrues to them by their having begotten their children, and God by many positive declarations has confirmed it to them: I also allow our author’s rule, that in grants and gifts, that have their original from God and nature, as the power of the father, (let me add and mother, for whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder) no inferior power of men can limit, nor make any law of prescription against them, Observations, 158. so that the mother having, by this law of God, a right to honour from her children, which is not subject to the will of her husband, we see this absolute monarchical power of the father can neither be founded on it, nor consist with it; and he has a power very far from monarchical, very far from that absoluteness our author contends for, when another has over his subjects the same power he hath, and by the same title: and therefore he cannot forbear saying himself that he cannot see how any man’s children can be free from subjection to their parents, . which, in common speech, I think, signifies mother as well as father, or if parents here signifies only father, it is the first time I ever yet knew it to do so, and by such an use of words one may say any thing.

§. 64.

By our author’s doctrine, the father having absolute jurisdiction over his children, has also the same over their issue; and the consequence is good, were it true, that the father had such a power: and yet I ask our author whether the grandfather, by his sovereignty, could discharge the grandchild from paying to his father the honour due to him by the 5th commandment. If the grandfather hath, by right of fatherhood, sole sovereign power in him, and that obedience which is due to the supreme magistrate, be commanded in these words, Honour thy father, it is certain the grandfather might dispense with the grandson’s honouring his father, which since it is evident in common sense he cannot, it follows from hence, that Honour thy father and mother, cannot mean an absolute subjection to a sovereign power, but something else. The right therefore which parents have by nature, and which is confirmed to them by the 5th commandment, cannot be that political dominion, which our author would derive from it: for that being in every civil society supreme somewhere, can discharge any subject from any political obedience to any one of his fellow subjects. But what law of the magistrate can give a child liberty, not to honour his father and mother? It is an eternal law, annexed purely to the relation of parents and children, and so contains nothing of the magistrate’s power in it, nor is subjected to it.

§. 65.

Our author says, God hath given to a father a right or liberty to alien his power over his children to any other, Observations, 155. I doubt whether he can alien wholly the right of honour that is due from them: but be that as it will, this I am sure, he cannot alien, and retain the same power. If therefore the magistrate’s sovereignty be, as our author would have it, nothing but the authority of a supreme father, . it is unavoidable, that if the magistrate hath all this paternal right, as he must have if fatherhood be the fountain of all authority; then the subjects, though fathers, can have no power over their children, no right to honour from them: for it cannot be all in another’s hands, and a part remain with the parents. So that, according to our author’s own doctrine, Honour thy father and mother cannot possibly be understood of political subjection and obedience; since the laws both in the Old and New Testament, that commanded children to honour and obey their parents, were given to such, whose fathers were under civil government, and fellow subjects with them in political societies; and to have bid them honour and obey their parents, in our author’s sense, had been to bid them be subjects to those who had no title to it; the right to obedience from subjects, being all vested in another; and instead of teaching obedience, this had been to foment sedition, by setting up powers that were not. If therefore this command, Honour thy father and mother, concern political dominion, it directly overthrows our author’s monarchy; since it being to be paid by every child to his father, even in society, every father must necessarily have political dominion, and there will be as many sovereigns as there are fathers: besides that the mother too hath her title, which destroys the sovereignty of one supreme monarch. But if Honour thy father and mother mean something distinct from political power, as necessarily it must, it is besides our author’s business, and serves nothing to his purpose.

§. 66.

The law that enjoins obedience to kings is delivered, says our author, in the terms, Honour thy father, as if all power were originally in the father, Observations, 254: and that law is also delivered, say I, in the terms, Honour thy mother, as if all power were originally in the mother. I appeal whether the argument be not as good on one side as the other, father and mother being joined all along in the Old and New Testament where-ever honour or obedience is injoined children. Again our author tells us, Observations, 254. that this command, Honour thy father, gives the right to govern, and makes the form of government monarchical. To which I answer, that if by Honour thy father be meant obedience to the political power of the magistrate, it concerns not any duty we owe to our natural fathers, who are subjects; because they, by our author’s doctrine, are divested of all that power, it being placed wholly in the prince, and so being equally subjects and slaves with their children, can have no right, by that title, to any such honour or obedience, as contains in it political subjection: if Honour thy father and mother signifies the duty we owe our natural parents, as by our Saviour’s interpretation, Matth. xv. 4. and all the other mentioned places, it is plain it does, then it cannot concern political obedience, but a duty that is owing to persons, who have no title to sovereignty, nor any political authority as magistrates over subjects. For the person of a private father, and a title to obedience, due to the supreme magistrate, are things inconsistent; and therefore this command, which must necessarily comprehend the persons of our natural fathers, must mean a duty we owe them distinct from our obedience to the magistrate, and from which the most absolute power of princes cannot absolve us. What this duty is, we shall in its due place examine.

§. 67.

And thus we have at last got thro’ all, that in our author looks like an argument for that absolute unlimited sovereignty described, sect. 8. which he supposes in Adam; so that mankind ever since have been all born slaves, without any title to freedom. But if creation, which gave nothing but a being, made not Adam prince of his posterity: if Adam, Gen. i. 28. was not constituted lord of mankind, nor had a private dominion given him exclusive of his children, but only a right and power over the earth, and inferiour creatures in common with the children of men; if also Gen. iii. 16. God gave not any political power to Adam over his wife and children, but only subjected Eve to Adam, as a punishment, or foretold the subjection of the weaker sex, in the ordering the common concernments of their families, but gave not thereby to Adam, as to the husband, power of life and death, which necessarily belongs to the magistrate: if fathers by begetting their children acquire no such power ove them; and if the command, Honour thy father and mother, give it not, but only enjoins a duty owing to parents equally, whether subjects or not, and to the mother as well as the father; if all this be so, as I think, by what has been said, is very evident; then man has a natural freedom, notwithstanding all our author confidently says to the contrary; since all that share in the same common nature, faculties and powers, are in nature equal, and ought to partake in the same common rights and privileges, till the manifest appointment of God, who is Lord over all, blessed for ever, can be produced to shew any particular person’s supremacy; or a man’s own consent subjects him to a superiour. This is so plain, that our author confesses, that Sir John Hayward, Blackwood and Barclay, the great vindicators of the right of kings, could not deny it, but admit with one consent the natural liberty and equality of mankind, for a truth unquestionable. And our author hath been so far from producing any thing, that may make good his great position, that Adam was absolute monarch, and so men are not naturally free, that even his own proofs make against him; so that to use his own way of arguing, the first erroneous principle failing, the whole fabric of this vast engine of absolute power and tyranny drops down of itself, and there needs no more to be said in answer to all that he builds upon so false and frail a foundation.

§. 68.

But to save others the pains, were there any need, he is not sparing himself to shew, by his own contradictions, the weakness of his own doctrine. Adam’s absolute and sole dominion is that, which he is every where full of, and all along builds on, and yet he tells us, . that as Adam was lard of his children, so his children under him had a command and power over their own children. The unlimited and undivided sovereignty of Adam’s fatherhood, by our author’s computation, stood but a little while, only during the first generation, but as soon as he had grand-children, Sir Robert could give but a very ill account of it. Adam, as father of his children, faith he, hath an absolute, unlimited royal power over them, and by virtue thereof over those that they begot, and so to all generations; and yet his children, viz. Cain and Seth, have a paternal power over their children at the same time; so that they are at the same time absolute lords, and yet vassals and slaves; Adam has all the authority, as grand-father of the people, and they have a part of it as fathers of a part of them: he is absolute over them and their posterity, by having begotten them, and yet they are absolute over their children by the same title. No, says our author, Adam’s children under him had power over their own children, but still with subordination to the first parent. A good distinction that sounds well, and it is pity it signifies nothing, nor can be reconciled with our author’s words. I readily grant, that supposing Adam’s absolute power over his posterity, any of his children might have from him a delegated, and so a subordinate power over a part, or all the rest: but that cannot be the power our author speaks of here; it is not a power by grant and commission, but the natural paternal power he supposes a father to have over his children. For 1. he says, As Adam was lord of his children, so his children under him had a power over their own children: they were then lords over their own children after the same manner, and by the same title, that Adam was, i. e. by right of generation, by right of fatherhood. 2. It is plain he means the natural power of fathers, because he limits it to be only over their own children; a delegated power has no such limitation, as only over their own children, it might be over others, as well as their own children. 3. If it were a delegated power, it must appear in scripture; but there is no ground in scripture to affirm, that Adam’s children had any other power over theirs, than what they naturally had as fathers.

§. 69.

But that he means here paternal power, and no other, is past doubt, from the inference he makes in these words immediately following, I see not then how the children of Adam, or of any man else, can be free from subjection to their parents. Whereby it appears that the power on one side, and the subjection on the other, our author here speaks of, is that natural power and subjection between parents and children: for that which every man’s children owed, could be no other; and that our author always affirms to be absolute and unlimited. This natural power of parents over their children, Adam had over his posterity, says our author; and this power of parents over their children, his children had over theirs in his life-time, says our author also; so that Adam, by a natural right of father, had an absolute unlimited power over all his posterity, and at the same time his children had by the same right absolute unlimited power over theirs. Here then are two absolute unlimited powers existing together, which I would have any body reconcile one to another, or to common sense. For the salvo he has put in of subordination, makes it more absurd: to have one absolute, unlimited, nay unlimitable power in subordination to another, is so manifest a contradiction, that nothing can be more. Adam is absolute prince with the unlimited authority of fatherhood over all his posterity; all his posterity are then absolutely his subjects; and, as our author says, his slaves, children, and grand-children, are equally in this state of subjection and slavery; and yet, says our author, the children of Adam have paternal, i. e. absolute unlimited power over their own children: Which in plain English is, they are slaves and absolute princes at the same time, and in the same government; and one part of the subjects have an absolute unlimited power over the other by the natural right of parentage.

§. 70.

If any one will suppose, in favour of our author, that he here meant, that parents, who are in subjection themselves to the absolute authority of their father, have yet some power over their children; I confess he is something nearer the truth: but he will not at all hereby help our author: for he no where speaking of the paternal power, but as an absolute unlimited authority, cannot be supposed to understand any thing else here, unless he himself had limited it, and shewed how far it reached. And that he means here paternal authority in that large extent, is plain from the immediate following words; This subjection of children being, says he, the foundation of all regal authority, . the subjection then that in the former line, he says, every man is in to his parents, and consequently what Adam’s grand-children were in to their parents, was that which was the fountain of all regal authority, i. e. according to our author, absolute unlimitable authority. And thus Adam’s children had regal authority over their children, whilst they themselves were subjects to their father, and fellow-subjects with their children. But let him mean as he pleases, it is plain he allows Adam’s children to have paternal power, . as also all other fathers to have paternal power over their children, Observations, 156. From whence one of these two things will necessarily follow, that either Adam’s children, even in his life-time, had, and so all other fathers have, as he phrases it, . by right of fatherhood, royal authority over their children, or else, that Adam, by right of fatherhood, had not royal authority. For it cannot be but that paternal power does, or does not, give royal authority to them that have it: if it does not, then Adam could not be sovereign by this title, nor any body else; and then there is an end of all our author’s politics at once: if it does give royal authority, then every one that has paternal power has royal authority; and then, by our author’s patriarchal government, there will be as many kings as there are fathers.

§. 71.

And thus what a monarchy he hath set up, let him and his disciples consider. Princes certainly will have great reason to thank him for these new politics, which set up as many absolute kings in every country as there are fathers of children. And yet who can blame our author for it, it lying unavoidably in the way of one discoursing upon our author’s principles? For having placed an absolute power in fathers by right of begetting, he could not easily resolve how much of this power belonged to a son over the children he had begotten; and so it fell out to be a very hard matter to give all the power, as he does, to Adam, and yet allow a part in his life-time to his children, when they were parents, and which he knew not well how to deny them. This makes him so doubtful in his expressions, and so uncertain where to place this absolute natural power, which he calls fatherhood. Sometimes Adam alone has it all, as . Observations, 244, 245. & Pref.

Sometimes parents have it, which word scarce signifies the father alone, , 19.

Sometimes children during their fathers life-time, as .

Sometimes fathers of families, as , and 79.

Sometimes fathers indefinitely, Observations, 155.

Sometimes the heir to Adam, Observations, 253.

Sometimes the posterity of Adam, 244, 246.

Sometimes prime fathers, all sons or grand-children of Noah, Observations, 244.

Sometimes the eldest parents, .

Sometimes all kings, .

Sometimes all that have supreme power, Observations, 245.

Sometimes heirs to those first progenitors, who were at first the natural parents of the whole people, .

Sometimes an elective king, .

Sometimes those, whether a few or a multitude, that govern the common-wealth, .

Sometimes he that can catch it, an usurper, . Observations, 155.

§. 72.

Thus this new nothing, that is to carry with it all power, authority, and government; this fatherhood, which is to design the person, and establish the throne of monarchs, whom the people are to obey, may, according to Sir Robert, come into any hands, any how, and so by his politics give to democracy royal authority, and make an usurper a lawful prince. And if it will do all these fine feats, much good do our author and all his followers with their omnipotent fatherhood, which can serve for nothing but to unsettle and destroy all the lawful governments in the world, and to establish in their room disorder, tyranny, and usurpation.

CHAPTER VII. OF FATHERHOOD AND PROPERTY CONSIDERED TOGETHER AS FOUNTAINS OF SOVEREIGNTY.

§. 73.

In the foregoing chapters we have seen what Adam’s monarchy was, in our author’s opinion, and upon what titles he founded it. The foundations which he lays the chief stress on, as those from which he thinks he may best derive monarchical power to future princes, are two, viz. Fatherhood and property: and therefore the way he proposes to remove the absurdities and inconveniencies of the doctrine of natural freedom, is, to maintain the natural and private dominion of Adam, Observations, 222. Conformable hereunto, he tells us, the grounds and principles of government necessarily depend upon the original of property, Observations, 108. The subjection of children to their parents is the fountain of all regal authority, . And all power on earth is either derived or usurped from the fatherly power, there being no other original to be found of any power whatsoever, Observations, 158. I will not stand here to examine how it can be said without a contradiction, that the first grounds and principles of government necessarily depend upon the original of property, and yet, that there is no other original of any power whatsoever, but that of the father: it being hard to understand how there can be no other original but fatherhood, and yet that the grounds and principles of government depend upon the original of property; property and fatherhood being as far different as lord of a manor and father of children. Nor do I see how they will either of them agree with what our author says, Observations, 244. of God’s sentence against Eve, Gen. iii. 16. That it is the original grant of government: so that if that were the original, government had not its original, by our author’s own confession, either from property or fatherhood; and this text, which he brings as a proof of Adam’s power over Eve, necessarily contradicts what he says of the fatherhood, that it is the sole fountain of all power: for if Adam had any such regal power over Eve, as our author contends for, it must be by some other title than that of begetting.

§. 74.

But I leave him to reconcile these contradictions, as well as many others, which may plentifully be found in him by any one, who will but read him with a little attention; and shall come now to consider, how these two originals of government, Adam’s natural and private dominion, will consist, and serve to make out and establish the titles of succeeding monarchs, who, as our author obliges them, must all derive their power from these fountains. Let us then suppose Adam made, by God’s donation, lord and sole proprietor of the whole earth, in as large and ample a manner as Sir Robert could wish; let us suppose him also, by right of fatherhood, absolute ruler over his children with an unlimited supremacy; I ask then, upon Adam’s death what becomes of both his natural and private dominion? and I doubt not it will be answered, that they descended to his next heir, as our author tells us in several places. But this way, it is plain, cannot possibly convey both his natural and private dominion to the same person: for should we allow, that all the property, all the estate of the father, ought to descend to the eldest son, (which will need some proof to establish it) and so he has by that title all the private dominion of the father, yet the father’s natural dominion, the paternal power cannot descend to him by inheritance: for it being a right that accrues to a man only by begetting, no man can have this natural dominion over any one he does not beget; unless it can be supposed, that a man can have a right to any thing, without doing that upon which that right is solely founded: for if a father by begetting, and no other title, has natural dominion over his children, he that does not beget them cannot have this natural dominion over them; and therefore be it true or false, that our author says, Observations, 156. That every man that is born, by his very birth becomes a subject to him that begets him, this necessarily follows, viz. That a man by his birth cannot become a subject to his brother, who did not beget him; unless it can be supposed that a man by the very same title can come to be under the natural and absolute dominion of two different men at once; or it be sense to say, that a man by birth is under the natural dominion of his father, only because he begat him, and a man by birth also is under the natural dominion of his eldest brother, though he did not beget him.

§. 75.

If then the private dominion of Adam, i. e. his property in the creatures, descended at his death all entirely to his eldest son, his heir; (for, if it did not, there is presently an end of all Sir Robert’s monarchy) and his natural dominion, the dominion a father has over his children by begetting them, belonged immediately, upon Adam’s decease, equally to all his sons who had children, by the same title their father had it, the sovereignty founded upon property, and the sovereignty founded upon fatherhood, come to be divided; since Cain, as heir, had that of property alone; Seth, and the other sons, that of fatherhood equally with him. This is the best can be made of our author’s doctrine, and of the two titles of sovereignty he sets up in Adam: one of them will either signify nothing; or, if they both must stand, they can serve only to confound the rights of princes, and disorder government in his posterity: for by building upon two titles to dominion, which cannot descend together, and which he allows may be separated, (for he yields that Adam’s children had their distinct territories by right of private dominion, Observations, 210.p.40.) he makes it perpetually a doubt upon his principles where the sovereignty is, or to whom we owe our obedience, since fatherhood and property are distinct titles, and began presently upon Adam’s death to be in distinct persons. And which then was to give way to the other?

§. 76.

Let us take the account of it, as he himself gives it us. He tells us out of Grotius, That Adam’s children by donation, assignation, or some kind of cession before he was dead, had their distinct territories by right of private dominion; Abel had his flocks and pastures for them: Cain had his fields for corn, and the land of Nod, where he built him a city, Observations, 210. Here it is obvious to demand, which of these two after Adam’s death was sovereign? Cain, says our author, . By what title? As heir; for heirs to progenitors, who were natural parents of their people, are not only lords of their own children, but also of their brethren, says our author, . What was Cain heir to? Not the entire possessions, not all that which Adam had private dominion in; for our author allows that Abel, by a title derived from his father, had his distinct territory for pasture by right of private dominion. What then Abel had by private dominion, was exempt from Cain’s dominion: for he could not have private dominion over that which was under the private dominion of another; and therefore his sovereignty over his brother is gone with this private dominion, and so there are presently two sovereigns, and his imaginary title of fatherhood is out of doors, and Cain is no prince over his brother: or else, if Cain retain his sovereignty over Abel, notwithstanding his private dominion, it will follow, that the first grounds and principles of government have nothing to do with property, whatever our author says to the contrary. It is true, Abel did not outlive his father Adam; but that makes nothing to the argument, which will hold good against Sir Robert in Abel’s issue, or in Seth, or any of the posterity of Adam, not descended from Cain.

§. 77.

The same inconvenience he runs into about the three sons of Noah, who, as he says, . had the whole world divided amongst them by their father. I ask then, in which of the three shall we find the establishment of regal power after Noah’s death? If in all three, as our author there seems to say; then it will follow, that regal power is founded in property of land, and follows private dominion, and not in paternal power, or natural dominion; and so there is an end of paternal power as the fountain of regal authority, and the so-much-magnified fatherhood quite vanishes. If the regal power descended to Shem as eldest, and heir to his father, then Noah’s division of the world by lot to his sons, or his ten years sailing about the Mediterranean to appoint each son his part, which our author tells of, . was labour lost; his division of the world to them, was to ill, or to no purpose: for his grant to Cham and Japhet was little worth, if Shem, notwithstanding this grant, as soon as Noah was dead, was to be lord over them. Or, if this grant of private dominion to them, over their assigned territories, were good, here were set up two distinct sorts of power, not subordinate one to the other, with all those inconveniences which he musters up against the power of the people, Observations, 158. which I shall set down in his own words, only changing property for people. All power on earth is either derived or usurped from the fatherly power, there being no other original to be found of any power whatsoever: for if there should be granted two sorts of power, without any subordination of one to the other, they would be in perpetual strife which should be supreme, for two supremes cannot agree: if the fatherly power be supreme, then the power grounded on private dominion must be subordinate, and depend on it; and if the power grounded on property be supreme, then the fatherly power must submit to it, and cannot be exercised without the licence of the proprietors, which must quite destroy the frame and course of nature. This is his own arguing against two distinct independent powers, which I have set down in his own words, only putting power rising from property, for power of the people; and when he has answered what he himself has urged here against two distinct powers, we shall be better able to see how, with any tolerable sense, he can derive all regal authority from the natural and private dominion of Adam, from fatherhood and property together, which are distinct titles, that do not always meet in the same person; and it is plain, by his own confession, presently separated as soon both as Adam’s and Noah’s death made way for succession: though our author frequently in his writings jumbles them together, and omits not to make use of either, where he thinks it will sound best to his purpose. But the absurdities of this will more fully appear in the next chapter, where we shall examine the ways of conveyance of the sovereignty of Adam, to princes that were to reign after him.

CHAPTER VIII. OF THE CONVEYANCE OF ADAM’S SOVEREIGN MONARCHICAL POWER.

§. 78.

SIR Robert, having not been very happy in any proof he brings for the sovereignty of Adam, is not much more fortunate in conveying it to future princes, who, if his politics be true, must all derive their titles from that first monarch. The ways he has assigned, as they lie scattered up and down in his writings, I will set down in his own words: in his preface he tells us, That Adam being monarch of the whole world, none of his posterity had any right to possess any thing, but by his grant or permission, or by succession from him. Here he makes two ways of conveyance of any thing Adam stood possessed of; and those are grants or succession. Again he says, All kings either are, or are to be reputed, the next heirs to those first progenitors, who were at first the natural parents of the whole people, . There cannot be any multitude of men whatsoever, but that in it, considered by itself, there is one man amongst them, that in nature hath a right to be the king of all the rest, as being the next heir to Adam, Observations, 253. Here in these places inheritance is the only way he allows of conveying monarchical power to princes. In other places he tells us, Observations, 155. All power on earth is either derived or usurped from the fatherly power, Observations, 158. All kings that now are, or ever were, are or were either fathers of their people, or heirs of such fathers, or usurpers of the right of such fathers, Observations, 253. And here he makes inheritance or usurpation the only ways whereby kings come by this original power: but yet he tells us, This fatherly empire, as it was of itself hereditary, so it was alienable by patent, and seizable by an usurper, Observations, 190. So then here inheritance, grant, or usurpation, will convey it. And last of all, which is most admirable, he tells us, . It skills not which way kings come by their power, whether by election, donation, succession, or by any other means; for it is still the manner of the government by supreme power, that makes them properly kings, and not the means of obtaining their crowns. Which I think is a full answer to all his whole hypothesis and discourse about Adam’s royal authority, as the fountain from which all princes were to derive theirs: and he might have spared the trouble of speaking so much as he does, up and down, of heirs and inheritance, if to make any one properly a king, needs no more but governing by supreme power, and it matters not by what means he came by it.

§. 79.

By this notable way, our author may make Oliver as properly king, as any one else he could think of: and had he had the happiness to live under Massanello’s government, he could not by this his own rule have forborn to have done homage to him, with O king live for ever, since the manner of his government by supreme power, made him properly king, who was but the day before properly a fisherman. And if Don Quixote had taught his squire to govern with supreme authority, our author no doubt could have made a most loyal subject in Sancho Pancha’s island; and he must needs have deserved some preferment in such governments, since I think he is the first politician, who, pretending to settle government upon its true basis, and to establish the thrones of lawful princes, ever told the world, That he was properly a king, whose manner of government was by supreme power, by what means soever he obtained it; which in plain English is to say, that regal and supreme power is properly and truly his, who can by any means seize upon it; and if this be to be properly a king, I wonder how he came to think of, or where he will find, an usurper.

§. 80.

This is so strange a doctrine, that the surprise of it hath made me pass by, without their due reflection, the contradictions he runs into, by making sometimes inheritance alone, sometimes only grant or inheritance, sometimes only inheritance or usurpation, sometimes all these three, and at last election, or any other means, added to them, the ways whereby Adam’s royal authority, that is, his right to supreme rule, could be conveyed down to future kings and governors, so as to give them a title to the obedience and subjection of the people. But these contradictions lie so open, that the very reading of our author’s own words will discover them to any ordinary understanding; and though what I have quoted out of him (with abundance more of the same strain and coherence, which might be found in him) might well excuse me from any farther trouble in this argument, yet having proposed to myself, to examine the main parts of his doctrine, I shall a little more particularly consider how inheritance, grant, usurpation or election, can any way make out government in the world upon his principles; or derive to any one a right of empire, from this regal authority of Adam, had it been never so well proved, that he had been absolute monarch, and lord of the whole world.

CHAPTER IX. OF MONARCHY, BY INHERITANCE FROM ADAM.

§. 81.

Though it be never so plain, that there ought to be government in the world, nay, should all men be of our author’s mind, that divine appointment had ordained it to be monarchical; yet, since men cannot obey any thing, that cannot command; and ideas of government in the fancy, though never so perfect, though never so right, cannot give laws, nor prescribe rules to the actions of men; it would be of no behoof for the settling of order, and establishment of government in its exercise and use amongst men, unless there were a way also taught how to know the person, to whom it belonged to have this power, and exercise this dominion over others. It is in vain then to talk of subjection and obedience without telling us whom we are to obey: for were I never so fully persuaded that there ought to be magistracy and rule in the world; yet I am never the less at liberty still, till it appears who is the person that hath right to my obedience; since, if there be no marks to know him by, and distinguish him that hath right to rule from other men, it may be myself, as well as any other. And therefore, though submission to government be every one’s duty, yet since that signifies nothing but submitting to the direction and laws of such men as have authority to command, it is not enough to make a man a subject, to convince him that there is regal power in the world; but there must be ways of designing, and knowing the person to whom this regal power of right belongs: and a man can never be obliged in conscience to submit to any power, unless he can be satisfied who is the person who has a right to exercise that power over him. If this were not so, there would be no distinction between pirates and lawful princes; he that has force is without any more ado to be obeyed, and crowns and scepters would become the inheritance only of violence and rapine. Men too might as often and as innocently change their governors, as they do their physicians, if the person cannot be known who has a right to direct me, and whose prescriptions I am bound to follow. To settle therefore men’s consciences, under an obligation to obedience, it is necessary that they know not only, that there is a power somewhere in the world, but the person who by right is vested with this power over them.

§. 82.

How successful our author has been in his attempts, to set up a monarchical absolute power in Adam, the reader may judge by what has been already said; but were that absolute monarchy as clear as our author would desire it, as I presume it is the contrary, yet it could be of no use to the government of mankind now in the world, unless he also make out these two things.

First, That this power of Adam was not to end with him, but was upon his decease conveyed intire to some other person, and so on to posterity.

Secondly, That the princes and rulers now on earth are possessed of this power of Adam, by a right way of conveyance derived to them.

§. 83.

If the first of these fail, the power of Adam, were it never so great, never so certain, will signify nothing to the present government and societies in the world; but we must seek out some other original of power for the government of politys than this of Adam, or else there will be none at all in the world. If the latter fail, it will destroy the authority of the present governors, and absolve the people from subjection to them, since they, having no better a claim than others to that power, which is alone the fountain of all authority, can have no title to rule over them.

§. 84.

Our author, having fancied an absolute sovereignty in Adam, mentions several ways of its conveyance to princes, that were to be his successors; but that which he chiefly insists on, is that of inheritance, which occurs so often in his several discourses; and I having in the foregoing chapter quoted several of these passages, I shall not need here again to repeat them. This sovereignty he erects, as has been said, upon a double foundation, viz. that of property, and that of fatherhood. One was the right he was supposed to have in all creatures, a right to possess the earth with the beasts, and other inferior ranks of things in it, for his private use, exclusive of all other men. The other was the right he was supposed to have, to rule and govern men, all the rest of mankind.

§. 85.

In both these rights, there being supposed an exclusion of all other men, it must be upon some reason peculiar to Adam, that they must both be founded.

That of his property our author supposes to arise from God’s immediate donation, Gen. i. 28. and that of fatherhood from the act of begetting: now in all inheritance, if the heir succeed not to the reason upon which his father’s right was founded, he cannot succeed to the right which followeth from it. For example, Adam had a right of property in the creatures upon the donation and grant of God almighty, who was lord and proprietor of them all: let this be so as our author tells us, yet upon his death his heir can have no title to them, no such right of property in them, unless the same reason, viz. God’s donation, vested a right in the heir too: for if Adam could have had no property in, nor use of the creatures, without this positive donation from God, and this donation were only personally to Adam, his heir could have no right by it; but upon his death it must revert to God, the lord and owner again; for positive grants give no title farther than the express words convey it, and by which only it is held. And thus, if as our author himself contends, that donation, Gen. i. 28. were made only to Adam personally, his heir could not succeed to his property in the creatures; and if it were a donation to any but Adam, let it be shewn, that it was to his heir in our author’s sense, i. e. to one of his children, exclusive of all the rest.

§. 86.

But not to follow our author too far out of the way, the plain of the case is this. God having made man, and planted in him, as in all other animals, a strong desire of self-preservation; and furnished the world with things fit for food and raiment, and other necessaries of life, subservient to his design, that man should live and abide for some time upon the face of the earth, and not that so curious and wonderful a piece of workmanship, by his own negligence, or want of necessaries, should perish again, presently after a few moments continuance; God, I say, having made man and the world thus, spoke to him, (that is) directed him by his senses and reason, as he did the inferior animals by their sense and instinct, which were serviceable for his subsistence, and given him as the means of his preservation. And therefore I doubt not, but before these words were pronounced, i. Gen. 28, 29. (if they must be understood literally to have been spoken) and without any such verbal donation, man had a right to an use of the creatures, by the will and grant of God: for the desire, strong desire of preserving his life and being, having been planted in him as a principle of action by God himself, reason, which was the voice of God in him, could not but teach him and assure him, that pursuing that natural inclination he had to preserve his being, he followed the will of his maker, and therefore had a right to make use of those creatures, which by his reason or senses he could discover would be serviceable thereunto. And thus man’s property in the creatures was founded upon the right he had to make use of those things that were necessary or useful to his being.

§. 87.

This being the reason and foundation of Adam’s property, gave the same title, on the same ground, to all his children, not only after his death, but in his life-time: so that here was no privilege of his heir above his other children, which could exclude them from an equal right to the use of the inferior creatures, for the comfortable preservation of their beings, which is all the property man hath in them; and so Adam’s sovereignty built on property, or, as our author calls it, private dominion, comes to nothing. Every man had a right to the creatures, by the same title Adam had, viz. by the right every one had to take care of, and provide for their subsistence: and thus men had a right in common, Adam’s children in common with him. But if any one had began, and made himself a property in any particular thing, (which how he, or any one else, could do, shall be shewn in another place) that thing, that possession, if he disposed not otherwise of it by his positive grant, descended naturally to his children, and they had a right to succeed to it, and possess it.

§. 88.

It might reasonably be asked here, how come children by this right of possessing, before any other, the properties of their parents upon their decease? for it being personally the parents, when they die, without actually transferring their right to another, why does it not return again to the common stock of mankind? It will perhaps be answered, that common consent hath disposed of it to their children. Common practice, we see indeed, does so dispose of it; but we cannot say, that it is the common consent of mankind; for that hath never been asked, nor actually given; and if common tacit consent hath established it, it would make but a positive, and not a natural right of children to inherit the goods of their parents: but where the practice is universal, it is reasonable to think the cause is natural. The ground then I think to be this. The first and strongest desire God planted in men, and wrought into the very principles of their nature, being that of self-preservation, that is the foundation of a right to the creatures for the particular support and use of each individual person himself. But, next to this, God planted in men a strong desire also of propagating their kind, and continuing themselves in their posterity; and this gives children a title to share in the property of their parents, and a right to inherit their possessions. Men are not proprietors of what they have, meerly for themselves; their children have a title to part of it, and have their kind of right joined with their parents, in the possession which comes to be wholly their’s, when death, having put an end to their parents use of it, hath taken them from their possessions; and this we call inheritance: men being by a like obligation bound to preserve what they have begotten, as to preserve themselves, their issue come to have a right in the goods they are possessed of. That children have such a right, is plain from the laws of God; and that men are convinced that children have such a right, is evident from the law of the land; both which laws require parents to provide for their children.

§. 89.

For children being by the course of nature, born weak, and unable to provide for themselves, they have by the appointment of God himself, who hath thus ordered the course of nature, a right to be nourished and maintained by their parents; nay, a right not only to a bare subsistence, but to the conveniencies and comforts of life, as far as the conditions of their parents can afford it. Hence it comes, that when their parents leave the world, and so the care due to their children ceases, the effects of it are to extend as far as possibly they can, and the provisions they have made in their life-time, are understood to be intended, as nature requires they should, for their children, whom, after themselves, they are bound to provide for: though the dying parents, by express words, declare nothing about them, nature appoints the descent of their property to their children, who thus come to have a title, and natural right of inheritance to their fathers goods, which the rest of mankind cannot pretend to.

§. 90.

Were it not for this right of being nourished and maintained by their parents, which God and nature has given to children, and obliged parents to as a duty, it would be reasonable, that the father should inherit the estate of his son, and be preferred in the inheritance before his grand-child: for to the grand-father there is due a long score of care and expences laid out upon the breeding and education of his son, which one would think in justice ought to be paid. But that having been done in obedience to the same law, whereby he received nourishment and education from his own parents; this score of education, received from a man’s father, is paid by taking care, and providing for his own children; is paid, I say, as much as is required of payment by alteration of property, unless present necessity of the parents require a return of goods for their necessary support and subsistence: for we are not now speaking of that reverence, acknowledgment, respect and honour, that is always due from children to their parents; but of possessions and commodities of life valuable by money. But though it be incumbent on parents to bring up and provide for their children, yet this debt to their children does not quite cancel the score due to their parents; but only is made by nature preferable to it: for the debt a man owes his father takes place, and gives the father a right to inherit the son’s goods, where, for want of issue, the right of children doth not exclude that title. And therefore a man having a right to be maintained by his children, where he needs it; and to enjoy also the comforts of life from them, when the necessary provision due to them and their children will afford it; if his son die without issue, the father has a right in nature to possess his goods, and inherit his estate, (whatever the municipal laws of some countries may absurdly direct otherwise;) and so again his children and their issue from him; or, for want of such, his father and his issue. But where no such are to be found, i. e. no kindred, there we see the possessions of a private man revert to the community, and so in politic societies come into the hands of the public magistrate; but in the state of nature become again perfectly common, no body having a right to inherit them: nor can any one have a property in them, otherwise than in other things common by nature; of which I shall speak in its due place.

§. 91.

I have been the larger, in shewing upon what ground children have a right to succeed to the possession of their fathers properties, not only because by it, it will appear, that if Adam had a property (a titular, insignificant, useless property; for it could be no better, for he was bound to nourish and maintain his children and posterity out of it) in the whole earth and its product, yet all his children coming to have, by the law of nature, and right of inheritance, a joint title, and right of property in it after his death, it could convey no right of sovereignty to any one of his posterity over the rest: since every one having a right of inheritance to his portion, they might enjoy their inheritance, or any part of it in common, or share it, or some parts of it, by division, as it best liked them. But no one could pretend to the whole inheritance, or any sovereignty supposed to accompany it; since a right of inheritance gave every one of the rest, as well as any one, a title to share in the goods of his father. Not only upon this account, I say, have I been so particular in examining the reason of children’s inheriting the property of their fathers, but also because it will give us farther light in the inheritance of rule and power, which in countries where their particular municipal laws give the whole possession of land entirely to the first-born, and descent of power has gone so to men by this custom, some have been apt to be deceived into an opinion, that there was a natural or divine right of primogeniture, to both estate and power; and that the inheritance of both rule over men, and property in things, sprang from the same original, and were to descend by the same rules.

§. 92.

Property, whose original is from the right a man has to use any of the inferior creatures, for the subsistence and comfort of his life, is for the benefit and sole advantage of the proprietor, so that he may even destroy the thing, that he has property in by his use of it, where need requires: but government being for the preservation of every man’s right and property, by preserving him from the violence or injury of others, is for the good of the governed: for the magistrate’s sword being for a terror to evil doers, and by that terror to inforce men to observe the positive laws of the society, made conformable to the laws of nature, for the public good, i. e. the good of every particular member of that society, as far as by common rules it can be provided for; the sword is not given the magistrate for his own good alone.

§. 93.

Children therefore, as has been shewed, by the dependance they have on their parents for subsistence, have a right of inheritance to their fathers property, as that which belongs to them for their proper good and behoof, and therefore are fitly termed goods, wherein the first-born has not a sole or peculiar right by any law of God and nature, the younger children having an equal title with him, founded on that right they all have to maintenance, support, and comfort from their parents, and on nothing else. But government being for the benefit of the governed, and not the sole advantage of the governors, (but only for their’s with the rest, as they make a part of that politic body, each of whose parts and members are taken care of, and directed in its peculiar functions for the good of the whole, by the laws of society) cannot be inherited by the same title, that children have to the goods of their father. The right a son has to be maintained and provided with the necessaries and conveniences of life out of his father’s stock, gives him a right to succeed to his father’s property for his own good; but this can give him no right to succeed also to the rule, which his father had over other men. All that a child has right to claim from his father is nourishment and education, and the things nature furnishes for the support of life: but he has no right to demand rule or dominion from him: he can subsist and receive from him the portion of good things, and advantages of education naturally due to him, without empire and dominion. That (if his father hath any) was vested in him, for the good and behoof of others: and therefore the son cannot claim or inherit it by a title, which is founded wholly on his own private good and advantage.

§. 94.

We must know how the first ruler, from whom any one claims, came by his authority, upon what ground any one has empire, what his title is to it, before we can know who has a right to succeed him in it, and inherit it from him: if the agreement and consent of men first gave a scepter into any one’s hand, or put a crown on his head, that also must direct its descent and conveyance; for the same authority, that made the first a lawful ruler, must make the second too, and so give right of succession: in this case inheritance, or primogeniture, can in its self have no right, no pretence to it, any farther than that consent, which established the form of the government, hath so settled the succession. And thus we see, the succession of crowns, in several countries, places it on different heads, and he comes by right of succession to be a prince in one place, who would be a subject in another.

§. 95.

If God, by his positive grant and revealed declaration, first gave rule and dominion to any man, he that will claim by that title, must have the same positive grant of God for his succession: for if that has not directed the course of its descent and conveyance down to others, no body can succeed to this title of the first ruler. Children have no right of inheritance to this; and primogeniture can lay no claim to it, unless God, the author of this constitution, hath so ordained it. Thus we see, the pretensions of Saul’s family, who received his crown from the immediate appointment of God, ended with his reign; and David, by the same title that Saul reigned, viz. God’s appointment, succeeded in his throne, to the exclusion of Jonathan, and all pretensions of paternal inheritance: and if Solomon had a right to succeed his father, it must be by some other title, than that of primogeniture. A cadet, or sister’s son, must have the preference in succession, if he has the same title the first lawful prince had: and in dominion that has its foundation only in the positive appointment of God himself, Benjamin, the youngest, must have the inheritance of the crown, if God so direct, as well as one of that tribe had the first possession.

§. 96.

If paternal right, the act of begetting, give a man rule and dominion, inheritance or primogeniture can give no title: for he that cannot succeed to his father’s title, which was begetting, cannot succeed to that power over his brethren, which his father had by paternal right over them. But of this I shall have occasion to say more in another place. This is plain in the mean time, that any government, whether supposed to be at first founded in paternal right, consent of the people, or the positive appointment of God himself, which can supersede either of the other, and so begin a new government upon a new foundation; I say, any government began upon either of these, can by right of succession come to those only, who have the title of him they succeed to: power founded on contract can descend only to him, who has right by that contract: power founded on begetting, he only can have that begets; and power founded on the positive grant or donation of God, he only can have by right of succession, to whom that grant directs it.

§. 97.

From what I have said, I think this is clear, that a right to the use of the creatures, being founded originally in the right a man has to subsist and enjoy the conveniencies of life; and the natural right children have to inherit the goods of their parents, being founded in the right they have to the same subsistence and commodities of life, out of the stock of their parents, who are therefore taught by natural love and tenderness to provide for them, as a part of themselves; and all this being only for the good of the proprietor, or heir; it can be no reason for children’s inheriting of rule and dominion, which has another original and a different end. Nor can primogeniture have any pretence to a right of solely inheriting either property or power, as we shall, in its due place, see more fully. It is enough to have shewed here, that Adam’s property, or private dominion, could not convey any sovereignty or rule to his heir, who not having a right to inherit all his father’s possessions, could not thereby come to have any sovereignty over his brethren: and therefore, if any sovereignty on account of his property had been vested in Adam, which in truth there was not, yet it would have died with him.

§. 98.

As Adam’s sovereignty, if, by virtue of being proprietor of the world, he had any authority over men, could not have been inherited by any of his children over the rest, because they had the same title to divide the inheritance, and every one had a right to a portion of his father’s possessions; so neither could Adam’s sovereignty by right of fatherhood, if any such he had, descend to any one of his children: for it being, in our author’s account, a right acquired by begetting to rule over those he had begotten, it was not a power possible to be inherited, because the right being consequent to, and built on, an act perfectly personal, made that power so too, and impossible to be inherited: for paternal power, being a natural right rising only from the relation of father and son, is as impossible to be inherited as the relation itself; and a man may pretend as well to inherit the conjugal power the husband, whose heir he is, had over his wife, as he can to inherit the paternal power of a father over his children: for the power of the husband being founded on contract, and the power of the father on begetting, he may as well inherit the power obtained by the conjugal contract, which was only personal, as he may the power obtained by begetting, which could reach no farther than the person of the begetter, unless begetting can be a title to power in him that does not beget.

§. 99.

Which makes it a reasonable question to ask, whether Adam, dying before Eve, his heir, (suppose Cain or Seth) should have by right of inheriting Adam’s fatherhood, sovereign power over Eve his mother: for Adam’s fatherhood being nothing but a right he had to govern his children, because he begot them, he that inherits Adam’s fatherhood, inherits nothing, even in our author’s sense, but the right Adam had to govern his children, because he begot them: so that the monarchy of the heir would not have taken in Eve; or if it did, it being nothing but the fatherhood of Adam descended by inheritance, the heir must have right to govern Eve, because Adam begot her; for fatherhood is nothing else.

§. 100.

Perhaps it will be said with our author, that a man can alien his power over his child; and what may be transferred by compact, may be possessed by inheritance. I answer, a father cannot alien the power he has over his child: he may perhaps to some degrees forfeit it, but cannot transfer it; and if any other man acquire it, it is not by the father’s grant, but by some act of his own. For example, a father, unnaturally careless of his child, sells or gives him to another man; and he again exposes him; a third man finding him, breeds up, cherishes, and provides for him as his own: I think in this case, no body will doubt, but that the greatest part of filial duty and subjection was here owing, and to be paid to this foster-father; and if any thing could be demanded from the child, by either of the other, it could be only due to his natural father, who perhaps might have forfeited his right to much of that duty comprehended in the command, Honour your parents, but could transfer none of it to another. He that purchased, and neglected the child, got by his purchase and grant of the father, no title to duty or honour from the child; but only he acquired it, who by his own authority, performing the office and care of a father, to the forlorn and perishing infant, made himself, by paternal care, a title to proportionable degrees of paternal power. This will be more easily admitted upon consideration of the nature of paternal power, for which I refer my reader to the second book.

§. 101.

To return to the argument in hand; this is evident, That paternal power arising only from begetting, for in that our author places it alone, can neither be transferred nor inherited: and he that does not beget, can no more have paternal power, which arises from thence, than he can have a right to any thing, who performs not the condition, to which only it is annexed. If one should ask, by what law has a father power over his children? it will be answered, no doubt, by the law of nature, which gives such a power over them, to him that begets them. If one should ask likewise, by what law does our author’s heir come by a right to inherit? I think it would be answered, by the law of nature too: for I find not that our author brings one word of scripture to prove the right of such an heir he speaks of. Why then the law of nature gives fathers paternal power over their children, because they did beget them; and the same law of nature gives the same paternal power to the heir over his brethren, who did not beget them: whence it follows, that either the father has not his paternal power by begetting, or else that the heir has it not at all; for it is hard to understand how the law of nature, which is the law of reason, can give the paternal power to the father over his children, for the only reason of begetting; and to the first-born over his brethren without this only reason, i. e. for no reason at all: and if the eldest, by the law of nature, can inherit this paternal power, without the only reason that gives a title to it, so may the youngest as well as he, and a stranger as well as either; for where there is no reason for any one, as there is not, but for him that begets, all have an equal title. I am sure our author offers no reason; and when any body does, we shall see whether it will hold or no.

§. 102.

In the mean time it is as good sense to say, that by the law of nature a man has right to inherit the property of another, because he is of kin to him, and is known to be of his blood; and therefore, by the same law of nature, an utter stranger to his blood has right to inherit his estate; as to say that, by the law of nature, he that begets them has paternal power over his children, and therefore, by the law of nature, the heir that begets them not, has this paternal power over them; or supposing the law of the land gave absolute power over their children, to such only who nursed them, and fed their children themselves, could any body pretend, that this law gave any one, who did no such thing, absolute power over those, who were not his children?

§. 103.

When therefore it can be shewed, that conjugal power can belong to him that is not an husband, it will also I believe be proved, that our author’s paternal power, acquired by begetting, may be inherited by a son; and that a brother, as heir to his father’s power, may have paternal power over his brethren, and by the same rule conjugal power too: but till then, I think we may rest satisfied, that the paternal power of Adam, this sovereign authority of fatherhood, were there any such, could not descend to, nor be inherited by, his next heir. Fatherly power, I easily grant our author, if it will do him any good, can never be lost, because it will be as long in the world as there are fathers: but none of them will have Adam’s paternal power, or derive their’s from him; but every one will have his own, by the same title Adam had his, viz. by begetting, but not by inheritance, or succession, no more than husbands have their conjugal power by inheritance from Adam. And thus we see, as Adam had no such property, no such paternal power, as gave him sovereign jurisdiction over mankind; so likewise his sovereignty built upon either of these titles, if he had any such, could not have descended to his heir, but must have ended with him. Adam therefore, as has been proved, being neither monarch, nor his imaginary monarchy hereditable, the power which is now in the world, is not that which was Adam’s, since all that Adam could have upon our author’s grounds, either of property or fatherhood, necessarily died with him, and could not be conveyed to posterity by inheritance. In the next place we will consider, whether Adam had any such heir, to inherit his power, as our author talks of.

CHAPTER X. OF THE HEIR TO ADAM’S MONARCHICAL POWER.

§. 104.

OUR author tells us, Observations, 253. That it is a truth undeniable, that there cannot be any multitude of men whatsoever, either great or small, tho’ gathered together from the several corners and remotest regions of the world, but that in the same multitude, considered by its self, there is one man amongst them, that in nature hath a right to be king of all the rest, as being the next heir to Adam, and all the other subjects to him: every man by nature is a king or a subject. And again, . If Adam himself were still living, and now ready to die, it is certain that there is one man, and but one in the world, who is next heir. Let this multitude of men be, if our author pleases, all the princes upon the earth, there will then be, by our author’s rule, one amongst them, that in nature hath a right to be king of all the rest, as being the right heir to Adam; an excellent way to establish the thrones of princes, and settle the obedience of their subjects, by setting up an hundred, or perhaps a thousand titles (if there be so many princes in the world) against any king now reigning, each as good, upon our author’s grounds, as his who wears the crown. If this right of heir carry any weight with it, if it be the ordinance of God, as our author seems to tells us, Observations, 244. must not all be subject to it, from the highest to the lowest? Can those who wear the name of princes, without having the right of being heirs to Adam, demand obedience from their subjects by this title, and not be bound to pay it by the same law? Either governments in the world are not to be claimed, and held by this title of Adam’s heir; and then the starting of it is to no purpose, the being or not being Adam’s heir signifies nothing as to the title of dominion: or if it really be, as our author says, the true title to government and sovereignty, the first thing to be done, is to find out this true heir of Adam, seat him in his throne, and then all the kings and princes of the world ought to come and resign up their crowns and scepters to him, as things that belong no more to them, than to any of their subjects.

§. 105.

For either this right in nature, of Adam’s heir, to be king over all the race of men, (for all together they make one multitude) is a right not necessary to the making of a lawful king, and so there may be lawful kings without it, and then kings titles and power depend not on it; or else all the kings in the world but one are not lawful kings, and so have no right to obedience: either this title of heir to Adam is that whereby kings hold their crowns, and have a right to subjection from their subjects, and then one only can have it, and the rest being subjects can require no obedience from other men, who are but their fellow subjects; or else it is not the title whereby kings rule, and have a right to obedience from their subjects, and then kings are kings without it, and this dream of the natural sovereignty of Adam’s heir is of no use to obedience and government: for if kings have a right to dominion, and the obedience of their subjects, who are not, nor can possibly be, heirs to Adam, what use is there of such a title, when we are obliged to obey without it? If kings, who are not heirs to Adam, have no right to sovereignty, we are all free, till our author, or any body for him, will shew us Adam’s right heir. If there be but one heir of Adam, there can be but one lawful king in the world, and no body in conscience can be obliged to obedience till it be resolved who that is; for it may be any one, who is not known to be of a younger house, and all others have equal titles. If there be more than one heir of Adam, every one is his heir, and so every one has regal power: for if two sons can be heirs together, then all the sons are equally heirs, and so all are heirs, being all sons, or sons sons of Adam. Betwixt these two the right of heir cannot stand; for by it either but one only man, or all men are kings. Take which you please, it dissolves the bonds of government and obedience; since, if all men are heirs, they can owe obedience to no body; if only one, no body can be obliged to pay obedience to him, till he be known, and his title made out.

CHAPTER XI. WHO HEIR?

§. 106.

THE great question which in all ages has disturbed mankind, and brought on them the greatest part of those mischiefs which have ruined cities, depopulated countries, and disordered the peace of the world, has been, not whether there be power in the world, nor whence it came, but who should have it. The settling of this point being of no smaller moment than the security of princes, and the peace and welfare of their estates and kingdoms, a reformer of politics, one would think, should lay this sure, and be very clear in it: for if this remain disputable, all the rest will be to very little purpose; and the skill used in dressing up power with all the splendor and temptation absoluteness can add to it, without shewing who has a right to have it, will serve only to give a greater edge to man’s natural ambition, which of its self is but too keen. What can this do but set men on the more eagerly to scramble, and so lay a sure and lasting foundation of endless contention and disorder, instead of that peace and tranquillity, which is the business of government, and the end of human society?

§. 107.

This designation of the person our author is more than ordinary obliged to take care of, because he, affirming that the assignment of civil power is by divine institution, hath made the conveyance as well as the power itself sacred: so that no consideration, no act or art of man, can divert it from that person, to whom, by this divine right, it is assigned; no necessity or contrivance can substitute another person in his room: for if the assignment of civil power be by divine institution, and Adam’s heir be he to whom it is thus assigned, as in the foregoing chapter our author tells us, it would be as much sacrilege for any one to be king, who was not Adam’s heir, as it would have been amongst the Jews, for any one to have been priest, who had not been of Aaron’s posterity: for not only the priesthood in general being by divine institution, but the assignment of it to the sole line and posterity of Aaron, made it impossible to be enjoyed or exercised by any one, but those persons who were the off-spring of Aaron: whose succession therefore was carefully observed, and by that the persons who had a right to the priesthood certainly known.

§. 108.

Let us see then what care our author has taken, to make us know who is this heir, who by divine institution has a right to be king over all men. The first account of him we meet with is, . in these words: This subjection of children, being the fountain of all regal authority, by the ordination of God himself; it follows, that civil power, not only in general, is by divine institution, but even the assignment of it, specifically to the eldest parents. Matters of such consequence as this is, should be in plain words, as little liable, as might be, to doubt or equivocation; and I think, if language be capable of expressing any thing distinctly and clearly, that of kindred, and the several degrees of nearness of blood, is one. It were therefore to be wished, that our author had used a little more intelligible expressions here, that we might have better known, who it is, to whom the assignment of civil power is made by divine institution; or at least would have told us what he meant by eldest parents: for I believe, if land had been assigned or granted to him, and the eldest parents of his family, he would have thought it had needed an interpreter; and it would scarce have been known to whom next it belonged.

§. 109.

In propriety of speech, (and certainly propriety of speech is necessary in a discourse of this nature) eldest parents signifies either the eldest men and women that have had children, or those who have longest had issue; and then our author’s assertion will be, that those fathers and mothers, who have been longest in the world, or longest fruitful, have by divine institution a right to civil power. If there be any absurdity in this, our author must answer for it: and if his meaning be different from my explication, he is to be blamed, that he would not speak it plainly. This I am sure, parents cannot signify heirs male, nor eldest parents an infant child: who yet may sometimes be the true heir, if there can be but one. And we are hereby still as much at a loss, who civil power belongs to, notwithstanding this assignment by divine institution, as if there had been no such assignment at all, or our author had said nothing of it. This of eldest parents leaving us more in the dark, who by divine institution has a right to civil power, than those who never heard any thing at all of heir, or descent, of which our author is so full. And though the chief matter of his writing be to teach obedience to those, who have a right to it, which he tells us is conveyed by descent, yet who those are, to whom this right by descent belongs, he leaves, like the philosophers stone in politics, out of the reach of any one to discover from his writings.

§. 110.

This obscurity cannot be imputed to want of language in so great a master of style as Sir Robert is, when he is resolved with himself what he would say: and therefore, I fear, finding how hard it would be to settle rules of descent by divine institution, and how little it would be to his purpose, or conduce to the clearing and establishing the titles of princes, if such rules of descent were settled, he chose rather to content himself with doubtful and general terms, which might make no ill found in mens ears, who were willing to be pleased with them, rather than offer any clear rules of descent of this fatherhood of Adam, by which men’s consciences might be satisfied to whom it descended, and know the persons who had a right to regal power, and with it to their obedience.

§. 111.

How else is it possible, that laying so much stress, as he does, upon descent, and Adam’s heir, next heir, true heir, he should never tell us what heir means, nor the way to know who the next or true heir is? This, I do not remember, he does any where expresly handle; but, where it comes in his way, very warily and doubtfully touches; though it be so necessary, that without it all discourses of government and obedience upon his principles would be to no purpose, and fatherly power, never so well made out, will be of no use to any body. Hence he tells us, Observations, 244. That not only the constitution of power in general, but the limitation of it to one kind, (i. e.) monarchy, and the determination of it to the individual person and line of Adam, are all three ordinances of God; neither Eve nor her children could either limit Adam’s power, or join others with him; and what was given unto Adam was given in his person to his posterity. Here again our author informs us, that the divine ordinance hath limited the descent of Adam’s monarchical power. To whom? To Adam’s line and posterity, says our author. A notable limitation, a limitation to all mankind: for if our author can find any one amongst mankind, that is not of the line and posterity of Adam, he may perhaps tell him, who this next heir of Adam is: but for us, I despair how this limitation of Adam’s empire to his line and posterity will help us to find out one heir. This limitation indeed of our author will save those the labour, who would look for him amongst the race of brutes, if any such there were; but will very little contribute to the discovery of one next heir amongst men, though it make a short and easy determination of the question about the descent of Adam’s regal power, by telling us, that the line and posterity of Adam is to have it, that is, in plain English, any one may have it, since there is no person living that hath not the title of being of the line and posterity of Adam; and while it keeps there, it keeps within our author’s limitation by God’s ordinance. Indeed, . he tells us, that such heirs are not only lords of their own children, but of their brethren; whereby, and by the words following, which we shall consider anon, he seems to insinuate, that the eldest son is heir; but he no where, that I know, says it in direct words, but by the instances of Cain and Jacob, that there follow, we may allow this to be so far his opinion concerning heirs, that where there are divers children, the eldest son has the right to be heir. That primogeniture cannot give any title to paternal power, we have already shewed. That a father may have a natural right to some kind of power over his children, is easily granted; but that an elder brother has so over his brethren, remains to be proved: God or nature has not any where, that I know, placed such jurisdiction in the first-born; nor can reason find any such natural superiority amongst brethren. The law of Moses gave a double portion of the goods and possessions to the eldest; but we find not any where that naturally, or by God’s institution, superiority or dominion belonged to him, and the instances there brought by our author are but slender proofs of a right to civil power and dominion in the first-born, and do rather shew the contrary.

§. 112.

His words are in the forecited place: And therefore we find God told Cain of his brother Abel; his desire shall be subject unto thee, and thou shalt rule over him. To which I answer,

These words of God to Cain, are by many interpreters, with great reason, understood in a quite different sense than what our author uses them in.

Whatever was meant by them, it could not be, that Cain, as elder, had a natural dominion over Abel; for the words are conditional, If thou dost well; and so personal to Cain: and whatever was signified by them, did depend on his carriage, and not follow his birth-right; and therefore could by no means be an establishment of dominion in the first-born in general: for before this Abel had his distinct territories by right of private dominion, as our author himself confesses, Observations, 210. which he could not have had to the prejudice of the heirs title, if by divine institution, Cain as heir were to inherit all his father’s dominion.

If this were intended by God as the charter of primogeniture, and the grant of dominion to elder brothers in general as such, by right of inheritance, we might expect it should have included all his brethren: for we may well suppose, Adam, from whom the world was to be peopled, had by this time, that these were grown up to be men, more sons than these two: whereas Abel himself is not so much as named; and the words in the original can scarce, with any good construction, be applied to him.

It is too much to build a doctrine of so mighty consequence upon so doubtful and obscure a place of scripture, which may be well, nay better, understood in a quite different sense, and so can be but an ill proof, being as doubtful as the thing to be proved by it; especially when there is nothing else in scripture or reason to be found, that favours or supports it.

§. 113.

It follows, . Accordingly when Jacob bought his brother’s birth-right, Isaac blessed him thus; Be lord over thy brethren, and let the sons of thy mother bow before thee. Another instance, I take it, brought by our author to evince dominion due to birth-right, and an admirable one it is: for it must be no ordinary way of reasoning in a man, that is pleading for the natural power of kings, and against all compact, to bring for proof of it, an example, where his own account of it founds all the right upon compact, and settles empire in the younger brother, unless buying and selling be no compact; for he tells us, when Jacob bought his brother’s birthright. But passing by that, let us consider the history itself, with what use our author makes of it, and we shall find these following mistakes about it.

That our author reports this, as if Isaac had given Jacob this blessing, immediately upon his purchasing the birth-right; for he says, when Jacob bought, Isaac blessed him; which is plainly otherwise in the scripture: for it appears, there was a distance of time between, and if we will take the story in the order it lies, it must be no small distance; all Isaac’s sojourning in Gerar, and transactions with Abimelech, Gen. xxvi. coming between; Rebecca being then beautiful, and consequently young; but Isaac, when he blessed Jacob, was old and decrepit: and Esau also complains of Jacob, Gen. xxvii. 36. that two times he had supplanted him; He took away my birth-right, says he, and behold now he hath taken away my blessing; words, that I think signify distance of time and difference of action.

Another mistake of our author’s is, that he supposes Isaac gave Jacob the blessing, and bid him be lord over his brethren, because he had the birth-right; for our author brings this example to prove, that he that has the birth-right, has thereby a right to be lord over his brethren. But it is also manifest by the text, that Isaac had no consideration of Jacob’s having bought the birth-right; for when he blessed him, he considered him not as Jacob, but took him for Esau. Nor did Esau understand any such connection between birth-right and the blessing; for he says, He hath supplanted me these two times, he took away my birth-right, and behold now he hath taken away my blessing: whereas had the blessing, which was to be lord over his brethren, belonged to the birth-right, Esau could not have complained of this second, as a cheat, Jacob having got nothing but what Esau had sold him, when he sold him his birth-right; so that it is plain, dominion, if these words signify it, was not understood to belong to the birth-right.

§. 114.

And that in those days of the patriarchs, dominion was not understood to be the right of the heir, but only a greater portion of goods, is plain from Gen. xxi. 10. for Sarah, taking Isaac to be heir, says, Cast out this bondwoman and her son, for the son of this bondwoman shall not be heir with my son: whereby could be meant nothing, but that he should not have a pretence to an equal share of his father’s estate after his death, but should have his portion presently, and be gone. Accordingly we read, Gen. xxv. 5, 6. That Abraham gave all that he had unto Isaac, but unto the sons of the concubines which Abraham had, Abraham gave gifts, and sent them away from Isaac his son, while he yet lived. That is, Abraham having given portions to all his other sons, and sent them away, that which he had reserved, being the greatest part of his substance, Isaac as heir possessed after his death: but by being heir, he had no right to be lord over his brethren; for if he had, why should Sarah endeavour to rob him of one of his subjects, or lessen the number of his slaves, by desiring to have Ishmael sent away?

§. 115.

Thus, as under the law, the privilege of birth-right was nothing but a double portion: so we see that before Moses, in the patriarchs time, from whence our author pretends to take his model, there was no knowledge, no thought, that birth-right gave rule or empire, paternal or kingly authority, to any one over his brethren. If this be not plain enough in the story of Isaac and Ishmael, he that will look into 1 Chron. v. 12. may there read these words: Reuben was the first-born; but forasmuch as he defiled his father’s bed, his birth-right was given unto the sons of Joseph, the son of Israel: and the genealogy is not to be reckoned after the birth-right; for Judah prevailed above his brethren, and of him came the chief ruler; but the birth-right was Joseph’s. What this birth-right was, Jacob blessing Joseph, Gen. xlviii. 22. telleth us in these words, Moreover I have given thee one portion above thy brethren, which I took out of the hand of the Amorite, with my sword and with my bow. Whereby it is not only plain, that the birth-right was nothing but a double portion; but the text in Chronicles is express against our author’s doctrine, and shews that dominion was no part of the birth-right; for it tells us, that Joseph had the birth-right, but Judah the dominion. One would think our author were very fond of the very name of birth-right, when he brings this instance of Jacob and Esau, to prove that dominion belongs to the heir over his brethren.

§. 116.

Because it will be but an ill example to prove, that dominion by God’s ordination belonged to the eldest son, because Jacob the youngest here had it, let him come by it how he would: for if it prove any thing, it can only prove, against our author, that the assignment of dominion to the eldest is not by divine institution, which would then be unalterable: for if by the law of God, or nature, absolute power and empire belongs to the eldest son and his heirs, so that they are supreme monarchs, and all the rest of their brethren slaves, our author gives us reason to doubt whether the eldest son has a power to part with it, to the prejudice of his posterity, since he tells us, Observations, 158. That in grants and gifts that have their original from God or nature, no inferior power of man can limit, or make any law of prescription against them.

§. 117.

Because this place, Gen. xxvii. 29. brought by our author, concerns not at all the dominion of one brother over the other, nor the subjection of Esau to Jacob: for it is plain in the history, that Esau was never subject to Jacob, but lived apart in mount Seir, where he founded a distinct people and government, and was himself prince over them, as much as Jacob was in his own family. This text, if considered, can never be understood of Esau himself, or the personal dominion of Jacob over him: for the words brethren and sons of thy mother, could not be used literally by Isaac, who knew Jacob had only one brother; and these words are so far from being true in a literal sense, or establishing any dominion in Jacob over Esau, that in the story we find the quite contrary, for Gen. xxxii. Jacob several times calls Esau lord, and himself his servant; and Gen. xxxiii. he bowed himself seven times to the ground to Esau. Whether Esau then were a subject and vassal (nay, as our author tells us, all subjects are slaves) to Jacob, and Jacob his sovereign prince by birth-right, I leave the reader to judge; and to believe if he can, that these words of Isaac, Be lord over thy brethren, and let thy mother’s sons bow down to thee, confirmed Jacob in a sovereignty over Esau, upon the account of the birth-right he had got from him.

§. 118.

He that reads the story of Jacob and Esau, will find there was never any jurisdiction or authority, that either of them had over the other after their father’s death: they lived with the friendship and equality of brethren, neither lord, neither slave to his brother; but independent each of other, were both heads of their distinct families, where they received no laws from one another, but lived separately, and were the roots out of which sprang two distinct people under two distinct governments. This blessing then of Isaac, whereon our author would build the dominion of the elder brother, signifies no more, but what Rebecca had been told from God, Gen. xxv. 23. Two nations are in thy womb, and two manner of people shall be separated from thy bowels, and the one people shall be stronger than the other people, and the elder shall serve the younger; and so Jacob blessed Judah, Gen. xlix. and gave him the scepter and dominion, from whence our author might have argued as well, that jurisdiction and dominion belongs to the third son over his brethren, as well as from this blessing of Isaac, that it belonged to Jacob: both these places contain only predictions of what should long after happen to their posterities, and not any declaration of the right of inheritance to dominion in either. And thus we have our author’s two great and only arguments to prove, that heirs are lords over their brethren.

Because God tells Cain, Gen. iv. that however sin might set upon him, he ought or might be master of it: for the most learned interpreters understood the words of sin, and not of Abel, and give so strong reasons for it, that nothing can convincingly be inferred, from so doubtful a text, to our author’s purpose.

Because in this of Gen. xxvii. Isaac foretels that the Israelites, the posterity of Jacob, should have dominion over the Edomites, the posterity of Esau; therefore says our author, heirs are lords of their brethren: I leave any one to judge of the conclusion.

§. 119.

And now we see how our author has provided for the descending, and conveyance down of Adam’s monarchical power, or paternal dominion to posterity, by the inheritance of his heir, succeeding to all his father’s authority, and becoming upon his death as much lord as his father was, not only over his own children, but over his brethren, and all descended from his father, and so in infinitum. But yet who this heir is, he does not once tell us; and all the light we have from him in this so fundamental a point, is only, that in his instance of Jacob, by using the word birth-right, as that which passed from Esau to Jacob, he leaves us to guess, that by heir, he means the eldest son; though I do not remember he any where mentions expresly the title of the first-born, but all along keeps himself under the shelter of the indefinite term heir. But taking it to be his meaning, that the eldest son is heir, (for if the eldest be not, there will be no pretence why the sons should not be all heirs alike) and so by right of primogeniture has dominion over his brethren; this is but one step towards the settlement of succession, and the difficulties remain still as much as ever, till he can shew us who is meant by right heir, in all those cases which may happen where the present possessor hath no son. This he silently passes over, and perhaps wisely too: for what can be wiser, after one has affirmed, that the person having that power, as well as the power and form of government, is the ordinance of God, and by divine institution, vid. Observations, 254. . than to be careful, not to start any question concerning the person, the resolution whereof will certainly lead him into a confession, that God and nature hath determined nothing about him? And if our author cannot shew who by right of nature, or a clear positive law of God, has the next right to inherit the dominion of this natural monarch he has been at such pains about, when he died without a son, he might have spared his pains in all the rest, it being more necessary for the settling men’s consciences, and determining their subjection and allegiance, to shew them who by original right, superior and antecedent to the will, or any act of men, hath a title to this paternal jurisdiction, than it is to shew that by nature there was such a jurisdiction; it being to no purpose for me to know there is such a paternal power, which I ought, and am disposed to obey, unless, where there are many pretenders, I also know the person that is rightfully invested and endowed with it.

§. 120.

For the main matter in question being concerning the duty of my obedience, and the obligation of conscience I am under to pay it to him that is of right my lord and ruler, I must know the person that this right of paternal power resides in, and so impowers him to claim obedience from me: for let it be true what he says, . That civil power not only in general is by divine institution, but even the assignment of it specially to the eldest parents; and Observations, 254. That not only the power or right of government, but the form of the power of governing, and the person having that power, are all the ordinance of God; yet unless he shew us in all cases who is this person, ordained by God, who is this eldest parent; all his abstract notions of monarchical power will signify just nothing, when they are to be reduced to practice, and men are conscientiously to pay their obedience: for paternal jurisdiction being not the thing to be obeyed, because it cannot command, but is only that which gives one man a right which another hath not, and if it come by inheritance, another man cannot have, to command and be obeyed; it is ridiculous to say, I pay obedience to the paternal power, when I obey him, to whom paternal power gives no right to my obedience: for he can have no divine right to my obedience, who cannot shew his divine right to the power of ruling over me, as well as that by divine right there is such a power in the world.

§. 121.

And hence not being able to make out any prince’s title to government, as heir to Adam, which therefore is of no use, and had been better let alone, he is fain to resolve all into present possession, and makes civil obedience as due to an usurper, as to a lawful king; and thereby the usurper’s title as good. His words are, Observations, 253. and they deserve to be remembered: If an usurper dispossess the true heir, the subjects obedience to the fatherly power must go along, and wait upon God’s providence. But I shall leave his title of usurpers to be examined in its due place, and desire my sober reader to consider what thanks princes owe such politics as this, which can suppose paternal power (i. e.) a right to government in the hands of a Cade, or a Cromwell; and so all obedience being due to paternal power, the obedience of subjects will be due to them, by the same right, and upon as good grounds, as it is to lawful princes; and yet this, as dangerous a doctrine as it is, must necessarily follow from making all political power to be nothing else, but Adam’s paternal power by right and divine institution, descending from him without being able to shew to whom it descended, or who is heir to it.

§. 122.

To settle government in the world, and to lay obligations to obedience on any man’s conscience, it is as necessary (supposing with our author that all power be nothing but the being possessed of Adam’s fatherhood) to satisfy him, who has a right to this power, this fatherhood, when the possessor dies without sons to succeed immediately to it, as it was to tell him, that upon the death of the father, the eldest son had a right to it: for it is still to be remembered, that the great question is, (and that which our author would be thought to contend for, if he did not sometimes forget it) what persons have a right to be obeyed, and not whether there be a power in the world, which is to be called paternal, without knowing in whom it resides: for so it be a power, i. e. right to govern, it matters not, whether it be termed paternal or regal, natural or acquired; whether you call it supreme fatherhood, or supreme brotherhood, will be all one, provided we know who has it.

§. 123.

I go on then to ask, whether in the inheriting of this paternal power, this supreme fatherhood, the grandson by a daughter hath a right before a nephew by a brother? Whether the grandson by the eldest son, being an infant, before the younger son, a man and able? Whether the daughter before the uncle? or any other man, descended by a male line? Whether a grandson by a younger daughter, before a grand-daughter by an elder daughter? Whether the elder son by a concubine, before a younger son by a wife? From whence also will arise many questions of legitimation, and what in nature is the difference betwixt a wife and a concubine? for as to the municipal or positive laws of men, they can signify nothing here. It may farther be asked, Whether the eldest son, being a fool, shall inherit this paternal power, before the younger, a wise man? and what degree of folly it must be that shall exclude him? and who shall be judge of it? Whether the son of a fool, excluded for his folly, before the son of his wise brother who reigned? Who has the paternal power whilst the widow-queen is with child by the deceased king, and no body knows whether it will be a son or a daughter? Which shall be heir of the two male-twins, who by the dissection of the mother were laid open to the world? Whether a sister by the half blood, before a brother’s daughter by the whole blood?

§. 124.

These, and many more such doubts, might be proposed about the titles of succession, and the right of inheritance; and that not as idle speculations, but such as in history we shall find have concerned the inheritance of crowns and kingdoms; and if our’s want them, we need not go farther for famous examples of it, than the other kingdom in this very island, which having been fully related by the ingenious and learned author of Patriarcha non Monarcha, I need say no more of. Till our author hath resolved all the doubts that may arise about the next heir, and shewed that they are plainly determined by the law of nature, or the revealed law of God, all his suppositions of a monarchical, absolute, supreme, paternal power in Adam, and the descent of that power to his heirs, would not be of the least use to establish the authority, or make out the title, of any one prince now on earth; but would rather unsettle and bring all into question: for let our author tell us as long as he pleases, and let all men believe it too, that Adam had a paternal, and thereby a monarchical power; that this (the only power in the world) descended to his heirs; and that there is no other power in the world but this: let this be all as clear demonstration, as it is manifest error, yet if it be not past doubt, to whom this paternal power descends, and whose now it is, no body can be under any obligation of obedience, unless any one will say, that I am bound to pay obedience to paternal power in a man who has no more paternal power than I myself; which is all one as to say, I obey a man, because he has a right to govern; and if I be asked, how I know he has a right to govern, I should answer, it cannot be known, that he has any at all: for that cannot be the reason of my obedience, which I know not to be so; much less can that be a reason of my obedience, which no body at all can know to be so.

§. 125.

And therefore all this ado about Adam’s fatherhood, the greatness of its power, and the necessity of its supposal, helps nothing to establish the power of those that govern, or to determine the obedience of subjects who are to obey, if they cannot tell whom they are to obey, or it cannot be known who are to govern, and who to obey. In the state the world is now, it is irrecoverably ignorant, who is Adam’s heir. This fatherhood, this monarchical power of Adam, descending to his heirs, would be of no more use to the government of mankind, than it would be to the quieting of mens consciences, or securing their healths, if our author had assured them, that Adam had a power to forgive sins, or cure diseases, which by divine institution descended to his heir, whilst this heir is impossible to be known. And should not he do as rationally, who upon this assurance of our author went and confessed his sins, and expected a good absolution; or took physic with expectation of health, from any one who had taken on himself the name of priest or physician, or thrust himself into those employments, saying, I acquiesce in the absolving power descending from Adam, or I shall be cured by the medicinal power descending from Adam; as he who says, I submit to and obey the paternal power descending from Adam, when it is confessed all these powers descend only to his single heir, and that heir is unknown?

§. 126.

It is true, the civil lawyers have pretended to determine some of these cases concerning the succession of princes; but by our author’s principles, they have meddled in a matter that belongs not to them: for if all political power be derived only from Adam, and be to descend only to his successive heirs, by the ordinance of God and divine institution, this is a right antecedent and paramount to all government; and therefore the positive laws of men cannot determine that, which is itself the foundation of all law and government, and is to receive its rule only from the law of God and nature. And that being silent in the case, I am apt to think there is no such right to be conveyed this way: I am sure it would be to no purpose if there were, and men would be more at a loss concerning government, and obedience to governors, than if there were no such right; since by positive laws and compact, which divine institution (if there be any) shuts out, all these endless inextricable doubts can be safely provided against: but it can never be understood, how a divine natural right, and that of such moment as is all order and peace in the world, should be conveyed down to posterity, without any plain natural or divine rule concerning it. And there would be an end of all civil government, if the assignment of civil power were by divine institution to the heir, and yet by that divine institution the person of the heir could not be known. This paternal regal power being by divine right only his, it leaves no room for human prudence, or consent, to place it any where else; for if only one man hath a divine right to the obedience of mankind, no body can claim that obedience, but he that can shew that right; nor can men’s consciences by any other pretence be obliged to it. And thus this doctrine cuts up all government by the roots.

§. 127.

Thus we see how our author, laying it for a sure foundation, that the very person that is to rule, is the ordinance of God, and by divine institution, tells us at large, only that this person is the heir, but who this heir is, he leaves us to guess; and so this divine institution, which assigns it to a person whom we have no rule to know, is just as good as an assignment to no body at all. But whatever our author does, divine institution makes no such ridiculous assignments: nor can God be supposed to make it a sacred law, that one certain person should have a right to something, and yet not give rules to mark out, and know that person by, or give an heir a divine right to power, and yet not point out who that heir is. It is rather to be thought, that an heir had no such right by divine institution, than that God should give such a right to the heir, but yet leave it doubtful and undeterminable who such heir is.

§. 128.

If God had given the land of Canaan to Abraham, and in general terms to some body after him, without naming his seed, whereby it might be known who that somebody was, it would have been as good and useful an assignment, to determine the right to the land of Canaan, as it would be the determining the right of crowns, to give empire to Adam and his successive heirs after him, without telling who his heir is: for the word heir, without a rule to know who it is, signifies no more than some body, I know not whom. God making it a divine institution, that men should not marry those who were near of kin, thinks it not enough to say, None of you shall approach to any that is near of kin to him, to uncover their nakedness; but moreover, gives rules to know who are those near of kin, forbidden by divine institution; or else that law would have been of no use, it being to no purpose to lay restraint, or give privileges to men, in such general terms, as the particular person concerned cannot be known by. But God not having any where said, the next heir shall inherit all his father’s estate or dominion, we are not to wonder, that he hath no where appointed who that heir should be; for never having intended any such thing, never designed any heir in that sense, we cannot expect he should any where nominate, or appoint any person to it, as we might, had it been otherwise. And therefore in scripture, though the word heir occur, yet there is no such thing as heir in our author’s sense, one that was by right of nature to inherit all that his father had, exclusive of his brethren. Hence Sarah supposes, that if Ishmael staid in the house, to share in Abraham’s estate after his death, this son of a bond-woman might be heir with Isaac; and therefore, says she, cast out this bond-woman and her son, for the son of this bond-woman shall not be heir with my son: but this cannot excuse our author, who telling us there is, in every number of men, one who is right and next heir to Adam, ought to have told us what the laws of descent are: but he having been so sparing to instruct us by rules, how to know who is heir, let us see in the next place, what his history out of scripture, on which he pretends wholly to build his government, gives us in this necessary and fundamental point.

§. 129.

Our author, to make good the title of his book, . begins his history of the descent of Adam’s regal power, . in these words: This lordship which Adam by command had over the whole world, and by right descending from him, the patriarchs did enjoy, was a large, &c. How does he prove that the patriarchs by descent did enjoy it? for dominion of life and death, says he, we find Judah the father pronounced sentence of death against Thamar his daughter in law for playing the harlot, . How does this prove that Judah had absolute and sovereign authority? he pronounced sentence of death. The pronouncing of sentence of death is not a certain mark of sovereignty, but usually the office of inferior magistrates. The power of making laws of life and death is indeed a mark of sovereignty, but pronouncing the sentence according to those laws may be done by others, and therefore this will but ill prove that he had sovereign authority: as if one should say, Judge Jefferies pronounced sentence of death in the late times, therefore Judge Jefferies had sovereign authority. But it will be said, Judah did it not by commission from another, and therefore did it in his own right. Who knows whether he had any right at all? Heat of passion might carry him to do that which he had no authority to do. Judah had dominion of life and death: how does that appear? He exercised it, he pronounced sentence of death against Thamar: our author thinks it is very good proof, that because he did it, therefore he had a right to do it: he lay with her also: by the same way of proof, he had a right to do that too. If the consequence be good from doing to a right of doing, Absalom too may be reckoned amongst our author’s sovereigns, for he pronounced such a sentence of death against his brother Amnon, and much upon a like occasion, and had it executed too, if that be sufficient to prove a dominion of life and death.

But allowing this all to be clear demonstration of sovereign power, who was it that had this lordship by right descending to him from Adam, as large and ample as the absolutest dominion of any monarch? Judah, says our author, Judah a younger son of Jacob, his father and elder brethren living; so that if our author’s own proof be to be taken, a younger brother may, in the life of his father and elder brothers, by right of descent, enjoy Adam’s monarchical power; and if one so qualified may be monarch by descent, why may not every man? if Judah, his father and elder brother living, were one of Adam’s heirs, I know not who can be excluded from this inheritance; all men by inheritance may be monarchs as well as Judah.

§. 130.

Touching war, we see that Abraham commanded an army of 318 soldiers of his own family, and Esau met his brother Jacob with 400 men at arms: for matter of peace, Abraham made a league with Abimelech, &c. . Is it not possible for a man to have 318 men in his family, without being heir to Adam? A planter in the West Indies has more, and might, if he pleased, (who doubts?) muster them up and lead them out against the Indians, to seek reparation upon any injury received from them; and all this without the absolute dominion of a monarch, descending to him from Adam. Would it not be an admirable argument to prove, that all power by God’s institution descended from Adam by inheritance, and that the very person and power of this planter were the ordinance of God, because he had power in his family over servants, born in his house, and bought with his money? For this was just Abraham’s case; those who were rich in the patriarch’s days, as in the West Indies now, bought men and maid servants, and by their increase, as well as purchasing of new, came to have large and numerous families, which though they made use of in war or peace, can it be thought the power they had over them was an inheritance descended from Adam, when it was the purchase of their money? A man’s riding in an expedition against an enemy, his horse bought in a fair would be as good a proof that the owner enjoyed the lordship which Adam by command had over the whole world, by right descending to him, as Abraham’s leading out the servants of his family is, that the patriarchs enjoyed this lordship by descent from Adam: since the title to the power, the master had in both cases, whether over slaves or horses, was only from his purchase; and the getting a dominion over any thing by bargain and money, is a new way of proving one had it by descent and inheritance.

§. 131.

But making war and peace are marks of sovereignty. Let it be so in politic socities: may not therefore a man in the West Indies, who hath with him sons of his own, friends, or companions, soldiers under pay, or slaves bought with money, or perhaps a band made up of all these, make war and peace, if there should be occasion, and ratify the articles too with an oath, without being a sovereign, an absolute king over those who went with him? He that says he cannot, must then allow many masters of ships, many private planters, to be absolute monarchs, for as much as this they have done. War and peace cannot be made for politic societies, but by the supreme power of such societies; because war and peace, giving a different motion to the force of such a politic body, none can make war or peace, but that which has the direction of the force of the whole body, and that in politic societies is only the supreme power. In voluntary societies for the time, he that has such a power by consent, may make war and peace, and so may a single man for himself, the state of war not consisting in the number of partisans, but the enmity of the parties, where they have no superior to appeal to.

§. 132.

The actual making of war or peace is no proof of any other power, but only of disposing those to exercise or cease acts of enmity for whom he makes it; and this power in many cases any one may have without any politic supremacy: and therefore the making of war or peace will not prove that every one that does so is a politic ruler, much less a king; for then common-wealths must be kings too, for they do as certainly make war and peace as monarchical government.

§. 133.

But granting this a mark of sovereignty in Abraham, is it a proof of the descent to him of Adam’s sovereignty over the whole world? If it be, it will surely be as good a proof of the descent of Adam’s lordship to others too. And then common-wealths, as well as Abraham, will be heirs of Adam, for they make war and peace, as well as he. If you say, that the lordship of Adam doth not by right descend to common-wealths, though they make war and peace, the same say I of Abraham, and then there is an end of your argument: if you stand to your argument, and say those that do make war and peace, as common-wealths do without doubt, do inherit Adam’s lordship, there is an end of your monarchy, unless you will say, that commonwealths by descent enjoying Adam’s lordship are monarchies; and that indeed would be a new way of making all the governments in the world monarchical.

§. 134.

To give our author the honour of this new invention, for I confess it is not I have first found it out by tracing his principles, and so charged it on him, it is fit my readers know that (as absurd as it may seem) he teaches it himself, . where he ingenuously says, In all kingdoms and common-wealths in the world, whether the prince be the supreme father of the people, or but the true heir to such a father, or come to the crown by usurpation or election, or whether some few or a multitude govern the common-wealth; yet still the authority that is in any one, or in many, or in all these, is the only right, and natural authority of a supreme father; which right of fatherhood, he often tells us, is regal and royal authority; as particularly, . the page immediately preceding this instance of Abraham. This regal authority, he says, those that govern common-wealths have; and if it be true, that regal and royal authority be in those that govern common-wealths, it is as true that common-wealths are governed by kings; for if regal authority be in him that governs, he that governs must needs be a king, and so all common-wealths are nothing but down-right monarchies; and then what need any more ado about the matter? The governments of the world are as they should be, there is nothing but monarchy in it. This, without doubt, was the surest way our author could have found, to turn all other governments, but monarchical, out of the world.

§. 135.

But all this scarce proves Abraham to have been a king as heir to Adam. If by inheritance he had been king, Lot, who was of the same family, must needs have been his subject, by that title, before the servants in his family; but we see they lived as friends and equals, and when their herdsmen could not agree, there was no pretence of jurisdiction or superiority between them, but they parted by consent, Gen. xiii. hence he is called both by Abraham, and by the text, Abraham’s brother, the name of friendship and equality, and not of jurisdiction and authority, though he were really but his nephew. And if our author knows that Abraham was Adam’s heir, and a king, it was more, it seems, than Abraham himself knew, or his servant whom he sent a wooing for his son; for when he sets out the advantages of the match, xxiv. Gen. 35. thereby to prevail with the young woman and her friends, he says, I am Abraham’s servant, and the lord hath blessed my master greatly, and he is become great; and he hath given him flocks and herds, and silver and gold, and men-servants and maid-servants, and camels and asses; and Sarah, my master’s wife, bare a son to my master when she was old, and unto him hath he given all he hath. Can one think that a discreet servant, that was thus particular to set out his master’s greatness, would have omitted the crown Isaac was to have, if he had known of any such? Can it be imagined he should have neglected to have told them on such an occasion as this, that Abraham was a king, a name well known at that time, for he had nine of them his neighbours, if he or his master had thought any such thing, the likeliest matter of all the rest, to make his errand successful?

§. 136.

But this discovery it seems was reserved for our author to make 2 or 3000 years after, and let him enjoy the credit of it; only he should have taken care that some of Adam’s land should have descended to this his heir, as well as all Adam’s lordship: for though this lordship which Abraham, (if we may believe our author) as well as the other patriarchs, by right descending to him, did enjoy, was as large and ample as the absolutest dominion of any monarch which hath been since the creation; yet his estate, his territories, his dominions were very narrow and scanty, for he had not the possession of a foot of land, till he bought a field and a cave of the sons of Heth to bury Sarah in.

§. 137.

The instance of Esau joined with this of Abraham, to prove that the lordship which Adam had over the whole world, by right descending from him, the patriarchs did enjoy, is yet more pleasant than the former. Esau met his brother Jacob with 400 men at arms; he therefore was a king by right of heir to Adam. Four hundred armed men then, however got together, are enough to prove him that leads them, to be a king and Adam’s heir. There have been tories in Ireland, (whatever there are in other countries) who would have thanked our author for so honourable an opinion of them, especially if there had been no body near with a better title of 500 armed men, to question their royal authority of 400. It is a shame for men to trifle so, to say no worse of it, in so serious an argument. Here Esau is brought as a proof that Adam’s lordship, Adam’s absolute dominion, as large as that of any monarch, descended by right to the patriarchs, and in this very chap. . Jacob is brought as an instance of one, that by birth-right was lord over his brethren. So we have here two brothers absolute monarchs by the same title, and at the same time heirs to Adam; the eldest, heir to Adam, because he met his brother with 400 men; and the youngest, heir to Adam by birth-right: Esau enjoyed the lordship which Adam had over the whole world by right descending to him, in as large and ample manner, as the absolutest dominion of any monarch; and at the same time, Jacob lord over him, by the right heirs have to be lords over their brethren. Risum teneatis? I never, I confess, met with any man of parts so dexterous as Sir Robert at this way of arguing: but it was his misfortune to light upon an hypothesis, that could not be accommodated to the nature of things, and human affairs; his principles could not be made to agree with that constitution and order, which God had settled in the world, and therefore must needs often clash with common sense and experience.

§. 138.

In the next section, he tells us, This patriarchal power continued not only till the flood, but after it, as the name patriarch doth in part prove. The word patriarch doth more than in part prove, that patriarchal power continued in the world as long as there were patriarchs, for it is necessary that patriarchal power should be whilst there are patriarchs; as it is necessary there should be paternal or conjugal power whilst there are fathers or husbands; but this is but playing with names. That which he would fallaciously insinuate is the thing in question to be proved, viz. that the lordship which Adam had over the world, the supposed absolute universal dominion of Adam by right descending from him, the patriarchs did enjoy. If he affirms such an absolute monarchy continued to the flood, in the world, I would be glad to know what records he has it from; for I confess I cannot find a word of it in my Bible: if by patriarchal power he means any thing else, it is nothing to the matter in hand. And how the name patriarch in some part proves, that those, who are called by that name, had absolute monarchical power, I confess, I do not see, and therefore I think needs no answer till the argument from it be made out a little clearer.

§. 139.

The three sons of Noah had the world, says our author, divided amongst them by their father, for of them was the whole world overspread, . The world might be overspread by the offspring of Noah’s sons, though he never divided the world amongst them; for the earth might be replenished without being divided: so that all our author’s argument here proves no such division. However, I allow it to him, and then ask, the world being divided amongst them, which of the three was Adam’s heir? If Adam’s lordship, Adam’s monarchy, by right descended only to the eldest, then the other two could be but his subjects, his slaves: if by right it descended to all three brothers, by the same right, it will descend to all mankind; and then it will be impossible what he says, . that heirs are lords of their brethren, should be true; but all brothers, and consequently all men, will be equal and independent, all heirs to Adam’s monarchy, and consequently all monarchs too, one as much as another. But it will be said, Noah their father divided the world amongst them; so that our author will allow more to Noah, than he will to God almighty, for Observations, 211. he thought it hard, that God himself should give the world to Noah and his sons, to the prejudice of Noah’s birth-right: his words are, Noah was left sole heir to the world: why should it be thought that God would disinherit him of his birth-right, and make him, of all men in the world, the only tenant in common with his children? and yet here he thinks it fit that Noah should disinherit Shem of his birth-right, and divide the world betwixt him and his brethren; so that this birth-right, when our author pleases, must, and when he pleases must not, be sacred and inviolable.

§. 140.

If Noah did divide the world between his sons, and his assignment of dominions to them were good, there is an end of divine institution; all our author’s discourse of Adam’s heir, with whatsoever he builds on it, is quite out of doors; the natural power of kings falls to the ground; and then the form of the power governing, and the person having that power, will not be (as he says they are, Observations, 254.) the ordinance of God, but they will be ordinances of man: for if the right of the heir be the ordinance of God, a divine right, no man, father or not father, can alter it: if it be not a divine right, it is only human, depending on the will of man: and so where human institution gives it not, the first-born has no right at all above his brethren; and men may put government into what hands, and under what form, they please.

§. 141.

He goes on, Most of the civilest nations of the earth labour to fetch their original from some of the sons, or nephews of Noah, . How many do most of the civilest nations amount to? and who are they? I fear the Chineses, a very great and civil people, as well as several other people of the East, West, North and South, trouble not themselves much about this matter. All that believe the Bible, which I believe are our author’s most of the civilest nations, must necessarily derive themselves from Noah; but for the rest of the world, they think little of his sons or nephews. But if the heralds and antiquaries of all nations, for it is these men generally that labour to find out the originals of nations, or all the nations themselves, should labour to fetch their original from some of the sons or nephews of Noah, what would this be to prove, that the lordship which Adam had over the whole world, by right descended to the patriarchs? Whoever, nations, or races of men, labour to fetch their original from, may be concluded to be thought by them, men of renown, famous to posterity, for the greatness of their virtues and actions; but beyond these they look not, nor consider who they were heirs to, but look on them as such as raised themselves, by their own virtue, to a degree that would give a lustre to those who in future ages could pretend to derive themselves from them. But if it were Ogyges, Hercules, Brama, Tamberlain, Pharamond; nay, if Jupiter and Saturn were the names, from whence divers races of men, both ancient and modern, have laboured to derive their original; will that prove, that those men enjoyed the lordship of Adam, by right descending to them? If not, this is but a flourish of our author’s to mislead his reader, that in itself signifies nothing.

§. 142.

To as much purpose is what he tells us, . concerning this division of the world, That some say it was by Lot, and others that Noah sailed round the Mediterreanean in ten years, and divided the world into Asia, Afric and Europe, portions for his three sons. America then, it seems, was left to be his that could catch it. Why our author takes such pains to prove the division of the world by Noah to his sons, and will not leave out an imagination, though no better than a dream, that he can find any where to favour it, is hard to guess, since such a division, if it prove any thing, must necessarily take away the title of Adam’s heir; unless three brothers can all together be heirs of Adam; and therefore the following words, Howsoever the manner of this division be uncertain, yet it is most certain the division itself was by families from Noah and his children, over which the parents were heads and princes, . if allowed him to be true, and of any sorce to prove, that all the power in the world is nothing but the lordship of Adam’s descending by right, they will only prove, that the fathers of the children are all heirs to this lordship of Adam: for if in those days Cham and Japhet, and other parents, besides the eldest son, were heads and princes over their families, and had a right to divide the earth by families, what hinders younger brothers, being fathers of families, from having the same right? If Cham and Japhet were princes by right descending to them, notwithstanding any title of heir in their eldest brother, younger brothers by the same right descending to them are princes now; and so all our author’s natural power of kings will reach no farther than their own children, and no kingdom, by this natural right, can be bigger than a family: for either this lordship of Adam over the whole world, by right descends only to the eldest son, and then there can be but one heir, as our author says, . or else, it by right descends to all the sons equally, and then every father of a family will have it, as well as the three sons of Noah: take which you will, it destroys the present governments and kingdoms, that are now in the world, since whoever has this natural power of a king, by right descending to him, must have it, either as our author tells us Cain had it, and be lord over his brethren, and so be alone king of the whole world; or else, as he tells us here, Shem, Cham and Japhet had it, three brothers, and so be only prince of his own family, and all families independent one of another: all the world must be only one empire by the right of the next heir, or else every family be a distinct government of itself, by the lordship of Adam’s descending to parents of families. And to this only tend all the proofs he here gives us of the descent of Adam’s lordship: for continuing his story of this descent, he says,

§. 143.

In the dispersion of Babel, we must certainly find the establishment of royal power, throughout the kingdoms of the world, . If you must find it, pray do, and you will help us to a new piece of history: but you must shew it us before we shall be bound to believe, that regal power was established in the world upon your principles: for, that regal power was established in the kingdoms of the world, I think no body will dispute; but that there should be kingdoms in the world, whose several kings enjoyed their crowns, by right descending to them from Adam, that we think not only apocryphal, but also utterly impossible. If our author has no better foundation for his monarchy than a supposition of what was done at the dispersion of Babel, the monarchy he erects thereon, whose top is to reach to heaven to unite mankind, will serve only to divide and scatter them as that tower did; and, instead of establishing civil government and order in the world, will produce nothing but confusion.

§. 144.

For he tells us, the nations they were divided into, were distinct families, which had fathers for rulers over them; whereby it appears, that even in the confusion, God was careful to preserve the fatherly authority, by distributing the diversity of languages according to the diversity of families, . It would have been a hard matter for any one but our author to have found out so plainly, in the text he here brings, that all the nations in that dispersion were governed by fathers, and that God was careful to preserve the fatherly authority. The words of the text are; These are the sons of Shem after their families, after their tongues in their lands, after their nations; and the same thing is said of Cham and Japhet, after an enumeration of their posterities; in all which there is not one word said of their governors, or forms of government; of fathers, or fatherly authority. But our author, who is very quick sighted to spy out fatherhood, where no body else could see any the least glimpses of it, tells us positively their rulers were fathers, and God was careful to preserve the fatherly authority; and why? Because those of the same family spoke the same language, and so of necessity in the division kept together. Just as if one should argue thus: Hanibal in his army, consisting of divers nations, kept those of the same language together; therefore fathers were captains of each band, and Hanibal was careful of the fatherly authority: or in peopling of Carolina, the English, French, Scotch and Welch that are there, plant themselves together, and by them the country is divided in their lands after their tongues, after their families, after their nations; therefore care was taken of the fatherly authority: or because, in many parts of America, every little tribe was a distinct people, with a different language, one should infer, that therefore God was careful to preserve the fatherly authority, or that therefore their rulers enjoyed Adam’s lordship by right descending to them, though we know not who were their governors, nor what their form of government, but only that they were divided into little independent societies, speaking different languages.

§. 145.

The scripture says not a word of their rulers or forms of government, but only gives an account, how mankind came to be divided into distinct languages and nations; and therefore it is not to argue from the authority of scripture, to tell us positively, fathers were their rulers, when the scripture says no such thing; but to set up fancies of one’s own brain, when we confidently aver matter of fact, where records are utterly silent. Upon a like ground, i. e. none at all, he says, That they were not confused multitudes without heads and governors, and at liberty to choose what governors or governments they pleased.

§. 146.

For I demand, when mankind were all yet of one language, all congregated in the plain of Shinar, were they then all under one monarch, who enjoyed the lordship of Adam by right descending to him? If they were not, there were then no thoughts, it is plain, of Adam’s heir, no right to government known then upon that title; no care taken, by God or man, of Adam’s fatherly authority. If when mankind were but one people, dwelt all together, and were of one language, and were upon building a city together; and when it was plain, they could not but know the right heir, for Shem lived till Isaac’s time, a long while after the division at Babel; if then, I say, they were not under the monarchical government of Adam’s fatherhood, by right descending to the heir, it is plain there was no regard had to the fatherhood, no monarchy acknowledged due to Adam’s heir, no empire of Shem’s in Asia, and consequently no such division of the world by Noah, as our author has talked of. As far as we can conclude any thing from scripture in this matter, it seems from this place, that if they had any government, it was rather a common-wealth than an absolute monarchy: for the scripture tells us, Gen. xi. They said: it was not a prince commanded the building of this city and tower, it was not by the command of one monarch, but by the consultation of many, a free people; let us build us a city: they built it for themselves as free-men, not as slaves for their lord and master: that we be not scattered abroad; having a city once built, and fixed habitations to settle our abodes and families. This was the consultation and design of a people, that were at liberty to part asunder, but desired to keep in one body, and could not have been either necessary or likely in men tied together under the government of one monarch, who if they had been, as our author tells us, all slaves under the absolute dominion of a monarch, needed not have taken such care to hinder themselves from wandering out of the reach of his dominion. I demand whether this be not plainer in scripture than any thing of Adam’s heir or fatherly authority?

§. 147.

But if being, as God says, Gen. xi. 6. one people, they had one ruler, one king by natural right, absolute and supreme over them, what care had God to preserve the paternal authority of the supreme fatherhood, if on a sudden he suffer 72 (for so many our author talks of) distinct nations to be erected out of it, under distinct governors, and at once to withdraw themselves from the obedience of their sovereign? This is to intitle God’s care how, and to what we please. Can it be sense to say, that God was careful to preserve the fatherly authority in those who had it not? for if these were subjects under a supreme prince, what authority had they? Was it an instance of God’s care to preserve the fatherly authority, when he took away the true supreme fatherhood of the natural monarch? Can it be reason to say, that God, for the preservation of fatherly authority, lets several new governments with their governors start up, who could not all have fatherly authority? And is it not as much reason to say, that God is careful to destroy fatherly authority, when he suffers one, who is in possession of it, to have his government torn in pieces, and shared by several of his subjects? Would it not be an argument just like this, for monarchical government, to say, when any monarchy was shattered to pieces, and divided amongst revolted subjects, that God was careful to preserve monarchical power, by rending a settled empire into a multitude of little governments? If any one will say, that what happens in providence to be preserved, God is careful to preserve as a thing therefore to be esteemed by men as necessary or useful, it is a peculiar propriety of speech, which every one will not think fit to imitate: but this I am sure is impossible to be either proper, or true speaking, that Shem, for example, (for he was then alive,) should have fatherly authority, or sovereignty by right of fatherhood, over that one people at Babel, and that the next moment, Shem yet living, 72 others should have fatherly authority, or sovereignty by right of fatherhood, over the same people, divided into so many distinct governments: either these 72 fathers actually were rulers, just before the confusion, and then they were not one people, but that God himself says they were; or else they were a common-wealth, and then where was monarchy? or else these 72 fathers had fatherly authority, but knew it not. Strange! that fatherly authority should be the only original of government amongst men, and yet all mankind not know it; and stranger yet, that the confusion of tongues should reveal it to them all of a sudden, that in an instant these 72 should know that they had fatherly power, and all others know that they were to obey it in them, and every one know that particular fatherly authority to which he was a subject. He that can think this arguing from scripture, may from thence make out what model of an Eutopia will best suit with his fancy or interest; and this fatherhood, thus disposed of, will justify both a prince who claims an universal monarchy, and his subjects, who, being fathers of families, shall quit all subjection to him, and canton his empire into less governments for themselves; for it will always remain a doubt in which of these the fatherly authority resided, till our author resolves us, whether Shem, who was then alive, or these 72 new princes, beginning so many new empires in his dominions, and over his subjects, had right to govern, since our author tells us, that both one and the other had fatherly, which is supreme authority, and are brought in by him as instances of those who did enjoy the lordships of Adam by right descending to them, which was as large and ample as the absolutest dominion of any monarch. This at least is unavoidable, that if God was careful to preserve the fatherly authority, in the 72 new-erected nations, it necessarily follows, that he was as careful to destroy all pretences of Adam’s heir; fince he took care, and therefore did preserve the fatherly authority in so many, at least 71, that could not possibly be Adam’s heirs, when the right heir (if God had ever ordained any such inheritance) could not but be known, Shem then living, and they being all one people.

§. 148.

Nimrod is his next instance of enjoying this patriarchal power, . but I know not for what reason our author seems a little unkind to him, and says, that he against right enlarged his empire, by seizing violently on the rights of other lords of families. These lords of families here were called fathers of families, in his account of the dispersion at Babel: but it matters not how they were called, so we know who they are; for this fatherly authority must be in them, either as heirs to Adam, and so there could not be 72, nor above one at once; or else as natural parents over their children, and so every father will have paternal authority over his children by the same right, and in as large extent as those 72 had, and so be independent princes over their own offspring. Taking his lords of families in this later sense, (as it is hard to give those words any other sense in this place) he gives us a very pretty account of the original of monarchy, in these following words, . And in this sense he may be said to be the author and founder of monarchy, viz. As against right seizing violently on the rights of fathers over their children; which paternal authority, if it be in them, by right of nature, (for else how could those 72 come by it?) no body can take from them without their own consents; and then I desire our author and his friends to consider, how far this will concern other princes, and whether it will not, according to his conclusion of that paragraph, resolve all regal power of those, whose dominions extend beyond their families, either into tyranny and usurpation, or election and consent of fathers of families, which will differ very little from consent of the people.

§. 149.

All his instances, in the next section, . of the 12 dukes of Edom, the nine kings in a little corner of Asia in Abraham’s days, the 31 kings in Canaan destroyed by Joshua, and the care he takes to prove that these were all sovereign princes, and that every town in those days had a king, are so many direct proofs against him, that it was not the lordship of Adam by right descending to them, that made kings: for if they had held their royalties by that title, either there must have been but one sovereign over them all, or else every father of a family had been as good a prince, and had as good a claim to royalty, as these: for if all the sons of Esau had each of them, the younger as well as the eldest, the right of fatherhood, and so were sovereign princes after their fathers death, the same right had their sons after them, and so on to all posterity; which will limit all the natural power of fatherhood, only to be over the issue of their own bodies, and their descendents; which power of fatherhood dies with the head of each family, and makes way for the like power of fatherhood to take place in each of his sons over their respective posterities: whereby the power of fatherhood will be preserved indeed, and is intelligible, but will not be at all to our author’s purpose. None of the instances he brings are proofs of any power they had, as heirs of Adam’s paternal authority by the title of his fatherhood descending to them; no, nor of any power they had by virtue of their own: for Adam’s fatherhood being over all mankind, it could descend but to one at once, and from him to his right heir only, and so there could by that title be but one king in the world at a time: and by right of fatherhood, not descending from Adam, it must be only as they themselves were fathers, and so could be over none but their own posterity. So that if those 12 dukes of Edom; if Abraham and the nine kings his neighbours; if Jacob and Esau, and the 31 kings in Canaan, the 72 kings mutilated by Adonibeseck, the 32 kings that came to Benhadad, the 70 kings of Greece making war at Troy, were, as our author contends, all of them sovereign princes; it is evident that kings derived their power from some other original than fatherhood, since some of these had power over more than their own posterity; and it is demonstration, they could not be all heirs to Adam: for I challenge any man to make any pretence to power by right of fatherhood, either intelligible or possible in any one, otherwise, than either as Adam’s heir, or as progenitor over his own descendents, naturally sprung from him. And if our author could shew that any one of these princes, of which he gives us here so large a catalogue, had his authority by either of these titles, I think I might yield him the cause; though it is manifest they are all impertinent, and directly contrary to what he brings them to prove, viz. That the lordship which Adam had over the world by right descended to the patriarchs.

§. 150.

Having told us, , That the patriarchal government continued in Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, until the Egyptian bondage, . he tells us, By manifest footsteps we may trace this paternal government unto the Israelites coming into Egypt, where the exercise of supreme patriarchal government was intermitted, because they were in subjection to a stronger prince. What these footsteps are of paternal government, in our author’s sense, i. e. of absolute monarchical power descending from Adam, and exercised by right of fatherhood, we have seen, that is for 2290 years no footsteps at all; since in all that time he cannot produce any one example of any person who claimed or exercised regal authority by right of fatherhood; or shew any one who being a king was Adam’s heir: all that his proofs amount to, is only this, that there were fathers, patriarchs and kings, in that age of the world; but that the fathers and patriarchs had any absolute arbitrary power, or by what titles those kings had their’s, and of what extent it was, the scripture is wholly filent; it is manifest by right of fatherhood they neither did, nor could claim any title to dominion and empire.

§. 151.

To say, that the exercise of supreme patriarchal government was intermitted, because they were in subjection to a stronger prince, proves nothing but what I before suspected, viz. That patriarchal jurisdiction or government is a fallacious expression, and does not in our author signify (what he would yet insinuate by it) paternal and regal power, such an absolute sovereignty as he supposes was in Adam.

§. 152.

For how can he say that patriarchal jurisdiction was intermitted in Egypt, where there was a king, under whose regal government the Israelites were, if patriarchal were absolute monarchical jurisdiction? And if it were not, but something else, why does he make such ado about a power not in question, and nothing to the purpose? The exercise of patriarchal jurisdiction, if patriarchal be regal, was not intermitted whilst the Israelites were in Egypt. It is true, the exercise of regal power was not then in the hands of any of the promised seed of Abraham, nor before neither that I know; but what is that to the intermission of regal authority, as descending from Adam, unless our author will have it, that this chosen line of Abraham had the right of inheritance to Adam’s lordship? and then to what purpose are his instances of the 72 rulers, in whom the fatherly authority was preserved in the confusion at Babel? Why does he bring the 12 princes sons of Ismael; and the dukes of Edom, and join them with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, as examples of the exercise of true patriarchal government, if the exercise of patriarchal jurisdiction were intermitted in the world, whenever the heirs of Jacob had not supreme power? I fear, supreme patriarchal jurisdiction was not only intermitted, but from the time of the Egyptian bondage quite lost in the world, since it will be hard to find, from that time downwards, any one who exercised it as an inheritance descending to him from the patriarchs Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. I imagined monarchical government would have served his turn in the hands of Pharaoh, or any body. But one cannot easily discover in all places what his discourse tends to, as particularly in this place it is not obvious to guess what he drives at, when he says, the exercise of supreme patriarchal jurisdiction in Egypt, or how this serves to make out the descent of Adam’s lordship to the patriarchs, or any body else.

§. 153.

For I thought he had been giving us out of scripture, proofs and examples of monarchical government, founded on paternal authority, descending from Adam; and not an history of the Jews: amongst whom yet we find no kings, till many years after they were a people: and when kings were their rulers, there is not the least mention or room for a pretence that they were heirs to Adam, or kings by paternal authority. I expected, talking so much as he does of scripture, that he would have produced thence a series of monarchs, whose titles were clear to Adam’s fatherhood, and who, as heirs to him, owned and exercised paternal jurisdiction over their subjects, and that this was the true patriarchical government; whereas he neither proves, that the patriarchs were kings; nor that either kings or patriarchs were heirs to Adam, or so much as pretended to it: and one may as well prove, that the patriarchs were all absolute monarchs; that the power both of patriarchs and kings was only paternal; and that this power descended to them from Adam: I say all these propositions may be as well proved by a confused account of a multitude of little kings in the West-Indies, out of Ferdinando Soto, or any of our late histories of the Northern America, or by our author’s 70 kings of Greece, out of Homer, as by any thing he brings out of scripture, in that multitude of kings he has reckoned up.

§. 154.

And methinks he should have let Homer and his wars of Troy alone, since his great zeal to truth or monarchy carried him to such a pitch of transport against philosophers and poets, that he tells us in his preface, that there are too many in these days, who please themselves in running after the opinions of philosophers and poets, to find out such an original of government, as might promise them some title to liberty, to the great scandal of Christianity, and bringing in of atheism. And yet these heathens, philosopher Aristotle, and poet Homer, are not rejected by our zealous Christian politician, whenever they offer any thing that seems to serve his turn; whether to the great scandal of Christianity and bringing in of atheism, let him look. This I cannot but observe, in authors who it is visible write not for truth, how ready zeal for interest and party is to entitle Christianity to their designs, and to charge atheism on those who will not without examining submit to their doctrines, and blindly swallow their nonsense.

But to return to his scripture history, our author farther tells us, . that after the return of the Israelites out of bondage, God, out of a special care of them, chose Moses and Joshua successively to govern as princes in the place and stead of the supreme fathers. If it be true, that they returned out of bondage, it must be into a state of freedom, and must imply, that both before and after this bondage they were free, unless our author will say, that changing of masters is returning out of bondage; or that a slave returns out of bondage, when he is removed from one gally to another. If then they returned out of bondage, it is plain that in those days, whatever our author in his preface says to the contrary, there were difference between a son, a subject, and a slave; and that neither the patriarchs before, nor their rulers after this Egyptian bondage, numbered their sons or subjects amongst their possessions, and disposed of them with as absolute a dominion, as they did their other goods.

§. 155.

This is evident in Jacob, to whom Reuben offered his two sons as pledges; and Judah was at last surety for Benjamin’s safe return out of Egypt: which all had been vain, superfluous, and but a sort of mockery, if Jacob had had the same power over every one of his family, as he had over his ox or his ass, as an owner over his substance; and the offers that Reuben or Judah made had been such a security for returning of Benjamin, as if a man should take two lambs out of his lord’s flock, and offer one as security, that he will safely restore the other.

§. 156.

When they were out of this bondage, what then? God out of a special care of them, the Israelites. It is well that once in his book he will allow God to have any care of the people; for in other places he speaks of mankind, as if God had no care of any part of them, but only of their monarchs, and that the rest of the people, the societies of men, were made as so many herds of cattle, only for the service, use, and pleasure of their princes.

§. 157.

Chose Moses and Joshua successively to govern as princes; a shrewd argument our author has found out to prove God’s care of the fatherly authority, and Adam’s heirs, that here, as an expression of his care of his own people, he chooses those for princes over them, that had not the least pretence to either. The persons chosen were, Moses of the tribe of Levi, and Joshua of the tribe of Ephraim, neither of which had any title of fatherhood. But says our author, they were in the place and stead of the supreme fathers. If God had any where as plainly declared his choice of such fathers to be rulers, as he did of Moses and Joshua, we might believe Mases and Joshua were in their place and stead: but that being the question in debate, till that be better proved, Moses being chosen by God to be ruler of his people, will no more prove that government belonged to Adam’s heir, or to the fatherhood, than God’s choosing Aaron of the tribe of Levi to be priest, will prove that the priesthood belonged to Adam’s heir, or the prime fathers; since God would choose Aaron to be priest, and Moses ruler in Israel, though neither of those offices were settled on Adam’s heir, or the fatherhood.

§. 158.

Our author goes on, and after them likewise for a time he raised up judges, to defend his people in time of peril, . This proves fatherly authority to be the original of government, and that it descended from Adam to his heirs, just as well as what went before: only here our author seems to confess, that these judges, who were all the governors they then had, were only men of valour, whom they made their generals to defend them in time of peril; and cannot God raise up such men, unless fatherhood have a title to government?

But says our author, when God gave the Israelites kings, he re-established the ancient and prime right of lineal succession to paternal government, .

§. 160.

How did God re-establish it? by a law, a positive command? We find no such thing. Our author means then, that when God gave them a king, in giving them a king, he re-established the right, &c. To re-establish de facto the right of lineal succession to paternal government, is to put a man in possession of that government which his fathers did enjoy, and he by lineal succession had a right to: for, first, if it were another government than what his ancestors had, it was not succeeding to an ancient right, but beginning a new one: for if a prince should give a man, besides his antient patrimony, which for some ages his family had been disseized of, an additional estate, never before in the possession of his ancestors, he could not be said to re-establish the right of lineal succession to any more than what had been formerly enjoyed by his ancestors. If therefore the power the kings of Israel had, were any thing more than Isaac or Jacob had, it was not the re-establishing in them the right of succession to a power, but giving them a new power, however you please to call it, paternal or not: and whether Isaac and Jacob had the same power that the kings of Israel had, I desire any one, by what has been above said, to consider; and I do not think they will find, that either Abraham, Isaac, or Jacob, had any regal power at all.

§. 161.

Next, there can be no re-establishment of the prime and ancient right of lineal succession to any thing, unless he, that is put in possession of it, has the right to succeed, and be the true and next heir to him he succeeds to. Can that be a re-establishment, which begins in a new family? or that the re-establishment of an ancient right of lineal succession, when a crown is given to one, who has no right of succession to it, and who, if the lineal succession had gone on, had been out of all possibility of pretence to it? Saul, the first king God gave the Israelites, was of the tribe of Benjamin. Was the ancient and prime right of lineal succession re-established in him? The next was David, the youngest son of Jesse, of the posterity of Judah, Jacob’s third son. Was the ancient and prime right of lineal succession to paternal government re-established in him? or in Solomon, his younger son and successor in the throne? or in Jereboam over the ten tribes? or in Athaliah, a woman who reigned six years an utter stranger to the royal blood? If the ancient and prime right of lineal succession to paternal government were re-established in any of these or their posterity, the ancient and prime right of lineal succession to paternal government belongs to younger brothers as well as elder, and may be re-established in any man living; for whatever younger brothers, by ancient and prime right of lineal succession, may have as well as the elder, that every man living may have a right to, by lineal succession, and Sir Robert as well as any other. And so what a brave right of lineal succession, to his paternal or regal government, our author has re-established, for the securing the rights and inheritance of crowns, where every one may have it, let the world consider.

§. 162.

But says our author however, . Whensoever God made choice of any special person to be king, he intended that the issue also should have benefit thereof, as being comprehended sufficiently in the person of the father, altho’ the father was only named in the grant. This yet will not help out succession; for if, as our author says, the benefit of the grant be intended to the issue of the grantee, this will not direct the succession; since, if God give any thing to a man and his issue in general, the claim cannot be to any one of that issue in particular; every one that is of his race will have an equal right. If it be said, our author meant heir, I believe our author was as willing as any body to have used that word, if it would have served his turn: but Solomon, who succeeded David in the throne, being no more his heir than Jeroboham, who succeeded him in the government of the ten tribes, was his issue, our author had reason to avoid saying, That God intended it to the heirs, when that would not hold in a succession, which our author could not except against; and so he has left his succession as undetermined, as if he had said nothing about it: for if the regal power be given by God to a man and his issue, as the land of Canaan was to Abraham and his seed, must they not all have a title to it, all share in it? And one may as well say, that by God’s grant to Abraham and his seed, the land of Canaan was to belong only to one of his seed exclusive of all others, as by God’s grant of dominion to a man and his issue, this dominion was to belong in peculiar to one of his issue exclusive of all others.

§. 163.

But how will our author prove that whensoever God made choice of any special person to be a king, he intended that the (I suppose he means his) issue also should have benefit thereof? has he so soon forgot Moses and Joshua, whom in this very section, he says, God out of a special care chose to govern as princes, and the judges that God raised up? Had not these princes, having the authority of the supreme fatherhood, the same power that the kings had; and being specially chosen by God himself, should not their issue have the benefit of that choice, as well as David’s or Solomon’s? If these had the paternal authority put into their hands immediately by God, why had not their issue the benefit of this grant in a succession to this power? or if they had it as Adam’s heirs, why did not their heirs enjoy it after them by right descending to them? for they could not be heirs to one another. Was the power the same, and from the same original, in Moses, Joshua and the Judges, as it was in David and the Kings; and was it inheritable in one, and not in the other? If it was not paternal authority, then God’s own people were governed by those that had not paternal authority, and those governors did well enough without it: if it were paternal authority, and God chose the persons that were to exercise it, our author’s rule fails, that whensoever God makes choice of any person to be supreme ruler (for I suppose the name king has no spell in it, it is not the title, but the power makes the difference) he intends that the issue also should have the benefit of it, since from their coming out of Egypt to David’s time, 400 years, the issue was never so sufficiently comprehended in the person of the father, as that any son, after the death of his father, succeeded to the government amongst all those judges that judged Israel. If, to avoid this, it be said, God always chose the person of the successor, and so, transferring the fatherly authority to him, excluded his issue from succeeding to it, that is manifestly not so in the story of Jephtha, where he articled with the people, and they made him judge over them, as is plain, Judg. 11.

§. 164.

It is in vain then to say, that whensoever God chooses any special person to have the exercise of paternal authority, (for if that be not to be king, I desire to know the difference between a king and one having the exercise of paternal authority) he intends the issue also should have the benefit of it, since we find the authority, the judges had, ended with them, and descended not to their issue; and if the judges had not paternal authority, I fear it will trouble our author, or any of the friends to his principles, to tell who had then the paternal authority, that is, the government and supreme power amongst the Israelites; and I suspect they must confess that the chosen people of God continued a people several hundreds of years, without any knowledge or thought of this paternal authority, or any appearance of monarchical government at all.

§. 165.

To be satisfied of this, he need but read the story of the Levite, and the war thereupon with the Benjamites, in the three last chapters of Judges; and when he finds, that the Levite appeals to the people for justice that it was the tribes and the congregation, that debated, resolved, and directed all that was done on that occasion; he must conclude, either that God was not careful to preserve the fatherly authority amongst his own chosen people; or else that the fatherly authority may be preserved, where there is no monarchical government: if the latter, then it will follow, that though fatherly authority be never so well proved, yet it will not infer a necessity of monarchical government; if the former, it will seem very strange and improbable, that God should ordain fatherly authority to be so sacred amongst the sons of men, that there could be no power, or government without it, and yet that amongst his own people, even whilst he is providing a government for them, and therein prescribes rules to the several states and relations of men, this great and fundamental one, this most material and necessary of all the rest, should be concealed, and lie neglected for 400 years after.

§. 166.

Before I leave this, I must ask how our author knows that whensoever God makes choice of any special person to be king, he intends that the issue should have the benefit thereof? Does God by the law of nature or revelation say so? By the same law also he must say, which of his issue must enjoy the crown in succession, and so point out the heir, or else leave his issue to divide or scramble for the government: both alike absurd, and such as will destroy the benefit of such grant to the issue. When any such declaration of God’s intention is produced, it will be our duty to believe God intends it so; but till that be done, our author must shew us some better warrant, before we shall be obliged to receive him as the authentic revealer of God’s intentions.

§. 167.

The issue, says our author, is comprehended sufficiently in the person of the father, although the father only was named in the grant: and yet God, when he gave the land of Canaan to Abraham, Gen. xiii. 15. thought fit to put his seed into the grant too: so the priesthood was given to Aaron and his seed; and the crown God gave not only to David, but his seed also: and however our author assures us that God intends, that the issue should have the benefit of it, when he chooses any person to be king, yet we see that the kingdom which he gave to Saul, without mentioning his seed after him, never came to any of his issue: and why, when God chose a person to be king, he should intend, that his issue should have the benefit of it, more than when he chose one to be judge in Israel, I would fain know a reason; or why does a grant of fatherly authority to a king more comprehend the issue, than when a like grant is made to a judge? Is paternal authority by right to descend to the issue of one, and not of the other? There will need some reason to be shewn of this difference, more than the name, when the thing given is the same fatherly authority, and the manner of giving it, God’s choice of the person, the same too; for I suppose our author, when he says, God raised up judges, will by no means allow, they were chosen by the people.

§. 168.

But since our author has so confidently assured us of the care of God to preserve the fatherhood, and pretends to build all he says upon the authority of the scripture, we may well expect that that people, whose law, constitution and history is chiefly contained in the scripture, should furnish him with the clearest instances of God’s care of preserving the fatherly authority, in that people who it is agreed he had a most peculiar care of. Let us see then what state this paternal authority or government was in amongst the Jews, from their beginning to be a people. It was omitted, by our author’s confession, from their coming into Egypt, till their return out of that bondage, above 200 years: from thence till God gave the Israelites a king, about 400 years more, our author gives but a very slender account of it; nor indeed all that time are there the least footsteps of paternal or regal government amongst them. But then says our author, God re-established the ancient and prime right of lineal succession to paternal government.

§. 169.

What a lineal succession to paternal government was then established, we have already seen. I only now consider how long this lasted, and that was to their captivity, about 500 years: from thence to their destruction by the Romans, above 650 years after, the ancient and prime right of lineal succession to paternal government was again lost, and they continued a people in the promised land without it. So that of 1750 years that they were God’s peculiar people, they had hereditary kingly government amongst them not one third of the time; and of that time there is not the least footstep of one moment of paternal government, nor the re-establishment of the ancient and prime right of lineal succession to it, whether we suppose it to be derived, as from its fountain, from David, Saul, Abraham, or, which upon our author’s principles is the only true, from Adam.

BOOK II. OF CIVIL-GOVERNMENT

CHAPTER I.

§. 1.

It having been shewn in the foregoing discourse,

That Adam had not, either by natural right of fatherhood, or by positive donation from God, any such authority over his children, or dominion over the world, as is pretended:

That if he had, his heirs, yet, had no right to it:

That if his heirs had, there being no law of nature nor positive law of God that determines which is the right heir in all cases that may arise, the right of succession, and consequently of bearing rule, could not have been certainly determined:

That if even that had been determined, yet the knowledge of which is the eldest line of Adam’s posterity, being so long since utterly lost, that in the races of mankind and families of the world, there remains not to one above another, the least pretence to be the eldest house, and to have the right of inheritance:

All these premises having, as I think, been clearly made out, it is impossible that the rulers now on earth should make any benefit, or derive any the least shadow of authority from that, which is held to be the fountain of all power, Adam’s private dominion and paternal jurisdiction; so that he that will not give just occasion to think that all government in the world is the product only of force and violence, and that men live together by no other rules but that of beasts, where the strongest carries it, and so lay a foundation for perpetual disorder and mischief, tumult, sedition and rebellion, (things that the followers of that hypothesis so loudly cry out against) must of necessity find out another rise of governwent, another original of political power, and another way of designing and knowing the persons that have it, than what Sir Robert Filmer hath taught us.

§. 2.

To this purpose, I think it may not be amiss, to set down what I take to be political power; that the power of a magistrate over a subject may be distinguished from that of a father over his children, a master over his servant, a husband over his wife, and a lord over his slave. All which distinct powers happening sometimes together in the same man, if he be considered under these different relations, it may help us to distinguish these powers one from another, and shew the difference betwixt a ruler of a common-wealth, a father of a family, and a captain of a galley.

§. 3.

Political power, then, I take to be a right of making laws with penalties of death, and consequently all less penalties, for the regulating and preserving of property, and of employing the force of the community, in the execution of such laws, and in the defence of the common-wealth from foreign injury; and all this only for the public good.

CHAPTER II. OF THE STATE OF NATURE.

§. 4.

TO understand political power right, and derive it from its original, we must consider, what state all men are naturally in, and that is, a state of perfect freedom to order their actions, and dispose of their possessions and persons, as they think fit, within the bounds of the law of nature, without asking leave, or depending upon the will of any other man.

A state also of equality, wherein all the power and jurisdiction is reciprocal, no one having more than another; there being nothing more evident, than that creatures of the same species and rank, promiscuously born to all the same advantages of nature, and the use of the same faculties, should also be equal one amongst another without subordination or subjection, unless the lord and master of them all should, by any manifest declaration of his will, set one above another, and confer on him, by an evident and clear appointment, an undoubted right to dominion and sovereignty.

§. 5.

This equality of men by nature, the judicious Hooker looks upon as so evident in itself, and beyond all question, that he makes it the foundation of that obligation to mutual love amongst men, on which he builds the duties they owe one another, and from whence he derives the great maxims of justice and charity. His words are,

The like natural inducement hath brought men to know that it is no less their duty, to love others than themselves; for seeing those things which are equal, must needs all have one measure; if I cannot but wish to receive good, even as much at every man’s hands, as any man can wish unto his own soul, how should I look to have any part of my desire herein satisfied, unless myself be careful to satisfy the like desire, which is undoubtedly in other men, being of one and the same nature? To have any thing offered them repugnant to this desire, must needs in all respects grieve them as much as me; so that if I do harm, I must look to suffer, there being no reason that others should shew greater measure of love to me, than they have by me shewed unto them: my desire therefore to be loved of my equals in nature, as much as possible may be, imposeth upon me a natural duty of bearing to them-ward fully the like affection; from which relation of equality between ourselves and them that are as ourselves, what several rules and canons natural reason hath drawn, for direction of life, no man is ignorant. Eccl. Pol. Lib. 1.

§. 6.

But though this be a state of liberty, yet it is not a state of licence: though man in that state have an uncontroulable liberty to dispose of his person or possessions, yet he has not liberty to destroy himself, or so much as any creature in his possession, but where some nobler use than its bare preservation calls for it. The state of nature has a law of nature to govern it, which obliges every one: and reason, which is that law, teaches all mankind, who will but consult it, that being all equal and independent, no one ought to harm another in his life, health, liberty, or possessions: for men being all the workmanship of one omnipotent, and infinitely wise maker; all the servants of one sovereign master, sent into the world by his order, and about his business; they are his property, whose workmanship they are, made to last during his, not one another’s pleasure: and being furnished with like faculties, sharing all in one community of nature, there cannot be supposed any such subordination among us, that may authorize us to destroy one another, as if we were made for one another’s uses, as the inferior ranks of creatures are for our’s. Every one, as he is bound to preserve himself, and not to quit his station wilfully, so by the like reason, when his own preservation comes not in competition, ought he, as much as he can, to preserve the rest of mankind, and may not, unless it be to do justice on an offender, take away, or impair the life, or what tends to the preservation of the life, the liberty, health, limb, or goods of another.

§. 7.

And that all men may be restrained from invading others rights, and from doing hurt to one another, and the law of nature be observed, which willeth the peace and preservation of all mankind, the execution of the law of nature is, in that state, put into every man’s hands, whereby every one has a right to punish the transgressors of that law to such a degree, as may hinder its violation: for the law of nature would, as all other laws that concern men in this world, be in vain, if there were no body that in the state of nature had a power to execute that law, and thereby preserve the innocent and restrain offenders. And if any one in the state of nature may punish another for any evil he has done, every one may do so: for in that state of perfect equality, where naturally there is no superiority or jurisdiction of one over another, what any may do in prosecution of that law, every one must needs have a right to do.

§. 8.

And thus, in the state of nature, one man comes by a power over another; but yet no absolute or arbitrary power, to use a criminal, when he has got him in his hands, according to the passionate heats, or boundless extravagancy of his own will; but only to retribute to him, so far as calm reason and conscience dictate, what is proportionate to his transgression, which is so much as may serve for reparation and restraint: for these two are the only reasons, why one man may lawfully do harm to another, which is that we call punishment. In transgressing the law of nature, the offender declares himself to live by another rule than that of reason and common equity, which is that measure God has set to the actions of men, for their mutual security; and so he becomes dangerous to mankind, the tye, which is to secure them from injury and violence, being slighted and broken by him. Which being a trespass against the whole species, and the peace and safety of it, provided for by the law of nature, every man upon this score, by the right he hath to preserve mankind in general, may restrain, or where it is necessary, destroy things noxious to them, and so may bring such evil on any one, who hath transgressed that law, as may make him repent the doing of it, and thereby deter him, and by his example others, from doing the like mischief. And in this case, and upon this ground, every man hath a right to punish the offender, and be executioner of the law of nature.

§. 9.

I doubt not but this will seem a very strange doctrine to some men: but before they condemn it, I desire them to resolve me, by what right any prince or state can put to death, or punish an alien, for any crime he commits in their country. It is certain their laws, by virtue of any sanction they receive from the promulgated will of the legislative, reach not a stranger: they speak not to him, nor, if they did, is he bound to hearken to them. The legislative authority, by which they are in force over the subjects of that common-wealth, hath no power over him. Those who have the supreme power of making laws in England, France or Holland, are to an Indian, but like the rest of the world, men without authority: and therefore, if by the law of nature every man hath not a power to punish offences against it, as he soberly judges the case to require, I see not how the magistrates of any community can punish an alien of another country; since, in reference to him, they can have no more power than what every man naturally may have over another.

§. 10.

Besides the crime which consists in violating the law, and varying from the right rule of reason, whereby a man so far becomes degenerate, and declares himself to quit the principles of human nature, and to be a noxious creature, there is commonly injury done to some person or other, and some other man receives damage by his transgression: in which case he who hath received any damage, has, besides the right of punishment common to him with other men, a particular right to seek reparation from him that has done it: and any other person, who finds it just, may also join with him that is injured, and assist him in recovering from the offender so much as may make satisfaction for the harm he has suffered.

§. 11.

From these two distinct rights, the one of punishing the crime for restraint, and preventing the like offence, which right of punishing is in every body; the other of taking reparation, which belongs only to the injured party, comes it to pass that the magistrate, who by being magistrate hath the common right of punishing put into his hands, can often, where the public good demands not the execution of the law, remit the punishment of criminal offences by his own authority, but yet cannot remit the satisfaction due to any private man for the damage he has received. That, he who has suffered the damage has a right to demand in his own name, and he alone can remit: the damnified person has this power of appropriating to himself the goods or service of the offender, by right of self-preservation, as every man has a power to punish the crime, to prevent its being committed again, by the right he has of preserving all mankind, and doing all reasonable things he can in order to that end: and thus it is, that every man, in the state of nature, has a power to kill a murderer, both to deter others from doing the like injury, which no reparation can compensate, by the example of the punishment that attends it from every body, and also to secure men from the attempts of a criminal, who having renounced reason, the common rule and measure God hath given to mankind, hath, by the unjust violence and slaughter he hath committed upon one, declared war against all mankind, and therefore may be destroyed as a lion or a tyger, one of those wild savage beasts, with whom men can have no society nor security: and upon this is grounded that great law of nature, Whoso sheddeth man’s blood, by man shall his blood be shed. And Cain was so fully convinced, that every one had a right to destroy such a criminal, that after the murder of his brother, he cries out, Every one that findeth me, shall slay me; so plain was it writ in the hearts of all mankind.

§. 12.

By the same reason may a man in the state of nature punish the lesser breaches of that law. It will perhaps be demanded, with death? I answer, each transgression may be punished to that degree, and with so much severity, as will suffice to make it an ill bargain to the offender, give him cause to repent, and terrify others from doing the like. Every offence, that can be committed in the state of nature, may in the state of nature be also punished equally, and as far forth as it may, in a common-wealth: for though it would be besides my present purpose, to enter here into the particulars of the law of nature, or its measures of punishment; yet, it is certain there is such a law, and that too, as intelligible and plain to a rational creature, and a studier of that law, as the positive laws of common-wealths; nay, possibly plainer; as much as reason is easier to be understood, than the fancies and intricate contrivances of men, following contrary and hidden interests put into words; for so truly are a great part of the municipal laws of countries, which are only so far right, as they are founded on the law of nature, by which they are to be regulated and interpreted.

§. 13.

To this strange doctrine, viz. That in the state of nature every one has the executive power of the law of nature, I doubt not but it will be objected, that it is unreasonable for men to be judges in their own cases, that self-love will make men partial to themselves and their friends: and on the other side, that ill nature, passion and revenge will carry them too far in punishing others; and hence nothing but confusion and disorder will follow, and that therefore God hath certainly appointed government to restrain the partiality and violence of men. I easily grant, that civil government is the proper remedy for the inconveniencies of the state of nature, which must certainly be great, where men may be judges in their own case, since it is easy to be imagined, that he who was so unjust as to do his brother an injury, will scarce be so just as to condemn himself for it: but I shall desire those who make this objection, to remember, that absolute monarchs are but men; and if government is to be the remedy of those evils, which necessarily follow from men’s being judges in their own cases, and the state of nature is therefore not to be endured, I desire to know what kind of government that is, and how much better it is than the state of nature, where one man, commanding a multitude, has the liberty to be judge in his own case, and may do to all his subjects whatever he pleases, without the least liberty to any one to question or controul those who execute his pleasure? and in whatsoever he doth, whether led by reason, mistake or passion, must be submitted to? much better it is in the state of nature, wherein men are not bound to submit to the unjust will of another: and if he that judges, judges amiss in his own, or any other case, he is answerable for it to the rest of mankind.

§. 14.

It is often asked as a mighty objection, where are, or ever were there any men in such a state of nature? To which it may suffice as an answer at present, that since all princes and rulers of independent governments all through the world, are in a state of nature, it is plain the world never was, nor ever will be, without numbers of men in that state. I have named all governors of independent communities, whether they are, or are not, in league with others: for it is not every compact that puts an end to the state of nature between men, but only this one of agreeing together mutually to enter into one community, and make one body politic; other promises, and compacts, men may make one with another, and yet still be in the state of nature. The promises and bargains for truck, &c. between the two men in the desert island, mentioned by Garcilasso de la Vega, in his history of Peru; or between a Swiss and an Indian, in the woods of America, are binding to them, though they are perfectly in a state of nature, in reference to one another: for truth and keeping of faith belongs to men, as men, and not as members of society.

§. 15.

To those that say, there were never any men in the state of nature, I will not only oppose the authority of the judicious Hooker, Eccl. Pol. lib. i. sect. 10. where he says, The laws which have been hitherto mentioned, i. e. the laws of nature, do bind men absolutely, even as they are men, although they have never any settled fellowship, never any solemn agreement amongst themselves what to do, or not to do: but forasmuch as we are not by ourselves sufficient to furnish ourselves with competent store of things, needful for such a life as our nature doth desire, a life fit for the dignity of man; therefore to supply those defects and imperfections which are in us, as living single and solely by ourselves, we are naturally induced to seek communion and fellowship with others: this was the cause of men’s uniting themselves at first in politic societies. But I moreover affirm, that all men are naturally in that state, and remain so, till by their own consents they make themselves members of some politic society; and I doubt not in the sequel of this discourse, to make it very clear.

CHAPTER III. OF THE STATE OF WAR.

§. 16.

THE state of war is a state of enmity and destruction: and therefore declaring by word or action, not a passionate and hasty, but a sedate settled design upon another man’s life, puts him in a state of war with him against whom he has declared such an intention, and so has exposed his life to the other’s power to be taken away by him, or any one that joins with him in his defence, and espouses his quarrel; it being reasonable and just, I should have a right to destroy that which threatens me with destruction: for, by the fundamental law of nature, man being to be preserved as much as possible, when all cannot be preserved, the safety of the innocent is to be preferred: and one may destroy a man who makes war upon him, or has discovered an enmity to his being, for the same reason that he may kill a wolf or a lion; because such men are not under the ties of the common-law of reason, have no other rule, but that of force and violence, and so may be treated as beasts of prey, those dangerous and noxious creatures, that will be sure to destroy him whenever he falls into their power.

§. 17.

And hence it is, that he who attempts to get another man into his absolute power, does thereby put himself into a state of war with him; it being to be understood as a declaration of a design upon his life: for I have reason to conclude, that he who would get me into his power without my consent, would use me as he pleased when he had got me there, and destroy me too when he had a fancy to it; for no body can desire to have me in his absolute power, unless it be to compel me by force to that which is against the right of my freedom, i. e. make me a slave. To be free from such force is the only security of my preservation; and reason bids me look on him, as an enemy to my preservation, who would take away that freedom which is the fence to it; so that he who makes an attempt to enslave me, thereby puts himself into a state of war with me. He that, in the state of nature, would take away the freedom that belongs to any one in that state, must necessarily be supposed to have a design to take away every thing else, that freedom being the foundation of all the rest; as he that, in the state of society, would take away the freedom belonging to those of that society or common-wealth, must be supposed to design to take away from them every thing else, and so be looked on as in a state of war.

§. 18.

This makes it lawful for a man to kill a thief, who has not in the least hurt him, nor declared any design upon his life, any farther than, by the use of force, so to get him in his power, as to take away his money, or what he pleases, from him; because using force, where he has no right, to get me into his power, let his pretence be what it will, I have no reason to suppose, that he, who would take away my liberty, would not, when he had me in his power, take away every thing else. And therefore it is lawful for me to treat him as one who has put himself into a state of war with me, i. e. kill him if I can; for to that hazard does he justly expose himself, whoever introduces a state of war, and is aggressor in it.

§. 19.

And here we have the plain difference between the state of nature and the state of war, which however some men have confounded, are as far distant, as a state of peace, good will, mutual assistance and preservation, and a state of enmity, malice, violence and mutual destruction, are one from another. Men living together according to reason, without a common superior on earth, with authority to judge between them, is properly the state of nature. But force, or a declared design of force, upon the person of another, where there is no common superior on earth to appeal to for relief, is the state of war: and it is the want of such an appeal gives a man the right of war even against an aggressor, tho’ he be in society and a fellow subject. Thus a thief, whom I cannot harm, but by appeal to the law, for having stolen all that I am worth, I may kill, when he sets on me to rob me but of my horse or coat; because the law, which was made for my preservation, where it cannot interpose to secure my life from present force, which, if lost, is capable of no reparation, permits me my own defence, and the right of war, a liberty to kill the aggressor, because the aggressor allows not time to appeal to our common judge, nor the decision of the law, for remedy in a case where the mischief may be irreparable. Want of a common judge with authority, puts all men in a state of nature: force without right, upon a man’s person, makes a state of war, both where there is, and is not, a common judge.

§. 20.

But when the actual force is over, the state of war ceases between those that are in society, and are equally on both sides subjected to the fair determination of the law; because then there lies open the remedy of appeal for the past injury, and to prevent future harm: but where no such appeal is, as in the state of nature, for want of positive laws, and judges with authority to appeal to, the state of war once begun, continues, with a right to the innocent party to destroy the other whenever he can, until the aggressor offers peace, and desires reconciliation on such terms as may repair any wrongs he has already done, and secure the innocent for the future; nay, where an appeal to the law, and constituted judges, lies open, but the remedy is denied by a manifest perverting of justice, and a barefaced wresting of the laws to protect or indemnify the violence or injuries of some men, or party of men, there it is hard to imagine any thing but a state of war: for where-ever violence is used, and injury done, though by hands appointed to administer justice, it is still violence and injury, however coloured with the name, pretences, or forms of law, the end whereof being to protect and redress the innocent, by an unbiassed application of it, to all who are under it; where-ever that is not bona fide done, war is made upon the sufferers, who having no appeal on earth to right them, they are left to the only remedy in such cases, an appeal to heaven.

§. 21.

To avoid this state of war (wherein there is no appeal but to heaven, and wherein every the least difference is apt to end, where there is no authority to decide between the contenders) is one great reason of men’s putting themselves into society, and quitting the state of nature: for where there is an authority, a power on earth, from which relief can be had by appeal, there the continuance of the state of war is excluded, and the controversy is decided by that power. Had there been any such court, any superior jurisdiction on earth, to determine the right between Jephtha and the Ammonites, they had never come to a state of war: but we see he was forced to appeal to heaven. The Lord the Judge (says he) be judge this day between the children of Israel and the children of Ammon, Judg. xi. 27. and then prosecuting, and relying on his appeal, he leads out his army to battle: and therefore in such controversies, where the question is put, who shall be judge? It cannot be meant, who shall decide the controversy; every one knows what Jephtha here tells us, that the Lord the Judge shall judge. Where there is no judge on earth, the appeal lies to God in heaven. That question then cannot mean, who shall judge, whether another hath put himself in a state of war with me, and whether I may, as Jephtha did, appeal to heaven in it? of that I myself can only be judge in my own conscience, as I will answer it, at the great day, to the supreme judge of all men.

CHAPTER IV. OF SLAVERY.

§. 22.

THE natural liberty of man is to be free from any superior power on earth, and not to be under the will or legislative authority of man, but to have only the law of nature for his rule. The liberty of man, in society, is to be under no other legislative power, but that established, by consent, in the common-wealth; nor under the dominion of any will, or restraint of any law, but what that legislative shall enact, according to the trust put in it. Freedom then is not what Sir Robert Filmer tells us, Observations, A. 55. a liberty for every one to do what he lists, to live as he pleases, and not to be tied by any laws: but freedom of men under government is, to have a standing rule to live by, common to every one of that society, and made by the legislative power erected in it; a liberty to follow my own will in all things, where the rule prescribes not; and not to be subject to the inconstant, uncertain, unknown, arbitrary will of another man: as freedom of nature is, to be under no other restraint but the law of nature.

§. 23.

This freedom from absolute, arbitrary power, is so necessary to, and closely joined with a man’s preservation, that he cannot part with it, but by what forfeits his preservation and life together: for a man, not having the power of his own life, cannot, by compact, or his own consent, enslave himself to any one, nor put himself under the absolute, arbitrary power of another, to take away his life, when he pleases. No body can give more power than he has himself; and he that cannot take away his own life, cannot give another power over it. Indeed, having by his fault forfeited his own life, by some act that deserves death; he, to whom he has forfeited it, may (when he has him in his power) delay to take it, and make use of him to his own service, and he does him no injury by it: for, whenever he finds the hardship of his slavery outweigh the value of his life, it is in his power, by resisting the will of his master, to draw on himself the death he desires.

§. 24.

This is the perfect condition of slavery, which is nothing else, but the state of war continued, between a lawful conqueror and a captive: for, if once compact enter between them, and make an agreement for a limited power on the one side, and obedience on the other, the state of war and slavery ceases, as long as the compact endures: for, as has been said, no man can, by agreement, pass over to another that which he hath not in himself, a power over his own life.

I confess, we find among the Jews, as well as other nations, that men did sell themselves; but, it is plain, this was only to drudgery, not to slavery: for, it is evident, the person sold was not under an absolute, arbitrary, despotical power: for the master could not have power to kill him, at any time, whom, at a certain time, he was obliged to let go free out of his service; and the master of such a servant was so far from having an arbitrary power over his life, that he could not, at pleasure, so much as maim him, but the loss of an eye, or tooth, set him free, Exod. xxi.

CHAPTER V. OF PROPERTY.

§. 25.

WHether we consider natural reason, which tells us, that men, being once born, have a right to their preservation, and consequently to meat and drink, and such other things as nature affords for their subsistence: or revelation, which gives us an account of those grants God made of the world to Adam, and to Noah, and his sons, it is very clear, that God, as king David says, Psal. CXV. 16. has given the earth to the children of men; given it to mankind in common. But this being supposed, it seems to some a very great difficulty, how any one should ever come to have a property in any thing: I will not content myself to answer, that if it be difficult to make out property, upon a supposition that God gave the world to Adam, and his posterity in common, it is impossible that any man, but one universal monarch, should have any property upon a supposition, that God gave the world to Adam, and his heirs in succession, exclusive of all the rest of his posterity. But I shall endeavour to shew, how men might come to have a property in several parts of that which God gave to mankind in common, and that without any express compact of all the commoners.

§. 26.

God, who hath given the world to men in common, hath also given them reason to make use of it to the best advantage of life, and convenience. The earth, and all that is therein, is given to men for the support and comfort of their being. And tho’ all the fruits it naturally produces, and beasts it feeds, belong to mankind in common, as they are produced by the spontaneous hand of nature; and no body has originally a private dominion, exclusive of the rest of mankind, in any of them, as they are thus in their natural state: yet being given for the use of men, there must of necessity be a means to appropriate them some way or other, before they can be of any use, or at all beneficial to any particular man. The fruit, or venison, which nourishes the wild Indian, who knows no inclosure, and is still a tenant in common, must be his, and so his, i. e. a part of him, that another can no longer have any right to it, before it can do him any good for the support of his life.

§. 27.

Though the earth, and all inferior creatures, be common to all men, yet every man has a property in his own person: this no body has any right to but himself. The labour of his body, and the work of his hands, we may say, are properly his. Whatsoever then he removes out of the state that nature hath provided, and left it in, he hath mixed his labour with, and joined to it something that is his own, and thereby makes it his property. It being by him removed from the common state nature hath placed it in, it hath by this labour something annexed to it, that excludes the common right of other men: for this labour being the unquestionable property of the labourer, no man but he can have a right to what that is once joined to, at least where there is enough, and as good, left in common for others.

§. 28.

He that is nourished by the acorns he picked up under an oak, or the apples he gathered from the trees in the wood, has certainly appropriated them to himself. No body can deny but the nourishment is his. I ask then, when did they begin to be his? when he digested? or when he eat? or when he boiled? or when he brought them home? or when he picked them up? and it is plain, if the first gathering made them not his, nothing else could. That labour put a distinction between them and common: that added something to them more than nature, the common mother of all, had done; and so they became his private right. And will any one say, he had no right to those acorns or apples, he thus appropriated, because he had not the consent of all mankind to make them his? Was it a robbery thus to assume to himself what belonged to all in common? If such a consent as that was necessary, man had starved, notwithstanding the plenty God had given him. We see in commons, which remain so by compact, that it is the taking any part of what is common, and removing it out of the state nature leaves it in, which begins the property; without which the common is of no use. And the taking of this or that part, does not depend on the express consent of all the commoners. Thus the grass my horse has bit; the turfs my servant has cut; and the ore I have digged in any place, where I have a right to them in common with others, become my property, without the assignation or consent of any body. The labour that was mine, removing them out of that common state they were in, hath fixed my property in them.

§. 29.

By making an explicit consent of every commoner, necessary to any one’s appropriating to himself any part of what is given in common, children or servants could not cut the meat, which their father or master had provided for them in common, without assigning to every one his peculiar part. Though the water running in the fountain be every one’s, yet who can doubt, but that in the pitcher is his only who drew it out? His labour hath taken it out of the hands of nature, where it was common, and belonged equally to all her children, and hath thereby appropriated it to himself.

§. 30.

Thus this law of reason makes the deer that Indian’s who hath killed it; it is allowed to be his goods, who hath bestowed his labour upon it, though before it was the common right of every one. And amongst those who are counted the civilized part of mankind, who have made and multiplied positive laws to determine property, this original law of nature, for the beginning of property, in what was before common, still takes place; and by virtue thereof, what fish any one catches in the ocean, that great and still remaining common of mankind; or what ambergrise any one takes up here, is by the labour that removes it out of that common state nature left it in, made his property, who takes that pains about it. And even amongst us, the hare that any one is hunting, is thought his who pursues her during the chase: for being a beast that is still looked upon as common, and no man’s private possession; whoever has employed so much labour about any of that kind, as to find and pursue her, has thereby removed her from the state of nature, wherein she was common, and hath begun a property.

§. 31.

It will perhaps be objected to this, that if gathering the acorns, or other fruits of the earth, &c. makes a right to them, then any one may ingross as much as he will. To which I answer, Not so. The same law of nature, that does by this means give us property, does also bound that property too. God has given us all things richly, 1 Tim. vi. 12. is the voice of reason confirmed by inspiration. But how far has he given it us? To enjoy. As much as any one can make use of to any advantage of life before it spoils, so much he may by his labour fix a property in: whatever is beyond this, is more than his share, and belongs to others. Nothing was made by God for man to spoil or destroy. And thus, considering the plenty of natural provisions there was a long time in the world, and the few spenders; and to how small a part of that provision the industry of one man could extend itself, and ingross it to the prejudice of others; especially keeping within the bounds, set by reason, of what might serve for his use; there could be then little room for quarrels or contentions about property so established.

§. 32.

But the chief matter of property being now not the fruits of the earth, and the beasts that subsist on it, but the earth itself; as that which takes in and carries with it all the rest; I think it is plain, that property in that too is acquired as the former. As much land as a man tills, plants, improves, cultivates, and can use the product of, so much is his property. He by his labour does, as it were, inclose it from the common. Nor will it invalidate his right, to say every body else has an equal title to it; and therefore he cannot appropriate, he cannot inclose, without the consent of all his fellow-commoners, all mankind. God, when he gave the world in common to all mankind, commanded man also to labour, and the penury of his condition required it of him. God and his reason commanded him to subdue the earth, i. e. improve it for the benefit of life, and therein lay out something upon it that was his own, his labour. He that in obedience to this command of God, subdued, tilled and sowed any part of it, thereby annexed to it something that was his property, which another had no title to, nor could without injury take from him.

§. 33.

Nor was this appropriation of any parcel of land, by improving it, any prejudice to any other man, since there was still enough, and as good left; and more than the yet unprovided could use. So that, in effect, there was never the less left for others because of his inclosure for himself: for he that leaves as much as another can make use of, does as good as take nothing at all. No body could think himself injured by the drinking of another man, though he took a good draught, who had a whole river of the same water left him to quench his thirst: and the case of land and water, where there is enough of both, is perfectly the same.

§. 34.

God gave the world to men in common; but since he gave it them for their benefit, and the greatest conveniencies of life they were capable to draw from it, it cannot be supposed he meant it should always remain common and uncultivated. He gave it to the use of the industrious and rational, (and labour was to be his title to it;) not to the fancy or covetousness of the quarrelsome and contentious. He that had as good left for his improvement, as was already taken up, needed not complain, ought not to meddle with what was already improved by another’s labour: if he did, it is plain he desired the benefit of another’s pains, which he had no right to, and not the ground which God had given him in common with others to labour on, and whereof there was as good left, as that already possessed, and more than he knew what to do with, or his industry could reach to.

§. 35.

It is true, in land that is common in England, or any other country, where there is plenty of people under government, who have money and commerce, no one can inclose or appropriate any part, without the consent of all his fellow-commoners; because this is left common by compact, i. e. by the law of the land, which is not to be violated. And though it be common, in respect of some men, it is not so to all mankind; but is the joint property of this country, or this parish. Besides, the remainder, after such inclosure, would not be as good to the rest of the commoners, as the whole was when they could all make use of the whole; whereas in the beginning and first peopling of the great common of the world, it was quite otherwise. The law man was under, was rather for appropriating. God commanded, and his wants forced him to labour. That was his property which could not be taken from him where-ever he had fixed it. And hence subduing or cultivating the earth, and having dominion, we see are joined together. The one gave title to the other. So that God, by commanding to subdue, gave authority so far to appropriate: and the condition of human life, which requires labour and materials to work on, necessarily introduces private possessions.

§. 36.

The measure of property nature has well set by the extent of men’s labour and the conveniencies of life: no man’s labour could subdue, or appropriate all; nor could his enjoyment consume more than a small part; so that it was impossible for any man, this way, to intrench upon the right of another, or acquire to himself a property, to the prejudice of his neighbour, who would still have room for as good, and as large a possession (after the other had taken out his) as before it was appropriated. This measure did confine every man’s possession to a very moderate proportion, and such as he might appropriate to himself, without injury to any body, in the first ages of the world, when men were more in danger to be lost, by wandering from their company, in the then vast wilderness of the earth, than to be straitened for want of room to plant in. And the same measure may be allowed still without prejudice to any body, as full as the world seems: for supposing a man, or family, in the state they were at first peopling of the world by the children of Adam, or Noah; let him plant in some in-land, vacant places of America, we shall find that the possessions he could make himself, upon the measures we have given, would not be very large, nor, even to this day, prejudice the rest of mankind, or give them reason to complain, or think themselves injured by this man’s incroachment, though the race of men have now spread themselves to all the corners of the world, and do infinitely exceed the small number was at the beginning. Nay, the extent of ground is of so little value, without labour, that I have heard it affirmed, that in Spain itself a man may be permitted to plough, sow and reap, without being disturbed, upon land he has no other title to, but only his making use of it. But, on the contrary, the inhabitants think themselves beholden to him, who, by his industry on neglected, and consequently waste land, has increased the stock of corn, which they wanted. But be this as it will, which I lay no stress on; this I dare boldly affirm, that the same rule of propriety, (viz.) that every man should have as much as he could make use of, would hold still in the world, without straitening any body; since there is land enough in the world to suffice double the inhabitants, had not the invention of money, and the tacit agreement of men to put a value on it, introduced (by consent) larger possessions, and a right to them; which, how it has done, I shall by and by shew more at large.

§. 37.

This is certain, that in the beginning, before the desire of having more than man needed had altered the intrinsic value of things, which depends only on their usefulness to the life of man; or had agreed, that a little piece of yellow metal, which would keep without wasting or decay, should be worth a great piece of flesh, or a whole heap of corn; though men had a right to appropriate, by their labour, each one to himself, as much of the things of nature, as he could use: yet this could not be much, nor to the prejudice of others, where the same plenty was still left to those who would use the same industry. To which let me add, that he who appropriates land to himself by his labour, does not lessen, but increase the common stock of mankind: for the provisions serving to the support of human life, produced by one acre of inclosed and cultivated land, are (to speak much within compass) ten times more than those which are yielded by an acre of land of an equal richness lying waste in common. And therefore he that incloses land, and has a greater plenty of the conveniencies of life from ten acres, than he could have from an hundred left to nature, may truly be said to give ninety acres to mankind: for his labour now supplies him with provisions out of ten acres, which were but the product of an hundred lying in common. I have here rated the improved land very low, in making its product but as ten to one, when it is much nearer an hundred to one: for I ask, whether in the wild woods and uncultivated waste of America, left to nature, without any improvement, tillage or husbandry, a thousand acres yield the needy and wretched inhabitants as many conveniencies of life, as ten acres of equally fertile land do in Devonshire, where they are well cultivated?

Before the appropriation of land, he who gathered as much of the wild fruit, killed, caught, or tamed, as many of the beasts, as he could; he that so imployed his pains about any of the spontaneous products of nature, as any way to alter them from the state which nature put them in, by placing any of his labour on them, did thereby acquire a propriety in them: but if they perished, in his possession, without their due use; if the fruits rotted, or the venison putrified, before he could spend it, he offended against the common law of nature, and was liable to be punished; he invaded his neighbour’s share, for he had no right, farther than his use called for any of them, and they might serve to afford him conveniencies of life.

§. 38.

The same measures governed the possession of land too: whatsoever he tilled and reaped, laid up and made use of, before it spoiled, that was his peculiar right; whatsoever he enclosed, and could feed, and make use of, the cattle and product was also his. But if either the grass of his inclosure rotted on the ground, or the fruit of his planting perished without gathering, and laying up, this part of the earth, notwithstanding his inclosure, was still to be looked on as waste, and might be the possession of any other. Thus, at the beginning, Cain might take as much ground as he could till, and make it his own land, and yet leave enough to Abel’s sheep to feed on; a few acres would serve for both their possessions. But as families increased, and industry inlarged their stocks, their possessions inlarged with the need of them; but yet it was commonly without any fixed property in the ground they made use of, till they incorporated, settled themselves together, and built cities; and then, by consent, they came in time, to set out the bounds of their distinct territories, and agree on limits between them and their neighbours; and by laws within themselves, settled the properties of those of the same society: for we see, that in that part of the world which was first inhabited, and therefore like to be best peopled, even as low down as Abraham’s time, they wandered with their flocks, and their herds, which was their substance, freely up and down; and this Abraham did, in a country where he was a stranger. Whence it is plain, that at least a great part of the land lay in common; that the inhabitants valued it not, nor claimed property in any more than they made use of. But when there was not room enough in the same place, for their herds to feed together, they by consent, as Abraham and Lot did, Gen. xiii. 5. separated and inlarged their pasture, where it best liked them. And for the same reason Esau went from his father, and his brother, and planted in mount Seir, Gen. xxxvi. 6.

§. 39.

And thus, without supposing any private dominion, and property in Adam, over all the world, exclusive of all other men, which can no way be proved, nor any one’s property be made out from it; but supposing the world given, as it was, to the children of men in common, we see how labour could make men distinct titles to several parcels of it, for their private uses; wherein there could be no doubt of right, no room for quarrel.

§. 40.

Nor is it so strange, as perhaps before consideration it may appear, that the property of labour should be able to over-balance the community of land: for it is labour indeed that puts the difference of value on every thing; and let any one consider what the difference is between an acre of land planted with tobacco or sugar, sown with wheat or barley, and an acre of the same land lying in common, without any husbandry upon it, and he will find, that the improvement of labour makes the far greater part of the value. I think it will be but a very modest computation to say, that of the products of the earth useful to the life of man nine tenths are the effects of labour: nay, if we will rightly estimate things as they come to our use, and cast up the several expences about them, what in them is purely owing to nature, and what to labour, we shall find, that in most of them ninety-nine hundredths are wholly to be put on the account of labour.

§. 41.

There cannot be a clearer demonstration of any thing, than several nations of the Americans are of this, who are rich in land, and poor in all the comforts of life; whom nature having furnished as liberally as any other people, with the materials of plenty, i. e. a fruitful soil, apt to produce in abundance, what might serve for food, raiment, and delight; yet for want of improving it by labour, have not one hundredth part of the conveniencies we enjoy: and a king of a large and fruitful territory there, feeds, lodges, and is clad worse than a day-labourer in England.

§. 42.

To make this a little clearer, let us but trace some of the ordinary provisions of life, through their several progresses, before they come to our use, and see how much they receive of their value from human industry. Bread, wine and cloth, are things of daily use, and great plenty; yet notwithstanding, acorns, water and leaves, or skins, must be our bread, drink and cloathing, did not labour furnish us with these more useful commodities: for whatever bread is more worth than acorns, wine than water, and cloth or silk, than leaves, skins or moss, that is wholly owing to labour and industry; the one of these being the food and raiment which unassisted nature furnishes us with; the other, provisions which our industry and pains prepare for us, which how much they exceed the other in value, when any one hath computed, he will then see how much labour makes the far greatest part of the value of things we enjoy in this world: and the ground which produces the materials, is scarce to be reckoned in, as any, or at most, but a very small part of it; so little, that even amongst us, land that is left wholly to nature, that hath no improvement of pasturage, tillage, or planting, is called, as indeed it is, waste; and we shall find the benefit of it amount to little more than nothing.

This shews how much numbers of men are to be preferred to largeness of dominions; and that the increase of lands, and the right employing of them, is the great art of government: and that prince, who shall be so wise and godlike, as by established laws of liberty to secure protection and encouragement to the honest industry of mankind, against the oppression of power and narrowness of party, will quickly be too hard for his neighbours: but this by the by. To return to the argument in hand,

§. 43.

An acre of land, that bears here twenty bushels of wheat, and another in America, which, with the same husbandry, would do the like, are, without doubt, of the same natural intrinsic value: but yet the benefit mankind receives from the one in a year, is worth 5 l. and from the other possibly not worth a penny, if all the profit an Indian received from it were to be valued, and sold here; at least, I may truly say, not one thousandth. It is labour then which puts the greatest part of value upon land, without which it would scarcely be worth any thing: it is to that we owe the greatest part of all its useful products; for all that the straw, bran, bread, of that acre of wheat, is more worth than the product of an acre of as good land, which lies waste, is all the effect of labour: for it is not barely the plough-man’s pains, the reaper’s and thresher’s toil, and the baker’s sweat, is to be counted into the bread we eat; the labour of those who broke the oxen, who digged and wrought the iron and stones, who felled and framed the timber employed about the plough, mill, oven, or any other utensils, which are a vast number, requisite to this corn, from its being seed to be sown to its being made bread, must all be charged on the account of labour, and received as an effect of that: nature and the earth furnished only the almost worthless materials, as in themselves. It would be a strange catalogue of things, that industry provided and made use of, about every loaf of bread, before it came to our use, if we could trace them; iron, wood, leather, bark, timber, stone, bricks, coals, lime, cloth, dying drugs, pitch, tar, masts, ropes, and all the materials made use of in the ship, that brought any of the commodities made use of by any of the workmen, to any part of the work; all which it would be almost impossible, at least too long, to reckon up.

§. 44.

From all which it is evident, that though the things of nature are given in common, yet man, by being master of himself, and proprietor of his own person, and the actions or labour of it, had still in himself the great foundation of property; and that, which made up the great part of what he applied to the support or comfort of his being, when invention and arts had improved the conveniencies of life, was perfectly his own, and did not belong in common to others.

§. 45.

Thus labour, in the beginning, gave a right of property, wherever any one was pleased to employ it upon what was common, which remained a long while the far greater part, and is yet more than mankind makes use of. Men, at first, for the most part, contented themselves with what unassisted nature offered to their necessities: and though afterwards, in some parts of the world, (where the increase of people and stock, with the use of money, had made land scarce, and so of some value) the several communities settled the bounds of their distinct territories, and by laws within themselves regulated the properties of the private men of their society, and so, by compact and agreement, settled the property which labour and industry began; and the leagues that have been made between several states and kingdoms, either expresly or tacitly disowning all claim and right to the land in the others possession, have, by common consent, given up their pretences to their natural common right, which originally they had to those countries, and so have, by positive agreement, settled a property amongst themselves, in distinct parts and parcels of the earth; yet there are still great tracts of ground to be found, which (the inhabitants thereof not having joined with the rest of mankind, in the consent of the use of their common money) lie waste, and are more than the people who dwell on it do, or can make use of, and so still lie in common; tho’ this can scarce happen amongst that part of mankind that have consented to the use of money.

§. 46.

The greatest part of things really useful to the life of man, and such as the necessity of subsisting made the first commoners of the world look after, as it doth the Americans now, are generally things of short duration; such as, if they are not consumed by use, will decay and perish of themselves: gold, silver and diamonds, are things that fancy or agreement hath put the value on, more than real use, and the necessary support of life. Now of those good things which nature hath provided in common, every one had a right (as hath been said) to as much as he could use, and property in all that he could effect with his labour; all that his industry could extend to, to alter from the state nature had put it in, was his. He that gathered a hundred bushels of acorns or apples, had thereby a property in them, they were his goods as soon as gathered. He was only to look, that he used them before they spoiled, else he took more than his share, and robbed others. And indeed it was a foolish thing, as well as dishonest, to hoard up more than he could make use of. If he gave away a part to any body else, so that it perished not uselesly in his possession, these he also made use of. And if he also bartered away plums, that would have rotted in a week, for nuts that would last good for his eating a whole year, he did no injury; he wasted not the common stock; destroyed no part of the portion of goods that belonged to others, so long as nothing perished uselesly in his hands. Again, if he would give his nuts for a piece of metal, pleased with its colour; or exchange his sheep for shells, or wool for a sparkling pebble or a diamond, and keep those by him all his life, he invaded not the right of others, he might heap up as much of these durable things as he pleased; the exceeding of the bounds of his just property not lying in the largeness of his possession, but the perishing of any thing uselesly in it.

§. 47.

And thus came in the use of money, some lasting thing that men might keep without spoiling, and that by mutual consent men would take in exchange for the truly useful, but perishable supports of life.

§. 48.

And as different degrees of industry were apt to give men possessions in different proportions, so this invention of money gave them the opportunity to continue and enlarge them: for supposing an island, separate from all possible commerce with the rest of the world, wherein there were but an hundred families, but there were sheep, horses and cows, with other useful animals, wholsome fruits, and land enough for corn for a hundred thousand times as many, but nothing in the island, either because of its commonness, or perishableness, fit to supply the place of money; what reason could any one have there to enlarge his possessions beyond the use of his family, and a plentiful supply to its consumption, either in what their own industry produced, or they could barter for like perishable, useful commodities, with others? Where there is not some thing, both lasting and scarce, and so valuable to be hoarded up, there men will be apt to enlarge their possessions of land, were it never so rich, never so free for them to take: for I ask, what would a man value ten thousand, or an hundred thousand acres of excellent land, ready cultivated, and well stocked too with cattle, in the middle of the inland parts of America, where he had no hopes of commerce with other parts of the world, to draw money to him by the sale of the product? It would not be worth the inclosing, and we should see him give up again to the wild common of nature, whatever was more than would supply the conveniencies of life to be had there for him and his family.

§. 49.

Thus in the beginning all the world was America, and more so than that is now; for no such thing as money was any where known. Find out something that hath the use and value of money amongst his neighbours, you shall see the same man will begin presently to enlarge his possessions.

§. 50.

But since gold and silver, being little useful to the life of man in proportion to food, raiment, and carriage, has its value only from the consent of men, whereof labour yet makes, in great part, the measure, it is plain, that men have agreed to a disproportionate and unequal possession of the earth, they having, by a tacit and voluntary consent, found out a way how a man may fairly possess more land than he himself can use the product of, by receiving in exchange for the overplus gold and silver, which may be hoarded up without injury to any one; these metals not spoiling or decaying in the hands of the possessor. This partage of things in an inequality of private possessions, men have made practicable out of the bounds of society, and without compact, only by putting a value on gold and silver, and tacitly agreeing in the use of money: for in governments, the laws regulate the right of property, and the possession of land is determined by positive constitutions.

§. 51.

And thus, I think, it is very easy to conceive, without any difficulty, how labour could at first begin a title of property in the common things of nature, and how the spending it upon our uses bounded it. So that there could then be no reason of quarrelling about title, nor any doubt about the largeness of possession it gave. Right and conveniency went together; for as a man had a right to all he could employ his labour upon, so he had no temptation to labour for more than he could make use of. This left no room for controversy about the title, nor for incroachment on the right of others; what portion a man carved to himself, was easily seen; and it was useless, as well as dishonest, to carve himself too much, or take more than he needed.

CHAPTER VI. OF PATERNAL POWER.

§. 52.

IT may perhaps be censured as an impertinent criticism, in a discourse of this nature, to find fault with words and names, that have obtained in the world: and yet possibly it may not be amiss to offer new ones, when the old are apt to lead men into mistakes, as this of paternal power probably has done, which seems so to place the power of parents over their children wholly in the father, as if the mother had no share in it; whereas, if we consult reason or revelation, we shall find, she hath an equal title. This may give one reason to ask, whether this might not be more properly called parental power? for whatever obligation nature and the right of generation lays on children, it must certainly bind them equal to both the concurrent causes of it. And accordingly we see the positive law of God every where joins them together, without distinction, when it commands the obedience of children, Honour thy father and thy mother, Exod. xx. 12. Whosoever curseth his father or his mother, Lev. xx. 9. Ye shall fear every man his mother and his father, Lev. xix. 3. Children, obey your parents, &c. Eph. vi. 1. is the stile of the Old and New Testament.

§. 53.

Had but this one thing been well considered, without looking any deeper into the matter, it might perhaps have kept men from running into those gross mistakes, they have made, about this power of parents; which, however it might, without any great harshness, bear the name of absolute dominion, and regal authority, when under the title of paternal power it seemed appropriated to the father, would yet have sounded but oddly, and in the very name shewn the absurdity, if this supposed absolute power over children had been called parental; and thereby have discovered, that it belonged to the mother too: for it will but very ill serve the turn of those men, who contend so much for the absolute power and authority of the fatherhood, as they call it, that the mother should have any share in it; and it would have but ill supported the monarchy they contend for, when by the very name it appeared, that that fundamental authority, from whence they would derive their government of a single person only, was not placed in one, but two persons jointly. But to let this of names pass.

§. 54.

Though I have said above, Chap. II. That all men by nature are equal, I cannot be supposed to understand all sorts of equality: age or virtue may give men a just precedency: excellency of parts and merit may place others above the common level: birth may subject some, and alliance or benefits others, to pay an observance to those to whom nature, gratitude, or other respects, may have made it due: and yet all this consists with the equality, which all men are in, in respect of jurisdiction or dominion one over another; which was the equality I there spoke of, as proper to the business in hand, being that equal right, that every man hath, to his natural freedom, without being subjected to the will or authority of any other man.

§. 55.

Children, I confess, are not born in this full state of equality, though they are born to it. Their parents have a sort of rule and jurisdiction over them, when they come into the world, and for some time after; but it is but a temporary one. The bonds of this subjection are like the swaddling clothes they art wrapt up in, and supported by, in the weakness of their infancy: age and reason as they grow up, loosen them, till at length they drop quite off, and leave a man at his own free disposal.

§. 56.

Adam was created a perfect man, his body and mind in full possession of their strength and reason, and so was capable, from the first instant of his being to provide for his own support and preservation, and govern his actions according to the dictates of the law of reason which God had implanted in him. From him the world is peopled with his descendants, who are all born infants, weak and helpless, without knowledge or understanding: but to supply the defects of this imperfect state, till the improvement of growth and age hath removed them, Adam and Eve, and after them all parents were, by the law of nature, under an obligation to preserve, nourish, and educate the children they had begotten; not as their own workmanship, but the workmanship of their own maker, the Almighty, to whom they were to be accountable for them.

§. 57.

The law, that was to govern Adam, was the same that was to govern all his posterity, the law of reason. But his offspring having another way of entrance into the world, different from him, by a natural birth, that produced them ignorant and without the use of reason, they were not presently under that law; for no body can be under a law, which is not promulgated to him; and this law being promulgated or made known by reason only, he that is not come to the use of his reason, cannot be said to be under this law; and Adam’s children, being not presently as soon as born under this law of reason, were not presently free: for law, in its true notion, is not so much the limitation as the direction of a free and intelligent agent to his proper interest, and prescribes no farther than is for the general good of those under that law: could they be happier without it, the law, as an useless thing, would of itself vanish; and that ill deserves the name of confinement which hedges us in only from bogs and precipices. So that, however it may be mistaken, the end of law is not to abolish or restrain, but to preserve and enlarge freedom: for in all the states of created beings capable of laws, where there is no law, there is no freedom: for liberty is, to be free from restraint and violence from others; which cannot be, where there is no law: but freedom is not, as we are told, a liberty for every man to do what he lists: (for who could be free, when every other man’s humour might domineer over him?) but a liberty to dispose, and order as he lists, his person, actions, possessions, and his whole property, within the allowance of those laws under which he is, and therein not to be subject to the arbitrary will of another, but freely follow his own.

§. 58.

The power, then, that parents have over their children, arises from that duty which is incumbent on them, to take care of their off-spring, during the imperfect state of childhood. To inform the mind, and govern the actions of their yet ignorant non-age, till reason shall take its place, and ease them of that trouble, is what the children want, and the parents are bound to: for God having given man an understanding to direct his actions, has allowed him a freedom of will, and liberty of acting, as properly belonging thereunto, within the bounds of that law he is under. But whilst he is in an estate, wherein he has not understanding of his own to direct his will, he is not to have any will of his own to follow: he that understands for him, must will for him too; he must prescribe to his will, and regulate his actions; but when he comes to the estate that made his father a freeman, the son is a freeman too.

§. 59.

This holds in all the laws a man is under, whether natural or civil. Is a man under the law of nature? What made him free of that law? what gave him a free disposing of his property, according to his own will, within the compass of that law? I answer, a state of maturity wherein he might be supposed capable to know that law, that so he might keep his actions within the bounds of it. When he has acquired that state, he is presumed to know how far that law is to be his guide, and how far he may make use of his freedom, and so comes to have it; till then, some body else must guide him, who is presumed to know how far the law allows a liberty. If such a state of reason, such an age of discretion made him free, the same shall make his son free too. Is a man under the law of England? What made him free of that law? that is, to have the liberty to dispose of his actions and possessions according to his own will, within the permission of that law? A capacity of knowing that law; which is supposed by that law, at the age of one and twenty years, and in some cases sooner. If this made the father free, it shall make the son free too. Till then we see the law allows the son to have no will, but he is to be guided by the will of his father or guardian, who is to understand for him. And if the father die, and fail to substitute a deputy in his trust; if he hath not provided a tutor, to govern his son, during his minority, during his want of understanding, the law takes care to do it; some other must govern him, and be a will to him, till he hath attained to a state of freedom, and his understanding be fit to take the government of his will. But after that, the father and son are equally free as much as tutor and pupil after nonage; equally subjects of the same law together, without any dominion left in the father over the life, liberty, or estate of his son, whether they be only in the state and under the law of nature, or under the positive laws of an established government.

§. 60.

But if, through defects that may happen out of the ordinary course of nature, any one comes not to such a degree of reason, wherein he might be supposed capable of knowing the law, and so living within the rules of it, he is never capable of being a free man, he is never let loose to the disposure of his own will (because he knows no bounds to it, has not understanding, its proper guide) but is continued under the tuition and government of others, all the time his own understanding is uncapable of that charge. And so lunatics and ideots are never set free from the government of their parents; children, who are not as yet come unto those years whereat they may have; and innocents which are excluded by a natural defect from ever having; thirdly, madmen, which for the present cannot possibly have the use of right reason to guide themselves, have for their guide, the reason that guideth other men which are tutors over them, to seek and procure their good for them, says Hooker, Eccl. Pol. lib. i. sect. 7. All which seems no more than that duty, which God and nature has laid on man, as well as other creatures, to preserve their offspring, till they can be able to shift for themselves, and will scarce amount to an instance or proof of parents regal authority.

§. 61.

Thus we are born free, as we are born rational; not that we have actually the exercise of either: age, that brings one, brings with it the other too. And thus we see how natural freedom and subjection to parents may consist together, and are both founded on the same principle. A child is free by his father’s title, by his father’s understanding, which is to govern him till he hath it of his own. The freedom of a man at years of discretion, and the subjection of a child to his parents, whilst yet short of that age, are so consistent, and so distinguishable, that the most blinded contenders for monarchy, by right of fatherhood, cannot miss this difference; the most obstinate cannot but allow their consistency: for were their doctrine all true, were the right heir of Adam now known, and by that title settled a monarch in his throne, invested with all the absolute unlimited power Sir Robert Filmer talks of; if he should die as soon as his heir were born, must not the child, notwithstanding he were never so free, never so much sovereign, be in subjection to his mother and nurse, to tutors and governors, till age and education brought him reason and ability to govern himself and others? The necessities of his life, the health of his body, and the information of his mind, would require him to be directed by the will of others, and not his own; and yet will any one think, that this restraint and subjection were inconsistent with, or spoiled him of that liberty or sovereignty he had a right to, or gave away his empire to those who had the government of his nonage? This government over him only prepared him the better and sooner for it. If any body should ask me, when my son is of age to be free? I shall answer, just when his monarch is of age to govern. But at what time, says the judicious Hooker, Eccl. Pol. l. i. sect. 6. a man may be said to have attained so far forth the use of reason, as sufficeth to make him capable of those laws whereby he is then bound to guide his actions: this is a great deal more easy for sense to discern, than for any one by skill and learning to determine.

§. 62.

Common-wealths themselves take notice of, and allow, that there is a time when men are to begin to act like free men, and therefore till that time require not oaths of fealty, or allegiance, or other public owning of, or submission to the government of their countries.

§. 63.

The freedom then of man, and liberty of acting according to his own will, is grounded on his having reason, which is able to instruct him in that law he is to govern himself by, and make him know how far he is left to the freedom of his own will. To turn him loose to an unrestrained liberty, before he has reason to guide him, is not the allowing him the privilege of his nature to be free; but to thrust him out amongst brutes, and abandon him to a state as wretched, and as much beneath that of a man, as their’s. This is that which puts the authority into the parents hands to govern the minority of their children. God hath made it their business to employ this care on their off-spring, and hath placed in them suitable inclinations of tenderness and concern to temper this power, to apply it, as his wisdom designed it, to the children’s good, as long as they should need to be under it.

§. 64.

But what reason can hence advance this care of the parents due to their off-spring into an absolute arbitrary dominion of the father, whose power reaches no farther, than by such a discipline, as he finds most effectual, to give such strength and health to their bodies, such vigour and rectitude to their minds, as may best fit his children to be most useful to themselves and others; and, if it be necessary to his condition, to make them work, when they are able, for their own subsistence. But in this power the mother too has her share with the father.

§. 65.

Nay, this power so little belongs to the father by any peculiar right of nature, but only as he is guardian of his children, that when he quits his care of them, he loses his power over them, which goes along with their nourishment and education, to which it is inseparably annexed; and it belongs as much to the foster-father of an exposed child, as to the natural father of another. So little power does the bare act of begetting give a man over his issue; if all his care ends there, and this be all the title he hath to the name and authority of a father. And what will become of this paternal power in that part of the world, where one woman hath more than one husband at a time? or in those parts of America, where, when the husband and wife part, which happens frequently, the children are all left to the mother, follow her, and are wholly under her care and provision? If the father die whilst the children are young, do they not naturally every where owe the same obedience to their mother, during their minority, as to their father were he alive? and will any one say, that the mother hath a legislative power over her children? that she can make standing rules, which shall be of perpetual obligation, by which they ought to regulate all the concerns of their property, and bound their liberty all the course of their lives? or can she inforce the observation of them with capital punishments? for this is the proper power of the magistrate, of which the father hath not so much as the shadow. His command over his children is but temporary, and reaches not their life or property: it is but a help to the weakness and imperfection of their nonage, a discipline necessary to their education: and though a father may dispose of his own possessions as he pleases, when his children are out of danger of perishing for want, yet his power extends not to the lives or goods, which either their own industry, or another’s bounty has made their’s; nor to their liberty neither, when they are once arrived to the infranchisement of the years of discretion. The father’s empire then ceases, and he can from thence forwards no more dispose of the liberty of his son, than that of any other man: and it must be far from an absolute or perpetual jurisdiction, from which a man may withdraw himself, having licence from divine authority to leave father and mother, and cleave to his wife.

§. 66.

But though there be a time when a child comes to be as free from subjection to the will and command of his father, as the father himself is free from subjection to the will of any body else, and they are each under no other restraint, but that which is common to them both, whether it be the law of nature, or municipal law of their country; yet this freedom exempts not a son from that honour which he ought, by the law of God and nature, to pay his parents. God having made the parents instruments in his great design of continuing the race of mankind, and the occasions of life to their children; as he hath laid on them an obligation to nourish, preserve, and bring up their offspring; so he has laid on the children a perpetual obligation of honouring their parents, which containing in it an inward esteem and reverence to be shewn by all outward expressions, ties up the child from any thing that may ever injure or affront, disturb or endanger, the happiness or life of those from whom he received his; and engages him in all actions of defence, relief, assistance and comfort of those, by whose means he entered into being, and has been made capable of any enjoyments of life: from this obligation no state, no freedom can absolve children. But this is very far from giving parents a power of command over their children, or an authority to make laws and disposs as they please of their lives or liberties. It is one thing to owe honour, respect, gratitude and assistance; another to require an absolute obedience and submission. The honour due to parents, a monarch in his throne owes his mother; and yet this lessens not his authority, nor subjects him to her government.

§. 67.

The subjection of a minor places in the father a temporary government, which terminates with the minority of the child: and the honour due from a child, places in the parents a perpetual right to respect, reverence, support and compliance too, more or less, as the father’s care, cost, and kindness in his education, has been more or less. This ends not with minority, but holds in all parts and conditions of a man’s life. The want of distinguishing these two powers, viz. that which the father hath in the right of tuition, during minority, and the right of honour all his life, may perhaps have caused a great part of the mistakes about this matter: for to speak properly of them, the first of these is rather the privilege of children, and duty of parents, than any prerogative of paternal power. The nourishment and education of their children is a charge so incumbent on parents for their children’s good, that nothing can absolve them from taking care of it: and though the power of commanding and chastising them go along with it, yet God hath woven into the principles of human nature such a tenderness for their off-spring, that there is little fear that parents should use their power with too much rigour; the excess is seldom on the severe side, the strong byass of nature drawing the other way. And therefore God almighty when he would express his gentle dealing with the Israelites, he tells them, that though he chastened them, he chastened them as a man chastens his son, Deut. viii. 5. i. e. with tenderness and affection, and kept them under no severer discipline than what was absolutely best for them, and had been less kindness to have slackened. This is that power to which children are commanded obedience, that the pains and care of their parents may not be increased, or ill rewarded.

§. 68.

On the other side, honour and support, all that which gratitude requires to return for the benefits received by and from them, is the indispensible duty of the child, and the proper privilege of the parents. This is intended for the parents advantage, as the other is for the child’s; though education, the parents duty, seems to have most power, because the ignorance and infirmities of childhood stand in need of restraint and correction; which is a visible exercise of rule, and a kind of dominion. And that duty which is comprehended in the word honour, requires less obedience, though the obligation be stronger on grown, than younger children: for who can think the command, Children obey your parents, requires in a man, that has children of his own, the same submission to his father, as it does in his yet young children to him; and that by this precept he were bound to obey all his father’s commands, if, out of a conceit of authority, he should have the indiscretion to treat him still as a boy?

§. 69.

The first part then of paternal power, or rather duty, which is education, belongs so to the father, that it terminates at a certain season; when the business of education is over, it ceases of itself, and is also alienable before: for a man may put the tuition of his son in other hands; and he that has made his son an apprentice to another, has discharged him, during that time, of a great part of his obedience both to himself and to his mother. But all the duty of honour, the other part, remains never the less entire to them; nothing can cancel that: it is so inseparable from them both, that the father’s authority cannot dispossess the mother of this right, nor can any man discharge his son from honouring her that bore him. But both these are very far from a power to make laws, and inforcing them with penalties, that may reach estate, liberty, limbs and life. The power of commanding ends with nonage; and though, after that, honour and respect, support and defence, and whatsoever gratitude can oblige a man to, for the highest benefits he is naturally capable of, be always due from a son to his parents; yet all this puts no scepter into the father’s hand, no sovereign power of commanding. He has no dominion over his son’s property, or actions; nor any right, that his will should prescribe to his son’s in all things; however it may become his son in many things, not very inconvenient to him and his family, to pay a deference to it.

§. 70.

A man may owe honour and respect to an ancient, or wise man; desence to his child or friend; relief and support to the distressed; and gratitude to a benefactor, to such a degree, that all he has, all he can do, cannot sufficiently pay it: but all these give no authority, no right to any one, of making laws over him from whom they are owing. And it is plain, all this is due not only to the bare title of father; not only because, as has been said, it is owing to the mother too; but because these obligations to parents, and the degrees of what is required of children, may be varied by the different care and kindness, trouble and expence, which is often employed upon one child more than another.

§. 71.

This shews the reason how it comes to pass, that parents in societies, where they themselves are subjects, retain a power over their children, and have as much right to their subjection, as those who are in the state of nature. Which could not possibly be, if all political power were only paternal, and that in truth they were one and the same thing: for then, all paternal power being in the prince, the subject could naturally have none of it. But these two powers, political and paternal, are so perfectly distinct and separate; are built upon so different foundations, and given to so different ends, that every subject that is a father, has as much a paternal power over his children, as the prince has over his: and every prince, that has parents, owes them as much filial duty and obedience, as the meanest of his subjects do to their’s; and can therefore contain not any part or degree of that kind of dominion, which a prince or magistrate has over his subject.

§. 72.

Though the obligation on the parents to bring up their children, and the obligation on children to honour their parents, contain all the power on the one hand, and submission on the other, which are proper to this relation, yet there is another power ordinarily in the father, whereby he has a tie on the obedience of his children; which tho’ it be common to him with other men, yet the occasions of shewing it, almost constantly happening to fathers in their private families, and the instances of it elsewhere being rare, and less taken notice of, it passes in the world for a part of paternal jurisdiction. And this is the power men generally have to bestow their estates on those who please them best; the possession of the father being the expectation and inheritance of the children, ordinarily in certain proportions, according to the law and custom of each country; yet it is commonly in the father’s power to bestow it with a more sparing or liberal hand, according as the behaviour of this or that child hath comported with his will and humour.

§. 73.

This is no small tie on the obedience of children: and there being always annexed to the enjoyment of land, a submission to the government of the country, of which that land is a part; it has been commonly supposed, that a father could oblige his posterity to that government, of which he himself was a subject, and that his compact held them; whereas, it being only a necessary condition annexed to the land, and the inheritance of an estate which is under that government, reaches only those who will take it on that condition, and so is no natural tie or engagement, but a voluntary submission: for every man’s children being by nature as free as himself, or any of his ancestors ever were, may, whilst they are in that freedom, choose what society they will join themselves to, what common-wealth they will put themselves under. But if they will enjoy the inheritance of their ancestors, they must take it on the same terms their ancestors had it, and submit to all the conditions annexed to such a possession. By this power indeed fathers oblige their children to obedience to themselves, even when they are past minority, and most commonly too subject them to this or that political power: but neither of these by any peculiar right of fatherhood, but by the reward they have in their hands to inforce and recompence such a compliance; and is no more power than what a French man has over an English man, who by the hopes of an estate he will leave him, will certainly have a strong tie on his obedience: and if, when it is left him, he will enjoy it, he must certainly take it upon the conditions annexed to the possession of land in that country where it lies, whether it be France or England.

§. 74.

To conclude then, tho’ the father’s power of commanding extends no farther than the minority of his children, and to a degree only fit for the discipline and government of that age; and tho’ that honour and respect, and all that which the Latins called piety, which they indispensibly owe to their parents all their life-time, and in all estates, with all that support and defence is due to them, gives the father no power of governing, i. e. making laws and enacting penalties on his children; though by all this he has no dominion over the property or actions of his son: yet it is obvious to conceive how easy it was, in the first ages of the world, and in places still, where the thinness of people gives families leave to separate into unpossessed quarters, and they have room to remove or plant themselves in yet vacant habitations, for the father of the family to become the prince of it; he had been a ruler from the beginning of the infancy of his children: and since without some government it would be hard for them to live together, it was likeliest it should, by the express or tacit consent of the children when they were grown up, be in the father, where it seemed without any change barely to continue; when indeed nothing more was required to it, than the permitting the father to exercise alone, in his family, that executive power of the law of nature, which every free man naturally hath, and by that permission resigning up to him a monarchical power, whilst they remained in it. But that this was not by any paternal right, but only by the consent of his children, is evident from hence, that no body doubts, but if a stranger, whom chance or business had brought to his family, had there killed any of his children, or committed any other fact, he might condemn and put him to death, or otherwise have punished him, as well as any of his children; which it was impossible he should do by virtue of any paternal authority over one who was not his child, but by virtue of that executive power of the law of nature, which, as a man, he had a right to: and he alone could punish him in his family, where the respect of his children had laid by the exercise of such a power, to give way to the dignity and authority they were willing should remain in him, above the rest of his family.

§. 75.

Thus it was easy, and almost natural for children, by a tacit, and scarce avoidable consent, to make way for the father’s authority and government. They had been accustomed in their childhood to follow his direction, and to refer their little differences to him; and when they were men, who fitter to rule them? Their little properties, and less covetousness, seldom afforded greater controversies; and when any should arise, where could they have a fitter umpire than he, by whose care they had every one been sustained and brought up, and who had a tenderness for them all? It is no wonder that they made no distinction betwixt minority and full age; nor looked after one and twenty, or any other age that might make them the free disposers of themselves and fortunes, when they could have no desire to be out of their pupilage: the government they had been under, during it, continued still to be more their protection than restraint; and they could no where find a greater security to their peace, liberties, and fortunes, than in the rule of a father.

§. 76.

Thus the natural fathers of families, by an insensible change, became the politic monarchs of them too: and as they chanced to live long, and leave able and worthy heirs, for several successions, or otherwise; so they laid the foundations of hereditary, or elective kingdoms, under several constitutions and mannors, according as chance, contrivance, or occasions happened to mould them. But if princes have their titles in their fathers right, and it be a sufficient proof of the natural right of fathers to political authority, because they commonly were those in whose hands we find, de facto, the exercise of government: I say, if this argument be good, it will as strongly prove, that all princes, nay princes only, ought to be priests, since it is as certain, that in the beginning, the father of the family was priest, as that he was ruler n his own houshold.

CHAPTER VII. OF POLITICAL OR CIVIL SOCIETY.

§. 77.

GOD having made man such a creature, that in his own judgment, it was not good for him to be alone, put him under strong obligations of necessity, convenience, and inclination to drive him into society, as well as fitted him with understanding and language to continue and enjoy it. The first society was between man and wife, which gave beginning to that between parents and children; to which, in time, that between master and servant came to be added: and though all these might, and commonly did meet together, and make up but one family, wherein the master or mistress of it had some sort of rule proper to a family; each of these, or all together, came short of political society, as we shall see, if we consider the different ends, ties, and bounds of each of these.

§. 78.

Conjugal society is made by a voluntary compact between man and woman; and tho’ it consist chiefly in such a communion and right in one another’s bodies as is necessary to its chief end, procreation; yet it draws with it mutual support and assistance, and a communion of interests too, as necessary not only to unite their care and affection, but also necessary to their common off-spring, who have a right to be nourished, and maintained by them, till they are able to provide for themselves.

§. 79.

For the end of conjunction, between male and female, being not barely procreation, but the continuation of the species; this conjunction betwixt male and female ought to last, even after procreation, so long as is necessary to the nourishment and support of the young ones, who are to be sustained by those that got them, till they are able to shift and provide for themselves. This rule, which the infinite wise maker hath set to the works of his hands, we find the inferior creatures steadily obey. In those viviparous animals which feed on grass, the conjunction between male and female lasts no longer than the very act of copulation; because the teat of the dam being sufficient to nourish the young, till it be able to feed on grass, the male only begets, but concerns not himself for the female or young, to whose sustenance he can contribute nothing. But in beasts of prey the conjunction lasts longer: because the dam not being able well to subsist herself, and nourish her numerous off-spring by her own prey alone, a more laborious, as well as more dangerous way of living, than by feeding on grass, the assistance of the male is necessary to the maintenance of their common family, which cannot subsist till they are able to prey for themselves, but by the joint care of male and female. The same is to be observed in all birds, (except some domestic ones, where plenty of food excuses the cock from feeding, and taking care of the young brood) whose young needing food in the nest, the cock and hen continue mates, till the young are able to use their wing, and provide for themselves.

§. 80.

And herein I think lies the chief, if not the only reason, why the male and female in mankind are tied to a longer conjunction than other creatures, viz. because the female is capable of conceiving, and de facto is commonly with child again, and brings forth too a new birth, long before the former is out of a dependency for support on his parents help, and able to shift for himself, and has all the assistance is due to him from his parents: whereby the father, who is bound to take care for those he hath begot, is under an obligation to continue in conjugal society with the same woman longer than other creatures, whose young being able to subsist of themselves, before the time of procreation returns again, the conjugal bond dissolves of itself, and they are at liberty, till Hymen at his usual anniversary season summons them again to chuse new mates. Wherein one cannot but admire the wisdom of the great Creator, who having given to man foresight, and an ability to lay up for the future, as well as to supply the present necessity, hath made it necessary, that society of man and wife should be more lasting, than of male and female amongst other creatures; that so their industry might be encouraged, and their interest better united, to make provision and lay up goods for their common issue, which uncertain mixture, or easy and frequent solutions of conjugal society would mightily disturb.

§. 81.

But tho’ these are ties upon mankind, which make the conjugal bonds more firm and lasting in man, than the other species of animals; yet it would give one reason to enquire, why this compact, where procreation and education are secured, and inheritance taken care for, may not be made determinable, either by consent, or at a certain time, or upon certain conditions, as well as any other voluntary compacts, there being no necessity in the nature of the thing, nor to the ends of it, that it should always be for life; I mean, to such as are under no restraint of any positive law, which ordains all such contracts to be perpetual.

§. 82.

But the husband and wife, though they have but one common concern, yet having different understandings, will unavoidably sometimes have different wills too; it therefore being necessary that the last determination, i. e. the rule, should be placed somewhere; it naturally falls to the man’s share, as the abler and the stronger. But this reaching but to the things of their common interest and property, leaves the wife in the full and free possession of what by contract is her peculiar right, and gives the husband no more power over her life than she has over his; the power of the husband being so far from that of an absolute monarch, that the wife has in many cases a liberty to separate from him, where natural right, or their contract allows it; whether that contract be made by themselves in the state of nature, or by the customs or laws of the country they live in; and the children upon such separation fall to the father or mother’s lot, as such contract does determine.

§. 83.

For all the ends of marriage being to be obtained under politic government, as well as in the state of nature, the civil magistrate doth not abridge the right or power of either naturally necessary to those ends, viz. procreation and mutual support and assistance whilst they are together; but only decides any controversy that may arise between man and wife about them. If it were otherwise, and that absolute sovereignty and power of life and death naturally belonged to the husband, and were necessary to the society between man and wife, there could be no matrimony in any of those countries where the husband is allowed no such absolute authority. But the ends of matrimony requiring no such power in the husband, the condition of conjugal society put it not in him, it being not at all necessary to that state. Conjugal society could subsist and attain its ends without it; nay, community of goods, and the power over them, mutual assistance and maintenance, and other things belonging to conjugal society, might be varied and regulated by that contract which unites man and wife in that society, as far as may consist with procreation and the bringing up of children till they could shift for themselves; nothing being necessary to any society, that is not necessary to the ends for which it is made.

§. 84.

The society betwixt parents and children, and the distinct rights and powers belonging respectively to them, I have treated of so largely, in the foregoing chapter, that I shall not here need to say any thing of it. And I think it is plain, that it is far different from a politic society.

§. 85.

Master and servant are names as old as history, but given to those of far different condition; for a freeman makes himself a servant to another, by selling him, for a certain time, the service he undertakes to do, in exchange for wages he is to receive: and though this commonly puts him into the family of his master, and under the ordinary discipline thereof; yet it gives the master but a temporary power over him, and no greater than what is contained in the contract between them. But there is another sort of servants, which by a peculiar name we call slaves, who being captives taken in a just war, are by the right of nature subjected to the absolute dominion and arbitrary power of their masters. These men having, as I say, forfeited their lives, and with it their liberties, and lost their estates; and being in the state of slavery, not capable of any property, cannot in that state be considered as any part of civil society; the chief end whereof is the preservation of property.

§. 86.

Let us therefore consider a master of a family with all these subordinate relations of wife, children, servants, and slaves, united under the domestic rule of a family; which, what resemblance soever it may have in its order, offices, and number too, with a little common-wealth, yet is very far from it, both in its constitution, power and end: or if it must be thought a monarchy, and the paterfamilias the absolute monarch in it, absolute monarchy will have but a very shattered and short power, when it is plain, by what has been said before, that the master of the family has a very distinct and differently limited power, both as to time and extent, over those several persons that are in it; for excepting the slave (and the family is as much a family, and his power as paterfamilias as great, whether there be any slaves in his family or no) he has no legislative power of life and death over any of them, and none too but what a mistress of a family may have as well as he. And he certainly can have no absolute power over the whole family, who has but a very limited one over every individual in it. But how a family, or any other society of men, differ from that which is properly political society, we shall best see, by considering wherein political society itself consists.

§. 87.

Man being born, as has been proved, with a title to perfect freedom, and an uncontrouled enjoyment of all the rights and privileges of the law of nature, equally with any other man, or number of men in the world, hath by nature a power, not only to preserve his property, that is, his life, liberty and estate, against the injuries and attempts of other men; but to judge of, and punish the breaches of that law in others, as he is persuaded the offence deserves, even with death itself, in crimes where the heinousness of the fact, in his opinion, requires it. But because no political society can be, nor subsist, without having in itself the power to preserve the property, and in order thereunto, punish the offences of all those of that society; there, and there only is political society, where every one of the members hath quitted this natural power, resigned it up into the hands of the community in all cases that exclude him not from appealing for protection to the law established by it. And thus all private judgment of every particular member being excluded, the community comes to be umpire, by settled standing rules, indifferent, and the same to all parties; and by men having authority from the community, for the execution of those rules, decides all the differences that may happen between any members of that society concerning any matter of right; and punishes those offences which any member hath committed against the society, with such penalties as the law has established: whereby it is easy to discern, who are, and who are not, in political society together. Those who are united into one body, and have a common established law and judicature to appeal to, with authority to decide controversies between them, and punish offenders, are in civil society one with another: but those who have no such common people, I mean on earth, are still in the state of nature, each being, where there is no other, judge for himself, and executioner; which is, as I have before shewed it, the perfect state of nature.

§. 88.

And thus the common-wealth comes by a power to set down what punishment shall belong to the several transgressions which they think worthy of it, committed amongst the members of that society, (which is the power of making laws) as well as it has the power to punish any injury done unto any of its members, by any one that is not of it, (which is the power of war and peace;) and all this for the preservation of the property of all the members of that society, as far as is possible. But though every man who has entered into civil society, and is become a member of any common-wealth, has thereby quitted his power to punish offences, against the law of nature, in prosecution of his own private judgment, yet with the judgment of offences, which he has given up to the legislative in all cases, where he can appeal to the magistrate, he has given a right to the common-wealth to employ his force, for the execution of the judgments of the common-wealth, whenever he shall be called to it; which indeed are his own judgments, they being made by himself, or his representative. And herein we have the original of the legislative and executive power of civil society, which is to judge by standing laws, how far offences are to be punished, when committed within the common-wealth; and also to determine, by occasional judgments founded on the present circumstances of the fact, how far injuries from without are to be vindicated; and in both these to employ all the force of all the members, when there shall be need.

§. 89.

Where-ever therefore any number of men are so united into one society, as to quit every one his executive power of the law of nature, and to resign it to the public, there and there only is a political, or civil society. And this is done, where-ever any number of men, in the state of nature, enter into society to make one people, one body politic, under one supreme government; or else when any one joins himself to, and incorporates with any government already made: for hereby he authorizes the society, or which is all one, the legislative thereof, to make laws for him, as the public good of the society shall require; to the execution whereof, his own assistance (as to his own decrees) is due. And this puts men out of a state of nature into that of a common-wealth, by setting up a judge on earth, with authority to determine all the controversies, and redress the injuries that may happen to any member of the common-wealth; which judge is the legislative, or magistrates appointed by it. And where-ever there are any number of men, however associated, that have no such decisive power to appeal to, there they are still in the state of nature.

§. 90.

Hence it is evident, that absolute monarchy, which by some men is counted the only government in the world, is indeed inconsistent with civil society, and so can be no form of civil-government at all: for the end of civil society, being to avoid, and remedy those inconveniencies of the state of nature, which necessarily follow from every man’s being judge in his own case, by setting up a known authority, to which every one of that society may appeal upon any injury received, or controversy that may arise, and which every one of the society ought to obey; where-ever any persons are, who have not such an authority to appeal to, for the decision of any difference between them, there those persons are still in the state of nature; and so is every absolute prince, in respect of those who are under his dominion.

§. 91.

For he being supposed to have all, both legislative and executive power in himself alone, there is no judge to be found, no appeal lies open to any one, who may fairly, and indifferently, and with authority decide, and from whose decision relief and redress may be expected of any injury or inconviency, that may be suffered from the prince, or by his order: so that such a man, however intitled, Czar, or Grand Seignior, or how you please, is as much in the state of nature, with all under his dominion, as he is with the rest of mankind: for where-ever any two men are, who have no standing rule, and common judge to appeal to on earth, for the determination of controversies of right betwixt them, there they are still in the state of nature, and under all the inconveniencies of it, with only this woful difference to the subject, or rather slave of an absolute prince: that whereas, in the ordinary state of nature, he has a liberty to judge of his right, and according to the best of his power, to maintain it; now, whenever his property is invaded by the will and order of his monarch, he has not only no appeal, as those in society ought to have, but as if he were degraded from the common state of rational creatures, is denied a liberty to judge of, or to defend his right; and so is exposed to all the misery and inconveniencies, that a man can fear from one, who being in the unrestrained state of nature, is yet corrupted with flattery, and armed with power.

§. 92.

For he that thinks absolute power purifies men’s blood, and corrects the baseness of human nature, need read but the history of this, or any other age, to be convinced of the contrary. He that would have been insolent and injurious in the woods of America, would not probably be much better in a throne; where perhaps learning and religion shall be found out to justify all that he shall do to his subjects, and the sword presently silence all those that dare question it: for what the protection of absolute monarchy is, what kind of fathers of their countries it makes princes to be, and to what a degree of happiness and security it carries civil society, where this sort of government is grown to perfection, he that will look into the late relation of Ceylon, may easily see.

§. 93.

In absolute monarchies indeed, as well as other governments of the world, the subjects have an appeal to the law, and judges to decide any controversies, and restrain any violence that may happen betwixt the subjects themselves, one amongst another. This every one thinks necessary, and believes he deserves to be thought a declared enemy to society and mankind, who should go about to take it away. But whether this be from a true love of mankind and society, and such a charity as we owe all one to another, there is reason to doubt: for this is no more than what every man, who loves his own power, profit, or greatness, may and naturally must do, keep those animals from hurting, or destroying one another, who labour and drudge only for his pleasure and advantage; and so are taken care of, not out of any love the master has for them, but love of himself, and the profit they bring him: for if it be asked, what security, what fence is there, in such a state, against the violence and oppression of this absolute ruler? the very question can scarce be borne. They are ready to tell you, that it deserves death only to ask after safety. Betwixt subject and subject, they will grant, there must be measures, laws and judges, for their mutual peace and security: but as for the ruler, he ought to be absolute, and is above all such circumstances; because he has power to do more hurt and wrong, it is right when he does it. To ask how you may be guarded from harm, or injury, on that side where the strongest hand is to do it, is presently the voice of faction and rebellion: as if when men quitting the state of nature entered into society, they agreed that all of them but one, should be under the restraint of laws, but that he should still retain all the liberty of the state of nature, increased with power, and made licentious by impunity. This is to think, that men are so foolish, that they take care to avoid what mischiefs may be done them by pole-cats, or foxes; but are content, nay, think it safety, to be devoured by lions.

§. 94.

But whatever flatterers may talk to amuse people’s understandings, it hinders not men from feeling; and when they perceive, that any man, in what station soever, is out of the bounds of the civil society which they are of, and that they have no appeal on earth against any harm, they may receive from him, they are apt to think themselves in the state of nature, in respect of him whom they find to be so; and to take care, as soon as they can, to have that safety and security in civil society, for which it was first instituted, and for which only they entered into it. And therefore, though perhaps at first, (as shall be shewed more at large hereafter in the following part of this discourse) some one good and excellent man having got a pre-eminency amongst the rest, had this deference paid to his goodness and virtue, as to a kind of natural authority, that the chief rule, with arbitration of their differences, by a tacit consent devolved into his hands, without any other caution, but the assurance they had of his uprightness and wisdom; yet when time, giving authority, and (as some men would persuade us) sacredness of customs, which the negligent, and unforeseeing innocence of the first ages began, had brought in successors of another stamp, the people finding their properties not secure under the government, as then it was, (whereas government has no other end but the preservation of property) could never be safe nor at rest, nor think themselves in civil society, till the legislature was placed in collective bodies of men, call them senate, parliament, or what you please. By which means every single person became subject, equally with other the meanest men, to those laws, which he himself, as part of the legislative, had established; nor could any one, by his own authority, avoid the force of the law, when once made; nor by any pretence of superiority plead exemption, thereby to license his own, or the miscarriages of any of his dependents. No man in civil society can be exempted from the laws of it: for if any man may do what he thinks fit, and there be no appeal on earth, for redress or security against any harm he shall do; I ask, whether he be not perfectly still in the state of nature, and so can be no part or member of that civil society; unless any one will say, the state of nature and civil society are one and the same thing, which I have never yet found any one so great a patron of anarchy as to affirm.

CHAPTER VIII. OF THE BEGINNING OF POLITICAL SOCIETIES.

§. 95.

MEN being, as has been said, by nature, all free, equal, and independent, no one can be put out of this estate, and subjected to the political power of another, without his own consent. The only way whereby any one divests himself of his natural liberty, and puts on the bonds of civil society, is by agreeing with other men to join and unite into a community, for their comfortable, safe, and peaceable living one amongst another, in a secure enjoyment of their properties, and a greater security against any, that are not of it. This any number of men may do, because it injures not the freedom of the rest; they are left as they were in the liberty of the state of nature. When any number of men have so consented to make one community or government, they are thereby presently incorporated, and make one body politic, wherein the majority have a right to act and conclude the rest.

§. 96.

For when any number of men have, by the consent of every individual, made a community, they have thereby made that community one body, with a power to act as one body, which is only by the will and determination of the majority: for that which acts any community, being only the consent of the individuals of it, and it being necessary to that which is one body to move one way; it is necessary the body should move that way whither the greater force carries it, which is the consent of the majority: or else it is impossible it should act or continue one body, one community, which the consent of every individual that united into it, agreed that it should; and so every one is bound by that consent to be concluded by the majority. And therefore we see, that in assemblies, impowered to act by positive laws, where no number is set by that positive law which impowers them, the act of the majority passes for the act of the whole, and of course determines, as having, by the law of nature and reason, the power of the whole.

§. 97.

And thus every man, by consenting with others to make one body politic under one government, puts himself under an obligation, to every one of that society, to submit to the determination of the majority, and to be concluded by it; or else this original compact, whereby he with others incorporates into one society, would signify nothing, and be no compact, if he be left free, and under no other ties than he was in before in the state of nature. For what appearance would there be of any compact? what new engagement if he were no farther tied by any decrees of the society, than he himself thought fit, and did actually consent to? This would be still as great a liberty, as he himself had before his compact, or any one else in the state of nature hath, who may submit himself, and consent to any acts of it if he thinks fit.

§. 98.

For if the consent of the majority shall not, in reason, be received as the act of the whole, and conclude every individual; nothing but the consent of every individual can make any thing to be the act of the whole: but such a consent is next to impossible ever to be had, if we consider the infirmities of health, and avocations of business, which in a number, though much less than that of a common-wealth, will necessarily keep many away from the public assembly. To which if we add the variety of opinions, and contrariety of interests, which unavoidably happen in all collections of men, the coming into society upon such terms would be only like Cato’s coming into the theatre, only to go out again. Such a constitution as this would make the mighty Leviathan of a shorter duration, than the feeblest creatures, and not let it outlast the day it was born in: which cannot be supposed, till we can think, that rational creatures should desire and constitute societies only to be dissolved: for where the majority cannot conclude the rest, there they cannot act as one body, and consequently will be immediately dissolved again.

§. 99.

Whosoever therefore out of a state of nature unite into a community, must be understood to give up all the power, necessary to the ends for which they unite into society, to the majority of the community, unless they expresly agreed in any number greater than the majority. And this is done by barely agreeing to unite into one political society, which is all the compact that is, or needs be, between the individuals, that enter into, or make up a common-wealth. And thus that, which begins and actually constitutes any political society, is nothing but the consent of any number of freemen capable of a majority to unite and incorporate into such a society. And this is that, and that only, which did, or could give beginning to any lawful government in the world.

§. 100.

To this I find two objections made.

First, That there are no instances to be found in story, of a company of men independent, and equal one amongst another, that met together, and in this way began and set up a government.

Secondly, It is impossible of right, that men should do so, because all men being born under government, they are to submit to that, and are not at liberty to begin a new one.

§. 101.

To the first there is this to answer, That it is not at all to be wondered, that history gives us but a very little account of men, that lived together in the state of nature. The inconveniences of that condition, and the love and want of society, no sooner brought any number of them together, but they presently united and incorporated, if they designed to continue together. And if we may not suppose men ever to have been in the state of nature, because we hear not much of them in such a state, we may as well suppose the armies of Salmanasser or Xerxes were never children, because we hear little of them, till they were men, and imbodied in armies. Government is every where antecedent to records, and letters seldom come in amongst a people till a long continuation of civil society has, by other more necessary arts, provided for their safety, ease, and plenty: and then they begin to look after the history of their founders, and search into their original, when they have outlived the memory of it: for it is with common-wealths as with particular persons, they are commonly ignorant of their own births and infancies: and if they know any thing of their original, they are beholden for it, to the accidental records that others have kept of it. And those that we have, of the beginning of any polities in the world, excepting that of the Jews, where God himself immediately interposed, and which favours not at all paternal dominion, are all either plain instances of such a beginning as I have mentioned, or at least have manifest footsteps of it.

§. 102.

He must shew a strange inclination to deny evident matter of fact, when it agrees not with his hypothesis, who will not allow, that the beginning of Rome and Venice were by the uniting together of several men free and independent one of another, amongst whom there was no natural superiority or subjection. And if Josephus Acosta’s word may be taken, he tells us, that in many parts of America there was no government at all. There are great and apparent conjectures, says he, that these men, speaking of those of Peru, for a long time had neither kings nor common-wealths, but lived in troops, as they do this day in Florida, the Cheriquanas, those of Brasil, and many other nations, which have no certain kings, but as occasion is offered, in peace or war, they choose their captains as they please, l. i. c. 25. If it be said, that every man there was born subject to his father, or the head of his family; that the subjection due from a child to a father took not away his freedom of uniting into what political society he thought fit, has been already proved. But be that as it will, these men, it is evident, were actually free; and whatever superiority some politicians now would place in any of them, they themselves claimed it not, but by consent were all equal, till by the same consent they set rulers over themselves. So that their politic societies all began from a voluntary union, and the mutual agreement of men freely acting in the choice of their governors, and forms of government.

§. 103.

And I hope those who went away from Sparta with Palantus, mentioned by Justin, l. iii. c. 4. will be allowed to have been freemen independent one of another, and to have set up a government over themselves, by their own consent. Thus I have given several examples, out of history, of people free and in the state of nature, that being met together incorporated and began a common-wealth. And if the want of such instances be an argument to prove that government were not, nor could not be so begun, I suppose the contenders for paternal empire were better let it alone, than urge it against natural liberty: for if they can give so many instances, out of history, of governments begun upon paternal right, I think (though at best an argument from what has been, to what should of right be, has no great force) one might, without any great danger, yield them the cause. But if I might advise them in the case, they would do well not to search too much into the original of governments, as they have begun de facto, lest they should find, at the foundation of most of them, something very little favourable to the design they promote, and such a power as they contend for.

§. 104.

But to conclude, reason being plain on our side, that men are naturally free, and the examples of history shewing, that the governments of the world, that were begun in peace, had their beginning laid on that foundation, and were made by the consent of the people; there can be little room for doubt, either where the right is, or what has been the opinion, or practice of mankind, about the first erecting of governments.

§. 105.

I will not deny, that if we look back as far as history will direct us, towards the original of common-wealths, we shall generally find them under the government and administration of one man. And I am also apt to believe, that where a family was numerous enough to subsist by itself, and continued entire together, without mixing with others, as it often happens, where there is much land, and few people, the government commonly began in the father: for the father having, by the law of nature, the same power with every man else to punish, as he thought fit, any offences against that law, might thereby punish his transgressing children, even when they were men, and out of their pupilage; and they were very likely to submit to his punishment, and all join with him against the offender, in their turns, giving him thereby power to execute his sentence against any transgression, and so in effect make him the law-maker, and governor over all that remained in conjunction with his family. He was fittest to be trusted; paternal affection secured their property and interest under his care; and the custom of obeying him, in their childhood, made it easier to submit to him, rather than to any other. If therefore they must have one to rule them, as government is hardly to be avoided amongst men that live together; who so likely to be the man as he that was their common father; unless negligence, cruelty, or any other defect of mind or body made him unfit for it? But when either the father died, and left his next heir, for want of age, wisdom, courage, or any other qualities, less fit for rule; or where several families met, and consented to continue together; there, it is not to be doubted, but they used their natural freedom, to set up him, whom they judged the ablest, and most likely, to rule well over them. Conformable hereunto we find the people of America, who (living out of the reach of the conquering swords, and spreading domination of the two great empires of Peru and Mexico) enjoyed their own natural freedom, though, cæteris paribus, they commonly prefer the heir of their deceased king; yet if they find him any way weak, or uncapable, they pass him by, and set up the stoutest and bravest man for their ruler.

§. 106.

Thus, though looking back as far as records give us any account of peopling the world, and the history of nations, we commonly find the government to be in one hand; yet it destroys not that which I affirm, viz. that the beginning of politic society depends upon the consent of the individuals, to join into, and make one society; who, when they are thus incorporated, might set up what form of government they thought fit. But this having given occasion to men to mistake, and think, that by nature government was monarchical, and belonged to the father, it may not be amiss here to consider, why people in the beginning generally pitched upon this form, which though perhaps the father’s pre-eminency might, in the first institution of some common-wealths, give a rise to, and place in the beginning, the power in one hand; yet it is plain that the reason, that continued the form of government in a single person, was not any regard, or respect to paternal authority; since all petty monarchies, that is, almost all monarchies, near their original, have been commonly, at least upon occasion, elective.

§. 107.

First then, in the beginning of things, the father’s government of the childhood of those sprung from him, having accustomed them to the rule of one man, and taught them that where it was exercised with care and skill, with affection and love to those under it, it was sufficient to procure and preserve to men all the political happiness they sought for in society. It was no wonder that they should pitch upon, and naturally run into that form of government, which from their infancy they had been all accustomed to; and which, by experience, they had found both easy and safe. To which, if we add, that monarchy being simple, and most obvious to men, whom neither experience had instructed in forms of government, nor the ambition or insolence of empire had taught to beware of the encroachments of prerogative, or the inconveniencies of absolute power, which monarchy in succession was apt to lay claim to, and bring upon them; it was not at all strange, that they should not much trouble themselves to think of methods of restraining any exorbitances of those to whom they had given the authority over them, and of balancing the power of government, by placing several parts of it in different hands. They had neither felt the oppression of tyrannical dominion, nor did the fashion of the age, nor their possessions, or way of living, (which afforded little matter for covetousness or ambition) give them any reason to apprehend or provide against it; and therefore it is no wonder they put themselves into such a frame of government, as was not only, as I said, most obvious and simple, but also best suited to their present state and condition; which stood more in need of defence against foreign invasions and injuries, than of multiplicity of laws. The equality of a simple poor way of living, confining their desires within the narrow bounds of each man’s small property, made few controversies, and so no need of many laws to decide them, or variety of officers to superintend the process, or look after the execution of justice, where there were but few trespasses, and few offenders. Since then those, who liked one another so well as to join into society, cannot but be supposed to have some acquaintance and friendship together, and some trust one in another; they could not but have greater apprehensions of others, than of one another: and therefore their first care and thought cannot but be supposed to be, how to secure themselves against foreign force. It was natural for them to put themselves under a frame of government which might best serve to that end, and chuse the wisest and bravest man to conduct them in their wars, and lead them out against their enemies, and in this chiefly be their ruler.

§. 108.

Thus we see, that the kings of the Indians in America, which is still a pattern of the first ages in Asia and Europe, whilst the inhabitants were too few for the country, and want of people and money gave men no temptation to enlarge their possessions of land, or contest for wider extent of ground, are little more than generals of their armies; and though they command absolutely in war, yet at home and in time of peace they exercise very little dominion, and have but a very moderate sovereignty, the resolutions of peace and war being ordinarily either in the people, or in a council. Tho’ the war itself, which admits not of plurality of governors, naturally devolves the command into the king’s sole authority.

§. 109.

And thus in Israel itself, the chief business of their judges, and first kings, seems to have been to be captains in war, and leaders of their armies; which (besides what is signified by going out and in before the people, which was, to march forth to war, and home again in the heads of their forces) appears plainly in the story of Jephtha. The Ammonites making war upon Israel, the Gileadites in fear send to Jephtha, a bastard of their family whom they had cast off, and article with him, if he will assist them against the Ammonites, to make him their ruler; which they do in these words, And the people made him head and captain over them, Judg. xi. 11. which was, as it seems, all one as to be judge. And he judged Israel, Judg. xii. 7. that is, was their captain-general six years. So when Jotham upbraids the Shechemites with the obligation they had to Gideon, who had been their judge and ruler, he tells them, He fought for you, and adventured his life far, and delivered you out of the hands of Midian, Judg. ix. 17. Nothing mentioned of him, but what he did as a general: and indeed that is all is found in his history, or in any of the rest of the judges. And Abimelech particularly is called king, though at most he was but their general. And when, being weary of the ill conduct of Samuel’s sons, the children of Israel desired a king, like all the nations to judge them, and to go out before them, and to fight their battles, 1 Sam. viii. 20. God granting their desire, says to Samuel, I will send thee a man, and thou shalt anoint him to be captain over my people Israel, that he may save my people out of the hands of the Philistines, ix. 16. As if the only business of a king had been to lead out their armies, and fight in their defence; and accordingly at his inauguration pouring a vial of oil upon him, declares to Saul, that the Lord had anointed him to be captain over his inheritance, x. 1. And therefore those, who after Saul’s being solemnly chosen and saluted king by the tribes at Mispah, were unwilling to have him their king, made no other objection but this, How shall this man save us? v. 27. as if they should have said, this man is unfit to be our king, not having skill and conduct enough in war, to be able to defend us. And when God resolved to transfer the government to David, it is in these words, But now thy kingdom shall not continue: the Lord hath sought him a man after his own heart, and the Lord hath commanded him to be captain over his people, xiii. 14. As if the whole kingly authority were nothing else but to be their general: and therefore the tribes who had stuck to Saul’s family, and opposed David’s reign, when they came to Hebron with terms of submission to him, they tell him, amongst other arguments they had to submit to him as to their king, that he was in effect their king in Saul’s time, and therefore they had no reason but to receive him as their king now. Also (say they) in time past, when Saul was king over us, thou wast he that leddest out and broughtest in Israel, and the Lord said unto thee, Thou shalt feed my people Israel, and thou shalt be a captain over Israel.

§. 110.

Thus, whether a family by degrees grew up into a common-wealth, and the fatherly authority being continued on to the elder son, every one in his turn growing up under it, tacitly submitted to it, and the easiness and equality of it not offending any one, every one acquiesced, till time seemed to have confirmed it, and settled a right of succession by prescription: or whether several families, or the descendants of several families, whom chance, neighbourhood, or business brought together, uniting into society, the need of a general, whose conduct might defend them against their enemies in war, and the great confidence the innocence and sincerity of that poor but virtuous age, (such as are almost all those which begin governments, that ever come to last in the world) gave men one of another, made the first beginners of common-wealths generally put the rule into one man’s hand, without any other express limitation or restraint, but what the nature of the thing, and the end of government required: which ever of those it was that at first put the rule into the hands of a single person, certain it is no body was intrusted with it but for the public good and safety, and to those ends, in the infancies of common-wealths, those who had it commonly used it. And unless they had done so, young societies could not have subsisted; without such nursing fathers tender and careful of the public weal, all governments would have sunk under the weakness and infirmities of their infancy, and the prince and the people had soon perished together.

§. 111.

But though the golden age (before vain ambition, and amor sceleratus habendi, evil concupiscence, had corrupted men’s minds into a mistake of true power and honour) had more virtue, and consequently better governors, as well as less vicious subjects; and there was then no stretching prerogative on the one side, to oppress the people; nor consequently on the other, any dispute about privilege, to lessen or restrain the power of the magistrate, and so no contest betwixt rulers and people about governors or government: yet, when ambition and luxury in future ages would retain and increase the power, without doing the business for which it was given; and aided by slattery, taught princes to have distinct and separate interests from their people, men found it necessary to examine more carefully the original and rights of government; and to find out ways to restrain the exorbitances, and prevent the abuses of that power, which they having intrusted in another’s hands only for their own good, they found was made use of to hurt them.

§. 112.

Thus we may see how probable it is, that people that were naturally free, and by their own consent either submitted to the government of their father, or united together out of different families to make a government, should generally put the rule into one man’s hands, and chuse to be under the conduct of a single person, without so much as by express conditions limiting or regulating his power, which they thought safe enough in his honesty and prudence; though they never dreamed of monarchy being Jure Divino, which we never heard of among mankind, till it was revealed to us by the divinity of this last age; nor ever allowed paternal power to have a right to dominion, or to be the foundation of all government. And thus much may suffice to shew, that as far as we have any light from history, we have reason to conclude, that all peaceful beginnings of government have been laid in the consent of the people. I say peaceful, because I shall have occasion in another place to speak of conquest, which some esteem a way of beginning of governments.

The other objection I find urged against the beginning of polities, in the way I have mentioned, is this, viz.

§. 113.

That all men being born under government, some or other, it is impossible any of them should ever be free, and at liberty to unite together, and begin a new one, or ever be able to erect a lawful government.

If this argument be good; I ask, how came so many lawful monarchies into the world? for if any body, upon this supposition, can shew me any one man in any age of the world free to begin a lawful monarchy, I will be bound to shew him ten other free men at liberty, at the same time to unite and begin a new government under a regal, or any other form; it being demonstration, that if any one, born under the dominion of another, may be so free as to have a right to command others in a new and distinct empire, every one that is born under the dominion of another may be so free too, and may become a ruler, or subject, of a distinct separate government. And so by this their own principle, either all men, however born, are free, or else there is but one lawful prince, one lawful government in the world. And then they have nothing to do, but barely to shew us which that is; which when they have done, I doubt not but all mankind will easily agree to pay obedience to him.

§. 114.

Though it be a sufficient answer to their objection, to shew that it involves them in the same difficulties that it doth those they use it against; yet I shall endeavour to discover the weakness of this argument a little farther.

All men, say they, are born under government, and therefore they cannot be at liberty to begin a new one. Every one is born a subject to his father, or his prince, and is therefore under the perpetual tie of subjection and allegiance. It is plain mankind never owned nor considered any such natural subjection that they were born in, to one or to the other that tied them, without their own consents, to a subjection to them and their heirs.

§. 115.

For there are no examples so frequent in history, both sacred and profane, as those of men withdrawing themselves, and their obedience, from the jurisdiction they were born under, and the family or community they were bred up in, and setting up new governments in other places; from whence sprang all that number of petty commonwealths in the beginning of ages, and which always multiplied, as long as there was room enough, till the stronger, or more fortunate, swallowed the weaker; and those great ones again breaking to pieces, dissolved into lesser dominions. All which are so many testimonies against paternal sovereignty, and plainly prove, that it was not the natural right of the father descending to his heirs, that made governments in the beginning, since it was impossible, upon that ground, there should have been so many little kingdoms; all must have been but only one universal monarchy, if men had not been at liberty to separate themselves from their families, and the government, be it what it will, that was set up in it, and go and make distinct common-wealths and other governments, as they thought fit.

§. 116.

This has been the practice of the world from its first beginning to this day; nor is it now any more hindrance to the freedom of mankind, that they are born under constituted and ancient polities, that have established laws, and set forms of government, than if they were born in the woods, amongst the unconfined inhabitants, that run loose in them: for those, who would persuade us, that by being born under any government, we are naturally subjects to it, and have no more any title or pretence to the freedom of the state of nature, have no other reason (bating that of paternal power, which we have already answered) to produce for it, but only, because our fathers or progenitors passed away their natural liberty, and thereby bound up themselves and their posterity to a perpetual subjection to the government, which they themselves submitted to. It is true, that whatever engagements or promises any one has made for himself, he is under the obligation of them, but cannot, by any compact whatsoever, bind his children or posterity: for his son, when a man, being altogether as free as the father, any act of the father can no more give away the liberty of the son, than it can of any body else: he may indeed annex such conditions to the land, he enjoyed as a subject of any common-wealth, as may oblige his son to be of that community, if he will enjoy those possessions which were his father’s; because that estate being his father’s property, he may dispose, or settle it, as he pleases.

§. 117.

And this has generally given the occasion to mistake in this matter; because common-wealths not permitting any part of their dominions to be dismembered, nor to be enjoyed by any but those of their community, the son cannot ordinarily enjoy the possessions of his father, but under the same terms his father did, by becoming a member of the society; whereby he puts himself presently under the government he finds there established, as much as any other subject of that common-wealth. And thus the consent of freemen, born under government, which only makes them members of it, being given separately in their turns, as each comes to be of age, and not in a multitude together; people take no notice of it, and thinking it not done at all, or not necessary, conclude they are naturally subjects as they are men.

§. 118.

But, it is plain, governments themselves understand it otherwise; they claim no power over the son, because of that they had over the father; nor look on children as being their subjects, by their fathers being so. If a subject of England have a child, by an English woman in France, whose subject is he? Not the king of England’s; for he must have leave to be admitted to the privileges of it: nor the king of France’s; for how then has his father a liberty to bring him away, and breed him as he pleases? and who ever was judged as a traytor or deserter, if he left, or warred against a country, for being barely born in it of parents that were aliens there? It is plain then, by the practice of governments themselves, as well as by the law of right reason, that a child is born a subject of no country or government. He is under his father’s tuition and authority, till he comes to age of discretion; and then he is a freeman, at liberty what government he will put himself under, what body politic he will unite himself to: for if an Englishman’s son, born in France, be at liberty, and may do so, it is evident there is no tie upon him by his father’s being a subject of this kingdom; nor is he bound up by any compact of his ancestors. And why then hath not his son, by the same reason, the same liberty, though he be born any where else? Since the power that a father hath naturally over his children, is the same, where-ever they be born, and the ties of natural obligations, are not bounded by the positive limits of kingdoms and common-wealths.

§. 119.

Every man being, as has been shewed, naturally free, and nothing being able to put him into subjection to any earthly power, but only his own consent; it is to be considered, what shall be understood to be a sufficient declaration of a man’s consent, to make him subject to the laws of any government. There is a common distinction of an express and a tacit consent, which will concern our present case. No body doubts but an express consent, of any man entering into any society, makes him a perfect member of that society, a subject of that government. The difficulty is, what ought to be looked upon as a tacit consent, and how far it binds, i. e. how far any one shall be looked on to have consented, and thereby submitted to any government, where he has made no expressions of it at all. And to this I say, that every man, that hath any possessions, or enjoyment, of any part of the dominions of any government, doth thereby give his tacit consent, and is as far forth obliged to obedience to the laws of that government, during such enjoyment, as any one under it; whether this his possession be of land, to him and his heirs for ever, or a lodging only for a week; or whether it be barely travelling freely on the highway; and in effect, it reaches as far as the very being of any one within the territories of that government.

§. 120.

To understand this the better, it is fit to consider, that every man, when he at first incorporates himself into any common-wealth, he, by his uniting himself thereunto, annexed also, and submits to the community, those possessions, which he has, or shall acquire, that do not already belong to any other government: for it would be a direct contradiction, for any one to enter into society with others for the securing and regulating of property; and yet to suppose his land, whose property is to be regulated by the laws of the society, should be exempt from the jurisdiction of that government, to which he himself, the proprietor of the land, is a subject. By the same act therefore, whereby any one unites his person, which was before free, to any common-wealth; by the same he unites his possessions, which were before free, to it also; and they become, both of them, person and possession, subject to the government and dominion of that common-wealth, as long as it hath a being. Whoever therefore, from thenceforth, by inheritance, purchase, permission, or otherways, enjoys any part of the land, so annexed to, and under the government of that common-wealth, must take it with the condition it is under; that is, of submitting to the government of the common-wealth, under whose jurisdiction it is, as far forth as any subject of it.

§. 121.

But since the government has a direct jurisdiction only over the land, and reaches the possessor of it, (before he has actually incorporated himself in the society) only as he dwells upon, and enjoys that; the obligation any one is under, by virtue of such enjoyment, to submit to the government, begins and ends with the enjoyment; so that whenever the owner, who has given nothing but such a tacit consent to the government, will, by donation, sale, or otherwise, quit the said possession, he is at liberty to go and incorporate himself into any other common-wealth; or to agree with others to begin a new one, in vacuis locis, in any part of the world, they can find free and unpossessed: whereas he, that has once, by actual agreement, and any express declaration, given his consent to be of any common-wealth, is, perpetually and indispensibly obliged to be, and remain unalterably a subject to it, and can never be again in the liberty of the state of nature; unless, by any calamity, the government he was under comes to be dissolved; or else by some public act cuts him off from being any longer a member of it.

§. 122.

But submitting to the laws of any country, living quietly, and enjoying privileges and protection under them, makes not a man a member of that society: this is only a local protection and homage due to and from all those, who, not being in a state of war, come within the territories belonging to any government, to all parts whereof the force of its laws extends. But this no more makes a man a member of that society, a perpetual subject of that common-wealth, than it would make a man a subject to another, in whose family he found it convenient to abide for some time; though, whilst he continued in it, he were obliged to comply with the laws, and submit to the government he found there. And thus we see, that foreigners, by living all their lives under another government, and enjoying the privileges and protection of it, though they are bound, even in conscience, to submit to its administration, as far forth as any denison; yet do not thereby come to be subjects or members of that common-wealth. Nothing can make any man so, but his actually entering into it by positive engagement, and express promise and compact. This is that, which I think, concerning the beginning of political societies, and that consent which makes any one a member of any common-wealth.

CHAPTER IX. OF THE ENDS OF POLITICAL SOCIETY AND GOVERNMENT.

§. 123.

IF man in the state of nature be so free, as has been said; if he be absolute lord of his own person and possessions, equal to the greatest, and subject to no body, why will he part with his freedom? why will he give up this empire, and subject himself to the dominion and controul of any other power? To which it is obvious to answer, that though in the state of nature he hath such a right, yet the enjoyment of it is very uncertain, and constantly exposed to the invasion of others: for all being kings as much as he, every man his equal, and the greater part no strict observers of equity and justice, the enjoyment of the property he has in this state is very unsafe, very unsecure. This makes him willing to quit a condition, which, however free, is full of fears and continual dangers: and it is not without reason, that he seeks out, and is willing to join in society with others, who are already united, or have a mind to unite, for the mutual preservation of their lives, liberties and estates, which I call by the general name, property.

§. 124.

The great and chief end, therefore, of men’s uniting into common-wealths, and putting themselves under government, is the preservation of their property. To which in the state of nature there are many things wanting.

First, There wants an established, settled, known law, received and allowed by common consent to be the standard of right and wrong, and the common measure to decide all controversies between them: for though the law of nature be plain and intelligible to all rational creatures; yet men being biassed by their interest, as well as ignorant for want of study of it, are not apt to allow of it as a law binding to them in the application of it to their particular cases.

§. 125.

Secondly, In the state of nature there wants a known and indifferent judge, with authority to determine all differences according to the established law: for every one in that state being both judge and executioner of the law of nature, men being partial to themselves, passion and revenge is very apt to carry them too far, and with too much heat, in their own cases; as well as negligence, and unconcernedness, to make them too remiss in other men’s.

§. 126.

Thirdly, In the state of nature there often wants power to back and support the sentence when right, and to give it due execution. They who by any injustice offended, will seldom fail, where they are able, by force to make good their injustice; such resistance many times makes the punishment dangerous, and frequently destructive, to those who attempt it.

§. 127.

Thus mankind, notwithstanding all the privileges of the state of nature, being but in an ill condition, while they remain in it, are quickly driven into society. Hence it comes to pass, that we seldom find any number of men live any time together in this state. The inconveniencies that they are therein exposed to, by the irregular and uncertain exercise of the power every man has of punishing the transgressions of others, make them take sanctuary under the established laws of government, and therein seek the preservation of their property. It is this makes them so willingly give up every one his single power of punishing, to be exercised by such alone, as shall be appointed to it amongst them; and by such rules as the community, or those authorized by them to that purpose, shall agree on. And in this we have the original right and rise of both the legislative and executive power, as well as of the governments and societies themselves.

§. 128.

For in the state of nature, to omit the liberty he has of innocent delights, a man has two powers.

The first is to do whatsoever he thinks fit for the preservation of himself, and others within the permission of the law of nature: by which law, common to them all, he and all the rest of mankind are one community, make up one society, distinct from all other creatures. And were it not for the corruption and vitiousness of degenerate men, there would be no need of any other; no necessity that men should separate from this great and natural community, and by positive agreements combine into smaller and divided associations.

The other power a man has in the state of nature, is the power to punish the crimes committed against that law. Both these he gives up, when he joins in a private, if I may so call it, or particular politic society, and incorporates into any common-wealth, separate from the rest of mankind.

§. 129.

The first power, viz. of doing whatsoever be thought for the preservation of himself, and the rest of mankind, he gives up to be regulated by laws made by the society, so far forth as the preservation of himself, and the rest of that society shall require; which laws of the society in many things confine the liberty he had by the law of nature.

§. 130.

Secondly, The power of punishing he wholly gives up, and engages his natural force, (which he might before employ in the execution of the law of nature, by his own single authority, as he thought fit) to assist the executive power of the society, as the law thereof shall require: for being now in a new state, wherein he is to enjoy many conveniencies, from the labour, assistance, and society of others in the same community, as well as protection from its whole strength; he is to part also with as much of his natural liberty, in providing for himself, as the good, prosperity, and safety of the society shall require; which is not only necessary, but just, since the other members of the society do the like.

§. 131.

But though men, when they enter into society, give up the equality, liberty, and executive power they had in the state of nature, into the hands of the society, to be so far disposed of by the legislative, as the good of the society shall require; yet it being only with an intention in every one the better to preserve himself, his liberty and property; (for no rational creature can be supposed to change his condition with an intention to be worse) the power of the society, or legislative constituted by them, can never be supposed to extend farther, than the common good; but is obliged to secure every one’s property, by providing against those three defects above mentioned, that made the state of nature so unsafe and uneasy. And so whoever has the legislative or supreme power of any common-wealth, is bound to govern by established standing laws, promulgated and known to the people, and not by extemporary decrees; by indifferent and upright judges, who are to decide controversies by those laws; and to employ the force of the community at home, only in the execution of such laws, or abroad to prevent or redress foreign injuries, and secure the community from inroads and invasion. And all this to be directed to no other end, but the peace, safety, and public good of the people.

CHAPTER X. OF THE FORMS OF A COMMON-WEALTH.

§. 132.

THE majority having, as has been shewed, upon men’s first uniting into society, the whole power of the community naturally in them, may employ all that power in making laws for the community from time to time, and executing those laws by officers of their own appointing; and then the form of the government is a perfect democracy: or else may put the power of making laws into the hands of a few select men, and their heirs or successors; and then it is an oligarchy: or else into the hands of one man, and then it is a monarchy: if to him and his heirs, it is an hereditary monarchy: if to him only for life, but upon his death the power only of nominating a successor to return to them; an elective monarchy. And so accordingly of these the community may make compounded and mixed forms of government, as they think good. And if the legislative power be at first given by the majority to one or more persons only for their lives, or any limited time, and then the supreme power to revert to them again; when it is so reverted, the community may dispose of it again anew into what hands they please, and so constitute a new form of government: for the form of government depending upon the placing the supreme power, which is the legislative, it being impossible to conceive that an inferior power should prescribe to a superior, or any but the supreme make laws, according as the power of making laws is placed, such is the form of the common-wealth.

§. 133.

By common-wealth, I must be understood all along to mean, not a democracy, or any form of government, but any independent community, which the Latines signified by the word civitas, to which the word which best answers in our language, is common-wealth, and most properly expresses such a society of men, which community or city in English does not; for there may be subordinate communities in a government; and city amongst us has a quite different notion from common-wealth: and therefore, to avoid ambiguity, I crave leave to use the word common-wealth in that sense, in which I find it used by king James the first; and I take it to be its genuine signification; which if any body dislike, I consent with him to change it for a better.

CHAPTER XI. OF THE EXTENT OF THE LEGISLATIVE POWER.

§. 134.

THE great end of men’s entering into society, being the enjoyment of their properties in peace and safety, and the great instrument and means of that being the laws established in that society; the first and fundamental positive law of all common-wealths is the establishing of the legislative power; as the first and fundamental natural law, which is to govern even the legislative itself, is the preservation of the society, and (as far as will consist with the public good) of every person in it. This legislative is not only the supreme power of the common-wealth, but sacred and unalterable in the hands where the community have once placed it; nor can any edict of any body else, in what form soever conceived, or by what power soever backed, have the force and obligation of a law, which has not its sanction from that legislative which the public has chosen and appointed: for without this the law could not have that, which is absolutely necessary to its being a law, the consent of the society, over whom no body can have a power to make laws, but by their own consent, and by authority received from them; and therefore all the obedience, which by the most solemn ties any one can be obliged to pay, ultimately terminates in this supreme power, and is directed by those laws which it enacts: nor can any oaths to any foreign power whatsoever, or any domestic subordinate power, discharge any member of the society from his obedience to the legislative, acting pursuant to their trust; nor oblige him to any obedience contrary to the laws so enacted, or farther than they do allow; it being ridiculous to imagine one can be tied ultimately to obey any power in the society, which is not the supreme.

§. 135.

Though the legislative, whether placed in one or more, whether it be always in being, or only by intervals, though it be the supreme power in every common-wealth; yet,

First, It is not, nor can possibly be absolutely arbitrary over the lives and fortunes of the people: for it being but the joint power of every member of the society given up to that person, or assembly, which is legislator; it can be no more than those persons had in a state of nature before they entered into society, and gave up to the community: for no body can transfer to another more power than he has in himself; and no body has an absolute arbitrary power over himself, or over any other, to destroy his own life, or take away the life or property of another. A man, as has been proved, cannot subject himself to the arbitrary power of another; and having in the state of nature no arbitrary power over the life, liberty, or possession of another, but only so much as the law of nature gave him for the preservation of himself, and the rest of mankind; this is all he doth, or can give up to the common-wealth, and by it to the legislative power, so that the legislative can have no more than this. Their power, in the utmost bounds of it, is limited to the public good of the society. It is a power, that hath no other end but preservation, and therefore can never have a right to destroy, enslave, or designedly to impoverish the subjects. The obligations of the law of nature cease not in society, but only in many cases are drawn closer, and have by human laws known penalties annexed to them, to inforce their observation. Thus the law of nature stands as an eternal rule to all men, legislators as well as others. The rules that they make for other men’s actions, must, as well as their own and other men’s actions, be conformable to the law of nature, i. e. to the will of God, of which that is a declaration, and the fundamental law of nature being the preservation of mankind, no human sanction can be good, or valid against it.

§. 136.

Secondly, The legislative, or supreme authority, cannot assume to its self a power to rule by extemporary arbitrary decrees, but is bound to dispense justice, and decide the rights of the subject by promulgated standing laws, and known authorized judges: for the law of nature being unwritten, and so no where to be found but in the minds of men, they who through passion or interest shall miscite, or misapply it, cannot so easily be convinced of their mistake where there is no established judge: and so it serves not, as it ought, to determine the rights, and fence the properties of those that live under it, especially where every one is judge, interpreter, and executioner of it too, and that in his own case: and he that has right on his side, having ordinarily but his own single strength, hath not force enough to defend himself from injuries, or to punish delinquents. To avoid these inconveniencies, which disorder men’s properties in the state of nature, men unite into societies, that they may have the united strength of the whole society to secure and defend their properties, and may have standing rules to bound it, by which every one may know what is his. To this end it is that men give up all their natural power to the society which they enter into, and the community put the legislative power into such hands as they think fit, with this trust, that they shall be governed by declared laws, or else their peace, quiet, and property will still be at the same uncertainty, as it was in the state of nature.

§. 137.

Absolute arbitrary power, or governing without settled standing laws, can neither of them consist with the ends of society and government, which men would not quit the freedom of the state of nature for, and tie themselves up under, were it not to preserve their lives, liberties and fortunes, and by stated rules of right and property to secure their peace and quiet. It cannot be supposed that they should intend, had they a power so to do, to give to any one, or more, an absolute arbitrary power over their persons and estates, and put a force into the magistrate’s hand to execute his unlimited will arbitrarily upon them. This were to put themselves into a worse condition than the state of nature, wherein they had a liberty to defend their right against the injuries of others, and were upon equal terms of force to maintain it, whether invaded by a single man, or many in combination. Whereas by supposing they have given up themselves to the absolute arbitrary power and will of a legislator, they have disarmed themselves, and armed him, to make a prey of them when he pleases; he being in a much worse condition, who is exposed to the arbitrary power of one man, who has the command of 100,000, than he that is exposed to the arbitrary power of 100,000 single men; no body being secure, that his will, who has such a command, is better than that of other men, though his force be 100,000 times stronger. And therefore, whatever form the commonwealth is under, the ruling power ought to govern by declared and received laws, and nor by extemporary dictates and undetermined resolutions: for then mankind will be in a far worse condition than in the state of nature, if they shall have armed one, or a few men with the joint power of a multitude, to force them to obey at pleasure the exorbitant and unlimited decrees of their sudden thoughts, or unrestrained, and till that moment unknown wills, without having any measures set down which may guide and justify their actions: for all the power the government has, being only for the good of the society, as it ought not to be arbitrary and at pleasure, so it ought to be exercised by established and promulgated laws; that both the people may know their duty, and be safe and secure within the limits of the law; and the rulers too kept within their bounds, and not be tempted, by the power they have in their hands, to employ it to such purposes, and by such measures, as they would not have known, and own not willingly.

§. 138.

Thirdly, The supreme power cannot take from any man any part of his property without his own consent: for the preservation of property being the end of government, and that for which men enter into society, it necessarily supposes and requires, that the people should have property, without which they must be supposed to lose that, by entering into society, which was the end for which they entered into it; too gross an absurdity for any man to own. Men therefore in society having property, they have such a right to the goods, which by the law of the community are their’s, that no body hath a right to take their substance or any part of it from them, without their own consent: without this they have no property at all; for I have truly no property in that, which another can by right take from me, when he pleases, against my consent. Hence it is a mistake to think, that the supreme or legislative power of any common-wealth, can do what it will, and dispose of the estates of the subject arbitrarily, or take any part of them at pleasure. This is not much to be feared in governments where the legislative consists, wholly or in part, in assemblies which are variable, whose members, upon the dissolution of the assembly, are subjects under the common laws of their country, equally with the rest. But in governments, where the legislative is in one lasting assembly always in being, or in one man, as in absolute monarchies, there is danger still, that they will think themselves to have a distinct interest from the rest of the community; and so will be apt to increase their own riches and power, by taking what they think fit from the people: for a man’s property is not at all secure, tho’ there be good and equitable laws to set the bounds of it between him and his fellow subjects, if he who commands those subjects have power to take from any private man, what part he pleases of his property, and use and dispose of it as he thinks good.

§. 139.

But government, into whatsoever hands it is put, being, as I have before shewed, intrusted with this condition, and for this end, that men might have and secure their properties; the prince, or senate, however it may have power to make laws, for the regulating of property between the subjects one amongst another, yet can never have a power to take to themselves the whole, or any part of the subjects property, without their own consent: for this would be in effect to leave them no property at all. And to let us see, that even absolute power, where it is necessary, is not arbitrary by being absolute, but is still limited by that reason, and confined to those ends, which required it in some cases to be absolute, we need look no farther than the common practice of martial discipline: for the preservation of the army, and in it of the whole common-wealth, requires an absolute obedience to the command of every superior officer, and it is justly death to disobey or dispute the most dangerous or unreasonable of them; but yet we see, that neither the serjeant, that could command a soldier to march up to the mouth of a cannon, or stand in a breach, where he is almost sure to perish, can command that soldier to give him one penny of his money; nor the general, that can condemn him to death for deserting his post, or for not obeying the most desperate orders, can yet, with all his absolute power of life and death, dispose of one farthing of that soldier’s estate, or seize one jot of his goods; whom yet he can command any thing, and hang for the least disobedience; because such a blind obedience is necessary to that end, for which the commander has his power, viz. the preservation of the rest; but the disposing of his goods has nothing to do with it.

§. 140.

It is true, governments cannot be supported without great charge, and it is fit every one who enjoys his share of the protection, should pay out of his estate his proportion for the maintenance of it. But still it must be with his own consent, i. e. the consent of the majority, giving it either by themselves, or their representatives chosen by them: for if any one shall claim a power to lay and levy taxes on the people, by his own authority, and without such consent of the people, he thereby invades the fundamental law of property, and subverts the end of government: for what property have I in that, which another may by right take, when he pleases, to himself?

§. 141.

Fourthly, The legislative cannot transfer the power of making laws to any other hands: for it being but a delegated power from the people, they who have it cannot pass it over to others. The people alone can appoint the form of the common-wealth, which is by constituting the legislative, and appointing in whose hands that shall be. And when the people have said, We will submit to rules, and be governed by laws made by such men, and in such forms, no body else can say other men shall make laws for them; nor can the people be bound by any laws, but such as are enacted by those whom they have chosen, and authorized to make laws for them. The power of the legislative, being derived from the people by a positive voluntary grant and institution, can be no other than what that positive grant conveyed, which being only to make laws, and not to make legislators, the legislative can have no power to transfer their authority of making laws, and place it in other hands.

§. 142.

These are the bounds which the trust, that is put in them by the society, and the law of God and nature, have set to the legislative power of every common-wealth, in all forms of government.

First, They are to govern by promulgated established laws, not to be varied in particular cases, but to have one rule for rich and poor, for the favourite at court, and the country man at plough.

Secondly, These laws also ought to be designed for no other end ultimately, but the good of the people.

Thirdly, They must not raise taxes on the property of the people, without the consent of the people, given by themselves, or their deputies. And this properly concerns only such governments where the legislative is always in being, or at least where the people have not reserved any part of the legislative to deputies, to be from time to time chosen by themselves.

Fourthly, The legislative neither must nor can transfer the power of making laws to any body else, or place it any where, but where the people have.

CHAPTER XII. OF THE LEGISLATIVE, EXECUTIVE, AND FEDERATIVE POWER OF THE COMMON-WEALTH.

§. 143.

THE legislative power is that, which has a right to direct how the force of the common-wealth shall be employed for preserving the community and the members of it. But because those laws which are constantly to be executed, and whose force is always to continue, may be made in a little time; therefore there is no need, that the legislative should be always in being, not having always business to do. And because it may be too great a temptation to human frailty, apt to grasp at power, for the same persons, who have the power of making laws, to have also in their hands the power to execute them, whereby they may exempt themselves from obedience to the laws they make, and suit the law, both in its making, and execution, to their own private advantage, and thereby come to have a distinct interest from the rest of the community, contrary to the end of society and government: therefore in well-ordered common-wealths, where the good of the whole is so considered, as it ought, the legislative power is put into the hands of divers persons, who duly assembled, have by themselves, or jointly with others, a power to make laws, which when they have done, being separated again, they are themselves subject to the laws they have made; which is a new and near tie upon them, to take care, that they make them for the public good.

§. 144.

But because the laws, that are at once, and in a short time made, have a constant and lasting force, and need a perpetual execution, or an attendance thereunto; therefore it is necessary there should be a power always in being, which should see to the execution of the laws that are made, and remain in force. And thus the legislative and executive power come often to be separated.

§. 145.

There is another power in every common-wealth, which one may call natural, because it is that which answers to the power every man naturally had before he entered into society: for though in a common-wealth the members of it are distinct persons still in reference to one another, and as such are governed by the laws of the society; yet in reference to the rest of mankind, they make one body, which is, as every member of it before was, still in the state of nature with the rest of mankind. Hence it is, that the controversies that happen between any man of the society with those that are out of it, are managed by the public; and an injury done to a member of their body, engages the whole in the reparation of it. So that under this consideration, the whole community is one body in the state of nature, in respect of all other states or persons out of its community.

§. 146.

This therefore contains the power of war and peace, leagues and alliances, and all the transactions, with all persons and communities without the common-wealth, and may be called federative, if any one pleases. So the thing be understood, I am indifferent as to the name.

§. 147.

These two powers, executive and federative, though they be really distinct in themselves, yet one comprehending the execution of the municipal laws of the society within its self, upon all that are parts of it; the other the management of the security and interest of the public without, with all those that it may receive benefit or damage from, yet they are always almost united. And though this federative power in the well or ill management of it be of great moment to the common-wealth, yet it is much less capable to be directed by antecedent, standing, positive laws, than the executive; and so must necessarily be left to the prudence and wisdom of those, whose hands it is in, to be managed for the public good: for the laws that concern subjects one amongst another, being to direct their actions, may well enough precede them. But what is to be done in reference to foreigners, depending much upon their actions, and the variation of designs and interests, must be left in great part to the prudence of those, who have this power committed to them, to be managed by the best of their skill, for the advantage of the common-wealth.

§. 148.

Though, as I said, the executive and federative power of every community be really distinct in themselves, yet they are hardly to be separated, and placed at the same time, in the hands of distinct persons: for both of them requiring the force of the society for their exercise, it is almost impracticable to place the force of the common-wealth in distinct, and not subordinate hands; or that the executive and federative power should be placed in persons, that might act separately, whereby the force of the public would be under different commands: which would be apt some time or other to cause disorder and ruin.

CHAPTER XIII. OF THE SUBORDINATION OF THE POWERS OF THE COMMON-WEALTH.

§. 149.

THough in a constituted common-wealth, standing upon its own basis, and acting according to its own nature, that is, acting for the preservation of the community, there can be but one supreme power, which is the legislative, to which all the rest are and must be subordinate, yet the legislative being only a fiduciary power to act for certain ends, there remains still in the people a supreme power to remove or alter the legislative, when they find the legislative act contrary to the trust reposed in them: for all power given with trust for the attaining an end, being limited by that end, whenever that end is manifestly neglected, or opposed, the trust must necessarily be forfeited, and the power devolve into the hands of those that gave it, who may place it anew where they shall think best for their safety and security. And thus the community perpetually retains a supreme power of saving themselves from the attempts and designs of any body, even of their legislators, whenever they shall be so foolish, or so wicked, as to lay and carry on designs against the liberties and properties of the subject: for no man or society of men, having a power to deliver up their preservation, or consequently the means of it, to the absolute will and arbitrary dominion of another; when ever any one shall go about to bring them into such a slavish condition, they will always have a right to preserve, what they have not a power to part with; and to rid themselves of those, who invade this fundamental, sacred, and unalterable law of self-preservation, for which they entered into society. And thus the community may be said in this respect to be always the supreme power, but not as considered under any form of government, because this power of the people can never take place till the government be dissolved.

§. 150.

In all cases, whilst the government subsists, the legislative is the supreme power: for what can give laws to another, must needs be superior to him; and since the legislative is no otherwise legislative of the society, but by the right it has to make laws for all the parts, and for every member of the society, prescribing rules to their actions, and giving power of execution, where they are transgressed, the legislative must needs be the supreme, and all other powers, in any members or parts of the society, derived from and subordinate to it.

§. 151.

In some common-wealths, where the legislative is not always in being, and the executive is vested in a single person, who has also a share in the legislative; there that single person in a very tolerable sense may also be called supreme: not that he has in himself all the supreme power, which is that of law-making; but because he has in him the supreme execution, from whom all inferior magistrates derive all their several subordinate powers, or at least the greatest part of them: having also no legislative superior to him, there being no law to be made without his consent, which cannot be expected should ever subject him to the other part of the legislative, be is properly enough in this sense supreme. But yet it is to be observed, that tho’ oaths of allegiance and fealty are taken to him, it is not to him as supreme legislator, but as supreme executor of the law, made by a joint power of him with others; allegiance being nothing but an obedience according to law, which when he violates, he has no right to obedience, nor can claim it otherwise than as the public person vested with the power of the law, and so is to be considered as the image, phantom, or representative of the common-wealth, acted by the will of the society, declared in its laws; and thus he has no will, no power, but that of the law. But when he quits this representation, this public will, and acts by his own private will, he degrades himself, and is but a single private person without power, and without will, that has any right to obedience; the members owing no obedience but to the public will of the society.

§. 152.

The executive power, placed any where but in a person that has also a share in the legislative, is visibly subordinate and accountable to it, and may be at pleasure changed and displaced; so that it is not the supreme executive power, that is exempt from subordination, but the supreme executive power vested in one, who having a share in the legislative, has no distinct superior legislative to be subordinate and accountable to, farther than he himself shall join and consent; so that he is no more subordinate than he himself shall think fit, which one may certainly conclude will be but very little. Of other ministerial and subordinate powers in a common-wealth, we need not speak, they being so multiplied with infinite variety, in the different customs and constitutions of distinct common-wealths, that it is impossible to give a particular account of them all. Only thus much, which is necessary to our present purpose, we may take notice of concerning them, that they have no manner of authority, any of them, beyond what is by positive grant and commission delegated to them, and are all of them accountable to some other power in the common-wealth.

§. 153.

It is not necessary, no, nor so much as convenient, that the legislative should be always in being; but absolutely necessary that the executive power should, because there is not always need of new laws to be made, but always need of execution of the laws that are made. When the legislative hath put the execution of the laws, they make, into other hands, they have a power still to resume it out of those hands, when they find cause, and to punish for any mal-administration against the laws. The same holds also in regard of the federative power, that and the executive being both ministerial and subordinate to the legislative, which, as has been shewed, in a constituted common-wealth is the supreme. The legislative also in this case being supposed to consist of several persons, (for if it be a single person, it cannot but be always in being, and so will, as supreme, naturally have the supreme executive power, together with the legislative) may assemble, and exercise their legislature, at the times that either their original constitution, or their own adjournment, appoints, or when they please; if neither of these hath appointed any time, or there be no other way prescribed to convoke them: for the supreme power being placed in them by the people, it is always in them, and they may exercise it when they please, unless by their original constitution they are limited to certain seasons, or by an act of their supreme power they have adjourned to a certain time; and when that time comes, they have a right to assemble and act again.

§. 154.

If the legislative, or any part of it, be made up of representatives chosen for that time by the people, which afterwards return into the ordinary state of subjects, and have no share in the legislature but upon a new choice, this power of chusing must also be exercised by the people, either at certain appointed seasons, or else when they are summoned to it; and in this latter case, the power of convoking the legislative is ordinarily placed in the executive, and has one of these two limitations in respect of time: that either the original constitution requires their assembling and acting at certain intervals, and then the executive power does nothing but ministerially issue directions for their electing and assembling, according to due forms; or else it is left to his prudence to call them by new elections, when the occasions or exigencies of the public require the amendment of old, or making of new laws, or the redress or prevention of any inconveniencies, that lie on, or threaten the people.

§. 155.

It may be demanded here, What if the executive power, being possessed of the force of the common-wealth, shall make use of that force to hinder the meeting and acting of the legislative, when the original constitution, or the public exigencies require it? I say, using force upon the people without authority, and contrary to the trust put in him that does so, is a state of war with the people, who have a right to reinstate their legislative in the exercise of their power: for having erected a legislative, with an intent they should exercise the power of making laws, either at certain set times, or when there is need of it, when they are hindered by any force from what is so necessary to the society, and wherein the safety and preservation of the people consists, the people have a right to remove it by force. In all states and conditions, the true remedy of force without authority, is to oppose force to it. The use of force without authority, always puts him that uses it into a state of war, as the aggressor, and renders him liable to be treated accordingly.

§. 156.

The power of assembling and dismissing the legislative, placed in the executive, gives not the executive a superiority over it, but is a fiduciary trust placed in him, for the safety of the people, in a case where the uncertainty and variableness of human affairs could not bear a steady fixed rule: for it not being possible, that the first framers of the government should, by any foresight, be so much masters of future events, as to be able to prefix so just periods of return and duration to the assemblies of the legislative, in all times to come, that might exactly answer all the exigencies of the common-wealth; the best remedy could be found for this defect, was to trust this to the prudence of one who was always to be present, and whose business it was to watch over the public good. Constant frequent meetings of the legislative, and long continuations of their assemblies, without necessary occasion, could not but be burdensome to the people, and must necessarily in time produce more dangerous inconveniencies, and yet the quick turn of affairs might be sometimes such as to need their present help: any delay of their convening might endanger the public; and sometimes too their business might be so great, that the limited time of their sitting might be too short for their work, and rob the public of that benefit which could be had only from their mature deliberation. What then could be done in this case to prevent the community from being exposed some time or other to eminent hazard, on one side or the other, by fixed intervals and periods, set to the meeting and acting of the legislative, but to intrust it to the prudence of some, who being present, and acquainted with the state of public affairs, might make use of this prerogative for the public good? and where else could this be so well placed as in his hands, who was intrusted with the execution of the laws for the same end? Thus supposing the regulation of times for the assembling and sitting of the legislative, not settled by the original constitution, it naturally fell into the hands of the executive, not as an arbitrary power depending on his good pleasure, but with this trust always to have it exercised only for the public weal, as the occurrences of times and change of affairs might require. Whether settled periods of their convening, or a liberty left to the prince for convoking the legislative, or perhaps a mixture of both, hath the least inconvenience attending it, it is not my business here to inquire, but only to shew, that though the executive power may have the prerogative of convoking and dissolving such conventions of the legislative, yet it is not thereby superior to it.

§. 157.

Things of this world are in so constant a flux, that nothing remains long in the same state. Thus people, riches, trade, power, change their stations, flourishing mighty cities come to ruin, and prove in times neglected desolate corners, whilst other unfrequented places grow into populous countries, filled with wealth and inhabitants. But things not always changing equally, and private interest often keeping up customs and privileges, when the reasons of them are ceased, it often comes to pass, that in governments, where part of the legislative consists of representatives chosen by the people, that in tract of time this representation becomes very unequal and disproportionate to the reasons it was at first established upon. To what gross absurdities the following of custom, when reason has left it, may lead, we may be satisfied, when we see the bare name of a town, of which there remains not so much as the ruins, where scarce so much housing as a sheepcote, or more inhabitants than a shepherd is to be found, sends as many representatives to the grand assembly of law-makers, as a whole county numerous in people, and powerful in riches. This strangers stand amazed at, and every one must confess needs a remedy; tho’ most think it hard to find one, because the constitution of the legislative being the original and supreme act of the society, antecedent to all positive laws in it, and depending wholly on the people, no inferior power can alter it. And therefore the people, when the legislative is once constituted, having, in such a government as we have been speaking of, no power to act as long as the government stands; this inconvenience is thought incapable of a remedy.

§. 158.

Salus populi suprema lex, is certainly so just and fundamental a rule, that he, who sincerely follows it, cannot dangerously err. If therefore the executive, who has the power of convoking the legislative, observing rather the true proportion, than fashion of representation, regulates, not by old custom, but true reason, the number of members, in all places that have a right to be distinctly represented, which no part of the people however incorporated can pretend to, but in proportion to the assistance which it affords to the public, it cannot be judged to have set up a new legislative, but to have restored the old and true one, and to have rectified the disorders which succession of time had insensibly, as well as inevitably introduced: For it being the interest as well as intention of the people, to have a fair and equal representative; whoever brings it nearest to that, is an undoubted friend to, and establisher of the government, and cannot miss the consent and approbation of the community; prerogative being nothing but a power, in the hands of the prince, to provide for the public good, in such cases, which depending upon unforeseen and uncertain occurrences, certain and unalterable laws could not safely direct; whatsoever shall be done manifestly for the good of the people, and the establishing the government upon its true foundations, is, and always will be, just prerogative. The power of erecting new corporations, and therewith new representatives, carries with it a supposition, that in time the measures of representation might vary, and those places have a just right to be represented which before had none; and by the same reason, those cease to have a right, and be too inconsiderable for such a privilege, which before had it. ’Tis not a change from the present state, which perhaps corruption or decay has introduced, that makes an inroad upon the government, but the tendency of it to injure or oppress the people, and to set up one part or party, with a distinction from, and an unequal subjection of the rest. Whatsoever cannot but be acknowledged to be of advantage to the society, and people in general, upon just and lasting measures, will always, when done, justify itself; and whenever the people shall chuse their representatives upon just and undeniably equal measures, suitable to the original frame of the government, it cannot be doubted to be the will and act of the society, whoever permitted or caused them so to do.

CHAPTER XIV. OF PREROGATIVE.

§. 159.

WHERE the legislative and executive power are in distinct hands, (as they are in all moderated monarchies, and well-framed governments) there the good of the society requires, that several things should be left to the discretion of him that has the executive power: for the legislators not being able to foresee, and provide by laws, for all that may be useful to the community, the executor of the laws, having the power in his hands, has by the common law of nature a right to make use of it for the good of the society, in many cases, where the municipal law has given no direction, till the legislative can conveniently be assembled to provide for it. Many things there are, which the law can by no means provide for; and those must necessarily be left to the discretion of him that has the executive power in his hands, to be ordered by him as the public good and advantage shall require: nay, it is fit that the laws themselves should in some cases give way to the executive power, or rather to this fundamental law of nature and government, viz. That as much as may be, all the members of the society are to be preserved: for since many accidents may happen, wherein a strict and rigid observation of the laws may do harm; (as not to pull down an innocent man’s house to stop the fire, when the next to it is burning) and a man may come somtimes within the reach of the law, which makes no distinction of persons, by an action that may deserve reward and pardon; ’tis fit the ruler should have a power, in many cases, to mitigate the severity of the law, and pardon some offenders: for the end of government being the preservation of all, as much as may be, even the guilty are to be spared, where it can prove no prejudice to the innocent.

§. 160.

This power to act according to discretion, for the public good, without the prescription of the law, and sometimes even against it, is that which is called prerogative: for since in some governments the lawmaking power is not always in being, and is usually too numerous, and so too slow, for the dispatch requisite to execution; and because also it is impossible to foresee, and so by laws to provide for, all accidents and necessities that may concern the public, or to make such laws as will do no harm, if they are executed with an inflexible rigour, on all occasions, and upon all persons that may come in their way; therefore there is a latitude left to the executive power, to do many things of choice which the laws do not prescribe.

§. 161.

This power, whilst employed for the benefit of the community, and suitably to the trust and ends of the government, is undoubted prerogative, and never is questioned: for the people are very seldom or never scrupulous or nice in the point; they are far from examining prerogative, whilst it is in any tolerable degree employed for the use it was meant, that is, for the good of the people, and not manifestly against it: but if there comes to be a question between the executive power and the people, about a thing claimed as a prerogative; the tendency of the exercise of such prerogative to the good or hurt of the people, will easily decide that question.

§. 162.

It is easy to conceive, that in the infancy of governments, when commonwealths differed little from families in number of people, they differed from them too but little in number of laws: and the governors, being as the fathers of them, watching over them for their good, the government was almost all prerogative. A few established laws served the turn, and the discretion and care of the ruler supplied the rest. But when mistake or flattery prevailed with weak princes to make use of this power for private ends of their own, and not for the public good, the people were fain by express laws to get prerogative determined in those points wherein they found disadvantage from it: and thus declared limitations of prerogative were by the people found necessary in cases which they and their ancestors had left, in the utmost latitude, to the wisdom of those princes who made no other but a right use of it, that is, for the good of their people.

§. 163.

And therefore they have a very wrong notion of government, who say, that the people have incroached upon the prerogative, when they have got any part of it to be defined by positive laws: for in so doing they have not pulled from the prince any thing that of right belonged to him, but only declared, that that power which they indefinitely left in his or his ancestors hands, to be exercised for their good, was not a thing which they intended him when he used it otherwise: for the end of government being the good of the community, whatsoever alterations are made in it, tending to that end, cannot be an incroachment upon any body, since no body in government can have a right tending to any other end: and those only are incroachments which prejudice or hinder the public good. Those who say otherwise, speak as if the prince had a distinct and separate interest from the good of the community, and was not made for it; the root and source from which spring almost all those evils and disorders which happen in kingly governments. And indeed, if that be so, the people under his government are not a society of rational creatures, entered into a community for their mutual good; they are not such as have set rulers over themselves, to guard, and promote that good; but are to be looked on as an herd of inferior creatures under the dominion of a master, who keeps them and works them for his own pleasure or profit. If men were so void of reason, and brutish, as to enter into society upon such terms, prerogative might indeed be, what some men would have it, an arbitrary power to do things hurtful to the people.

§. 164.

But since a rational creature cannot be supposed, when free, to put himself into subjection to another, for his own harm; (though, where he finds a good and wise ruler, he may not perhaps think it either necessary or useful to set precise bounds to his power in all things) prerogative can be nothing but the people’s permitting their rulers to do several things, of their own free choice, where the law was silent, and sometimes too against the direct letter of the law, for the public good; and their acquiescing in it when so done: for as a good prince, who is mindful of the trust put into his hands, and careful of the good of his people, cannot have too much prerogative, that is, power to do good; so a weak and ill prince, who would claim that power which his predecessors exercised without the direction of the law, as a prerogative belonging to him by right of his office, which he may exercise at his pleasure, to make or promote an interest distinct from that of the public, gives the people an occasion to claim their right, and limit that power, which, whilst it was exercised for their good, they were content should be tacitly allowed.

§. 165.

And therefore he that will look into the history of England, will find, that prerogative was always largest in the hands of our wisest and best princes; because the people, observing the whole tendency of their actions to be the public good, contested not what was done without law to that end: or, if any human frailty or mistake (for princes are but men, made as others) appeared in some small declinations from that end; yet ’twas visible, the main of their conduct tended to nothing but the care of the public. The people therefore, finding reason to be satisfied with these princes, whenever they acted without, or contrary to the letter of the law, acquiesced in what they did, and, without the least complaint, let them inlarge their prerogative as they pleased, judging rightly, that they did nothing herein to the prejudice of their laws, since they acted conformable to the foundation and end of all laws, the public good.

§. 166.

Such god-like princes indeed had some title to arbitrary power by that argument, that would prove absolute monarchy the best government, as that which God himself governs the universe by; because such kings partake of his wisdom and goodness. Upon this is founded that saying, That the reigns of good princes have been always most dangerous to the liberties of their people: for when their successors, managing the government with different thoughts, would draw the actions of those good rulers into precedent, and make them the standard of their prerogative, as if what had been done only for the good of the people was a right in them to do, for the harm of the people, if they so pleased; it has often occasioned contest, and sometimes public disorders, before the people could recover their original right, and get that to be declared not to be prerogative, which truly was never so; since it is impossible that any body in the society should ever have a right to do the people harm; though it be very possible, and reasonable, that the people should not go about to set any bounds to the prerogative of those kings, or rulers, who themselves transgressed not the bounds of the public good: for prerogative is nothing but the power of doing public good without a rule.

§. 167.

The power of calling parliaments in England, as to precise time, place, and duration, is certainly a prerogative of the king, but still with this trust, that it shall be made use of for the good of the nation, as the exigencies of the times, and variety of occasions, shall require: for it being impossible to foresee which should always be the fittest place for them to assemble in, and what the best season; the choice of these was left with the executive power, as might be most subservient to the public good, and best suit the ends of parliaments.

§. 168.

The old question will be asked in this matter of prerogative, But who shall be judge when this power is made a right use of? I answer: between an executive power in being, with such a prerogative, and a legislative that depends upon his will for their convening, there can be no judge on earth; as there can be none between the legislative and the people, should either the executive, or the legislative, when they have got the power in their hands, design, or go about to enslave or destroy them. The people have no other remedy in this, as in all other cases where they have no judge on earth, but to appeal to heaven: for the rulers, in such attempts, exercising a power the people never put into their hands, (who can never be supposed to consent that any body should rule over them for their harm) do that which they have not a right to do. And where the body of the people, or any single man, is deprived of their right, or is under the exercise of a power without right, and have no appeal on earth, then they have a liberty to appeal to heaven, whenever they judge the cause of sufficient moment. And therefore, though the people cannot be judge, so as to have, by the constitution of that society, any superior power, to determine and give effective sentence in the case; yet they have, by a law antecedent and paramount to all positive laws of men, reserved that ultimate determination to themselves which belongs to all mankind, where there lies no appeal on earth, viz. to judge, whether they have just cause to make their appeal to heaven. And this judgment they cannot part with, it being out of a man’s power so to submit himself to another, as to give him a liberty to destroy him; God and nature never allowing a man so to abandon himself, as to neglect his own preservation: and since he cannot take away his own life, neither can he give another power to take it. Nor let any one think, this lays a perpetual foundation for disorder; for this operates not, till the inconveniency is so great, that the majority feel it, and are weary of it, and find a necessity to have it amended. But this the executive power, or wise princes, never need come in the danger of: and it is the thing, of all others, they have most need to avoid, as of all others the most perilous.

CHAPTER XV. OF PATERNAL, POLITICAL, AND DESPOTICAL POWER, CONSIDERED TOGETHER.

§. 169.

THOUGH I have had occasion to speak of these separately before, yet the great mistakes of late about government, having, as I suppose, arisen from confounding these distinct powers one with another, it may not, perhaps, be amiss to consider them here together.

§. 170.

First, then, Paternal or parental power is nothing but that which parents have over their children, to govern them for the children’s good, till they come to the use of reason, or a state of knowledge, wherein they may be supposed capable to understand that rule, whether it be the law of nature, or the municipal law of their country, they are to govern themselves by: capable, I say, to know it, as well as several others, who live as freemen under that law. The affection and tenderness which God hath planted in the breast of parents towards their children, makes it evident, that this is not intended to be a severe arbitrary government, but only for the help, instruction, and preservation of their offspring. But happen it as it will, there is, as I have proved, no reason why it should be thought to extend to life and death, at any time, over their children, more than over any body else; neither can there be any pretence why this parental power should keep the child, when grown to a man, in subjection to the will of his parents, any farther than having received life and education from his parents, obliges him to respect, honour, gratitude, assistance and support, all his life, to both father and mother. And thus, ’tis true, the paternal is a natural government, but not at all extending itself to the ends and jurisdictions of that which is political. The power of the father doth not reach at all to the property of the child, which is only in his own disposing.

§. 171.

Secondly, Political power is that power, which every man having in the state of nature, has given up into the hands of the society, and therein to the governors, whom the society hath set over itself, with this express or tacit trust, that it shall be employed for their good, and the preservation of their property: now this power, which every man has in the state of nature, and which he parts with to the society in all such cases where the society can secure him, is to use such means, for the preserving of his own property, as he thinks good, and nature allows him; and to punish the breach of the law of nature in others, so as (according to the best of his reason) may most conduce to the preservation of himself, and the rest of mankind. So that the end and measure of this power, when in every man’s hands in the state of nature, being the preservation of all of his society, that is, all mankind in general, it can have no other end or measure, when in the hands of the magistrate, but to preserve the members of that society in their lives, liberties, and possessions; and so cannot be an absolute, arbitrary power over their lives and fortunes, which are as much as possible to be preserved; but a power to make laws, and annex such penalties to them, as may tend to the preservation of the whole, by cutting off those parts, and those only, which are so corrupt, that they threaten the sound and healthy, without which no severity is lawful. And this power has its original only from compact and agreement, and the mutual consent of those who make up the community.

§. 172.

Thirdly, Despotical power is an absolute, arbitrary power one man has over another, to take away his life, whenever he pleases. This is a power, which neither nature gives, for it has made no such distinction between one man and another; nor compact can convey: for man not having such an arbitrary power over his own life, cannot give another man such a power over it; but it is the effect only of forfeiture, which the aggressor makes of his own life, when he puts himself into the state of war with another: for having quitted reason, which God hath given to be the rule betwixt man and man, and the common bond whereby human kind is united into one fellowship and society; and having renounced the way of peace which that teaches, and made use of the force of war, to compass his unjust ends upon another, where he has no right; and so revolting from his own kind to that of beasts, by making force, which is their’s, to be his rule of right, he renders himself liable to be destroyed by the injured person, and the rest of mankind, that will join with him in the execution of justice, as any other wild beast, or noxious brute, with whom mankind can have neither society nor security. And thus captives, taken in a just and lawful war, and such only, are subject to a despotical power, which, as it arises not from compact, so neither is it capable of any, but is the state of war continued: for what compact can be made with a man that is not master of his own life? what condition can he perform? and if he be once allowed to be master of his own life, the despotical, arbitrary power of his master ceases. He that is master of himself, and his own life, has a right too to the means of preserving it; so that as soon as compact enters, slavery ceases, and he so far quits his absolute power, and puts an end to the state of war, who enters into conditions with his captive.

§. 173.

Nature gives the first of these, viz. paternal power to parents for the benefit of their children during their minority, to supply their want of ability, and understanding how to manage their property. (By property I must be understood here, as in other places, to mean that property which men have in their persons as well as goods.) Voluntary agreement gives the second, viz. political power to governors for the benefit of their subjects, to secure them in the possession and use of their properties. And forfeiture gives the third despotical power to lords for their own benefit, over those who are stripped of all property.

§. 174.

He, that shall consider the distinct rise and extent, and the different ends of these several powers, will plainly see, that paternal power comes as far short of that of the magistrate, as despotical exceeds it; and that absolute dominion, however placed, is so far from being one kind of civil society, that it is as inconsistent with it, as slavery is with property. Paternal power is only where minority makes the child incapable to manage his property; political, where men have property in their own disposal; and despotical, over such as have no property at all.

CHAPTER XVI. OF CONQUEST.

§. 175.

THough governments can originally have no other rise than that before mentioned, nor polities be founded on any thing but the consent of the people; yet such have been the disorders ambition has filled the world with, that in the noise of war, which makes so great a part of the history of mankind, this consent is little taken notice of: and therefore many have mistaken the force of arms for the consent of the people, and reckon conquest as one of the originals of government. But conquest is as far from setting up any government, as demolishing an house is from building a new one in the place. Indeed, it often makes way for a new frame of a common-wealth, by destroying the former; but, without the consent of the people, can never erect a new one.

§. 176.

That the aggressor, who puts himself into the state of war with another, and unjustly invades another man’s right, can, by such an unjust war, never come to have a right over the conquered, will be easily agreed by all men, who will not think, that robbers and pyrates have a right of empire over whomsoever they have force enough to master; or that men are bound by promises, which unlawful force extorts from them. Should a robber break into my house, and with a dagger at my throat make me seal deeds to convey my estate to him, would this give him any title? Just such a title, by his sword, has an unjust conqueror, who forces me into submission. The injury and the crime is equal, whether committed by the wearer of a crown, or some petty villain. The title of the offender, and the number of his followers, make no difference in the offence, unless it be to aggravate it. The only difference is, great robbers punish little ones, to keep them in their obedience; but the great ones are rewarded with laurels and triumphs, because they are too big for the weak hands of justice in this world, and have the power in their own possession, which should punish offenders. What is my remedy against a robber, that so broke into my house? Appeal to the law for justice. But perhaps justice is denied, or I am crippled and cannot stir, robbed and have not the means to do it. If God has taken away all means of seeking remedy, there is nothing left but patience. But my son, when able, may seek the relief of the law, which I am denied: he or his son may renew his appeal, till he recover his right. But the conquered, or their children, have no court, no arbitrator on earth to appeal to. Then they may appeal, as Jephtha did, to heaven, and repeat their appeal till they have recovered the native right of their ancestors, which was, to have such a legislative over them, as the majority should approve, and freely acquiesce in. If it be objected, This would cause endless trouble; I answer, no more than justice does, where she lies open to all that appeal to her. He that troubles his neighbour without a cause, is punished for it by the justice of the court he appeals to: and he that appeals to heaven must be sure he has right on his side; and a right too that is worth the trouble and cost of the appeal, as he will answer at a tribunal that cannot be deceived, and will be sure to retribute to every one according to the mischiefs he hath created to his fellow subjects; that is, any part of mankind: from whence it is plain, that he that conquers in an unjust war can thereby have no title to the subjection and obedience of the conquered.

§. 177.

But supposing victory favours the right side, let us consider a conqueror in a lawful war, and see what power he gets, and over whom.

First, It is plain he gets no power by his conquest over those that conquered with him. They that fought on his side cannot suffer by the conquest, but must at least be as much freemen as they were before. And most commonly they serve upon terms, and on condition to share with their leader, and enjoy a part of the spoil, and other advantages that attend the conquering sword; or at least have a part of the subdued country bestowed upon them. And the conquering people are not, I hope, to be slaves by conquest, and wear their laurels only to shew they are sacrifices to their leaders triumph. They that found absolute monarchy upon the title of the sword, make their heroes, who are the founders of such monarchies, arrant Draw-can-sirs, and forget they had any officers and soldiers that fought on their side in the battles they won, or assisted them in the subduing, or shared in possessing, the countries they mastered. We are told by some, that the English monarchy is founded in the Norman conquest, and that our princes have thereby a title to absolute dominion: which if it were true, (as by the history it appears otherwise) and that William had a right to make war on this island; yet his dominion by conquest could reach no farther than to the Saxons and Britons, that were then inhabitants of this country. The Normans that came with him, and helped to conquer, and all descended from them, are freemen, and no subjects by conquest; let that give what dominion it will. And if I, or any body else, shall claim freedom, as derived from them, it will be very hard to prove the contrary: and it is plain, the law, that has made no distinction between the one and the other, intends not there should be any difference in their freedom or privileges.

§. 178.

But supposing, which seldom happens, that the conquerors and conquered never incorporate into one people, under the same laws and freedom; let us see next what power a lawful conqueror has over the subdued: and that I say is purely despotical. He has an absolute power over the lives of those who by an unjust war have forfeited them; but not over the lives or fortunes of those who engaged not in the war, nor over the possessions even of those who were actually engaged in it.

§. 179.

Secondly, I say then the conqueror gets no power but only over those who have actually assisted, concurred, or consented to that unjust force that is used against him: for the people having given to their governors no power to do an unjust thing, such as is to make an unjust war, (for they never had such a power in themselves) they ought not to be charged as guilty of the violence and unjustice that is committed in an unjust war, any farther than they actually abet it; no more than they are to be thought guilty of any violence or oppression their governors should use upon the people themselves, or any part of their fellow subjects, they having impowered them no more to the one than to the other. Conquerors, it is true, seldom trouble themselves to make the distinction, but they willingly permit the confusion of war to sweep all together: but yet this alters not the right; for the conquerors power over the lives of the conquered, being only because they have used force to do, or maintain an injustice, he can have that power only over those who have concurred in that force; all the rest are innocent; and he has no more title over the people of that country, who have done him no injury, and so have made no forfeiture of their lives, than he has over any other, who, without any injuries or provocations, have lived upon fair terms with him.

§. 180.

Thirdly, The power a conqueror gets over those he overcomes in a just war, is perfectly despotical: he has an absolute power over the lives of those, who, by putting themselves in a state of war, have forfeited them; but he has not thereby a right and title to their possessions. This I doubt not, but at first sight will seem a strange doctrine, it being so quite contrary to the practice of the world; there being nothing more familiar in speaking of the dominion of countries, than to say such an one conquered it; as if conquest, without any more ado, conveyed a right of possession. But when we consider, that the practice of the strong and powerful, how universal soever it may be, is seldom the rule of right, however it be one part of the subjection of the conquered, not to argue against the conditions cut out to them by the conquering sword.

§. 181.

Though in all war there be usually a complication of force and damage, and the aggressor seldom fails to harm the estate, when he uses force against the persons of those he makes war upon; yet it is the use of force only that puts a man into the state of war: for whether by force he begins the injury, or else having quietly, and by fraud, done the injury, he refuses to make reparation, and by force maintains it, (which is the same thing, as at first to have done it by force) it is the unjust use of force that makes the war: for he that breaks open my house, and violently turns me out of doors; or having peaceably got in, by force keeps me out, does in effect the same thing; supposing we are in such a state, that we have no common judge on earth, whom I may appeal to, and to whom we are both obliged to submit: for of such I am now speaking. It is the unjust use of force then, that puts a man into the state of war with another; and thereby he that is guilty of it makes a forfeiture of his life: for quitting reason, which is the rule given between man and man, and using force, the way of beasts, he becomes liable to be destroyed by him he uses force against, as any savage ravenous beast, that is dangerous to his being.

§. 182.

But because the miscarriages of the father are no faults of the children, and they may be rational and peaceable, notwithstanding the brutishness and injustice of the father; the father, by his miscarriages and violence, can forfeit but his own life, but involves not his children in his guilt or destruction. His goods, which nature, that willeth the preservation of all mankind as much as is possible, hath made to belong to the children to keep them from perishing, do still continue to belong to his children: for supposing them not to have joined in the war, either thro’ infancy, absence, or choice, they have done nothing to forfeit them: nor has the conqueror any right to take them away, by the bare title of having subdued him that by force attempted his destruction; though perhaps he may have some right to them, to repair the damages he has sustained by the war, and the defence of his own right; which how far it reaches to the possessions of the conquered, we shall see by and by. So that he that by conquest has a right over a man’s person to destroy him if he pleases, has not thereby a right over his estate to possess and enjoy it: for it is the brutal force the aggressor has used, that gives his adversary a right to take away his life, and destroy him if he pleases, as a noxious creature; but it is damage sustained that alone gives him title to another man’s goods: for though I may kill a thief that sets on me in the high-way, yet I may not (which seems less) take away his money, and let him go: this would be robbery on my side. His force, and the state of war he put himself in, made him forfeit his life, but gave me no title to his goods. The right then of conquest extends only to the lives of those who joined in the war, not to their estates, but only in order to make reparation for the damages received, and the charges of the war, and that too with reservation of the right of the innocent wife and children.

§. 183.

Let the conqueror have as much justice on his side, as could be supposed, he has no right to seize more than the vanquished could forfeit: his life is at the victor’s mercy; and his service and goods he may appropriate, to make himself reparation; but he cannot take the goods of his wife and children; they too had a title to the goods he enjoyed, and their shares in the estate he possessed: for example, I in the state of nature (and all common-wealths are in the state of nature one with another) have injured another man, and refusing to give satisfaction, it comes to a state of war, wherein my defending by force what I had gotten unjustly, makes me the aggressor. I am conquered: my life, it is true, as forfeit, is at mercy, but not my wife’s and children’s. They made not the war, nor assisted in it. I could not forfeit their lives; they were not mine to forfeit. My wife had a share in my estate; that neither could I forfeit. And my children also, being born of me, had a right to be maintained out of my labour or substance. Here then is the case: the conqueror has a title to reparation for damages received, and the children have a title to their father’s estate for their subsistence: for as to the wife’s share, whether her own labour, or compact, gave her a title to it, it is plain, her husband could not forfeit what was her’s. What must be done in the case? I answer; the fundamental law of nature being, that all, as much as may be, should be preserved, it follows, that if there be not enough fully to satisfy both, viz. for the conqueror’s losses, and children’s maintenance, he that hath, and to spare, must remit something of his full satisfaction, and give way to the pressing and preferable title of those who are in danger to perish without it.

§. 184.

But supposing the charge and damages of the war are to be made up to the conqueror, to the utmost farthing; and that the children of the vanquished, spoiled of all their father’s goods, are to be left to starve and perish; yet the satisfying of what shall, on this score, be due to the conqueror, will scarce give him a title to any country be shall conquer: for the damages of war can scarce amount to the value of any considerable tract of land, in any part of the world, where all the land is possessed, and none lies waste. And if I have not taken away the conqueror’s land, which, being vanquished, it is impossible I should; scarce any other spoil I have done him can amount to the value of mine, supposing it equally cultivated, and of an extent any way coming near what I had over-run of his. The destruction of a year’s product or two (for it seldom reaches four or five) is the utmost spoil that usually can be done: for as to money, and such riches and treasure taken away, these are none of nature’s goods, they have but a fantastical imaginary value: nature has put no such upon them: they are of no more account by her standard, than the wampompeke of the Americans to an European prince, or the silver money of Europe would have been formerly to an American. And five years product is not worth the perpetual inheritance of land, where all is possessed, and none remains waste, to be taken up by him that is disseized: which will be easily granted, if one do but take away the imaginary value of money, the disproportion being more than between five and five hundred; though, at the same time, half a year’s product is more worth than the inheritance, where there being more land than the inhabitants possess and make use of, any one has liberty to make use of the waste: but there conquerors take little care to possess themselves of the lands of the vanquished. No damage therefore, that men in the state of nature (as all princes and governments are in reference to one another) suffer from one another, can give a conqueror power to dispossess the posterity of the vanquished, and turn them out of that inheritance, which ought to be the possession of them and their descendants to all generations. The conqueror indeed will be apt to think himself master: and it is the very condition of the subdued not to be able to dispute their right. But if that be all, it gives no other title than what bare force gives to the stronger over the weaker: and, by this reason, he that is strongest will have a right to whatever he pleases to seize on.

§. 185.

Over those then that joined with him in the war, and over those of the subdued country that opposed him not, and the posterity even of those that did, the conqueror, even in a just war, hath, by his conquest, no right of dominion: they are free from any subjection to him, and if their former government be dissolved, they are at liberty to begin and erect another to themselves.

§. 186.

The conqueror, it is true, usually, by the force he has over them, compels them, with a sword at their breasts, to stoop to his conditions, and submit to such a government as he pleases to afford them; but the enquiry is, what right he has to do so? If it be said, they submit by their own consent, then this allows their own consent to be necessary to give the conqueror a title to rule over them. It remains only to be considered, whether promises extorted by force, without right, can be thought consent, and how far they bind. To which I shall say, they bind not at all; because whatsoever another gets from me by force, I still retain the right of, and he is obliged presently to restore. He that forces my horse from me, ought presently to restore him, and I have still a right to retake him. By the same reason, he that forced a promise from me, ought presently to restore it, i. e. quit me of the obligation of it; or I may resume it myself, i. e. chuse whether I will perform it: for the law of nature laying an obligation on me only by the rules the prescribes, cannot oblige me by the violation of her rules: such is the extorting any thing from me by force. Nor does it at all alter the case to say, I gave my promise, no more than it excuses the force, and passes the right, when I put my hand in my pocket, and deliver my purse myself to a thief, who demands it with a pistol at my breast.

§. 187.

From all which it follows, that the government of a conqueror, imposed by force on the subdued, against whom he had no right of war, or who joined not in the war against him, where he had right, has no obligation upon them.

§. 188.

But let us suppose, that all the men of that community, being all members of the same body politic, may be taken to have joined in that unjust war wherein they are subdued, and so their lives are at the mercy of the conqueror.

§. 189.

I say, this concerns not their children who are in their minority: for since a father hath not, in himself, a power over the life or liberty of his child, no act of his can possibly forfeit it. So that the children, whatever may have happened to the fathers, are freemen, and the absolute power of the conqueror reaches no farther than the persons of the men that were subdued by him, and dies with them: and should he govern them as slaves, subjected to his absolute arbitrary power, he has no such right of dominion over their children. He can have no power over them but by their own consent, whatever he may drive them to say or do; and he has no lawfull authority, whilst force, and not choice, compels them to submission.

§. 190.

Every man is born with a double right: first, a right of freedom to his person, which no other man has a power over, but the free disposal of it lies in himself. Secondly, a right, before any other man, to inherit with his brethren his father’s goods.

§. 191.

By the first of these, a man is naturally free from subjection to any government, tho’ he be born in a place under its jurisdiction; but if he disclaim the lawful government of the country he was born in, he must also quit the right that belonged to him by the laws of it, and the possessions there descending to him from his ancestors, if it were a government made by their consent.

§. 192.

By the second, the inhabitants of any country, who are descended, and derive a title to their estates from those who are subdued, and had a government forced upon them against their free consents, retain a right to the possession of their ancestors, though they consent not freely to the government, whose hard conditions were by force imposed on the possessors of that country: for the first conqueror never having had a title to the land of that country, the people who are the descendants of, or claim under those who were forced to submit to the yoke of a government by constraint, have always a right to shake it off, and free themselves from the usurpation or tyranny which the sword hath brought in upon them, till their rulers put them under such a frame of government as they willingly and of choice consent to. Who doubts but the Grecian christians, descendants of the ancient possessors of that country, may justly cast off the Turkish yoke, which they have so long groaned under, whenever they have an opportunity to do it? For no government can have a right to obedience from a people who have not freely consented to it; which they can never be supposed to do, till either they are put in a full state of liberty to chuse their government and governors, or at least till they have such standing laws, to which they have by themselves or their representatives given their free consent, and also till they are allowed their due property, which is so to be proprietors of what they have, that no body can take away any part of it without their own consent, without which, men under any government are not in the state of freemen, but are direct slaves under the force of war.

§. 193.

But granting that the conqueror in a just war has a right to the estates, as well as power over the persons, of the conquered; which, it is plain, he hath not: nothing of absolute power will follow from hence, in the continuance of the government; because the descendants of these being all freemen, if he grants them estates and possessions to inhabit his country, (without which it would be worth nothing) whatsoever he grants them, they have, so far as it is granted, property in. The nature whereof is, that without a man’s own consent it cannot be taken from him.

§. 194.

Their persons are free by a native right, and their properties, be they more or less, are their own, and at their own dispose, and not at his; or else it is no property. Supposing the conqueror gives to one man a thousand acres, to him and his heirs for ever, to another he lets a thousand acres for his life, under the rent of 50l. or 500l. per ann. has not the one of these a right to his thousand acres for ever, and the other, during his life, paying the said rent? and hath not the tenant for life a property in all that he gets over and above his rent, by his labour and industry during the said term, supposing it be double the rent? Can any one say, the king, or conqueror, after his grant, may by his power of conqueror take away all, or part of the land from the heirs of one, or from the other during his life, he paying the rent? or can he take away from either the goods or money they have got upon the said land, at his pleasure? If he can, then all free and voluntary contracts cease, and are void in the world; there needs nothing to dissolve them at any time, but power enough: and all the grants and promises of men in power are but mockery and collusion: for can there be any thing more ridiculous than to say, I give you and your’s this for ever, and that in the surest and most solemn way of conveyance can be devised; and yet it is to be understood, that I have right, if I please, to take it away from you again to morrow?

§. 195.

I will not dispute now whether princes are exempt from the laws of their country; but this I am sure, they owe subjection to the laws of God and nature, No body, no power, can exempt them from the obligations of that eternal law. Those are so great, and so strong, in the case of promises, that omnipotency itself can be tied by them. Grants, promises, and oaths, are bonds that hold the Almighty: whatever some flatterers say to princes of the world, who all together, with all their people joined to them, are, in comparison of the great God, but as a drop of the bucket, or a dust on the balance, inconsiderable, nothing!

§. 196.

The short of the case in conquest is this: the conqueror, if he have a just cause, has a despotical right over the persons of all, that actually aided, and concurred in the war against him, and a right to make up his damage and cost out of their labour and estates, so he injure not the right of any other. Over the rest of the people, if there were any that consented not to the war, and over the children of the captives themselves, or the possessions of either, he has no power; and so can have, by virtue of conquest, no lawful title himself to dominion over them, or derive it to his posterity; but is an aggressor, if he attempts upon their properties, and thereby puts himself in a state of war against them, and has no better a right of principality, he, nor any of his successors, than Hingar, or Hubba, the Danes, had here in England; or Spartacus, had he conquered Italy, would have had; which is to have their yoke cast off, as soon as God shall give those under their subjection courage and opportunity to do it. Thus, notwithstanding whatever title the kings of Assyria had over Judah, by the sword, God assisted Hezekiah to throw off the dominion of that conquering empire. And the lord was with Hezekiah, and he prospered; wherefore he went forth, and he rebelled against the king of Assyria, and served him not, 2 Kings xviii. 7. Whence it is plain, that shaking off a power, which force, and not right, hath set over any one, though it hath the name of rebellion, yet is no offence before God, but is that which he allows and countenances, though even promises and covenants, when obtained by force, have intervened: for it is very probable, to any one that reads the story of Ahaz and Hezekiah attentively, that the Assyrians subdued Ahaz, and deposed him, and made Hezekiah king in his father’s lifetime; and that Hezekiah by agreement had done him homage, and paid him tribute all this time.

CHAPTER XVII. OF USURPATION.

§. 197.

AS conquest may be called a foreign usurpation, so usurpation is a kind of domestic conquest, with this difference, that an usurper can never have right on his side, it being no usurpation, but where one is got into the possession of what another has right to. This, so far as it is usurpation, is a change only of persons, but not of the forms and rules of the government: for if the usurper extend his power beyond what of right belonged to the lawful princes, or governors of the commonwealth, it is tyranny added to usurpation.

§. 198.

In all lawful governments, the designation of the persons, who are to bear rule, is as natural and necessary a part as the form of the government itself, and is that which had its establishment originally from the people; the anarchy being much alike, to have no form of government at all; or to agree, that it shall be monarchical, but to appoint no way to design the person that shall have the power, and be the monarch. Hence all commonwealths, with the form of government established, have rules also of appointing those who are to have any share in the public authority, and settled methods of conveying the right to them: for the anarchy is much alike, to have no form of government at all; or to agree that it shall be monarchical, but to appoint no way to know or design the person that shall have the power, and be the monarch. Whoever gets into the exercise of any part of the power, by other ways than what the laws of the community have prescribed, hath no right to be obeyed, though the form of the commonwealth be still preserved; since he is not the person the laws have appointed, and consequently not the person the people have consented to. Nor can such an usurper, or any deriving from him, ever have a title, till the people are both at liberty to consent, and have actually consented to allow, and confirm in him the power he hath till then usurped.

CHAPTER XVIII. OF TYRANNY.

§. 199.

AS usurpation is the exercise of power, which another hath a right to; so tyranny is the exercise of power beyond right, which no body can have a right to. And this is making use of the power any one has in his hands, not for the good of those who are under it, but for his own private separate advantage. When the governor, however intitled, makes not the law, but his will, the rule; and his commands and actions are not directed to the preservation of the properties of his people, but the satisfaction of his own ambition, revenge, covetousness, or any other irregular passion.

§. 200.

If one can doubt this to be truth, or reason, because it comes from the obscure hand of a subject, I hope the authority of a king will make it pass with him. King James the first, in his speech to the parliament, 1603, tells them thus, I will ever prefer the weal of the public, and of the whole commonwealth, in making of good laws and constitutions, to any particular and private ends of mine; thinking ever the wealth and weal of the commonwealth to be my greatest weal and worldly felicity; a point wherein a lawful king doth directly differ from a tyrant: for I do acknowledge, that the special and greatest point of difference that is between a rightful king and an usurping tyrant, is this, that whereas the proud and ambitious tyrant doth think his kingdom and people are only ordained for satisfaction of his desires and unreasonable appetites, the righteous and just king doth by the contrary acknowledge himself to be ordained for the procuring of the wealth and property of his people. And again, in his speech to the parliament, 1609, he hath these words, The king binds himself by a double oath, to the observation of the fundamental laws of his kingdom; tacitly, as by being a king, and so bound to protect as well the people, as the laws of his kingdom; and expresly, by his oath at his coronation; so as every just king, in a settled kingdom, is bound to observe that paction made to his people, by his laws, in framing his government agreeable thereunto, according to that paction which God made with Noah after the deluge. Hereafter, seed-time and harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and winter, and day and night, shall not cease while the earth remaineth. And therefore a king governing in a settled kingdom, leaves to be a king, and degenerates into a tyrant, as soon as he leaves off to rule according to his laws. And a little after, Therefore all kings that are not tyrants, or perjured, will be glad to bound themselves within the limits of their laws; and they that persuade them the contrary, are vipers, and pests both against them and the commonwealth. Thus that learned king, who well understood the notion of things, makes the difference betwixt a king and a tyrant to consist only in this, that one makes the laws the bounds of his power, and the good of the public, the end of his government; the other makes all give way to his own will and appetite.

§. 201.

It is a mistake, to think this fault is proper only to monarchies; other forms of government are liable to it, as well as that: for wherever the power, that is put in any hands for the government of the people, and the preservation of their properties, is applied to other ends, and made use of to impoverish, harass, or subdue them to the arbitrary and irregular commands of those that have it; there it presently becomes tyranny, whether those that thus use it are one or many. Thus we read of the thirty tyrants at Athens, as well as one at Syracuse; and the intolerable dominion of the Decemviri at Rome was nothing better.

§. 202.

Where-ever law ends, tyranny begins, if the law be transgressed to another’s harm; and whosoever in authority exceeds the power given him by the law, and makes use of the force he has under his command, to compass that upon the subject, which the law allows not, ceases in that to be a magistrate; and, acting without authority, may be opposed, as any other man, who by force invades the right of another. This is acknowledged in subordinate magistrates. He that hath authority to seize my person in the street, may be opposed as a thief and a robber, if he endeavours to break into my house to execute a writ, notwithstanding that I know he has such a warrant, and such a legal authority, as will impower him to arrest me abroad. And why this should not hold in the highest, as well as in the most inferior magistrate, I would gladly be informed. Is it reasonable, that the eldest brother, because he has the greatest part of his father’s estate, should thereby have a right to take away any of his younger brothers portions? or that a rich man, who possessed a whole country, should from thence have a right to seize, when he pleased, the cottage and garden of his poor neighbour? The being rightfully possessed of great power and riches, exceedingly beyond the greatest part of the sons of Adam, is so far from being an excuse, much less a reason, for rapine and oppression, which the endamaging another without authority is, that it is a great aggravation of it: for the exceeding the bounds of authority is no more a right in a great, than in a petty officer; no more justifiable in a king than a constable; but is so much the worse in him, in that he has more trust put in him, has already a much greater share than the rest of his brethren, and is supposed, from the advantages of his education, employment, and counsellors, to be more knowing in the measures of right and wrong.

§. 203.

May the commands then of a prince be opposed? may he be resisted as often as any one shall find himself aggrieved, and but imagine he has not right done him? This will unhinge and overturn all polities, and, instead of government and order, leave nothing but anarchy and confusion.

§. 204.

To this I answer, that force is to be opposed to nothing, but to unjust and unlawful force; whoever makes any opposition in any other case, draws on himself a just condemnation both from God and man; and so no such danger or confusion will follow, as is often suggested: for,

§. 205.

First, As, in some countries, the person of the prince by the law is sacred; and so, whatever he commands or does, his person is still free from all question or violence, not liable to force, or any judicial censure or condemnation. But yet opposition may be made to the illegal acts of any inferior officer, or other commissioned by him; unless he will, by actually putting himself into a state of war with his people, dissolve the government, and leave them to that defence which belongs to every one in the state of nature: for of such things who can tell what the end will be? and a neighbour kingdom has shewed the world an odd example. In all other cases the sacredness of the person exempts him from all inconveniencies, whereby he is secure, whilst the government stands, from all violence and harm whatsoever; than which there cannot be a wiser constitution: for the harm he can do in his own person not being likely to happen often, nor to extend itself far; nor being able by his single strength to subvert the laws, nor oppress the body of the people, should any prince have so much weakness, and ill nature as to be willing to do it, the inconveniency of some particular mischiefs, that may happen sometimes, when a heady prince comes to the throne, are well recompensed by the peace of the public, and security of the government, in the person of the chief magistrate, thus set out of the reach of danger: it being safer for the body, that some few private men should be sometimes in danger to suffer, than that the head of the republic should be easily, and upon slight occasions, exposed.

§. 206.

Secondly, But this privilege, belonging only to the king’s person, hinders not, but they may be questioned, opposed, and resisted, who use unjust force, though they pretend a commission from him, which the law authorizes not; as is plain in the case of him that has the king’s writ to arrest a man, which is a full commission from the king; and yet he that has it cannot break open a man’s house to do it, nor execute this command of the king upon certain days, nor in certain places, though this commission have no such exception in it; but they are the limitations of the law, which if any one transgress, the king’s commission excuses him not: for the king’s authority being given him only by the law, he cannot impower any one to act against the law, or justify him, by his commission, in so doing; the commission, or command of any magistrate, where he has no authority, being as void and insignificant, as that of any private man; the difference between the one and the other, being that the magistrate has some authority so far, and to such ends, and the private man has none at all: for it is not the commission, but the authority, that gives the right of acting; and against the laws there can be no authority. But, notwithstanding such resistance, the king’s person and authority are still both secured, and so no danger to governor or government.

§. 207.

Thirdly, Supposing a government wherein the person of the chief magistrate is not thus sacred; yet this doctrine of the lawfulness of resisting all unlawful exercises of his power, will not upon every slight occasion indanger him, or imbroil the government: for where the injured party may be relieved, and his damages repaired by appeal to the law, there can be no pretence for force, which is only to be used where a man is intercepted from appealing to the law: for nothing is to be accounted hostile force, but where it leaves not the remedy of such an appeal; and it is such force alone, that puts him that uses it into a state of war, and makes it lawful to resist him. A man with a sword in his hand demands my purse in the high-way, when perhaps I have not twelve pence in my pocket: this man I may lawfully kill. To another I deliver 100 l. to hold only whilst I alight, which he refuses to restore me, when I am got up again, but draws his sword to defend the possession of it by force, if I endeavour to retake it. The mischief this man does me is a hundred, or possibly a thousand times more than the other perhaps intended me (whom I killed before he really did me any); and yet I might lawfully kill the one, and cannot so much as hurt the other lawfully. The reason whereof is plain; because the one using force, which threatened my life, I could not have time to appeal to the law to secure it: and when it was gone, it was too late to appeal. The law could not restore life to my dead carcass: the loss was irreparable; which to prevent, the law of nature gave me a right to destroy him, who had put himself into a state of war with me, and threatened my destruction. But in the other case, my life not being in danger, I may have the benefit of appealing to the law, and have reparation for my 100 l. that way.

§. 208.

Fourthly, But if the unlawful acts done by the magistrate be maintained (by the power he has got), and the remedy which is due by law, be by the same power obstructed; yet the right of resisting, even in such manifest acts of tyranny, will not suddenly, or on slight occasions, disturb the government: for if it reach no farther than some private men’s cases, though they have a right to defend themselves, and to recover by force what by unlawful force is taken from them; yet the right to do so will not easily engage them in a contest, wherein they are sure to perish; it being as impossible for one, or a few oppressed men to disturb the government, where the body of the people do not think themselves concerned in it, as for a raving mad-man, or heady mal-content to overturn a well-settled state; the people being as little apt to follow the one, as the other.

§. 209.

But if either these illegal acts have extended to the majority of the people; or if the mischief and oppression has lighted only on some few, but in such cases, as the precedent, and consequences seem to threaten all; and they are persuaded in their consciences, that their laws, and with them their estates, liberties, and lives are in danger, and perhaps their religion too; how they will be hindered from resisting illegal force, used against them, I cannot tell. This is an inconvenience, I confess, that attends all governments whatsoever, when the governors have brought it to this pass, to be generally suspected of their people; the most dangerous state which they can possibly put themselves in; wherein they are the less to be pitied, because it is so easy to be avoided; it being as impossible for a governor, if he really means the good of his people, and the preservation of them, and their laws together, not to make them see and feel it, as it is for the father of a family, not to let his children see he loves, and takes care of them.

§. 210.

But if all the world shall observe pretences of one kind, and actions of another; arts used to elude the law, and the trust of prerogative (which is an arbitrary power in some things left in the prince’s hand to do good, not harm to the people) employed contrary to the end for which it was given: if the people shall find the ministers and subordinate magistrates chosen suitable to such ends, and favoured, or laid by, proportionably as they promote or oppose them: if they see several experiments made of arbitrary power, and that religion underhand favoured, (tho’ publicly proclaimed against) which is readiest to introduce it; and the operators in it supported, as much as may be; and when that cannot be done, yet approved still, and liked the better: if a long train of actions shew the councils all tending that way; how can a man any more hinder himself from being persuaded in his own mind, which way things are going; or from casting about how to save himself, than he could from believing the captain of the ship he was in, was carrying him, and the rest of the company, to Algiers, when he found him always steering that course, though cross winds, leaks in his ship, and want of men and provisions did often force him to turn his course another way for some time, which he steadily returned to again, as soon as the wind, weather, and other circumstances would let him?

CHAPTER XIX. OF THE DISSOLUTION OF GOVERNMENT.

§. 211.

HE that will with any clearness speak of the dissolution of government, ought in the first place to distinguish between the dissolution of the society and the dissolution of the government. That which makes the community, and brings men out of the loose state of nature, into one politic society, is the agreement which every one has with the rest to incorporate, and act as one body, and so be one distinct common-wealth. The usual, and almost only way whereby this union is dissolved, is the inroad of foreign force making a conquest upon them: for in that case, (not being able to maintain and support themselves, as one intire and independent body) the union belonging to that body which consisted therein, must necessarily cease, and so every one return to the state he was in before, with a liberty to shift for himself, and provide for his own safety, as he thinks fit, in some other society. Whenever the society is dissolved, it is certain the government of that society cannot remain. Thus conquerors swords often cut up governments by the roots, and mangle societies to pieces, separating the subdued or scattered multitude from the protection of, and dependence on, that society which ought to have preserved them from violence. The world is too well instructed in, and too forward to allow of, this way of dissolving of governments, to need any more to be said of it; and there wants not much argument to prove, that where the society is dissolved, the government cannot remain; that being as impossible, as for the frame of an house to subsist when the materials of it are scattered and dissipated by a whirl-wind, or jumbled into a confused heap by an earthquake.

§. 212.

Besides this over-turning from without, governments are dissolved from within,

First, When the legislative is altered. Civil society being a state of peace, amongst those who are of it, from whom the state of war is excluded by the umpirage, which they have provided in their legislative, for the ending all differences that may arise amongst any of them, it is in their legislative, that the members of a common-wealth are united, and combined together into one coherent living body. This is the soul that gives form, life, and unity, to the common-wealth: from hence the several members have their mutual influence, sympathy, and connexion: and therefore, when the legislative is broken, or dissolved, dissolution and death follows: for the essence and union of the society consisting in having one will, the legislative, when once established by the majority, has the declaring, and as it were keeping of that will. The constitution of the legislative is the first and fundamental act of society, whereby provision is made for the continuation of their union, under the direction of persons, and bonds of laws, made by persons authorized thereunto, by the consent and appointment of the people, without which no one man, or number of men, amongst them, can have authority of making laws that shall be binding to the rest. When any one, or more, shall take upon them to make laws, whom the people have not appointed so to do, they make laws without authority, which the people are not therefore bound to obey; by which means they come again to be out of subjection, and may constitute to themselves a new legislative, as they think best, being in full liberty to resist the force of those, who without authority would impose any thing upon them. Every one is at the disposure of his own will, when those who had, by the delegation of the society, the declaring of the public will, are excluded from it, and others usurp the place, who have no such authority or delegation.

§. 213.

This being usually brought about by such in the common-wealth who misuse the power they have; it is hard to consider it aright, and know at whose door to lay it, without knowing the form of government in which it happens. Let us suppose then the legislative placed in the concurrence of three distinct persons.

A single hereditary person, having the constant, supreme, executive power, and with it the power of convoking and dissolving the other two within certain periods of time.

An assembly of hereditary nobility.

An assembly of representatives chosen, pro tempore, by the people. Such a form of government supposed, it is evident,

§. 214.

First, That when such a single person, or prince, sets up his own arbitrary will in place of the laws, which are the will of the society, declared by the legislative, then the legislative is changed: for that being in effect the legislative, whose rules and laws are put in execution, and required to be obeyed; when other laws are set up, and other rules pretended, and inforced, than what the legislative, constituted by the society, have enacted, it is plain that the legislative is changed. Whoever introduces new laws, not being thereunto authorized by the fundamental appointment of the society, or subverts the old, disowns and overturns the power by which they were made, and so sets up a new legislative.

§. 215.

Secondly, When the prince hinders the legislative from assembling in its due time, or from acting freely, pursuant to those ends for which it was constituted, the legislative is altered: for it is not a certain number of men, no, nor their meeting, unless they have also freedom of debating, and leisure of perfecting, what is for the good of the society, wherein the legislative consists: when these are taken away or altered, so as to deprive the society of the due exercise of their power, the legislative is truly altered; for it is not names that constitute governments, but the use and exercise of those powers that were intended to accompany them; so that he, who takes away the freedom, or hinders the acting of the legislative in its due seasons, in effect takes away the legislative, and puts an end to the government.

§. 216.

Thirdly, When, by the arbitrary power of the prince, the electors, or ways of election, are altered, without the consent, and contrary to the common interest of the people, there also the legislative is altered: for, if others than those whom the society hath authorized thereunto, do chuse, or in another way than what the society hath prescribed, those chosen are not the legislative appointed by the people.

§. 217.

Fourthly, The delivery also of the people into the subjection of a foreign power, either by the prince, or by the legislative, is certainly a change of the legislative, and so a dissolution of the government: for the end why people entered into society being to be preserved one intire, free, independent society, to be governed by its own laws; this is lost, whenever they are given up into the power of another.

§. 218.

Why, in such a constitution as this, the dissolution of the government in these cases is to be imputed to the prince, is evident; because he, having the force, treasure and offices of the state to employ, and often persuading himself, or being flattered by others, that as supreme magistrate he is uncapable of controul; he alone is in a condition to make great advances toward such changes, under pretence of lawful authority, and has it in his hands to terrify or suppress opposers, as factious, seditious, and enemies to the government: whereas no other part of the legislative, or people, is capable by themselves to attempt any alteration of the legislative, without open and visible rebellion, apt enough to be taken notice of, which, when it prevails, produces effects very little different from foreign conquest. Besides, the prince in such a form of government, having the power of dissolving the other parts of the legislative, and thereby rendering them private persons, they can never in opposition to him, or without his concurrence, alter the legislative by a law, his consent being necessary to give any of their decrees that sanction. But yet, so far as the other parts of the legislative any way contribute to any attempt upon the government, and do either promote, or not, what lies in them, hinder such designs, they are guilty, and partake in this, which is certainly the greatest crime men can be guilty of one towards another.

§. 219.

There is one way more whereby such a government may be dissolved, and that is, when he who has the supreme executive power, neglects and abandons that charge, so that the laws already made can no longer be put in execution. This is demonstratively to reduce all to anarchy, and so effectually to dissolve the government: for laws not being made for themselves, but to be, by their execution, the bonds of the society, to keep every part of the body politic in its due place and function; when that totally ceases, the government visibly ceases, and the people become a confused multitude, without order or connexion. Where there is no longer the administration of justice, for the securing of men’s rights, nor any remaining power within the community to direct the force, or provide for the necessities of the public, there certainly is no government left. Where the laws cannot be executed, it is all one as if there were no laws; and a government without laws is, I suppose, a mystery in politics, unconceivable to human capacity, and inconsistent with human society.

§. 220.

In these and the like cases, when the government is dissolved, the people are at liberty to provide for themselves, by erecting a new legislative, differing from the other, by the change of persons, or form, or both, as they shall find it most for their safety and good: for the society can never, by the fault of another, lose the native and original right it has to preserve itself, which can only be done by a settled legislative, and a fair and impartial execution of the laws made by it. But the state of mankind is not so miserable that they are not capable of using this remedy, till it be too late to look for any. To tell people they may provide for themselves, by erecting a new legislative, when by oppression, artifice, or being delivered over to a foreign power, their old one is gone, is only to tell them, they may expect relief when it is too late, and the evil is past cure. This is in effect no more than to bid them first be slaves, and then to take care of their liberty; and when their chains are on, tell them, they may act like freemen. This, if barely so, is rather mockery than relief; and men can never be secure from tyranny, if there be no means to escape it till they are perfectly under it: and therefore it is, that they have not only a right to get out of it, but to prevent it.

§. 221.

There is therefore, secondly, another way whereby governments are dissolved, and that is, when the legislative, or the prince, either of them, act contrary to their trust.

First, The legislative acts against the trust reposed in them, when they endeavour to invade the property of the subject, and to make themselves, or any part of the community, masters, or arbitrary disposers of the lives, liberties, or fortunes of the people.

§. 222.

The reason why men enter into society, is the preservation of their property; and the end why they chuse and authorize a legislative, is, that there may be laws made, and rules set, as guards and fences to the properties of all the members of the society, to limit the power, and moderate the dominion, of every part and member of the society: for since it can never be supposed to be the will of the society, that the legislative should have a power to destroy that which every one designs to secure, by entering into society, and for which the people submitted themselves to legislators of their own making; whenever the legislators endeavour to take away, and destroy the property of the people, or to reduce them to slavery under arbitrary power, they put themselves into a state of war with the people, who are thereupon absolved from any farther obedience, and are left to the common refuge, which God hath provided for all men, against force and violence. Whensoever therefore the legislative shall transgress this fundamental rule of society; and either by ambition, fear, folly or corruption, endeavour to grasp themselves, or put into the hands of any other, an absolute power over the lives, liberties, and estates of the people; by this breach of trust they forfeit the power the people had put into their hands for quite contrary ends, and it devolves to the people, who have a right to resume their original liberty, and, by the establishment of a new legislative, (such as they shall think fit) provide for their own safety and security, which is the end for which they are in society. What I have said here, concerning the legislative in general, holds true also concerning the supreme executor, who having a double trust put in him, both to have a part in the legislative, and the supreme execution of the law, acts against both, when he goes about to set up his own arbitrary will as the law of the society. He acts also contrary to his trust, when he either employs the force, treasure, and offices of the society, to corrupt the representatives, and gain them to his purposes; or openly pre-engages the electors, and prescribes to their choice, such, whom he has, by sollicitations, threats, promises, or otherwise, won to his designs; and employs them to bring in such, who have promised before-hand what to vote, and what to enact. Thus to regulate candidates and electors, and new-model the ways of election, what is it but to cut up the government by the roots, and poison the very fountain of public security? for the people having reserved to themselves the choice of their representatives, as the fence to their properties, could do it for no other end, but that they might always be freely chosen, and so chosen, freely act, and advise, as the necessity of the common-wealth, and the public good should, upon examination, and mature debate, be judged to require. This, those who give their votes before they hear the debate, and have weighed the reasons on all sides, are not capable of doing. To prepare such an assembly as this, and endeavour to set up the declared abettors of his own will, for the true representatives of the people, and the law-makers of the society, is certainly as great a breach of trust, and as perfect a declaration of a design to subvert the government, as is possible to be met with. To which, if one shall add rewards and punishments visibly employed to the same end, and all the arts of perverted law made use of, to take off and destroy all that stand in the way of such a design, and will not comply and consent to betray the liberties of their country, it will be past doubt what is doing. What power they ought to have in the society, who thus employ it contrary to the trust went along with it in its first institution, is easy to determine; and one cannot but see, that he, who has once attempted any such thing as this, cannot any longer be trusted.

§. 223.

To this perhaps it will be said, that the people being ignorant, and always discontented, to lay the foundation of government in the unsteady opinion and uncertain humour of the people, is to expose it to certain ruin; and no government will be able long to subsist, if the people may set up a new legislative, whenever they take offence at the old one. To this I answer, Quite the contrary. People are not so easily got out of their old forms, as some are apt to suggest. They are hardly to be prevailed with to amend the acknowledged faults in the frame they have been accustomed to. And if there be any original defects, or adventitious ones introduced by time, or corruption; it is not an easy thing to get them changed, even when all the world sees there is an opportunity for it. This slowness and aversion in the people to quite their old constitutions, has, in the many revolutions which have been seen in this kingdom, in this and former ages, still kept us to, or, after some interval of fruitless attempts, still brought us back again to our old legislative of king, lords and commons: and whatever provocations have made the crown be taken from some of our princes heads, they never carried the people so far as to place it in another line.

§. 224.

But it will be said, this hypothesis lays a ferment for frequent rebellion. To which I answer,

First, No more than any other hypothesis: for when the people are made miserable, and find themselves exposed to the ill usage of arbitrary power, cry up their governors, as much as you will, for sons of Jupiter; let them be sacred and divine, descended, or authorized from heaven; give them out for whom or what you please, the same will happen. The people generally ill treated, and contrary to right, will be ready upon any occasion to ease themselves of a burden that sits heavy upon them. They will wish, and seek for the opportunity, which in the change, weakness and accidents of human affairs, seldom delays long to offer itself. He must have lived but a little while in the world, who has not seen examples of this in his time; and he must have read very little, who cannot produce examples of it in all sorts of governments in the world.

§. 225.

Secondly, I answer, such revolutions happen not upon every little mismanagement in public affairs. Great mistakes in the ruling part, many wrong and inconvenient laws, and all the slips of human frailty, will be born by the people without mutiny or murmur. But if a long train of abuses, prevarications and artifices, all tending the same way, make the design visible to the people, and they cannot but feel what they lie under, and see whither they are going; it is not to be wondered, that they should then rouze themselves, and endeavour to put the rule into such hands which may secure to them the ends for which government was at first erected; and without which, ancient names, and specious forms, are so far from being better, that they are much worse, than the state of nature, or pure anarchy; the inconveniencies being all as great and as near, but the remedy farther off and more difficult.

§. 226.

Thirdly, I answer, that this doctrine of a power in the people of providing for their safety a-new, by a new legislative, when their legislators have acted contrary to their trust, by invading their property, is the best fence against rebellion, and the probablest means to hinder it: for rebellion being an opposition, not to persons, but authority, which is founded only in the constitutions and laws of the government; those, whoever they be, who by force break through, and by force justify their violation of them, are truly and properly rebels: for when men, by entering into society and civil-government, have excluded force, and introduced laws for the preservation of property, peace, and unity amongst themselves, those who set up force again in opposition to the laws, do rebellare, that is, bring back again the state of war, and are properly rebels: which they who are in power, (by the pretence they have to authority, the temptation of force they have in their hands, and the flattery of those about them) being likeliest to do; the properest way to prevent the evil, is to shew them the danger and injustice of it, who are under the greatest temptation to run into it.

§. 227.

In both the fore-mentioned cases, when either the legislative is changed, or the legislators act contrary to the end for which they were constituted; those who are guilty are guilty of rebeliion: for if any one by force takes away the established legislative of any society, and the laws by them made, pursuant to their trust, he thereby takes away the umpirage, which every one had consented to, for a peaceable decision of all their controversies, and a bar to the state of war amongst them. They, who remove, or change the legislative, take away this decisive power, which no body can have, but by the appointment and consent of the people; and so destroying the authority which the people did, and no body else can set up, and introducing a power which the people hath not authorized, they actually introduce a state of war, which is that of force without authority: and thus, by removing the legislative established by the society, (in whose decisions the people acquiesced and united, as to that of their own will) they untie the knot, and expose the people a-new to the state of war. And if those, who by force take away the legislative, are rebels, the legislators themselves, as has been shewn, can be no less esteemed so; when they, who were set up for the protection, and preservation of the people, their liberties and properties, shall by force invade and endeavour to take them away; and so they putting themselves into a state of war with those who made them the protectors and guardians of their peace, are properly, and with the greatest aggravation, rebellantes, rebels.

§. 228.

But if they, who say it lays a foundation for rebellion, mean that it may occasion civil wars, or intestine broils, to tell the people they are absolved from obedience when illegal attempts are made upon their liberties or properties, and may oppose the unlawful violence of those who were their magistrates, when they invade their properties contrary to the trust put in them; and that therefore this doctrine is not to be allowed, being so destructive to the peace of the world: they may as well say, upon the same ground, that honest men may not oppose robbers or pirates, because this may occasion disorder or bloodshed. If any mischief come in such cases, it is not to be charged upon him who defends his own right, but on him that invades his neighbours. If the innocent honest man must quietly quit all he has, for peace sake, to him who will lay violent hands upon it, I desire it may be considered, what a kind of peace there will be in the world, which consists only in violence and rapine; and which is to be maintained only for the benefit of robbers and oppressors. Who would not think it an admirable peace betwixt the mighty and the mean, when the lamb, without resistance, yielded his throat to be torn by the imperious wolf? Polyphemus’s den gives us a perfect pattern of such a peace, and such a government, wherein Ulysses and his companions had nothing to do, but quietly to suffer themselves to be devoured. And no doubt Ulysses, who was a prudent man, preached up passive obedience, and exhorted them to a quiet submission, by representing to them of what concernment peace was to mankind; and by shewing the inconveniences might happen, if they should offer to resist Polyphemus, who had now the power over them.

§. 229.

The end of government is the good of mankind; and which is best for mankind, that the people should be always exposed to the boundless will of tyranny, or that the rulers should be sometimes liable to be opposed, when they grow exorbitant in the use of their power, and employ it for the destruction, and not the preservation of the properties of their people?

§. 230.

Nor let any one say, that mischief can arise from hence, as often as it shall please a busy head, or turbulent spirit, to desire the alteration of the government. It is true, such men may stir, whenever they please; but it will be only to their own just ruin and perdition: for till the mischief be grown general, and the ill designs of the rulers become visible, or their attempts sensible to the greater part, the people, who are more disposed to suffer than right themselves by resistance, are not apt to stir. The examples of particular injustice, or oppression of here and there an unfortunate man, moves them not. But if they universally have a persuasion, grounded upon manifest evidence, that designs are carrying on against their liberties, and the general course and tendency of things cannot but give them strong suspicions of the evil intention of their governors, who is to be blamed for it? Who can help it, if they, who might avoid it, bring themselves into this suspicion? Are the people to be blamed, if they have the sense of rational creatures, and can think of things no otherwise than as they find and feel them? And is it not rather their fault, who put things into such a posture, that they would not have them thought to be as they are? I grant, that the pride, ambition, and turbulency of private men have sometimes caused great disorders in common-wealths, and factions have been fatal to states and kingdoms. But whether the mischief hath oftener begun in the peoples wantonness, and a desire to cast off the lawful authority of their rulers, or in the rulers insolence, and endeavours to get and exercise an arbitrary power over their people; whether oppression, or disobedience, gave the first rise to the disorder, I leave it to impartial history to determine. This I am sure, whoever, either ruler or subject, by force goes about to invade the rights of either prince or people, and lays the foundation for overturning the constitution and frame of any just government, is highly guilty of the greatest crime, I think, a man is capable of, being to answer for all those mischiefs of blood, rapine, and desolation, which the breaking to pieces of governments bring on a country. And he who does it, is justly to be esteemed the common enemy and pest of mankind, and is to be treated accordingly.

§. 231.

That subjects or foreigners, attempting by force on the properties of any people, may be resisted with force, is agreed on all hands. But that magistrates, doing the same thing, may be resisted, hath of late been denied: as if those who had the greatest privileges and advantages by the law, had thereby a power to break those laws, by which alone they were set in a better place than their brethren: whereas their offence is thereby the greater, both as being ungrateful for the greater share they have by the law, and breaking also that trust, which is put into their hands by their brethren.

§. 232.

Whosoever uses force without right, as every one does in society, who does it without law, puts himself into a state of war with those against whom he so uses it; and in that state all former ties are cancelled, all other rights cease, and every one has a right to defend himself, and to resist the aggressor. This is so evident, that Barclay himself, that great assertor of the power and sacredness of kings, is forced to confess, That it is lawful for the people, in some cases, to resist their king; and that too in a chapter, wherein he pretends to shew, that the divine law shuts up the people from all manner of rebellion. Whereby it is evident, even by his own doctrine, that, since they may in some cases resist, all resisting of princes is not rebellion. His words are these. Quod siquis dicat, Ergone populus tyrannicæ crudelitati & furori jugulum semper præbehit? Ergone multitudo civitates suas fame, ferro, & flammâ vastari, seque, conjuges, & liberos fortunæ ludibrio & tyranni libidini exponi, inque omnia vitæ pericula omnesque miserias & molestias á rege deduci patientur? Num illis quod omni animantium generi est á naturâ tributum, denegari debet, ut sc. vim vi repellant, seseq; ab injuriâ tueantur? Huic breviter responsum sit, Populo universo negari defensionem, quæ juris naturalis est, neque ultionem quæ præter naturam est adversus regem concedi debere. Quapropter si rex non in singulares tantum personas aliquot privatum odium exerceat, sed corpus etiam reipublicæ, cujus ipse caput est, i. e. totum populum, vel insignem aliquam ejus partem immani & intolerandâ seu tyrannide divexet; populo, quidem hoc casu resistendi ac tuendi se ab injuriâ potestas competit, sed tuendi se tantum, non enim in principem invadendi: & restituendæ injuriæ illatæ, non recedendi à debitâ reverentiâ propter acceptam injuriam. Præsentem denique impetum propulsandi non vim præteritam ulciscenti jus habet. Horum enim alterum à naturâ est, ut vitam scilicet corpusque tueamur. Alterum vero contra naturam, ut inferior de superiori supplicium sumat. Quod itaque populus malum, antequam factum sit, impedire potest, ne fiat, id postquam factum est, in regem authorem sceleris vindicare non potest: populus igitur hoc ampliùs quam privatus quispiam habet: quod huic, vel ipsis adversariis judicibus, excepto Buchanano, nullum nisi in patientia remedium superest. Cùm ille si intolerabilis tyrannus est (modicum enim ferre omnino debet) resistere cum reverentiâ possit, Barclay contra Monarchom. l. iii. c. 8.

In English thus.

§. 233.

But if any one should ask, Must the people then always lay themselves open to the cruelty and rage of tyranny? Must they see their cities pillaged, and laid in ashes, their wives and children exposed to the tyrant’s lust and fury, and themselves and families reduced by their king to ruin, and all the miseries of want and oppression, and yet sit still? Must men alone be debarred the common privilege of opposing force with force, which nature allows so freely to all other creatures for their preservation from injury? I answer: Self-defence is a part of the law of nature; nor can it be denied the community, even against the king himself: but to revenge themselves upon him, must by no means be allowed them: it being not agreeable to that law. Wherefore if the king shall shew an hatred, not only to some particular persons, but sets himself against the body of the common-wealth, whereof he is the head, and shall, with intolerable ill usage, cruelly tyrannize over the whole, or a considerable part of the people, in this case the people have a right to resist and defend themselves from injury: but it must be with this caution, that they only defend themselves, but do not attack their prince: they may repair the damages received, but must not for any provocation exceed the bounds of due reverence and respect. They may repulse the present attempt, but must not revenge past violences: for it is natural for us to defend life and limb, but that an inferior should punish a superior, is against nature. The mischief which is designed them, the people may prevent before it be done; but when it is done, they must not revenge it on the king, though author of the villany. This therefore is the privilege of the people in general, above what any private person hath; that particular men are allowed by our adversaries themselves (Buchanan only excepted) to have no other remedy but patience; but the body of the people may with respect resist intolerable tyranny; for when it is but moderate, they ought to endure it.

§. 234.

Thus far that great advocate of monarchical power allows of resistance.

§. 235.

It is true, he has annexed two limitations to it, to no purpose:

First, He says, it must be with reverence.

Secondly, It must be without retribution, or punishment; and the reason he gives is, because an inferior cannot punish a superior.

First, How to resist force without striking again, or how to strike with reverence, will need some skill to make intelligible. He that shall oppose an assault only with a shield to receive the blows, or in any more respectful posture, without a sword in his hand, to abate the confidence and force of the assailant, will quickly be at an end of his resistance, and will find such a defence serve only to draw on himself the worse usage. This is as ridiculous a way of resisting, as Juvenal thought it of fighting; ubi tu pulsas, ego vapulo tantum. And the success of the combat will be unavoidably the same he there describes it:

 — Libertas pauperis hæc est:

Pulsatus rogat, & pugnis concisus, adorat,

Ut liceat paucis cum dentibus inde reverti.

This will always be the event of such an imaginary resistance, where men may not strike again. He therefore who may resist, must be allowed to strike. And then let our author, or any body else, join a knock on the head, or a cut on the face, with as much reverence and respect as he thinks fit. He that can reconcile blows and reverence, may, for aught I know, desire for his pains, a civil, respectful cudgeling where-ever he can meet with it.

Secondly, As to his second, An inferior cannot punish a superior; that is true, generally speaking, whilst he is his superior. But to resist force with force, being the state of war that levels the parties, cancels all former relation of reverence, respect, and superiority: and then the odds that remains, is, that he, who opposes the unjust aggressor, has this superiority over him, that he has a right, when he prevails, to punish the offender, both for the breach of the peace, and all the evils that followed upon it. Barclay therefore, in another place, more coherently to himself, denies it to be lawful to resist a king in any case. But he there assigns two cases, whereby a king may un-king himself. His words are,

Quid ergo, nulline casus incidere possunt quibus populo sese erigere atque in regem impotentius dominantem arma capere & invadere jure suo suâque authoritate liceat? Nulli certe quamdiu rex manet. Semper enim ex divinis id obstat, Regem honorificato; & qui potestati resistit, Dei ordinationi resistit: non aliàs igitur in eum populo potestas est quam si id committat propter quod ipso jure rex esse desinat. Tunc enim se ipse principatu exuit atque in privatis constituit liber: hoc modo populus & superior efficitur, reverso ad eum sc. jure illo quod ante regem inauguratum in interregno habuit. At sunt paucorum generum commissa ejusmodi quæ hunc effectum pariunt. At ego cum plurima animo perlustrem, duo tantum invenio, duos, inquam, casus quibus rex ipso facto ex rege non regem se facit & omni honore & dignitate regali atque in subditos potestate destituit; quorum etiam meminit Winzerus. Horum unus est, Si regnum disperdat, quemadmodum de Nerone fertur, quod is nempe senatum populumque Romanum, atque adeo urbem ipsam ferro flammaque vastare, ac novas sibi sedes quærere decrevisset. Et de Caligula, quod palam denunciarit se neque civem neque principem senatui amplius fore, inque animo habuerit interempto utriusque ordinis electissimo quoque Alexandriam commigrare, ac ut populum uno ictu interimeret, unam ei cervicem optavit. Talia cum rex aliquis meditatur & molitur serio, omnem regnandi curam & animum ilico abjicit, ac proinde imperium in subditos amittit, ut dominus servi pro derelicto habiti dominium.

§. 236.

Alter casus est, Si rex in alicujus clientelam se contulit; ac regnum quod liberum à majoribus & populo traditum accepit, alienæ ditioni mancipavit. Nam tunc quamvis forte non eâ mente id agit populo plane ut incommodet: tamen quia quod præcipuum est regiæ dignitatis amisit, ut summus scilicet in regno secundum Deum sit, & solo Deo inferior, atque populum etiam totum ignorantem vel invitum, cujus libertatem sartam & tectam conservare debuit, in alterius gentis ditionem & potestatem dedidit; hâc velut quadam regni ab alienatione effecit, ut nec quod ipse in regno imperium habuit retineat, nec in eum cui collatum voluit, juris quicquam transferat; atque ita eo facto liberum jam & suæ potestatis populum relinquit, cujus rei exemplum unum annales Scotici suppeditant. Barclay contra Monarchom. l. iii. c. 16.

Which in English runs thus.

§. 237.

What then, can there no case happen wherein the people may of right, and by their own authority, help themselves, take arms, and set upon their king, imperiously domineering over them? None at all, whilst he remains a king. Honour the king, and he that resists the power, resists the ordinance of God; are divine oracles that will never permit it. The people therefore can never come by a power over him, unless he does something that makes him cease to be a king: for then he divests himself of his crown and dignity, and returns to the state of a private man, and the people become free and superior, the power which they had in the interregnum, before they crowned him king, devolving to them again. But there are but few miscarriages which bring the matter to this state. After considering it well on all sides, I can find but two. Two cases there are, I say, whereby a king, ipso facto, becomes no king, and loses all power and regal authority over his people; which are also taken notice of by Winzerus.

The first is, If he endeavour to overturn the government, that is, if he have a purpose and design to ruin the kingdom and common-wealth, as it is recorded of Nero, that he resolved to cut off the senate and people of Rome, lay the city waste with fire and sword, and then remove to some other place. And of Caligula, that he openly declared, that he would be no longer a head to the people or senate, and that he had it in his thoughts to cut off the worthiest men of both ranks, and then retire to Alexandria: and he wisht that the people had but one neck, that he might dispatch them all at a blow. Such designs as these, when any king harbours in his thoughts, and seriously promotes, he immediately gives up all care and thought of the common-wealth; and consequently forfeits the power of governing his subjects, as a master does the dominion over his slaves whom he hath abandoned.

§. 238.

The other case is, When a king makes himself the dependent of another, and subjects his kingdom which his ancestors left him, and the people put free into his hands, to the dominion of another: for however perhaps it may not be his intention to prejudice the people; yet because he has hereby lost the principal part of regal dignity, viz. to be next and immediately under God, supreme in his kingdom; and also because he betrayed or forced his people, whose liberty he ought to have carefully preserved, into the power and dominion of a foreign nation. By this, as it were, alienation of his kingdom, he himself loses the power he had in it before, without transferring any the least right to those on whom he would have bestowed it; and so by this act sets the people free, and leaves them at their own disposal. One example of this is to be found in the Scotch Annals.

§. 239.

In these cases Barclay, the great champion of absolute monarchy, is forced to allow, that a king may be resisted, and ceases to be a king. That is, in short, not to multiply cases, in whatsoever he has no authority, there he is no king, and may be resisted: for wheresoever the authority ceases, the king ceases too, and becomes like other men who have no authority. And these two cases he instances in, differ little from those above mentioned, to be destructive to governments, only that he has omitted the principle from which his doctrine flows; and that is, the breach of trust, in not preserving the form of government agreed on, and in not intending the end of government itself, which is the public good and preservation of property. When a king has dethroned himself, and put himself in a state of war with his people, what shall hinder them from prosecuting him who is no king, as they would any other man, who has put himself into a state of war with them; Barclay, and those of his opinion, would do well to tell us. This farther I desire may be taken notice of out of Barclay, that he says, The mischief that is designed them, the people may prevent before it be done: whereby he allows resistance when tyranny is but in design. Such designs as these (says he) when any king harbours in his thoughts and seriously promotes, he immediately gives up all care and thought of the common-wealth; so that, according to him, the neglect of the public good is to be taken as an evidence of such design, or at least for a sufficient cause of resistance. And the reason of all, he gives in these words, Because he betrayed or forced his people, whose liberty he ought carefully to have preserved. What he adds, into the power and dominion of a foreign nation, signifies nothing, the fault and forfeiture lying in the loss of their liberty, which he ought to have preserved, and not in any distinction of the persons to whose dominion they were subjected. The peoples right is equally invaded, and their liberty lost, whether they are made slaves to any of their own, or a foreign nation; and in this lies the injury, and against this only have they the right of defence. And there are instances to be found in all countries, which shew, that it is not the change of nations in the persons of their governors, but the change of government, that gives the offence. Bilson, a bishop of our church, and a great stickler for the power and prerogative of princes, does, if I mistake not, in his treatise of Christian subjection, acknowledge, that princes may forfeit their power, and their title to the obedience of their subjects; and if there needed authority in a case where reason is so plain, I could send my reader to Bracton, Fortescue, and the author of the Mirrour, and others, writers that cannot be suspected to be ignorant of our government, or enemies to it. But I thought Hooker alone might be enough to satisfy those men, who relying on him for their ecclesiastical polity, are by a strange fate carried to deny those principles upon which he builds it. Whether they are herein made the tools of cunninger workmen, to pull down their own fabric, they were best look. This I am sure, their civil policy is so new, so dangerous, and so destructive to both rulers and people, that as former ages never could bear the broaching of it; so it may be hoped, those to come, redeemed from the impositions of these Egyptian under-task-masters, will abhor the memory of such servile flatterers, who, whilst it seemed to serve their turn, resolved all government into absolute tyranny, and would have all men born to, what their mean souls fitted them for, slavery.

§. 240.

Here, it is like, the common question will be made, Who shall be judge, whether the prince or legislative act contrary to their trust? This, perhaps, ill-affected and factious men may spread amongst the people, when the prince only makes use of his due prerogative. To this I reply, The people shall be judge; for who shall be judge whether his trustee or deputy acts well, and according to the trust reposed in him, but he who deputes him, and must, by having deputed him, have still a power to discard him, when he fails in his trust? If this be reasonable in particular cases of private men, why should it be otherwise in that of the greatest moment, where the welfare of millions is concerned, and also where the evil, if not prevented, is greater, and the redress very difficult, dear, and dangerous?

§. 141.

But farther, this question, (Who shall be judge?) cannot mean, that there is no judge at all: for where there is no judicature on earth, to decide controversies amongst men, God in heaven is judge. He alone, it is true, is judge of the right. But every man is judge for himself, as in all other cases, so in this, whether another hath put himself into a state of war with him, and whether he should appeal to the Supreme Judge, as Jeptha did.

§. 242.

If a controversy arise betwixt a prince and some of the people, in a matter where the law is silent, or doubtful, and the thing be of great consequence, I should think the proper umpire, in such a case, should be the body of the people: for in cases where the prince hath a trust reposed in him, and is dispensed from the common ordinary rules of the law; there, if any men find themselves aggrieved, and think the prince acts contrary to, or beyond that trust, who so proper to judge as the body of the people, (who, at first, lodged that trust in him) how far they meant it should extend? But if the prince, or whoever they be in the administration, decline that way of determination, the appeal then lies no where but to heaven; force between either persons, who have no known superior on earth, or which permits no appeal to a judge on earth, being properly a state of war, wherein the appeal lies only to heaven; and in that state the injured party must judge for himself, when he will think fit to make use of that appeal, and put himself upon it.

§. 243.

To conclude, The power that every individual gave the society, when he entered into it, can never revert to the individuals again, as long as the society lasts, but will always remain in the community; because without this there can be no community, no common-wealth, which is contrary to the original agreement: so also when the society hath placed the legislative in any assembly of men, to continue in them and their successors, with direction and authority for providing such successors, the legislative can never revert to the people whilst that government lasts; because having provided a legislative with power to continue for ever, they have given up their political power to the legislative, and cannot resume it. But if they have set limits to the duration of their legislative, and made this supreme power in any person, or assembly, only temporary; or else, when by the miscarriages of those in authority, it is forfeited; upon the forfeiture, or at the determination of the time set, it reverts to the society, and the people have a right to act as supreme, and continue the legislative in themselves; or erect a new form, or under the old form place it in new hands, as they think good.

FINIS.

SOME CONSIDERATIONS ON THE CONSEQUENCES OF THE LOWERING OF INTEREST AND THE RAISING OF THE VALUE OF MONEY

SIR,

These notions concerning coinage having, for the main, as you know, been put into writing, above twelve months since; as those other, concerning interest, a great deal above so many years: I put them now again into your hands, with a liberty (since you will have it so) to communicate them farther, as you please. If, upon a review, you continue your favourable opinion of them, and nothing less than publishing will satisfy you, I must desire you to remember, that you must be answerable to the world for the style, which is such as a man writes carelessly to his friend, when he seeks truth, not ornament; and studies only to be in the right, and to be understood. I have, since you saw them last year, met with some new objections in print, which I have endeavoured to remove; and particularly I have taken into consideration a printed sheet, entitled, “Remarks upon a Paper given in to the Lords, &c.” Because one may naturally suppose, that he, that was so much a patron of that cause, would omit nothing that could be said in favour of it. To this I must here add, that I am just now told from Holland, “That the States, finding themselves abused, by coining a vast quantity of their base [shillings] money, made of their own ducatoons, and other finer silver, melted down, have put a stop to the minting of any but fine silver coin, till they should settle a mint upon a new foot.”

I know the sincere love and concern you have for your country puts you constantly upon casting about, on all hands, for any means to serve it; and will not suffer you to overlook any thing you conceive may be of any the least use, though offered you from the meanest capacities: you could not else have put me upon looking out my old papers, concerning the reducing of interest of 4 per cent. which have so long lain by forgotten. Upon this new survey of them, I find not my thoughts now to differ from those I had near twenty years since: they have to me still the appearance of truth; nor should I otherwise venture them so much as to your sight. If my notions are wrong, my intention I am sure is right; and whatever I have failed in, I shall at least let you see with what obedience I am,

Sir,

Your most humble servant.

Nov. 7, 1691.

SIR,

I HAVE so little concern in paying or receiving of “interest,” that were I in no more danger to be misled by inability and ignorance, than I am to be biassed by interest and inclination, I might hope to give you a very perfect and clear account of the consequences of a law to reduce interest to 4 per cent. But since you are pleased to ask my opinion, I shall endeavour fairly to state this matter of use, with the best of my skill.

The first thing to be considered is, “Whether the price of the hire of money can be regulated by law?” And to that I think, generally speaking, one may say, it is manifest it cannot. For since it is impossible to make a law that shall hinder a man from giving away his money or estate to whom he pleases, it will be impossible, by any contrivance of law, to hinder men, skilled in the power they have over their own goods, and the ways of conveying them to others, to purchase money to be lent them, at what rate soever their occasions shall make it necessary for them to have it; for it is to be remembered, that no man borrows money, or pays use, out of mere pleasure: it is the want of money drives men to that trouble and charge of borrowing; and proportionably to this want, so will every one have it, whatever price it cost him. Wherein the skilful, I say, will always so manage it, as to avoid the prohibition of your law, and keep out of its penalty, do what you can. What then will be the unavoidable consequences of such a law?

It will make the difficulty of borrowing and lending much greater, whereby trade (the foundation of riches) will be obstructed.

It will be a prejudice to none, but those who most need assistance and help; I mean widows and orphans, and others uninstructed in the arts and management of more skilful men, whose estates lying in money, they will be sure, especially orphans, to have no more profit of their money, than what interest the law barely allows.

It will mightily increase the advantage of bankers and scriveners, and other such expert brokers, who, skilled in the arts of putting out money, according to the true and natural value, which the present state of trade, money, and debts, shall always raise interest to, they will infallibly get what the true value of interest shall be above the legal; for men, finding the convenience of lodging their money in hands where they can be sure of it, at short warning, the ignorant and lazy will be forwardest to put it into these men’s hands, who are known willingly to receive it, and where they can readily have the whole, or part, upon any sudden occasion, that may call for it.

I fear I may reckon it as one of the probable consequences of such a law, that it is likely to cause great perjury in the nation; a crime, than which nothing is more carefully to be prevented by law-makers, not only by penalties, that shall attend apparent and proved perjury, but by avoiding and lessening, as much as may be, the temptations to it; for where those are strong, (as they are, where men shall swear for their own advantage) there the fear of penalties to follow will have little restraint, especially if the crime be hard to be proved: all which, I suppose, will happen in this case, where ways will be found out to receive money upon other pretences than for use, to evade the rule and rigour of the law: and there will be secret trusts and collusions amongst men, that though they may be suspected, can never be proved, without their own confession. I have heard very sober and observing persons complain of the danger men’s lives and properties are in, by the frequency and fashionableness of perjury amongst us. Faith and truth, especially in all occasions of attesting it, upon the solemn appeal to heaven by an oath, is the great bond of society. This it becomes the wisdom of magistrates carefully to support, and render as sacred and awful, in the minds of the people, as they can. But, if ever frequency of oaths shall make them be looked on as formalities of law, or the custom of straining of truth, (which men’s swearing in their own cases is apt to lead them to) has once dipped men in perjury, and the guilt, with the temptation, has spread itself very wide, and made it almost fashionable in some cases, it will be impossible for the society (these bonds being dissolved) to subsist. All must break in pieces, and run to confusion. That swearing in their own cases is apt by degrees to lead men into as little regard of such oaths, as they have of their ordinary talk, I think there is reason to suspect, from what has been observed, in something of that kind. Masters of ships are a sort of men generally industrious and sober, and I suppose may be thought for their number and rank, to be equally honest to any other sort of men; and yet, by the discourse I have had with merchants in other countries, I find that they think, in those parts, they take a great liberty in their custom-house oaths, to that degree, that I remember I was once told, in a trading town beyond sea, of a master of a vessel, there esteemed a sober and fair man, who yet could not hold saying, “God forbid that a custom-house oath should be a sin.” I say not this to make any reflection upon a sort of men that I think as uncorrupt as any other, and who, I am sure, ought in England to be cherished and esteemed as the most industrious and most beneficial of any of its subjects: but I could not forbear to give this here as an instance how dangerous a temptation it is to bring men customarily to swear, where they may have any concernment of their own. And it will always be worthy the care and consideration of law-makers to keep up the opinion of an oath high and sacred, as it ought to be, in the minds of the people: which can never be done, where frequency of oaths, biassed by interest, has established a neglect of them; and fashion (which it seldom fails to do) has given countenance to what profit rewards.

But that law cannot keep men from taking more use than you set (the want of money being that alone which regulates its price) will perhaps appear, if we consider how hard it is to set a price upon wine, or silks, or other unnecessary commodities; but how impossible it is to set a rate upon victuals in a time of famine; for money being an universal commodity, and as necessary to trade as food is to life, every body must have it, at what rate they can get it, and unavoidably pay dear, when it is scarce; and debts, no less than trade, have made borrowing in fashion. The bankers are a clear instance of this: for some years since, the scarcity of money having made it in England worth really more than six per cent. most of those that had not the skill to let it for more than six per cent. and secure themselves from the penalty of the law, put it in the banker’s hands, where it was ready at their call, when they had an opportunity of greater improvement; so that the rate you set, profits not the lenders; and very few of the borrowers, who are fain to pay the price for money, that commodity would bear, were it left free; and the gain is only to the banker: and should you lessen the use to four per cent. the merchant or tradesman that borrows would not have it one jot cheaper than he has now; but probably these two ill effects would follow: first, that he would pay dearer; and, secondly, that there would be less money left in the country to drive the trade: for the bankers, paying at most but four per cent. and receiving from six to ten per cent. or more, at that low rate could be content to have more money lie dead by them, than now, when it is higher: by which means there would be less money stirring in trade, and a greater scarcity, which would raise it upon the borrower by this monopoly; and what a part of our treasure their skill and management, joined with others’ laziness, or want of skill, is apt to draw into their hands, is to be known by those vast sums of money they were found to owe at shutting up of the Exchequer: and though it be very true, yet it is almost beyond belief, that one private goldsmith of London should have credit, upon his single security, (being usually nothing but a note, under one of his servant’s hands) for above eleven hundred thousand pounds at one. The same reasons, I suppose, will still keep on the same trade; and when you have taken it down by law to that rate, nobody will think of having more than four per cent. of the banker; though those who have need of money, to employ it in trade, will not then, any more than now, get it under five or six, or, as some pay, seven or eight. And if they had then, when the law permitted men to make more profit of their money, so large a proportion of the cash of the nation in their hands, who can think but that, by this law, it should be more driven into Lombard-street now? there being many now, who lend them at four or five per cent. who would not lend to others at six. It would therefore, perhaps, bring down the rate of money to the borrower, and certainly distribute it better to the advantage of trade in the country, if the legal use were kept pretty near to the natural; (by natural use, I mean that rate of money which the present scarcity of it makes it naturally at, upon an equal distribution of it) for then men, being licensed by the law to take near the full natural use, will not be forward to carry it to London, to put it into the banker’s hands; but will lend it to their neighbours in the country, where it is convenient for trade it should be. But, if you lessen the rate of use, the lender, whose interest it is to keep up the rate of money, will rather lend it to the banker, at the legal interest, than to the tradesman, or gentleman, who, when the law is broken, shall be sure to pay the full natural interest, or more; because of the engrossing by the banker, as well as the risque in transgressing the law: whereas, were the natural use, suppose seven per cent. and the legal six; first the owner would not venture the penalty of the law, for the gaining one in seven, that being the utmost his money would yield: nor would the banker venture to borrow, where his gains would be but one per cent. nor the moneyed man lend him, what he could make better profit of legally at home. All the danger lies in this; that your trade should suffer, if your being behind-hand has made the natural use so high that your tradesman cannot live upon his labour, but that your rich neighbours will so undersell you, that the return you make will not amount to pay the use, and afford a livelihood. There is no way to recover from this, but by a general frugality and industry; or by being masters of the trade of some commodity, which the world must have from you at your rate, because it cannot be otherwise supplied.

Now, I think, the natural interest of money is raised two ways: first, When the money of a country is but little, in proportion to the debts of the inhabitants, one amongst another. For, suppose ten thousand pounds were sufficient to manage the trade of Bermudas, and that the ten first planters carried over twenty thousand pounds, which they lent to the several tradesmen and inhabitants of the country, who living above their gains, had spent ten thousand pounds of this money, and it were gone out of the island: it is evident, that, should all the creditors at once call in their money, there would be a great scarcity of money, when that, employed in trade, must be taken out of the tradesman’s hands to pay debts; or else the debtors want money, and be exposed to their creditors, and so interest will be high. But this seldom happening, that all, or the greatest part, of the crditors do at once call for their money, unless it be in some great and general danger, is less and seldomer felt than the following, unless where the debts of the people are grown to a greater proportion; for that, constantly causing more borrowers than there can be lenders, will make money scarce, and consequently interest high. Secondly, That, which constantly raises the natural interest of money, is, when money is little, in proportion to the trade of a country. For, in trade every body calls for money, according as he wants it, and this disproportion is always felt. For, if Englishmen owed in all but one million, and there were a million of money in England, the money would be well enough proportioned to the debts: but if two millions were necessary to carry on the trade, there would be a million wanting, and the price of money would be raised, as it is of any other commodity in a market, where the merchandize will not serve half the customers, and there are two buyers for one seller.

It is in vain, therefore, to go about effectually to reduce the price of interest by a law; and you may as rationally hope to set a fixed rate upon the hire of houses, or ships, as of money. He that wants a vessel, rather than lose his market, will not stick to have it at the market-rate, and find ways to do it with security to the owner, though the rate were limited by law: and he that wants money, rather than lose his voyage, or his trade, will pay the natural interest for it; and submit to such ways of conveyance, as shall keep the lender out of the reach of the law. So that your act, at best, will serve only to increase the arts of lending, but not at all lessen the charge of the borrower; he, it is likely, shall, with more trouble, and going farther about, pay also the more for his money: unless you intend to break in only upon mortgages and contracts already made, and (which is not to be supposed) by a law, post factum, void bargains lawfully made, and give to Richard what is Peter’s due, for no other reason, but because one was borrower, and the other lender.

But, supposing the law reached the intention of the promoters of it; and that this act be so contrived, that it fixed the natural price of money, and hindered its being, by any body, lent at a higher use than four per cent. which is plain it cannot: let us, in the next place, see what will be the consequences of it.

It will be a loss to widows, orphans, and all those who have their estates in money, one-third of their estates; which will be a very hard case upon a great number of people: and it is warily to be considered, by the wisdom of the nation, whether they will thus, at one blow, fine and impoverish a great and innocent part of the people, who having their estates in money, have as much right to make as much of the money as it is worth, (for more they cannot) as the landlord has to let his land for as much as it will yield. To fine men one-third of their estates, without any crime, or offence committed, seems very hard.

As it will be a considerable loss and injury to the moneyed man, so it will be no advantage at all to the kingdom. For, so trade be not cramped, and exportation of our native commodities and manufactures not hindered, it will be no matter to the kingdom, who amongst ourselves gets or loses: only common charity teaches, that those should be most taken care of by the law, who are least capable of taking care for themselves.

It will be a gain to the borrowing merchant. For if he borrow at four per cent. and his returns be twelve per cent. he will have eight per cent. and the lender four: whereas now they divide the profit equally at six per cent. But this neither gets, nor loses, to the kingdom, in your trade, supposing the merchant and lender to be both Englishmen: only it will, as I have said, transfer a third part of the moneyed man’s estate, who had nothing else to live on, into the merchant’s pocket; and that without any merit in the one, or transgression in the other. Private men’s interests ought not thus to be neglected, nor sacrificed to any thing, but the manifest advantage of the public. But, in this case, it will be quite the contrary. This loss to the moneyed men will be a prejudice to trade; since it will discourage lending at such a disproportion of profit, to risque; as we shall see more by and by, when we come to consider of what consequence it is to encourage lending, that so none of the money of the nation may lie dead, and thereby prejudice trade.

It will hinder trade. For, there being a certain proportion of money, necessary for driving such a proportion of trade, so much money of this as lies still, lessens so much of the trade. Now it cannot be rationally expected, but that, where the venture is great, and the gains small, (as it is in lending in England, upon low interest) many will choose rather to hoard up their money than venture it abroad, on such terms. This will be a loss to the kingdom, and such a loss as, here in England, ought chiefly to be looked after: for, we having no mines, nor any other way of getting, or keeping of riches amongst us, but by trade; so much of our trade as is lost, so much of our riches must necessarily go with it; and the over-balancing of trade, between us and our neighbours, must inevitably carry away our money, and quickly leave us poor and exposed. Gold and silver, though they serve for few, yet they command all the conveniences of life, and therefore in a plenty of them consist riches.

Every one knows that mines alone furnish these; but withal it is observable, that most countries, stored with them by nature, are poor; the digging and refining of these metals taking up the labour, and wasting the number of the people. For which reason the wise policy of the Chinese will not suffer the mines, they have, to be wrought. Nor indeed, things rightly considered, do gold and silver, drawn out of the mine, equally enrich, with what is got by trade. He that would make the lighter scale preponderate to the opposite, will not so soon do it, by adding increase of new weight to the emptier, as if he took out of the heavier what he adds to the lighter, for then half so much will do it. Riches do not consist in having more gold and silver, but in having more in proportion than the rest of the world, or than our neighbours, whereby we are enabled to procure to ourselves a greater plenty of the conveniencies of life, than comes within the reach of neighbouring kingdoms and states, who, sharing the gold and silver of the world in a less proportion, want the means of plenty and power, and so are poorer. Nor would they be one jot the richer, if, by the discovery of new mines, the quantity of gold and silver in the world becoming twice as much as it is, their shares of them should be doubled. By gold and silver in the world, I must be understood to mean, not what lies hid in the earth, but what is already out of the mine, in the hands and possessions of men. This, if well considered, would be no small encouragement to trade, which is a surer and shorter way to riches, than any other, where it is managed with skill and industry.

In a country not furnished with mines, there are but two ways of growing rich, either conquest or commerce. By the first the Romans made themselves masters of the riches of the world; but I think that, in our present circumstances, nobody is vain enough to entertain a thought of our reaping the profits of the world with our swords, and making the spoil and tribute of vanquished nations the fund for the supply of the charges of the government, with an overplus for the wants, and equally-craving luxury, and fashionable vanity of the people.

Commerce, therefore, is the only way left to us, either for riches, or subsistence: for this the advantages of our situation, as well as the industry and inclination of our people, bold and skilful at sea, do naturally fit us: by this the nation of England has been hitherto supported, and trade left almost to itself, and assisted only by the natural advantages above-mentioned, brought us in plenty of riches, and always set this kingdom in a rank equal, if not superior to any of its neighbours; and would, no doubt, without any difficulty, have continued it so, if the more enlarged and better-understood interest of trade, since the improvement of navigation, had not raised us many rivals; and the amazing politics of some late reigns let in other competitors with us for the sea, who will be sure to seize to themselves whatever parts of trade our mismanagement, or want of money, shall let slip out of our hands: and when it is once lost, it will be too late to hope, by a mis-timed care, easily to retrieve it again. For the currents of trade, like those of waters, make themselves channels, out of which they are afterwards as hard to be diverted, as rivers that have worn themselves deep within their banks.

Trade, then, is necessary to the producing of riches, and money necessary to the carrying on of trade. This is principally to be looked after, and taken care of. For if this be neglected, we shall in vain by contrivances amongst ourselves, and shuffling the little money we have from one another’s hands, endeavour to prevent our wants: decay of trade will quickly waste all the remainder; and then the landed-man, who thinks, perhaps, by the fall of interest to raise the value of his land, will find himself cruelly mistaken; when the money being gone, (as it will be, if our trade be not kept up) he can get neither farmer to rent, nor purchaser to buy his land. Whatsoever, therefore, hinders the lending of money, injures trade: and so the reducing of money to four per cent. which will discourage men from lending, will be a loss to the kingdom in stopping so much of the current money, which turns the wheels of trade. But all this upon a supposition, that the lender and borrower are both Englishmen.

If the lender be a foreigner, by lessening interest from six to four, you get to the kingdom one-third part of the interest we pay yearly to foreigners, which let any one, if he please, think considerable; but then, upon lessening interest to four per cent. it is likely one of these things will happen: that either you fall the price of your native commodities, or lessen your trade, or else prevent not the high use, as you intended: for at the time of lessening your interest, you want money for your trade, or you do not. If you do not, there is no need to prevent borrowing at a high rate of your neighbours. For no country borrows of its neighbours, but where there is need of money for trade: nobody will borrow money of a foreigner to let it lie still. And, if you do want money, necessity will still make you borrow where you can, and at the rates your necessity, not your laws, shall set: or else, if there be a scarcity of money, it must hinder the merchant’s buying and exportation, and the artizan’s manufacture. Now the kingdom gets, or loses by this (for no question the merchant, by low interest, gets all the while) only proportionably (allowing the consumption of foreign commodities to be still the same) as the paying of use to foreigners carries away more, or less, of our money, than want of money, and stopping our trade keeps us from bringing in, by hindering our gains, which can be only estimated by those who know how much money we borrow of foreigners, and at what rate; and too, what profit in trade we make of that money.

Borrowing of foreigners upon interest, it is true, carries away some of our gain: but yet, upon examination it will be found, that our growing rich or poor depends not at all upon our borrowing upon interest, or not; but only, which is greater or less, our importation or exportation of consumable commodities. For, supposing two millions of money will drive the trade of England, and that we have money enough of our own to do it; if we consume of our own product and manufacture, and what we purchase by it of foreign commodities, one million, but of the other million consume nothing, but make a return of ten per cent. per annum, we must then every year be one hundred thousand pounds richer, and our stock be so much increased: but, if we import more consumable commodities, than we export, our money must go out to pay for them, and we grow poorer. Suppose, therefore, ill-husbandry hath brought us to one million stock, and we borrow the other million (as we must, or lose half our trade) at six per cent. If we consume one moiety, and make still ten per cent. per ann. return of the other million, the kingdom gets forty thousand pounds per ann. though it pay sixty thousand pounds per ann. use. So that, if the merchant’s return be more than his use (which it is certain it is, or else he will not trade), and all that is so traded for, on borrowed money, be but the over-balance of our exportation to our importation; the kingdom gets, by this borrowing, so much as the merchant’s gain is above his use. But, if we borrow only for our own expences, we grow doubly poor, by paying money for the commodity we consume, and use for that money; though the merchant gets all this while, by making returns greater than his use. And therefore, borrowing of foreigners, in itself, makes not the kingdom rich or poor; for it may do either: but spending more than our fruits, or manufactures, will pay for, brings in poverty, and poverty borrowing.

For money, as necessary to trade, may be doubly considered. First, as in his hands that pays the labourer and landholder, (for here its motion terminates, and through whose hands soever it passes between these, he is but a broker) and if this man want money, (as for example, the clothier) the manufacture is not made: and so the trade stops, and is lost. Or secondly, money may be considered as in the hands of the consumer, under which name I here reckon the merchant who buys the commodity, when made, to export; and, if he want money, the value of the commodity, when made, is lessened, and so the kingdom loses in the price. If, therefore, use be lessened, and you cannot tie foreigners to your terms, then the ill effects fall only upon your landholders and artizans: if foreigners can be forced, by your law, to lend you money, only at your own rate, or not lend at all, is it not more likely they will rather take it home, and think it safer in their own country at four per cent. than abroad, in a decaying country? Nor can their overplus of money bring them to lend to you, on your terms: for, when your merchants’ want of money shall have sunk the price of your market, a Dutchman will find it more gain to buy your commodity himself, than lend his money at four per cent. to an English merchant to trade with. Nor will the act of navigation hinder their coming, by making them come empty, since even already there are those who think that many who go for English merchants are but Dutch factors, and trade for others in their own names. The kingdom, therefore, will lose by this lowering of interest, if it makes foreigners withdraw any of their money, as well as if it hinders any of your people from lending theirs, where trade has need of it.

In a treatise, writ on purpose for the bringing down of interest, I find this argument of foreigners calling away their money to the prejudice of our trade, thus answered: “That the money of foreigners is not brought into the land by ready coin, or bullion, but by goods, or bills of exchange, and, when it is paid, must be returned by goods, or bills of exchange; and there will not be the less money in the land.” I could not but wonder to see a man, who undertook to write of money and interest, talk so directly besides the matter, in the business of trade. “Foreigners’ money,” he says, “is not brought into the land by ready coin, or bullion, but by goods, or bills of exchange.” How then do we come by bullion or money? For gold grows not, that I know, in our country, and silver so little, that one hundred thousandth part of the silver we have now in England, was not drawn out of any mines in this island. If he means that the monied man in Holland, who puts out his money at interest here, did not send it over in bullion, or specie hither: that may be true or false; but either way helps not that author’s purpose. For, if he paid his money to a merchant, his neighbour, and took his bills for it here in England, he did the same thing as if he had sent over that money; since he does but make that merchant leave in England the money, which he has due to him there, and otherwise would carry away. “No,” says our author, “he cannot carry it away; for,” says he, “when it is paid, it must be returned by goods, or bills of exchange.” It must not be paid and exported in ready money; so says our law indeed, but that is a law to hedge in the cuckoo, and serves to no purpose; for, if we export not goods for which our merchants have money due to them in Holland, how can it be paid by bills of exchange? And for goods, one hundred pounds worth of goods can no-where pay two hundred pounds in money. This being that which I find many men deceive themselves with, in trade, it may be worth while to make it a little plainer.

Let us suppose England, peopled as it is now; and its woollen manufacture in the same state and perfection, that it is at present; and that we, having no money at all, trade with this our woollen manufacture, for the value of two hundred thousand pounds yearly to Spain, where there actually is a million in money: farther, let us suppose that we bring back from Spain yearly in oil, wine, and fruit, to the value of one hundred thousand pounds, and continue to do this ten years together: it is plain that we have had for our two millions value in woollen manufacture, carried thither, one million returned in wine, oil, and fruit: but what is become of the other million? Will the merchants be content to lose it? That you may be sure they would not, nor have traded on, if they had not, every year, returns made, answering their exportation. How then were the returns made? In money it is evident; for the Spaniards having, in such a trade, no debts, nor the possibility of any debts in England, cannot pay one farthing of that other million, by bills of exchange: and having no commodities, that we will take off, above the value of one hundred thousand pounds per ann. they cannot pay us in commodities. From whence it necessarily follows, that the hundred thousand pounds per ann. wherein we over-balance them in trade, must be paid us in money; and so, at the ten years end, their million of money, (though their law make it death to export it) will be all brought into England; as, in truth, by this over-balance of trade, the greatest part of our money hath been brought into England, out of Spain.

Let us suppose ourselves now possessed of this million of money, and exporting yearly out of England, to the several parts of the world, consumable commodities, to the value of a million, but importing yearly in commodities, which we consume amongst us, to the value of eleven hundred thousand pounds. If such a trade as this be managed amongst us, and continue ten years, it is evident that our million of money will, at the end of the ten years, be inevitably all gone from us to them, by the same way that it came to us; that is, by their over-balance of trade: for we, importing every year one hundred thousand pounds worth of commodities, more than we export, and there being no foreigners that will give us one hundred thousand pounds every year for nothing, it is unavoidable that one hundred thousand pounds of our money must go out every year, to pay for that overplus, which our commodities do not pay for. It is ridiculous to say, that bills of exchange shall pay our debts abroad: that cannot be, till scrips of paper can be made current coin. The English merchant who has no money owing him abroad, cannot expect to have his bills paid there; or, if he has credit enough with a correspondent to have his bills answered, this pays none of the debt of England, but only changes the creditor: and if, upon the general balance of trade, English merchants owe to foreigners one hundred thousand pounds, or a million; if commodities do not, our money must go out to pay it, or else our credit be lost, and our trade stop, and be lost too.

A kingdom grows rich, or poor, just as a farmer doth, and no otherwise. Let us suppose the whole isle of Portland one farm; and that the owner, besides what serves his family, carries to market to Weymouth and Dorchester, &c. cattle, corn, butter, cheese, wool or cloth, lead and tin, all commodities, produced and wrought within his farm of Portland, to the value of a thousand pounds yearly; and for this brings home in salt, wine, oil, spice, linen, and silks, to the value of nine hundred pounds, and the remaining hundred pounds in money. It is evident he grows every year a hundred pounds richer, and so at the end of ten years, will have clearly got a thousand pounds. If the owner be a better husband, and, contenting himself with his native commodities, buy less wine, spice, and silk, at market, and so bring home five hundred pounds in money yearly; instead of a thousand pounds at the end of ten years he will have five thousand pounds by him, and be so much richer He dies, and his son succeeds, a fashionable young gentleman, that cannot dine without champagne and burgundy, nor sleep but in a damask bed; whose wife must spread a long train of brocade, and his children be always in the newest French cut and stuff; he, being come to the estate, keeps on a very busy family; the markets are weekly frequented, and the commodities of his farm carried out, and sold, as formerly, but the returns are made something different; the fashionable way of eating, drinking, furniture, and clothing, for himself and family, requires more sugar and spice, wine and fruit, silk and ribbons, than in his father’s time; so that instead of nine hundred pounds per annum, he now brings home of consumable commodities to the value of eleven hundred pounds yearly. What comes of this? He lives in splendour, it is true, but this unavoidably carries away the money his father got, and he is every year an hundred pounds poorer. To his expences beyond his income, add debauchery, idleness, and quarrels amongst his servants, whereby his manufactures are disturbed, and his business neglected, and a general disorder and confusion through his whole family and farm. This will tumble him down the hill the faster, and the stock, which the industry, frugality, and good order of his father had laid up, will be quickly brought to an end, and he fast in prison. A farm and a kingdom in this respect differ no more, than as greater or less. We may trade, and be busy, and grow poor by it, unless we regulate our expences: if to this we are idle, negligent, dishonest, malicious, and disturb the sober and industrious in their business, let it be upon what pretence it will, we shall ruin the faster.

So that, whatever this author, or any one else may say, money is brought into England by nothing but spending here less of foreign commodities, than what we carry to market can pay for; nor can debts, we owe to foreigners, be paid by bills of exchange, till our commodities exported, and sold beyond sea, have produced money, or debts, due there to some of our merchants; for nothing will pay debts but money, or money’s worth, which three or four lines writ in paper cannot be. If such bills have an intrinsic value, and can serve instead of money, why do we not send them to market, instead of our cloth, lead and tin, and at an easier rate purchase the commodities we want? All that a bill of exchange can do, is to direct to whom money due, or taken up upon credit, in a foreign country, shall be paid; and if we trace it, we shall find, that what is owing already, became so for commodities, or money carried from hence: and, if it be taken upon credit, it must (let the debt be shifted from one creditor to another, as often as you will) at last be paid by money, or goods, carried from hence, or else the merchant here must turn bankrupt.

We have seen how riches and money are got, kept or lost, in any country: and that is, by consuming less of foreign commodities, than what by commodities, or labour, is paid for. This is in the ordinary course of things: but where great armies and alliances are to be maintained abroad, by supplies sent out of any country, there often, by a shorter and more sensible way, the treasure is diminished. But this, since the holy war, or at least since the improvement of navigation and trade, seldom happening to England, whose princes have found the enlarging their power by sea, and the securing our navigation and trade, more the interest of this kingdom than wars, or conquests, on the continent: expences in arms beyond sea have had little influence on our riches or poverty. The next thing to be considered is, how money is necessary to trade.

The necessity of a certain proportion of money to trade (I conceive) lies in this, that money, in its circulation, driving the several wheels of trade, whilst it keeps in that channel (for some of it will unavoidably be drained into standing pools), is all shared between the landholder, whose land affords the materials; the labourer, who works them; the broker, i. e. the merchant and shopkeeper, who distributes them to those that want them; and the consumer, who spends them. Now money is necessary to all these sorts of men, as serving both for counters and for pledges, and so carrying with it even reckoning and security, that he that receives it shall have the same value for it again, of other things that he wants, whenever he pleases. The one of these it does by its stamp and denomination; the other by its intrinsic value, which is its quantity.

For mankind, having consented to put an imaginary value upon gold and silver, by reason of their durableness, scarcity, and not being very liable to be counterfeited, have made them, by general consent, the common pledges, whereby men are assured, in exchange for them, to receive equally valuable things, to those they parted with, for any quantity of these metals; by which means it comes to pass, that the intrinsic value regarded in these metals, made the common barter, is nothing but the quantity which men give or receive of them; for they having, as money, no other value, but as pledges to procure what one wants or desires, and they procuring what we want or desire, only by their quantity, it is evident that the intrinsic value of silver and gold used, in commerce, is nothing but their quantity.

The necessity, therefore, of a proportion of money to trade, depends on money, not as counters, for the reckoning may be kept, or transferred by writing, but on money as a pledge, which writing cannot supply the place of: since the bill, bond, or other note of debt, I receive from one man, will not be accepted as security by another, he not knowing that the bill or bond is true or legal, or that the man bound to me is honest or responsible, and so is not valuable enough to become a current pledge, nor can by public authority be well made so, as in the case of assigning of bills; because a law cannot give to bills that intrinsic value, which the universal consent of mankind has annexed to silver and gold; and hence foreigners can never be brought to take your bills or writings, for any part of payment, though perhaps they might pass as valuable considerations among your own people, did not this very much hinder it, viz. that they are liable to unavoidable doubt, dispute, and counterfeiting, and require other proofs to assure us that they are true and good security, than our eyes, or a touchstone. And, at best, this course, if practicable, will not hinder us from being poor; but may be suspected to help to make us so, by keeping us from feeling our poverty, which, in distress, will be sure to find us with greater disadvantage. Though it be certain it is better than letting any part of our trade fall for want of current pledges; and better too than borrowing money of our neighbours upon use, if this way of assigning bills can be made so easy, safe, and universal at home, as to hinder it.

To return to the business in hand, and show the necessity of a proportion of money to trade. Every man must have at least so much money, or so timely recruits, as may in hand, or in a short distance of time, satisfy his creditor who supplies him with the necessaries of life, or of his trade. For nobody has any longer these necessary supplies, than he has money, or credit, which is nothing else but an assurance of money, in some short time. So that it is requisite to trade, that there should be so much money as to keep up the landholder’s, labourer’s, and broker’s credit; and therefore ready money must be constantly exchanged for wares and labour, or follow within a short time after.

This shows the necessity of some proportion of money to trade: but what proportion that is, is hard to determine; because it depends not barely on the quantity of money, but the quickness of its circulation. The very same shilling may, at one time, pay twenty men in twenty days: at another, rest in the same hands one hundred days together. This makes it impossible exactly to estimate the quantity of money needful in trade; but, to make some probable guess, we are to consider how much money it is necessary to suppose must rest constantly in each man’s hands, as requisite to the carrying on of trade.

First, therefore, the labourers, living generally but from hand to mouth; and, indeed, considered as labourers in order to trade, may well enough carry on their part, if they have but money enough to buy victuals, clothes, and tools: all which may very well be provided, without any great sum of money lying still in their hands. The labourers, therefore, being usually paid once a week, (if the times of payment be seldomer there must be more money for the carrying on this part of trade) we may suppose there is constantly amongst them, one with another, or those who are to pay them, always one week’s wages in ready money; for it cannot be thought, that all or most of the labourers pay away all their wages constantly, as soon as they receive it, and live upon trust till next pay-day. This the farmer and tradesman could not well bear, were it every labourer’s case, and every one to be trusted: and, therefore, they must of necessity keep some money in their hands, to go to market for victuals, and to other tradesmen as poor as themselves, for tools; and lay up money too to buy clothes, or pay for those they bought upon credit; which money, thus necessarily resting in their hands, we cannot imagine to be, one with another, much less than a week’s wages, that must be in their pockets, or ready in the farmer’s hands; for he, who employs a labourer at a shilling per day, and pays him on Saturday nights, cannot be supposed constantly to receive that six shillings, just the same Saturday: it must ordinarily be in his hands one time with another, if not a whole week, yet several days before.

This was the ordinary course, whilst we had money running in the several channels of commerce: but that now very much failing, and the farmer not having money to pay the labourer, supplies him with corn, which, in this great plenty, the labourer will have at his own rate, or else not take it off his hands for wages. And as for the workmen, who are employed in our manufactures, especially the woollen one, these the clothier, not having ready money to pay, furnishes with the necessaries of life, and so trucks commodities for work; which, such as they are, good or bad, the workman must take at his master’s rate, or sit still and starve: whilst by this means this new sort of engrossers, or forestallers, having the feeding and supplying this numerous body of workmen out of their warehouses (for they have now magazines of all sorts of wares), set the price upon the poor landholder. So that the markets, now being destroyed, and the farmer not finding vent there for his butter, cheese, bacon, and corn, &c. for which he was wont to bring home ready money, must sell it to these engrossers on their own terms of time and rate, and allow it to their own day-labourers under the true market price. What kind of influence this is like to have upon land, and how this way rents are like to be paid at quarter-day, is easy to apprehend: and it is no wonder to hear every day of farmers breaking and running away; for if they cannot receive money for their goods at market, it will be impossible for them to pay their landlord’s rent. If any one doubt whether this be so, I desire him to inquire how many farmers in the west are broke, and gone, since Michaelmas last. Want of money, being to this degree, works both ways upon the landholder. For, first, the engrossing forestaller lets not the money come to market, but supplying the workman, who is employed by him in manufacture, with necessaries, imposes his price, and forbearance on the farmer, who cannot sell to the others; and the labourer who is employed by the landholder in husbandry, imposes also his rate on him for the commodities he takes; for there being a want of day-labourers in the country, they must be humoured, or else they will neither work for you, nor take your commodities for their labour.

Secondly, As for the landholder, since his tenants cannot coin their rent just at quarter-day, but must gather it up by degrees, and lodge it with them till payday; or borrow it of those who have it lying by them, or do gather it up by degrees, which is the same thing, and must be necessarily so much money for some time lying still; for all that is paid in great sums, must somewhere be gathered up by the retail incomes of a trade, or else lie still too in great sums, which is the same stop of money, or a greater. Add to this, that to pay the creditor that lent him his rent, he must gather up money by degrees, as the sale of his commodities shall bring it in, and so makes a greater stop, and greater want of money: since the borrowed money, that paid the landholder the 25th of March, must be supposed to lie still some time in the creditor’s hand, before he lent it the tenant; and the money that pays the creditor, three months after, must lie still some time in the tenant’s. Nor does the landlord pay away his rent usually as soon as he receives it, but by degrees, as his occasions call for it. All this considered, we cannot but suppose that between the landlord and tenant, there must necessarily be at least a quarter of the yearly revenue of the land constantly in their hands. Indeed, considering that most part of the rents of England are paid at Lady-day and Michaelmas, and that the same money which pays me my rent from my tenant the 25th of March, or thereabouts, cannot pay my next neighbour his rent from his tenant at the same time, much less one more remote in another country, it might seem requisite to suppose half the yearly revenue of the land to be necessarily employed in paying of rent: for to say that some tenants break, and pay not their rent at all, and others pay not till two, three, four, five, six, &c. months after quarter-day, and so the rent is not all paid at one time, is no more than to say, that there is money wanting to the trade; for if the tenant fail the landlord, he must fail his creditor, and he his, and so on, till somebody break, and so trade decay for want of money. But since a considerable part of the land of England is in the owners’ hands, who neither pay nor receive great sums for it at a certain day; because too (which is the chief reason) we are not to consider here how much money is in any one man’s, or any one sort of men’s hands, at one time: for that at other times may be distributed into other hands, and serve other parts of trade; but how much money is necessary to be in each man’s hands all the year round, taking one time with another, i. e. having three hundred pounds in his hand one month, is to be reckoned as one hundred pounds in his hand three months (and so proportionably), I think we may well suppose a quarter of the yearly revenue to be constantly in the landlord’s or tenant’s hands.

Here by the by, we may observe, that it were better for trade, and consequently for every body (for more money would be stirring, and less would do the business), if rents were paid by shorter intervals than six months; for, supposing I let a farm at fifty-two pounds per ann. if my rent be paid half-yearly, there are twenty-six pounds to be employed in the payment of it in one entire sum (if it be paid well, and if it be not paid well, for want of so much money to be spared to that purpose, there is so much want of money, and trade is still endamaged by it) a great part whereof must necessarily lie still, before it come out of my tenant’s chest to my hands: if it be paid once a quarter, thirteen pounds alone will do it, and less money is laid up for it, and stopped a less while in its course: but should it be paid every week, one single twenty shillings will pay the rent of fifty-two pounds per ann. whence would follow this double benefit: first, that a great deal less money would serve for the trade of a country; and, secondly, that less of the money would lie still; the contrary whereof must needs happen, where growing debts are to be paid at larger distances, and in greater sums.

Thirdly, As for the brokers, since they too must lay up the money, coming in by retail, either to go to market, and buy wares, or to pay at the day appointed, which is often six months, for those wares which they have already; we cannot suppose them to have less by them, one with another, than one-twentieth part of their yearly returns. Whether the money be their own, or they be indebted so much, or more, it matters not, if it be necessary they should have constantly by them, comparing one time with another, at least one-twentieth part of their yearly return.

Indeed, in some great towns, where the bankers are ready at hand to buy bills, or any other way to lend money for a short time at great interest, there perhaps the merchant is not forced to keep so much money by him, as in other places, where they have not such a supply; but if you consider what money to do this must necessarily be constantly lodged in the banker’s hands, the case will be much the same.

To these sums, if you add what part of the money of a country scholars of all sorts, women, gamesters, and great men’s menial servants, and all such that do not contribute at all to trade, either as landholders, labourers, or brokers, will unavoidably have constantly in their hands; it cannot well be thought that less than one-fiftieth part of the labourer’s wages, one-fourth part of the landholder’s yearly revenue, and one-twentieth part of the broker’s yearly returns in ready money, will be enough to drive the trade of any country. At least to put it beyond exception low enough, it cannot be imagined that less than one moiety of this, i. e. less than one-hundredth part of the labourer’s yearly wages, one-eighth part of the landholder’s yearly revenue, and one-fortieth part of the broker’s yearly returns, in ready money, can be enough to move the several wheels of trade, and keep up commerce, in that life and thriving posture it should be; and how much the ready cash of any country is short of this proportion, so much must the trade be impaired and hindered for want of money.

But however these measures may be mistaken, this is evident, that the multiplying of brokers hinders the trade of any country, by making the circuit, which the money goes, larger; and in that circuit more stops, so that the returns must necessarily be slower and scantier, to the prejudice of trade: besides that, they eat up too great a share of the gains of trade: by that means starving the labourer, and impoverishing the landholder, whose interest is chiefly to be taken care of, it being a settled, unmovable concernment in the commonwealth.

If this be so, it is past question that all encouragement should be given to artificers; and things so ordered, as much as might be, that those who make should also vend and retail out their own commodities, and they be hindered, as much as possible, from passing here at home, through divers hands to the last buyer. Lazy and unworking shopkeepers in this being worse than gamesters, that they do not only keep so much of the money of a country constantly in their hands, but also make the public pay them for their keeping of it. Though gaming too, upon the account of trade (as well as other reasons) may well deserve to be restrained; since gamesters, in order to their play, keep great sums of money by them, which there lies dead; for though gamester’s money shifts masters oftener than any, and is tumbled up and down with every cast of a die, yet as to the public it lies perfectly still, and no more of it comes into trade, than they spend in eating or wearing.

Here too we may observe, how much manufacture deserves to be encouraged; since that part of trade, though the most considerable, is driven with the least money, especially if the workmanship be more worth than the materials; for to the trade that is driven by labour and handicraftsmen, one two-and-fiftieth part of the yearly money paid them will be sufficient; but to a trade of our commodities, of our bare, native growth, much greater proportion of money is required.

Perhaps it will be wondered why, having given some estimate (how wide I know not) of the money, necessary in the hands of the landholder, labourer, and broker, to carry on trade, I have said nothing of the consumer, whom I had mentioned before. To this I answer, there are so few consumers, who are not either labourers, brokers, or landholders, that they make a very inconsiderable part in the account; for those who immediately depend on the landholder, as his children and servants, come in under that title, being maintained by the rent of his lands; and so of the rest.

By what has been said, we may see what injury the lowering of interest is like to do us, by hindering trade, when it shall either make the foreigner call home his money, or your own people backward to lend, the reward not being judged proportionable to the risque.

There is another seeming consequence of the reducing of money to a low price, which at first sight has such an appearance of truth in it, that I have known it to impose upon very able men, and I guess it has no small influence, at this time, in the promoting this alteration; and that is, that the lowering of interest will raise the value of all other things in proportion. For money being the counter-balance to all other things purchaseable by it, and lying, as it were, in the opposite scale of commerce, it looks like a natural consequence, that as much as you take off from the value of money, so much you add to the price of other things which are exchanged for it; the raising of the price of any thing being no more but the addition to its value in respect of money, or, which is all one, lessening the value of money. For example: should the value of gold be brought down to that of silver, one hundred guineas would purchase little more corn, wool, or land, than one hundred shillings; and so, the value of money being brought lower, say they, the price of other things will rise, and the falling of interest from six pounds to four pounds per cent. is taking away so much of the price of money, and so consequently the lessening its value.

The mistake of this plausible way of reasoning will be easily discovered, when we consider that the measure of the value of money, in proportion to any thing purchaseable by it, is the quantity of the ready money we have in comparison with the quantity of that thing, and its vent; or, which amounts to the same thing, the price of any commodity rises or falls by the proportion of the number of buyers and sellers: this rule holds universally in all things that are to be bought and sold, bating now and then an extravagant fancy of some particular person, which never amounts to so considerable a part of trade, as to make any thing in the account worthy to be thought an exception to this rule.

The vent of any thing depends upon its necessity or usefulness; as convenience or opinion, guided by fancy, or fashion, shall determine.

The vent of any commodity comes to be increased, or decreased, as a greater part of the running cash of the nation is designed to be laid out, by several people at the same time, rather in that, than another; as we see in the change of fashions.

I shall begin first with the necessaries, or conveniencies of life, and the consumable commodities subservient thereunto; and show, that the value of money, in respect of those, depends only on the plenty, or scarcity of money, in proportion to the plenty and scarcity of those things; and not on what interest shall, by necessity, law, or contract, be at that time laid on the borrowing of money: and then afterwards I shall show that the same holds in land.

There is nothing more confirmed, by daily experience, than that men give any portion of money for whatsoever is absolutely necessary, rather than go without it. And in such things, the scarcity of them alone makes their prices. As for example: let us suppose half an ounce of silver, or half a crown now in England, is worth a bushel of wheat: but should there be next year a great scarcity of wheat in England, and a proportionable want of all other food, five ounces of silver would, perhaps, in exchange purchase but one bushel of wheat: so that money would be then nine-tenths less worth in respect of food, though at the same value it was before, in respect of other things, that kept their former proportion, in their quantity and consumption.

By the like proportions, of increase and decrease, does the value of things, more or less convenient, rise and fall, in respect of money; only with this difference, that things absolutely necessary for life must be had at any rate; but things convenient will be had only as they stand in preference with other conveniencies: and therefore in any one of these commodities, the value rises only as its quantity is less, and vent greater, which depends upon its being preferred to other things, in its consumption. For supposing that, at the same time, that there is a great scarcity of wheat, and other grain, there were a considerable quantity of oats, men, no question, would give far more for wheat than oats, as being the healthier, pleasanter, and more convenient food: but, since oats would serve to supply that absolute necessity of sustaining life, men would not rob themselves of all other conveniencies of life, by paying all their money for wheat, when oats, that are cheaper, though with some inconvenience, would supply that defect. It may then so happen at the same time, that half an ounce of silver, that the year before would buy one bushel of wheat, will this year buy but one-tenth of a bushel: half an ounce of silver, that the year before would have bought three bushels of oats, will this year still buy one: and at the same time half an ounce of silver, that would the year before have bought fifteen pounds of lead, will still buy the same quantity. So that at the same time silver, in respect of wheat, is nine-tenths less worth than it was, in respect of oats two-thirds less worth, and in respect of lead as much worth as before.

The fall, therefore, or rise of interest, making immediately, by its change, neither more, nor less land, money, or any sort of commodity in England, than there was before, alters not at all the value of money, in reference to commodities. Because the measure of that is only the quantity and vent, which are not immediately changed by the change of interest. So far as the change of interest conduces, in trade, to the bringing in, or carrying out money, or commodities, and so in time to the varying their proportions here in England, from what it was before; so far the change of interest, as all other things that promote, or hinder trade, may alter the value of money, in reference to commodities. But that is not in this place to be considered.

This is perfectly the value of money, in respect of consumable commodities: but the better to understand it, in its full latitude, in respect both of consumable commodities, and land too, we must consider, first, That the value of land consists in this, that, by its constant production of saleable commodities, it brings in a certain yearly income. Secondly, The value of commodities consists in this, that, as portable and useful things, they, by their exchange or consumption, supply the necessaries or conveniencies of life. Thirdly, In money there is a double value, answering to both of these, first, as it is capable, by its interest, to yield us such a yearly income: and in this it has the nature of land, (the income of one being called rent, of the other use) only with this difference, that the land, in its soil being different, as some fertile, some barren, and the products of it very various, both in their sorts, goodness, and vent, is not capable of any fixed estimate by its quantity: but money being constantly the same, and by its interest giving the same sort of product, through the whole country, is capable of having a fixed yearly rate set upon it by the magistrate; but land is not. But though in the uniformity of its legal worth, one hundred pounds of lawful money being all through England equal in its current value to any other one hundred pounds of lawful money, (because by virtue of the law it will every where pass for as much ware, or debt, as any other hundred pounds) is capable to have its yearly hire valued better than land; yet in respect of the varying need, and necessity of money, (which changes with the increase, or decay of money, or trade in a country) it is as little capable to have its yearly hire fixed by law, as land itself. For were all the land in Rumney-marsh, acre for acre, equally good, that is, did constantly produce the same quantity of equally good hay, or grass, one as another, the rent of it, under that consideration, of every acre being of an equal worth, would be capable of being regulated by law; and one might as well enact, that no acre of land in Rumney-marsh shall be let for above forty shillings per annum, as that no hundred pounds shall be let for above four pounds per annum. But nobody can think it fit (since by reason of the equal value of that land it can) that therefore the rent of the land in Rumney-marsh should be regulated by law. For supposing all the land in Rumney-marsh, or in England, were all of so equal a worth, that any one acre, compared at the same time to any one other, were equally good, in respect of its product; yet the same acre, compared with itself in different times, would not, in respect of rent, be of equal value. And therefore, it would have been an unreasonable thing, if in the time of Henry VII. the rent of land in Rumney-marsh had been settled by a law, according to the judged value of it at that time, and the same law, limiting the rent perhaps to 5s. per acre, have continued still. The absurdity and impracticableness of this every one sees at the first proposal, and readily concludes within himself, that things must be left to find their own price; and it is impossible, in this their constant mutability, for human foresight to set rules and bounds to their constantly varying proportion and use, which will always regulate their value.

They, who consider things beyond their names, will find, that money, as well as all other commodities, is liable to the same changes and inequalities: nay, in this respect of the variety of its value, brought in by time, in the succession of affairs, the rate of money is less capable of being regulated by a law, in any country than the rent of land. Because, to the quick changes, that happen in trade, this too must be added, that money may be brought in, or carried out of the kingdom, which land cannot; and so that be truly worth six or eight per cent. this year, which would yield but four the last.

2. Money has a value, as it is capable, by exchange, to procure us the necessaries or conveniencies of life, and in this it has the nature of a commodity; only with this difference, that it serves us commonly by its exchange, never almost by its consumption. But though the use men make of money be not in its consumption, yet it has not at all a more standing, settled value, in exchange with any other thing, than any other commodity has; but a more known one, and better fixed by name, number, and weight, to enable us to reckon what the proportion of scarcity and vent of one commodity is to another. For supposing, as before, that half an ounce of silver would last year exchange for one bushel of wheat, or for 15lb. weight of lead; if this year wheat be ten times scarcer, and lead in the same quantity to its vent, as it was, is it not evident, that half an ounce of silver will still exchange for 15lb. of lead, though it will exchange but for one-tenth of a bushel of wheat? and he that has use of lead, will as soon take 15lb. weight of lead, as half an ounce of silver, for one-tenth of a bushel of wheat, and no more. So that if you say that money now is nine-tenths less worth than it was the former year, you must say so of lead too, and all other things that keep the same proportion to money which they had before. The variation, indeed, is first and most taken notice of in money: because that is the universal measure, by which people reckon, and used by every body in the valuing of all things. For calling that half an ounce of silver half-a-crown, they speak properly, and are readily understood, when they say, half-a-crown, or two shillings and sixpence, will now buy one-tenth of a bushel of wheat, but do not say, that 15lb. of lead will now buy one-tenth of a bushel of wheat, because it is not generally used to this sort of reckoning: nor do they say, lead is less worth than it was, though in respect of wheat, lead be nine-tenths worse than it was, as well as silver: only by the tale of shillings, we are better enabled to judge of it; because these are measures, whose ideas by constant use are settled in every Englishman’s mind.

This, I suppose, is the true value of money, when it passes from one to another, in buying and selling; where it runs the same changes of higher or lower, as any other commodity doth: for one equal quantity whereof, you shall receive in exchange more, or less of another commodity, at one time, than you do at another. For a farmer that carries a bushel of wheat to market, and a labourer that carries half-a-crown, shall find that the money of one, as well as corn of the other, shall at some times purchase him more or less leather, or salt, according as they are in greater plenty, and scarcity, one to another. So that in exchanging coined silver for any other commodity, (which is buying and selling) the same measure governs the proportion you receive, as if you exchanged lead, or wheat, or any other commodity. That which regulates the price, i. e. the quantity given for money (which is called buying and selling) for another commodity, (which is called bartering) is nothing else but their quantity in proportion to their vent. If then lowering of use makes not your silver more in specie, or your wheat, or other commodities less, it will not have any influence at all to make it exchange for less of wheat, or any other commodity, than it will have on lead, to make it exchange for less wheat, or any other commodity.

Money, therefore, in buying and selling, being perfectly in the same condition with other commodities, and subject to all the same laws of value, let us next see how it comes to be of the same nature with land, by yielding a certain yearly income, which we call use, or interest. For land produces naturally something new and profitable, and of value to mankind; but money is a barren thing, and produces nothing; but by compact transfers that profit, that was the reward of one man’s labour, into another man’s pocket. That which occasions this, is the unequal distribution of money; which inequality has the same effect too upon land, that it has upon money. For my having more money in my hand than I can, or am disposed to use in buying and selling, makes me able to lend: and another’s want of so much money as he could employ in trade, makes him willing to borrow. But why then, and for what consideration doth he pay use? For the same reason, and upon as good consideration, as the tenant pays rent for your land. For as the unequal distribution of land, (you having more than you can, or will manure, and another less) brings you a tenant for your land; and the same unequal distribution of money, (I having more than I can, or will employ, and another less) brings me a tenant for my money; so my money is apt in trade, by the industry of the borrower, to produce more than six per cent. to the borrower, as well as your land, by the labour of the tenant, is apt to produce more fruits than his rent comes to; and therefore deserves to be paid for, as well as land, by a yearly rent. For though the usurer’s money would bring him in no yearly profit, if he did not lend it, (supposing, he employs it not himself) and so his six per cent. may seem to be the fruit of another man’s labour, yet he shares not near so much of the profit of another man’s labour, as he that lets land to a tenant. For, without the tenant’s industry, (supposing as before, the owner would not manage it himself) his land would yield him little, or no profit. So that the rent he receives is a greater portion of the fruit of his tenant’s labour, than the use is at six per cent. For generally, he that borrows one thousand pounds at six per cent. and so pays sixty pounds per annum use, gets more above his use in one year, by his industry, than he that rents a farm of sixty pounds per annum gets in two, above his rent, though his labour be harder.

It being evident therefore, that he that has skill in traffic, but has not money enough to exercise it, has not only reason to borrow money to drive his trade and get a livelihood; but has much reason to pay use for that money, as he, who having skill in husbandry, but no land of his own to employ it in, has not only reason to rent land, but to pay money for the use of it: it follows, that borrowing money upon use is not only, by the necessity of affairs, and the constitution of human society, unavoidable to some men; but that also to receive profit from the loan of money, is as equitable and lawful, as receiving rent for land, and more tolerable to the borrower, notwithstanding the opinion of some over-scrupulous men.

This being so, one would expect, that the rate of interest should be the measure of the value of land in number of years purchase, for which the fee is sold; for 100l. per annum being equal to 100l. per annum, and so to perpetuity; and 100l. per annum being the product to 1000l. when interest is at ten per cent. of 1250l. when interest is at eight per cent. of 1666l. or thereabouts, when interest is at six per cent. of 2000l. when money is at five per cent. of 2500l. when money is at four per cent. One would conclude, I say, that land should sell in proportion to use, according to these following rates, viz.

But experience tells us, that neither in queen Elizabeth nor king James the first’s reigns, when interest was at ten per cent. was land sold for ten; or when it was at eight per cent. for twelve and a half years purchase or any thing near the low rate, that high use required (if it were true, that the rate of interest governed the price of land) any more than land now yields twenty-five years purchase, because a great part of the monied men will now let their money upon good security, at four per cent. Thus we see in fact how little this rule has held at home: and he that will look into Holland, will find, that the purchase of land was raised there, when their interest fell. This is certain, and past doubt, that the legal interest can never regulate the price of land, since it is plain, that the price of land has never changed with it, in the several changes that have been made, in the rate of interest by law: nor now that the rate of interest is by law the same through all England, is the price of land every where the same, it being in some parts constantly sold for four or five years purchase, more than in others. Whether you, or I, can tell the reason of this, it matters not to the question in hand: but it being really so, this is plain demonstration against those who pretend to advance and regulate the price of land by a law concerning the interest of money.

But yet I will give you some of my guesses, why the price of land is not regulated (as, at first sight, it seems it should be) by the interest of money. Why it is not regulated by the legal use is manifest, because the rate of money does not follow the standard of the law, but the price of the market: and men, not observing the legal and forced, but the natural and current interest of money, regulate their affairs by that. But why the rate of land does not follow the current interest of money, requires a farther consideration.

All things, that are bought and sold, raise and fall their price, in proportion as there are more buyers or sellers. Where there are a great many sellers to a few buyers, there use what art you will, the thing to be sold will be cheap. On the other side, turn the tables, and raise up a great many buyers for a few sellers, and the same thing will immediately grow dear. This rule holds in land, as well as all other commodities, and is the reason, why in England, at the same time, that land in some places is at seventeen or eighteen years purchase, it is about others, where there are profitable manufactures, at two or three and twenty years purchase: because there (men thriving and getting money, by their industry, and willing to leave their estates to their children in land, as the surest and most lasting provision, and not so liable to casualties as money in untrading or unskilful hands) are many buyers ready always to purchase, but few sellers. For, the land thereabout being already possessed by that sort of industrious and thriving men, they have neither need, nor will, to sell. In such places of manufacture, the riches of the one not arising from the squandering and waste of another, (as it doth in other places, where men live lazily upon the product of the land) the industry of the people, bringing in increase of wealth from remote parts, makes plenty of money there, without the impoverishing of their neighbours. And when the thriving tradesman has got more than he can well employ in trade, his next thoughts are to look out for a purchase; but it must be a purchase in the neighbourhood, where the estate may be under his eye, and within convenient distance, that the care and pleasure of his farm may not take him off from the engagements of his calling, nor remove his children too far from him, or the trade he breeds them up in. This seems to be the reason, why in places, wherein thriving manufactures have erected themselves, land has been observed to sell quicker, and for more years purchase than in other places, as about Halifax in the north, Taunton and Exeter in the west.

This is that then, which makes land, as well as other things, dear: plenty of buyers, and but few sellers; and so, by the rule of contraries, plenty of sellers and few buyers makes land cheap.

He, that will justly estimate the value of any thing, must consider its quantity in proportion to its vent, for this alone regulates the price. The value of any thing, compared with itself or with a standing measure, is greater, as its quantity is less in proportion to its vent; but, in comparing it, or exchanging it with any other thing, the quantity and vent of that thing too must be allowed for, in the computation of their value. But, because the desire of money is constantly almost every-where the same, its vent varies very little, but as its greater scarcity enhances its price, and increases the scramble: there being nothing else that does easily supply the want of it; the lessening its quantity, therefore, always increases its price, and makes an equal portion of its exchange for a greater of any other thing. Thus it comes to pass, that there is no manner of settled proportion between the value of an ounce of silver and any other commodity; for, either varying its quantity in that country, or the commodity changing its quantity in proportion to its vent, their respective values change, i. e. less of one will barter for more of the other: though, in the ordinary way of speaking, it is only said, that the price of the commodity, not of the money, is changed. For example, half an ounce of silver in England, will exchange sometimes for a whole bushel of wheat, sometimes for half, sometimes but a quarter, and this it does equally, whether by use it be apt to bring in to the owner six in the hundred of its own weight per annum, or nothing at all: it being only the change of the quantity of wheat to its vent, supposing we have still the same sum of money in the kingdom; or else the change of the quantity of our money in the kingdom, supposing the quantity of wheat, in respect to its vent, be the same too, that makes the change in the price of wheat. For if you alter the quantity, or vent, on either side, you presently alter the price, but no other way in the world.

For it is not the being, adding, increasing, or diminishing of any good quality in any commodity, that makes its price greater or less; but only as it makes its quantity, or vent, greater or less, in proportion one to another. This will easily appear by two or three instances.

The being of any good, and useful quantity in any thing, neither increases its price, nor indeed makes it have any price at all, but only as it lessens its quantity, or increases its vent; each of these in proportion to one another. What more useful or necessary things are there to the being, or well being of men, than air and water? and yet these have generally no price at all, nor yield any money: because their quantity is immensely greater than their vent, in most places of the world. But, as soon as ever water (for air still offers itself every-where, without restraint, or inclosure, and therefore is no-where of any price) comes any where to be reduced into any proportion to its consumption, it begins presently to have a price, and is sometimes sold dearer than wine. Hence it is, that the best and most useful things are commonly the cheapest: because, though their consumption be great, yet the bounty of providence has made their production large, and suitable to it.

Nor does the adding an excellency to any commodity raise its price, unless it increase its consumption. For, suppose there should be taught a way (which should be published to the knowledge of every one) to make a medicine of wheat alone, that should infallibly cure the stone: it is certain the discovery of this quality in that grain would give it an excellency very considerable: and yet this would not increase the price of it one farthing in twenty bushels, because its quantity, or vent, would not hereby, to any sensible degree, be altered.

Neither does the increasing of any good quality, in any sort of things, make it yield more. For though teasels be much better this year than any were last, they are not one jot dearer, unless they be fewer too, or the consumption of them greater.

Nor does the lessening the good qualities of any sort of commodity lessen its price; which is evident in hops, that are usually dearest those years they are worst. But, if it happen to be a species of commodity, whose defects may be supplied by some other, the making of it worse does lessen its price, because it hinders its vent. For, if rye should any year prove generally smutty, or grown, no question it would yield less money than otherwise, because the deficiency of that might be, in some measure, made up by wheat, and other grain. But, if it be a sort of commodity, whose use no other known thing can supply, it is not its being better, or worse, but its quantity, and vent, is that alone which regulates, and determines its value.

To apply it now to money, as capable of different rates of interest. To money, considered in its proper use as a commodity passing in exchange from one to another, all that is done by interest, is but the adding to it by agreement, or public authority, a faculty, which naturally it has not, of increasing every year six per cent. Now, if public authority sink use to four per cent. it is certain it diminishes this good quality in money one-third. But yet this making the money of England not one farthing more than it was, it alters not the measures upon which all changeable commodities increase, or sink their price; and so makes not money exchange for less of any commodity, than it would without this alteration of its interest. If lessening use to four per cent. should at all alter the quantity of money, and make it less, it would make money, as it has the nature of a commodity, dearer, i. e. a less quantity of money, would exchange for a greater quantity of another commodity, than it would before. This perhaps will appear a little plainer by these following particulars:

1. That the intrinsic, natural worth of any thing, consists in its fitness to supply the necessities, or serve the conveniences of human life; and the more necessary it is to our being, or the more it contributes to our well-being, the greater is its worth. But yet,

2. That there is no such intrinsic, natural settled value in any thing, as to make any assigned quantity of it constantly worth any assigned quantity of another.

3. The marketable value of any assigned quantities of two, or more commodities, are (pro hic et nunc) equal, when they will exchange one for another. As supposing one bushel of wheat, two bushels of barley, thirty pounds of lead, and one ounce of silver, will now in the market be taken one for another, they are then of equal worth: and, our coin being that which Englishmen reckon by, an Englishman would say, that now one bushel of wheat, two bushels of barley, thirty pounds of lead, and one ounce of silver, were equally worth five shillings.

4. The change of this marketable value of any commodity, in respect of another commodity, or in respect of a standing, common measure, is not the altering of any intrinsic value, or quality, in the commodity; (for musty and smutty corn will sell dearer at one time, than the clean and sweet at another) but the alteration of some proportion, which that commodity bears to something else.

5. This proportion in all commodities, whereof money is one, is the proportion of their quantity to the vent. The vent is nothing else but the passing of commodities from one owner to another, in exchange: and is then called quicker, when a greater quantity of any species of commodity is taken off from the owners of it, in an equal space of time.

6. This vent is regulated, i. e. made quicker or slower, as greater or less quantities of any saleable commodity are removed out of the way and course of trade; separated from public commerce; and no longer lie within the reach of exchange. For, though any commodity should shift hands ever so fast, and be exchanged from one man to another; yet, if they were not thereby exempted from trade and sale, and did not cease to be any longer traffic, this would not at all make, or quicken their vent. But this, seldom or never happening, makes very little or no alteration.

7. Things are removed out of the market, or hands of commerce, and so their vent altered three ways: 1. By consumption, when the commodity in its use is destroyed, as, meat, drink, and clothes, &c. all that is so consumed is quite gone out of the trade of the world. 2. By exportation; and all that is so carried away, is gone out of the trade of England, and concerns Englishmen no more in the price of their commodities among themselves for their own use, than if it were out of the world. 3. By buying and laying up for a man’s private use. For what is by any of these ways shut out of the market, and no longer moveable, by the hand of commerce, makes no longer any part of merchantable ware, and so, in respect of trade, and the quantity of any commodity, is not more considerable than if it were not in being. All these three terminating at last in consumption of all commodities, (excepting only jewels and plate, and some few others, which wear out but insensibly) may properly enough pass under that name. Engrossing too has some influence on the present vent: but this inclosing some considerable part of any commodity, (for if the engrossing be of all the commodity, and it be of general use, the price is at the will of the engrosser) out of the free common of trade, only for some time, and afterwards returning again to sale, makes not usually so sensible and general an alteration in the vent, as the others do: but yet influences the price, and the vent more, according as it extends itself to a larger portion of the commodity, and hoards it up longer.

8. Most other portable commodities (excepting jewels, plate, &c.) decaying quickly in their use, but money being less consumed, or increased, i. e. by slower degrees removed from, or brought into the free commerce of any country, than the greatest part of other merchandize; and so the proportion between its quantity and vent, altering slower than in most other commodities; it is commonly looked on as a standing measure, to judge of the value of all things, especially being adapted to it by its weight and denomination in coinage.

9. Money, whilst the same quantity of it is passing up and down the kingdom in trade, is really a standing measure of the falling and rising value of other things, in reference to one another: and the alteration of price is truly in them only. But if you increase, or lessen, the quantity of money, current in traffic, in any place, then the alteration of value is in the money: and, if at the same time wheat keep its proportion of vent to quantity, money, to speak truly, alters its worth, and wheat does not, though it sell for a greater, or less price, than it did before. For money, being looked upon as the standing measure of other commodities, men consider and speak of it still, as if it were a standing measure, though when it has varied its quantity, it is plain it is not.

10. But the value or price of all commodities, amongst which money passing in trade is truly one, consisting in proportion, you alter this, as you do all other proportions, whether you increase one, or lessen the other.

11. In all other commodities, the owners, when they design them for traffic, endeavour, as much as they can, to have them vented and gone, i. e. removed out of the reach of commerce, by consumption, exportation, or laying up: but money never lying upon people’s hands, or wanting vent, (for any one may part with it in exchange, when he pleases;) the provident public and private care is to keep it from venting, or consuming, i. e. from exportation, which is its proper consumption: and from hoarding up by others, which is a sort of engrossing. Hence it is that other commodities have sometimes a quicker, sometimes a slower vent: for nobody lays out his money in them, but according to the use he has of them, and that has bounds. But every body being ready to receive money without bounds, and keep it by him, because it answers all things: therefore the vent of money is always sufficient, or more than enough. This being so, its quantity alone is enough to regulate and determine its value, without considering any proportion between its quantity and vent, as in other commodities.

12. Therefore the lessening of use, not bringing one penny of money more into the trade, or exchange of any country, but rather drawing it away from trade, and so making it less, does not at all sink its value, and make it buy less of any commodity, but rather more.

13. That which raises the natural interest of money, is the same that raises the rent of land, i. e. its aptness to bring in yearly to him that manages it a greater overplus of income above his rent, as a reward to his labour. That which causes this in land, is the greater quantity of its product, in proportion to the same vent to that particular fruit, or the same quantity of product, in proportion to a greater vent of that single commodity; but that which causes increase of profit to the borrower of money, is the less quantity of money, in proportion to trade, or to the vent of all commodities, taken together, and vice versa.

14. The natural value of money, as it is apt to yield such a yearly income by interest, depends on the whole quantity of the then passing money of the kingdom, in proportion to the whole trade of the kingdom, i. e. the general vent of all the commodities. But the natural value of money, in exchanging for any one commodity, is the quantity of the trading money of the kingdom, designed for that commodity, in proportion to that single commodity and its vent. For though any single man’s necessity and want, either of money, or any species of commodity, being known, may make him pay dearer for money, or that commodity, yet this is but a particular case, that does not at the same time alter this constant and general rule.

15. That supposing wheat a standing measure, that is, that there is constantly the same quantity of it, in proportion to its vent, we shall find money to run the same variety of changes in its value, as all other commodities do. Now that wheat in England does come nearest to a standing measure, is evident by comparing wheat with other commodities, money, and the yearly income of land in Henry the Seventh’s time, and now; for, supposing that primo Hen. VII. N. let 100 acres of land to A. for 6d. per annum per acre, rack-rent, and to B. another 100 acres of land, of the same soil and yearly worth with the former, for a bushel of wheat per acre, rack-rent, (a bushel of wheat about that time being probably sold for about 6d.) it was then an equal rent. If, therefore, these leases were for years yet to come, it is certain that he that paid but 6d. per acre, would pay now 50s. per annum, and he that paid a bushel of wheat per acre, would now pay about 25l. per annum, which would be near about the yearly value of the land, were it to be let now. The reason whereof is this, that there being ten times as much silver now in the world (the discovery of the West-Indies having made the plenty) as there was then, it is nine-tenths less worth now, than it was at that time; that is, it will exchange for nine-tenths less of any commodity now, which bears the same proportion to its vent, as it did 200 years since, which, of all other commodities, wheat is likeliest to do; for in England, and this part of the world, wheat being the constant and most general food, not altering with the fashion, not growing by chance; but as the farmers sow more, or less of it, which they endeavour to proportion, as near as can be guessed, to the consumption, abstracting the overplus of the precedent year, in their provision for the next, and vice versa; it must needs fall out, that it keeps the nearest proportion to its consumption, (which is more studied and designed in this, than other commodities) of any thing, if you take it for seven or twenty years together: though perhaps the plenty, or scarcity of one year, caused by the accidents of the season, may very much vary it from the immediately precedent, or following. Wheat, therefore, in this part of the world, (and that grain, which is the constant general food of any other country) is the fittest measure to judge of the altered value of things, in any long tract of time: and therefore, wheat here, rice in Turkey, &c. is the fittest thing to reserve a rent in, which is designed to be constantly the same for all future ages. But money is the best measure of the altered value of things in a few years: because its vent is the same, and its quantity alters slowly. But wheat, or any other grain, cannot serve instead of money, because of its bulkiness, and too quick change of its quantity: for had I a bond, to pay me 100 bushels of wheat next year, it might be a fourth part loss, or gain to me; too great an inequality and uncertainty to be ventured in trade: besides the different goodness of several parcels of wheat in the same year.

16. That, supposing any island separate from the commerce of the rest of mankind; if gold and silver, or whatever else, (so it be lasting) be their money, if they have but a certain quantity of it, and can give no more, that will be a steady, standing measure of the value of all other things.

17. That, if in any country they use for money any, lasting material, whereof there is not any more to be got, and so cannot be increased, or being of no other use, the rest of the world does not value it, and so it is not like to be diminished, this also would be a steady, standing measure of the value of other commodities.

18. That, in a country, where they had such a standing measure, any quantity of that money (if it were but so much that every body might have some) would serve to drive any proportion of trade, whether more or less; there being counters enough to reckon by, and the value of the pledges being still sufficient, as constantly increasing with the plenty of the commodity. But these three last being built on suppositions, that are not like to be found in the practice of mankind since navigation and commerce have brought all parts acquainted with one another, and introduced the use of gold and silver money, into all trading parts of the world; they serve rather to give us some light into the nature of money, than to teach here a new measure of traffic. Though it be certain, that that part of the world which bred most of our gold and silver, used least of it in exchange, and used it not for money at all.

19. That therefore, in any country, that hath commerce with the rest of the world, it is almost impossible now to be without the use of silver coin; and having money of that, and accounts kept in such money, it is impossible to have any standing, unalterable measure of the value of things: for whilst the mines supply to mankind more than wastes and consumes in its use, the quantity of it will daily grow greater, in respect of other commodities, and its value less.

20. That in a country, that hath open commerce with the rest of the world, and uses money, made of the same materials with their neighbours, any quantity of that money will not serve to drive any quantity of trade; but there must be a certain proportion between their money and trade. The reason whereof is this, because to keep your trade going without loss, your commodities amongst you must keep an equal, or at least near the price of the same species of commodities in the neighbouring countries; which they cannot do, if your money be far less than in other countries: for then either your commodities must be sold very cheap, or a great part of your trade must stand still, there not being money enough in the country to pay for them (in their shifting of hands) at that high price, which the plenty, and consequently low value of money, makes them at in another country; for the value of money, in general, is the quantity of all the money in the world, in proportion to all the trade; but the value of money in any one country, is the present quantity of the current money in that country, in proportion to the present trade. Supposing then, that we had now in England but half as much money as we had seven years ago, and yet had still as much yearly product of commodities, as many hands to work them, and as many brokers to disperse them, as before; and that the rest of the world we trade with had as much money as they had before, (for it is likely they should have more by our moiety shared amongst them) it is certain that either half our rents should not be paid, half our commodities not vented, and half our labourers not employed, and so half the trade be clearly lost; or else, that every one of these must receive but half the money for their commodities and labour they did before, and but half so much as our neighbours do receive, for the same labour, and the same natural product at the same time. Such a state of poverty as this, though it will make no scarcity of our native commodities amongst us, yet it will have these ill consequences.

1. It will make our native commodities vent very cheap.

2. It will make all foreign commodities very dear, both which will make us poor; for the merchant making silver and gold his measure, and considering what the foreign commodity costs him, (i. e. how many ounces of silver) in the country where money is more plenty, i. e. cheaper; and considering too, how many ounces of silver it will yield him in another country, will not part with it here, but for the same quantity of silver, or as much as that silver will buy here of our commodity, which will be a great deal more than in another place; so that, in all our exchange of native for foreign commodities, we shall pay double the value that any other country does, where money is in greater plenty. This indeed will make a dearness, and in time a scarcity of foreign commodities; which is not the worst inconveniency that it brings upon us, supposing them not absolutely necessary. But,

3. It endangers the drawing away our people, both handicrafts, mariners, and soldiers, who are apt to go where their pay is best, which will always be where there is greatest plenty of money, and in time of war must needs bring great distress.

21. Upon this measure too it is, that the variation of exchange of money between several countries does somewhat depend; for it is certain that one ounce of silver is always of equal value to another ounce of silver, considered in its intrinsic worth, or in reference to the universal trade of the world: but it is not of the same value at the same time in several parts of the world, but is of the most worth in that country where there is the least money in proportion to its trade: and therefore men may afford to give twenty ounces of silver in one place, to receive eighteen or nineteen ounces of silver in another. But this is not all: to this then, (to find out the alteration of the exchange) the over-balance of the trade must be taken into consideration. These two together regulate the exchange, in all the commerce of the world, and in both the higher rate of exchange depends upon one and the same thing, viz. the greater plenty of money in one country than in the other; only with this difference, that where the over-balance of trade raises the exchange above the par, there it is the plenty of money which private merchants have in one country, which they desire to remove in another: but where the riches of the country raise the exchange above the par, there it is the plenty of the money in the whole country. In one, the merchant has more money (or debts, which is all one) in a foreign country, than his trade there will employ, and so is willing to allow upon exchange to him abroad, that shall pay him ready money at home, 1, 2, 3, &c. per cent. more or less, proportionably as his, or his countryman’s plenty of ready money abroad, the danger of leaving it there, or the difficulty of bringing it home in specie, and his present need of money at home, is greater or less: in the other, the whole country has more money, than can well be employed in the trade thereof, or at least the proportion of the money to the trade is greater than in the neighbouring country, where the exchange is below the par.

For, supposing the balance of trade to be equal between England and Holland, but that there is in Holland a greater plenty of money than in England, (which will appear by the lowness of the natural use in Holland, and the height of the natural use in England, and also by the dearness of food and labour in general in Holland, and the cheapness of it in England.) If N. has 10,000l. in Holland, which the greater advantage he could make of it in England, either by use or purchase, tempts him to transfer into England, it is probable he will give as much to a merchant in England, to pay him 10,000l. in England, as the insurance at that time between Holland and England is worth. If this happens to be in a country, where the exportation of bullion is prohibited, he must pay the more, because his venture, if he carry it in specie, will be greater; and upon this ground, perhaps, the prohibiting the exportation of money out of England, under penalties, may be of some use, by making the rate of the exchange greater to those countries, which import upon us more than they export in commodities; and so retain some part of the money, which their over-balance of trade would carry away from us, though, after all, if we are over-balanced in trade, it must go.

But, since the Holland merchant cannot receive N.’s 10,000l. in money in Holland, and pay him 10,000l. in England, unless his over-balance of trade make Englishmen indebted to him 10,000l. in money, which he is not like to take in commodities, I think the over-balance of trade is that, which chiefly raises the exchange in any country, and that plenty of money in any country does it only for so much of the money as is transferred, either to be let out to use, or to be spent there; and though lending to foreigners upon use doth not at all alter the balance of trade between those countries, yet it does alter the exchange between those countries, for so much as is lent upon use, by not calling away the money that should follow the over-balance of trade, but letting it rest there, as if it were accounted for; all one as if the balance of trade were for so much altered. But this being not much, in comparison of the general traffic between two nations, or at least varying slower, the merchant too regulating the exchange, and not the usurer. I suppose it is the present balance of trade, on which the exchange immediately and chiefly depends, unless some accident shall make a great deal of money be remitted at the same time from one place to another, which will for that time raise the exchange all one as an over-balance of trade; and indeed, when examined, is generally very little different from it.

To be able to estimate the par, with the rise and fall of the exchange, it is necessary to know the intrinsic value, i. e. how much silver is in the coins of the two countries, by which you reckon and charge the bill of exchange.

Sir, if I have been led a little too far from one thing to another, in the consideration of money, I beg your pardon, hoping that these particulars will afford some light to our present subject.

To return to the price of land. It is evident by what has been above said, that the years purchase of land does not increase with the fall of interest; and the abating of that good quality in money, of yielding yearly six per cent. to four, does not presently so sink its value, in respect of land, that one-third more is required in exchange: falling of interest from six to four, will not raise land from twenty to thirty years purchase; the rising and falling of the price of land, as of other things, depends much on the quantity of land set to sale, compared with the quantity of money designed for that traffic, or, which amounts to the same thing, upon the number of buyers and sellers; for where there are many sellers and few purchasers, though interest be lessened, land will be cheap, as I have already showed. At least this is certain, that making a law to reduce interest, will not raise the price of land; it will only, by driving it more into the banker’s hands, leave the country barer of money; whereby, if the price of land about London should be accidentally raised, that of remoter countries would thereby have fewer purchasers, and at lower rates.

This being so, that the low rate of land depends much on the great number of sellers in proportion to purchasers, the next thing to be enquired into is, what makes plenty of sellers? And to that the answer is obvious, general ill husbandry, and the consequence of it, debts. If a neglect of government and religion, ill examples, and depraved education, have introduced debauchery, and art, or chance, has made it fashionable for men to live beyond their estates, debts will increase and multiply, and draw with them a necessity on men, first of encumbering, and then selling their estates. This is generally the cause why men part with their land: and I think there is scarce one in an hundred that thinks of selling his patrimony, till mortgages have pretty well eat into the freehold: and the weight of growing debts force a man, whether he will or no, out of his possessions. When almost is there ever a clear and unencumbered estate set to sale? It is seldom a thriving man turns his land into money, to make the greater advantage: the examples of it are so rare, that they are scarce of any consideration in the number of sellers.

This, I think, may be the reason, why in queen Elizabeth’s days (when sobriety, frugality, and industry, brought in daily increase to the growing wealth of the kingdom) land kept up its price, and sold for more years purchase than corresponded to the interest of money, then busily employed in a thriving trade, which made the natural interest much higher than it is now, as well as the parliament then set it higher by law.

On the contrary side, what makes scarcity of purchasers?

The same reason, ill husbandry. When the tradesman lives up to the height of his income, and the vanity of expences either drains the merchant’s coffers, or keeps them from overflowing, he seldom thinks of purchasing. Buying of land is the result of a full and satiated gain: and men in trade seldom think of laying out their money upon land, till their profit has brought them in more than their trade can well employ; and their idle bags, cumbering their counting-houses, put them upon emptying them on a purchase.

Another thing that makes a scarcity of buyers of land, are doubtful and ill titles: where these are frequent and fatal, one can no more expect that men, who have money, should be forward to purchase, than ships, richly laden, to venture themselves amongst rocks and quicksands. It is no wonder such seas should not be much frequented, where the examples and remains of daily wrecks show the folly and hazard of the venture, in the number of those who have miscarried.

A general decay of trade discourages men from purchasing: for this threatens an universal poverty, which is sure to fall first and heaviest upon land. The merchant who furnishes the improvident landholder, will not fail to have money for his wares with gain, whether the kingdom get by his trade or no, and he will keep his money rather employed in trade, which brings him in profit (for the merchant may get by a trade that makes the kingdom poor) than lay it out in land, whose rent he sees sinking, and foresees, by the course of trade, is likely to continue to do so. When a nation is running to decay and ruin, the merchant and monied man, do what you can, will be sure to starve last: observe it where you will, the decays that come upon, and bring to ruin any country, do constantly first fall upon the land: and though the country gentleman (who usually securely relies upon so much a year as was given in at his marriage settlement, and thinks his land an unmoveable fund for such an income) be not very forward to think so; yet this nevertheless is an undoubted truth, that he is more concerned in trade, and ought to take a greater care, that it be well managed, and preserved, than even the merchant himself. For he will certainly find, when a decay of trade has carried away one part of our money out of the kingdom, and the other is kept in the merchant and tradesman’s hands, that no laws he can make, nor any little arts of shifting property amongst ourselves, will bring it back to him again: but his rents will fall, and his income every day lessen, till general industry and frugality, joined to a well-ordered trade, shall restore to the kingdom the riches and wealth it had formerly.

This by the way, if well considered, might let us see, that taxes, however contrived, and out of whose hands soever immediately taken, do, in a country, where their great fund is in land, for the most part terminate upon land. Whatsoever the people is chiefly maintained by, that the government supports itself on: nay, perhaps it will be found, that those taxes which seem least to affect land, will most surely of all other fall the rents. This would deserve to be well considered, in the raising of taxes, lest the neglect of it bring upon the country gentleman an evil, which he will be sure quickly to feel, but not be able very quickly to remedy. For rents once fallen are not easily raised again. A tax laid upon land seems hard to the landholder, because it is so much money going visibly out of his pocket: and therefore, as an ease to himself, the landholder is always forward to lay it upon commodities. But, if he will thoroughly consider it, and examine the effects, he will find he buys this seeming ease at a very dear rate: and though he pays not this tax immediately out of his own purse, yet his purse will find it by a greater want of money there, at the end of the year, than that comes to, with the lessening of his rents to boot: which is a settled and lasting evil, that will stick upon him beyond the present payment.

To make this clear, let us suppose in the present state of affairs in England, that the rents of England are twelve millions, and that the charge and necessities of the government require a supply of three millions from the parliament, which is laid on land. Here is one fourth part of his yearly income goes immediately out of the landlord’s and landholder’s pocket. This is a burden very apt to be felt. The country gentleman, who actually pays the money out of his pocket, or finds it deducted out of his rent at quarter-day for taxes, sees and very sensibly observes what goes thus out of his estate. But though this be a quarter of his yearly income, and, out of an estate of four hundred pounds a year, the public tax now openly takes away one hundred; yet this influences not at all the yearly rent of the land, which the rack-renter, or under-tenant, pays: it being the same thing to him, whether he pays all his rent to the king, or his landlord; or half, or a quarter, or none at all to the king; the case is all one to him, what hand receives his rent, when due: so trade flourishes, and his commodities go off well, he will be able to pay his rent on. This lessens not any more the value of his farm, than an high or a low chief rent does, paid out of it to the lord of the fee: the tenant’s bargain and profit are the same, whether the land be charged, or not charged, with an annuity payable to another man. We see this in college leases, where though the college tenant pays for it to the college some years five times as much as he does others, upon the varying rate of corn; yet the under-tenant feels not this alteration in the least, nor finds a reason to have his rent abated, because a greater part of it is diverted from his landlord. All this is but changing the hand that receives the rent, without any influence at all upon the yearly value of the estate; which will not be let for one penny more, or less, to the renter, however, or amongst whomsoever, the rent he pays be divided. From hence it is evident, that taxes laid on land do not in the least make rents fall.

But suppose, to shift off the burden from the land, some country gentleman should think fit to raise these three millions upon commodities, to let the land go free. First, it is to be considered, That since the public wants require three millions (for that we supposed for argument’s sake; let it be three millions, or one million, that is all one;) and so much must go into the king’s coffers, or else the necessities of the government will not be supplied: that for raising these three millions on commodities, and bringing so much into the exchequer, there must go a great deal more than three millions out of the subjects pockets. For a tax of that nature cannot be levied by officers, to watch every little rivulet of trade, without a great charge, especially at first trial. But supposing no more charges in raising it, than of a land-tax, and that there are only three millions to be paid, it is evident that, to do this, out of commodities, they must, to the consumer, be raised a quarter in their price; so that every thing, to him that uses it, must be a quarter dearer. Let us see now who, at long-run, must pay this quarter, and where it will light. It is plain, the merchant and broker neither will, nor can; for, if he pays a quarter more for commodities than he did, he will sell them at a price proportionably raised. The poor labourer and handicraftsman cannot: for he just lives from hand to mouth already, and all his food, clothing and utensils, costing a quarter more than they did before, either his wages must rise with the price of things, to make him live; or else, not being able to maintain himself and family by his labour, he comes to the parish; and then the land bears the burthen a heavier way. If the labourer’s wages be raised in proportion to the increased rates of things, the farmer who pays a quarter more for wages, as well as all other things, whilst he sells his corn and wool, either at the same rate, or lower, at the market (since the tax laid upon it makes people less forward to buy) must either have his rent abated, or else break and run away in his landlord’s debt: and so the yearly value of the land is brought down. And who then pays the tax at the year’s end, but the landlord? when the tenant, not able to raise his rent by his commodities, either runs away in his landlord’s debt, or cannot be continued in the farm, without abatement of rent: for, when the yearly charge in his farm is greater by the increase of the labourer’s wages, and yet his product sells cheaper by reason of the tax laid on his commodities; how will the farmer be able to make up his rent at quarter-day? For this may be worth our notice, that any tax laid on foreign commodities in England, raises its price, and makes the importer get more for his commodity: but, on the contrary, a tax laid on your native product, and home-made commodities, lessens their price, and makes them yield less to the first seller.

The reason whereof is plain. For the merchant importing no commodity, but what the necessity, or fashionable wantonness, of your people gives him vent for, will not only proportion his gain to the cost and risque, which he has been at before landing; but will expect profit of his money paid here, for any tax laid on it; and take advantage from thence to raise his price, above what his tax comes to; and if he cannot do that, he will trade no more in that commodity. For it being not the product of his farm, he is not tied to bring it to market, if he finds his price not answer his expectation there, but turns himself to other wares, which he finds your markets to take off better. A merchant will never continue to trade in wares, which the change of fashion, or humour amongst your people has made less vendible, though he may be sometimes caught by a sudden alteration. But that seldom happens in the course of trade, so as to influence the great bulk of it. For things of necessity must still be had, and things of fashion will be had, as long as men have money, or credit, whatever rates they cost, and the rather because they are dear. For, it being vanity, not use, that makes the expensive fashion of your people, the emulation is, who shall have the finest, that is, the dearest things, not the most convenient, or useful. How many things do we value, or buy, because they come at dear rates, from Japan and China, which if they were our own manufacture, or product, common to be had, and for a little money, would be contemned and neglected? Have not several of our own commodities, offered to sale at reasonable rates, been despised, and the very same eagerly bought and bragged of, when sold for French, at a double price? You must not think, therefore, that the raising their price will lessen the vent of fashionable, foreign commodities amongst you, as long as men have any way to purchase them, but rather increase it. French wine is become a modish drink amongst us, and a man is ashamed to entertain his friend, or almost to dine himself without it. The price is in the memory of man raised from 6d. to 2s. and does this hinder the drinking of it? No, the quite contrary: a man’s way of living is commended, because he will give any rate for it: and a man will give any rate rather than pass for a poor wretch, or a penurious curmudgeon, that is not able, or knows not how to live well, nor use his friends civilly. Fashion is, for the most part, nothing but the ostentation of riches, and therefore the high price of what serves to that, rather increases than lessens its vent. The contest and glory is in the expence, not the usefulness of it; and people are then thought and said to live well, when they can make a show of rare and foreign things, and such as their neighbours cannot go to the price of.

Thus we see how foreign commodities fall not in their price, by taxes laid on them, because the merchant is not necessitated to bring to your market any but fashionable commodities, and those go off the better for their high rate. But, on the contrary, your landholder being forced to bring his commodities to market, such as his land and industry afford him, common and known things, he must sell them there at such price as he can get. This the buyer knows; and these home-bred commodities being seldom the favourites of your people, or any farther acceptable, than as great conveniency recommends them to the vulgar, or downright necessity to all; as soon as a tax is laid on them, every one makes as sparing an use of them as he can, that he may save his money for other necessary or creditable expences. Thus the price, which our native commodities yield the first seller, is mightily abated, and so the yearly value of the land, which produces them, lessened too.

If, therefore, the laying of taxes upon commodities does, as it is evident, affect the land that is out at a rack-rent, it is plain it does equally affect all the other land in England too, and the gentry will, but the worst way, increase their own charges, that is, by lessening the yearly value of their estates, if they hope to ease their land, by charging commodities. It is in vain, in a country whose great fund is land, to hope to lay the public charge of the government on any thing else; there at last it will terminate. The merchant (do what you can) will not bear it, the labourer cannot, and therefore the landholder must; and whether he were best to do it, by laying it directly where it will at last settle, or by letting it come to him by the sinking of his rents, which when they are once fallen, every one knows are not easily raised again, let him consider.

Holland is brought as an instance of laying the charge of the public upon trade, and it is possibly (excepting some few small free towns) the only place in the world that could be brought to favour this way. But yet, when examined, will be found to show the quite contrary, and be a clear proof, that lay the taxes how you will, land every-where, in proportion, bears the greater share of the burthen. The public charge of the government, it is said, is, in the United Provinces, laid on trade. I grant it is, the greatest part of it; but is the land excused, or eased by it? By no means; but, on the contrary, so loaded, that in many places half, in others a quarter, in others one-eighth of the yearly value does not come into the owner’s pocket: and if I have not been misinformed, the land in some places will not pay the taxes: so that we may say, that the charge of the government came not upon commodities, till the land could not bear it. The burthen unavoidably settles upon the land first, and when it has pressed it so, that it can yield no more, trade must be brought in aid, to help to support the government rather than let all sink: but the first stress is always upon land, and as far as that will reach, it is unavoidably carried, lay your taxes how you will. It is known what a share of the public charges of the government is supported by the trade of Amsterdam alone; as I remember that one town pays thirty-six in the hundred of all the public taxes raised in the United Provinces. But are the lands of Guelderland eased by it? Let any one see, in that country of land more than trade, what they make clear of their revenues, and whether the country gentlemen there grow rich on their land, whilst the merchant, having the taxes laid on his commerce, is impoverished? On the contrary, Guelderland is so low and out of cash, that Amsterdam has been fain, for many years, to lay down the taxes for them; which is, in effect, to pay the taxes of Guelderland too.

Struggle and contrive as you will, lay your taxes as you please, the traders will shift it off from their own gain; the merchants will bear the least part of it, and grow poor last. In Holland itself, where trade is so loaded, who, I pray, grows richest, the landholder, or the trader? Which of them is pinched, and wants money most? A country may thrive, the country gentleman grow rich, and his rents increase (for so it has been here) whilst the land is taxed: but I challenge any one to show me a country, wherein there is any considerable public charge raised, where the land does not most sensibly feel it, and, in proportion, bear much the greater part of it.

We must not, therefore, impute the falling of the rents, or of the price of land, to high interest; nor, if ill husbandry has wasted our riches, hope by such kind of laws to raise them to their former value. I humbly conceive we shall in vain endeavour it, by the fall of interest. The number of buyers must be increased, and sellers lessened, which must be done by other ways, than regulating of interest, or else the landed-man will neither find chapmen for his land, nor for the corn that grows on it, at the rate he desires.

But, could an act of parliament bring down interest to four per cent. and the lowering of that immediately raise the purchaser’s fine from 20 to 25 years purchase; yet it may be doubted, whether this be fit to be made into a law, because it would be of no advantage to the kingdom. For what profit would it be to the nation to make a law, that he who sells land, should instead of four have five hundred pounds of the purchaser? This, indeed, a little alters the distribution of the money we have amongst us Englishmen here at home, but neither helps to continue what we have, nor brings in more from abroad: which, being the only concernment of the kingdom, in reference to its wealth, is apt to be supposed by us without doors to be the only care of a parliament. For it matters not, so it be here amongst us, whether the money be in Thomas, or Richard’s hands, provided it be so ordered, that whoever has it may be encouraged to let it go into the current of trade, for the improvement of the general stock and wealth of the nation.

As this increase of the fine, in the purchase of land, is not an advantage to the kingdom; so neither is it to the landholder, who is the person, that, bearing the greatest part of the burdens of the kingdom, ought, I think, to have the greatest care taken of him, and enjoy as many privileges, and as much wealth, as the favour of the law can (with regard to the public-weal) confer upon him. But pray consider: the raising the price of land in sale, by increasing the number of years purchase to be paid for it, gives the advantage, not to the landholder, but to him that ceases to be so. He, that has no longer the land, has the more money: and he, who has the land, is the poorer. The true advantage of the landholder is, that his corn, flesh, and wool, sell better, and yield a greater price; this, indeed, is a profit that benefits the owner of the land, and goes along with it; it is this alone raises the rent, and makes the possessor richer: and this can only be done by increasing our wealth, and drawing more money into England. Which the falling of interest, and thereby (if it could effect it) raising the purchase of land, is so far from doing, that it does visibly and directly one way hinder our increase of wealth, that is, by hindering foreigners to come here, and buy land, and settle amongst us. Whereby we have this double loss; first, we lose their persons, increase of people being the increase both of strength and riches. Secondly, we lose so much money; for, though whatever an Englishman gives to another for land, though raised to forty years purchase, be not one farthing advantage to the kingdom; yet whatever a foreigner, who purchases land here, gives for it, is so much every farthing clear gain to the nation: for that money comes clear in, without carrying out any thing for it, and is every farthing of it as perfect gain to the nation, as if it dropped down from the clouds.

But farther, if consideration be to be had only of sellers of land, the lowering of interest to four per cent. will not be in their favour, unless by it you can raise land to thirty years purchase, which is not at all likely: and I think nobody, by falling of interest to four per cent. hopes to get chapmen for their land at that rate. Whatsoever they have less, if law can regulate interest, they lose of their value of land, money being thus abased. So that the landed-man will scarce find his account neither, by this law when it comes to trial. And at last, I imagine, this will be the result of all such attempts, that experience will show that the price of things will not be regulated by laws, though the endeavours after it will be sure to prejudice and inconvenience trade, and put your affairs out of order.

If this be so, that interest cannot be regulated by law, or that if it could, yet the reducing of it to four per cent. would do more harm than good: what then should there (you will say) be no law at all to regulate interest? I say not so. For,

It is necessary that there should be a stated rate of interest, and in debts and forbearances, where contract has not settled it between the parties, the law might give a rule, and courts of judicature might know what damages to allow. This may, and therefore should, be regulated.

That in the present current of running cash, which now takes its course almost all to London, and is engrossed by a very few hands in comparison, young men, and those in want, might not too easily be exposed to extortion and oppression: and the dexterous and combining money-jobbers not have too great and unbounded a power, to prey upon the ignorance and necessity of borrowers. There would not be much danger of this, if money were more equally distributed into the several quarters of England, and into a greater number of hands, according to the exigencies of trade.

If money were to be hired, as land is; or to be had as corn, or wool, from the owner himself, and known good security be given for it; it might then probably be had at the market (which is the true) rate, and that rate of interest would be a constant gauge of your trade and wealth. But, when a kind of monopoly, by consent, has put this general commodity into a few hands, it may need regulation, though what the stated rate of interest should be, in the constant change of affairs, and flux of money, is hard to determine. Possibly it may be allowed, as a reasonable proposal, that it should be within such bounds, as should not, on the one side, quite eat up the merchant’s and tradesman’s profit, and discourage their industry; nor, on the other hand, so low, as should hinder men from risquing their money in other men’s hands, and so rather choose to keep it out of trade, than venture it upon so small profit. When it is too high, it so hinders the merchant’s gain, that he will not borrow; when too low, it so hinders the monied-man’s profit, that he will not lend; and both these ways it is an hindrance to trade.

But this being, perhaps, too general and loose a rule, let me add, that if one would consider money and land alone, in relation one to another, perhaps it is now at six per cent. in as good a proportion as is possible; six per cent. being a little higher than land at twenty years purchase, which is the rate pretty near, that land has generally carried in England, it never being much over, nor under. For supposing 100l. in money, and land of 5l. per annum be of equal value, which is land at twenty years purchase; it is necessary for the making their value truly equal, that they should produce an equal income, which the 100l. at 5l. per cent. interest is not likely to do.

Because of the many, and sometimes long intervals of barrenness, which happen to money more than land. Money at use, when returned into the hands of the owner, usually lies dead there, till he gets a new tenant for it, and can put it out again; and all this time it produces nothing. But this happens not to land, the growing product whereof turns to account to the owner, even when it is in his hands, or is allowed for by the tenant, antecedently to his entering upon the farm. For though a man, that borrows money at Midsummer, never begins to pay his interest from our Lady-day, or one moment backwards; yet he, who rents a farm, at Midsummer, may have as much reason to begin his rent from our Lady-day, as if he had then entered upon it.

Besides the dead intervals of ceasing profit, which happen to money more than land, there is another reason why the profit and income of money let out, should be a little higher than that of land; and that is, because money out at interest runs a greater risque than land does. The borrower may break, and run away with the money, and then not only the interest due, but all the future profit, with the principal, is lost for ever. But in land a man can lose but the rent due, for which usually too the stock upon the land is sufficient security: and, if a tenant run away in arrear of some rent, the land remains; that cannot be carried away or lost. Should a man purchase good land in Middlesex of 5l. per ann. at twenty years purchase, and other land in Rumney-marsh, or elsewhere, of the same yearly value, but so situated, that it were in danger to be swallowed of the sea, and be utterly lost, it would not be unreasonable, that he should expect to have it under twenty years purchase; suppose sixteen and an half: this is to bring it to just the case of land at twenty years purchase; and money at six per cent. where the uncertainty of securing one’s money may well be allowed that advantage of greater profit; and therefore, perhaps, the legal interest now in England at six per cent. is as reasonable and convenient a rate as can well be set by a standing rule, especially if we consider that the law requires not a man to pay six per cent. but ties up the lender from taking more. So that if ever it falls of itself, the monied man is sure to find it, and his interest will be brought down to it.

High interest is thought by some a prejudice to trade: but if we look back, we shall find, that England never throve so well, nor was there ever brought into England so great an increase of wealth since, as in queen Elizabeth’s and king James I. and Charles I. time, when money was at ten and eight per cent. I will not say high interest was the cause of it. For I rather think, that our thriving trade was the cause of high interest, every one craving money to employ in a profitable commerce. But this, I think, I may reasonably infer from it, That lowering of interest is not a sure way to improve either our trade or wealth.

To this I hear some say, That the Dutch, skilful in all arts of promoting trade, to out-do us in this, as well as all other advancements of it, have observed this rule, viz. That, when we fell interest in England from ten to eight, they presently sunk interest in Holland to four per cent. And again, when we lowered it to six, they fell it to three per cent. thereby to keep the advantage which the lowness of interest gives to trade. From whence these men readily conclude, that the falling of interest will advance trade in England. To which I answer,

That this looks like an argument rather made for the present occasion, to mislead those who are credulous enough to swallow it, than arising from true reason, and matter of fact. For, if lowering of interest were so advantageous to trade, why did the Dutch so constantly take their measures only by us, and not as well by some other of their neighbours, with whom they have as great, or greater commerce, than with us? This is enough, at first sight, to make one suspect this to be dust, only raised to throw in people’s eyes, and as suggestion made to serve a purpose. For,

It will not be found true, That, when we abated interest here in England to eight, the Dutch sunk it in Holland to four per cent. by law; or that there was any law made in Holland to limit the rate of interest to three per cent. when we reduced it in England to six. It is true John de Witt, when he managed the affairs of Holland, setting himself to lessen the public debts, and having actually paid some, and getting money in a readiness to pay others, sent notice to all the creditors, that those who would not take four per cent. should come and receive their money. The creditors finding him in earnest, and knowing not how otherwise to employ their money, accepted his terms, and changed their obligations into four per cent. whereas before they were at five, and so (the great loans of the country being to the state) it might be said in this sense, That the rate of interest was reduced lower at that time: but that it was done by a law, forbidding to take higher interest than four per cent. that I deny, and require any one to show. Indeed, upon good security, one might lately have borrowed money in Holland at three, and three and a half per cent. but not by virtue of any law, but the natural rate of interest. And I appeal to the men, learned in the law of Holland, whether last year (and I doubt not but it is so still) a man might not lawfully lend his money for what interest he could get, and whether in the courts he should not recover the interest he contracted for, if it were ten per cent. So that, if money be to be borrowed by honest and responsible men, at three, or three and half per cent. it is not by the force of statutes and edicts, but by the natural course of things; which will always bring interest upon good security low, where there is a great deal of money to be lent, and little good security, in proportion, to be had. Holland is a country, where the land makes a very little part of the stock of the country. Trade is their great fund; and their estates lie generally in money: so that all, who are not traders, generally speaking, are lenders: of which there are so many, whose income depends upon interest, that if the States were not mightily in debt, but paid every one their principal, instead of the four per cent. use which they give, there would be so much more money than could be used, or would be ventured in trade, that money there would be at two per cent. or under, unless they found a way to put it out in foreign countries.

Interest, I grant these men, is low in Holland: but it is so, not as an effect of law, or the politic contrivance of the government, to promote trade: but as the consequence of great plenty of ready money, when their interest first fell. I say when it first fell: for being once brought low, and the public having borrowed a great part of private men’s money, and continuing in debt, it must continue so, though the plenty of money, which first brought interest low, were very much decayed, and a great part of their wealth were really gone. For the debt of the state affording to the creditors a constant yearly income, that is looked on as a safe revenue, and accounted as valuable as if it were in land; and accordingly they buy it one of another: and whether there be any money in the public coffers or no, he, who has to the value of ten thousand pounds owing him from the States, may sell it every day in the week, and have ready money for it; this credit is so great an advantage to private men, who know not else what to do with their stocks, that, were the States now in a condition to begin to pay their debts, the creditors, rather than take their money out, to lie dead by them, would let it stay in, at lower interest, as they did some years since, when they were called on to come and receive their money. This is the state of interest in Holland: their plenty of money, and paying their public debts, some time since lowered their interest. But it was not done by the command and limitation of a law, nor in consequence of our reducing it here by law to six per cent. For I deny, that there is any law there yet, to forbid lending of money for above three, or six, or ten per cent. Whatever some here suggest, every one there may hire out his money, as freely as he does any thing else, for what rate he can get; and, the bargain being made, the law will enforce the borrower to pay it.

I grant low interest, where all men consent to it, is an advantage to trade, if merchants will regulate their gains accordingly, and men be persuaded to lend to them: but can it be expected, when the public gives seven or eight, or ten per cent. that private men, whose security is certainly no better, shall have for four! And can there be any thing stranger, than that the same men, who look on, and therefore allow high use as an encouragement to lending to the Chequer, should think low use should bring money into trade? The States of Holland, some few years since, paid but four per cent. for the money they owed: if you propose them for an example, and interest to be regulated by a law, try whether you can do so here, and bring men to lend it to the public at that rate. This would be a benefit to the kingdom, and abate a great part of our public charge. If you cannot do that, confess that it is not the law in Holland has brought the interest there so low, but something else, and that which will make the States, or any body else, pay dearer, now, if either their credit be less, or money there scarcer.

An infallible sign of your decay of wealth is the falling of rents, and the raising of them would be worth the nation’s care, for in that, and not in the falling of interest, lies the true advantage of the landed man, and with him of the public. It may be therefore not besides our present business to inquire into the cause of the falling of rents in England.

Either the land is grown barrener, and so the product is less; and consequently the money to be received for that product is less; for it is evident, that he whose land was wont to produce 100 bushels of wheat, communibus annis, if by long tillage and husbandry it will now produce but 50 bushels, the rent will be abated half. But this cannot be supposed general.

Or the rent of that land is lessened. 1. Because the use of the commodity ceases: as the rents must fall in Virginia, were taking of tobacco forbid in England. 2. Or, because something else supplies the room of that product: as the rate of coppice lands will fall upon the discovery of coal mines. 3. Or, because the markets are supplied with the same commodity cheaper from another place: as the breeding counties of England must needs fall their rents by the importation of Irish cattle. 4. Or, because a tax laid on your native commodities, makes what the farmer sells cheaper, and labour, and what he buys, dearer.

Or, the money in the country is less; for the exigencies and uses of money not lessening with its quantity, and it being in the same proportion to be employed and distributed still, in all the parts of its circulation, so much as its quantity is lessened, so much must the share of every one that has a right to this money be the less; whether he be landholder, for his goods; or labourer, for his hire; or merchant, for his brokerage. Though the landholder usually finds it first; because money failing, and falling short, people have not so much money as formerly to lay out, and so less money is brought to market, by which the price of things must necessarily fall. The labourer feels it next; for, when the landholder’s rent falls, he must either bate the labourer’s wages, or not employ, or not pay him; which either way makes him feel the want of money. The merchant feels it last; for though he sells less, and at a lower rate, he buys also our native commodities, which he exports at a lower rate too, and will be sure to leave our native commodities unbought, upon the hands of the farmer and manufacturer, rather than export them to a market, which will not afford him returns with profit.

If one-third of the money employed in trade were locked up, or gone out of England, must not the landholders necessarily receive one-third less for their goods, and consequently rents fall; a less quantity of money by one-third being to be distributed amongst an equal number of receivers? Indeed, people not perceiving the money to be gone, are apt to be jealous one of another; and each suspecting another’s inequality of gain to rob him of his share, every one will be employing his skill and power the best he can to retrieve it again, and to bring money into his pocket in the same plenty as formerly. But this is but scrambling amongst ourselves, and helps no more against our want, than the pulling off a short coverlet will, amongst children that lie together, preserve them all from the cold. Some will starve, unless the father of the family provide better, and enlarge the scanty covering. This pulling and contest is usually between the landed man and the merchant: for the labourer’s share, being seldom more than a bare subsistence, never allows that body of men time or opportunity to raise their thoughts above that, or struggle with the richer for theirs, (as one common interest) unless when some common and great distress, uniting them in one universal ferment, makes them forget respect, and emboldens them to carve to their wants with armed force; and then sometimes they break in upon the rich, and sweep all like a deluge. But this rarely happens but in the male-administration of neglected, or mismanaged government.

The usual struggle and contest, as I said before, in the decays of wealth and riches, is between the landed man and the merchant, with whom I may here join the monied man. The landed man finds himself aggrieved by the falling of his rents, and the straitening of his fortune, whilst the monied man keeps up his gain, and the merchant thrives and grows rich by trade. These, he thinks, steals his income into their pockets, build their fortunes upon his ruin, and engross more of the riches of the nation than comes to their share. He therefore endeavours, by laws, to keep up the value of lands, which he suspects lessened by the other’s excess of profit; but all in vain. The cause is mistaken, and the remedy too. It is not the merchant’s nor monied man’s gains that makes land fall: but the want of money, and lessening of our treasure, wasted by extravagant expenses, and a mismanaged trade, which the land always first feels. If the landed gentleman will have, and by his example makes it fashionable to have, more claret, spice, silk, and other foreign consumable wares, than our exportation of commodities does exchange for, money must unavoidably follow to balance the account, and pay the debt; and therefore, I fear that another proposal I hear talked of, to hinder the exportation of money and bullion, will show more our need of care to keep our money from going from us, than a way and method how to preserve it here.

It is death in Spain to export money: and yet they, who furnish all the world with gold and silver, have least of it amongst themselves. Trade fetches it away from that lazy and indigent people, notwithstanding all their artificial and forced contrivances to keep it there. It follows trade, against the rigour of their laws; and their want of foreign commodities makes it openly be carried out at noon-day. Nature has bestowed mines on several parts of the world: but their riches are only for the industrious and frugal. Whomsoever else they visit, it is with the diligent and sober only they stay; and if the virtue and provident way of living of our ancestors (content with our native conveniencies of life, without the costly itch after the materials of pride and luxury from abroad) were brought in fashion and countenance again amongst us; this alone would do more to keep and increase our wealth, and enrich our land, than all our paper helps, about interest, money, bullion, &c. which however eagerly we may catch at, will not, I fear, without better husbandry, keep us from sinking, whatever contrivances we may have recourse to. It is with a kingdom as with a family. Spending less than our own commodities will pay for, is the sure and only way for the nation to grow rich; and when that begins once seriously to be considered, and our faces and steps are in earnest turned that way, we may hope to have our rents rise, and the public stock thrive again. Till then, we in vain, I fear, endeavour with noise, and weapons of law, to drive the wolf from our own to one another’s doors: the breed ought to be extirpated out of the island; for want, brought in by ill management, and nursed up by expensive vanity, will make the nation poor, and spare nobody.

If three millions were necessary for the carrying on the trade of England, whereof one million were for the landholder to maintain him; another were for the payment of the labourer and handicraftsman; and the third were the share of the brokers, coming to them for their care and pains in distributing; if one million of this money were gone out of the kingdom, must there not be one-third less to be shared amongst them for the product of their land, their labour and their distribution? I do not say they will feel it at the same time. But the landholder having nothing, but what the product of his land will yield; and the buyer, according to the plenty or scarcity of money he has, always setting the price upon what is offered to sale; the landholder must be content to take the market-rate for what he brings thither; which always following the scarcity or plenty of money, if any part of our money be gone, he is sure first to find it in the price of his commodities; for the broker and merchant, though he sell cheaper, yet he buys cheaper too: and he will be sure to get his returns, or let alone a commodity which will not produce him gain: and whatsoever is so let alone, and left in hand, always turns to the landholder’s loss.

Supposing that of our woollen manufacture, foreign markets took off one-half, and the other half were consumed amongst ourselves; if a sensible part (as one-third) of our coin were gone, and so men had equally one-third less money than they had, (for it is certain it must be tantamount, and what I escape of one-third less, another must make up) it would follow, that they would have less to lay out in clothes, as well as other things, and so would wear them longer, or pay less for them. If a clothier finds a want of vent, he must either sell cheaper, or not at all; if he sell cheaper, he must also pay less, both for wool and labour; and if the labourer hath less wages, he must also pay less for corn, butter, cheese, flesh, or else forbear some of these quite. In all which cases the price of wool, corn, flesh, and the other products of land are brought down, and the land bears the greatest part of the loss; for wherever the consumption, or vent of any commodity is stopt, there the stop continues on, till it comes to the landholder; and, wherever the price of any commodity begins to fall, how many hands soever there be between that and the landholder, they all take reprisals one upon another, till at last it comes to the landholder; and there the abatement of price of any of his commodities lessens his income and is a clear loss. The owner of land, which produces the commodity, and the last buyer who consumes it, are the two extremes in commerce; and through the falling of any sort of commodity in the landholder’s hand does not prove so to the last consumer, the arts of intervening brokers and engrossers keeping up the price to their own advantage, yet, whenever want of money, or want of desire in the consumer, makes the price low, that immediately reaches the first producer, nobody between having any interest to keep it up.

Now as to the two first causes of falling of rents, falling of interest has no influence at all. In the latter it has a great part, because it makes the money of England less, by making both Englishmen and foreigners withdraw, or withhold their money; for that which is not let loose into trade, is all one, whilst hoarded up, as if it were not in being.

I have heard it brought for a reason, why interest should be reduced to four per cent. “that thereby the landholder, who bears the burthen of the public charge, may be in some degree eased by the falling of interest.”

This argument will be but right, if you say it will ease the borrower, and lay the loss on the lender. But it concerns not the land in general, unless you will suppose all landholders in debt. But I hope we may yet think that men in England, who have land, have money too; and that landed men, as well as others, by their providence and good husbandry, accommodating their expences to their income, keep themselves from going backwards in the world.

That which is urged, as most deserving consideration and remedy in the case is, “that it is hard and unreasonable, that one, who has mortgaged half his land, should yet pay taxes for the whole, whilst the mortgage goes away with the clear profit of an high interest.” To this I answer,

That, if any man has run himself in debt for the service of his country, it is fit the public should reimburse him, and set him free. This is a care that becomes the public justice, that men, if they receive no rewards, should at least be kept from suffering, in having served their country. But I do not remember the polity of any nation, who altered their constitution in favour of those whose mismanagement had brought them behindhand; possibly, as thinking the public little beholden to those who had misemployed the stock of their country in the excess of their private expences, and by their example spread a fashion that carries ruin with it. Men’s paying taxes of mortgaged lands, is a punishment for ill husbandry, which ought to be discouraged: but it concerns very little the frugal and the thrifty.

Another thing to be said in reply to this, is, that it is with gentlemen in the country, as with tradesmen in the city. If they will own titles to greater estates than really they have, it is their own faults, and there is no way left to help them from paying for them. The remedy is in their own hands, to discharge themselves when they please; and when they have once sold their land, and paid their debts, they will no longer pay taxes, for what they own without being really theirs. There is another way also whereby they may be relieved, as well as a great many other inconveniencies remedied; and that is by a registry: for if the mortgages were registered, land-taxes might reach them, and order the lender to pay his proportion.

I have met with patrons of four per cent. who (amongst many other fine things they tell us of) affirm, “That if interest were reduced to four per cent. then some men would borrow money at this low rate, and pay their debts; others would borrow more than they now do, and improve their land; others would borrow more, and employ it in trade and manufacture.” Gilded words indeed, were there any thing substantial in them! These men talk as if they meant to show us not only the wisdom, but the riches of Solomon, and would make gold and silver as common as stones in the street: but at last, I fear, it will be but wit without money, and I wish it amount to that. It is without question, that could the countryman and the tradesman take up money cheaper than now they do, every man would be forward to borrow, and desire that he might have other men’s money to employ to his advantage. I confess, those who contend for four per cent. have found out a way to set men’s mouths a watering for money at that rate, and to increase the number of borrowers in England, if any body can imagine it would be an advantage to increase them. But to answer all their fine projects, I have but this one short question to ask them: Will four per cent. increase the number of the lenders? If it will not, as any man at the very first hearing will shrewdly suspect it will not, then all the plenty of money, these conjurers bestow upon us, for improvement of land, paying of debts, and advancement of trade, is but like the gold and silver, which old women believe other conjurers bestow sometimes, by whole lapfuls, on poor credulous girls, which, when they bring to the light, is found to be nothing but withered leaves; and the possessors of it are still as much in want of money as ever.

Indeed, I grant it would be well for England, and I wish it were so, that the plenty of money were so great amongst us, that every man could borrow as much as he could use in trade for four per cent.; nay, that men could borrow as much as they could employ for six per cent. But even at that rate, the borrowers already are far more than the lenders. Why else doth the merchant, upon occasion, pay six per cent. and often above that rate, for brokerage? And why doth the country gentleman of 1000l. per ann. find it so difficult, with all the security he can bring, to take up 1000l.? All which proceeds from the scarcity of money and bad security; two causes which will not be less powerful to hinder borrowing, after the lowering of interest; and I do not see how any one can imagine that reducing use to four per cent. should abate their force, or how lessening the reward of the lender, without diminishing his risque, should make him more forward and ready to lend. So that these men, whilst they talk that at four per cent. men would take up and employ more money to the public advantage, do but pretend to multiply the number of borrowers among us, of which it is certain we have too many already. While they thus set men a longing for the golden days of four per cent. methinks they use the poor indigent debtor, and needy tradesman, as I have seen prating jackdaws do sometimes their young, who, kawing and fluttering about the nest, set all their young ones a gaping, but having nothing in their empty mouths but noise and air, leave them as hungry as before.

It is true these men have found out by a cunning project, how, by the restraint of a law, to make the price of money one-third cheaper, and then they tell John a Nokes that he shall have 10,000l. of it to employ in merchandize, or clothing; and John a Stiles shall have 20,000l. more to pay his debts; and so distribute this money as freely as Diego did his legacies, which they are to have, even where they can get them. But till these men can instruct the forward borrowers, where they shall be furnished, they have perhaps done something to increase men’s desire, but not made money one jot easier to come by; and, till they do that, all this sweet jingling of money, in their discourses, goes just to the tune of “If all the world were oatmeal.” Methinks these undertakers, whilst they have put men in hopes of borrowing more plentifully, at easier rates, for the supply of their wants and trades, had done better to have bethought themselves of a way how men need not borrow upon use at all: for this would be much more advantageous, and altogether as feasible. It is as easy to distribute twenty pair of shoes amongst thirty men, if they pay nothing for them at all, as if they paid 4s. a pair; ten of them (notwithstanding the statute-rate should be reduced from 6s. to 4s. a pair) will be necessitated to sit still barefoot, as much as if they were to pay nothing for shoes at all. Just so it is in a country, that wants money in proportion to trade. It is as easy to contrive how every man shall be supplied with what money he needs (i. e. can employ in improvement of land, paying his debts, and returns of his trade) for nothing, as for four per cent. Either we have already more money than the owners will lend, or we have not. If part of the money which is now in England, will not be let at the rate interest is at present at, will men be more ready to lend, and borrowers be furnished for all those brave purposes more plentifully, when money is brought to four per cent.? If people do already lend all the money they have, above their own occasions, whence are those, who will borrow more at four per cent. to be supplied? Or is there such plenty of money, and scarcity of borrowers, that there needs the reducing of interest to four per cent. to bring men to take it?

All the imaginable ways of increasing money in any country are these two; either to dig it in the mines of our own, or get it from our neighbours. That four per cent. is not of the nature of the deusing-rod, or virgula divina, able to discover mines of gold and silver, I believe will easily be granted me. The way of getting from foreigners, is either by force, borrowing, or trade. And whatever ways, besides these, men may fancy, or propose, for increasing of money, (except they intend to set up for the philosopher’s stone) would be much the same with a distracted man’s device, that I knew, who, in the beginning of his distemper, first discovered himself to be out of his wits, by getting together and boiling a great number of groats, with a design, as he said, to make them plim, i. e. grow thicker. That four per cent. will raise armies, discipline soldiers, and make men valiant, and fitter to conquer countries, and enrich themselves with the spoils, I think was never pretended. And that it will not bring in more of our neighbour’s money upon loan, than we have at present among us, is so visible in itself, that it will not need any proof; the contenders for four per cent. looking upon it as an undeniable truth, and making use of it as an argument, to show the advantage it will be to the nation, by lessening the use paid to foreigners, who upon falling of use will take home their money. And, for the last way of increasing our money, by promoting of trade, how much lowering of interest is the way to that, I have, I suppose, showed you already.

HAVING LATELY MET WITH A LITTLE TRACT, ENTITLED, “A LETTER TO A FRIEND CONCERNING USURY,” PRINTED THIS PRESENT YEAR, 1660; WHICH GIVES, IN SHORT, THE ARGUMENTS OF SOME TREATISES, PRINTED MANY YEARS SINCE, FOR THE LOWERING OF INTEREST; IT MAY NOT BE AMISS BRIEFLY TO CONSIDER THEM.

“An high interest decays trade. The advantage from interest is greater than the profit from trade, which makes the rich merchants give over, and put out their stock to interest, and the lesser merchants break.”

Answ. This was printed in 1621, when interest was at ten per cent. And whether England had ever a more flourishing trade than at that time, must be left to the judgment of those who have considered the growing strength and riches of this kingdom in queen Elizabeth’s and king James I.’s reigns. Not that I impute it to high interest, but to other causes, I have mentioned, wherein usury had nothing to do. But if this be thought an argument now in 1690, when the legal interest is six per cent. I desire those, who think fit to make use of it, to name those rich merchants, who have given over, and put out their stocks to interest.

“Interest being at ten per cent. and in Holland at six, our neighbour-merchants undersell us.”

Answ. The legal interest being here now at six per cent. and in Holland not limited by law, our neighbour merchants undersell us, because they live more frugally, and are content with less profit.

“Interest being lower in Holland than in England, their contributions to war, works of piety, and all charges of the state, are cheaper to them than to us.”

Answ. This needs a little explication. Contributions, greater or less, I understand; but contributions cheaper or dearer, I confess I do not. If they manage their wars and charges cheaper than we, the blame is not to be laid on high or low interest.

“Interest being so high, prevents the building of shipping, which is the strength and safety of our island, most merchant-ships being built in Holland.”

Answ. Though this argument be now gone, such ships being prohibited by a law, I will help the author to one as good. The Dutch buy our rape-seed, make it into oil, bring it back to us, and sell it with advantage. This may be as well said to be from high interest here, and low there. But the truth is, the industry and frugality of that people, makes them content to work cheaper, and sell at less profit than their neighbours, and so get the trade from them.

“The high rate of usury makes land sell so cheap, being not worth more than fourteen or fifteen years purchase; whereas in Holland, where interest is at six, it is worth above twenty-five. So that a low interest raises the price of land. Where money is dear, land is cheap.”

Answ. This argument plainly confesses, that there is something else, regulates the price of land, besides the rate of interest; else, when money was at ten per cent. here, should land have been at ten years purchase, whereas he confesses it then to have been at fourteen or fifteen. One may suppose, to favour his hypothesis, he was not forward to speak the most of it. And interest, as he says, being at six per cent. in Holland, land there should have sold, by that rule, for sixteen and an half year’s purchase; whereas he says it was worth about twenty-five. And Mr. Manly says, . “That money in France being at seven per cent. noble land sells for thirty-four and thirty-five years purchase, and ordinary land for twenty-five.” So that the true conclusion from hence is, not what our author makes, but this, That it is not the legal interest, but something else, that governs the rate of land. I grant his position, That where money is dear, land is cheap, and vice versa. But it must be so by the natural, not legal interest. For, where money will be lent on good security, at four or five per cent. it is a demonstration that there is more than will be ventured on ordinary credit in trade. And when this plenty becomes general, it is a sign there is more money than can be employed in trade; which cannot but put many upon seeking purchases, to lay it out in land, and so raise the price of land, by making more buyers than sellers.

“It is not probable lenders will call in their money, when they cannot make greater interest any where. Besides, their security upon land will be better.”

Answ. Some unskilful and timorous men will call in their money; others put it into the bankers hands. But the bankers, and skilful will keep it up, and not lend it, but at the natural use, as we have shown. But how securities will be mended, by lowering of interest, is, I confess, beyond my comprehension.

OF RAISING OUR COIN.

Being now upon the consideration of interest and money, give me leave to say one word more on this occasion, which may not be wholly unseasonable at this time. I hear a talk up and down of raising our money, as a means to retain our wealth, and keep our money from being carried away. I wish those, that use the phrase of raising our money, had some clear notion annexed to it; and that then they would examine, “Whether, that being true, it would at all serve to those ends, for which it is proposed?”

The raising of money, then, signifies one of these two things; either raising the value of our money, or raising the denomination of our coin.

The raising the value of money, or any thing else, is nothing, but the making a less quantity of it exchange for any other thing, than would have been taken for it before; v. g. If 5s. will exchange for, or, (as we call it) buy a bushel of wheat; if you can make 4s. buy another bushel of the same wheat, it is plain the value of your money is raised, in respect of wheat, one fifth. But thus nothing can raise, or fall the value of your money, but the proportion of its plenty or scarcity, in proportion to the plenty, scarcity, or vent of any other commodity, with which you compare it, or for which you would exchange it. And thus silver, which makes the intrinsic value of money, compared with itself, under any stamp, or denomination of the same, or different countries, cannot be raised. For an ounce of silver, whether in pence, groats, or crown-pieces, stivers, or ducatoons, or in bullion, is, and always eternally will be, of equal value to any other ounce of silver, under what stamp or denomination soever; unless it can be shown that any stamp can add any new or better qualities to one parcel of silver, which another parcel of silver wants.

Silver, therefore, being always of equal value to silver, the value of coin, compared with coin, is greater, less, or equal, only as it has more, less, or equal silver in it: and in this respect, you can by no manner of way raise, or fall your money. Indeed most of the silver of the world, both in money and vessels, being alloyed, (i. e. mixed with some baser metals) fine silver, (i. e. silver separated from all alloy) is usually dearer than so much silver alloyed, or mixed with baser metals. Because, besides the weight of the silver, those who have need of fine (i. e. unmixed silver; as gilders, wire-drawers, &c.) must, according to their need, besides an equal weight of silver, mixed with other metals, give an overplus to reward the refiner’s skill and pains. And in this case, fine silver and alloyed or mixed silver, are considered as two distinct commodities. But no money being coined here, or almost any where, of pure, fine silver, this concerns not the value of money at all; wherein an equal quantity of silver is always of the same value with an equal quantity of silver, let the stamp or denomination be what it will.

All then, that can be done in this great mystery of raising money, is only to alter the denomination, and call that a crown now, which before, by the law, was but a part of a crown. For example: supposing, according to the standard of our law, 5s. or a crown, were to weigh an ounce, (as it does now, wanting about 16 grains) whereof one twelfth were copper, and eleven twelfths silver, for thereabouts it is) it is plain here, it is the quantity of silver gives the value to it. For let another piece be coined of the same weight, wherein half the silver is taken out, and copper, or other alloy, put into the place, every one knows it will be worth but half as much. For the value of the alloy is so inconsiderable as not to be reckoned. This crown now must be raised, and from henceforth our crown-pieces coined one twentieth lighter; which is nothing but changing the denomination, calling that a crown now, which yesterday was but a part, viz. nineteen twentieths of a crown; whereby you have only raised 19 parts to the denomination formerly given to 20. For I think nobody can be so senseless as to imagine, that 19 grains or ounces of silver can be raised to the value of 20; or that 19 grains or ounces of silver shall at the same time exchange for, or buy as much corn, oil, or wine, as 20; which is to raise it to the value of 20. For if 19 ounces of silver can be worth 20 ounces of silver, or pay for as much of any other commodity, then 18, 10, or one ounce may do the same. For, if the abating one twentieth of the quantity of the silver of any coin, does not lessen its value, the abating nineteen twentieths of the quantity of the silver of any coin, will not abate its value. And so a single three-pence, or a single penny, being called a crown, will buy as much spice, or silk, or any other commodity, as a crown-piece, which contains 20 or 60 times as much silver: which is an absurdity so great, that I think nobody will want eyes to see, and sense to disown.

Now this raising your money, or giving a less quantity of silver the stamp and denomination of a greater, may be done two ways.

By raising one species of your money.

By raising all your silver coin, at once proportionably; which is the thing, I suppose, now proposed.

The raising of one species of your coin, beyond its intrinsic value, is done by coining any one species, (which in account bears such a proportion to the other species of your coin) with less silver in it, than is required by that value it bears in your money.

For example: a crown with us goes for 60 pence, a shilling for 12 pence, a tester for 6 pence, and a groat for 4 pence: and accordingly, the proportion of silver in each of them ought to be as 60, 12, 6, and 4. Now, if in the mint there should be coined groats, or testers, that, being of the same alloy with our other money, had but two thirds of the weight, that those species are coined at now; or else, being of the same weight, were so alloyed, as to have one third of the silver, required by the present standard, changed into copper, and should thus, by law, be made current; (the rest of your silver money being kept to the present standard in weight and fineness) it is plain, those species would be raised one third part; that passing for 6d. which had but the silver of 4d. in it; and would be all one, as if a groat should by law be made current for 6d. and every 6d. in payment pass for 9d. This is truly raising these species: but is no more in effect, than if the mint should coin clipped money; and has, besides the cheat that is put by such base, or light money, on every particular man that receives it, that he wants one third of that real value, which the public ought to secure him, in the money it obliges him to receive, as lawful and current. It has, I say, this great and unavoidable inconvenience to the public, that, besides the opportunity it gives to domestic coiners to cheat you with lawful money, it puts it into the hands of foreigners to fetch away your money, without any commodities for it. For if they find that two-penny weight of silver, marked with a certain impression, shall here in England be equivalent to 3d. weight marked with another impression, they will not fail to stamp pieces of that fashion; and so importing that base and low coin, will, here in England, receive 3d. for 2d. and quickly carry away your silver in exchange for copper, or barely the charge of coinage.

This is unavoidable in all countries, where any one species of their money is disproportionate in its intrinsic value, (i. e. in its due proportion of silver to the rest of the money of that country) an inconvenience so certainly attending the allowance of any base species of money to be current, that the king of France could not avoid it, with all his watchfulness. For though, by edict, he made his 4 sols pieces (whereof 15 were to pass for a French crown, though 20 of them had not so much silver in them, as was in a French crown-piece) pass in the inland parts of his kingdom, 15 for a crown in all payments; yet he durst not make them current in the sea-port towns, for fear that should give an opportunity to their importation. But yet this caution served not the turn; they were still imported: and by this means a great loss and damage brought upon his country. So that he was forced to cry them down, and sink them to near their intrinsic value. Whereby a great many particular men, who had quantities of that species in their hands, lost a great part of their estates; and every one, that had any, lost proportionably by it.

If we had groats, or six-pences, current by law amongst us, that wanted one third of the silver, which they now have by the standard, to make them of equal value to our other species of money; who can imagine, that our neighbours would not presently pour in quantities of such money upon us, to the great loss and prejudice of the kingdom? The quantity of silver, that is in each piece, or species of coin, being that which makes its real and intrinsic value, the due proportions of silver ought to be kept in each species, according to the respective rate, set on each of them by law. And, when this is ever varied from, it is but a trick to serve some present occasion; but is always with loss to the country, where the trick is played.

The other way of raising money is by raising all your silver coin at once, the proportion of a crown, a shilling, and a penny, in reference to one another, being still kept, (viz. That a shilling shall weigh one fifth of a crown-piece, and a penny-weight one twelfth of a shilling, in standard silver) but out of every one of these, you abate one twentieth of the silver, they were wont to have in them.

If all the species of money be, as it is called, raised, by making each of them to have one twentieth less of silver in them than formerly: and so your whole money be lighter than it was: these following will be some of the consequences of it.

It will rob all creditors of one twentieth (or 5 per cent.) of their debts, and all landlords one twentieth of their quit-rents for ever; and in all other rents, as far as their former contracts reach, (of 5 per cent.) of their yearly income; and this without any advantage to the debtor, or farmer. For he, receiving no more pounds sterling for his land or commodities, in this new lighter coin, than he should have done of your old and weightier money, gets nothing by it. If you say, Yes, he will receive more crown, half-crown, and shilling pieces, for what he now sells for new money, than he should have done if the money of the old standard had continued; you confess your money is not raised in value, but in denomination: since what your new pieces want in weight must now be made up in their number. But, which way soever this falls, it is certain, the public (which most men think ought to be the only reason of changing a settled law, and disturbing the common current course of things) receives not the least profit by it. Nay, as we shall see by and by, it will be a great charge and loss to the kingdom. But this, at first sight, is visible, That in all payments to be received upon precedent contracts, if your money be in effect raised, the receiver will lose 5 per cent. For money having been lent, and leases and other bargains made, when money was of the same weight and fineness, that it is now, upon confidence that under the same names of pounds, shillings, and pence, they should receive the same value, i. e. the same quantity of silver, by giving the denomination now to less quantities of silver by one twentieth, you take from them 5 per cent. of their due.

When men go to market, to buy any other commodities with their new, but lighter money, they will find 20s. of their new money will buy no more of any commodity than 19 would before. For it not being the denomination, but the quantity of silver, that gives the value to any coin, 19 grains or parts, of silver, however denominated or marked, will no more be worth, or pass for, or buy so much of any other commodity, as 20 grains of silver will, than 19s. will pass for 20s. If any one thinks a shilling, or a crown in name, has its value from the denomination, and not from the quantity of silver in it, let it be tried; and hereafter let a penny be called a shilling, or a shilling be called a crown. I believe nobody would be content to receive his debts, or rents in such money: which, though the law should raise thus, yet he foresees he should lose eleven twelfths by the one, and by the other four fifths of the value he received; and would find his new shilling, which had no more silver in it than one twelfth of what a shilling had before, would buy him of corn, cloth, or wine, but one twelfth of what an old shilling would. This is as plainly so in the raising, as you call it, your crown to 5s. and 3d. or (which is the same thing) making your crown one twentieth lighter in silver. The only difference is, that the loss is so great (it being eleven twelfths), that every body sees, and abhors it at first proposal; but, in the other (it being but one twentieth, and covered with the deceitful name of raising our money) people do not readily observe it. If it be good to raise the crown-piece this way, one twentieth this week, I suppose it will be as good and profitable to raise it as much again the next week. For there is no reason, why it will not be as good to raise it again, another one twentieth, the next week, and so on; wherein, if you proceed but ten weeks successively, you will, by new-year’s day next, have every half-crown raised to a crown, to the loss of one half of people’s debts and rents, and the king’s revenue, besides the confusion of all your affairs: and, if you please to go on in this beneficial way of raising your money, you may, by the same art, bring a penny-weight of silver to be a crown.

Silver, i. e. the quantity of pure silver, separable from the alloy, makes the real value of money. If it does not, coin copper with the same stamp and denomination, and see whether it will be of the same value. I suspect your stamp will make it of no more worth than the copper money of Ireland is, which is its weight in copper, and no more. That money lost so much to Ireland, as it passed for, above the rate of copper. But yet I think nobody suffered so much by it as he by whose authority it was made current.

If silver give the value, you will say, what need is there then of the charge of coinage? May not men exchange silver by weight for other things; make their bargains, and keep their accounts in silver by weight? This might be done, but it has these inconveniences:

1. The weighing of silver to every one we had occasion to pay it to would be very troublesome, for every one must carry about scales in his pocket.

2. Scales would not do the business; for in the next place every one cannot distinguish between fine and mixed silver: so that though he received the full weight, he was not sure he received the full weight of silver, since there might be a mixture of some of the baser metals, which he was not able to discern. Those who have had the care and government of politic societies, introduced coinage, as a remedy to those two inconveniencies. The stamp was a warrantry of the public, that, under such a denomination, they should receive a piece of such a weight, and such a fineness; that is, they should receive so much silver. And this is the reason why the counterfeiting the stamp is made the highest crime, and has the weight of treason laid upon it: because the stamp is the public voucher of the intrinsic value. The royal authority gives the stamp, the law allows and confirms the denomination, and both together give, as it were, the public faith as a security, that sums of money contracted for under such denominations shall be of such a value, that is, shall have in them so much silver; for it is silver, and not names, that pays debts, and purchases commodities. If therefore I have contracted for twenty crowns, and the law then has required, that each of those crowns should have an ounce of silver; it is certain my bargain is not made good, I am defrauded (and whether the public faith be not broken with me, I leave to be considered) if, paying me twenty crowns, the law allots them to be such as have but nineteen twentieths of the silver they ought to have, and really had in them, when I made my contract.

It diminishes all the king’s revenue 5 per cent. For though the same number of pounds, shillings, and pence are paid into the exchequer, as were wont, yet these names being given to coin that have each of them one twentieth less of silver in them; and that being not a secret concealed from strangers, no more than from his own subjects; they will sell the king no more pitch, tar, or hemp, for 20 shillings, after the raising your money, than they would before for 19: or, to speak in the ordinary phrase, they will raise their commodities 5 per cent. as you have raised your money 5 per cent. And it is well if they stop there. For usually in such changes, an outcry being made of your lessening your coin, those, who have to deal with you, taking the advantage of the alarm, to secure themselves from any loss by your new trick, raise their price even beyond the par of your lessening your coin.

I hear of two inconveniences complained of, which it is proposed by this project to remedy.

The one is, the melting down of our coin: the other, the carrying away of our bullion. These are both inconveniencies which, I fear, we lie under: but neither of them will be in the least removed, or prevented, by the proposed alteration of our money.

It is past doubt that our money is melted down The reason whereof is evidently the cheapness of coinage. For a tax on wine paying the coinage, the particular owners pay nothing for it. So that 100 ounces of silver coined comes to the owner at the same rate, as 100 ounces of standard silver in bullion. For delivering into the mint his silver in bars, he has the same quantity of silver delivered out to him again in coin, without any charges to him. Whereby, if at any time he has occasion for bullion, it is the same thing to melt down our milled money, as to buy bullion from abroad, or take it in exchange for other commodities. Thus our mint, to the only advantage of our officers, but at the public cost, labours in vain, as will be found. But yet this makes you not have one jot less money in England, than you would have otherwise; but only makes you coin that, which otherwise would not have been coined, nor perhaps been brought hither: and, being not brought hither by an over-balance of your exportation, cannot stay when it is here. It is not any sort of coinage does, or can keep your money here; that wholly and only depends upon the balance of your trade. And had all the money in king Charles the II. and king James the II.’s time been minted, according to this new proposal, this raised money would have been gone, as well as the other, and the remainder been no more, nor no less than it is now. Though I doubt not but the mint would have coined as much of it, as it has of our present milled money. The short is this: an over-balance of trade with Spain brings you in bullion; cheap coinage, when it is here, carries it into the mint, and money is made of it; but, if your exportation will not balance your importation in other parts of your trade, away must your silver go again, whether monied, or not monied. For where goods do not, silver must, pay for the commodities you spend.

That this is so will appear by the books of the mint, where may be seen how much milled money has been coined in the two last reigns. And in a paper I have now in my hands (supposed written by a man not wholly ignorant in the mint) it is confessed, that whereas one third of the current payments were some time since of milled money, there is not now one twentieth. Gone then it is: but let not any one mistake and think it gone, because in our present coinage an ounce wanting about 16 grains, is denominated a crown: or that (as is now proposed) an ounce wanting about 40 grains, being coined in one piece, and denominated a crown, would have stopped it, or will (if our money be so altered) for the future fix it here. Coin what quantity of silver you please in one piece, and give it the denomination of a crown; when your money is to go, to pay your foreign debts (or else it will not go out at all), your heavy money (i. e. that which is weight according to its denomination, by the standard of the mint) will be that which will be melted down, or carried away in coin by the exporter, whether the pieces of each species be by the law bigger, or less. For, whilst coinage is wholly paid for by a tax, whatever your size of money be, he that has need of bullion to send beyond sea, or of silver to make plate, need but take milled money and melt it down, and he has it as cheap as if it were in pieces of eight, or other silver coming from abroad; the stamp, which so well secures the weight of the milled money, costing nothing at all.

To this perhaps will be said, That if this be the effect of milled money, that it is so apt to be melted down, it were better to return to the old way of coining by the hammer. To which I answer, By no means. For,

Coinage by the hammer less secures you from having a great part of your money melted down. For in that way there being a greater inequality in the weight of the pieces, some being too heavy, and some too light; those, who know how to make their advantage of it, cull out the heavy pieces, melt them down, and make a benefit of the over-weight.

Coinage by the hammer exposes you much more to the danger of false coin. Because the tools are easily made and concealed, and the work carried on with fewer hands, and less noise than a mill; whereby false coiners are less liable to discovery.

The pieces not being so round, even, and fairly stamped, nor marked on the edges, are exposed to clipping, which milled money is not.

Milled money is, therefore, certainly best for the public. But, whatever be the cause of melting down our milled money, I do not see how raising our money (as they call it) will at all hinder its being melted down. For if our crown-pieces should be coined one twentieth lighter, why should that hinder them from being melted down, more than now? The intrinsic value of the silver is not altered, as we have shown already: therefore that temptation to melt them down remains the same as before.

“But they are lighter by one twentieth.” That cannot hinder them from being melted down. For half-crowns are lighter by half, and yet that preserves them not.

“But they are of less weight under the same denomination, and therefore they will not be melted down.” That is true, if any of these present crowns, that are one twentieth heavier, are current for crowns at the same time. For then they will no more melt down the new light crowns, than they will the old clipped ones, which are no more worth in coin and tale, than in weight and bullion. But it cannot be supposed, that men will part with their old and heavier money, at the same rate that the lighter new coin goes at, and pay away their old crowns for 5s. in tale, when at the mint they will yield them 5s. 3d. And then if an old milled crown goes for 5s. 3d. and a new milled crown (being so much lighter) goes for a crown, What, I pray, will be the odds of melting down the one, or the other? The one has one twentieth less silver in it, and goes for one twentieth less; and so being weight, they are melted down upon equal terms. If it be a convenience to melt one, it will be as much a convenience to melt the other; just as it is the same convenience to melt milled half-crowns as milled crowns, the one having, with half the quantity of silver, half the value. When the money is all brought to the new rate, i. e. to be one twentieth lighter, and commodities raised as they will proportionably, what shall hinder the melting down of your money then, more than now, I would fain know? If it be coined then, as it is now, gratis, a crown-piece, (let it be of what weight soever) will be, as it is now, just worth its own weight in bullion of the same fineness; for the coinage which is the manufactory about it, and makes all the difference, costing nothing, what can make the difference of value? And therefore, whoever wants bullion, will as cheaply melt down these new crowns, as buy bullion with them. The raising of your money cannot then (the act for free coinage standing) hinder its being melted down.

Nor, in the next place, much less can it, as it is pretended, hinder the exportation of our bullion. Any denomination, or stamp, we shall give to silver here, will neither give silver a higher value in England, nor make it less prized abroad. So much silver will always be worth (as we have already showed) so much silver, given in exchange one for another. Nor will it, when in your mint a less quantity of it is raised to a higher denomination (as when nineteen twentieths of an ounce has the denomination of a crown, which formerly belonged only to the whole 20) be one jot raised, in respect of any other commodity.

You have raised the denomination of your stamped silver one twentieth, or, which is all one, 5 per cent. And men will presently raise their commodities 5 per cent. So that if yesterday 20 crowns would exchange for twenty bushels of wheat, or 20 yards of a certain sort of cloth, if you will to-day coin current crowns one-twentieth lighter, and make them the standard, you will find 20 crowns will exchange for but 19 bushels of wheat, or 19 yards of that cloth, which will be just as much silver for a bushel, as yesterday. So that silver being of no more real value, by your giving the same denomination to a less quantity of it; this will no more bring in, or keep your bullion here, than if you had done nothing. If this were otherwise, you would be beholden (as some people foolishly imagine) to the clippers for keeping your money. For if keeping the old denomination to a less quantity of silver be raising your money (as in effect it is all that is, or can be done in it, by this project of making your coin lighter) the clippers have sufficiently done that: and if their trade go on a little while longer, at the rate it has of late, and your milled money be melted down and carried away, and no more coined; your money will, without the charge of new coinage, be, by that sort of artificers, raised above five per cent. when all your current money shall be clipped, and made above one twentieth lighter than the standard, preserving still its former denomination.

It will possibly be here objected to me, That we see 100l. of clipped money, above 5 per cent. lighter than the standard, will buy as much corn, cloth, or wine, as 100l. in milled money, which is above one twentieth heavier: whereby it is evident that my rule fails, and that it is not the quantity of silver that gives the value to money, but its stamp and denomination. To which I answer, That men make their estimate and contracts according to the standard, upon supposition they shall receive good and lawful money, which is that of full weight: and so in effect they do, whilst they receive the current money of the country. For since 100l. of clipped money will pay a debt of 100l. as well as the weightiest milled money; and a new crown out of the mint will pay for no more flesh, fruit, or cloth, than five clipped shillings; it is evident that they are equivalent as to the purchase of any thing here at home, whilst nobody scruples to take five clipped shillings, in exchange for a weighty milled crown. But this will be quite otherwise as soon as you change your coin, and (to raise it as you call it) make your money one twentieth lighter in the mint; for then nobody will any more give an old crown of the former standard for one of the new, than he will now give you 5s. and 3d. for a crown: for so much then his old crown will yield him at the mint.

Clipped and unclipped money will always buy an equal quantity of any thing else, as long as they will without scruple change one for another. And this makes, that the foreign merchant, who comes to sell his goods to you, always counts upon the value of your money, by the silver that is in it, and estimates the quantity of silver by the standard of your mint; though perhaps by reason of clipped, or worn money amongst it, any sum that is ordinarily received is much lighter than the standard, and so has less silver in it than what is in a like sum, new coined in the mint. But whilst clipped and weighty money will equally change one for another, it is all one to him, whether he receives his money in clipped money or no, so it be but current. For if he buy other commodities here with his money, whatever sum he contracts for, clipped as well as weighty money equally pays for it. If he would carry away the price of his commodity in ready cash, it is easily changed into weighty money: and then he has not only the sum in tale that he contracted for, but the quantity of silver he expected, for his commodities, according to the standard of our mint. If the quantity of your clipped money be once grown so great, that the foreign merchant cannot (if he has a mind to it) easily get weighty money for it, but having sold his merchandize, and received clipped money, finds a difficulty to procure what is weight for it; he will, in selling his goods, either contract to be paid in weighty money, or else raise the price of his commodity, according to the diminished quantity of silver, in your current coin.

In Holland (ducatoons being the best money of the country, as well as the largest coin) men in payments received and paid those indifferently with the other money of the country; till of late the coining of other species of money, of baser alloy, and in greater quantities, having made the ducatoons, either by melting down, or exportation, scarcer than formerly, it became difficult to change the baser money into ducatoons; and since that, nobody will pay a debt in ducatoons, unless he be allowed half per cent. or more, above the value they were coined for.

To understand this, we must take notice, That guilders is the denomination, that in Holland they usually compute by, and make their contracts in. A ducatoon formerly passed at three guilders and three stuyvers, or sixty-three stuyvers. There were then (some years since) begun to be coined another piece, which was called a three guilders piece, and was ordered to pass for three guilders, or sixty stuyvers. But 21 three guilders pieces, which were to pass for 63 guilders, not having so much silver in them as 20 ducatoons, which passed for the same sum of 63 guilders, the ducatoons were either melted down in their mints (for the making of these three guilders pieces, or yet baser money, with profit) or were carried away by foreign merchants; who, when they carried back the product of their sale in money, would be sure to receive their payment of the number of guilders they contracted for in ducatoons, or change the money they received into ducatoons: whereby they carried home more silver, than if they had taken their payment in three guilders pieces, or any other species. Thus ducatoons became scarce. So that now, he that will be paid in ducatoons, must allow half per cent. for them. And therefore the merchants, when they sell any thing now, either make their bargain to be paid in ducatoons; or if they contract for guilders in general, (which will be sure to be paid them in the baser money of the country) they raise the price of their commodities accordingly.

By this example, in a neighbour country, we may see how our new milled money goes away. When foreign trade imports more than our commodities will pay for, it is certain we must contract debts beyond sea, and those must be paid with money, when either we cannot furnish, or they will not take our goods to discharge them. To have money beyond sea to pay our debts, when our commodities do not raise it, there is no other way but to send it thither. And since a weighty crown costs no more here than a light one, and our coin beyond sea is valued no otherwise than according to the quantity of silver it has in it, whether we send it in specie, or whether we melt it down here to send it in bullion, (which is the safest way, as not being prohibited) the weightiest is sure to go. But when so great a quantity of your money is clipped, or so great a part of your weighty money is carried away, that the foreign merchant, or his factor here, cannot have his price paid in weighty money, or such as will easily be changed into it, then every one will see (when men will no longer take five clipped shillings for a milled, or weighty crown) that it is the quantity of silver that buys commodities and pays debts, and not the stamp and denomination which is put upon it. And then too it will be seen what a robbery is committed on the public by clipping. Every grain diminished from the just weight of our money, is so much loss to the nation, which will one time or other be sensibly felt; and which, it it be not taken care of, and speedily stopped, will in that enormous course it is now in, quickly, I fear, break out into open ill effects, and at one blow deprive us of a great part (perhaps near one fourth) of our money. For that will be really the case, when the increase of clipped money makes it hard to get weighty: when men begin to put a difference of value between that which is weighty, and light money; and will not sell their commodities, but for money that is weight, and will make their bargains accordingly.

Let the country gentleman, when it comes to that pass, consider, what the decay of his estate will be? When, receiving his rent in the tale of clipped shillings, according to his bargain, he cannot get them to pass at market for more than their weight. And he that sells him salt, or silk, will bargain for 5s. such a quantity, if he pays him in fair weighty coin, but in clipped money he will not take under 5s. 3d. Here you see you have your money, without this new trick of coinage, raised five per cent. But whether to any advantage of the kingdom, I leave every one to judge.

Hitherto we have only considered the raising of silver coin, and that has been, only by coining it, with less silver in it, under the same denomination. There is another way yet of raising money, which has something more of reality, though as little good in it as the former. This too, now that we are upon the chapter of raising money, it may not be unseasonable to open a little. The raising I mean, is, when either of the two richer metals, (which money is usually made of) is by law raised above its natural value, in respect of the other. Gold and silver have, in almost all ages and parts of the world (where money was used) generally been thought the fittest materials to make it of. But there being a great disproportion in the plenty of these metals in the world, one has always been valued much higher than the other; so that one ounce of gold has exchanged for several ounces of silver: as at present, our guinea passing for 21s. 6d. in silver, gold is now about fifteen and an half times more worth than silver: there being about fifteen and an half times more silver in 21s. 6d. than there is gold in a guinea. This being now the market-rate of gold to silver; if by an established law the rate of guineas should be set higher, (as to 22s. 6d.) they would be raised indeed, but to the loss of the kingdom. For by this law, gold being raised five per cent. above its natural true value, foreigners would find it worth while to send their gold hither, and so fetch away our silver at five per cent. profit, and so much loss to us. For when so much gold as would purchase but 100 ounces of silver any where else, will in England purchase the merchant 105 ounces, what shall hinder him from bringing his gold to so good a market; and either selling it at the mint, where it will yield so much, or having it coined into guineas? And then (going to market with his guineas) he may buy our commodities at the advantage of five per cent. in the very sort of his money; or change them into silver, and carry that away with him.

On the other side, if by a law you would raise your silver money, and make four crowns, or 20s. in silver, equal to a guinea, at which rate I suppose it was first coined, so that by your law a guinea should pass but for 20s. the same inconveniency would follow. For then strangers would bring in silver and carry away your gold, which was to be had here at a lower rate than any where else.

If you say, that this inconvenience is not to be feared; for that as soon as people found, that gold began to grow scarce, or that it was more worth than the law set upon it, they would not then part with it at the statute rate, as we see the broad pieces that were coined in king James the first’s time for 20s. nobody will now part with under 23s. or more, according to the market value: this I grant is true, and it does plainly confess the foolishness of making a law, which cannot produce the effect it is made for: as indeed it will not, when you would raise the price of silver, in respect of gold, above its natural market value: for then, as we see in our gold, the price of it will raise itself. But on the other side, if you should by a law set the value of gold above its par; then people would be bound to receive it at that high rate, and so part with their silver at an under value. But supposing, that having a mind to raise your silver in respect of gold, you make a law to do it, what comes of that? If your law prevail, only this; that, as much as you raise silver, you debase gold, (for they are in the condition of two things, put in opposite scales, as much as the one rises the other falls) and then your gold will be carried away with so much clear loss to the kingdom, as you raise silver and debase gold by your law, below their natural value. If you raise gold in proportion to silver, the same effect follows.

I say, raise silver in respect of gold, and gold in proportion to silver. For when you would raise the value of money, fancy what you will, it is but in respect of something you would change it for; and is done only when you can make a less quantity of the metal, which your money is made of, change for a greater quantity of that thing which you would raise it to.

The effect indeed, and ill consequence of raising either of these two metals, in respect of the other, is more easily observed, and sooner found in raising gold than silver coin; because your accounts being kept, and your reckonings all made in pounds, shillings, and pence, which are denominations of silver coins, or numbers of them; if gold be made current at a rate above the free and market value of those two metals, every one will easily perceive the inconvenience. But there being a law for it, you cannot refuse the gold in payment for so much. And all the money, or bullion people will carry beyond sea from you, will be in silver; and the money, or bullion, brought in, will be in gold. And just the same will happen, when your silver is raised and gold debased, in respect of one another, beyond their true and natural proportion: (natural proportion or value I call that respective rate they find, any where, without the prescription of law.) For then silver will be that which is brought in, and gold will be carried out; and that still with loss to the kingdom, answerable to the over-value set by the law. Only as soon as the mischief is felt, people will (do what you can) raise the gold to its natural value. For your accounts and bargains being made in the denomination of silver money; if, when gold is raised above its proportion, by the law, you cannot refuse it in payment (as if the law should make a guinea current at 22s. 6d.) you are bound to take it at that rate in payment. But if the law should make guineas current at 20s. he that has them is not bound to pay them away at that rate, but may keep them if he pleases, or get more for them, if he can: yet, from such a law, one of these things will follow. Either, 1st, The law forces them to go at 20s. and then being found passing at that rate, foreigners make their advantage of it: Or, 2dly, People keep them up, and will not part with them at the legal rate, understanding them really to be worth more, and then all your gold lies dead, and is of no more use to trade, than if it were all gone out of the kingdom: Or, 3dly, It passes for more than the law allows, and then your law signifies nothing, and had been better let alone. Which way soever it succeeds, it proves either prejudicial, or ineffectual. If the design of your law takes place, the kingdom loses by it: if the inconvenience be felt and avoided, your law is eluded.

Money is the measure of commerce, and of the rate of every thing, and therefore, ought to be kept (as all other measures) as steady and invariable as may be. But this cannot be, if your money be made of two metals, whose proportion, and, consequently, whose price, constantly varies in respect of one another. Silver, for many reasons, is the fittest of all metals to be this measure; and therefore generally made use of for money. But then it is very unfit and inconvenient that gold, or any other metal, should be made current, legal money, at a standing, settled rate. This is to set a rate upon the varying value of things by law, which justly cannot be done; and is, as I have showed, as far as it prevails, a constant damage and prejudice to the country, where it is practised. Suppose fifteen to one be now the exact par between gold and silver, what law can make it lasting; and establish it so, that next year, or twenty years hence, this shall be the just value of gold to silver; and that one ounce of gold shall be just worth fifteen ounces of silver, neither more or less? It is possible, the East-India trade sweeping away great sums of gold, may make it scarcer in Europe. Perhaps the Guinea trade, and mines of Peru, affording it in greater abundance, may make it more plentiful; and so its value, in respect of silver, come on the one side to be as sixteen, or, on the other, as fourteen to one. And can any law you shall make alter this proportion here, when it is so every-where else, round about you? If your law set it at fifteen, when it is at the free market rate, in the neighbouring countries, as sixteen to one; will they not send hither their silver to fetch away your gold, at one-sixteen loss to you? Or if you will keep its rate to silver as fifteen to one, when in Holland, France, and Spain, its market value is but fourteen; will they not send hither their gold, and fetch away your silver, at one-fifteen loss to you? This is unavoidable, if you will make money of both gold and silver, at the same time, and set rates upon them by law, in respect of one another.

What then! (will you be ready to say) Would you have gold kept out of England? Or, being here, would you have it useless to trade; and must there be no money made of it? I answer, quite the contrary. It is fit the kingdom should make use of the treasure it has. It is necessary your gold should be coined, and have the king’s stamp upon it, to secure men in receiving it, that there is so much gold in each piece. But it is not necessary that it should have a fixed value set on it, by public authority: it is not convenient that it should, in its varying proportion, have a settled price. Let gold, as other commodities, find its own rate. And when, by the king’s image and description, it carries with it a public assurance of its weight and fineness; the gold money, so coined, will never fail to pass at the known market rates, as readily as any other species of your money. Twenty guineas, though designed at first for 201. go now as current for 211. 10s. as any other money, and sometimes for more, as the rate varies. The value or price, of any thing, being only the respective estimate it bears to some other, which it comes in competition with, can only be known by the quantity of the one, which will exchange for a certain quantity of the other. There being no two things in nature, whose proportion and use does not vary, it is impossible to set a standing, regular price between them. The growing plenty, or scarcity, if either in the market, (whereby I mean the ordinary place, where they are to be had in traffic) or the real use, or changing fashion of the place, bringing either of them more into demand than formerly, presently varies the respective value of any two things. You will as fruitlessly endeavour to keep two different things steadily at the same price one with another, as to keep two things in an æquilibrium, where their varying weights depend on different causes. Put a piece of spunge in one scale, and an exact counterpoise of silver in the other; you will be mightily mistaken if you imagine, that because they are to-day equal, they shall always remain so. The weight of the spunge varying with every change of moisture in the air, the silver, in the opposite scale, will sometimes rise, and sometimes fall. This is just the state of silver and gold, in regard of their mutual value. Their proportion, or use, may, nay, constantly does vary, and with it their price. For, being estimated one, in reference to the other, they are, as it were, put in opposite scales; and as the one rises the other falls, and so on the contrary.

Farthings, made of a baser metal, may on this account too deserve your consideration. For whatsoever coin you make current above the intrinsic value, will always be damage to the public, whoever get by it. But of this I shall not, at present, enter into a more particular inquiry; only this I will confidently affirm, that it is the interest of every country, that all the current money of it should be of one and the same metal; that the several species should be of the same alloy, and none of a baser mixture: and that the standard, once thus settled, should be inviolably and immutably kept to perpetuity. For, whenever that is altered, upon what pretence soever, the public will lose by it.

Since then it will neither bring us in more money, bullion, or trade; nor keep what we have here, nor hinder our weighty money, of what denomination soever, from being melted; to what purpose should the kingdom be at the charge of coining all our money anew? For I do not suppose any body can propose, that we should have two sorts of money, at the same time, one heavier, and the other lighter, as it comes from the mint; that is very absurd to imagine. So that if all your old money must be coined over again; it will indeed be some advantage, and that a very considerable one, to the officers of the mint. For they being allowed 3s. 6d. (it should be sixteen-pence half-penny), for the coinage of every pound troy, which is very near five and a half per cent. if our money be six millions, and must be coined all over again, it will cost the nation to the mint three hundred thirty thousand pounds. One hundred thirty thousand pounds, if the clipped money must escape, because it is already as light as your new standard; do you not own, that this design of new coinage is just of the nature of clipping?

This business of money and coinage is by some men, and amongst them some very ingenious persons, thought a great mystery, and very hard to be understood. Not that truly in itself it is so, but because interested people, that treat of it, wrap up the secret, they make advantage of, in a mystical, obscure, and unintelligible way of talking: which men, from a pre-conceived opinion of the difficulty of the subject, taking for sense, in a matter not easy to be penetrated, but by the men of art, let pass for current, without examination. Whereas, would they look into those discourses, and inquire what meaning their words have, they would find, for the most part, either their positions to be false, their deductions to be wrong, or (which often happens) their words to have no distinct meaning at all. Where none of these be, there their plain, true, honest sense, would prove very easy and intelligible, if expressed in ordinary and direct language.

That this is so, I shall show, by examining a printed sheet on this subject: intitled, “Remarks on a paper given in to the lords, &c.”

Rem. “It is certain, that what place soever will give most for silver by weight, it will thither be carried and sold: and if of the money which now passes in England, there can be 5s. 5d. the ounce given for standard silver at the mint, when but 5s. 4d. of the very same can be given elsewhere for it, it will certainly be brought to the mint; and when coined, cannot be sold (having one penny over-value set upon it by the ounce) for the same that other plate may be bought for, so will be left unmelted; at least it will be the interest of any exporter to buy plate to send out, before money; whereas now it is his interest to buy money to send out before plate.”

Answ. The author would do well to make it intelligible, how, “of the money that now passes in England at the mint can be given 5s. 5d. the ounce for standard silver, when but 5s. 4d. of the same money can be given elsewhere for it.” Next, “How it has one penny over-value set upon it by the ounce, so that, when coined, it cannot be sold.” This, to an ordinary reader, looks very mysterious; and, I fear, is so, as either signifying nothing at all, or nothing that will hold. For,

I ask, Who it is at the mint, that “can give 5s. 5d. the ounce for standard silver, when nobody else can give above 5s. 4d.?” Is it the king, or is it the master-worker, or any of the officers? For to give 5s. 5d. for what will yield but 5s. 4d. to any body else, is to give one sixty-fifth part more than it is worth. For so much every thing is worth, as it will yield. And I do not see how this can turn to account to the king, or be borne by any body else.

I ask, how a penny over-value can be set upon it by the ounce, “so that it cannot be sold?” This is so mysterious, that I think it near impossible. For an equal quantity of standard silver will always be just worth an equal quantity of standard silver. And it is utterly impossible to make sixty-four parts of standard silver equal to, or worth, sixty-five parts of the same standard silver; which is meant by “setting a penny over-value upon it by the ounce,” if that has any meaning at all. Indeed, by the workmanship of it, sixty-four ounces of standard silver may be made not only worth sixty-five ounces, but seventy or eighty. But the coinage, which is all the workmanship here, being paid for by a tax, I do not see how that can be reckoned at all; or if it be, it must raise every 5s. 4d. coined to above 5s. 5d. If I carry sixty-four ounces of standard silver in bullion to the mint to be coined, shall I not have just sixty-four ounces back again for it in coin? And if so, can these sixty-four ounces of coined standard silver be possibly made worth sixty-five ounces of the same standard silver uncoined, when they cost me no more; and I can, for barely going to the mint, have sixty-four ounces of standard silver in bullion turned into coin? Cheapness of coinage in England, where it costs nothing, will indeed make money be sooner brought to the mint, than any where else; because there I have the convenience of having it made into money for nothing. But this will no more keep it in England than if it were perfect bullion. Nor will it hinder it from being melted down, because it cost no more in coin than in bullion: and this equally, whether your pieces of the same denomination be lighter, heavier, or just as they were before. This being explained, it will be easy to see, whether the other things said in the same paragraph be true or false, and particularly, whether “it will be the interest of every exporter to buy plate to send out before money.”

Rem. “It is only barely asserted, That if silver be raised at the mint, that it will rise elsewhere above it; but can never be known till it be tried.”

Answ. The author tells us, in the last paragraph, that silver, that is worth “but 5s. 2d. per ounce at the mint, is worth 5s. 4d. elsewhere.” This how true, or what inconvenience it hath, I will not here examine. But, be the inconvenience of it what it will, this raising the money he proposes as a remedy: and to those who say, upon raising our money, silver will rise too, he makes this answer, that “it can never be known whether it will or no, till it be tried.” To which I reply, That it may be known as certainly without trial, as it can, that two pieces of silver that weighed equally yesterday, will weigh equally again to-morrow in the same scales.

“There is silver,” says our author, “whereof an ounce (i. e. 480 grains) will change for 5s. 4d.” (i. e. 496 grains) of our standard silver coined. To-morrow you coin your money lighter; so that then 5s. 4d. will have but 472 grains of coined standard silver in it. Can it not then be known, without trial, whether that ounce of silver, which to-day will change for 496 grains of standard silver coined, will change to-morrow but for 472 grains of the same standard silver coined? Or can any one imagine that 480 grains of the same silver, which to-day are worth 496 grains of our coined silver, will to-morrow be worth but 472 grains of the same silver, a little differently coined? He that can have a doubt about this till it be tried, may as well demand a trial to be made, to prove, that the same thing is æquiponderant, or equivalent to itself. For I think it is as clear, that 472 grains of silver are æquiponderant to 496 grains of silver, as that an ounce of silver, that is to-day worth 496 grains of standard silver, should to-morrow be worth but 472 grains of the same standard silver, all circumstances remaining the same, but the different weight of the pieces stamped: which is that our author asserts, when he says, That it is only barely asserted, &c. What has been said to this, may serve also for an answer to the next paragraph. Only I desire it may be taken notice of, that the author seems to insinuate, that silver goes not in England, as in foreign parts, by weight; which is a very dangerous, as well as false position; and which, if allowed, may let into our mint what corruption and debasing of our money one pleases.

Rem. “That our trade hath heretofore furnished us with an overplus, brought home in gold and silver, it is true: but that we bring home from any place more goods that we now export to it, I do not conceive to be so. And more goods might be sent to those parts; but by reason of the great value of silver in this part of the world, more money is to be got by exporting silver, than by any other thing that can be sent; and that is the reason of it. And for its being melted down, and sent out, because it is so heavy, is not by their paper denied.”

Answ. “That we bring home from any place more goods than we now export, (the author tells us) he doth not conceive.”

Would he had told us a reason for his conceit. But since the money of any country is not presently to be changed, upon any private man’s groundless conceit, I suppose this argument will not be of much weight with many men. I make bold to call it a groundless conceit: for if the author please to remember the great sums of money are carried every year to the East-Indies, for which we bring home consumable commodities; (though I must own it pays us again with advantage) or if he will examine, how much only two commodities, wholly consumed here, cost us yearly in money, (I mean Canary wine and currants) more than we pay for, with goods exported to the Canaries and Zant; besides the over-balance of trade upon us in several other places, he will have little reason to say, “he doth not conceive we bring home from any place more goods than we now export to it.”

“As to what he says concerning the melting down and exporting our money, because it is heavy:” if by heavy he means, because our crown-pieces (and the rest of our species of money in proportion) are 23 or 24 grains heavier than he would have them coined: this whoever grants it, I deny, upon grounds, which, I suppose, when examined, will be found clear and evident.

Indeed, when your debts beyond sea, to answer the over-balance of foreign importations, call for your money, it is certain the heavy money, which has the full standard weight, will be melted down and carried away: because foreigners value not your stamp, or denomination, but your silver.

He would do well to tell us what he means by “the great value of silver in this part of the world.” For he speaks of it as a cause that draws away our money more now than formerly, or else it might as well have been omitted as mentioned in this place: and if he mean by this part of the world, England; it is scarce sense to say, that the great value of silver in England should draw silver out of England. If he means the neighbouring countries to England, he should have said it, and not doubtfully this part of the world. But let him, by this part of the world, mean what he will, I dare say every one will agree, that silver is not more valued in this, than any other part of the world; nor in this age, more than in our grandfathers days.

I am sorry, if it be true, what he tells us, That “more money is to be got by exportation of silver, than by any other thing that can be sent.” This is an evidence, that “we bring home more goods than we export.” For till that happens, and has brought us in debt beyond sea, silver will not be exported; but the overplus of people’s gain, being generally laid up in silver, it will be brought home in silver: and so our people will value it as much as any other, in this part of the world.

The truth of the case in short is this. Whenever we, by a losing trade, contract debts with our neighbours, they will put a great value on our silver, and “more money will be got by transporting silver than any thing can be sent;” which comes about thus: Suppose that by an over-balance of their trade (whether by a sale of pepper, spices, and other East-India commodities, it matters not) we have received great quantities of goods, within these two or three months from Holland, and sent but little thither; so that the accounts balanced between the inhabitants of England and the United Provinces, we of England were a million in their debt; what would follow from hence? This: That these Dutch creditors, desiring to have what is due to them, give orders to their factors and correspondents here to return it to them. For inquiring as we do, what are the effects of an over-balance of trade, we must not suppose they invest their debts in commodities, and return their effects that way. A million then being to be returned from England to Holland in money, every one seeks bills of exchange; but Englishmen not having debts in Holland to answer this million, or any the least part of it, bills are not to be got. This presently makes the exchange very high; upon which the bankers, &c. who have the command of great quantities of money and bullion, send that away to Holland in specie, and so take money here to pay it again there, upon their bills, at such a rate of exchange as gives them five, ten, fifteen, &c. per cent. profit: and thus, sometimes a 5s. piece of our milled money may truly be said to be worth 5s. 3d. 4d. 6d. 9d. in Holland. And if this be “the great value of silver in this part of the world,” I easily grant it him. But this great value is to be remedied, not by the alteration of our mint, but by the regulation and balance of our trade. For be your coin what it will, our neighbours, if they over-balance us in trade, will not only have a great value for our silver, but get it too; and there will be “more to be got, by exporting silver to them, than by any other thing can be sent.”

Rem. “The alterations of the coins in Spain and Portugal are no way at all like this. For there they altered in denomination near half, to deceive those they paid, with paying those to whom they owed one ounce of silver, but half an ounce for it. But, in the alteration here designed, to whoever an ounce of silver was owing, an ounce will be paid in this money; it being here only designed, that an ounce of money should equal an ounce of silver in value, at home, as well as abroad, which now it does not.”

Answ. In this paragraph the author confesses the alteration of the coin in Spain and Portugal was a cheat; but the “alteration here designed, he says, is not:” but the reason he gives for it is admirable: viz. “Because they there altered in denomination near half,” and here denomination is altered but five per cent. for so in truth it is, whatever be designed. As if fifty per cent. were a cheat, but, five per cent. were not; because perhaps less perceivable. For the two things, that are pretended to be done here by this new coinage, I fear will both fail, viz. 1. That “to whomsoever an ounce of silver is owing, an ounce of silver shall be paid in this money.” For when an ounce of silver is coined, as is proposed, into 5s. 5d. (which is to make our money five per cent. lighter than it is now) I that am to receive 100l. per ann. fee-farm rent; shall I in this new money receive 105l. or barely 100l.? The first I think will not be said. For if by law you have made it 100l. it is certain the tenant will pay me no more. If you do not mean that 400 crowns, or 2000 shillings of your new coin shall be 100l. but there must be five per cent in tale added to every 100, you are at the charge of new coinage to no other purpose but to breed confusion. If I must receive 100l. by tale of this new money for my fee-farm rent, it is demonstration that I lose five ounces per cent. of the silver that was due to me. This a little lower he confesses in these words, “That where a man has a rent-sec, that can never be more, this may somewhat affect it, but so very little that it will scarce ever at all be perceived.” This very little is five per cent. and if a man be cheated of that, so he perceives it not, it goes for nothing. But this loss will not affect only such rents as can never be more, but all payments whatsoever, that are contracted for, before this alteration of our money.

If it be true what he affirms, “That an ounce of money doth equal an ounce of silver in value abroad, but not at home;” then this part of the undertaking will also fail. For I deny that the stamp on our money does any more debase it here at home, than abroad, or make the silver in our money not equal in value to the same weight of silver every-where. The author would have done well to have made it out, and not left so great a paradox only to the credit of a single assertion.

Rem. “And for what is said in this bill to prevent exportation, relates only to the keeping in our coin and bullion, and leaves all foreign to be exported still.”

Answ. What the author means by our own and foreign bullion, will need some explication.

Rem. There is now no such thing as payments in “weighty and milled money.”

Answ. I believe there are very few in town who do not very often receive a milled crown for 5s. and a milled half-crown for 2s. 6d. But he means, I suppose, in great and entire sums of milled money. But I ask, if all the clipped money were called in, whether then all the payments would not be in weighty money; and that not being called in, whether if it be lighter than your new milled money, the new milled money will not be melted down as much as the old? Which I think the author there confesses, or else I understand him not.

Rem. “Nor will this any way interrupt trade; for trade will find its own course; the denomination of money in any country no way concerning that.”

Answ. The denomination to a certain weight of money, in all countries, concerns trade; and the alteration of that necessarily brings disturbance to it.

Rem. “For if so be it occasions the coining more money.”

Answ. He talks as if it would be “the occasion of coining more money.” Out of what? out of money already coined, or out of bullion? For I would be glad to know where it is.

Rem. “It may be some gain to those that will venture to melt down the coin, but very small loss (if any) to those that shall be paid in the new: it is not to be denied, but that where any man has a rent-sec, that can never be more, this may somewhat affect it; but so very little, it will scarce ever at all be perceived.”

Answ. As much as it will be gain to melt down their coin, so much loss will it be to those who are paid in new, viz. five per cent. which, I suppose, is more than the author would be willing to lose, unless he get by it another way.

Rem. “And if the alteration designed should have the effect of making our native commodities any ways dearer — .”

Answ. Here our author confesses, that proportionably as your money is raised, the price of other things will be raised too. But to make amends, he says,

Rem. “It does at the same time make the land which produces them of more than so much more in value.”

Answ. This “more than so much more in value,” is more than our author, or any body else for him, will ever be able to make out.

The price of things will always be estimated by the quantity of silver given in exchange for them. And if you make your money less in weight, it must be made up in tale. This is all this great mystery of raising money, and raising land. For example, the manor of Blackacre would yesterday have yielded one hundred thousand crowns, which crown pieces, let us suppose numero rotundo to weigh each of them an ounce of standard silver. To-day, your new coin comes in play, which is five per cent. lighter. There is your money raised: the land now at sale yields one hundred and five thousand crowns, which is just the same one hundred thousand ounces of standard silver. There is the land raised. And is not this an admirable invention, for which the public ought to be at above one hundred thousand pounds charge for new coinage, and all your commerce put in disorder? And then to recommend this invention, you are told, as a great secret, That, “had not money, from time to time, been raised in its denomination, lands had not so risen too:” which is to say, Had not your money been made lighter, fewer pieces of it would have bought as much land as a greater number does now.

Rem. “The loss of payments, there spoken of, will, in no sort, be so great, as if the parties, to whom these debts are owing, were now bound to receive them in the money that now passes, and then to melt the same down; so at this they will have no cause to complain.”

Answ. A very good argument! the clippers have robbed the public of a good part of their money (which men will, some time or other, find in the payments they receive) and it is desired the mint may have a liberty to be beforehand with those, to whom debts are owing. They are told, they will have no reason to complain of it, who suffer this loss, because it is not so great as the other. The damage is already done to the public, by clipping. Where at last it will light, I cannot tell. But men who receive clipped money, not being forced to melt it down, do not yet receive any loss by it. When clipped money will no longer change for weighty, then those who have clipped money in their hands, will find the loss of it.

Rem. “It will make the customs better paid, because there will be more money.”

Answ. That there will be more money in tale, it is possible: that there will be more money in weight and worth, the author ought to show. And then, whatever becomes of the customs, (which I do not hear are unpaid now) the king will lose in the excise above thirty thousand pounds per annum. For in all taxes where so many pounds, shillings, or pence are determined by the law to be paid, there the king will lose five per cent. The author here, as in other places, gives a good reason for it: for, “his majesty being to pay away this money by tale, as he receives it, it will be to him no loss at all.”

As if my receiving my rents in full tale, but in money of undervalue five per cent. were not so much loss to me, because I was to pay it away again by tale. Try it at 50 per cent. the odds only is, That one being greater than the other, would make more noise. But the author’s great refuge in this is, That it will not be perceived.

Rem. “If all foreign commodities were to be purchased with this new species of money sent out; we agree, That with 100l. of it there could not be so much silver, or other commodities bought, as with 100l. in crown-pieces as now coined, because they would be heavier; and all coin, in any kingdom but where it is coined, only goes by weight; and for the same weight of silver, the same every where still will be bought; and so there will, with the same quantity of goods. And if those goods should cost five per cent. more here in England than heretofore, and yield but the same money (we mean by the ounce abroad) the same money, brought home and coined, will yield the importer five per cent. more at the mint than it heretofore could do, and so no damage to the trader at all.”

Answ. Here truth forces from the author a confession of two things, which demonstrate the vanity and uselessness of the project. 1. That upon this change of your coin, foreign goods will be raised. Your own goods will cost five per cent. more. So that goods of all kinds being thereupon raised; wherein consists the raising of your money, when an ounce of standard silver, however minced, stamped, or denominated, will buy no more commodities than it did before? This confession also shows the falsehood of that dangerous supposition, That money, “in the kingdom where it is coined, goes not by weight,” i. e. is not valued by its weight.

Rem. “It is true, the owners of silver will find a good market for it, and no others will be damaged; but, on the contrary, the making plenty of money will be an advantage to all.”

Answ. I grant it true that if your money were really raised five per cent. the owners of silver would get so much by it, by bringing it to the mint to be coined. But since, as is confessed, commodities will (upon this raising your money) be raised to five per cent. this alteration will be an advantage to nobody, but the officers of the mint, and hoarders of money.

Rem. “When standard silver was last raised at the mint, (which it was from 5s. to 5s. and 2d. the ounce, in the 43d of Eliz.) and for above forty years after, silver uncoined was not worth above 4s. 10d. the ounce, which occasioned much coining; and of money, none in those days was exported: whereas silver now is worth but the very same 5s. 2d. the ounce still at the mint, and is worth 5s. 4d. elsewhere. So that if this bill now with the lords does not happen to pass, there can never any silver be ever any more coined at the mint; and all the milled money will, in a very little time more, be destroyed.”

Answ. The reason of so much money coined in queen Elizabeth’s time, and afterwards, was not the lessening of your crown pieces from 480 to 462 grains, and so proportionably all the rest of your money, (which is that the author calls raising standard silver from 5s. to 5s. 2d. the ounce) but from the over-balance of your trade, bringing them in plenty of bullion, and keeping it here.

How standard silver (for if the author speaks of other silver, it is a fallacy) should be worth its own weight in standard silver at the mint, (i. e. 5s. 2d. the ounce) and be worth more than its own weight in standard silver, (i. e. 5s. 4d. the ounce) in Lombard-street, is a paradox that nobody, I think, will be able to comprehend, till it be better explained. It is time to give off coining, if the value of standard silver be lessened by it; as really it is, if an ounce of coined standard silver will not exchange for an ounce of uncoined standard silver, unless you add 15 or 16 grains overplus to it: which is what the author would have taken upon his word, when he says, “Silver is worth five shillings four-pence elsewhere.”

Five shillings four-pence of money coined at the mint, the author must allow to be at least 495 grains. An ounce is but 480 grains. How then an ounce of uncoined standard silver can be worth five shillings four-pence (i. e. how 480 grains of uncoined standard silver can be worth 495 grains of the same standard silver, coined into money) is unintelligible; unless the coinage of our mint lessens the value of standard silver.

“SIR,

“COIN and interest are two things of so great moment to the public, and of so great concernment in trade, that they ought very accurately to be examined into, and very nicely weighed, upon any proposal of alteration to be made in them. I pretend not to have treated of them here as they deserve. That must be the work of an abler hand; I have said something on these subjects, because you required it. And, I hope, the readiness of my obedience will excuse to you the faults I have committed, and assure you that I am,

“SIR,

“Your most humble servant,

JOHN LOCKE.”

FURTHER CONSIDERATIONS CONSIDERING RAISING THE VALUE OF MONEY

WHEREIN

MR. LOWNDES’S ARGUMENTS FOR IT, IN HIS LATE REPORT CONTAINING AN “ESSAY FOR THE AMENDMENT OF THE SILVER COINS,” ARE PARTICULARLY EXAMINED.

CONTENTS

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE SIR JOHN SOMMERS, KNT.

THE PREFACE.

FURTHER CONSIDERATIONS CONCERNING RAISING THE VALUE OF MONEY.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE SIR JOHN SOMMERS, KNT.

LORD KEEPER OF THE GREAT SEAL OF ENGLAND AND ONE OF HIS MAJESTY’S MOST HONOURABLE PRIVY-COUNCIL.

MY LORD,

The papers I here present your lordship, are in substance the same with one which I delivered to you, in obedience to the commands I received, by your lordship, from their excellencies, the lords justices; and with another, which I writ in answer to some questions your lordship was pleased to propose to me, concerning our coin. The approbation your lordship was pleased to give them then, has been an encouragement to me to revise them now, and put them in an order, fitter to comply with their desires, who will needs have me print something at this time on this subject: and could any thing of this nature be received with indifferency in this age, the allowance they have had from your lordship, whose great and clear judgment is, with general consent and applause, acknowledged to be the just measure of right and wrong amongst us, might make me hope that they might pass in the world without any great dislike.

However, since your lordship thought they might be of use to clear some difficulties, and rectify some wrong notions that are taken up about money, I have ventured them into the world, desiring no mercy to any erroneous positions, or wrong reasonings, which shall be found in them. I shall never knowingly be of any, but truth’s and my country’s side; the former I shall always gladly embrace and own, whoever shows it me; and in these papers, I am sure, I have no other aim, but to do what little I can for the service of my country. Your lordship’s so evidently preferring that to all other considerations, does, in the eyes of all men, sit so well upon you, that my ambition will not be blamed, if I in this propose to myself so great an example, and in my little sphere am moved by the same principle.

I have a long time foreseen the mischief and ruin coming upon us by clipped money, if it were not timely stopped: and had concern enough for the public, to make me print some thoughts touching our coin, some years since. The principles I there went on, I see no reason to alter: they have, if I mistake not, their foundation in nature, and will stand; they have their foundation in nature, and are clear: and will be so, in all the train of their consequences, throughout this whole (as it is thought) mysterious business of money, to all those, who will but be at the easy trouble of stripping this subject of hard, obscure, and doubtful words, where-with men are often misled, and mislead others. And now the disorder is come to extremity, and can no longer be played with, I wish it may find a sudden and effectual cure, not a remedy in sound and appearance, which may flatter us on to ruin, in continuation of a growing mischief, that calls for present help.

I wish too, that the remedy may be as easy as possible; and that the cure of this evil be not ordered so, as to lay a great part of the burden unequally on those who have had no particular hand in it. Westminsterhall is so great a witness of your lordship’s unbiassed justice, and steady care to preserve to every one their right, that the world will not wonder you should not be for such a lessening our coin, as will, without any reason, deprive great numbers of blameless men of a fifth part of their estates, beyond the relief of Chancery. I hope this age will escape so great a blemish. I doubt not but there are many, who, for the service of their country, and for the support of the government, would gladly part with, not only one fifth, but a much larger portion of their estates. But, when it shall be taken from them, only to be bestowed on men, in their and the common opinion, no better deserving of their country than themselves, unless growing exceedingly rich by the public necessities, whilst every body else finds his fortune straitened by them, be a public merit, that deserves a public and signal reward; this loss of one fifth of their debts and income will sit heavy on them, who shall feel it, without the alleviation of any profit, or credit, that will thereby accrue to the nation, by such a lessening of our coin.

If any one ask, how I, a retired, private man, come at this time to meddle with money and trade, for they are inseparable? I reply that your lordship, and the other great men, that put me upon it, are answerable for it; whether what I say be to the purpose, or no, that I myself am answerable for. This I can answer to all the world, that I have not said any thing here without a full persuasion of its truth; nor with any other motive, or purpose, than the clearing of this artificially perplexed, rather than in itself mysterious, subject, as far as my poor talent reaches. That which, perhaps, I shall not be so well able to answer to your lordship and myself, is the liberty I have taken, in such an address as this, to profess that I am,

MY LORD,

Your lordship’s most humble, and most obedient servant,

JOHN LOCKE.

THE PREFACE.

Though Mr. Lowndes and I differ in the way, yet, I assure myself, our end is the same; and that we both propose to ourselves the service of our country. He is a man known so able in the post he is in, to which the business of money peculiarly belongs; and has showed himself so learned in the records and matters of the mint, and so exact in calculations and combinations of numbers relating to our coin, either already in use, or designed by him, that I think I should have troubled the public no more on this subject, had not he himself engaged me in it; and brought it to that pass, that either I must be thought to renounce my own opinion, or must publicly oppose his.

Whilst his treatise was yet a manuscript, and before it was laid before those great persons, to whom it was afterwards submitted, he did me the favour to show it to me; and made me the compliment, to ask me my opinion of it. Though we had some short discourse on the subject, yet the multiplicity of his business whilst I staid in town, and my health, which soon after forced me out of it, allowed us not an occasion to debate any one point thoroughly, and bring it to an issue. Before I returned to town, his book was in the press, and finished, before I had an opportunity to see Mr. Lowndes again. And here he laid a new obligation on me, not only in giving me one of them, but telling me when I received it from his hands, that it was the first he had parted with to any body. I then went over it a second time, and having more leisure to consider it, I found there were a great many particulars in it drawn out of ancient records, not commonly known, wherewith he had obliged the world. These, which very pleasingly entertained me, though they prevailed not on me to be of his opinion every-where, yet, joined with the great civilities he had shown me, left me in a disposition so little inclined to oppose any thing in it, that I should rather have chosen to acknowledge myself in print, to be his convert, if his arguments had convinced me, than to have troubled the world with the reasons why I dissent from him.

In this disposition, my pen rested from meddling any farther with this subject whilst I was in town; soon after, my own health, and the death of a friend, forced me into the country; and the business occasioned thereby, and my own private affairs, took up all my time at my first coming thither; and had continued to do so, had not several repeated intimations and instances from London, not without some reproaches of my backwardness, made me see, that the world concerned me particularly in Mr. Lowndes’s postscript, and expected something from me on that occasion.

Though possibly I was not wholly out of his mind when Mr. Lowndes writ that invitation, yet I shall not make myself the compliment, to think I alone am concerned in it. The great importance of the matter, made him desire every one to contribute what he could to the clearing of it, and setting it in a true light. And I must do him this right, to think, that he prefers the public good to his private opinion; and therefore is willing his proposals and arguments should with freedom be examined to the bottom; that, if there be any mistake in them, nobody may be misled by his reputation and authority, to the prejudice of his country. Thus I understand his postscript, and thus I shall endeavour to comply with it. I shall, to the best of my skill, examine his arguments with all respect to him, and fidelity to truth, as far as I can discover it. The frankness of his proceeding in particular with me, assures me he is so great a lover of truth and right, that he will not think himself injured when that is defended; and will be glad, when it is made plain, by whose hand soever it be.

This is what has made me publish these papers, without any derogation to Mr. Lowndes, or so much as a suspicion that he will take it amiss. I judge of him by myself. For I shall think myself obliged to any one, who shall show me, or the public, any material mistake in any thing I have here said, whereon any part of the question turns.

FURTHER CONSIDERATIONS CONCERNING RAISING THE VALUE OF MONEY.

Silver is the instrument and measure of commerce in all the civilized and trading parts of the world.

It is the instrument of commerce by its intrinsic value.

The intrinsic value of silver, considered as money, is that estimate which common consent has placed on it, whereby it is made equivalent to all other things, and consequently is the universal barter, or exchange, which men give and receive for other things they would purchase or part with, for a valuable consideration; and thus, as the wise man tells us, money answers all things.

Silver is the measure of commerce by its quantity, which is the measure also of its intrinsic value. If one grain of silver has an intrinsic value in it, two grains of silver has double that intrinsic value, and three grains treble, and so on proportionably. This we have daily experience of, in common buying and selling; for if one ounce of silver will buy, i. e. is of equal value to, one bushel of wheat, two ounces of silver will buy two bushels of the same wheat, i. e. has double the value.

Hence it is evident, that an equal quantity of silver is always of equal value to an equal quantity of silver.

This, common sense, as well as the market, teaches us; for silver being all of the same nature and goodness, having all the same qualities, it is impossible, but it should in the same quantity have the same value; for if a less quantity of any commodity be allowed to be equal in value to a greater quantity of the same sort of commodity, it must be for some good quality it has which the other wants. But silver to silver has no such difference.

Here it will be asked, is not some silver finer than other?

I answer, one mass of mixed metal not discerned by the eye to be any thing but silver, and therefore called silver, may have a less mixture of baser metal in it than another, and so in common speech is said to be finer silver; so ducatoons, having a less mixture of copper in them than our English coin has, are said to be finer silver. But the truth is, the silver that is in each is equally fine, as will appear when the baser metal is separate from it; and it is of this pure, or finer silver, I must be understood, when I mention silver; not regarding the copper or lead, which may chance to be mixed with it. For example: Take an ounce of silver, and one fourth of an ounce of copper, and melt them together; one may say of the whole mass, that it is not fine silver; but it is true, there is an ounce of fine silver in it; and though this mass, weighing one ounce and a quarter, be not of equal value to one ounce and a quarter of fine silver, yet the ounce of fine silver in it is, when separate from the copper, of equal value to any other ounce of silver.

By this measure of commerce, viz. the quantity of silver, men measure the value of all other things. Thus to measure what the value of lead is to wheat, and of either of them to a certain sort of linen cloth, the quantity of silver that each is valued at, or sells for, needs only be known; for if a yard of cloth be sold for half an ounce of silver, a bushel of wheat for one ounce, and a hundred weight of lead for two ounces; any one presently sees and says, that a bushel of wheat is double the value of a yard of that cloth, and but half the value of an hundred weight of lead.

Some are of opinion, that this measure of commerce, like all other measures, is arbitrary, and may at pleasure be varied, by putting more or fewer grains of silver, in pieces of a known denomination, v. g. by making a penny, or a shilling lighter, or heavier in silver, in a country where these are known denominations of pieces of silver money. But they will be of another mind, when they consider, that silver is a measure of a nature quite different from all other. The yard or quart men measure by, may rest indifferently in the buyer’s or seller’s, or a third person’s hands, it matters not whose it is. But it is not so in silver: it is the thing bargained for, as well as the measure of the bargain; and in commerce passes from the buyer to the seller, as being in such a quantity, equivalent to the thing sold: and so it not only measures the value of the commodity it is applied to, but is given in exchange for it, as of equal value. But this it does (as is visible) only by its quantity, and nothing else; for it must be remembered, that silver is the instrument, as well as measure of commerce, and is given in exchange for the things traded for: and, every one desiring to get as much as he can of it, for any commodity he sells, it is by the quantity of silver he gets for it in exchange, and by nothing else, that he measures the value of the commodity he sells.

The coining of silver, or making money of it, is the ascertaining of its quantity by a public mark, the better to fit it for commerce.

In coined silver or money, there are these three things which are wanting in other silver. 1. Pieces of exactly the same weight and fineness. 2. A stamp set on those pieces by the public authority of that country. 3. A known denomination given to these pieces by the same authority.

The stamp is a mark, and as it were, a public voucher, that a piece of such denomination is of such a weight, and of such a fineness, i. e. has so much silver in it.

That precise weight and fineness, by law appropriated to the pieces of each denomination, is called the standard.

Fine silver is silver without the mixture of any baser metal.

Alloy is baser metal mixed with it.

The fineness of any metal appearing to be silver, and so called, is the proportion of silver in it, compared with what there is in it of baser metals.

The fineness of standard silver in England, is eleven parts silver and one part copper, near: or, to speak more exactly, the proportion of silver to copper, is as 111 to 9. Whatever piece, or mass, has in it, of baser metal, above the proportion of 9 to 111, is worse, or coarser than standard. Whatever mass of metal has a less proportion than 9 to 111, of baser metal in it, is better or finer than standard.

Since silver is the thing sought for, and would better serve for the measure of commerce, if it were unmixed, it will possibly be asked, “why any mixture of baser metal is allowed in money, and what use is there of such alloy, which serves to make the quantity of silver less known in the several coins of different countries?”

Perhaps it would have been better for commerce in general, and more convenient for all their subjects, if the princes every-where, or at least in this part of the world, would at first have agreed on the fineness of the standard to have been just one-twelfth alloy, in round numbers; without those minuter fractions which are to be found in the alloy of most of the coin of the several distinct dominions of this part of the world. Which broken proportion of baser metal to silver, in the standard of the several mints, seems to have been introduced by the skill of men employed in coining, to keep that art (as all trades are called) a mystery, rather than for any use or necessity there was of such broken numbers. But, be that as it will, the standard in our mint being now settled by authority, and established by custom, known at home and abroad, and the rules and methods of essaying suited to it, and all the wrought plate, as well as coin of England, being made by that measure, it is of great concernment that it should remain invariable.

But to the question, “What need is there of any mixture of baser metal with silver in money or plate?” I answer, there is great reason for it; for,

Copper mixed with silver makes it harder, and so wears and wastes less in use, than if it were fine silver. 2. It melts easier. 3. Silver, as it is drawn and melted from the mine, being seldom perfectly fine, it would be a great charge by refining to separate all the baser metals from it, and reduce it to perfectly unmixed silver.

The use of coined silver, or money, is, that every man in the country, where it is current by public authority, may, without the trouble of refining, essaying, or weighing, be assured what quantity of silver he gives, receives, or contracts for, under such and such denominations.

If this security goes not along with the public stamp, coining is labour to no purpose, and puts no difference between coined money, and uncoined bullion. This is so obvious, that I think no government, where money is coined, ever overlooks it; and therefore the laws every where, when the quantity of silver has been lessened in any piece carrying the public stamp, by clipping, washing, rounding, &c. have taken off the authority of the public stamp, and declared it not to be lawful money. This is known to be so in England, and every one may not only refuse any money bearing the public stamp, if it be clipped, or any ways robbed of the due weight of its silver, but he that offers it in payment is liable to indictment, fine and imprisonment. From whence we may see, that the use and end of the public stamp is only to be a guard and voucher of the quantity of silver, which men contract for; and the injury done to the public faith, in this point, is that which in clipping and false coining heightens the robbery into treason.

Men in their bargains contract not for denominations or sounds, but for the intrinsic value, which is the quantity of silver, by public authority warranted to be in pieces of such denominations; and it is by having a greater quantity of silver, that men thrive and grow richer, and not by having a greater number of denominations; which, when they come to have need of their money, will prove but empty sounds, if they do not carry with them the real quantity of silver expected.

The standard once settled by public authority, the quantity of silver established under the several denominations (I humbly conceive) should not be altered till there were an absolute necessity shown of such a change, which I think can never be.

The reason why it should not be changed is this; because the public authority is guarantee for the performance of all legal contracts. But men are absolved from the performance of their legal contracts, if the quantity of silver under settled and legal denominations be altered; as is evident, if borrowing 100l. or 400 ounces of silver, to repay the same quantity of silver (for that is understood by the same sum, and so the law warrants it) or taking a lease of lands for years to come, at the like rent of 100l. they shall pay both the one and the other, in money coined under the same denominations, with one fifth less silver in it, than at the time of the bargain; the landlord here and creditor are each defrauded of twenty per cent. of what they contracted for, and is their due. And I ask, how much juster it would be thus to dissolve the contracts they had made, than to make a law, that from henceforth all landlords and creditors should be paid their past debts, and the rents for leases already made, in clipped money, twenty per cent. lighter than it should be? Both ways they lose twenty per cent. of their due, and with equal justice.

The case would be the same, and legal contracts be avoided, if the standard should be altered, on the other side, and each species of our coin be made one fifth heavier; for then he that had borrowed, or contracted for any sum, could not be discharged, by paying the quantity he agreed for, but be liable to be forced to pay twenty per cent. more than he bargained for, that is, more than he ought.

On the other side: Whether the creditor be forced to receive less, or the debtor be forced to pay more than his contract, the damage and injury is the same, whenever a man is defrauded of his due; and whether this will not be a public failure of justice thus arbitrarily to give one man’s right and possession to another, without any fault on the suffering man’s side, and without any the least advantage to the public, I shall leave to be considered.

Raising of coin is but a specious word to deceive the unwary. It only gives the usual denomination of a greater quantity of silver to a less, (v. g. calling four grains of silver a penny to-day, when five grains of silver made a penny yesterday) but adds no worth, or real value to the silver coin to make amends for its want of silver. That is impossible to be done; for it is only the quantity of silver in it that is, and eternally will be, the measure of its value. And to convince any one of this, I ask, whether he, that is forced to receive but 320 ounces of silver under the denomination of 1001. (for 400 ounces of silver which he lent under the like denomination of 1001.) will think these 320 ounces of silver, however denominated, worth those 400 ounces he lent? If any one can be supposed so silly, he need but go to the next market, or shop, to be convinced, that men value not money by the denomination, but by the quantity of silver there is in it. One may as rationally hope to lengthen a foot by dividing it into fifteen parts, instead of twelve, and calling them inches, as to increase the value of the silver, that is in a shilling, by dividing it into fifteen parts instead of twelve, and calling them pence. This is all that is done, when a shilling is raised from twelve to fifteen pence.

Clipping of money is raising it without public authority; the same denomination remaining to the piece, that hath now less silver in it than it had before.

Altering the standard, by coining pieces under the same denomination with less silver in them than they formerly had, is doing the same thing by public authority. The only odds is, that, by clipping, the loss is not forced on any one (for nobody is obliged to receive clipped money); by altering the standard, it is.

Altering the standard, by raising the money, will not get to the public, or bring to the mint to be coined, one ounce of silver: but will defraud the king, the church, the universities and hospitals, &c. of so much of their settled revenue, as the money is raised, v. g. twenty per cent. if the money (as is proposed) be raised one fifth. It will weaken, if not totally destroy, the public faith, when all that have trusted the public, and assisted our present necessities, upon acts of parliament in the million lottery, bank act, and other loans, shall be defrauded of twenty per cent. of what those acts of parliament were security for. And to conclude, this raising our money will defraud all private men of twenty per cent. in all their debts and settled revenues.

Clipping, by Englishmen, is robbing the honest man who receives clipped money, and transferring the silver, i. e. the value is pared off from it, into the clipper’s pocket. Clipping by foreigners is robbing England itself; and thus the Spaniards lately robbed Portugal of a great part of its treasure, or commodities (which is the same thing) by importing upon them clipped money of the Portugal stamp.

Clipping, and clipped money, have, besides this robbery of the public, other great inconveniencies: as the disordering of trade, raising foreign exchange, and a general disturbance, which every one feels thereby in his private affairs.

Clipping is so gainful and so secret a robbery, that penalties cannot restrain it, as we see by experience.

Nothing, I humbly conceive, can put a stop to clipping, now it is grown so universal, and men become so skilful in it, but making it unprofitable.

Nothing can make clipping unprofitable, but making all light money go only for its weight. This stops clipping in a moment, brings out all the milled and weighty money, deprives us not of any part of our clipped money for the use of trade, and brings it orderly, and by degrees, and without force, into the mint to be recoined.

If clipped money be called in all at once, and stopped from passing by weight, I fear it will stop trade, put our affairs all at a stand, and introduce confusion. Whereas, if it be permitted to pass by its weight, till it can by degrees be coined (the stamp securing its fineness, as well then as now, and the scales determining its weight), it will serve for paying of great sums as commodiously almost as weighty money, and the weighty money, being then brought out, will serve for the market trade, and less payments, and also to weigh the clipped money by.

On the other side, if clipped money be allowed to pass current by tale, till it be all recoined, one of these two effects will apparently follow: either that we shall want money for trade, as the clipped money decreases, by being coined into weighty; (for very few, if any body, who gets weighty money into their hands, will part with it, whilst clipped money, not of half the value is current;) or if they do the coiners and clippers will pick it up, and new coin and clip it, whereby clipped money will be increased; so that, by this way, either money will be wanting to trade, or clipped money continued. If clipped money be stopped all at once, there is immediately a stop of trade. If it be permitted to pass in tale, as if it were lawful, weighty money, whilst it is recoining, and till all be recoined, that way also there will be an end of trade, or no end of clipped money. But, if it be made to pass for its weight, till it be all recoined, both these evils are avoided, and the weighty money, which we want, will be brought out to boot.

Money is necessary to the carrying on of trade. For where money fails, men cannot buy, and trade stops.

Credit will supply the defect of it to some small degree, for a little while. But, credit being nothing but the expectation of money within some limited time, money must be had, or credit will fail.

Money also is necessary to us, in a certain proportion to the plenty of it amongst our neighbours. For, if any of our neighbours have it in a much greater abundance than we, we are many ways obnoxious to them. 1. They can maintain a greater force. 2. They can tempt away our people, by greater wages, to serve them, by land, or sea, or in any labour. 3. They can command the markets, and thereby break our trade, and make us poor. 4. They can on any occasion ingross naval and warlike stores, and thereby endanger us.

In countries where domestic mines do not supply it, nothing can bring in silver but tribute, or trade. Tribute is the effect of conquest: trade, of skill and industry.

By commerce silver is brought in, only by an overbalance of trade.

An overbalance of trade, is when the quantity of commodities, which we send to any country do more than pay for those we bring from thence: for then the overplus is brought home in bullion.

Bullion is silver, whose workmanship has no value. And thus foreign coin hath no value here for its stamp, and our coin is bullion in foreign dominions.

It is useless and labour in vain to coin silver imported into any country, where it is not to stay.

Silver imported cannot stay in any country in which, by an over-balance of their whole trade, it is not made theirs, and doth not become a real increase of their wealth.

If, by a general balance of its trade, England yearly sends out commodities to the value of four hundred thousand ounces of silver, more than the commodities we bring home from abroad costs us, there is one hundred thousand pounds every year clear again: which will come home in money, by a real increase of our wealth, and will stay here.

On the other side, if, upon a general balance of our whole trade, we yearly import commodities from other parts to the value of an hundred thousand pounds more than our commodities exported pay for, we every year grow an hundred thousand pounds poorer. And if, besides that, we should also import a million in bullion from Spain every year, yet it is not ours; it is no increase to our wealth, nor can it stay here; but must be exported again, every grain of it, with an hundred thousand pounds of our own money to boot.

I have heard it proposed, as a way to keep our money here, that we should pay our debts contracted beyond seas, by bills of exchange.

The idleness of such a proposition will appear, when the nature of exchange is a little considered.

Foreign exchange is the paying of money in one country, to receive it in another.

The exchange is high, when a man pays for bills of exchange above the par. It is low, when he pays less than the par.

The par is a certain number of pieces of the coin of one country, containing in them an equal quantity of silver to that in another number of pieces, of the coin of another country: v. g. supposing 36 skillings of Holland to have just as much silver in them as 20 English shillings. Bills of exchange drawn from England to Holland at the rate of 36 skillings Dutch for each pound sterling, is according to the par. He that pays the money here, and receives it there, neither gets nor loses by the exchange; but receives just the same quantity of silver in the one place, that he parts with in the other. But, if he pays one pound sterling, to receive but 30 skillings in Holland, he pays one sixth more than the par, and so pays one sixth more silver for the exchange, let the sum be what it will.

The reason of high exchange, is the buying much commodities in any foreign country, beyond the value of what that country takes of ours. This makes Englishmen have need of great sums there, and this raises the exchange, or price of bills. For what grows more into demand, increases presently in price.

Returning money by exchange, into foreign parts, keeps not one farthing from going out: it only prevents the more troublesome and hazardous way of sending money in specie, forwards and backwards. Bills of exchange are sent more commodiously, and by scrips of paper even the accounts between particular debtors and creditors, in different countries, as far as the commerce between those two places is equivalent: but where the over-balance, on either side, demands payment, there bills of exchange can do nothing; but bullion, or money in specie, must be sent. For in a country where we owe money, and have no debts owing to us, bills will not find credit, but for a short time, till money can be sent to reimburse those that paid them; unless we can think men beyond sea will part with their money for nothing. If the traders of England owe their correspondents of Holland a hundred thousand pounds, their accounts with all the rest of the world standing equal, and remaining so, one farthing of this hundred thousand pounds cannot be paid by bills of exchange. For example, I owe a thousand pounds of it; and to pay that, buy a Bill of N. here, drawn on John de Wit, of Amsterdam, to pay P. Van Lore, my correspondent there. The money is paid accordingly, and thereby I am out of Van Lore’s debt; but not one farthing of the debt of England to Holland is thereby paid; for N. of whom I bought the bill of exchange, is now as much indebted to John de Wit, as I was before to P. Van Lore. Particular debtors and creditors are only changed by bills of exchange; but the debt, owing from one country to the other, cannot be paid without real effects sent thither to that value, either in commodities, or money. Where the balance of trade barely pays for commodities with commodities, there money must be sent, or else the debt cannot be paid.

I have spoken of silver coin alone, because that makes the money of account, and measure of trade, all through the world. For all contracts are, I think, every-where made, and accounts kept in silver coin. I am sure they are so in England, and the neighbouring countries.

Silver therefore, and silver alone, is the measure of commerce. Two metals, as gold and silver, cannot be the measure of commerce both together, in any country: because the measure of commerce must be perpetually the same, invariable, and keeping the same proportion of value in all its parts. But so only one metal does, or can do itself: so silver is to silver, and gold to gold. An ounce of silver is always of equal value to an ounce of silver, and an ounce of gold to an ounce of gold: and two ounces of the one, or the other, of double the value to an ounce of the same. But gold and silver change their value one to another: for supposing them to be in value as sixteen to one now; perhaps the next month they may be as fifteen and three quarters, or fifteen and seven-eighths to one. And one may as well make a measure, v. g. a yard, whose parts lengthen and shrink, as a measure of trade of materials that have not always a settled, invariable value to one another.

One metal, therefore, alone can be the money of account and contract, and the measure of commerce in any country. The fittest for this use, of all other, is silver, for many reasons, which need not here be mentioned. It is enough that the world has agreed in it, and made it their common money; and, as the Indians rightly call it, measure. All other metals, gold, as well as lead, are but commodities.

Commodities are moveables, valuable by money, the common measure.

Gold, though not the money of the world, and the measure of commerce, nor fit to be so, yet may, and ought to be coined, to ascertain its weight and fineness; and such coin may safely have a price, as well as a stamp set upon it, by public authority; so the value set be under the market-price. For then such pieces coined will be a commodity as passable as silver money, very little varying in their price: as guineas, which were coined at the value of 20s. but passed usually for between 21 or 22s. according to the current rate; but, not having so high a value put upon them by the law, nobody could be forced to take them to their loss at 21s. 6d. if the price of gold should happen at any time to be cheaper.

From what has been said, I think it appears,

That silver is that which mankind have agreed on, to take and give in exchange for all commodities as an equivalent.

That it is by the quantity of silver they give, or take, or contract for, that they estimate the value of other things, and satisfy for them; and thus, by its quantity, silver becomes the measure of commerce.

Hence it necessarily follows, that a greater quantity of silver has a greater value: a less quantity of silver has a less value; and an equal quantity an equal value.

That money differs from uncoined silver only in this, that the quantity of silver in each piece of money is ascertained by the stamp it bears; which is set there to be a public voucher of its weight and fineness.

That gold is treasure, as well as silver, because it decays not in keeping, and never sinks much in value.

That gold is fit to be coined, as well as silver; to ascertain its quantity to those who have a mind to traffic in it; but not fit to be joined with silver, as a measure of commerce.

That jewels too are treasure, because they keep without decay; and have constantly a great value in proportion to their bulk; but cannot be used for money, because their value is not measured by their quantity, nor can they, as gold and silver, be divided, and keep their value.

The other metals are not treasure, because they decay in keeping, and because of their plenty; which makes their value little in a great bulk; and so unfit for money, commerce, and carriage.

That the only way to bring treasure into England, is the well-ordering our trade.

That the only way to bring silver and gold to the mint, for the increase of our stock of money and treasure, which shall stay here, is an over-balance of our whole trade. All other ways to increase our money and riches, are but projects that will fail us.

These things premised, I shall now proceed to show wherein I differ from Mr. Lowndes, and upon what grounds I do so.

Mr. Lowndes proposes, that our money should be raised (as it is called) one fifth: that is, That all our present denominations of money, as penny, shilling, half-crown, crown, &c. should each have one fifth less silver in it, or be answered with coin, of one fifth less value. How he proposes to have it done, I shall consider hereafter. I shall at present only examine the reasons he gives for it.

His first reason, , he gives us in these words, “The value of the silver in the coin ought to be raised to the foot of six shillings three-pence in every crown; because the price of standard silver in bullion is risen to six shillings five-pence an ounce.”

This reason seems to me to labour under several mistakes; as

That standard silver can rise in respect of itself.

That standard bullion is now, or ever was worth, or sold to the traders in it for 6s. 5d. the ounce, of lawful money of England. For if that matter of fact holds not to be so, that an ounce of sterling bullion is worth 6s. 5d. of our milled weighty money, this reason ceases: and our weighty crown-pieces ought not to be raised to 6s. 3d. because our light clipped money will not purchase an ounce of standard bullion under the rate of 6s. 5d. of that light money. And let me add here, nor for that rate neither. If therefore the author means here, that an ounce of standard silver is risen to 6s. 5d. of our clipped money, I grant it him, and higher too. But then that has nothing to do with the raising our lawful coin, which remains unclipped; unless he will say too, that standard bullion is so risen, as to be worth, and to actually sell for, 6s. 5d. the ounce, of our weighty milled money. This I not only deny, but farther add, that it is impossible to be so. For 6s. 5d. of milled money weighs an ounce and a quarter near. Can it therefore be possible, that one ounce of any commodity should be worth an ounce and a quarter of the self-same commodity, and of exactly the same goodness? for so is standard silver to standard silver. Indeed one has a mark upon it which the other has not; but it is a mark that makes it rather more, than less valuable: or if the mark, by hindering its exportation, makes its less valuable for that purpose, the melting-pot can easily take it off.

The complaint made of melting down our weighty money answers this reason evidently. For can it be supposed, that a goldsmith will give one ounce and a quarter of coined silver for one ounce of bullion; when, by putting it into his melting pot, he can, for less than a penny charge, make it bullion? (For it is always to be remembered, what I think is made clear, that the value of silver, considered as it is money, and the measure of commerce, is nothing but its quantity.) And thus a milled shilling, which has double the weight of silver in it to a current shilling, whereof half the silver is clipped away, has double the value. And to show that this is so, I will undertake, that any merchant, who has bullion to sell, shall sell it for a great deal less number of shillings in tale, to any one who will contract to pay him in milled money, than if he be paid in the current clipped money.

Those who say bullion is risen, I desire to tell me what they mean by risen? Any commodity, I think, is properly said to be risen, when the same quantity will exchange for a greater quantity of another thing; but more particularly of that thing, which is the measure of commerce in the country. And thus corn is said to be risen among the English in Virginia, when a bushel of it will sell, or exchange for more pounds of tobacco, amongst the Indians, when it will sell for more yards of wampompeak, which is their money; and amongst the English here, when it will exchange for a greater quantity of silver than it would before. Rising and falling of commodities, are always between several commodities of distinct worths. But nobody can say that tobacco (of the same goodness) is risen in respect of itself. One pound of the same goodness will never exchange for a pound and a quarter of the same goodness. And so it is in silver: an ounce of silver will always be of equal value to an ounce of silver: nor can it ever rise, or fall, in respect of itself: an ounce of standard silver can never be worth an ounce and a quarter of standard silver; nor one ounce of uncoined silver exchange for an ounce and a quarter of coined silver: the stamp cannot so much debase its value. Indeed the stamp, hindering its free exportation, may make the goldsmith (who profits by the return of money) give one hundred and twentieth, or one sixtieth, or perhaps sometimes, one thirtieth more, that is, 5s. 2d½. 5s. 3d. or 5s. 4d. the ounce of coined silver for uncoined, when there is no need of sending silver beyond seas; as there always is, when the balance of trade will not supply our wants, and pay our debts there. But much beyond this the goldsmith will never give for bullion; since he can make it out of coined money at a cheaper rate.

It is said, bullion is risen to 6s. 5d. the ounce, i. e. that an ounce of uncoined silver will exchange for an ounce and a quarter of coined silver. If any one can believe this, I will put this short case to him; He has of bullion, or standard, uncoined silver, two round plates, each of an exact size and weight of a crownpiece: he has besides, of the same bullion, a round plate of the weight and size of a shilling, and another yet less, of an exact weight and size of a three-pence. The two great plates being of equal weight and fineness, I suppose he will allow to be of equal value, and that the two less, joined to either of them, make it one-fifth more worth than the other is by itself, they having all three together one fifth more silver in them. Let us suppose then, one of the greater, and the two less plates to have received the next moment (by miracle, or by the mill, it matters not how) the mark, or stamp, of our crown, our shilling, and our three-pence: can any body say, that now they have got the stamp of our mint upon them, they are so fallen in value, or the other unstamped piece so risen, that that unstamped piece, which a moment before was worth only one of the other pieces, is now worth them all three? Which is to say, that an ounce of uncoined silver is worth an ounce and a quarter of coined. This is what men would persuade us, when they say, that bullion is raised to 6s. 5d. (of lawful money) the ounce, which I say is utterly impossible. Let us consider this a little further, in another instance. The present milled crown pieces, say they, will not exchange for an ounce of bullion, without the addition of a shilling and three-pence of weighty coin added to it. Coin but that crown-piece into 6s. 3d. and then they say it will buy an ounce of bullion, or else they give up their reason and measure of raising the money. Do that which is allowed to be equivalent to coining of a present milled crown-piece, into 6s. 3d. viz. call it 75 pence, and then also it must by this rule of raising buy an ounce of bullion. If this be so, the self-same milled crown-piece will, and will not exchange for an ounce of bullion. Call it 60 pence, and it will not: the very next moment call it 75 pence, and it will. I am afraid nobody can think change of denomination has such power.

Mr. Lowndes supports this his first reason with these words, . “This reason, which I humbly conceive will appear irrefragable, is grounded upon a truth so apparent, that it may well be compared to an axiom, even in mathematical reasoning; to wit, that, whensoever the intrinsic value of silver in the coin hath been, or shall be, less than the price of silver in bullion, the coin hath, and will be melted down.”

This I think, though it be allowed Mr. Lowndes for as apparent a truth, and as certain a maxim as he could wish, yet serves not at all to his purpose of lessening the coin. For when the coin is, as it should be, according to the standard (let the standard be what it will) weighty and unclipped, it is impossible that the value of coined silver should be less than the value or price of uncoined; because, as I have shown, the value and quantity of silver are the same: and where the quantities are equal, the values are equal, excepting only the odds that may be between bullion that may be freely exported, and coined silver that may not; the odds whereof scarce ever amounts to above 2d. per ounce, and rarely to above a penny, or an half-penny. And this odds (whatever it be) will equally belong to his raised milled money, which cannot be exported, as it will to our present milled money, which cannot be exported, as I shall have occasion to show more particularly hereafter. All this disorder, and a thousand others, come from light and unlawful money being current. For then it is no wonder that bullion should be kept up to the value of your clipped money; that is, that bullion should not be sold by the ounce for less than 6s. 5d. when that 6s. 5d. clipped money, paid for it, does not weigh above an ounce. This instance therefore, of the present price of bullion, proves nothing but that the quantity of silver in money governs the value of it, and not the denomination; as appears, when clipped money is brought to buy bullion. This is a fair trial: silver is set against silver, and by that is seen, whether clipped money be of the same value with weighty of the same denomination, or whether it be not the quantity of silver in it that regulates its value.

I cannot but wonder that Mr. Lowndes, a man so well skilled in the law, especially of the mint, the exchequer, and of our money, should all along in this argument speak of clipped money, as if it were the lawful money of England; and should propose by that (which is in effect by the clipper’s shears) to regulate a new sort of coin to be introduced into England. And if he will stand to that measure, and lessen the new coin to the rate of bullion sold in exchange for present, current, clipped money, to prevent its being melted down he must make it yet much lighter than he proposes; so that raising it, or, to give it its due name, that lessening of it one fifth will not serve the turn: for I will be bold to say, that bullion now in England is no where to be bought by the ounce for 6s. 5d. of our present, current, clipped money. So that if this rule be true, and nothing can save the weighty coin from melting down, but reducing it to the weight that clipped money is brought to, he must lessen the money in his new coin much more than one fifth; for an ounce of standard bullion will always be worth an ounce of clipped money, whether that in tale amounts to 6s. 5d. 6s. 6d. 10s. or any other number of shillings, or pence, of the nick-named clipped money. For a piece of silver that was coined for a shilling, but has but half the silver clipped off, in the law, and in propriety of speech, is no more a shilling than a piece of wood, which was once sealed a yard, is still a yard, when one half of it is broken off.

Let us consider this maxim a little farther: which out of the language of the mint in plain English, I think amounts to thus much, viz. “That when an ounce of standard bullion costs a greater number of pence in tale, than an ounce of that bullion can be coined into, by the standard of the mint, the coin will be melted down.” I grant it, if bullion should rise to 15 pence the ounce above 5s. 2d. as is now pretended; which is to say, that an ounce of bullion cannot be bought for less than an ounce and a quarter of the like silver coined. But that, as I have showed, is impossible to be: and every one would be convinced of the contrary, if we had none now but lawful money current. But it is no wonder, if the price and value of things be confounded, and uncertain, when the measure itself is lost. For we have now no lawful silver money curreut amongst us; and therefore cannot talk, nor judge right, by our present, uncertain, clipped money, of the value and price of things, in reference to our lawful, regular coin, adjusted and kept to the unvarying standard of the mint. The price of silver in bullion above the value of silver in coin, when clipping has not defaced our current cash (for then the odds is very rarely above a penny, or two-pence the ounce) is so far from being the cause of melting down our coin, that this price, which is given above the value of the silver in our coin, is given only to preserve our coin from being melted down: for nobody buys bullion at above 5s. 2d. the ounce (which is just the value), for any other reason, but to avoid the crime and hazard of melting down our coin.

I think it will be agreed on all hands, that nobody will melt down our money, but for profit. Now profit can be made by melting down our money but only in two cases.

First, When the current pieces of the same denomination are unequal, and of different weights, some heavier, some lighter: for then the traders in money cull out the heavier, and melt them down with profit. This is the ordinary fault of coining with the hammer, wherein it usually sufficed, That a bar of silver was cut into as many half-crowns, or shillings, as answered its whole weight; without being very exact in making each particular piece of its due weight; whereby some pieces came to be heavier, and some lighter, than by the standard they should. And then the heavier pieces were culled out, and there was profit to be made (as one easily perceives) in melting them down. But this cause of melting down our money is easily prevented, by the exacter way of coining by the mill, in which each single piece is brought to its just weight. This inequality of pieces of the same denomination, is to be found in our money, more than ever, since clipping has been in fashion: and therefore it is no wonder, that, in this irregular state of our money, one complaint is, that the heavy money is melted down. But this also the making clipped money go at present for its weight (which is a sudden reducing of it to the standard) and then, by degrees, recoining it into milled money (which is the ultimate and more complete reducing it to the standard), perfectly cures.

The other case, wherein our money comes to be melted down, is a losing trade; or, which is the same thing in other words, an over-great consumption of foreign commodities. Whenever the over-balance of foreign trade makes it difficult for our merchants to get bills of exchange, the exchange presently rises, and the returns of money raise them in proportion to the want of money Englishmen have in any parts beyond seas. They, who thus furnish them with bills, not being able to satisfy their correspondents, on whom those bills are drawn, with the product of our commodities there, must send silver from hence to reimburse them, and repay the money they have drawn out of their hands. Whilst bullion may be had for a small price more than the weight of our current cash, these exchangers generally choose rather to buy bullion, than run the risque of melting down our coin, which is criminal by the law. And thus the matter for the most part went, whilst milled and clipped money passed promiscuously in payment: for so long a clipped half-crown was as good here as a milled one, since one passed, and could be had as freely as the other. But as soon as there began to be a distinction between clipped and unclipped money, and weighty money could no longer be had for the light, bullion (as was natural) arose; and it would fall again to-morrow to the price it was at before, if there were none but weighty money to pay for it. In short, whenever the whole of our foreign trade and consumption exceeds our exportation of commodities, our money must go to pay our debts so contracted, whether melted or not melted down. If the law makes the exportation of our coin penal, it will be melted down; if it leaves the exportation of our coin free, as in Holland, it will be carried out in specie. One way, or other, go it must, as we see in Spain; but whether melted down, or not melted down, it matters little: our coin and treasure will be both ways equally diminished, and can be restored only by an over-balance of our whole exportation to our whole importation of consumable commodities. Laws, made against exportation of money, or bullion, will be all in vain. Restraint, or liberty in that matter, makes no country rich or poor: as we see in Holland, which had plenty of money under the free liberty of its exportation, and Spain, in great want of money under the severest penalties against carrying of it out. But the coining, or not coining our money on the same foot it was before, or in bigger or less pieces, and under whatsoever denominations you please, contributes nothing to, or against its melting down, or exportation, so our money be all kept, each species in its full weight of silver, according to the standard: for if some be heavier, and some lighter, allowed to be current, so under the same denomination the heavier will be melted down, where the temptation of profit is considerable, which in well-regulated coin kept to the standard cannot be. But this melting down carries not away one grain of our treasure out of England. The coming and going of that depends wholly upon the balance of our trade; and therefore it is a wrong conclusion which we find, . “That continuing either old, or new coins on the present foot, will be nothing else but furnishing a species to melt down at an extravagant profit, and will encourage a violent exportation of our silver, for the sake of the gain only, till we shall have little or none left.” For example: let us suppose all our light money new coined, upon the foot that this gentleman would have it, and all our old milled crowns going for 75 pence as he proposes, and the rest of the old milled money proportionably; I desire it to be showed how this would hinder the exportation of one ounce of silver, whilst our affairs are in the present posture. Again, on the other side, supposing all our money were now milled coin upon the present foot, and our balance of trade changing, our exportation of commodities were a million more than our importation, and likely to continue so yearly; whereof one half was to Holland, and the other to Flanders, there being an equal balance between England and all other parts of the world we trade to? I ask, what possible gain could any Englishman make by melting down, and carrying out our money to Holland and Flanders, when a million was to come thence hither, and Englishmen had more there already than they knew how to use there, and could not get home without paying dear there for bills of exchange? If that were the case of our trade, the exchange would presently fall here and rise there beyond the par of their money to ours, i. e. an English merchant must give in Holland more silver, for the bills he bought there, than he should receive upon those bills here, if the two sums were weighed one against the other or run the risque of bringing it home in specie. And what then could any Englishman get by exporting money or silver thither?

These are the only two cases wherein our coin can be melted down with profit; and I challenge any one living to show me any other. The one of them is removed only by a regular just coin, kept equal to the standard; be that what it will, it matters not, as to the point of melting down of the money. The other is to be removed only by the balance of our trade kept from running us behind-hand, and contracting debts in foreign countries by an over-consumption of their commodities.

To those who say, that the exportation of our money, whether melted down, or not melted down, depends wholly upon our consumption of foreign commodities, and not at all upon the sizes of the several species of our money, which will be equally exported or not exported, whether coined upon the old, or the proposed new foot: Mr. Lowndes replies:

1. That “the necessity of foreign expence, and exportation to answer the balance of trade, may be diminished, but cannot in any sense be augmented, by raising the value of our money.”

I beg his pardon, if I cannot assent to this. Because the necessity of our exportation of money, depending wholly upon the debts which we contract in foreign parts, beyond what our commodities exported can pay; the coining our money in bigger, or less pieces, under the same, or different denominations, or on the present, or proposed foot, in itself neither increasing those debts, nor the expences that make them, can neither augment, nor diminish the exportation of our money.

2. He replies, . That melters of the coin “will have less profit by fourteen-pence halfpenny in the crown,” when the money is coined upon the new foot.

To this I take liberty to say, that there will not be a farthing more profit in melting down the money, if it were all new milled money, upon the present foot, than if it were all new coined, as is proposed, one fifth lighter. For whence should the profit arise more in the one, than the other? But Mr. Lowndes goes upon this supposition; That standard bullion is now worth six shillings and five-pence an ounce of milled money, and would continue to sell for six shillings and five-pence the ounce, if our money were all weighty milled money: both which I take to be mistakes, and think I have proved them to be so.

3. He says, “It is hoped that the exchange to Holland may be kept at a stand, or at least from falling much lower.” I hope so too. But how that concerns this argument, or the coining of the money upon a new foot, I do not see.

4. He says, . There is a great difference, with “regard to the service or disservice of the public, between carrying out bullion, or coin for necessary uses, or for prohibiting commodities.” The gain to the exporters, which is that which makes them melt it down and export it, is the same in both cases. And the necessity of exporting it is the same. For it is to pay debts, which there is an equal necessity of paying, when once contracted, though for useless things. They are the goldsmiths and dealers in silver, that usually export what silver is sent beyond sea, to pay the debts they have contracted by their bills of exchange. But those dealers in exchange seldom know, or consider, how they, to whom they give their bills, have, or will employ, the money they receive upon those bills. Prohibited commodities, it is true, should be kept out, and useless ones impoverish us by being brought in. But this is the fault of our importation: and there the mischief should be cured by laws, and our way of living. For the exportation of our treasure is not the cause of their importation, but the consequence. Vanity and luxury spends them: that gives them vent here: that vent causes their importation: and when our merchants have brought them, if our commodities will not be enough, our money must go to pay for them. But what this paragraph has in it against continuing our coin upon the present foot, or for making our coin lighter, I confess here again, I do not see.

It is true what Mr. Lowndes observes here, the importation of gold, and the going of guineas at 30s. has been a great prejudice and loss to the kingdom. But that has been wholly owing to our clipped money, and not at all to our money being coined at five shillings and two-pence the ounce; nor is the coining our money lighter, the cure of it. The only remedy for that mischief, as well as a great many others, is the putting an end to the passing of clipped money by tale, as if it were lawful coin.

5. His fifth head, , is to answer those, who hold, that, by the lessening our money one fifth, all people, who are to receive money upon contracts already made, will be defrauded of twenty per cent. of their due: and thus all men will lose one fifth of their settled revenues, and all men, that have lent money, one fifth of their principal and use. To remove this objection, Mr. Lowndes says, that silver in England is grown scarce, and consequently dearer, and so is of higher price. Let us grant for the present it is of higher price (which how he makes out I shall examine by and by.) This, if it were so, ought not to annul any man’s bargain, nor make him receive less in quantity than he lent. He was to receive again the same sum, and the public authority was guarantee, that the same sum should have the same quantity of silver, under the same denomination. And the reason is plain, why in justice he ought to have the same quantity of silver again, notwithstanding any pretended rise of its value. For if silver had grown more plentiful, and by consequence (by our author’s rule) cheaper, his debtor would not have been compelled, by the public authority, to have paid him, in consideration of its cheapness, a greater quantity of silver than they contracted for. Cocao nuts were the money of a part of America, when we first came thither. Suppose then you had lent me last year 300, or fifteen score cocao nuts, to be repaid this year, would you be satisfied and think yourself paid your due, if I should tell you, cocao nuts were scarce this year, and that fourscore were of as much value this year as an hundred the last; and that therefore you were well and fully paid, if I restored to you only 240 for the 300 I borrowed? Would you not think yourself defrauded of two thirds of your right by such a payment? Nor would it make any amends for this to justice, or reparation to you, that the public had (after your contract, which was made for fifteen score) altered the denomination of score, and applied it to sixteen instead of twenty. Examine it, and you will find this just the case, and the loss proportionable in them both; that is, a real loss of twenty per cent. As to Mr. Lowndes’s proofs, that silver is now one fifth more value than it was, and therefore a man has right done him, if he receive one fifth less than his contract, I fear none of them will reach Mr. Lowndes’s point. He saith, . “By daily experience nineteen penny-weights, and three tenths of a penny-weight of sterling silver, which is just the weight of a crown-piece, will purchase more coined money than five unclipped shillings.” I wish he had told us where this daily experience he speaks of is to be found: for I dare say nobody hath seen a sum of unclipped shillings paid for bullion any where these twelve months, to go no further back.

In the next place, I wish he had told us how much more than five lawful milled shillings, bullion of the weight of a crown piece will purchase. If he had said it would purchase six shillings and three-pence weighty money, he had proved the matter in question. And whoever has the weight of a crown in silver paid him in Mr. Lowndes’s new coin, instead of six shillings and three-pence of our present money, has no injury done him, if it will certainly purchase him six shillings and three-pence all unclipped of our present money. But every one, at first sight, perceives this to be impossible, as I have already proved it. I have in this the concurrence of Mr. Lowndes’s new scheme, to prove it to be so. For, , he proposes that his silver unit, having the weight and fineness of a present unclipped crown-piece, should go for 75 pence; and that the present shilling should go for fifteen pence; by which establishment there will be 75 pence in his unit, and 93 pence three farthings in six shillings and three-pence, weighty money of the present coin; which is an undeniable confession, that it is as impossible for his silver unit, having no more silver in it than a present unclipped crown, to be worth, and so to purchase, six unclipped shillings, and three-pence of our present money; as it is for 75 pence to be worth 93 of the same pence, or 75 to be equal to 93.

If he means by more, that his sterling silver of the weight of a crown-piece will purchase a penny, or two-pence more than five unclipped shillings, which is the most, and which is but accidental too; what is this rise of its value to fifteen pence? And what amends will one sixtieth (a little more or less) rise in value, make for one fifth diminished in weight, and lost in quantity? which is all one as to say, that a penny, or thereabouts, shall make amends for fifteen pence taken away.

Another way to recommend his new coin, to those who shall receive it, instead of the present weightier coin, he tells them, , it will pay as much debt, and purchase as much commodities as our present money which is one fifth heavier: what he says of debts is true. But yet I would have it well considered by our English gentlemen, that though creditors will lose one fifth of their principal and use, and landlords will lose one fifth of their income, yet the debtors and tenants will not get it. It will be asked, who then will get it? Those, I say, and those only, who have great sums of weighty money (whereof one sees not a piece now in payments) hoarded up by them, will get by it. To those, by the proposed change of our money, will be an increase of one fifth, added to their riches, paid out of the pockets of the rest of the nation. For what these men received for four shillings, they will pay again for five. This weighty money hoarded up, Mr. Lowndes, , computes at one million and six hundred thousand pounds. So that by raising our money one fifth, there will three hundred and twenty thousand pounds be given to those who have hoarded up our weighty money; which hoarding up of money is thought by many to have no other merit in it than the prejudicing our trade and public affairs, and increasing our necessities, by keeping so great a part of our money from coming abroad, at a time when there was so great need of it. If the sum of unclipped money in the nation be, as some suppose, much greater; then there will, by this contrivance of the raising our coin, be given to these rich hoarders much above the aforesaid sum of three hundred and twenty thousand pounds of our present money. Nobody else, but these hoarders, can get a farthing by this proposed change of our coin; unless men in debt have plate by them, which they will coin to pay their debts. Those too, I must confess, will get one-fifth by all the plate of their own, which they shall coin and pay debts with, valuing their plate at bullion; but if they shall consider the fashion of their plate, what that cost when they bought it, and the fashion that new plate will cost them, if they intend ever to have plate again, they will find this one fifth seeming present profit, in coining their plate to pay their debts, amounts to little or nothing at all. Nobody then but the hoarders will get by this twenty per cent.; and I challenge any one to show, how any body else (but that little in the case of plate coined to pay debts) shall get a farthing by it. It seems to promise fairest to the debtors: but to them too it will amount to nothing; for he, that takes up money to pay his debts, will receive this new money, and pay it again at the same rate he received it, just as he does now our present coin, without any profit at all; and though commodities (as is natural) should be raised, in proportion to the lessening of the money, nobody will get by that any more than they do now, when all things are grown dearer; only he that is bound up by contract to receive any sum under such a denomination of pounds, shillings, and pence, will find his loss sensibly, when he goes to buy commodities, and make new bargains. The markets and the shops will soon convince him, that his money, which is one-fifth lighter, is also one-fifth worse; when he must pay twenty per cent. more for all the commodities he buys, with the money of the new foot, than if he bought it with the present coin.

This Mr. Lowndes himself will not deny, when he calls to mind what he himself, speaking of the inconveniencies we suffer by our clipped money, says, . “Persons, before they conclude in any bargains, are necessitated first to settle the price or value of the very money they are to receive for their goods; and if it be clipped or bad money, they set the price of their goods accordingly: which I think has been one great cause of raising the price, not only of merchandize, but even of edibles, and other necessaries for the sustenance of the common people, to their great grievance.” That every one who receives money, after the raising our money, on contracts made before the change, must lose twenty per cent. in all he shall buy, is demonstration by Mr. Lowndes’s own scheme. Mr. Lowndes proposes that there should be shillings coined upon the new foot, one-fifth lighter than our present shillings, which should go for twelve-pence a-piece; and that the unclipped shillings of the present coin should go for fifteen pence a-piece: and the crown for seventy-five pence. A man, who has a debt of a hundred pounds owing him, upon bond, or lease, receives it in these new shillings instead of lawful money of the present standard; he goes to market with twenty shillings in one pocket of this new money, which are valued at 240 pence; and in the other pocket with four milled crown pieces, (or twenty milled shillings of the present coin) which are valued at three hundred pence, which is one fifth more: it is demonstration then, that he loses one-fifth, or twenty per cent. in all that he buys, by the receipt of this new money, for the present coin which was his due; unless those he deals with will take four for five pence, or four shillings for five shillings. He buys, for example, a quart of oil for fifteen-pence: if he pay for it with the old money in one pocket, one shilling will do it: if with the new money in the other, he must add three-pence to it, or a quarter of another shilling; and so of all the rest that he pays for, with either the old money, which he should have received his debts in, or with the new, which he was forced to receive for it. Thus far, it is demonstration, he loses twenty per cent. by receiving his debt in a new money thus raised, when he uses it to buy any thing. But to make him amends, Mr. Lowndes tells him, silver is now dearer, and all things consequently will be bought cheaper twenty per cent. And yet at the same time he tells him, in the passage above cited, out of , that all other things are grown dearer. I am sure there is no demonstration, that they will be sold twenty per cent. cheaper. And, if I may credit housekeepers and substantial tradesmen, all sorts of provisions and commodities are lately risen excessively: and, notwithstanding the scarcity of silver, begin to come up to the true value of our clipped money, every one selling their commodities so as to make themselves amends, in the number of light pieces for what they want in weight. A creditor ought to think the new light money equivalent to the present heavier, because it will buy as much commodities. But what if it should fail, as it is ten to one but it will, what security has he for it? He is told so, and he must be satisfied. That salt, wine, oil, silk, naval stores, and all foreign commodities, will none of them be sold us by foreigners, for a less quantity of silver than before, because we have given the name of more pence to it, is, I think, demonstration. All our names (if they are any more to us) are to them but bare sounds; and our coin, as theirs to us, but mere bullion, valued only by its weight; and a Swede will no more sell you his hemp and pitch, or a Spaniard his oil, for less silver, because you tell him silver is scarcer now in England, and therefore risen in value one fifth, than a tradesman of London will sell his commodity, cheaper to the Isle of Man because they are grown poorer, and money is scarce there.

All foreign commodities must be shut out of the number of those that will fall, to comply with our raising our money. Corn also, it is evident, does not rise, or fall, by the differences of more, or less plenty of money, but by the plenty and scarcity that God gives; for our money, in appearance, remaining the same, the price of corn is double one year, to what it was the precedent; and therefore we must certainly make account, that since the money is one-fifth lighter, it will buy one-fifth less corn, communibus annis; and this being the great expence of the poor, that takes up almost all their earnings, if corn be, communibus annis, sold for one-fifth more money in tale, than before the change of our money, they too must have one-fifth more in tale, of the new money, for their wages than they have now; and the day-labourer must have, not only twelve, but fifteen pence of the new money a-day, which is the present shilling that he has now, or else he cannot live; so that all foreign commodities, with corn and labour, keeping up their value to the quantity of silver they sell for now, and not complying, in the fall of their real price, with the nominal raising of our money; there is not much left, wherein landlords and creditors are to expect the recompence of twenty per cent. abatement of price in commodities, to make up their loss in the lightness of our money they are paid their rents and debts in. It would be easy to show the same thing, concerning our other native commodities, and make it clear that we have no reason to expect they should abate of their present price, any more than corn and labour: but this is enough, and any one who has a mind to it, may trace the rest at his leisure.

And thus I fear the hopes of cheaper penny-worths, which might beguile some men into a belief that landlords and creditors would receive no less by the proposed new money, is quite vanished. But if the promise of better penny-worths, and a fall of all commodities twenty per cent. should hold true, this would not at all relieve creditors and landlords, and set them upon equal terms with their neighbours: because the cheap penny-worths will not be for them alone, but every body else, as well as they, will share in that advantage; so that their silver being diminished one fifth in their rents and debts, which are paid them, they would still be twenty per cent. greater losers than their unhoarding neighbours, and forty per cent. greater losers than the hoarders of money; who will certainly get twenty per cent. in the money, whatever happens in the price of things: and twenty per cent. more in the cheapness of commodities, if that promised recompence be made good to creditors and landlords; for the hoarders of money (if the price of things falls) will buy as cheap as they; so that whatever is said of the cheapness of commodities, it is demonstration, (whether that proves true or no) that creditors and landlords, and all those who are to receive money upon bargains made before the proposed change of our coin, will unavoidably lose twenty per cent.

One thing Mr. Lowndes says in this paragraph is very remarkable, which I think decides the question. His words, , are these, “That if the value of the silver in the coins (by an extrinsic denomination) be raised above the value, or market-price, of the same silver reduced to bullion, the subjects would be proportionably injured and defrauded, as they were formerly in the case of base monies, coined by public authority.” It remains therefore only to show that the market-price of standard bullion is not one-fifth above our coin that is to be raised, and then we have Mr. Lowndes of our side too against its raising. I think it is abundantly proved already, that standard bullion neither is, nor can be, worth one-fifth more than our lawful weighty money: and if it be not, by Mr. Lowndes’s confession, there is no need of raising our present legal milled money to that degree; and it is only our clipped money that wants amendment: and when that is recoined and reduced all to milled and lawful money, that then too will have no need of raising. This I shall now prove out of Mr. Lowndes’s own words here.

Mr. Lowndes, in the forecited words, compares the value of silver in our coin to the value of the same silver reduced to bullion, which he supposing to be as four to five, makes that the measure of the raising our money. If this be the difference of value between silver in bullion, and silver in coin; and if it be true, that four ounces of standard bullion be worth five ounces of the same silver coined; or, which is the same thing, that bullion will sell by the ounce for six shillings and five pence unclipped money; I will take the boldness to advise his majesty to buy, or to borrow any where so much bullion, or, rather than be without it, melt down so much plate, as is equal in weight to twelve hundred pounds sterling of our present milled money. This let him sell for milled money; and, according to our author’s rule, it will yield fifteen hundred pounds. Let that fifteen hundred pounds be reduced into bullion, and sold again, and it will produce eighteen hundred and sixty pounds; which eighteen hundred and sixty pounds of weighty money being reduced into bullion, will still produce one-fifth more in weight of silver, being sold for weighty money; and thus his majesty may get at least three hundred and twenty thousand pounds by selling of bullion for weighty money, and melting that down into bullion, as fast as he receives it; till he has brought into his hands the million and six hundred thousand pounds, which Mr. Lowndes computes there is of weighty money left in England.

I doubt not but every one who reads it will think this a very rdiculous proposition. But he must think it ridiculous for no other reason, but because he sees it is impossible that bullion should sell for one-fifth above its weight of the same silver coined; that is, that an ounce of standard silver should sell for six shillings and five-pence of our present weighty money; for if it will, it is no ridiculous thing that the king should melt down, and make that profit of his money.

If our author’s rule (, where he says, “That the only just and reasonable foot, upon which the coins should be current, is the very price of the silver thereof, in case it be molten in the same place where coins are made current”) be to be observed; our money is to be raised but an halfpenny, or at most a penny in five shillings: for that was the ordinary odds in the price between bullion and coined silver, before clipping had deprived us, in commerce, of all our milled and weighty money. And silver in standard bullion would not be in value one jot above the same silver in coin, if clipped money were not current by tale, and coined silver, (as Mr. Lowndes proposes, .) as well as bullion, had the liberty of exportation. For when we have no clipped money, but all our current coin is weight, according to the standard, all the odds of value that silver in bullion has to silver in coin, is only owing to the prohibition of its exportation in money; and never rises, nor can rise above what the goldsmith shall estimate the risque and trouble of melting it down; which is so little that the importers of silver could never raise it to above a penny an ounce, but at such times as the East-India company, or some foreign sale, calling for a great quantity of silver at a time, made the goldsmiths scramble for it; and so the importers of bullion raise its price upon them, according to the present need of great quantities of silver which every goldsmith (eager to ingross to himself as much as he could) was content to pay high for, rather than go without: his present gains from those whom he furnished, and whom otherwise he could not furnish, making him amends.

The natural value then, between silver in bullion, and in coin, is (I say) every-where equal, bating the charge of coinage, which gives the advantage to the side of the coin. The ordinary odds here in England, between silver in bullion, and the same in our coin, is, by reason that the stamp hinders its free exportation, about a penny in the crown. The accidental difference, by reason of sudden occasions, is sometimes (but rarely) two-pence in five shillings, or somewhat more in great urgencies. And since the ordinary rate of things is to be taken as a measure of their price, and Mr. Lowndes tells us, . “That if the value of the silver in their coins should be raised above the value, or market-price of the same silver reduced to bullion, the subject would be proportionably injured and defrauded;” I leave him to make the inference, what will be the consequence in England, if our coin be raised here one fifth, or twenty per cent.

Mr. Lowndes says farther, . That silver has a price. I answer: silver to silver can have no other price, but quantity for quantity. If there be any other difference in value, it is, or can be nothing but one of these two: first, either the value of the labour employed about one parcel of silver more than another makes a difference in their price; and thus fashioned plate sells for more than its weight of the same silver; and in countries where the owners pay for the coin, silver in coin is more worth than its weight in bullion; but here, where the public pays the coinage, they are of very near equal value, when there is no need of exportation: for then there is no more odds than the trouble of carrying the bullion to the mint, and fetching again, are worth; or the charge of refining so much of it, as will bring it to standard, if it be worse than standard.

Or, secondly, some privilege belonging to one parcel of silver, which is denied to another, viz. here in England a liberty of exportation allowed to silver in bullion, denied to silver stamped. This when there is need of exportation of silver, gives some small advantage of value to uncoined silver here, above coined; but that is ordinarily very inconsiderable; and can never reach to one fifth, nor half one fifth, as has been already shown. And this I think will answer all that is said about the price of silver in that place.

It is true what Mr. Lowndes says, in the next words, . “That five shillings coined upon the foot proposed, will actually contain more real and intrinsic value of silver by a great deal, than is in the current money, now commonly applied to the payment of the said rents, revenues, and debts.” But will he hence conclude, because there is now lost in those rents, revenues, and debts, a great deal more than twenty per cent. under the present irregularity of our coin, and the robbery in clipped money, without any the least neglect, or miscarriage in the owner, that intitled him to that loss, that therefore it is just that the loss of twenty per cent. be established on him by law for the future, in the reforming of our coin?

Mr. Lowndes’s second reason for lessening of our coin, we have, , in these words, “The value of the silver in the coin ought to be raised, to encourage the bringing of bullion to the mint to be coined.” This raising of money is in effect, as has been seen, nothing but giving a denomination of more pence to the same quantity of silver, viz. That the same quantity of silver shall hereafter be called seventy-five pence, which is now called but sixty-pence. For that is all is done, as is manifest, when a crown-piece, which now but goes for sixty-pence, shall be made to go for seventy-five pence; for it is plain, it contains nothing of silver, or worth in it, more than it did before. Let us suppose, that all our silver coin now in England were sixpences, shillings, half-crowns, and crowns, all milled money, full weight, according to the present standard; and that it should be ordered, that for the future, the crown-piece, instead of going for sixty-pence, should go for seventy-five pence, and so proportionably, of all the other pieces; I ask then, how such a change of denomination shall bring bullion to the mint to be coined, and from whence? I suppose this change of names, or ascribing to it more imaginary parts of any denomination, has no charms in it to bring bullion to the mint to be coined: for whether you call the piece coined, twelve-pence, or fifteen-pence, or sixty, or seventy-five, a crown or a sceptre, it will buy no more silk, salt, or bread than it would before. That therefore cannot tempt people to bring it to the mint. And if it will pay more debts, that is perfect defrauding, and ought not to be permitted. Next, I ask, from whence shall this raising fetch it? For bullion cannot be brought hither to stay here, whilst the balance of our trade requires all the bullion we bring in to be exported again, and more silver out of our former stock with it, to answer our exigencies beyond sea. And whilst it is so, the goldsmiths and returners of money will give more for bullion to export, than the mint can give for it to coin; and so none of that will come to the mint.

But, says our author, . “An halfpenny an ounce profit, which will be in the proposed coin, above the present price of sterling bullion, will be an encouragement to those who have English plate, to bring it in to be coined.” I doubt whether there will be any such profit; for I imagine, that standard bullion cannot now be bought per ounce, for six shillings and five-pence of our clipped running cash, which is the measure whereby Mr. Lowndes determines of the price of sterling silver. But, taking this halfpenny an ounce profit for granted, it will not bring to the mint any plate, whose fashion is valued by the owner at above an halfpenny per ounce; and how much then it is like to bring it to the mint it is easy to guess.

The true and only good reason that brings bullion to the mint to be coined, is the same that brings it to England to stay there, viz. The gain we make by an over-balance of trade. When our merchants carry commodities abroad, to a greater value than those they bring home, the overplus comes to them in foreign coin, or bullion, which will stay here when we gain by the balance of our whole trade. For then we can have no debts beyond sea to be paid with it. In this thriving posture of our trade, those to whose share this bullion falls, not having any use of it whilst it is in bullion, choose to carry it to the mint to have it coined there, whereby it is of more use to them for all the business of silver in trade, or purchasing land; the mint having ascertained the weight and fineness of it: so that on any occasion every one is ready to take it at its known value, without any scruple; a convenience that is wanting in bullion. But when our trade runs on the other side, and our exported commodities will not pay for those foreign ones we consume, our treasure must go; and then it is in vain to bestow the labour of coining on bullion, that must be exported again. To what purpose is it, to make it pass through our mint, when it will away? The less pains and charge it costs us, the better.

His third reason, , is, that this raising our coin by making it “more in tale, will make it more commensurate to the general need thereof,” and thereby hinder the increase of hazardous paper-credit, and the inconveniency of bartering.

Just as the boy cut his leather into five quarters (as he called them) to cover his ball, when cut into four quarters it fell short: but after all his pains, as much of his ball lay bare as before: if the quantity of coined silver, employed in England, fall short, the arbitrary denomination of a greater number of pence given to it, or, which is all one, to the several coined pieces of it, will not make it commensurate to the size of our trade, or the greatness of our occasions. This is as certain, as that if the quantity of a board, which is to stop a leak of a ship fifteen inches square, be but twelve inches square, it will not be made to do it, by being measured by a foot, that is divided into fifteen inches, instead of twelve, and so having a larger tale, or number of inches in denomination given to it.

This, indeed, would be a convincing reason, if sounds would give weight to silver, and the noise of a greater number of pence (less in quantity proportionably as they are more in number) were a larger supply of money, which our author, , says our occasions require, and which he by an increase of the tale of pence hopes to provide. But that mistake is very visible, and shall be farther shown in the business of bartering.

The necessity of trust and bartering is one of the many inconveniencies springing from the want of money. This inconvenience the multiplying arbitrary denominations will no more supply, nor any ways make our scarcity of coin commensurate to the need there is of it, than if the cloth which was providing for clothing the army, falling short, one should hope to make it commensurate to that need there is of it, by measuring it by a yard one fifth shorter than the standard, or changing the standard of the yard, and so getting the full denomination of yards, necessary according to the present measure. For this is all will be done by raising our coin, as is proposed. All it amounts to is no more but this, viz. That each piece, and consequently our whole stock of money should be measured and denominated by a penny, one fifth less than the standard.

Where there is not coined silver, in proportion to the value of the commodities that daily change owners in trade, there is a necessity of trust of bartering, i. e. changing commodities for commodities, without the intervention of money. For example; let us suppose in Bermudas but an hundred pounds in ready money, but that there is every day there a transferring of commodities from one owner to another to the value of double as much. When the money is all got into hands, that have already bought all that they have need of, for that day, whoever has need of any thing else that day, must either go on tick, or barter for it, i. e. give the commodities he can best spare for the commodities he wants, v. g. sugar for bread, &c. Now it is evident here, that changing the denomination of the coin, they already have in Bermudas, or coining it over again under new denominations, will not contribute in the least towards the removing this necessity of trust or bartering. For the whole silver they have in coin being but four hundred ounces; and the exchange of the commodities, made in a distance of time, wherein this money is paid not above once, being to the value of eight hundred ounces of silver; it is plain, that one half of the commodities, that shift hands, must of necessity be taken upon credit, or exchanged by barter; those who want them having no money to pay for them. Nor can any alteration of the coin, or denomination of these four hundred ounces of silver, help this: because the value of the silver, in respect of other commodities, will not thereby be at all increased; and the commodities changed, being (as in the case) double in value to the four hundred ounces of coined silver to be laid out in them, nothing can supply this want but a double quantity, i. e. eight hundred ounces of coined silver; how denominated it matters not, so there be a fit proportion of small pieces to supply small payments.

Suppose the commodities passing every day in England, in markets and fairs, between strangers, or such as trust not one another, were to the value of a million of ounces of silver; and there was but half a million of ounces of coined silver in the hands of those who wanted those commodities; it is demonstration they must truck for them, or go without them. If then the coined silver of England be not sufficient to answer the value of commodities moving in trade amongst us, credit, or barter, must do it. Where the credit and money fail, barter alone must do it: which being introduced by the want of a greater plenty of coined silver, nothing but a greater plenty of coined silver can remove it. The increase of denomination does, or can do nothing in the case; for it is silver by its quantity, and not denomination, that is the price of things, and measure of commerce; and it is the weight of silver in it, and not the name of the piece, that men estimate commodities by, and exchange them for.

If this be not so, when the necessity of our affairs abroad, or ill husbandry at home, has carried away half our treasure, and a moiety of our money is gone out of England; it is but to issue a proclamation, that a penny shall go for two-pence, six-pence for a shilling, half a crown for a crown, &c. and immediately, without any more ado, we are as rich as before. And when half the remainder is gone, it is but doing the same thing again, and raising the denomination anew, and we are where we were, and so on: where, by supposing the denomination raised 15/16, every man will be as rich with an ounce of silver in his purse, as he was before when he had sixteen ounces there; and in as great plenty of money, able to carry on his trade, without bartering; his silver, by this short way of raising, being changed into the value of gold: for when silver will buy sixteen times as much wine, oil, and bread, &c. to-day, as it would yesterday, (all other things remaining the same, but the denomination) it hath the real worth of gold.

This, I guess, every body sees cannot be so. And yet this must be so, if it be true that raising the denomination one fifth can supply the want, or one jot raise the value of silver in respect of other commodities, i. e. make a less quantity of it to-day buy a greater quantity of corn, oil, and cloth, and all other commodities, than it would yesterday, and thereby remove the necessity of bartering. For, if raising the denomination can thus raise the value of coin, in exchange for other commodities, one fifth, by the same reason it can raise it two fifths, and afterwards three fifths, and again, if need be, four fifths, and as much farther as you please. So that, by this admirable contrivance of raising our coin, we shall be as rich, and so well able to support the charge of the government, and carry on our trade without bartering, or any other inconvenience, for want of money, with sixty thousand ounces of coined silver in England, as if we had six, or sixty millions. If this be not so, I desire any one to show me, why the same way of raising the denomination, which can raise the value of money, in respect of other commodities, one fifth, cannot, when you please, raise it to another fifth, and so on? I beg to be told where it must stop, and why at such a degree, without being able to go farther.

It must be taken notice of, that the raising I speak of here, is the raising of the value of our coin in respect of other commodities (as I call it all along) in contradistinction to raising the denomination. The confounding of these in discourses concerning money, is one great cause, I suspect, that this matter is so little understood, and so often talked of with so little information of the hearers.

A penny is a denomination no more belonging to eight than to eighty, or to one single grain of silver: and so it is not necessary that there should be sixty such pence, no more nor less, in an ounce of silver, i. e. twelve in a piece called a shilling, and sixty in a piece called a crown: such-like divisions being only extrinsical denominations, are every-where perfectly arbitrary. For here in England there might as well have been twelve shillings in a penny, as twelve pence in a shilling, i. e. the denomination of the less piece might have been a shilling, and of the bigger a penny. Again, the shilling might have been coined ten times as big as the penny, and the crown ten times as big as the shilling; whereby the shilling would have but ten-pence in it, and the crown an hundred. But this, however ordered, alters not one jot the value of the ounce of silver, in respect of other things, any more than it does its weight. This raising being but giving of names at pleasure to aliquot parts of any piece, viz. that now the sixtieth part of an ounce of silver shall be called a penny, and to-morrow that the seventy-fifth part of an ounce shall be called a penny, may be done with what increase you please. And thus it may be ordered by a proclamation, that a shilling shall go for twenty-four pence, an half-crown for sixty instead of thirty pence, and so of the rest. But that an half-crown should be worth, or contain sixty such pence, as the pence were before this change of denomination was made, that no power on earth can do. Nor can any power but that which can make the plenty or scarcity of commodities, raise the value of our money thus double, in respect of other commodities, and make that the same piece, or quantity of silver, under a double denomination, shall purchase double the quantity of pepper, wine, or lead, an instant after such proclamation, to what it would do an instant before. If this could be, we might, as every one sees, raise silver to the value of gold, and make ourselves as rich as we pleased. But it is but going to market with an ounce of silver of one hundred and twenty-pence, to be convinced that it will purchase no more than an ounce of silver of sixty-pence. And the ringing of the piece will as soon purchase more commodities, as its change of denomination, and the multiplied name of pence, when it is called six score instead of sixty.

It is proposed, that the twelve-pence should be raised to fifteen-pence, and the crown to seventy-five pence, and so proportionably of the rest; but yet that the pound sterling should not be raised. If there be any advantage in raising, why should not that be raised too? And, as the crown-piece is raised from sixty to seventy-five pence, why should not the pound sterling be raised in the same proportion, from two hundred and forty-pence to three hundred pence?

Further, If this raising our coin can so stretch our money, and enlarge our pared remainder of it, as “to make it more commensurate to the general need thereof, for carrying on the common traffic and commerce of the nation, and to answer occasions requiring a large supply of money,” as Mr. Lowndes tells us in his third reason, , why are we so niggardly to ourselves in this time of occasion, as to stop at one fifth? Why do we not raise it one full moiety, and thereby double our money? If Mr. Lowndes’s rule, , “That if the value of the silver in the coin should be raised above the market-price of the same silver, reduced to bullion, the subject would be proportionably injured and defrauded,” must keep us from these advantages, and the public care of justice stop the raising of the money at one fifth; because, if our money be raised beyond the market-price of bullion, it will be so much defrauding of the subject: I then say, it must not be raised one fifth, nor half one fifth, that is, it must not be raised fifteen-pence in the crown: no, nor five-pence. For I deny that the market-price of standard-bullion ever was, or ever can be five shillings seven-pence, of lawful weighty money, the ounce: so that if our present milled money be raised one fifth, the subjects will, by Mr. Lowndes’s rule, be defrauded sixteen per cent. nay. above eighteen per cent. For the market-price of standard bullion being ordinarily under five shillings four-pence the ounce, when sold for weighty money (which is but one thirtieth), whatever our present milled money is raised above one thirtieth, it is, by Mr. Lowndes’s rule, so much defrauding the subject. For the market-price of any thing, and so of bullion, is to be taken from its ordinary rate all the year round, and not from the extraordinary rise of two or three market-days in a year. And that the market-price of standard silver was not found, nor pretended to be above five shillings and four-pence the ounce, before clipping had left none but light running cash to pay for bullion, or any thing else, is evident from a paper then published, which I took the liberty to examine in my “considerations of the consequences of raising the value of money,” &c. printed 1692. The author of that paper, it is manifest, was not ignorant of the price of silver, nor had a design to lessen its rate, but set down the highest price it then bore.

If then Mr. Lowndes’s rule of justice, and care of the subject, be to regulate the rise of our milled money, it must not be raised above one thirtieth part. If the advantages he promises, of making our money, by raising it one fifth “more commensurate to the general need thereof,” be to be laid-hold on, it is reasonable to raise it higher, “to make it yet more commensurate to the general need there is of it.” Which-ever of the two Mr. Lowndes will prefer, either reason of state or rule of justice, one fifth must not be his measure of raising our present milled money. If the advantage of making our money more proportionate to our trade and other necessities, be to govern its proposed raising, every one will cry out to Mr. Lowndes, If your way will do what you say, the raising it one half will be much better than one fifth, and therefore pray let an half-crown be raised to a crown, and six-pence to a shilling. If equity and the consideration of the subjects property ought to govern in the case, you must not raise our milled crown to above five shillings and four-pence.

If it be here said to me, that I do then allow that our money may be raised one thirtieth, i. e. that the crown-piece should be raised to five shillings and two-pence, and so proportionably of the other species of our coin: I answer, he that infers so, makes his inference a little took quick.

But let us for once allow the ordinary price of standard silver to be five shillings four-pence the ounce, to be paid for in weighty coin (for that must always be remembered, when we talk of the rate of bullion) and that the rate of bullion is the just measure of raising our money. This I say is no reason for the raising our milled crown now to five shillings four-pence, and recoining all our clipped money upon that foot; unless we intend, as soon as that is done, to new raise and coin it again. For, whilst our trade and affairs abroad require the exportation of silver and the exportation of our coined silver is prohibited, and made penal by our law, standard bullion will always be sold here for a little more than its weight of coined silver. So that, if we shall endeavour to equal our weighty coined silver to standard bullion, by raising it, whilst there is a necessity of the exporation of silver, we shall do no otherwise than a child, who runs to overtake and get up to the top of his shadow, which still advances at the same rate that he does. The privilege that bullion has to be exported freely, will give it a little advance in price above our coin, let the denomination of that be raised, or fallen as you please, whilst there is need of its exportation, and the exportation of our coin is prohibited by law. But this advance will be but little, and will always keep within the bounds, which the risque and trouble of melting down our coin shall set to it, in the estimate of the exporter. He that will rather venture to throw an hundred pounds into his melting-pot, when no-body sees him, and reduce it to bullion, than give an hundred and five pounds for the same weight of the like bullion, will never give five shillings and five-pence of milled money for an ounce of standard bullion; nor buy at that price what he can have near five per cent. cheaper, without any risque, if he will not accuse himself. And I think it may be concluded, that very few, who have furnaces, and other conveniences ready for melting silver, will give one per cent. for standard bullion, which is under five shillings and three-pence per ounce, who can, only for the trouble of melting it, reduce our coin to as good bullion.

The odds of the price in bullion to coin on this account (which is the only one, when the coin is kept to the standard) can never be the reason for raising our coin to preserve it from melting down: because this price above its weight is given for bullion, only to avoid melting down our coin; and so this difference of price between standard bullion and our coin can be no cause of its melting down.

These three reasons which I have examined, contain the great advantages, which our author supposes the proposed raising of our coin will produce. And therefore I have dwelt longer upon them. His remaining six reasons being of less moment, and offering most of them but some circumstantial conveniences, as to the computation of our money, &c. I shall more briefly pass over. Only before I proceed to them, I shall here set down the different value of our money, collected from our author’s history of the several changes of our coin since Edward the first’s reign, quite down to this present time. A curious history indeed, for which I think myself, and the world, indebted to Mr. Lowndes’s great learning in this sort of knowledge, and his great exactness in relating the particulars.

I shall remark only the quantity of silver was in a shilling, in each of those changes; that so the reader may at first sight, without farther trouble, compare the lessening, or increase of the quantity of silver upon every change. For in propriety of speech, the adding to the quantity of silver in our coin is the true raising of its value; and the diminishing the quantity of silver in it, is the sinking of its value; however they come to be transposed, and used in the quite contrary sense.

If my calculations, from the weight and fineness I find set down in Mr. Lowndes’s extract out of the indentures of the mint, have not misled me, the quantity of silver to a grain, which was in a shilling in every change of our money, is set down in the following table:

And so it has remained from the 43d year of queen Elizabeth to this day.

Mr. Lowndes’s

69

Mr. Lowndes having given us the fineness of the standard silver in every reign, and the number of pieces a pound troy was coined into, closes this history with words to this purpose, , “By this deduction it doth evidently appear, that it hath been a policy constantly practised in the mints of England, to raise the value of the coin in its extrinsic denomination, from time to time, as any exigence or occasion required, and more especially to encourage the bringing of bullion into the realm to be coined.” This, indeed, is roundly to conclude for his hypothesis. But I could wish, that from the histories of those times, wherein the several changes were made, he had showed us the exigencies and occasions that produced the raising of the coin, and what effects it had.

If I mistake not, Henry the VIIIth’s several raisings of our coin brought little increase of silver into England. As the several species of our coin lessened in their respective quantities of silver, so the treasure of the realm decreased too: and he, that found the kingdom rich, did not, as I remember, by all his raising our coin, leave it so.

Another thing, that (from this history) makes me suspect, that the raising the denomination was never found effectively to draw silver into England, is the lowering the denomination, or adding more silver to the species of our coin: as in Hen. VI’s time, the shilling was increased from one hundred forty-two grains of silver to one hundred seventy-six: and in the sixth of Edw. VI, in whose time raising the denomination seems to have been tried to the utmost, when a shilling was brought to twenty grains of silver. And the great alteration that was then quickly made on the other hand, from twenty to eighty grains at one leap, seems to show that this lessening the silver in our coin had proved prejudicial: for this is a greater change in sinking of the denomination in proportion, than ever was made at once in raising it; a shilling being made four times weightier in silver, the sixth, than it was in the fifth year of Edward VI’s reign.

Kingdoms are seldom found weary of the riches they have, or averse to the increase of their treasure. If therefore the raising the denomination did in reality bring silver into the realm, it cannot be thought that they would at any time sink the denomination, which, by the rule of contraries, should be at least suspected to drive or keep it out.

Since, therefore, we are not from matter of fact informed, what were the true motives that caused those several changes in the coin; may we not with reason suspect, that they were owing to that policy of the mint, set down by our author, , in these words, “That the proposed advance is agreeable to the policy that in past ages hath been practised, not only in our mint, but in the mints of all politic governments; namely, to raise the value of silver in the coin to promote the work of the mint?” As I remember, suitable to this policy of the mint, there was, some two years since, a complaint of a worthy gentleman, not ignorant of it, that the mill in the mint stood still; and therefore there was a proposal offered for bringing grist to the mill.

The business of money, as in all times, even in this our quick-sighted age, hath been thought a mystery: those employed in the mint must, by their places, be supposed to penetrate deepest into it. It is no impossible thing then to imagine, that it was not hard, in the ignorance of past ages, when money was little, and skill in the turns of trade less, for those versed in the business and policy of the mint to persuade a prince, especially if money were scarce, that the fault was in the standard of the mint, and that the way to increase the plenty of money, was to raise (a well-sounding word) the value of the coin. This could not but be willingly enough hearkened to; when, besides the hopes of drawing an increase of silver into the realm, it brought present gain, by the part which the king got of the money, which was hereupon all coined a-new, and the mint officers lost nothing, since it promoted the work of the mint.

This opinion Mr. Lowndes himself gives sufficient grounds for in his book, particularly , where we read these words, “Although the former debasements of the coins, by public authority, especially those in the reigns of king Henry VIII. and king Edward VI. might be projected for the profit of the crown, and the projectors might measure that profit by the excessive quantities of alloy, that were mixed with the silver and the gold,” (and let me add, or by the quantity of silver lessened in each specie, which is the same thing.) “And though this was enterprized by a prince, who could stretch his prerogative very far upon his people; and was done in times, when the nation had very little commerce, inland or foreign, to be injured or prejudiced thereby; yet experience presently showed, that the projectors were mistaken, and that it was absolutely necessary to have the base money reformed.” This, at least, they were not mistaken in, that they brought work to the mint, and a part of the money coined to the crown for seniorage: in both which there was profit. Mr. Lowndes tells us, , “That Henry VIII. had to the value of fifty shillings for every pound weight of gold coined.” I have met with it somewhere, that formerly the king might take what he pleased for coinage. I know not too, but the flattering name of raising money might prevail then, as it does now; and impose so far on them as to make them think the raising, i. e. diminishing the silver in their coin, would bring it into the realm, or stay it here, when they found it going out. For if we may guess at the other by Henry VIII’s raising, it was probably when, by reason of expence in foreign wars, or ill-managed trade, they found money begin to grow scarce.

The having the species of our coin one-fifth bigger, or one-fifth less, than they are at present, would be neither good nor harm to England, if they had always been so. Our standard has continued in weight and fineness, just as it is now, for very near this hundred years last past: and those who think the denomination and size of our money have any influence on the state of our wealth, have no reason to change the present standard of our coin: since under that we have had a greater increase, and longer continuance of plenty of money, than perhaps any other country can show: I see no reason to think, that a little bigger or less size of the pieces coined is of any moment, one way or the other. The species of money in any country, of whatsoever sizes, fit for coining, if their proportions to one another be suited to arithmetic and calculations, in whole numbers, and the ways of accounts in that country; if they are adapted to small payments, and carefully kept to their just weight and fineness, can have no harm in them. The harm comes by the change, which unreasonably and unjustly gives away and tranfers men’s properties, disorders trade, puzzles accounts, and needs a new arithmetic to cast up reckonings, and keep accounts in; besides a thousand other inconveniencies; not to mention the charge of recoining the money; for this may be depended on, that, if our money be raised as is proposed, it will enforce the recoining of all our money, both old and new, (except the new shillings) to avoid the terrible difficulty and confusion there will be in keeping accounts in pounds, shillings, and pence, (as they must be) when the species of our money are so ordered as not to answer those denominations in round numbers.

This consideration leads me to Mr. Lowndes’s fifth and sixth reasons, , wherein he recommends the raising our money in the proportion proposed, for its convenience, to our accounting by pounds, shillings, and pence; and for obviating perplexity among the common people, he proposes the present weighty crown to go at six shillings three-pence; and the new scepter, or unit, to be coined of the same weight, to go at the same rate; and half-crowns, half-scepters, or half-units, of the weight of the present half-crown, to go for two shillings seven-pence half-penny: by no number of which pieces can there be made an even pound sterling, or any number of even shillings under a pound; but they always fall into fractions of pounds and shillings, as may be seen by the following table:

The present shilling, and new testoon, going for fifteen pence, no number of them make any number of even shillings; but five shillings, ten shillings, fifteen shillings, and twenty shillings; but in all the rest they always fall into fractions.

The like may be said of the present sixpences, and future half-testoons, going for seven-pence halfpenny; the quarter testoons, which are to go for three-pence three farthings; and the gross and groats, which are to go for five-pence; the half gross, or groat, which is to go for two-pence halfpenny, and the prime, which is to go for a penny farthing: out of any tale of each of which species there can no just number of shillings be made, as I think, but five shillings, ten shillings, fifteen shillings, and twenty shillings; but they always fall into fractions. This new-intended shilling alone seems to be suited to our accounting in pounds, shillings, and pence. The great pieces, as scepters and half-scepters, which are made to serve for the payment of greater sums, and are for dispatch in tale, will not in tale fall into even pounds: and I fear it will puzzle a better arithmetician than most countrymen are, to tell, without pen and ink, how many of the lesser pieces (except the shillings) however combined, will make just sixteen or seventeen shillings; and I imagine there is not one countryman of three, but may have it for his pains, if he can tell an hundred pounds made up of a promiscuous mixture of the species of this new-raised money (excluding the shillings) in a day’s time; and that, which will help to confound him, and every body else, will be the old crowns, half-crowns, shillings, and sixpences, current for new numbers of pence; so that I take it for granted, that if our coin be raised as is proposed, not only all our clipped, but all our weighty and milled money, must of necessity be recoined too; if you would not have trade disturbed, and people more diseased with new money, which they cannot tell, nor keep accounts in, than with light and clipped money, which they are cheated with; and what a charge the new coining of all our money will be to the nation, I have computed in another place. That I think is of some consideration in our present circumstances, though the confusion that this new raised money, I fear, is like to introduce, and the want of money, and stop of trade, when the clipped is called in, and the weighty is to be recoined, be of much greater.

His fourth, eighth, and ninth reasons, and 86, are taken from the saving our present milled money from being cut and recoined. The end I confess to be good: it is very reasonable that so much excellent coin, as good as ever was in the world, should not be destroyed. But there is, I think, a surer and easier way, to preserve it, than what Mr. Lowndes proposes. It is past doubt, it will be in no danger of recoining, if our money be kept upon the present foot: but if it be raised, as Mr. Lowndes proposes, all the present milled money will be in danger, and the difficulty of counting it upon the new proposed foot, will enforce it to be recoined into new pieces of crowns, half-crowns, shillings, and sixpences, that may pass for the same number of pence the present do, viz. 60, 30, 12, and 6, as I have above shown. He says in his fourth reason, that “if pieces having the same bigness should have different values, it might be difficult for the common people (especially those not skilled in arithmetic) to compute how many of one kind will be equal to the sum of another.” Such difficulties and confusion in counting money, I agree with him, ought carefully to be avoided; and therefore, since if pieces having the same bigness and stamp, which the people are acquainted with, shall have new values different from those which people are accustomed to; and these new values shall in numbers of pence not answer our way of accounting by pounds and shillings; “It will be difficult for the common people (especially those not skilled in arithmetic) to compute how many of any one kind will make any sum they are to pay or receive;” especially when the numbers of any one kind of pieces will be brought into so few even sums of pounds and shillings. And thus Mr. Lowndes’s argument here turns upon himself, and is against raising our coin to the value proposed by him, from the confusion it will produce.

His eighth reason, , we have in these words: “It is difficult to conceive how any design of amending the clipped money can be compassed, without raising the value of the silver remaining in them, because of the great deficiency of the silver clipped away, which (upon recoining) must necessarily be defrayed or born one way or other.”

It is no difficulty to conceive that clipped money, being not lawful money, should be prohibited to pass for more than its weight. Next, it is no difficulty to conceive, that clipped money, passing for no more than its weight, and so being in the state of standard bullion, which cannot be exported, should be brought to the mint, and there exchanged for weighty money. By this way, “it is no difficulty to conceive how the amending the clipped money may be compassed, because this way the deficiency of the silver clipped away will certainly be defrayed or born one way or other.”

And thus I have gone over all Mr. Lowndes’s reasons for raising our coin: wherein, though I seem to differ from him, yet I flatter myself, it is not altogether so much as at first sight may appear; since by what I find in another part of his book, I have reason to judge he is a great deal of my mind; for he has five very good arguments for continuing the present standard of fineness, each of which is as strong for continuing also the present standard of weight, i. e. continuing a penny of the same weight of standard silver, which at present it has. He that has a mind to be satisfied of this, may read Mr. Lowndes’s first five reasons for continuing the present standard of fineness, which he will find in his 29, 30, 31, and 32 pages of his report: and when Mr. Lowndes himself has again considered what there is of weight in them, and how far it reaches, he will at least not think it strange if they appear to me and others good arguments against putting less silver into our coin of the same denomination, let that diminution be made what way it will.

What Mr. Lowndes says about gold coins, , &c. appears to me highly rational, and I perfectly agree with him: excepting only that I do not think gold is in regard of silver risen one-third in England: which I think may be thus made out: A guinea weighing five penny-weights and nine grains, or one hundred and twenty-nine grains; and a pound sterling weighing one thousand eight hundred and sixty grains; a guinea at twenty shillings, is as one hundred and twenty-nine to one thousand eight hundred and sixty; that is, as one to fourteen and an half.

A guinea at two and twenty shillings, is as one hundred and twenty-nine to two thousand forty-two, i. e. as one to sixteen.

A guinea at thirty shillings, is as one hundred twenty-nine to two thousand seven hundred eighty-four, i. e. as one to twenty-one and an half, near.

He therefore that receives twenty shillings milled money for a guinea, receives one thousand eight hundred and sixty grains standard silver for one hundred and twenty-nine grains of standard gold, i. e. fourteen and an half for one.

He who receives two and twenty shillings milled money for a guinea, has two thousand forty-two grains standard silver for one hundred and twenty-nine grains standard gold, i. e. sixteen for one.

He who receives thirty shillings milled money for a guinea, has two thousand seven hundred eighty-four grains standard silver for one hundred twenty-nine grains of gold, i. e. twenty-one and an half for one.

But the current cash being (upon trials made about Midsummer last) computed by Mr. Lowndes, , to want half its standard weight, and not being mended since, it is evident, he who receives thirty shillings of our present clipped money for a guinea, has but one thousand three hundred ninety-two grains of standard silver for one hundred twenty-nine grains of gold, i. e. has but ten and three quarters of silver, for one of gold.

I have left out the utmost precisions of fractions in these computations, as not necessary in the present case, these whole numbers showing well enough the difference of the value of guineas at those several rates.

If it be true, what I here assert, viz. that he who receives thirty shillings in our current clipped money for a guinea, receives not eleven grains of silver for one of gold; whereas the value of gold to silver in all our neighbouring countries is about fifteen to one, which is about a third part more; it will probably be demanded how it comes to pass that foreigners, or others, import gold, when they do not receive as much silver for it here as they may have in all other countries? The reason whereof is visibly this, that they exchange it not here for silver, but for our commodities: and our bargains for commodities, as well as all other contracts, being made in pounds, shillings, and pence, our clipped money retains amongst the people (who know not how to count but by current money) a part of its legal value, whilst it passes for the satisfaction of legal contracts, as if it were lawful money. As long as the king receives it for his taxes, and the landlord for his rent, it is no wonder the farmer and tenant should receive it for his commodities. And this, perhaps, would do well enough, if our money and trade were to circulate only amongst ourselves, and we had no commerce with the rest of the world, and needed it not. But here lies the loss, when foreigners shall bring over gold hither, and with that pay for our commodities at the rate of thirty shillings the guinea, when the same quantity of gold that is in a guinea, is not beyond sea worth more silver than is in twenty, or one and twenty and sixpence of our milled and lawful money; by which way of paying for our commodities, England loses near one-third of the value of all the commodities it thus sells; and it is all one as if foreigners paid for them in money coined and clipped beyond sea, wherein was one-third less silver than there ought to be; and thus we lose near one-third in all our exportation, whilst foreign gold imported is received in payment for thirty shillings a guinea. To make this appear, we need but trace this way of commerce a little, and there can be no doubt of the loss we suffer by it.

Let us suppose, for example, a bale of Holland linen worth there one hundred and eighty ounces of our standard silver; and a bale of serge here worth also the same weight of one hundred and eighty ounces of the same standard silver; it is evident these two bales are exactly of the same value. Mr. Lowndes tells us, , “That at this time the gold that is in a guinea (if it were carried to Spain, Italy, Barbary, and some other places) would not purchase so much silver there, as is equal to the standard of twenty of our shillings,” i. e. would be in value there to silver scarce as one to fourteen and an half: and I think I may say that gold in Holland is, or lately was, as one to fifteen, or not much above. Taking then standard gold in Holland to be in proportion to standard silver as one to about fifteen, or a little more; twelve ounces of our standard gold, or as much gold as is in forty-four guineas and an half, must be given for that bale of Holland linen, if any one will pay for it there in gold: but if he buys that bale of serge here for one hundred and eighty ounces of silver, which is forty-eight pounds sterling, if he pays for it in gold at thirty shillings the guinea, two and thirty guineas will pay for it; so that in all the goods that we sell beyond sea for gold imported, and coined into guineas, unless the owners raise them one-third above what they would sell them for in milled money, we lose twelve in forty-four and an half, which is very near one third.

This loss is wholly owing to the permitting clipped money in payment; and this loss we must unavoidably suffer, whilst clipped money is current amongst us: and this robbing of England of near one-third of the value of the commodities we send out will continue, whilst people had rather receive guineas at thirty shillings than silver coin (no other being to be had) that is not worth half what they take it for; and yet this clipped money, as bad as it is, and however unwilling people are to be charged with it, will always have credit enough to pass, whilst the goldsmiths and bankers receive it; and they will always receive it, whilst they can pass it over again to the king with advantage, and can have hopes to prevail, that at last when it can be born no longer, must be called in, no part of the loss of light money, which shall be found in their hands, shall fall upon them, though they have for many years dealt in it, and by reason of its being clipped, have had all the running cash of the kingdom in their hands, and made profit of it. I say, clipped money, however bad it be, will always pass whilst the king’s receivers, the bankers of any kind, and at last the exchequer, take it; for who will not receive clipped money, rather than have none for his necessary occasions, whilst he sees the great receipt of the exchequer admits it, and the bank and goldsmiths will take it of him, and give him credit for it, so that he needs keep no more of it by him than he pleases? In this state, while the exchequer receives clipped money, I do not see how it can be stopped from passing. A clipped half-crown that goes at the exchequer, will not be refused by any one, who has hopes by his own or others hands to convey it thither, and who, unless he take it, cannot trade, or shall not be paid; whilst therefore the exchequer is open to clipped money, it will pass, and whilst clipped money passes, clippers will certainly be at work; and what a gap this leaves to foreigners, if they will make use of it, to pour in clipped money upon us, (as its neighbours did into Portugal) as long as we have either goods or weighty money, left to be carried away at fifty per cent. or greater profit, it is easy to see.

I will suppose the king receives clipped money in the exchequer, and at half, or three-quarters loss, coins it into milled money. For if he receives all, how much soever clipped, I suppose the clipper’s shears are not so squeamish as not to pare away above one-half. It will be a wonderful conscientiousness in them, no where that I know to be paralleled, if they will content themselves with less profit than they can make, and will leave seven penny-worth of silver in an half-crown, if six penny-worth and the stamp be enough to make it pass for half a crown. When his majesty hath coined this into milled money of standard weight, and paid it out again to the bankers, goldsmiths, or others, what shall then become of it? Either they will lay it up to get rid of their clipped money, for nobody will part with heavy money whilst he has any light; nor will any heavy money come abroad whilst there is light left; for whoever has clipped money by him, will sell good bargains, or borrow at any rate of those who are willing to part with any weighty, to keep that by him, rather than the clipped money he has in his hands; so that, as far as this reaches, no milled money, how much soever be coined, will appear abroad; or if it does, will it long escape the coiners and clippers hands, who will be at work presently upon it, to furnish the exchequer with more clipped money at fifty, sixty, seventy, or I know not what advantage? Though this be enough to cut off the hopes of milled money appearing in payments, whilst any clipped is current, yet to this we may add, that gold imported at an over-value, will sweep it away as fast as it is coined, whilst clipped money keeps up the rate of guineas above their former value. This will be the circulation of our money, whilst clipped is permitted any way to be current; and if store enough of clipped money at home, or from abroad, can be but provided, (as it is more than probable it may now the trade is so universal, and has been so long practised with great advantage, and no great danger, as appears by the few have suffered, in regard to the great numbers it is evident are engaged in the trade, and the vent of it here in England is so known and sure) I do not see how in a little while we shall have any money or goods at all left in England, if clipping be not immediately stopped; and how clipping can be stopped, but by an immediate, positive prohibition, whereby all clipped money shall be forbid to pass, in any payment whatsoever, or to pass for more than its weight, I would be glad to learn. Clipping is the great leak, which for some time past has contributed more to sink us, than all the forces of our enemies could do. It is like a breach in the sea-bank, which widens every moment till it be stopped; and my timorous temper must be pardoned, if I am frighted with the thoughts of clipped money being current one moment longer, at any other value but of warranted standard bullion: and therefore there can be nothing more true and reasonable, nor that deserves better to be considered, than what Mr. Lowndes says in his corollary, .

Whoever desires to know the different ways of coining money by the hammer and by the mill, may inform himself in the exact account Mr. Lowndes has given of both under his second general head; where he may also see the probablest guess that has been made of the quantity of our clipped money, and the silver deficient in it; and an account of what silver money was coined in the reigns of queen Elizabeth, king James Ist, and Charles Ist, more exact than it is to be had any where else. There is only one thing which I shall mention, since Mr. Lowndes does it here again under this head, , and that is melting down our coin; concerning which I shall venture humbly to propose these following questions:

1. Whether bullion be any thing but silver, whose workmanship has no value?

2. Whether that workmanship, which can be had for nothing, has, or can have, any value?

3. Whether, whilst the money in our mint is coined for the owners, without any cost to them, our coin can ever have any value above any standard bullion?

4. Whether, whilst our coin is not of value above standard bullion, goldsmiths, and others, who have need of standard silver, will not rather take what is by the free labour of the mint, already essayed and adjusted to their use, and melt that down, than be at the trouble of melting, mixing, and assaying of silver for the uses they have?

5. Whether the only cure for this wanton, though criminal melting down our coin, be not, that the owners should pay one moiety of the sixteen-pence halfpenny which is paid per pound troy for coinage of silver, which the king now pays all?

6. Whether by this means standard silver in coin will not be more worth than standard silver in bullion, and so be preserved from this wanton melting down, as soon as an over-balance of our trade shall bring us silver to stay here? for till then, it is in vain to think of preserving our coin from melting down, and therefore to no purpose till then to change that law.

7. Whether any laws, or any penalties, can keep our coin from being carried out, when debts contracted beyond seas call for it?

8. Whether it be any odds to England, whether it be carried out, melted down into bullion, or in specie?

9. Whether, whilst the exigencies of our occasions and trade call for it abroad, it will not always be melted down for the conveniency of exportation, so long as the law prohibits its exportation in specie?

10. Whether standard silver in coin and in bullion will not immediately be of the same value, as soon as the prohibition of carrying our money in specie is taken off?

11. Whether an ounce of silver the more would be carried out in a year, if that prohibition were taken off?

12. Whether silver in our coin, will not always, during the prohibition of its exportation, be a little less worth than silver in bullion, whilst the consumption of foreign commodities, beyond what ours pay for, makes the exportation of silver necessary? And so, during such a state, raise your money as much, and as you will, “silver in the coin will never fetch as much as the silver in bullion,” as Mr. Lowndes expresses it, .

As to the inconveniencies and damages we sustain by clipped money passing by tale as if it were lawful, nothing can be more true, more judicious, nor more weighty, than what Mr. Lowndes says, under his third general head; wherein I perfectly agree with him, excepting only where he builds any thing upon the proposed raising our coin one-fifth. And to what he says, , concerning our being “deprived of the use of our heavy money, by men’s hoarding it, in prospect that the silver, contained in those weighty pieces, will turn more to their profit than lending it at interest, purchasing, or trading therewith;” I crave leave to add, that those hoarders of money, a great many of them, drive no less, but rather a greater trade, by hoarding the weighty money, than if they let it go abroad; for by that means all the current cash being light, clipped, and hazardous money, it is all tumbled into their hands, which gives credit to their bills, and furnishes them, to trade for as much as they please, whilst every body else scarce trades at all, (but just as necessity forces) and is ready to stand still.

Where he says, , “It is not likely the weighty monies will soon appear abroad, without raising their value, and recoining the clipped monies:” I should agree with him if it ran thus: without recoining the clipped, and in the mean time making it go for its weight; for that will, I humbly conceive, bring out the heavy money, without raising its value, as effectually and sooner; for it will do it immediately: his will take up some time; and I fear, if clipped money be not stopped all at once, and presently, from passing any way in tale, the damage it will bring will be irreparable.

“Mr. Lowndes’s fourth general head is to propose the means that must be observed, and the proper methods to be used in and for the re-establishment of the silver coins.”

The first is, “That the work should be finished in as little time as may be: not only to obviate a farther damage by clipping in the interim, but also that the needful advantages of the new money may be sooner obtained for the service of the nation.”

These, I agree with him, are very good and necessary ends; but they are both to be attained, I conceive, much sooner by making clipped money go for its weight, than by the method Mr. Lowndes proposes; for this immediately puts an end to clipping, and obviates all farther damage thereby. Next, it immediately brings out all the hoarded weighty money, and so that advantage will be sooner obtained for the service of the nation, than it can any other way besides. Next, it preserves the use of clipped money for the service of the nation, in the interim, till it can be recoined all at the Tower.

His second proposition is, “That the loss, or the greatest part of it, ought to be born by the public, and not by particulars, who, being very numerous, will be prejudiced against a reformation for the public benefit, if it be to be effected at the cost of particular men.”

A tax given to make good the defect of silver in clipped money, will be paid by particulars; and so the loss will be born by particular men: and whether these particulars be not more numerous, or at least a great number of innocent men of them more sensibly burdened that way, than if it takes its chance in the hands of those men who have profited by the having it in their hand, will be worth considering. And I wish it here well weighed, which of the two ways the greater number of men would be most dangerously prejudiced against this reformation. But as Mr. Lowndes orders the matter, every body will, I fear, be prejudiced against this reformation, when (as he divides it, , 134,) the owners will bear near one-half of the loss, in the price of his clipped money, and every body else his part of the remainder, in a tax levied on them for it. I wish a remedy could be found without any body’s loss. Most of those ways I have heard proposed to make reparation to every particular man for the clipped money shall be found in his hands, do so delay the remedy, if not entail clipping upon us, that I fear such a care of particulars endangers the whole; and if that suffer, it will go but ill with particulars. I am not for hindering those who have clipped money from any recompense which can be provided and made them. The question here is not whether the honest countryman shall bear the loss of his clipped money, without any more ado, or pay a tax to recompense himself? That which, I humbly conceive, the nation is most concerned in, is that clipping should be finally stopped, and that the money which remains should go according to its true value, for the carrying on of commerce, and the present supply of people’s exigencies, till that part of it, which is defaced, can by the mint be brought to its legal and due form; and therefore I think it will be the rational desire of all particulars, that the shortest and surest way, not interfering with law or equity, should be taken to put an effectual end to an evil, which every moment it continues, works powerfully towards a general ruin.

His fourth proposition, “That no room must be left for jealousy,” I acknowledge to be a good one, if there can be a way found to obtain it.

I cannot but wonder to find the words, , “That no person whatsoever shall hereafter be obliged to accept, in legal payments, any money whatsoever that is already clipped, or may hereafter be clipped, or diminished; and that no person shall tender or receive any such money in payment, under some small penalty to be made easily recoverable, &c.”

As if any man now were obliged to receive clipped money in legal payments, and there were not already a law, with severe penalties, against those who tendered clipped money in payment.

It is a doubt to me, whether, the warden, masterworker, &c. of the mint at the Tower, could find fit and skilful persons enough to set nine other mints at work, in other parts of England, in a quarter of a year, as Mr. Lowndes proposes, . Besides, Mr. Lowndes tells us, , that the engines, which “put the letters upon the edges of the larger silver pieces, and mark the edges of the rest with a graining, are wrought secretly.” And, indeed, this is so great a guard against counterfeiting, as well as clipping our money, that it deserves well to be kept a secret, as it has been hitherto. But how that can be, if money be to be coined in nine other mints, set up in several parts, it is hard to conceive; and lastly, perhaps, some may apprehend it may be of ill consequence to have so many men instructed and employed in the art of coining only for a short job, and then turned loose again to shift for themselves by their own skill and industry, as they can.

The provision made in his fourth rule, , to prevent the gain of “subtle dealers by culling out the heaviest of the clipped pieces,” though it be the product of great sagacity and foresight, exactly calculated, and as well contrived, as in that case it can be; yet I fear is too subtle for the apprehension and practice of countrymen, who many of them, with their little quickness in such matters, have also but small sums of money by them, and so neither having arithmetic, nor choice of clipped money to adjust it to the weight there required, will be hardly made to understand it. But I think the clippers have, or will take care that there shall not be any great need of it.

To conclude; I confess myself not to see the least reason why our present milled money should be at all altered in fineness, weight, or value. I look upon it to be the best and safest from counterfeiting, adulterating, or any ways being fraudulently diminished, of any that ever was coined. It is adjusted to our legal payments, reckonings and accounts, to which our money must be reduced: the raising its denomination will neither add to its worth, nor make the stock we have more proportionate to our occasions, nor bring one grain of silver the more into England, nor one farthing advantage to the public: it will only serve to defraud the king, and a great number of his subjects, and perplex all; and put the kingdom to a needless charge of recoining all, both milled as well as clipped money.

If I might take upon me to offer any thing new, I would humbly propose, that since market and retail trade requires less divisions than sixpences, a sufficient quantity of four-penny, four-penny halfpenny, and five-penny pieces should be coined. These in change will answer all the fractions between sixpence and a farthing, and thereby supply the want of small monies, whereof I believe nobody ever saw enough common to answer the necessity of small payments; whether, either because there was never a sufficient quantity of such pieces coined, or whether, because of their smallness they are apter to be lost out of any hands, or because they oftener falling into children’s hands, they lose them, or lay them up; so it is, there is always a visible want of them; to supply which, without the inconveniencies attending very small coin, the proposed pieces, I humbly conceive, will serve.

If it be thought fit for this end to have four-pence, four-penny halfpenny, and five-penny pieces coined, it will, I suppose, be convenient that they should be distinguished from sixpences, and from one another by a deep and very large plain difference in the stamp on both sides, to prevent mistakes and loss of time in telling of money. The fourpence-halfpenny has already the harp for a known distinction, which may be fit to be continued; the five-pence may have the feathers, and the four-pence this mark IV. of four on the reverse; and on the other side they may each have the king’s head with a crown on it, to show on that side too that the piece so coined is one of those under a sixpence; and with that they may each, on that side also, have some marks of distinction one from another, as the five-pence this mark of V. the fourpence-halfpenny a little harp, and the four-pence nothing.

These or any other better distinctions which his majesty shall order, will in tale readily discover them, if by chance any of them fall into larger payments, for which they are not designed.

And thus I have, with as much brevity and clearness as I could, complied with what Mr. Lowndes professes to be the end of printing his report in these words, viz. “That any persons, who have considered an affair of this nature, may (if they please) communicate their thoughts for rendering the design here aimed at more perfect, or more agreeable to the public service.” It must be confessed, that my considerations have led me to thoughts, in some parts of this affair, quite opposite to Mr. Lowndes’s: but how far this has been from any desire to oppose him, or to have a dispute with a man, no otherwise known to me but by his civilities, and whom I have a very great esteem for, will appear by what I printed about raising the value of money, about three years since. All that I have said here, in answer to him, being nothing but the applying the principles I then went on, particularly now, to Mr. Lowndes’s arguments, as they came in my way, that so thereby others may judge what will, or will not, be the consequences of such a change of our coin, as he proposes; the only way, I think, of rendering his design more agreeable to the public services.

SHORT OBSERVATIONS ON A PRINTED PAPER, ENTITLED FOR ENCOURAGING THE COINAGE OF SILVER MONEY IN ENGLAND, AND AFTER FOR KEEPING IT THERE

The author says, “Silver yielding the proposed 2d. or 3d. more by the ounce, than it will do by being coined into money, there will be none coined into money, and matter of fact shows there is none.”

It would be hard to know what he means, when he says, “silver yields 2d. or 3d. more by the ounce, than it will do by being coined into money:” but that he tells us in plain words at the bottom of the leaf, “that an ounce of silver uncoined is of 2d. more value than after it is coined it will be;” which, I take the liberty to say, is so far from being true, that I affirm it is impossible to be so. For which I shall only give this short reason: viz. Because the stamp neither does, nor can take away any of the intrinsic value of the silver; and therefore an ounce of coined standard silver, must necessarily be of equal value to an ounce of uncoined standard silver. For example; suppose a goldsmith has a round plate of standard silver, just of the shape, size, and weight of a coined crown-piece, which, for brevity’s sake, we will suppose to be an ounce; this ounce of standard silver is certainly of equal value to any other ounce of unwrought standard silver in his shop; away he goes with his round piece of silver to the Tower, and has there the stamp set upon it; when he brings this numerical piece back again to his shop coined, can any one imagine that it is now 2d. less worth than it was, when he carried it out smooth, a quarter of an hour before; or that it is not still of equal value to any other ounce of unwrought standard silver in his shop? He that can say it is 2d. less worth than it was before it had the king’s image and inscription on it, may as well say, that 60 grains of silver, brought from the Tower, are worth but 58 grains of silver in Lombard-street.

But the author very warily limits this ill effect of coinage only to England; why it is in England, and not every where, would deserve a reason.

But let us grant it to be true, as our author affirms, that coined silver in England is one thirtieth worse, or of less value, than uncoined: the natural consequence from this, if it be true, is, that it is very unfit that the mint should be employed in England, where it debases the silver one thirtieth; for, if the stamp lessens the value of our silver this year, it will also do so the next, and so on to the end of the world, it always working the same way. Nor will the altering the denomination, as is proposed, at all help it.

But yet he thinks he has some proof for his proposition, because it is matter of fact there is no money coined at the mint. This is the great grievance, and is one indeed, but for a different reason from what seems to inspire that paper.

The matter in short is this; England sending more consumable commodities to Spain than it receives from thence, the merchants, who manage their trade, bring back the overplus in bullion, which, at their return, they sell as a commodity. The chapmen, that give highest for this, are, as in all cases of buying and selling, those who can make most profit by it; and those are the returners of our money, by exchange, into those countries, where our debts, any way contracted, make a need of it: for they getting 6, 8, 10, &c. per cent. according to the want and demand of money from England there, and according to the risque of the sea, buy up this bullion, as soon as it comes in, to send it to their correspondents in those parts, to make good their credit for the bills they have drawn on them, and so can give more for it than the mint-rate, i. e. more than equal weight of milled money for an equal weight of standard bullion; they being able to make more profit of it by returns.

Suppose the balance of our trade with Holland were in all other commodities equal, but that in the last East-India sale we bought of them of East-India commodities to the value of a million, to be paid in a month; within a month a million must be returned into Holland; this presently raises the exchange, and the traders in exchange sell their bills at high rates; but the balance of trade being (as is supposed in the case) equal in all other commodities, this million can no way be repaid to their correspondents, on whom those bills were drawn, but by sending them money, or bullion, to reimburse them.

This is the true reason why the bullion brought from Spain is not carried to the mint to be coined, but bought by traders in foreign exchange, and exported by them, to supply the overplus of our expences there, which are not paid for by our commodities. Nor will the proposed raising of our money, as it is called, whether we coin our money for the future one thirtieth, or one twentieth, or one half lighter than now it is, bring one ounce more to the mint than now, whilst our affairs in this respect remain in the same posture. And I challenge the author to show that it will; for saying is but saying. Bullion can never come to the mint to be coined, whilst the over-balance of trade and foreign expences are so great, that to satisfy them, not only the bullion your trade in some parts now yearly brings in, but also some of your formerly coined money is requisite, and must be sent out: but when a change in that brings in and lodges bullion here, (for now it seems it only passes through England) the increase of silver and gold staying in England will again bring it to the mint to be coined.

This makes it easily intelligible, how it comes to pass, that when now at the mint they can give but 5s. 2d. per ounce for silver, they can give 5s. 4d. the ounce in Lombard-street, (which is what our author means when he says, “silver is now worth but 5s. 2d. the ounce at the mint, and is worth 5s. 4d. elsewhere.”) The reason whereof is plain, viz. Because the mint, giving weighty money for bullion, can give so much and no more for silver than it is coined at, which is 5s. 2d. the ounce, the public paying all the odds, that is between coined and uncoined silver, which is the manufacture of coinage: but the banker, or returner of money, having use for silver beyond sea, where he can make his profit of it by answering bills of exchange, which he sells dear, must either send our money in specie, or melt down our coin to transport, or else with it buy bullion.

The sending our money in specie, or melting it down, has some hazard, and therefore, if he could have bullion for 5s. 2d. per ounce, or a little dearer, it is like he would always rather choose to exchange corn for bullion, with some little loss, rather than run the risque of melting it down for exportation.

But this would scarce make him pay 2d. in the crown, which is almost three and an half per cent. if there were not something more in it, than barely the risque of melting, or exportation; and that is the lightness of the greatest part of our current coin. For example, N. has given bills for thirty thousand pounds sterling in Flanders, and so has need of ten thousand weight of silver to be transported thither; he has thirty thousand pounds sterling by him in ready money, whereof five thousand pounds is weighty milled money; what shall hinder him then from throwing that into his melting-pot, and so reducing it to bullion, to be transported? But what shall he do for the other twenty-five thousand pounds, which, though he has by him, is yet clipped and light money, that is, at least twenty per cent. lighter than the standard? If he transports or melts down this, there is so much clear loss to him; it is therefore more advantage for him to buy bullion at 5s. 4d. the ounce with that light money, than to transport, or melt it down; wherein, though the seller of the bullion has less weight in silver than he parts with, yet he finds his account, as much as if he received it in weighty coin, whilst a clipped crown-piece, or shilling, passes as well in payment for any commodity here in England as a milled one. Thus our mint is kept from coining.

But this paper, For encouraging the coining, &c. would fain have the mill at work, though there be no grist to be had, unless you grind over again what is ground already, and pay toll for it a second time: a proposition fit only for the miller himself to make; for the meanest housewife in the country would laugh at it, as soon as proposed. However, the author pleases himself, and thinks he has a good argument to make it pass, viz. because the toll to be paid for it will not amount to three hundred and thirty thousand pounds, as is said in a late treatise about raising the value of money, , for, he says that writer is mistaken, in saying that “3s. and 6d. is allowed at the mint for the coinage of every pound troy,” whereas there is but sixteen-pence halfpenny there allowed for the same; which sixteen-pence halfpenny being above one-third of 3s. 6d. it follows by his own computation, that the new coining our money will cost the nation above one hundred and ten thousand pounds; a small sum in this our plenty of riches, to be laid out for the purchasing these following inconveniencies, without any the least advantage.

A loss to the king of one thirtieth (if you coin your money 2d. per crown, one twentieth, if you coin your money 3d. per crown lighter) of all his standing revenue.

A like loss of one twentieth, or one thirtieth, in all rents that are settled; for these have, during the term, the nature of rent-sec: but five per cent. loss in a man’s income he thinks so little, it will not be perceived.

Trouble to merchants in their trade. These inconveniencies he is forced to allow. He might have said disorder to all people in their trade, though he says it will be but a little trouble to merchants, and without any real damage to trade. The author would have done well to have made out this, and a great many other assertions in that paper; but saying is much easier, if that may pass for proof.

Indeed he has, by a short way, answered the book above-mentioned, in the conclusion of his paper, in these words: “And he that so grossly mistakes in so material points of what he would assert, it is plain is not free from mistakes.” It does not appear that he, who published that book, ever thought himself free from mistakes; but he that mistakes in two material points, may be in the right in two others, and those will still need an answer. But one of these material points will, I think, by what is already said, appear not to be a mistake; and for any thing the author of the paper hath said, or can say, it will always be true, that an ounce of silver coined, or not coined, is, and eternally will be, of equal value to any other ounce of silver. As to any other mistake, concerning the rate of coinage, it is like he had his information from some disinterested person, whom he thought worthy of credit. And whether it be 3s. 6d. as he was told, or only sixteen-pence halfpenny per pound troy, as the paper says, whether the reader will believe the one or the other, or think it worth his more exact inquiry, this is certain, the kingdom ought not to be at that, or any other charge, where there is no advantage, as there will be none in this proposed coinage, but quite the contrary.

In his answer to

Object. 1. He says from Edw. III. “Silver has from time to time (as it grew in esteem) been by degrees raised in all mints.” If an ounce of silver now not exchanging, or paying for what one tenth of an ounce would have purchased in Edw. IIId’s time, and so being ten times less worth now, than it was then, be growing in esteem, this author is in the right; else silver has not, since Edw. IIId’s reign, from time to time grown in esteem. Be that as it will, he assigns a wrong cause of raising of silver, as he calls it, in our mint. For if growing thus in request, i. e. by lessening its value, had been the reason of altering our money, this change of coin, or raising the denomination of silver in ours, and other mints, ought to have been greater by much, since Henry VII’s time, than it was between that and Edward IIId’s; because the great change of the value of silver has been made, by the plenty of it poured into this part of the world from the West-Indies, not discovered till Henry VII’s reign. So that I think I may say, that the value of silver from Edward III. to Henry VII. changed not one tenth, but from Henry VII. till now it changed above seven tenths; and yet, money having been raised in our mint two thirds since Edward IIId’s time, the far greater part of the raising of it, was before Henry VII’s time, and a very small part of it since; so that the cause, insinuated by our author, it is evident, was not the cause of lessening our coin so often, whatever it was: and it is possible there wanted not men of projects in those days, who for private ends, by wrong suggestions, and false reasonings, covered with mysterious terms, led those into mistakes, who had not the time and will nicely to examine; though a crown-piece three times as big as one of ours now, might, for its size alone, deserve to be reformed.

To Object. 2. he says, “The raising the denomination of money in Spain and Portugal, was making it go for more when coined, than its true value.”

This, I say, is impossible, and desire the author to prove it. It did in Spain and Portugal, just what it will do here and every-where; it made not the silver coined go for more than its value, in all things to be bought, but just so much as the denomination was raised, just so much the less of commodity had the buyer in exchange for it: as it would be here, if you should coin six-pences into shillings; if any one went to market with this new money, he would find that, whereas he had a bushel of wheat last week for eight shillings of the former coin, he would have now but half a bushel for eight of the new shillings, when the same denomination had but half the quantity of silver. Indeed those, who were to receive money upon former contracts, would be defrauded of half their due, receiving, in their full tale of any denomination contracted for, but half the silver they should have; the cheat whereof they would find, when they went to market with their new money. For this I have above proved, that one ounce of silver is, and eternally will be, equal in value to another ounce of silver; and all that can possibly put a difference between them, is only the different value of the workmanship, bestowed on one more than another, which in coinage our author tells in this paper is but sixteen-pence halfpenny per pound troy. I demand therefore, of our author, to show that any sort of coinage, or, as he calls it, raising of money, can raise the value of coined silver, or make it go for more than uncoined, bating the charge of coinage; unless it be to those who, being to receive money upon former contracts, will, by receiving the tale agreed for, receive less than they should of silver, and so be defrauded of what they really contracted for.

What effect such a raising of their money had in one particular, I will tell our author. In Portugal they count their money by reys, a very small, or rather imaginary coin, just as if we here should count all our sums by farthings. It pleased the government, possibly being told that it would raise the value of their money, to raise in denomination the several species, and make them go for a greater (let us suppose double the) number of reys than formerly. What was the consequence? It not only confounded the property of the subject, and disturbed affairs to no purpose; but treaties of commerce having settled the rates of the customs at so many reys on the several commodities, the king immediately lost in the value half his customs. The same that in proportion will happen in the settled revenue of the crown here, upon the proposed change.

For though our author in these words, “whereas all now desired by this act is to keep silver, when coined, of the same value it was before,” would insinuate, that this raising the denomination, or lessening our coin, as is proposed, will do no such thing; yet it is demonstration, that when our coin is lessened 3d. in 5s. the king will receive five per cent. less in value in his customs, excise, and all his settled revenue, and so proportionably, as the quantity of silver, in every species of our coin, shall be made less than now it is coined in those of the same denomination.

But, whatever our author means by “making money go for more when coined than its true value, or by keeping silver, when coined, of the same value it was before;” this is evident, that raising their money thus, by coining it with less silver in it than it had before, had not the effect in Portugal and Spain, which our author proposes from it here: for it has not brought one penny more to the mint there, nor kept their money, or silver, from exportation since, though forfeiture and death be the penalties joined in aid to this trick of raising to keep it in.

But our author tells us in answer to Object. 4. This “will scarce ever at all be perceived.” If of 100 guineas a man has in his pocket, five should be picked out, so he should not perceive it, the fraud and the loss would not be one jot the less; and though he perceived it not when, or how it was done, yet he will find it in his accounts, and the going so much back in his estate at the end of the year.

To Object. 3. he says, The “raising your coin (it may be) may raise the price of bullion here in England.” An ounce of silver will always be equal in value to an ounce of silver every where, baiting the workmanship. I say it is impossible to be otherwise, and require our author to show it possible in England, or any where, or else hereafter to spare his “may be.” To avoid fallacies, I desire to be understood, when I use the word silver alone, to mean nothing but silver, and to lay aside the consideration of baser metals that may be mixed with it; for I do not say that an ounce of standard, that has almost one twelfth of copper in it, is of equal value with an ounce of fine silver that has no alloy at all; but that any two ounces of equally alloyed silver will always be of equal value; the silver being the measure of commerce, it is the quantity of silver that is in every piece he receives, and not the denomination of it, which the merchant looks after, and values it by.

But this raising of the denomination our author would have pass, because it will be “better for the possessors of bullion,” as he says, Answ. 3. But who are they who now in England are possessed of so much bullion? or what private men are there in England of that consideration, that for their advantage, all our money should be new coined, and of a less weight, with so great a charge to the nation, and loss to his majesty’s revenue?

He farther adds, Answ. 3. It doth not thence inevitably follow, it will “raise the price of bullion beyond sea.”

It will as inevitably follow, as that nineteen ounces of silver will never be equal in weight, or worth, to twenty ounces of silver: so much as you lessen your coin, so much more you must pay in tale, as will make the quantity of silver the merchant expects, for his commodity; under what denomination soever he receives it.

The clothier, thus buying his Spanish wool, oil, and labour, at five per cent. more in denomination, sells his woollen manufacture proportionably dearer to the English merchant, who, exporting it to Spain, where their money is not changed, sells it at the usual market-rate, and so brings home the same quantity of bullion for it, which he was wont; which, therefore, he must sell to you at the same raised value your money is at: and what then is gained by all this? The denomination is only changed, to the prejudice of the public; but as to all the great matters of your trade, the same quantity of silver is paid for commodities as before, and they sold in their several foreign markets for the same quantity of silver. But whatever happens in the rate of foreign bullion, the raising of the denomination of our money will bring none of it to our mint to be coined; that depends on the balance of our trade, and not on lessening our coin under the same denomination: for whether the pieces we call crowns be coined 16, 24, or 100 grains lighter, it will be all one as to the value of bullion, or the bringing more, or less of it into England, or to our mint.

What he says in his answer to Object. 4. besides what we have already taken notice of, is partly against his bill, and partly mistake.

He says, “It may be some (as it is now) gain to those, that will venture to melt down the milled and heavy money now coined.” That men do venture to melt down the milled and heavy money is evident from the small part of milled money is now to be found of that great quantity of it that has been coined; and a farther evidence is this, that milled money will now yield four, or five more per cent. than the other, which must be to melt down, and use as bullion, and not as money in ordinary payments. The reason whereof is, the shameful and horrible debasing (or, as our author would have it, raising) our unmilled money by clipping.

For the odds betwixt milled and unmilled money being now, modestly speaking, above 20 per cent. and bullion, for reasons elsewhere given, being not to be had, refiners, and such as have need of silver, find it the cheapest way to buy milled money for clipped, at four, five, or more per cent. loss.

I ask, therefore, this gentleman, What shall become of all our present milled and heavy money, upon the passing of this act? To which his paper almost confesses, what I will venture to answer for him, viz. that as soon as such a law is passed, the milled and heavy money will all be melted down: for it being five per cent. heavier, i. e. more worth than what is to be coined in the mint, nobody will carry it thither to receive five per cent. less for it, but sell it to such as will give four or four and a half per cent. more for it, and at that rate melt it down with advantage: for Lombard-street is too quick-sighted, to give sixty ounces of silver for fifty-seven ounces of silver, when bare throwing it into the melting-pot will make it change for its equal weight. So that by this law five per cent. gain on all our milled money will be given to be shared between the possessor and the melter of our milled money, out of the honest creditor and landlord’s pocket, who had the guaranty of the law, that under such a tale of pieces, of such a denomination as he let his land for, he should have to such a value, i. e. such a weight in silver. Now I ask, Whether it be not a direct and unanswerable reason against this bill, that he confesses, that it will be “a gain to those, who will melt down the milled and heavy money,” with so much loss to the public; and not as he says, “with very small loss to those, that shall be paid in the new,” unless he calls five per cent. very small loss; for just so much is it to receive but fifty-seven grains, or ounces of silver, for sixty, which is the proportion in making your crowns 3d. lighter. This is certain, nobody will pay away milled or weighty crowns for debts, or commodities, when it will yield him four, or five per cent. more; so that which is now left of weighty money, being scattered up and down the kingdom, into private hands, which cannot tell how to melt it down, will be kept up, and lost to our trade. And, as to your clipped and light money, will you make a new act for coinage, without taking any care for that? The making a new standard for your money cannot do less than make all money, which is lighter than that standard, unpassable; and thus the milled and heavy money not coming into payment, and the light and clipped not being lawful money, according to the new standard, there must needs be a sudden stop of trade, and it is to be feared, a general confusion of affairs; though our author says, “it will not any ways interrupt trade.”

The latter part of the section, about raising the value of land, I take the liberty to say is a mistake; which, though a sufficient reply to an assertion without proof, yet I shall not so far imitate this author, as barely to say things: and therefore, I shall add this reason for what I say, viz. Because nothing can truly raise the value, i. e. the rent of land, but the increase of your money: but because raising the value of land is a phrase, which, by its uncertain sense, may deceive others, we may reckon up these several meanings of it.

The value of land is raised, when its intrinsic worth is increased, i. e. when it is fitted to bring forth a greater quantity of any valuable product. And thus the value of land is raised only by good husbandry.

The value of land is raised, when remaining of the same fertility, it comes to yield more rent, and thus its value is raised only by a greater plenty of money and treasure.

Or it may be raised in our author’s way, which is, by raising the rent in tale of pieces, but not in the quantity of silver received for it; which, in truth, is no raising it at all, any more than it could be accounted the raising of a man’s rent, if he let his land this year for forty sixpences, which last year he let for twenty shillings. Nor would it alter the case, if he should call those forty sixpences forty shillings; for having but half the silver of forty shillings in them, they would be but of half the value, however their denomination were changed.

In his answer to the fifth objection, there is this dangerous insinuation, That coin in any country where it is coined, goes not by weight, i. e. has its value from the stamp and denomination, and not the quantity of silver in it. Indeed, in contracts already made, if your species be by law coined a fifth part lighter, under the same denomination, the creditor must take a hundred such light shillings, or twenty such light crown-pieces for 5l. if the law calls them so, but he loses one fifth, in the intrinsic value of his debt. But, in bargains to be made, and things to be purchased, money has, and will always have its value from the quantity of silver in it, and not from the stamp and denomination, as has been already proved, and will, some time or other, be evidenced with a witness, in the clipped money. And if it were not so, that the value of money were not according to the quantity of silver in it, i. e. that it goes by weight, I see no reason why clipping should be so severely punished.

As to foreigners, he is forced to confess, that it is all one what our money is, greater or less, who regard only the quantity of silver, they sell their goods for; how then can the lessening our money bring more plenty of bullion into England, or to the mint?

But he says, “The owners and importers of silver will find a good market at the mint, &c.” But always a better in Lombard-street, and not a grain of it will come to the mint, as long as by an under-balance of trade, or other foreign expences, we contract debts beyond sea, which require the remitting of greater sums thither, than are imported in bullion. “If for above forty years after silver was raised, in the forty-third year of queen Elizabeth, from 5s. to 5s. 2d. the ounce, uncoined silver was not worth above 4s. 10d. per ounce;” — the cause was not that of raising silver in the mint, but an over-balance of trade, which bringing in an increase of silver yearly, for which men having no occasion abroad, brought it to the mint to be coined, rather than let it lie dead by them in bullion: and whenever that is the case again in England, it will occasion coining again, and not till then. “No money was in those days exported,” says he; no, nor bullion neither, say I; why should, or how could it, when our exported merchandize paid for all the commodities we brought home, with an overplus of silver and gold, which, staying here, set the mint on work. But the passing this bill, will not hinder the exportation of one ounce either of bullion or money, which must go, if you contract debts beyond sea; and how its having been once melted in England, which is another thing proposed in this bill, shall hinder its exportation, is hard to conceive, when even coining has not been able to do it, as is demonstrable, if it be examined what vast sums of milled money have been coined in the two last reigns, and how little of it is now left. Besides, if the exportation of bullion should be brought under any greater difficulty than of any other commodity, it is to be considered whether the management of that trade, which is in skilful hands, will not thereupon be so ordered, as to divert it from coming to England for the future, and cause it to be sent from Spain, directly to those places, where they know English debts will make it turn to best account, to answer bills of exchange sent hither.

SOME THOUGHTS CONCERNING EDUCATION

THE 1824 TEXT

Some Thoughts Concerning Education, a 1693 treatise concerning the education of gentlemen, was regarded for over a century as the most important philosophical work on education in Britain. The text was translated into almost all of the major written European languages during the eighteenth century, and nearly every European writer on education after Locke, including Jean-Jacques Rousseau, acknowledged its influence. Locke outlines a new theory of mind, contending that the gentleman’s mind was a tabula rasa or “blank slate”; containing no innate ideas. The treatise explains how to educate that mind using three distinct methods: the development of a healthy body; the formation of a virtuous character; and the choice of an appropriate academic curriculum.

Locke attempts to popularise several strands of seventeenth century educational reform as well as introduce his own philosophical ideas on education. English writers such as John Evelyn, John Aubrey, John Eachard and John Milton had previously advocated similar reforms in curriculum and teaching methods, but they had not succeeded in reaching a wide audience. As England became increasingly mercantilist and secularist, the humanist educational values of the Renaissance, which had enshrined scholasticism, came to be regarded by many as irrelevant. Following in the intellectual tradition of Francis Bacon, who had challenged the cultural authority of the classics, reformers such as Locke argued against Cambridge and Oxford’s decree that “all Bachelaur and Undergraduats in their Disputations should lay aside their various Authors, such that caused many dissensions and strifes in the Schools, and only follow Aristotle and those that defend him, and take their Questions from him, and that they exclude from the Schools all steril and inane Questions, disagreeing from the antient and true Philosophy .” Instead of demanding that their sons spend all of their time studying Greek and Latin texts, an increasing number of families began to demand a practical education for their sons; by exposing them to the emerging sciences, mathematics, and the modern languages, these parents hoped to prepare their sons for the changing economy and, indeed, for the new world they saw forming around them.

In 1684 Edward Clarke asked his friend, John Locke, for advice on raising his son and heir, Edward, Jr.; Locke responded with a series of letters that eventually served as the basis of Some Thoughts Concerning Education. But it was not until nine years later in 1693, encouraged by the Clarkes and another friend, William Molyneux, that Locke actually published the treatise. Locke felt timid when it came to public exposure and decided to publish the text anonymously, as he had done with other major works.  Although Locke revised and expanded the text five times before he died, he never substantially altered its style. 

Of Locke’s major claims in the treatise, two factors play a defining role in eighteenth century educational theory. The first is that education makes the man; as Locke writes at the opening of his treatise, “I think I may say that of all the men we meet with, nine parts of ten are what they are, good or evil, useful or not, by their education.” Locke argues against both the Augustinian view of man, which grounds its conception of humanity in original sin, and the Cartesian position, which holds that man innately knows basic logical propositions. Locke posits an “empty” mind — a tabula rasa — that is “filled” by experience. In describing the mind in these terms, Locke draws from Plato’s Theatetus, which suggests that the mind is like a “wax tablet”. Although Locke argues strenuously for the tabula rasa theory of mind, he nevertheless believes in innate talents and interests.

Locke also discusses a theory of the self. He writes: “the little and almost insensible impressions on our tender infancies have very important and lasting consequences.” That is, the “associations of ideas” made when young are more significant than those made when mature because they are the foundation of the self — they mark the tabula rasa. In the treatise, in which he first introduces the theory of the association of ideas, Locke warns against letting “a foolish maid” convince a child that “goblins and sprites” are associated with the darkness, for “darkness shall ever afterwards bring with it those frightful ideas, and they shall be so joined, that he can no more bear the one than the other.” Locke’s emphasis on the role of experience in the formation of the mind and his concern with false associations of ideas has led many to characterise his theory of mind as passive rather than active.

Locke dedicates the bulk of Some Thoughts Concerning Education to explaining how to instil virtue in children. He defines virtue as a combination of self-denial and rationality: “that a man is able to deny himself his own desires, cross his own inclinations, and purely follow what reason directs as best, though the appetite lean the other way”. Future virtuous adults must be able not only to practice self-denial but also to see the rational path. Locke is convinced that children can reason early in life and that parents should address them as reasoning beings. Moreover, he argues that parents should, above all, attempt to create a “habit” of thinking rationally in their children. Locke continually emphasises habit over rule — children should internalise the habit of reasoning rather than memorise a complex set of prohibitions. This focus on rationality and habit corresponds to two of Locke’s concerns in the Essay Concerning Human Understanding.

The first edition’s title page

SOME THOUGHTS CONCERNING EDUCATION.

JOHN LOCKE

March 7, 1690

EDWARD CLARKE

TO EDWARD CLARKE, OF CHIPLEY, ESQ.

SIR,

These Thoughts concerning Education, which now come abroad into the world, do of right belong to you, being written several years since for your sake, and are no other than what you have already by you in my letters. I have so little varied any thing, but only the order of what was sent you at different times, and on several occasions, that the reader will easily find, in the familiarity and fashion of the style, that they were rather the private conversation of two friends, than a discourse designed for public view.

The importunity of friends is the common apology for publications men are afraid to own themselves forward to. But you know I can truly say, that if some, who having heard of these papers of mine, had not pressed to see them, and afterwards to have them printed, they had lain dormant still in that privacy they were designed for. But those whose judgment I defer much to, telling me, that they were persuaded, that this rough draught of mine might be of some use, if made more public, touched upon what will always be very prevalent with me. For I think it every man’s indispensable duty, to do all the service he can to his country; and I see not what difference he puts between himself and his cattle, who lives without that thought. This subject is of so great concernment, and a right way of education is of so general advantage, that did I find my abilities answer my wishes, I should not have needed exhortations or importunities from others. However, the meanness of these papers, and my just distrust of them, shall not keep me, by the shame of doing so little, from contributing my mite, where there is no more required of me, than my throwing it into the public receptacle. And if there be any more of their size and notions, who liked them so well, that they thought them worth printing, I may flatter myself, they will not be lost labour to every body.

I myself have been consulted of late by so many, who profess themselves at a loss how to breed their children; and the early corruption of youth is now become so general a complaint; that he cannot be thought wholly impertinent, who brings the consideration of this matter on the stage, and offers something, if it be but to excite others, or afford matter of correction. For errours in education should be less indulged than any: these, like faults in the first concoction, that are never mended in the second or third, carry their afterwards-incorrigible taint with them, through all the parts and stations of life.

I am so far from being conceited of any thing I have here offered, that I should not be sorry, even for your sake, if some one abler and fitter for such a task, would in a just treatise of education, suited to our English gentry, rectify the mistakes I have made in this: it being much more desirable to me, that young gentlemen should be put into (that which every one ought to be solicitous about) the best way of being formed and instructed, than that my opinion should be received concerning it. You will however, in the mean time, bear me witness, that the method here proposed has had no ordinary effects upon a gentleman’s son, it was not designed for. I will not say the good temper of the child did not very much contribute to it, but this I think, you and the parents are satisfied of, that a contrary usage, according to the ordinary disciplining of children, would not have mended that temper, nor have brought him to be in love with his book; to take a pleasure in learning, and to desire, as he does, to be taught more, than those about him think fit always to teach him.

But my business is not to recommend this treatise to you, whose opinion of it I know already; nor it to the world, either by your opinion or patronage. The well educating of their children is so much the duty and concern of parents, and the welfare and prosperity of the nation so much depends on it, that I would have every one lay it seriously to heart; and after having well examined and distinguished what fancy, custom, or reason advises in the case, set his helping hand to promote every-where that way of training up youth, with regard to their several conditions, which is the easiest, shortest, and likeliest to produce virtuous, useful, and able men in their distinct callings: though that most to be taken care of, is the gentleman’s calling. For if those of that rank are by their education once set right, they will quickly bring all the rest into order.

I know not whether I have done more than shown my good wishes towards it in this short discourse; such as it is the world now has it; and if there be any thing in it worth their acceptance, they owe their thanks to you for it. My affection to you gave the first rise to it, and I am pleased, that I can leave to posterity this mark of the friendship has been between us. For I know no greater pleasure in this life, nor a better remembrance to be left behind one, than a long continued friendship, with an honest, useful, and worthy man, and lover of his country.

I am, SIR,
Your most humble
And most faithful servant,

JOHN LOCKE.

March 7, 1690.

§ 1. A sound mind in a sound body, is a short, but full description of a happy state in this world; he that has these two, has little more to wish for; and he that wants either of them, will be but little the better for any thing else. Men’s happiness, or misery, is most part of their own making. He whose mind directs not wisely, will never take the right way; and he whose body is crazy and feeble, will never be able to advance in it. I confess, there are some men’s constitutions of body and mind so vigorous, and well framed by nature, that they need not much assistance from others; but, by the strength of their natural genius, they are, from their cradles, carried towards what is excellent; and, by the privilege of their happy constitutions, are able to do wonders. But examples of this kind are but few; and I think I may say, that, of all the men we meet with, nine parts of ten are what they are, good or evil, useful or not, by their education. It is that which makes the great difference in mankind. The little, or almost insensible, impressions on our tender infancies, have very important and lasting consequences; and there it is, as in the fountains of some rivers, where a gentle application of the hand turns the flexible waters into channels, that make them take quite contrary courses; and by this little direction, given them at first, in the source, they receive different tendencies, and arrive at last at very remote and distant places.

§ 2. I imagine the minds of children, as easily turned, this or that way, as water itself; and though this be the principal part, and our main care should be about the inside, yet the clay cottage is not to be neglected. I shall therefore begin with the case, and consider first the healthHealth. of the body, as that which perhaps you may rather expect, from that study I have been thought more peculiarly to have applied myself to; and that also which will be soonest despatched, as lying, if I guess not amiss, in a very little compass.

§ 3. How necessary health is to our business and happiness; and how requisite a strong constitution, able to endure hardships and fatigue, is, to one that will make any figure in the world; is too obvious to need any proof.

§ 4. The consideration I shall here have, of health, shall be, not what a physician ought to do, with a sick or crazy child; but what the parents, without the help of physic, should do for the preservation and improvement of an healthy, or, at least, not sickly constitution, in their children: and this perhaps might be all dispatched in this one short rule, viz. that gentlemen should use their children, as the honest farmers and substantial yeomen do theirs. But because the mothers, possibly, may think this a little too hard, and the fathers, too short, I shall explain myself more particularly; only laying down this, as a general and certain observation for the women to consider, viz. that most children’s constitutions are either spoiled, or at least harmed, by cockering and tenderness.Tenderness.

§ 5. The first thing to be taken care of, is, that children be not too warmlyWarmth. clad or covered, winter or summer. The face, when we are born, is no less tender than any other part of the body: it is use alone hardens it, and makes it more able to endure the cold. And therefore the Scythian philosopher gave a very significant answer to the Athenian, who wondered how he could go naked in frost and snow: “How,” said the Scythian, “can you endure your face exposed to the sharp winter air?” “My face is used to it,” said the Athenian. “Think me all face,” replied the Scythian. Our bodies will endure any thing, that from the beginning they are accustomed to.

An eminent instance of this, though in the contrary excess of heat, being to our present purpose, to show what use can do, I shall set down in the author’s words, as I meet with it in a late ingenious voyage: ‘The heats, says he, are more violent in Malta, than in any part of Europe: they exceed those of Rome itself, and are perfectly stifling; and so much the more, because there are seldom any cooling breezes here. This makes the common people as black as gypsies: but yet the peasants defy the sun: they work on, in the hottest part of the day, without intermission, or sheltering themselves from his scorching rays. This has convinced me that nature can bring itself to many things, which seem impossible, provided we accustom ourselves from our infancy. The Malteses do so, who harden the bodies of their children, and reconcile them to the heat, by making them go stark naked, without shirt, drawers, or any thing on their head, from their cradles, till they are ten years old.’

Give me leave, therefore, to advise you, not to fence too carefully against the cold of this our climate: there are those in England, who wear the same clothes winter and summer, and that without any inconvenience, or more sense of cold than others find. But if the mother will needs have an allowance for frost and snow, for fear of harm; and the father, for fear of censure; be sure let not his winter-clothing be too warm: and amongst other things remember, that when nature has so well covered his head with hair, and strengthened it with a year or two’s age, that he can run about by day without a cap, it is best that by night a child should also lie without one; there being nothing that more exposes to head-ach, colds, catarrhs, coughs, and several other diseases, than keeping the head warm.

§ 6. I have said [he] here, because the principal aim of my discourse is, how a young gentleman should be brought up from his infancy, which in all things will not so perfectly suit the education of daughters; though, where the difference of sex requires different treatment, it will be no hard matter to distinguish.

§ 7. I would also advise his feetFeet. to be washed every day in cold water; and to have his shoes so thin, that they might leak and let in water, whenever he comes near it. Here, I fear, I shall have the mistress, and maids too, against me. One will think it too filthy; and the other, perhaps, too much pains to make clean his stockings. But yet truth will have it, that his health is much more worth than all such considerations, and ten times as much more. And he that considers how mischievous and mortal a thing, taking wet in the feet is, to those who have been bred nicely, will wish he had, with the poor people’s children, gone bare-foot; who, by that means, come to be so reconciled by custom, to wet their feet, that they take no more cold or harm by it, than if they were wet in their hands. And what is it, I pray, that makes this great difference between the hands and the feet in others, but only custom? I doubt not, but if a man from his cradle had been always used to go bare-foot, whilst his hands were constantly wrapped up in warm mittens, and covered with handshoes, as the Dutch call gloves; I doubt not, I say, but such a custom would make taking wet in his hands as dangerous to him, as now taking wet in their feet is to a great many others. The way to prevent this, is to have his shoes made so, as to leak water; and his feet washed constantly every day in cold water. It is recommendable for its cleanliness: but that which I aim at in it, is health. And therefore I limit it not precisely to any time of the day. I have known it used every night, with very good success, and that, all the winter, without the omitting it so much as one night, in extreme cold weather: when thick ice covered the water, the child bathed his legs and feet in it; though he was of an age not big enough to rub and wipe them himself; and when he began this custom, was puling and very tender. But the great end being to harden those parts, by a frequent and familiar use of cold water, and thereby to prevent the mischiefs, that usually attend accidental taking wet in the feet, in those who are bred otherwise; I think it may be left to the prudence and convenience of the parents, to choose either night or morning. The time I deem indifferent, so the thing be effectually done. The health and hardiness procured by it, would be a good purchase at a much dearer rate. To which if I add the preventing of corns, that to some men would be a very valuable consideration. But begin first in the spring with lukewarm, and so colder and colder every time, till in a few days you come to perfectly cold water, and then continue it so, winter and summer. For it is to be observed in this, as in all other alterationsAlterations. from our ordinary way of living, the changes must be made by gentle and insensible degrees; and so we may bring our bodies to any thing, without pain, and without danger.

How fond mothers are like to receive this doctrine, is not hard to foresee. What can it be less than to murder their tender babes to use them thus? What! put their feet in cold water in frost and snow, when all one can do is little enough to keep them warm! A little to remove their fears by examples, without which the plainest reason is seldom hearkened to; Seneca tells us of himself, e and 83, that he used to bathe himself in cold spring water in the midst of winter. This, if he had not thought it not only tolerable, but healthy too, he would scarce have done, in an exuberant fortune, that could well have borne the expence of a warm bath; and in an age (for he was then old) that would have excused greater indulgence. If we think his stoical principles led him to this severity; let it be so, that this sect reconciled cold water to his sufferance: what made it agreeable to his health? for that was not impaired by this hard usage. But what shall we say to Horace, who armed not himself with the reputation of any sect, and least of all affected stoical austerities? yet he assures us he was wont in the winter season to bathe himself in cold water. But perhaps Italy will be thought much warmer than England, and the chilliness of their waters not to come near ours in winter. If the rivers of Italy are warmer, those of Germany and Poland are much colder, than any in this our country; and yet in these, the jews, both men and women, bathe all over, at all seasons of the year, without any prejudice to their health. And every one is not apt to believe it is a miracle, or any peculiar virtue of St. Winifred’s well, that makes the cold waters of that famous spring do no harm to the tender bodies that bathe in it. Every one is now full of the miracles done, by cold baths, on decayed and weak constitutions, for the recovery of health and strength; and therefore they cannot be impracticable, or intolerable, for the improving and hardening the bodies of those who are in better circumstances.

If these examples of grown men be not thought yet to reach the case of children, but that they may be judged still to be too tender and unable to bear such usage; let them examine what the Germans of old, and the Irish now do to them; and they will find that infants too, as tender as they are thought, nay, without any danger, endure bathing, not only of their feet, but of their whole bodies in cold water. And there are, at this day, ladies in the highlands of Scotland, who use this discipline to their children, in the midst of winter; and find that cold water does them no harm, even when there is ice in it.

§ 8. I shall not need here to mention swimming,Swimming. when he is of an age able to learn, and has any one to teach him. It is that saves many a man’s life: and the Romans thought it so necessary, that they ranked it with letters; and it was the common phrase to mark one ill-educated, and good for nothing; that he had neither learned to read, nor to swim: “Nec literas didicit, nec natare.” But besides the gaining a skill, which may serve him at need; the advantages to health, by often bathing in cold water, during the heat of summer, are so many, that I think nothing need to be said to encourage it; provided this one caution be used, that he never go into the water, when exercise has at all warmed him, or left any emotion in his blood or pulse.

§ 9. Another thing, that is of great advantage to every one’s health, but especially children’s, is, to be much in the open air,Air. and very little, as may be, by the fire, even in winter. By this he will accustom himself also to heat and cold, shine and rain; all which if a man’s body will not endure, it will serve him to very little purpose in this world: and when he is grown up, it is too late to begin to use him to it: it must be got early and by degrees. Thus the body may be brought to bear almost any thing. If I should advise him to play in the wind and sun without a hat, I doubt whether it could be born. There would a thousand objections be made against it, which at last would amount to no more, in truth, than being sunburnt. And if my young master be to be kept always in the shade, and never exposed to the sun and wind, for fear of his complexion, it may be a good way to make him a beau, but not a man of business. And although greater regard be to be had to beauty in the daughters, yet I will take the liberty to say, that the more they are in the air, without prejudice to their faces, the stronger and healthier they will be; and the nearer they come to the hardships of their brothers in their education, the greater advantage will they receive from it, all the remaining part of their lives.

§ 10. Playing in the open air has but this one danger in it, that I know: and that is, that when he is hot with running up and down, he should sit or lie down on the cold or moist earth. This, I grant, and drinking cold drink, when they are hot with labour or exercise, brings more people to the grave, or to the brink of it, by fevers, and other diseases, than any thing I know. These mischiefs are easily enough prevented, whilst he is little, being then seldom out of sight. And if during his childhood he be constantly and rigorously kept from sitting on the ground, or drinking any cold liquor, whilst he is hot, the custom of forbearing, grown into a habit,Habits. will help much to preserve him, when he is no longer under his maid’s or tutor’s eye. This is all I think can be done in the case. For, as years increase, liberty must come with them; and, in a great many things, he must be trusted to his own conduct, since there cannot always be a guard upon him; except what you put into his own mind, by good principles and established habits, which is the best and surest, and therefore most to be taken care of. For, from repeated cautions and rules, ever so often inculcated, you are not to expect any thing, either in this, or any other case, farther than practice has established them into habit.

§ 11. One thing the mention of the girls brings into my mind, which must not be forgot; and that is, that your son’s clothesClothes. be never made strait, especially about the breast. Let nature have scope to fashion the body, as she thinks best. She works of herself a great deal better and exacter, than we can direct her. And if women were themselves to frame the bodies of their children in their wombs, as they often endeavour to mend their shapes, when they are out, we should as certainly have no perfect children born, as we have few well-shaped, that are strait-laced, or much tampered with. This consideration should, methinks, keep busy people (I will not say ignorant nurses and boddice-makers) from meddling in a matter they understand not; and they should be afraid to put nature out of her way, in fashioning the parts, when they know not how the least and meanist is made. And yet I have seen so many instances of children receiving great harm from strait lacing, that I cannot but conclude, there are other creatures, as well as monkies, who, little wiser than they, destroy their young ones, by senseless fondness, and too much embracing.

§ 12. Narrow breasts, short and stinking breath, ill lungs, and crookedness, are the natural and almost constant effects of hard boddice, and clothes that pinch. That way of making slender waists, and fine shapes, serves but the more effectually to spoil them. Nor can there, indeed, but be disproportion in the parts, when the nourishment, prepared in the several offices of the body, cannot be distributed, as nature designs. And therefore, what wonder is it, if, it being laid where it can, or some part not so braced, it often makes a shoulder, or hip, higher or bigger than its just proportion? It is generally known, that the women of China, (imagining I know not what kind of beauty in it,) by bracing and binding them hard from their infancy, have very little feet. I saw lately a pair of china shoes, which I was told were for a grown woman; they were so exceedingly disproportioned to the feet of one of the same age, amongst us, that they would scarce have been big enough for one of our little girls. Besides this, it is observed, that their women are also very little, and short-lived; whereas the men are of the ordinary stature of other men, and live to a proportionable age. These defects in the female sex of that country, are by some imputed to the unreasonable binding of their feet; whereby the free circulation of the blood is hindered, and the growth and health of the whole body suffers. And how often do we see, that some small part of the foot being injured, by a wrench or a blow, the whole leg or thigh thereby loses its strength and nourishment, and dwindles away? How much greater inconveniencies may we expect, when the thorax, wherein is placed the heart and seat of life, is unnaturally compressed, and hindered from its due expansion?

§ 13. As for his diet,Diet. it ought to be very plain and simple; and, if I might advise, flesh should be forborn, as long as he is in coats, or at least, till he is two or three years old. But whatever advantage this may be, to his present and future health and strength, I fear it will hardly be consented to, by parents, misled by the custom of eating too much flesh themselves; who will be apt to think their children, as they do themselves, in danger to be starved, if they have not flesh, at least twice a day. This I am sure, children would breed their teeth with much less danger, be freer from diseases whilst they were little, and lay the foundations of an healthy and strong constitution much surer, if they were not crammed so much as they are, by fond mothers and foolish servants, and were kept wholly from flesh, the first three or four years of their lives.

But if my young master must needs have flesh, let it be but once a day, and of one sort, at a meal. Plain beef, mutton, veal, &c. without other sauce than hunger, is best: and great care should be used, that he eat bread plentifully both alone and with every thing else. And whatever he eats, that is solid, make him chew it well. We English are often negligent herein; from whence follows indigestion, and other great inconveniencies.

§ 14. For breakfast and supper, milk, milk-pottage, water-gruel, flummery, and twenty other things, that we are wont to make in England, are very fit for children: only in all these let care be taken, that they be plain, and without much mixture, and very sparingly seasoned with sugar, or rather none at all: especially all-spice, and other things that may heat the blood, are carefully to be avoided. Be sparing also of salt, in the seasoning of all his victuals, and use him not to high-seasoned meats. Our palates grow into a relish and liking of the seasoning and cookery, which by custom they are set to; and an over-much use of salt, besides that it occasions thirst, and over-much drinking, has other ill effects upon the body. I should think that a good piece of well-made and well-baked brown bread, sometimes with, and sometimes without, butter or cheese, would be often the best breakfast for my young master. I am sure it is as wholesome, and will make him as strong a man as greater delicacies; and if he be used to it, it will be as pleasant to him. If he at any time calls for victuals between meals, use him to nothing but dry bread. If he be hungry, more than wanton, bread alone will down; and if he be not hungry, it is not fit the should eat. By this you will obtain two good effects: 1. That by custom he will come to be in love with bread; for, as I said, our palates and stomachs too are pleased with the things we are used to. Another good you will gain hereby is, that you will not teach him to eat more nor oftener than nature requires. I do not think that all people’s appetites are alike; some have naturally stronger, and some weaker stomachs. But this I think, that many are made gormands and gluttons by custom, that were not so by nature: and I see, in some countries, men as lusty and strong, that eat but two meals a day, as others that have set their stomachs by a constant usage, like larums, to call on them for four or five. The Romans usually fasted till supper: the only set meal, even of those who ate more than once a day: and those who used breakfasts, as some did at eight, some at ten, others at twelve of the clock, and some later, neither ate flesh, nor had any thing made ready for them. Augustus, when the greatest monarch on the earth, tells us, he took a bit of dry bread in his chariot. And Seneca in his 83d epistle, giving an account how he managed himself, even when he was old, and his age permitted indulgence, says, that he used to eat a piece of dry bread for his dinner, without the formality of sitting to it: though his estate would have as well paid for a better meal (had health required it) as any subject’s in England, were it doubled. The masters of the world were bred up, with this spare diet: and the young gentlemen of Rome felt no want of strength or spirit, because they ate but once a day. Or if it happened by chance, that any one could not fast so long, as till supper, their only set meal; he took nothing but a bit of dry bread, or at most a few raisins, or some such slight thing with it, to stay his stomach. This part of temperance was found so necessary, both for health and business, that the custom of only one meal a day held out against that prevailing luxury, which their eastern conquests and spoils had brought in amongst them: and those, who had given up their old frugal eating, and made feasts, yet began them not till the evening. And more than one set meal a day was thought so monstrous, that it was a reproach, as low down as Cæsar’s time, to make an entertainment, or sit down to a full table, till towards sun-set. And therefore, if it would not be thought too severe, I should judge it most convenient, that my young master should have nothing, but bread too for breakfast. You cannot imagine of what force custom is; and I impute a great part of our diseases in England to our eating too much flesh, and too little bread.

§ 15. As to his meals,Meals. I should think it best, that, as much as it can be conveniently avoided, they should not be kept constantly to an hour. For, when custom hath fixed his eating to certain stated periods, his stomach will expect victuals at the usual hour, and grow peevish if he passes it; either fretting itself into a troublesome excess, or flagging into a downright want of appetite. Therefore I would have no time kept constantly to, for his breakfast, dinner, and supper, but rather varied, almost every day. And if, betwixt these, which I call meals, he will eat, let him have, as often as he calls for it, good dry bread. If any one think this too hard and sparing a diet for a child, let them know, that a child will never starve, nor dwindle for want of nourishment, who, besides flesh at dinner, and spoon-meat, or some such other thing at supper, may have good bread and beer, as often as he has a stomach: for thus, upon second thoughts, I should judge it best for children to be ordered. The morning is generally designed for study, to which a full stomach is but an ill preparation. Dry bread, though the best nourishment, has the least temptation: and nobody would have a child crammed at breakfast, who has any regard to his mind or body, and would not have him dull and unhealthy. Nor let any one think this unsuitable to one of estate and condition. A gentleman, in any age, ought to be so bred, as to be fitted to bear arms, and be a soldier. But he that in this, breeds his son so, as if he designed him to sleep over his life, in the plenty and ease of a full fortune he intends to leave him, little considers the examples he has seen, or the age he lives in.

§ 16. His drinkDrink. should be only small beer: and that too he should never be suffered to have between meals, but after he had eat a piece of bread. The reasons why I say this are these:

§ 17. 1. More fevers and surfeits are got by people’s drinking when they are hot, than by any one thing I know. Therefore, if by play he be hot and dry, bread will ill go down; and so if he cannot have drink, but upon that condition, he will be forced to forbear. For if he be very hot, he should by no means drink. At least, a good piece of bread first to be eaten, will gain time to warm the beer blood-hot, which then he may drink safely. If he be very dry, it will go down so warmed, and quench his thirst better: and if he will not drink it so warmed, abstaining will not hurt him. Besides, this will teach him to forbear, which is an habit of great use for health of body and mind too.

§ 18. 2. Not being permitted to drink without eating, will prevent the custom of having the cup often at his nose; a dangerous beginning and preparation to good fellowship. Men often bring habitual hunger and thirst on themselves by custom. And, if you please to try, you may, though he be weaned from it, bring him by use to such a necessity of drinking in the night, that he will not be able to sleep without it. It being the lullaby, used by nurses, to still crying children; I believe mothers generally find some difficulty to wean their children from drinking in the night, when they first take them home. Believe it, custom prevails, as much by day as by night; and you may, if you please, bring any one to be thirsty every hour.

I once lived in a house, where, to appease a froward child, they gave him drink, as often as he cried; so that he was constantly bibbing: and though he could not speak, yet he drank more in twenty-four hours than I did. Try it when you please, you may with small, as well as with strong beer, drink yourself into a drought. The great thing to be minded in education is, what habitsHabits. you settle: and therefore in this, as all other things, do not begin to make any thing customary, the practice whereof you would not have continue and increase. It is convenient for health and sobriety, to drink no more than natural thirst requires: and he that eats not salt meats, nor drinks strong drink, will seldom thirst between meals, unless he has been accustomed to such unseasonable drinking.

§ 19. Above all, take great care that he seldom, if ever, taste any wine, or strong drink.Strong drink. There is nothing so ordinarily given children in England, and nothing so destructive to them. They ought never to drink any strong liquor, but when they need it as a cordial, and the doctor prescribes it. And in this case it is, that servants are most narrowly to be watched, and most severely to be reprehended, when they transgress. Those mean sort of people, placing a great part of their happiness in strong drink, are always forward to make court to my young master, by offering him that which they love best themselves: and, finding themselves made merry by it, they foolishly think it will do the child no harm. This you are carefully to have your eye upon, and restrain with all the skill and industry you can: there being nothing, that lays a surer foundation of mischief, both to body and mind, than children’s being used to strong drink; especially to drink in private with the servants.

§ 20. FruitFruit. makes one of the most difficult chapters in the government of health, especially that of children. Our first parents ventured paradise for it: and it is no wonder our children cannot stand the temptation, though it cost them their health. The regulation of this cannot come under any one general rule: for I am by no means of their mind, who would keep children almost wholly from fruit, as a thing totally unwholesome for them: by which strict way they make them but the more ravenous after it; and to eat good and bad, ripe or unripe, all that they can get, whenever they come at it. Melons, peaches, most sort of plums, and all sorts of grapes in England, I think children should be wholly kept from, as having a very tempting taste, in a very unwholesome juice; so that, if it were possible, they should never so much as see them, or know there were any such thing. But strawberries, cherries, goose-berries, or currants, when thorough ripe, I think may be very safely allowed them, and that with a pretty liberal hand, if they be eaten with these cautions. 1. Not after meals, as we usually do, when the stomach is already full of other food. But I think they should be eaten rather before, or between meals, and children should have them for their breakfasts. 2. Bread eaten with them. 3. Perfectly ripe. If they are thus eaten, I imagine them rather conducing, than hurtful to our health. Summer-fruits, being suitable to the hot season of the year they come in, refresh our stomachs, languishing and fainting under it: and therefore I should not be altogether so strict in this point, as some are to their children: who being kept so very short, instead of a moderate quantity of well-chosen fruit, which being allowed them, would content them, whenever they can get loose, or bribe a servant to supply them, satisfy their longing with any trash they can get, and eat to a surfeit.

Apples and pears too, which are thorough ripe, and have been gathered some time, I think may be safely eaten at any time, and in pretty large quantities; especially apples, which never did any body hurt, that I have heard, after October.

Fruits also dried without sugar I think very wholesome. But sweetmeats of all kinds are to be avoided; which, whether they do more harm to the maker or eater, is not easy to tell. This I am sure, it is one of the most inconvenient ways of expence, that vanity hath yet found out: and so I leave them to the ladies.

§ 21. Of all that looks soft and effeminate, nothing is more to be indulged children than sleep.Sleep. In this alone they are to be permitted to have their full satisfaction; nothing contributing more to the growth and health of children, than sleep. All that is to be regulated in it is, in what part of the twenty-four hours they should take it: which will easily be resolved, by only saying, that it is of great use to accustom them to rise early in the morning. It is best so to do, for health: and he that, from his childhood, has by a settled custom made rising betimes easy and familiar to him, will not, when he is a man, waste the best and most useful part of his life in drowziness and lying a-bed. If children therefore are to be called up early in the morning, it will follow of course, that they must go to bed betimes; whereby they will be accustomed to avoid the unhealthy and unsafe hours of debauchery, which are those of the evenings: and they who keep good hours, seldom are guilty of any great disorders. I do not say this, as if your son, when grown up, should never be in company past eight, nor never chat over a glass of wine till midnight. You are now, by the accustoming of his tender years, to indispose him to those inconveniences as much as you can; and it will be no small advantage, that contrary practice having made sitting-up uneasy to him, it will make him often avoid, and very seldom propose midnight revels. But if it should not reach so far, but fashion and company should prevail, and make him live, as others do, above twenty, it is worth the while to accustom him to early rising and early going to bed, between this and that; for the present improvement of his health, and other advantages.

Though I have said, a large allowance of sleep, even as much as they will take, should be made to children when they are little; yet I do not mean, that it should always be continued to them, in so large a proportion, and they suffered to indulge a drowzy laziness in their beds, as they grow up bigger. But whether they should begin to be restrained at seven, or ten years old, or any other time, is impossible to be precisely determined. Their tempers, strength, and constitutions must be considered: but some time between seven and fourteen, if they are too great lovers of their beds, I think it may be seasonable to begin to reduce them, by degrees, to about eight hours, which is generally rest enough for healthy grown people. If you have accustomed him, as you should do, to rise constantly very early in the morning, this fault of being too long in bed will easily be reformed, and most children will be forward enough to shorten that time themselves, by coveting to sit up with the company at night: though, if they be not looked after, they will be apt to take it out in the morning, which should by no means be permitted. They should constantly be called up, and made to rise at their early hour: but great care should be taken in waking them, that it be not done hastily, nor with a loud or shrill voice, or any other sudden violent noise. This often affrights children, and does them great harm. And sound sleep, thus broke off with sudden alarms, is apt enough to discompose any one. When children are to be wakened out of their sleep, be sure to begin with a low call, and some gentle motion; and so draw them out of it by degrees, and give them none but kind words and usage, till they are come perfectly to themselves, and being quite dressed, you are sure they are thoroughly awake. The being forced from their sleep, how gently soever you do it, is pain enough to them: and care should be taken not to add any other uneasiness to it, especially such as may terrify them.

§ 22. Let his bedBed. be hard, and rather quilts than feathers. Hard lodging strengthens the parts: whereas being buried every night in feathers, melts and dissolves the body, is often the cause of weakness, and the forerunner of an early grave. And, besides the stone, which has often its rise from this warm wrapping of the reins, several other indispositions, and that which is the root of them all, a tender weakly constitution, is very much owing to down-beds. Besides, he that is used to hard lodging at home, will not miss his sleep (where he has most need of it) in his travels abroad, for want of his soft bed and his pillows laid in order. And therefore I think it would not be amiss, to make his bed after different fashions; sometimes lay his head higher, sometimes lower, that he may not feel every little change he must be sure to meet with, who is not designed to lie always in my young master’s bed at home, and to have his maid lay all things in print, and tuck him in warm. The great cordial of nature is sleep. He that misses that, will suffer by it; and he is very unfortunate, who can take his cordial only in his mother’s fine gilt cup, and not in a wooden dish. He that can sleep soundly takes the cordial: and it matters not, whether it be on a soft bed, or the hard boards. It is sleep only that is the thing necessary.

§ 23. One thing more there is, which hath a great influence upon the health, and that is going to stool regularly; people that are very loose, have seldom strong thoughts, or strong bodies. But the cure of this, both by diet and medicine, being much more easy than the contrary evil, there needs not much to be said about it: for if it come to threaten, either by its violence, or duration, it will soon enough, and sometimes too soon, make a physician be sent for: and if it be moderate or short, it is commonly best to leave it to nature. On the other side, costivenessCostiveness. has too its ill effects, and is much harder to be dealt with by physic; purging medicines, which seem to give relief, rather increasing than removing the evil.

§ 24. It being an indisposition I had a particular reason to inquire into, and not finding the cure of it in books, I set my thoughts on work, believing that greater changes than that, might be made in our bodies, if we took the right course, and proceeded by rational steps.

Then I considered, that going to stool was the effect of certain motions of the body, especially of the peristaltic motion of the guts.

I considered, that several motions that were not perfectly voluntary, might yet, by use and constant application, be brought to be habitual, if by an unintermitted custom they were at certain seasons endeavoured to be constantly produced.

I had observed some men, who, by taking after supper a pipe of tobacco, never failed of a stool; and began to doubt with myself, whether it were not more custom than the tobacco, that gave them the benefit of nature; or at least, if the tobacco did it, it was rather by exciting a vigorous motion in the guts, than by any purging quality; for then it would have had other effects.

Having thus once got the opinion, that it was possible to make it habitual; the next thing was to consider, what way and means were the likeliest to obtain it.

Then I guessed, that if a man, after his first eating in the morning, would presently solicit nature, and try whether he could strain himself so as to obtain a stool, he might in time, by a constant application, bring it to be habitual.

§ 25. The reasons that made me choose this time, were:

Because the stomach being then empty, if it received any thing grateful to it, (for I would never, but in case of necessity, have any one eat, but what he likes, and when he has an appetite,) it was apt to embrace it close by a strong constriction of its fibres; which constriction, I supposed, might probably be continued on in the guts, and so increase their peristaltic motion: as we see in the ileus, that an inverted motion being begun any-where below, continues itself all the whole length, and makes even the stomach obey that irregular motion.

Because when men eat, they usually relax their thoughts; and the spirits, then free from other employments, are more vigorously distributed into the lower belly, which thereby contribute to the same effect.

Because, whenever men have leisure to eat, they have leisure enough also to make so much court to madam Cloacina, as would be necessary to our present purpose; but else, in the variety of human affairs and accidents, it was impossible to affix it to any hour certain; whereby the custom would be interrupted: whereas men in health seldom failing to eat once a day, though the hour be changed, the custom might still be preserved.

§ 26. Upon these grounds, the experiment began to be tried, and I have known none, who have been steady in the prosecution of it, and taken care to go constantly to the necessary-house, after their first eating, whenever that happened, whether they found themselves called on or no, and there endeavoured to put nature upon her duty; but in a few months they obtained their desired success, and brought themselves to so regular an habit, that they seldom ever failed of a stool, after their first eating, unless it were by their own neglect. For, whether they have any motion or no, if they go to the place, and do their part, they are sure to have nature very obedient.

§ 27. I would therefore advise that this course should be taken with a child every day, presently after he has eaten his breakfast. Let him be set upon the stool, as if disburdening were as much in his power, as filling his belly; and let not him or his maid know any thing to the contrary, but that it is so: and if he be forced to endeavour, by being hindered from his play, or eating again till he has been effectually at stool, or at least done his utmost, I doubt not but in a little while it will become natural to him. For there is reason to suspect that children, being usually intent on their play and very heedless of any thing else, often let pass those motions of nature, when she calls them but gently; and so they, neglecting the seasonable offers, do by degrees bring themselves into an habitual costiveness. That by this method costiveness may be prevented, I do more than guess: having known by the constant practice of it for some time, a child brought to have a stool regularly after his breakfast, every morning.

§ 28. How far any grown people will think fit to make trial of it, must be left to them; though I cannot but say, that considering the many evils that come from that defect, of a requisite easing of nature, I scarce know any thing more conducing to the preservation of health than this is. Once in four and twenty hours, I think is enough; and nobody, I guess, will think it too much. And by this means it is to be obtained without physic, which commonly proves very ineffectual in the cure of a settled and habitual costiveness.

§ 29. This is all I have to trouble you with, concerning his management, in the ordinary course of his health. Perhaps it will be expected from me, that I should give some directions of physic,Physic. to prevent diseases: for which, I have only this one, very sacredly to be observed: never to give children any physic for prevention. The observation of what I have already advised, will, I suppose, do that better than the ladies diet-drinks, or apothecary’s medicines. Have a great care of tampering that way, lest, instead of preventing, you draw on diseases. Nor even upon every little indisposition is physic to be given, or the physician to be called to children; especially if he be a busy man, that will presently fill their windows with gally-pots, and their stomachs with drugs. It is safer to leave them wholly to nature, than to put them into the hands of one forward to tamper, or that thinks children are to be cured in ordinary distempers, by any thing but diet, or by a method very little distant from it; it seeming suitable both to my reason and experience, that the tender constitutions of children should have as little done to them as is possible, and as the absolute necessity of the case requires. A little cold-stilled red poppy-water, which is the true surfeit-water, with ease, and abstinence from flesh, often puts an end to several distempers in the beginning, which, by too forward applications, might have been made lusty diseases. When such a gentle treatment will not stop the growing mischief, nor hinder it from turning into a formed disease, it will be time to seek the advice of some sober and discreet physician. In this part, I hope, I shall find an easy belief; and nobody can have a pretence to doubt the advice of one, who has spent some time in the study of physic, when he counsels you not to be too forward in making use of physic and physicians.

§ 30. And thus I have done with what concerns the body and health, which reduces itself to these few and easily observable rules. Plenty of open air, exercise, and sleep: plain diet, no wine or strong drink, and very little or no physic; not too warm and strait clothing; especially the head and feet kept cold, and the feet often used to cold water and exposed to wet.

§ 31. Due care being had to keep the body in strength and vigour, so that it may be able to obey and execute the orders of the mind;Mind. the next and principal business is, to set the mind right, that on all occasions it may be disposed to consent to nothing, but what may be suitable to the dignity and excellency of a rational creature.

§ 32. If what I have said in the beginning of this discourse be true, as I do not doubt but it is, viz. that the difference to be found in the manners and abilities of men, is owing more to their education than to any thing else; we have reason to conclude, that great care is to be had of the forming children’s minds, and giving them that seasoning early, which shall influence their lives always after. For when they do well or ill, the praise or blame will be laid there: and when any thing is done awkwardly, the common saying will pass upon them, that it is suitable to their breeding.

§ 33. As the strength of the body lies chiefly in being able to endure hardships, so also does that of the mind. And the great principle and foundation of all virtue and worth is placed in this, that a man is able to deny himself his own desires, cross his own inclinations, and purely follow what reason directs as best, though the appetite lean the other way.

Early.§ 34. The great mistake I have observed in people’s breeding their children has been, that this has not been taken care enough of in its due season; that the mind has not been made obedient to discipline, and pliant to reason, when at first it was most tender, most easy to be bowed. Parents being wisely ordained by nature to love their children, are very apt, if reason watch not that natural affection very warily; are apt, I say, to let it run into fondness. They love their little ones, and it is their duty: but they often with them cherish their faults too. They must not be crossed, forsooth; they must be permitted to have their wills in all things: and they being in their infancies not capable of great vices, their parents think they may safely enough indulge their little irregularities, and make themselves sport with that pretty perverseness, which they think well enough becomes that innocent age. But to a fond parent, that would not have his child corrected for a perverse trick, but excused it, saying it was a small matter; Solon very well replied, “Aye, but custom is a great one.”

§ 35. The fondling must be taught to strike, and call names; must have what he cries for, and do what he pleases. Thus parents, by humouring and cockering them when little, corrupt the principles of nature in their children, and wonder afterwards to taste the bitter waters, when they themselves have poisoned the fountain. For when their children are grown up, and these ill habits with them; when they are now too big to be dandled, and their parents can no longer make use of them as playthings; then they complain, that the brats are untoward and perverse; then they are offended to see them wilful, and are troubled with those ill humours, which they themselves infused and fomented in them; and then, perhaps too late, would be glad to get out those weeds which their own hands have planted, and which now have taken too deep root to be easily extirpated. For he that has been used to have his will in every thing, as long as he was in coats, why should we think it strange that he should desire it, and contend for it still, when he is in breeches? Indeed, as he grows more towards a man, age shows his faults the more, so that there be few parents then so blind, as not to see them! few so insensible as not to feel the ill effects of their own indulgence. He had the will of his maid before he could speak or go; he had the mastery of his parents ever since he could prattle; and why, now he is grown up, is stronger and wiser than he was then, why now of a sudden must he be restrained and curbed? why must he at seven, fourteen, or twenty years old, lose the privilege which the parent’s indulgence, till then, so largely allowed him? Try it in a dog, or an horse, or any other creature, and see whether the ill and resty tricks they have learned when young, are easily to be mended when they are knit: and yet none of those creatures are half so wilful and proud, or half so desirous to be masters of themselves and others, as man.

§ 36. We are generally wise enough to begin with them, when they are very young; and discipline betimes those other creatures we would make useful and good for somewhat. They are only our own offspring, that we neglect in this point; and having made them ill children, we foolishly expect they should be good men. For if the child must have grapes, or sugar-plums, when he has a mind to them, rather than make the poor baby cry, or be out of humour; why, when he is grown up, must he not be satisfied too, if his desires carry him to wine or women? They are objects as suitable to the longing of twenty-one or more years, as what he cried for, when little, was to the inclinations of a child. The having desires accommodated to the apprehensions and relish of those several ages, is not the fault; but the not having them subject to the rules and restraints of reason: the difference lies not in the having or not having appetites, but in the power to govern, and deny ourselves in them. He that is not used to submit his will to the reason of others, when he is young, will scarce hearken or submit to his own reason, when he is of an age to make use of it. And what kind of a man such a one is like to prove, is easy to foresee.

§ 37. These are oversights usually committed by those who seem to take the greatest care of their children’s education. But, if we look into the common management of children, we shall have reason to wonder, in the great dissoluteness of manners, which the world complains of, that there are any footsteps at all left to virtue. I desire to know what vice can be named, which parents, and those about children, do not season them with, and drop into them the seeds of, as often as they are capable to receive them? I do not mean by the examples they give, and the patterns they set before them, which is encouragement enough; but that which I would take notice of here, is the downright teaching them vice, and actual putting them out of the way of virtue. Before they can go, they principle them with violence, revenge, and cruelty. “Give me a blow that I may beat him,” is a lesson, which most children every day hear: and it is thought nothing, because their hands have not strength enough to do any mischief. But I ask, does not this corrupt their minds? is not this the way of force and violence, that they are set in? and if they have been taught when little, to strike and hurt others by proxy, and encouraged to rejoice in the harm they have brought upon them, and see them suffer; are they not prepared to do it, when they are strong enough to be felt themselves, and can strike to some purpose?

The coverings of our bodies, which are for modesty, warmth, and defence, are, by the folly or vice of parents, recommended to their children for other uses. They are made matter of vanity and emulation. A child is set a longing after a new suit, for the finery of it: and when the little girl is tricked up in her new gown and commode, how can her mother do less than teach her to admire herself, by calling her, “her little “queen,” and “her princess?” Thus the little ones are taught to be proud of their clothes, before they can put them on. And why should they not continue to value themselves for this outside fashionableness of the taylor or tire-woman’s making, when their parents have so early instructed them to do so?

Lying and equivocations, and excuses little different from lying, are put into the mouths of young people, and commended in apprentices and children, whilst they are for their master’s or parent’s advantage. And can it be thought that he, that finds the straining of truth dispensed with, and encouraged, whilst it is for his godly master’s turn, will not make use of that privilege for himself, when it may be for his own profit?

Those of the meaner sort are hindered by the streightness of their fortunes, from encouraging intemperance in their children, by the temptation of their diet, or invitations to eat or drink more than enough: but their own ill examples, whenever plenty comes in their way, show that it is not the dislike of drunkenness or gluttony that keeps them from excess, but want of materials. But if we look into the houses of those who are a little warmer in their fortunes, there eating and drinking are made so much the great business and happiness of life, that children are thought neglected, if they have not their share of it. Sauces, and ragouts, and foods disguised by all the arts of cookery, must tempt their palates, when their bellies are full: and then, for fear the stomach should be overcharged, a pretence is found for the other glass of wine, to help digestion, though it only serves to increase the surfeit.

Is my young master a little out of order? the first question is, “What will my dear eat? what shall I get for thee?” Eating and drinking are instantly pressed: and every body’s invention is set on work to find out something luscious and delicate enough to prevail over that want of appetite, which nature has wisely ordered in the beginning of distempers, as a defence against their increase; that, being freed from the ordinary labour of digesting any new load in the stomach, she may be at leisure to correct and master the peccant humours.

And where children are so happy in the care of their parents, as by their prudence to be kept from the excess of their tables, to the sobriety of a plain and simple diet; yet there too they are scarce to be preserved from the contagion that poisons the mind. Though by a discreet management, whilst they are under tuition, their healths, perhaps, may be pretty well secured; yet their desires must need yield to the lessons, which every-where will be read to them upon this part of epicurism. The commendation that eating well has every-where, cannot fail to be a successful incentive to natural appetite, and bring them quickly to the liking and expence of a fashionable table. This shall have from every one, even the reprovers of vice, the title of living well. And what shall sullen reason dare to say against the public testimony? or can it hope to be heard, if it should call that luxury, which is so much owned, and universally practised by those of the best quality.

This is now so grown a vice, and has so great supports, that I know not whether it do not put in for the name of virtue; and whether it will not be thought folly, or want of knowledge of the world, to open one’s mouth against it. And truly I should suspect, that what I have here said of it might be censured, as a little satire out of my way, did I not mention it with this view, that it might awaken the care and watchfulness of parents in the education of their children; when they see how they are beset on every side, not only with temptations, but instructors to vice, and that perhaps in those they thought places of security.

I shall not dwell any longer on this subject; much less run over all the particulars, that would show what pains are used to corrupt children, and instil principles of vice into them: but I desire parents soberly to consider, what irregularity or vice there is, which children are not visibly taught; and whether it be not their duty and wisdom to provide them other instructions.

Craving.§ 38. It seems plain to me, that the principle of all virtue and excellency lies in a power of denying ourselves the satisfaction of our own desires, where reason does not authorise them. This power is to be got and improved by custom, made easy and familiar by an early practice. If therefore I might be heard, I would advise, that, contrary to the ordinary way, children should be used to submit their desires, and go without their longings, even from their very cradles. The very first thing they should learn to know, should be, that they were not to have any thing, because it pleased them, but because it was thought fit for them. If things suitable to their wants were supplied to them, so that they were never suffered to have what they once cried for, they would learn to be content without it; would never with bawling and peevishness contend for mastery; nor be half so uneasy to themselves and others as they are, because from the first beginning they are not thus handled. If they were never suffered to obtain their desire by the impatience they expressed for it, they would no more cry for other things, than they do for the moon.

§ 39. I say not this, as if children were not to be indulged in any thing, or that I expected they should, in hanging-sleeves, have the reason and conduct of counsellors. I consider them as children, who must be tenderly used, who must play, and have play-things. That which I mean is, that whenever they craved what was not fit for them to have, or do, they should not be permitted it, because they were little and desired it: nay, whatever they were importunate for, they should be sure, for that very reason, to be denied. I have seen children at a table, who, whatever was there, never asked for any thing, but contentedly took what was given them: and at another place I have seen others cry for every thing they saw, must be served out of every dish, and that first too. What made this vast difference but this, that one was accustomed to have what they called or cried for, the other to go without it? The younger they are, the less, I think, are their unruly and disorderly appetites to be eomplied with; and the less reason they have of their own, the more are they to be under the absolute power and restraint of those, in whose hands they are. From which I confess, it will follow, that none but discreet people should be about them. If the world commonly does otherwise, I cannot help that. I am saying what I think should be; which, if it were already in fashion, I should not need to trouble the world with a discourse on this subject. But yet I doubt not but, when it is considered, there will be others of opinion with me, that the sooner this way is begun with children, the easier it will be for them, and their governors too: and that this ought to be observed as an inviolable maxim, that whatever once is denied them, they are certainly not to obtain by crying or importunity; unless one has a mind to teach them to be impatient and troublesome, by rewarding them for it, when they are so.

Early.§ 40. Those therefore that intend ever to govern their children, should begin it whilst they are very little; and look that they perfectly comply with the will of their parents. Would you have your son obedient to you when past a child? Be sure then to establish the authority of a father, as soon as he is capable of submission, and can understand in whose power he is. If you would have him stand in awe of you, imprint it in his infancy; and, as he approaches more to a man, admit him nearer to your familiarity; so shall you have him your obedient subject (as is fit) whilst he is a child, and your affectionate friend when he is a man. For methinks they mightily misplace the treatment due to their children, who are indulgent and familiar when they are little, but severe to them, and keep them at a distance, when they are grown up. For liberty and indulgence can do no good to children: their want of judgment makes them stand in need of restraint and discipline. And, on the contrary, imperiousness and severity is but an ill way of treating men, who have reason of their own to guide them, unless you have a mind to make your children, when grown up, weary of you; and secretly to say within themselves, “When will you die, father?”

§ 41. I imagine every one will judge it reasonable, that their children, when little, should look upon their parents as their lords, their absolute governors; and, as such, stand in awe of them: and that, when they come to riper years, they should look on them as their best, as their only sure friends: and, as such, love and reverence them. The way I have mentioned, if I mistake not, is the only one to obtain this. We must look upon our children, when grown up, to be like ourselves; with the same passions, the same desires. We would be thought rational creatures, and have our freedom; we love not to be uneasy under constant rebukes and browbeatings; nor can we bear severe humours, and great distance in those we converse with. Whoever has such treatment, when he is a man, will look out other company, other friends, other conversation, with whom he can be at ease. If therefore a strict hand be kept over children from the beginning, they will in that age be tractable, and quietly submit to it, as never having known any other: and if, as they grow up to the use of reason, the rigour of government be, as they deserve it, gently relaxed, the father’s brow more smoothed to them, and the distance by degrees abated: his former restraints will increase their love, when they find it was only a kindness for them, and a care to make them capable to deserve the favour of their parents and the esteem of every body else.

§ 42. Thus much for the settling your authority over children in general. Fear and awe ought to give you the first power over their minds, and love and friendship in riper years to hold it: for the time must come, when they will be past the rod and correction; and then, if the love of you make them not obedient and dutiful; if the love of virtue and reputation keep them not in laudable courses; I ask, what hold will you have upon them, to turn them to it? Indeed, fear of having a scanty portion, if they displease you, may make them slaves to your estate; but they will be nevertheless ill and wicked in private, and that restraint will not last always. Every man must some time or other be trusted to himself, and his own conduct; and he that is a good, a virtuous, and able man, must be made so within. And therefore what he is to receive from education, what is to sway and influence his life, must be something put into him betimes; habits woven into the very principles of his nature; and not a counterfeit carriage, and dissembled outside, put on by fear, only to avoid the present anger of a father, who perhaps may disinherit him.

§ 43. This being laid down in general, as the course ought to be taken, it is fit we come now to consider the parts of the discipline to be used a little more particularly. I have spoken so much of carrying a strict hand over children, that perhaps I shall be suspected of not considering enough what is due to their tender age and constitutions. But that opinion will vanish, when you have heard me a little farther. For I am very apt to think, that great severity of punishmentPunishments. does but very little good; nay, great harm in education: and I believe it will be found, that, cæteris paribus, those children who have been most chastised, seldom make the best men. All that I have hitherto contended for, is, that whatsoever rigour is necessary, it is more to be used, the younger children are; and, having by a due application wrought its effect, it is to be relaxed, and changed into a milder sort of government.

§ 44. A compliance and suppleness of their wills, being by a steady hand introduced by parents, before children have memories to retain the beginnings of it, will seem natural to them, and work afterwards in them as if it were so; preventing all occasions of struggling, or repining. The only care is, that it be begun early, and inflexibly kept to, till aweAwe. and respect be grown familiar, and there appears not the least reluctancy in the submission, and ready obedience of their minds. When this reverence is once thus established, (which it must be early, or else it will cost pains and blows to recover it, and the more, the longer it is deferred,) it is by it, mixed still with as much indulgence, as they made not an ill use of, and not by beating, chiding, or other servile punishments, they are for the future to be governed, as they grow up to more understanding.

Self-denial.§ 45. That this is so, will be easily allowed, when it is but considered what is to be aimed at, in an ingenuous education; and upon what it turns.

He that has not a mastery over his inclinations, he that knows not how to resist the importunity of present pleasure or pain, for the sake of what reason tells him is fit to be done, wants the true principle of virtue and industry, and is in danger of never being good for any thing. This temper, therefore, so contrary to unguided nature, is to be got betimes; and this habit, as the true foundation of future ability and happiness, is to be wrought into the mind, as early as may be, even from the first dawnings of any knowledge or apprehension in children; and so to be confirmed in them, by all the care and ways imaginable, by those who have the oversight of their education.

§ 46. 2. On the other side, if the mind be curbed, and humbled too much in children; if their spirits be abased and broken much, by too strict an hand over them; they lose all their vigour and industry, and are in a worse state than the former. For extravagant young fellows, that have liveliness and spirit, come sometimes to be set right, and so make able and great men: but dejectedDejected. minds, timorous and tame, and low spirits, are hardly ever to be raised, and very seldom attain to any thing. To avoid the danger that is on either hand is the great art: and he that has found a way how to keep up a child’s spirit, easy, active, and free; and yet, at the same time, to restrain him from many things he has a mind to, and to draw him to things that are uneasy to him; he, I say, that knows how to reconcile these seeming contradictions, has, in my opinion, got the true secret of education.

Beating.§ 47. The usual lazy and short way by chastisement, and the rod, which is the only instrument of government that tutors generally know, or ever think of, is the most unfit of any to be used in education; because it tends to both those mischiefs; which as we have shown, are the Scylla and Charybdis, which, on the one hand or the other, ruin all that miscarry.

§ 48. 1. This kind of punishment contributes not at all to the mastery of our natural propensity to indulge corporal and present pleasure, and to avoid pain at any rate; but rather encourages it; and thereby strengthens that in us, which is the root, from whence spring all vicious actions, and the irregularities of life. From what other motive, but of sensual pleasure, and pain, does a child act, who drudges at his book against his inclination, or abstains from eating unwholesome fruit, that he takes pleasure in, only out of fear of whipping. He in this only prefers the greater corporal pleasure, or avoids the greater corporal pain. And what is it to govern his actions, and direct his conduct, by such motives as these? what is it, I say, but to cherish that principle in him, which it is our business to root out and destroy? And therefore I cannot think any correction useful to a child, where the shame of suffering for having done amiss does not work more upon him than the pain.

§ 49. 2. This sort of correction naturally breeds an aversion to that which it is the tutor’s business to create a liking to. How obvious is it to observe, that children come to hate things which were at first acceptable to them, when they find themselves whipped and chid, and teased about them; and it is not to be wondered at in them; when grown men would not be able to be reconciled to any thing by such ways. Who is there that would not be disgusted with any innocent recreation, in itself indifferent to him, if he should with blows, or ill language, be hauled to it, when he had no mind? or be constantly so treated, for some circumstances in his application to it? This is natural to be so. Offensive circumstances ordinarily infect innocent things, which they are joined with; and the very sight of a cup, wherein any one uses to take nauseous physic, turns his stomach; so that nothing will relish well out of it, though the cup be ever so clean, and well shaped, and of the richest materials.

§ 50. 3. Such a sort of slavish discipline makes a slavish temper. The child submits, and dissembles obedience, whilst the fear of the rod hangs over him; but when that is removed, and, by being out of sight, he can promise himself impunity, he gives the greater scope to his natural inclination; which by this way is not at all altered, but on the contrary heightened and increased in him; and after such restraint, breaks out usually with the more violence. Or,

§ 51. 4. If severity carried to the highest pitch does prevail, and works a cure upon the present unruly distemper, it is often bringing in the room of it worse and more dangerous disease, by breaking the mind; and then, in the place of a disorderly young fellow, you have a low-spirited moped creature: who, however with his unnatural sobriety he may please silly people, who commend tame inactive children, because they make no noise, nor give them any trouble; yet, at last, will probably prove as uncomfortable a thing to his friends, as he will be, all his life, an useless thing to himself and others.

§ 52. Beating then, and all other sorts of slavish and corporal punishments, are not the discipline fit to be used in the education of those who would have wise, good, and ingenuous men: and therefore very rarely to be applied, and that only on great occasions and cases of extremity. On the other side, to flatter children by rewardsRewards. of things that are pleasant to them, is as carefully to be avoided. He that will give to his son apples, or sugar-plums, or what else of this kind he is most delighted with, to make him learn his book, does but authorise his love of pleasure, and cocker up that dangerous propensity, which he ought by all means to subdue and stifle in him. You can never hope to teach him to master it, whilst you compound for the check you give his inclination in one place, by the satisfaction you propose to it in another. To make a good, a wise, and a virtuous man, it is fit he should learn to cross his appetite, and deny his inclination, to riches, finery, or pleasing his palate, &c whenever his reason advises the contrary, and his duty requires it. But when you draw him to do any thing that is fit, by the offer of money; or reward the pains of learning his book, by the pleasure of a luscious morsel; when you promise him a lace-cravat, or a fine new suit, upon performance of some of his little tasks; what do you, by proposing these as rewards, but allow them to be the good things he should aim at, and thereby encourage his longing for them, and accustom him to place his happiness in them? Thus people, to prevail with children to be industrious about their grammar, dancing, or some other such matter, of no great moment to the happiness or usefulness of their lives, by misapplied rewards and punishments, sacrifice their virtue, invert the order of their education, and teach them luxury, pride, or covetousness, &c. For in this way, flattering those wrong inclinations, which they should restrain and suppress, they lay the foundations of those future vices, which cannot be avoided, but by curbing our desires, and accustoming them early to submit to reason.

§ 53. I say not this, that I would have children kept from the conveniencies or pleasures of life, that are not injurious to their health or virtue: on the contrary, I would have their lives made as pleasant, and as agreeable to them as may be, in a plentiful enjoyment of whatsoever might innocently delight them: provided it be with this caution, that they have those enjoyments, only as the consequences of the state of esteem and acceptation they are in with their parents and governors; but they should never be offered or bestowed on them, as the reward of this or that particular performance, that they show an aversion to, or to which they would not have applied themselves without that temptation.

§ 54. But if you take away the rod on one hand, and these little encouragements, which they are taken with, on the other; how then (will you say) shall children be governed? Remove hope and fear, and there is an end of all discipline. I grant, that good and evil, reward and punishment, are the only motives to a rational creature, these are the spur and reins, whereby all mankind are set on work and guided, and therefore they are to be made use of to children too. For I advise their parents and governors always to carry this in their minds, that children are to be treated as rational creatures.

§ 55. Rewards, I grant, and punishments must be proposed to children, if we intend to work upon them. The mistake, I imagine, is, that those that are generally made use of, are ill chosen. The pains and pleasures of the body are, I think, of ill consequence, when made the rewards and punishments whereby men would prevail on their children: for, as I said before, they serve but to increase and strengthen those inclinations, which it is our business to subdue and master. What principle of virtue do you lay in a child, if you will redeem his desires of one pleasure by the proposal of another? This is but to enlarge his appetite, and instruct it to wander. If a child cries for an unwholesome and dangerous fruit, you purchase his quiet by giving him a less hurtful sweet-meat. This perhaps may preserve his health, but spoils his mind, and sets that farther out of order. For here you only change the object; but flatter still his appetite, and allow that must be satisfied, wherein, as I have showed, lies the root of the mischief: and till you bring him to be able to bear a denial of that satisfaction, the child may at present be quiet and orderly, but the disease is not cured. By this way of proceeding you foment and cherish in him that which is the spring from whence all the evil flows; which will be sure on the next occasion to break out again with more violence, give him stronger longings, and you more trouble.

Reputation.§ 56. The rewards and punishments then whereby we should keep children in order, are quite of another kind; and of that force, that when we can get them once to work, the business, I think, is done, and the difficulty is over. Esteem and disgrace are, of all others, the most powerful incentives to the mind, when once it is brought to relish them. If you can once get into children a love of credit, and an apprehension of shame and disgrace, you have put into them the true principle, which will constantly work, and incline them to the right. But it will be asked, How shall this be done?

I confess, it does not, at first appearance, want some difficulty; but yet I think it worth our while to seek the ways (and practise them when found) to attain this, which I look on as the great secret of education.

§ 57. First, children (earlier perhaps than we think) are very sensible of praise and commendation. They find a pleasure in being esteemed and valued, especially by their parents, and those whom they depend on. If therefore the father caress and commend them, when they do well; show a cold and neglectful countenance to them upon doing ill; and this accompanied by a like carriage of the mother, and all others that are about them; it will in a little time make them sensible of the difference: and this, if constantly observed, I doubt not but will of itself work more than threats or blows, which lose their force, when once grown common, and are of no use when shame does not attend them; and therefore are to be forborn, and never to be used, but in the case hereafter mentioned, when it is brought to extremity.

§ 58. But secondly, to make the sense of esteem or disgrace sink the deeper, and be of the more weight, other agreeable or disagreeable things should constantly accompany these different states; not as particular rewards and punishments of this or that particular action, but as necessarily, belonging to, and constantly attending one, who by his carriage has brought himself into a state of disgrace or commendation. By which way of treating them, children may as much as possible be brought to conceive, that those that are commended and in esteem for doing well, will necessarily be beloved and cherished by every body, and have all other good things as a consequence of it; and, on the other side, when any one by miscarriage falls into dis-esteem, and cares not to preserve his credit, he will unavoidably fall under neglect and contempt: and, in that state, the want of whatever might satisfy or delight him, will follow. In this way the objects of their desires are made assisting to virtue; when a settled experience from the beginning teaches children, that the things they delight in, belong to, and are to be enjoyed by those only, who are in a state of reputation. If by these means you can come once to shame them out of their faults, (for besides that, I would willingly have no punishment,) and make them in love with the pleasure of being well thought on, you may turn them as you please, and they will be in love with all the ways of virtue.

§ 59. The great difficulty here is, I imagine, from the folly and perverseness of servants, who are hardly to be hindered from crossing herein the design of the father and mother. Children, discountenanced by their parents for any fault, find usually a refuge and relief in the caresses of those foolish flatterers, who thereby undo whatever the parents endeavour to establish. When the father or mother looks sour on the child, every body else should put on the same coldness to him, and nobody give him countenance, till forgiveness asked, and a reformation of his fault, has set him right again, and restored him to his former credit. If this were constantly observed, I guess there would be little need of blows or chiding: their own ease and satisfaction would quickly teach children to court commendation, and avoid doing that, which they found every body condemned, and they were sure to suffer for, without being chid or beaten. This would teach them modesty and shame; and they would quickly come to have a natural abhorrence for that, which they found made them slighted and neglected by every body. But how this inconvenience from servants is to be remedied, I must leave to parents care and consideration. Only I think it of great importance; and that they are very happy, who can get discreet people about their children.

§ 60. Frequent beating or chiding is therefore carefully to be avoided; because this sort of correction never produces any good, farther than it serves to raise shameShame. and abhorrence of the miscarriage that brought it on them. And if the greatest part of the trouble be not the sense that they have done amiss, and the apprehension that they have drawn on themselves the just displeasure of their best friends, the pain of whipping will work but an imperfect cure. It only patches up for the present, and skins it over, but reaches not to the bottom of the sore. Ingenuous shame, and the apprehension of displeasure, are the only true restraints; these alone ought to hold the reins, and keep the child in order. But corporal punishments must necessarily lose that effect, and wear out the sense of shame, where they frequently return. Shame in children has the same place that modesty has in women; which cannot be kept, and often transgressed against. And as to the apprehension of displeasure in the parents, they will come to be very insignificant, if the marks of that displeasure quickly cease, and a few blows fully expiate. Parents should well consider what faults in their children are weighty enough to deserve the declaration of their anger: but when their displeasure is once declared to a degree that carries any punishment with it, they ought not presently to lay by the severity of their brows, but to restore their children to their former grace with some difficulty; and delay a full reconciliation, till their conformity, and more than ordinary merit, make good their amendment. If this be not so ordered, punishment will by familiarity become a mere thing of course, and lose all its influence; offending, being chastised, and then forgiven, will be thought as natural and necessary as noon, night, and morning, following one another.

§ 61. Concerning reputation,Reputation. I shall only remark this one thing more of it: that, though it be not the true principle and measure of virtue, (for that is the knowledge of a man’s duty, and the satisfaction it is to obey his Maker, in following the dictates of that light God has given him, with the hopes of acceptation and reward,) yet it is that which comes nearest to it: and being the testimony and applause that other people’s reason, as it were, by a common consent, gives to virtuous and well-ordered actions, it is the proper guide and encouragement of children, till they grow able to judge for themselves, and to find what is right by their own reason.

§ 62. This consideration may direct parents, how to manage themselves in reproving and commending their children. The rebukes and chiding, which their faults will sometimes make hardly to be avoided, should not only be in sober, grave, and unpassionate words, but also alone and in private: but the commendations children deserve they should receive before others. This doubles the reward, by spreading their praise; but the backwardness parents show in divulging their faults, will make them set a greater value on their credit themselves, and teach them to be the more careful to preserve the good opinion of others, whilst they think they have it: but when, being exposed to shame, by publishing their miscarriages, they give it up for lost, that check upon them is taken off; and they will be the less careful to preserve others good thoughts of them, the more they suspect that their reputation with them is already blemished.

§ 63. But if a right course be taken with children, there will not be so much need of the application of the common rewards and punishments, as we imagined, and as the general practice has established. For all their innocent folly, playing, and childishChildishness. actions, are to be left perfectly free and unrestrained, as far as they can consist with the respect due to those that are present; and that with the greatest allowance. If these faults of their age, rather than of the children themselves, were, as they should be, left only to time, and imitation, and riper years to cure, children would escape a great deal of misapplied and useless correction; which either fails to overpower the natural disposition of their childhood, and so, by an ineffectual familiarity, makes correction in other necessary cases of less use; or else if it be of force to restrain the natural gaiety of that age, it serves only to spoil the temper both of body and mind. If the noise and bustle of their play prove at any time inconvenient, or unsuitable to the place or company they are in, (which can only be where their parents are,) a look or a word from the father or mother, if they have established the authority they should, will be enough either to remove, or quiet them for that time. But this gamesome humour, which is wisely adapted by nature to their age and temper, should rather be encouraged, to keep up their spirits, and improve their strength and health, than curbed or restrained: and the chief art is to make all that they have to do, sport and play too.

§ 64. And here give me leave to take notice of one thing I think a fault in the ordinary method of education; and that is, the charging of children’s memories, upon all occasions, with rulesRules. and precepts, which they often do not understand, and are constantly as soon forgot as given. If it be some action you would have done, or done otherwise; whenever they forget or do it awkwardly, make them do it over and over again, till they are perfect: whereby you will get these two advantages: First, to see whether it be an action they can do, or is fit to be expected of them. For sometimes children are bid to do things, which, upon trial, they are found not able to do; and had need be taught and exercised in, before they are required to do them. But it is much easier for a tutor to command, than to teach. Secondly, another thing got by it will be this, that by repeating the same action, till it be grown habitual in them, the performance will not depend on memory, or reflection, the concomitant of prudence and age, and not of childhood; but will be natural in them. Thus, bowing to a gentleman when he salutes him, and looking in his face when he speaks to him, is by constant use as natural to a wellbred man, as breathing; it requires no thought, no reflection. Having this way cured in your child any fault, it is cured for ever: and thus, one by one, you may weed them out all, and plant what habits you please.

§ 65. I have seen parents so heap rules on their children, that it was impossible for the poor little ones to remember a tenth part of them, much less to observe them. However, they were either by words or blows corrected for the breach of those multiplied and often very impertinent precepts. Whence it naturally followed, that the children minded not what was said to them; when it was evident to them, that no attention they were capable of, was sufficient to preserve them from transgression, and the rebukes which followed it.

Let therefore your rules to your son be as few as is possible, and rather fewer than more than seem absolutely necessary. For if you burden him with many rules, one of these two things must necessarily follow, that either he must be very often punished, which will be of ill consequence, by making punishment too frequent and familiar; or else you must let the transgressions of some of your rules go unpunished, whereby they will of course grow contemptible, and your authority become cheap to him. Make but few laws, but see they be well observed, when once made. Few years require but few laws; and as his age increases, when one rule is by practice well established, you may add another.

§ 66. But pray remember, children are not to be taught by rules, which will be always slipping out of their memories. What you think necessary for them to do, settle in them by an indispensable practice, as often as the occasion returns; and, if it be possible, make occasions. This will beget habitsHabits. in them, which, being once established, operate of themselves, easily and naturally, without the assistance of the memory. But here let me give two cautions: 1. The one is, that you keep them to the practice of what you would have grow into a habit in them, by kind words and gentle admonitions, rather as minding them of what they forget, than by harsh rebukes and chiding as if they were wilfully guilty. 2dly, Another thing you are to take care of, is, not to endeavour to settle too many habits at once, lest by a variety you confound them, and so perfect none. When constant custom has made any one thing easy and natural to them, and they practise it without reflection, you may then go on to another.

This method of teaching children by a repeated practice,Practice. and the same action done over and over again, under the eye and direction of the tutor, till they have got the habit of doing it well, and not by relying on rules trusted to their memories; has so many advantages, which way soever we consider it, that I cannot but wonder (if ill customs could be wondered at in any thing) how it could possibly be so much neglected. I shall name one more that comes now in my way. By this method we shall see, whether what is required of him be adapted to his capacity, and any way suited to the child’s natural genius and constitution: for that too must be considered in a right education. We must not hope wholly to change their original tempers, nor make the gay pensive and grave, nor the melancholy sportive, without spoiling them. God has stamped certain characters upon men’s minds, which, like their shapes, may perhaps be a little mended; but can hardly be totally altered and transformed into the contrary.

He therefore that is about children, should well study their natures and aptitudes, and see, by often trials, what turn they easily take, and what becomes them; observe what their native stock is, how it may be improved, and what it is fit for: he should consider what they want, whether they be capable of having it wrought into them by industry, and incorporated there by practice; and whether it be worth while to endeavour it. For in many cases, all that we can do, or should aim at, is, to make the best of what nature has given, to prevent the vices and faults to which such a constitution is most inclined, and give it all the advantages it is capable of. Every one’s natural genius should be carried as far as it could; but to attempt the putting another upon him, will be but labour in vain; and what is so plaistered on, will at best sit but untowardly, and have always hanging to it the ungracefulness of constraint and affectation.

AffectationAffectation. is not, I confess, an early fault of childhood, or the product of untaught nature: it is of that sort of weeds, which grow not in the wild uncultivated waste, but in garden-plots, under the negligent hand, or unskilful care of a gardener. Management and instruction, and some sense of the necessity of breeding, are requisite to make any one capable of affectation, which endeavours to correct natural defects, and has always the laudable aim of pleasing, though it always misses it; and the more it labours to put on gracefulness, the farther it is from it. For this reason it is the more carefully to be watched, because it is the proper fault of education; a perverted education indeed, but such as young people often fall into, either by their own mistake, or the ill conduct of those about them.

He that will examine wherein that gracefulness lies, which always pleases, will find it arises from that natural coherence, which appears between the thing done, and such a temper of mind, as cannot but be approved of as suitable to the occasion. We cannot but be pleased with an humane, friendly, civil temper, whereever we meet with it. A mind free, and master of itself and all its actions, not low and narrow, not haughty and insolent, not blemished with any great defect; is what every one is taken with. The actions, which naturally flow from such a well-formed mind, please us also, as the genuine marks of it; and being, as it were, natural emanations from the spirit and disposition within, cannot but be easy and unconstrained. This seems to me to be that beauty, which shines through some men’s actions, sets off all that they do, and takes with all they come near; when by a constant practice they have fashioned their carriage, and made all those little expressions of civility and respect, which nature or custom has established in conversation, so easy to themselves, that they seem not artificial or studied, but naturally to follow from a sweetness of mind and a well-turned disposition.

On the other side, affectation is an awkward and forced imitation of what should be genuine and easy, wanting the beauty that accompanies what is natural; because there is always a disagreement between the outward action, and the mind within, one of these two ways: 1. Either when a man would outwardly put on a disposition of mind, which then he really has not, but endeavours by a forced carriage to make show of; yet so, that the constraint he is under, discovers itself: and thus men affect sometimes to appear sad, merry, or kind, when, in truth, they are not so.

The other is, when they do not endeavour to make show of dispositions of mind, which they have not, but to express those they have by a carriage not suited to them: and such in conversation are all constrained motions, actions, words, or looks, which, though designed to show either their respect or civility to the company, or their satisfaction and easiness in it, are not yet natural nor genuine marks of the one or the other; but rather of some defect or mistake within. Imitation of others, without discerning what is graceful in them, or what is peculiar to their characters, often makes a great part of this. But affectation of all kinds, whencesoever it proceeds, is always offensive: because we naturally hate whatever is counterfeit; and condemn those who have nothing better to recommend themselves by.

Plain and rough nature, left to itself, is much better than an artificial ungracefulness, and such studied ways of being ill-fashioned. The want of an accomplishment, or some defect in our behaviour, coming short of the utmost gracefulness, often escapes observation and censure. But affectation in any part of our carriage, is lighting up a candle to our defects; and never fails to make us be taken notice of, either as wanting sense, or wanting sincerity. This governors ought the more diligently to look after; because as I above observed, it is an acquired ugliness, owing to mistaken education; few being guilty of it, but those who pretend to breeding, and would not be thought ignorant of what is fashionable and becoming in conversation; and, if I mistake not, it has often its rise from the lazy admonitions of those who give rules, and propose examples, without joining practice with their instructions, and making their pupils repeat the action in their sight, that they may correct what is indecent or constrained in it, till it be perfected into an habitual and becoming easiness.

§ 67. Manners,Manners. as they call it, about which children are so often perplexed, and have so many goodly exhortations made them, by their wise maids and governesses, I think, are rather to be learned by example than rules; and then children, if kept out of ill company, will take a pride to behave themselves prettily, after the fashion of others, perceiving themselves esteemed and commended for it. But, if by a little negligence in this part, the boy should not put off his hat, nor make legs very gracefully, a dancing-master will cure that defect, and wipe off all that plainness of nature, which the à-la-mode people call clownishness. And since nothing appears to me to give children so much becoming confidence and behaviour, and so to raise them to the conversation of those above their age, as dancing;Dancing. I think they should be taught to dance, as soon as they are capable of learning it. For, though this consist only in outward gracefulness of motion, yet, I know not how, it gives children manly thoughts and carriage, more than any thing. But otherwise I would not have little children much tormented about punctilios, or niceties of breeding.

Never trouble yourself about those faults in them, which you know age will cure. And therefore want of well-fashioned civility in the carriage, whilst civility is not wanting in the mind, (for there you must take care to plant it early,) should be the parents least care, whilst they are young. If his tender mind be filled with a veneration for his parents and teachers, which consists in love and esteem, and a fear to offend them; and with respect and good-will to all people; that respect will of itself teach those ways of expressing it, which he observes most acceptable. Be sure to keep up in him the principles of good-nature and kindness; make them as habitual as you can, by credit and commendation, and the good things accompanying that state; and when they have taken root in his mind, and are settled there by a continued practice, fear not; the ornaments of conversation, and the outside of fashionable manners, will come in their due time, if, when they are removed out of their maid’s care, they are put into the hands of a well-bred man to be their governor.

Whilst they are very young, any carelessness is to be borne with in children, that carries not with it the marks of pride or ill-nature: but those, whenever they appear in any action, are to be corrected immediately, by the ways above mentioned. What I have said concerning manners, I would not have so understood, as if I meant that those, who have the judgment to do it, should not gently fashion the motions and carriage of children, when they are very young. It would be of great advantage, if they had people about them, from their being first able to go, that had the skill, and would take the right way to do it. That which I complain of is the wrong course that is usually taken in this matter. Children who were never taught any such thing as behaviour, are often (especially when strangers are present) child for having some way or other failed in good manners, and have thereupon reproofs and precepts heaped upon them, concerning putting off their hats, or making of legs, &c. Though in this those concerned pretend to correct the child, yet, in truth, for the most part, it is but to cover their own shame: and they lay the blame on the poor little ones, sometimes passionately enough, to divert it from themselves, for fear the by-standers should impute to their want of care and skill the child’s ill behaviour.

For, as for the children themselves, they are never one jot bettered by such occasional lectures: they at other times should be shown what to do, and by reiterated actions be fashioned before-hand into the practice of what is fit and becoming; and not told, and talked to do upon the spot, what they have never been accustomed to, nor know how to do as they should: to hare and rate them thus at every turn, is not to teach them, but to vex and torment them to no purpose. They should be let alone, rather than chid for a fault, which is none of theirs, nor is in their power to mend for speaking to. And it were much better their natural, childish negligence, or plainness, should be left to the care of riper years, than that they should frequently have rebukes misplaced upon them, which neither do, nor can give them graceful motions. If their minds are well disposed, and principled with inward civility, a great part of the roughness, which sticks to the outside for want of better teaching, time and observation will rub off, as they grow up, if they are bred in good company; but if in ill, all the rules in the world, all the correction imaginable, will not be able to polish them. For you must take this for a certain truth, that let them have what instructions you will, and ever so learned lectures of breeding daily inculculated into them, that which will most influence their carriage, will be the company they converse with, and the fashion of those about them. Children (nay, and men too) do most by example. We are all a sort of chameleons, that still take a tincture from things near us: nor is it to be wondered at in children, who better understand what they see, than what they hear.

§ 68. I mentioned above, one great mischief that came by servants to children, when by their flatteries they take off the edge and force of the parents rebukes, and so lessen their authority. And here is another great inconvenience, which children receive from the ill examples which they meet with, amongst the meaner servants.

They are wholly, if possible, to be kept from such conversation: for the contagion of these ill precedents, both in civility and virtue, horribly infects children, as often as they come within reach of it. They frequently learn, from unbred or debauched servants, such language, untowardly tricks and vices, as otherwise they possibly would be ignorant of all their lives.

§ 69. It is a hard matter wholly to prevent this mischief. You will have very good luck if you never have a clownish or vicious servant, and if from them your children never get any infection. But yet, as much must be done towards it, as can be; and the children kept as much as may be in the companyCompany. of their parents, and those to whose care they are committed. To this purpose, their being in their presence should be made easy to them: they should be allowed the liberties and freedom suitable to their ages, and not be held under unnecessary restraints, when in their parent’s or governor’s sight. If it be a prison to them, it is no wonder they should not like it. They must not be hindered from being children, or from playing or doing as children; but from doing ill. All other liberty is to be allowed them. Next, to make them in love with the company of their parents, they should receive all their good things there, and from their hands. The servants should be hindered from making court to them, by giving them strong drink, wine, fruit, playthings, and other such matters, which may make them in love with their conversation.

§ 70. Having named company, I am almost ready to throw away my pen, and trouble you no farther on this subject. For since that does more than all precepts, rules, and instructions, methinks it is almost wholly in vain to make a long discourse of other things, and to talk of that almost to no purpose. For you will be ready to say, “What shall I do with my son? If I keep him always at home, he will be in danger to be my young master; and if I send him abroad, how is it possible to keep him from the contagion of rudeness and vice, which is every-where so in fashion? In my house he will perhaps be more innocent, but more ignorant too of the world: wanting there change of company, and being used constantly to the same faces, he will, when he comes abroad, be a sheepish or conceited creature.”

I confess, both sides have their inconveniencies. Being abroad, it is true, will make him bolder, and better able to bustle and shift amongst boys of his own age; and the emulation of school-fellows often puts life and industry into young lads. But till you can find a school, wherein it is possible for the master to look after the manners of his scholars, and can show as great effects of his care of forming their minds to virtue, and their carriage to good breeding, as of forming their tongues to the learned languages; you must confess, that you have a strange value for words, when, preferring the languages of the ancient Greeks and Romans to that which made them such brave men, you think it worth while to hazard your son’s innocence and virtue, for a little Greek and Latin. For, as for that boldness and spirit, which lads get amongst their play-fellows at school, it has ordinarily such a mixture of rudeness, and an ill-turned confidence, that those misbecoming and disingenuous ways of shifting in the world must be unlearned, and all the tincture washed out again, to make way for better principles, and such manners as make a truly worthy man. He that considers how diametrically opposite the skill of living well, and managing, as a man should do, his affairs in the world, is to that malapertness, tricking, or violence, learnt among school-boys, will think the faults of a privater education infinitely to be preferred to such improvements; and will take care to preserve his child’s innocence and modesty at home, as being nearer of kin, and more in the way of those qualities, which make a useful and able man. Nor does any one find, or so much as suspect, that the retirement and bashfulness, which their daughters are brought up in, makes them less knowing or less able women. Conversation, when they come into the world, soon gives them a becoming assurance; and whatsoever, beyond that, there is of rough and boisterous, may in men be very well spared too: for courage and steadiness, as I take it, lie not in roughness and ill breeding.

Virtue is harder to be got, than a knowledge of the world; and, if lost in a young man, is seldom recovered. Sheepishness and ignorance of the world, the faults imputed to a private education, are neither the necessary consequences of being bred at home; nor, if they were, are they incurable evils. Vice is the more stubborn, as well as the more dangerous evil of the two; and therefore, in the first place, to be fenced against. If that sheepish softness, which often enervates those, who are bred like fondlings at home, be carefully to be avoided, it is principally so for virtue’s sake; for fear lest such a yielding temper should be too susceptible of vicious impressions, and expose the novice too easily to be corrupted. A young man, before he leaves the shelter of his father’s house, and the guard of a tutor, should be fortified with resolution, and made acquainted with men, to secure his virtue; lest he should be led into some ruinous course, or fatal precipice, before he is sufficiently acquainted with the dangers of conversation, and has steadiness enough not to yield to every temptation. Were it not for this, a young man’s bashfulness, and ignorance of the world, would not so much need an early care. Conversation would cure it in a great measure; or, if that will not do it early enough, it is only a stronger reason for a good tutor at home. For, if pains be to be taken to give him a manly air and assurance betimes, it is chiefly as a fence to his virtue, when he goes into the world, under his own conduct.

It is preposterous, therefore, to sacrifice his innocency to the attaining of confidence, and some little skill of bustling for himself among others, by his conversation with ill-bred and vicious boys; when the chief use of that sturdiness, and standing upon his own legs, is only for the preservation of his virtue. For if confidence or cunning come once to mix with vice, and support his miscarriages, he is only the surer lost; and you must undo again, and strip him of that he has got from his companions, or give him up to ruin. Boys will unavoidably be taught assurance by conversation with men, when they are brought into it; and that is time enough. Modesty and submission, till then, better fits them for instruction: and therefore there needs not any great care to stock them with confidence beforehand. That which requires most time, pains, and assiduity, is to work into them the principles and practice of virtue and good breeding. This is the seasoning they should be prepared with, so as not easily to be got out again: this they had need to be well provided with. For conversation, when they come into the world, will add to their knowledge and assurance, but be too apt to take from their virtue; which therefore they ought to be plentifully stored with, and have that tincture sunk deep into them.

How they should be fitted for conversation, and entered into the world, when they are ripe for it, we shall consider in another place. But how any one’s being put into a mixed herd of unruly boys, and there learning to wrangle at trap, or rook at span-farthing, fits him for civil conversation, or business, I do not see. And what qualities are ordinarily to be got from such a troop of play-fellows, as schools usually assemble together, from parents of all kinds, that a father should so much covet it, is hard to divine. I am sure, he who is able to be at the charge of a tutor, at home, may there give his son a more genteel carriage, more manly thoughts, and a sense of what is worthy and becoming, with a greater proficiency in learning into the bargain, and ripen him up sooner into a man; than any at school can do. Not that I blame the school-master in this, or think it to be laid to his charge. The difference is great between two or three pupils in the same house, and three or fourscore boys lodged up and down. For, let the master’s industry and skill be ever so great, it is impossible he should have 50 or 100 scholars under h s eye, any longer than they are in the school together: nor can it be expected, that he should instruct them successfully in any thing but their books; the forming of their minds and manners requiring a constant attention, and particular application to every single boy; which is impossible in a numerous flock, and would be wholly in vain, (could he have time to study and correct every one’s particular defects and wrong inclinations,) when the lad was to be left to himself, or the prevailing infection of his fellows, the greatest part of the four-and-twenty hours.

But fathers, observing that fortune is often most successfully courted by bold and bustling men, are glad to see their sons pert and forward betimes; take it for an happy omen, that they will be thriving men, and look on the tricks they play their school-fellows, or learn from them, as a proficiency in the art of living, and making their way through the world. But I must take the liberty to say, that he that lays the foundation of his son’s fortune in virtue and good breeding, takes the only sure and warrantable way. And it is not the waggeries or cheats practised among school-boys, it is not their roughness one to another, nor the well-laid plots of robbing an orchard together, that makes an able man; but the principles of justice, generosity, and sobriety, joined with observation and industry, qualities which I judge school-boys do not learn much of one another. And if a young gentleman, bred at home, be not taught more of them, than he could learn at school, his father has made a very ill choice of a tutor. Take a boy from the top of a grammar-school, and one of the same age, bred as he should be in his father’s family, and bring them into good company together; and then see which of the two will have the more manly carriage, and address himself with the more becoming assurance to strangers. Here I imagine the school-boy’s confidence will either fail or discredit him; and if it be such as fits him only for the conversation of boys, he had better be without it.

Vice,Vice. if we may believe the general complaint, ripens so fast now-a-days, and runs up to seed so early in young people, that it is impossible to keep a lad from the spreading contagion, if you will venture him abroad in the herd, and trust to chance, or his own inclination, for the choice of his company at school. By what fate vice has so thriven amongst us these few years past, and by what hands it has been nursed up into so uncontrolled a dominion, I shall leave to others to inquire. I wish that those who complain of the great decay of christian piety and virtue everywhere, and of learning and acquired improvements in the gentry of this generation, would consider how to retrieve them in the next. This I am sure, that, if the foundation of it be not laid in the education and principling of the youth, all other endeavours will be in vain. And if the innocence, sobriety, and industry of those who are coming up, be not taken care of and preserved, it will be ridiculous to expect, that those who are to succeed next on the stage, should abound in that virtue, ability, and learning, which has hitherto made England considerable in the world. I was going to add courage too, though it has been looked on as the natural inheritance of Englishmen. What has been talked of some late actions at sea, of a kind unknown to our ancestors, gives me occasion to say, that debauchery sinks the courage of men; and when dissoluteness has eaten out the sense of true honour, bravery seldom stays long after it. And I think it impossible to find an instance of any nation, however renowned for their valour, who ever kept their credit in arms, or made themselves redoubtable amongst their neighbours, after corruption had once broke through, and dissolved the restraint of discipline; and vice was grown to such a head, that it durst show itself barefaced, without being out of countenance.

It is virtueVirtue. then, direct virtue, which is the hard and valuable part to be aimed at in education; and not a forward pertness, or any little arts of shifting. All other considerations and accomplishments should give way, and be postponed, to this. This is the solid and substantial good, which tutors should not only read lectures, and talk of; but the labour and art of education should furnish the mind with, and fasten there, and never cease till the young man had a true relish of it, and placed his strength, his glory, and his pleasure in it.

The more this advances, the easier way will be made for other accomplishments in their turns. For he that is brought to submit to virtue, will not be refractory, or resty, in any thing that becomes him. And therefore I cannot but prefer breeding of a young gentleman at home in his father’s sight, under a good governor, as much the best and safest way to this great and main end of education; when it can be had, and is ordered as it should be. Gentlemen’s houses are seldom without variety of company:Company. they should use their sons to all the strange faces that come there, and engage them in conversation with men of parts and breeding, as soon as they are capable of it. And why those, who live in the country, should not take them with them, when they make visits of civility to their neighbours, I know not: this I am sure, a father that breeds his son at home, has the opportunity to have him more in his own company, and there give him what encouragement he thinks fit: and can keep him better from the taint of servants, and the meaner sort of people, than is possible to be done abroad. But what shall be resolved in the case, must in great measure be left to the parents, to be determined by their circumstances and conveniencies. Only I think it the worst sort of good husbandry for a father not to strain himself a little for his son’s breeding; which, let his condition be what it will, is the best portion he can leave him. But if, after all, it shall be thought by some, that the breeding at home has too little company, and that at ordinary schools not such as it should be for a young gentleman; I think there might be ways found out to avoid the inconveniencies on the one side and the other.

§ 71. Having under consideration howgreat the influence of company is, and how prone we are all, especially children, to imitation; I must here take the liberty to mind parents of this one thing, viz. that he that will have his son have a respect for him and his orders, must himself have a great reverence for his son. “Maxima debetur pueris reverentia.” You must do nothing before him, which you would not have him imitate. If any thing escape you, which you would have pass for a fault in him, he will be sure to shelter himself under your example,Example. and shelter himself so, as that it will not be easy to come at him to correct it in him the right way. If you punish him for what he sees you practise yourself, he will not think that severity to proceed from kindness in you, or carefulness to amend a fault in him; but will be apt to interpret it the peevishness and arbitrary imperiousness of a father, who, without any ground for it, would deny his son the liberty and pleasures he takes himself. Or if you assume to yourself the liberty you have taken, as a privilege belonging to riper years, to which a child must not aspire, you do but add new force to your example, and recommend the action the more powerfully to him. For you must always remember, that children affect to be men earlier than is thought: and they love breeches, not for their cut, or ease, but because the having them is a mark or a step towards manhood. What I say of the father’s carriage before his children, must extend itself to all those who have any authority over them, or for whom he would have them have any respect.

§ 72. But to return to the business of rewards and punishments.Punishment. All the actions of childishness, and unfashionable carriage, and whatever time and age will of itself be sure to reform, being (as I have said) exempt from the discipline of the rod, there will not be so much need of beating children, as is generally made use of. To which if we add learning to read, write, dance, foreign languages, &c. as under the same privilege, there will be but very rarely any occasion for blows or force in an ingenuous education. The right way to teach them those things, is, to give them a liking and inclination to what you propose to them to be learned, and that will engage their industry and application. This I think no hard matter to do, if children be handled as they should be, and the rewards and punishments above mentioned be carefully applied, and with them these few rules observed in the method of instructing them.

§ 73. 1. None of the things they are to learn should ever be made a burden to them, or imposed on them as a task.Task. Whatever is so proposed, presently becomes irksome: the mind takes an aversion to it, though before it were a thing of delight or indifferency. Let a child be but ordered to whip his top at a certain time of the day, whether he has, or has not a mind to it; let this be but required of him as a duty, wherein he must spend so many hours morning and afternoon, and see whether he will not soon be weary of any play at this rate. Is it not so with grown men? What they do cheerfully of themselves, do they not presently grow sick of, and can no more endure, as soon as they find it is expected of them as a duty? Children have as much a mind to show that they are free, that their own good actions come from themselves, that they are absolute and independent, as any of the proudest of you grown men, think of them as you please.

§ 74. 2. As a consequence of this, they should seldom be put about doing even those things you have got an inclination in them to, but when they have a mind and dispositionDisposition. to it. He that loves reading, writing, music, &c. finds yet in himself certain seasons wherein those things have no relish to him: and, if at that time he forces himself to it, he only pothers and wearies himself to no purpose. So it is with children. This change of temper should be carefully observed in them, and the favourable seasons of aptitude and inclination be heedfully laid hold of: and if they are not often enough forward of themselves, a good disposition should be talked into them, before they be set upon any thing. This I think no hard matter for a discreet tutor to do, who has studied his pupil’s temper, and will be at a little pains to fill his head with suitable ideas, such as may make him in love with the present business. By this means a great deal of time and tiring would be saved: for a child will learn three times as much when he is in tune, as he will with double the time and pains, when he goes awkwardly, or is dragged unwillingly to it. If this were minded as it should, children might be permitted to weary themselves with play, and yet have time enough to learn what is suited to the capacity of each age. But no such thing is considered in the ordinary way of education, nor can it well be. That rough discipline of the rod is built upon other principles, has no attraction in it, regards not what humour children are in, nor looks after favourable seasons of inclination. And indeed it would be ridiculous, when compulsion and blows have raised an aversion in the child to his task, to expect he should freely of his own accord leave his play, and with pleasure court the occasions of learning: whereas, were matters ordered right, learning any thing they should be taught, might be made as much a recreation to their play, as their play is to their learning. The pains are equal on both sides: nor is it that which troubles them; for they love to be busy, and the change and variety is that which naturally delights them. The only odds is, in that which we call play they act at liberty, and employ their pains (whereof you may observe them never sparing) freely; but what they are to learn, is forced upon them; they are called, compelled, and driven to it. This is that which at first entrance, balks and cools them; they want their liberty: get them but to ask their tutor to teach them, as they do often their play-fellows, instead of his calling upon them to learn; and they being satisfied that they act as freely in this, as they do in other things, they will go on with as much pleasure in it, and it will not differ from their other sports and play. By these ways, carefully pursued, a child may be brought to desire to be taught any thing you have a mind he should learn. The hardest part, I confess, is with the first or eldest; but when once he is set aright, it is easy by him to lead the rest whither one will.

§ 75. Though it be past doubt, that the fittest time for children to learn any thing is, when their minds are in tune, and well disposed to it; when neither flagging of spirit, nor intentness of thought upon something else, makes them awkward and averse; yet two things are to be taken care of: 1. that these seasons either not being warily observed, and laid hold on, as often as they return; or else not returning as often as they should; the improvement of the child be not thereby neglected, and so he be let grow into an habitual idleness, and confirmed in this indisposition. 2. That though other things are ill learned when the mind is either indisposed, or otherwise taken up; yet it is of great moment, and worth our endeavours, to teach the mind to get the mastery over itself; and to be able, upon choice, to take itself off from the hot pursuit of one thing, and set itself upon another with facility and delight; or at any time to shake off its sluggishness, and vigorously employ itself about what reason, or the advice of another, shall direct. This is to be done in children, by trying them sometimes; when they are by laziness unbent, or by avocation bent another way, and endeavouring to make them buckle to the thing proposed. If by this means the mind can get an habitual dominion over itself, lay by ideas or business, as occasion requires, and betake itself to new and less acceptable employments, without reluctancy or discomposure, it will be an advantage of more consequence than Latin or logic, or most of those things children are usually required to learn.

Compulsion.§ 76. Children being more active and busy in that age, than in any other part of their life, and being indifferent to any thing they can do, so they may be but doing; dancing and scotch-hoppers would be the same thing to them, were the encouragements and discouragements equal. But to things we would have them learn, the great and only discouragement I can observe, is, that they are called to it; it is made their business; they are teased and chid about it, and do it with trembling and apprehension; or, when they come willingly to it, are kept too long at it, till they are quite tired: all which intrenches too much on that natural freedom they extremely affect. And it is that liberty alone, which gives the true relish and delight to their ordinary play-games. Turn the tables, and you will find, they will soon change their application; especially if they see the examples of others, whom they esteem and think above themselves. And if the things which they observe others to do, be ordered so that they insinuate themselves into them, as the privilege of an age or condition above theirs; then ambition, and the desire still to get forward, and higher, and to be like those above them, will set them on work, and make them go on with vigour and pleasure; pleasure in what they have begun by their own desire. In which way the enjoyment of their dearly beloved freedom will be no small encouragement to them. To all which, if there be added the satisfaction of credit and reputation, I am apt to think, there will need no other spur to excite their application and assiduity, as much as is necessary. I confess, there needs patience and skill, gentleness and attention, and a prudent conduct to attain this at first. But why have you a tutor, if there needed no pains? But when this is once established, all the rest will follow more easily, than in any more severe and imperious discipline. And I think it no hard matter to gain this point; I am sure it will not be, where children have no ill examples set before them. The great danger therefore, I apprehend, is only from servants, and other ill-ordered children, or such other vicious or foolish people, who spoil children, both by the ill pattern they set before them in their own ill manners, and by giving them together, the two things they should never have at once; I mean, vicious pleasures and commendation.

§ 77. As childrenChiding. should very seldom be corrected by blows; so, I think, frequent, and especially, passionate chiding, of almost as ill consequence. It lessons the authority of the parents, and the respect of the child: for I bid you still remember, they distinguish early betwixt passion and reason: and as they cannot but have a reverence for what comes from the latter, so they quickly grow into a contempt of the former; or if it causes a present terrour, yet it soon wears off; and natural inclination will easily learn to slight such scare-crows, which make a noise, but are not animated by reason. Children being to be restrained by the parents only in vicious (which, in their tender years, are only a few) things, a look or nod only ought to correct them, when they do amiss: or, if words are sometimes to be used, they ought to be grave, kind, and sober, representing the ill, or unbecomingness of the faults, rather than a hasty rating of the child for it, which makes him not sufficiently distinguish whether your dislike be not more directed to him than his fault. Passionate chiding usually carries rough and ill language with it, which has this further ill effect, that it teaches and justifies it in children; and the names that their parents or preceptors give them they will not be ashamed or backward to bestow on others, having so good authority for the use of them.

Obstinacy.§ 78. I foresee here it will be objected to me: what then, will you have children never beaten, nor chid, for any fault? this will be to let loose the reins to all kind of disorder. Not so much as is imagined, if a right course has been taken in the first seasoning of their minds, and implanting that awe of their parents above mentioned. For beating, by constant observation, is found to do little good, where the smart of it is all the punishment is feared or felt in it; for the influence of that quickly wears out, with the memory of it. But yet there is one, and but one fault, for which, I think, children should be beaten; and that is obstinacy or rebellion. And in this too, I would have it ordered so, if it can be, that the shame of the whipping, and not the pain, should be the greatest part of the punishment. Shame of doing amiss, and deserving chastisement, is the only true restraint belonging to virtue. The smart of the rod, if shame accompanies it not, soon ceases, and is forgotten, and will quickly, by use, lose its terrour. I have known the children of a person of quality kept in awe, by the fear of having their shoes pulled off, as much as others by apprehensions of a rod hanging over them. Some such punishment I think better than beating; for it is shame of the fault, and the disgrace that attends it, that they should stand in fear of, rather than pain, if you would have them have a temper truly ingenuous. But stubbornness, and an obstinate disobedience, must be mastered with force and blows: for this there is no other remedy. Whatever particular action you bid him to do, or forbear, you must be sure to see yourself obeyed; no quarter, in this case, no resistance. For when once it comes to be a trial of skill, a contest for mastery betwixt you, as it is, if you command, and he refuses; you must be sure to carry it, whatever blows it costs, if a nod or words will not prevail; unless, for ever after, you intend to live in obedience to your son. A prudent and kind mother, of my acquaintance, was, on such an occasion, forced to whip her little daughter, at her first coming home from nurse, eight times successively, the same morning, before she could master her stubbornness, and obtain a compliance in a very easy and indifferent matter. If she had left off sooner, and stopped at the seventh whipping, she had spoiled the child for ever; and, by her unprevailing blows, only confirmed her refractoriness, very hardly afterwards to be cured: but wisely persisting, till she had bent her mind, and suppled her will, the only end of correction and chastisement, she established her authority thoroughly in the very first occasions, and had ever after a very ready compliance and obedience in all things from her daughter. For, as this was the first time, so, I think, it was the last too she ever struck her.

The pain of the rod, the first occasion that requires it, continued and increased without leaving off, till it has thoroughly prevailed; should first bend the mind, and settle the parents authority: and then gravity, mixed with kindness, should for ever after keep it.

This, if well reflected on, would make people more wary in the use of the rod and the cudgel; and keep them from being so apt to think beating the safe and universal remedy, to be applied at random, on all occasions. This is certain however, if it does no good, it does great harm; if it reaches not the mind, and makes not the will supple, it hardens the offender; and, whatever pain he has suffered for it, it does but endear to him his beloved stubbornness, which has got him this time the victory, and prepares him to contest and hope for it for the future. Thus, I doubt not, but by illordered correction, many have been taught to be obstinate and refractory, who otherwise would have been very pliant and tractable. For, if you punish a child so, as if it were only to revenge the past fault, which has raised your choler; what operation can this have upon his mind, which is the part to be amended? If there were no sturdy humour or wilfulness mixed with his fault, there was nothing in it, that required the severity of blows. A kind, or grave admonition is enough, to remedy the slips of frailty, forgetfulness, or inadvertency, and is as much as they will stand in need of. But, if there were a perverseness in the will, if it were a designed, resolved disobedience, the punishment is not to be measured by the greatness or smallness of the matter wherein it appeared, but by the opposition it carries, and stands in, to that respect and submission that is due to the father’s orders; which must always be rigorously exacted, and the blows by pauses laid on, till they reach the mind, and you perceive the signs of a true sorrow, shame, and purpose of obedience.

This, I confess, requires something more than setting children a task, and whipping them without any more ado, if it be not done, and done to our fancy. This requires care, attention, observation, and a nice study of children’s tempers, and weighing their faults well, before we come to this sort of punishment. But is not that better, than always to have the rod in hand, as the only instrument of government; and, by frequent use of it, on all occasions, misapply and render inefficacious this last and useful remedy, where there is need of it? For, what else can be expected, when it is promiscuously used upon every little slip? When a mistake in concordance, or a wrong position in verse, shall have the severity of the lash, in a well-tempered and industrious lad, as surely as a wilful crime in an obstinate and perverse offender; how can such a way of correction be expected to do good on the mind, and set that right? which is the only thing to be looked after; and, when set right, brings all the rest that you can desire along with it.

§ 79. Where a wrong bent of the will wants not amendment, there can be no need of blows. All other faults, where the mind is rightly disposed, and refuses not the government and authority of the father or tutor, are but mistakes, and may often be over-looked; or, when they are taken notice of, need no other but the gentle remedies of advice, direction, and reproof; till the repeated and wilful neglect of those shows the fault to be in the mind, and that a manifest perverseness of the will lies at the root of their disobedience. But whenever obstinacy, which is an open defiance, appears, that cannot be winked at, or neglected, but must, in the first instance, be subdued and mastered; only care must be had, that we mistake not; and we must be sure it is obstinacy, and nothing else.

§ 80. But since the occasions of punishment, especially beating, are as much to be avoided as may be, I think it should not be often brought to this point. If the awe I spoke of be once got, a look will be sufficient in most cases. Nor indeed should the same carriage, seriousness, or application be expected from young children, as from those of riper growth. They must be permitted, as I said, the foolish and childish actions, suitable to their years, without taking notice of them; inadvertency, carelessness, and gaiety, is the character of that age. I think the severity I spoke of, is not to extend itself to such unseasonable restraints; nor is that hastily to be interpreted obstinacy or wilfulness, which is the natural product of their age or temper. In such miscarriages they are to be assisted, and helped towards an amendment, as weak people under a natural infirmity; which, though they are warned of, yet every relapse must not be counted a perfect neglect, and they presently treated as obstinate. Faults of frailty, as they should never be neglected, or let pass without minding; so, unless the will mix with them, they should never be exaggerated, or very sharply reproved; but with a gentle hand set right, as time and age permit. By this means, children will come to see what is in any miscarriage, that is chiefly offensive, and so learn to avoid it. This will encourage them to keep their wills right, which is the great business; when they find, that it preserves them from any great displeasure; and that in all their other failings they meet with the kind concern and help, rather than the anger and passionate reproaches of their tutor and parents. Keep them from vice, and vicious dispositions, and such a kind of behaviour in general will come, with every degree of their age, as is suitable to that age, and the company they ordinarily converse with: and as they grow in years, they will grow in attention and application. But that your words may always carry weight and authority with them, if it shall happen, upon any occasion, that you bid him leave off the doing of any even childish things, you must be sure to carry the point, and not let him have the mastery. But yet, I say, I would have the father seldom interpose his authority and command in these cases, or in any other, but such as have a tendency to vicious habits. I think there are better ways of prevailing with them; and a gentle persuasion in reasoning (when the first point of submission to your will is got) will most times do much better.

§ 81. It will perhaps be wondered, that I mention reasoningReasoning. with children: and yet I cannot but think that the true way of dealing with them. They understand it as early as they do language; and, if I mis-observe not, they love to be treated as rational creatures, sooner than is imagined. It is a pride should be cherished in them, and, as much as can be, made the greatest instrument to turn them by.

But when I talk of reasoning, I do not intend any other, but such as is suited to the child’s capacity and apprehension. Nobody can think a boy of three or seven years old should be argued with as a grown man. Long discourses, and philosophical reasonings, at best, amaze and confound, but do not instruct, children. When I say, therefore, that they must be treated as rational creatures, I mean that you should make them sensible, by the mildness of your carriage, and the composure, even in your correction of them, that what you do is reasonable in you, and useful and necessary for them; and that it is not out of caprice, passion, or fancy, that you command or forbid them any thing. This they are capable of understanding; and there is no virtue they should be excited to, nor fault they should be kept from, which I do not think they may be convinced of: but it must be by such reasons as their age and understanding are capable of, and those proposed always in very few and plain words. The foundations on which several duties are built, and the fountains of right and wrong, from which they spring, are not, perhaps, easily to be let into the minds of grown men, not used to abstract their thoughts from common received opinions. Much less are children capable of reasonings from remote principles. They cannot conceive the force of long deductions: the reasons that move them must be obvious and level to their thoughts, and such as may (if I may so say) be felt and touched. But yet, if their age, temper, and inclinations, be considered, they will never want such motives, as may be sufficient to convince them. If there be no other more particular, yet these will always be intelligible, and of force, to deter them from any fault, fit to be taken notice of in them, viz. that it will be a discredit and disgrace to them, and displease you.

§ 82. But, of all the ways whereby children are to be instructed, and their manners formed, the plainest, easiest, and most efficacious, is to set before their eyes the examplesExamples. of those things you would have them do or avoid. Which, when they are pointed out to them, in the practice of persons within their knowledge, with some reflections on their beauty or unbecomingness, are of more force to draw or deter their imitation, than any discourses which can be made to them. Virtues and vices can by no words be so plainly set before their understandings, as the actions of other men will show them, when you direct their observation, and bid them view this or that good or bad quality in their practice. And the beauty or uncomeliness of many things, in good and ill breeding, will be better learnt, and make deeper impressions on them, in the examples of others, than from any rules or instructions can be given about them.

This is a method to be used, not only whilst they are young; but to be continued, even as long as they shall be under another’s tuition or conduct. Nay, I know not whether it be not the best way to be used by a father, as long as he shall think fit, on any occasion, to reform any thing he wishes mended in his son; nothing sinking so gently, and so deep, into men’s minds, as example. And what ill they either overlook, or indulge in themselves, they cannot but dislike, and be ashamed of, when it is set before them in another.

§ 83. It may be doubted concerning whipping,Whipping. when, as the last remedy, it comes to be necessary; at what times, and by whom it should be done: whether presently upon the committing the fault, whilst it is yet fresh and hot; and whether parents themselves should beat their children. As to the first; I think it should not be done presently, lest passion mingle with it: and so, though it exceed the just proportion, yet it loses of its due weight; for even children discern when we do things in passion. But, as I said before, that has most weight with them, that appears sedately to come from their parents reason; and they are not without this distinction. Next, if you have any discreet servant capable of it, and has the place of governing your child, (for if you have a tutor, there is no doubt,) I think it is best the smart should come more immediately from another’s hand, though by the parent’s order, who should see it done; whereby the parent’s authority will be preserved, and the child’s aversion, for the pain it suffers, rather be turned on the person that immediately inflicts it. For I would have a father seldom strike his child, but upon very urgent necessity, and as the last remedy; and then perhaps it will be fit to do it so, that the child should not quickly forget it.

§ 84. But, as I said before, beating is the worst, and therefore the last, means to be used in the correction of children; and that only in cases of extremity, after all gentler ways have been tried, and proved unsuccessful: which, if well observed, there will be very seldom any need of blows. For, it not being to be imagined that a child will often, if ever, dispute his father’s present command in any particular instance; and the father not interposing his absolute authority, in peremptory rules, concerning either childish or indifferent actions, wherein his son is to have his liberty; or concerning his learning or improvement, wherein there is no compulsion to be used; there remains only the prohibition of some vicious actions, wherein a child is capable of obstinacy, and consequently can deserve beating: and so there will be but very few occasions of that discipline to be used by any one, who considers well, and orders his child’s education as it should be. For the first seven years, what vices can a child be guilty of, but lying, or some ill-natured tricks; the repeated commission whereof, after his father’s direct command against it, shall bring him into the condemnation of obstinacy, and the chastisement of the rod? If any vicious inclination in him be, in the first appearance and instances of it, treated as it should be, first, with your wonder; and then, if returning again a second time, discountenanced with the severe brow of the father, tutor, and all about him, and a treatment suitable to the state of discredit before mentioned; and this continued till he be made sensible and ashamed of his fault; I imagine there will be no need of any other correction, nor ever any occasion to come to blows. The necessity of such chastisement is usually the consequence only of former indulgences or neglects. If vicious inclinations were watched from the beginning, and the first irregularities which they caused, corrected by those gentler ways, we should seldom have to do with more than one disorder at once; which would be easily set right without any stir or noise, and not require so harsh a discipline as beating. Thus, one by one, as they appeared, they might all be weeded out, without any signs or memory that ever they had been there. But we letting their faults (by indulging and humouring our little ones) grow up, till they are sturdy and numerous, and the deformity of them makes us ashamed and uneasy; we are fain to come to the plough and the harrow; the spade and the pick-ax must go deep to come at the roots, and all the force, skill, and diligence we can use, is scarce enough to cleanse the vitiated seed-plat, overgrown with weeds, and restore us the hopes of fruits to reward our pains in its season.

§ 85. This course, if observed, will spare both father and child the trouble of repeated injunctions, and multiplied rules of doing and forbearing. For I am of opinion, that of those actions, which tend to vicious habits, (which are those alone that a father should interpose his authority and commands in,) none should be forbidden children, till they are found guilty of them. For such untimely prohibitions, if they do nothing worse, do at least so much towards teaching and allowing them, that they suppose that children may be guilty of them, who would possibly be safer in the ignorance of any such faults. And the best remedy to stop them, is, as I have said, to show wonder and amazement at any such action as hath a vicious tendency, when it is first taken notice of in a child. For example, when he is first found in a lye, or any ill-natured trick, the first remedy should be, to talk to him of it as a strange monstrous matter, that it could not be imagined he would have done: and so shame him out of it.

§ 86. It will be (it is like) objected, that whatsoever I fancy of the tractableness of children, and the prevalency of those softer ways of shame and commendation; yet there are many, who will never apply themselves to their books, and to what they ought to learn, unless they are scourged to it. This, I fear, is nothing but the language of ordinary schools and fashion, which have never suffered the other to be tried as it should be, in places where it could be taken notice of. Why, else, does the learning of Latin and Greek need the rod, when French and Italian need it not? Children learn to dance and fence without whipping: nay, arithmetic, drawing, &c. they apply themselves well enough to, without beating: which would make one suspect, that there is something strange, unnatural, and disagreeable to that age, in the things required in grammar-schools, or in the methods used there, that children cannot be brought to, without the severity of the lash, and hardly with that too; or else, that it is a mistake, that those tongues could not be taught them without beating.

§ 87. But let us suppose so some negligent or idle, that they will not be brought to learn by the gentle ways proposed (for we must grant, that there will be children found of all tempers); yet it does not thence follow, that the rough discipline of the cudgel is to be used to all. Nor can any one be concluded unmanageable by the milder methods of government, till they have been thoroughly tried upon him; and, if they will not prevail with him to use his endeavours, and do what is in his power to do, we make no excuses for the obstinate: blows are the proper remedies for those: but blows laid on, in a way different from the ordinary. He that wilfully neglects his book, and stubbornly refuses any thing he can do, required of him by his father, expressing himself in a positive serious command, should not be corrected with two or three angry lashes, for not performing his task, and the same punishment repeated again and again, upon every the like default: but, when it is brought to that pass, that wilfulness evidently shows itself, and makes blows necessary; I think the chastisement should be a little more sedate, and a little more severe, and the whipping (mingled with admonition between) so continued, till the impressions of it on the mind were found legible in the face, voice, and submission of the child, not so sensible of the smart, as of the fault he has been guilty of, and melting in true sorrow under it. If such a correction as this, tried some few times at fit distances, and carried to the utmost severity, with the visible displeasure of the father all the while, will not work the effect, turn the mind, and produce a future compliance; what can be hoped from blows, and to what purpose should they be any more used? Beating, when you can expect no good from it, will look more like the fury of an enraged enemy, than the good-will of a compassionate friend; and such chastisement carries with it only provocation, without any prospect of amendment. If it be any father’s misfortune to have a son thus perverse and untractable, I know not what more he can do but pray for him. But I imagine, if a right course be taken with children from the beginning, very few will be found to be such; and when there are any such instances, they are not to be the rule for the education of those who are better natured, and may be managed with better usage.

§ 88. If a tutorTutor. can be got, that, thinking himself in his father’s place, charged with his care, and relishing these things, will at the beginning apply himself to put them in practice, he will afterwards find his work very easy: and you will, I guess, have your son in a little time a greater proficient in both learning and breeding, than perhaps you imagine. But let him by no means beat him, at any time, without your consent and direction: at least till you have experience of his discretion and temper. But yet, to keep up his authority with his pupil, besides concealing that he has not the power of the rod, you must be sure to use him with great respect yourself, and cause all your family to do so too. For you cannot expect your son should have any regard for one, whom he sees you, or his mother, or others slight. If you think him worthy of contempt, you have chosen amiss; and if you show any contempt of him, he will hardly escape it from your son: and whenever that happens, whatever worth he may have in himself, and abilities for this employment, they are all lost to your child, and can afterwards never be made useful to him.

§ 89. As the father’s example must teach the child respect for his tutor; so the tutor’s example must lead the child into those actions he would have him do. His practice must by no means cross his precepts, unless he intend to set him wrong. It will be to no purpose for the tutor to talk of the restraint of the passions, whilst any of his own are let loose: and he will in vain endeavour to reform any vice or indecency in his pupil, which he allows in himself. Ill patterns are sure to be followed more than good rules: and therefore he must also carefully preserve him from the influence of ill precedents, especially the most dangerous of all, the examples of the servants; from whose company he is to be kept, not by prohibitions, for that will but give him an itch after it, but by other ways I have mentioned.

Governor.§ 90. In all the whole business of education, there is nothing like to be less hearkened to, or harder to be well observed, than what I am now going to say; and that is, that children should, from their first beginning to talk, have some discreet, sober, nay wise person about them, whose care it should be to fashion them aright, and keep them from all ill, especially the infection of bad company. I think this province requires great sobriety, temperance, tenderness, diligence, and discretion; qualities hardly to be found united in persons, that are to be had for ordinary salaries: nor easily to be found any-where. As to the charge of it, I think it will be the money best laid out that can be about our children; and therefore, though it may be expensive more than is ordinary, yet it cannot be thought dear. He that at any rate procures his child a good mind, well-principled, tempered to virtue and usefulness, and adorned with civility and good-breeding, makes a better purchase for him, than if he had laid out the money for an addition of more earth to his former acres. Spare it in toys and play-games, in silk and ribbons, laces and other useless expences, as much as you please; but be not sparing in so necessary a part as this. It is not good husbandry to make his fortune rich, and his mind poor. I have often, with great admiration, seen people lavish it profusely in tricking up their children in fine clothes, lodging, and feeding them sumptuously, allowing them more than enough of useless servants; and yet at the same time starve their minds, and not take sufficient care to cover that, which is the most shameful nakedness, viz. their natural wrong inclinations and ignorance. This I can look on as no other than a sacrificing to their own vanity; it showing more their pride, than true care of the good of their children. Whatsoever you employ to the advantage of your son’s mind will show your true kindness, though it be to the lessening of his estate. A wise and good man can hardly want either the opinion or reality of being great and happy. But he that is foolish or vicious, can be neither great nor happy, what estate soever you leave him: and I ask you, whether there be not men in the world, whom you had rather have your son be, with 500l. per annum, than some other you know, with 5000l.?

§ 91. The consideration of charge ought not, therefore, to deter those who are able: the great difficulty will be, where to find a proper person. For those of small age, parts, and virtue, are unfit for this employment: and those that have greater, will hardly be got to undertake such a charge. You must therefore look out early, and inquire every-where; for the world has people of all sorts: and I remember, Montaigne says in one of his essays, that the learned Castalio was fain to make trenchers at Basil, to keep himself from starving, when his father would have given any money for such a tutor for his son, and Castalio have willingly embraced such an employment upon very reasonable terms; but this was for want of intelligence.

§ 92. If you find it difficult to meet with such a tutor as we desire, you are not to wonder. I only can say, spare no care nor cost to get such an one. All things are to be had that way: and I dare assure you, that, if you can get a good one, you will never repent the charge; but will always have the satisfaction to think it the money, of all other, the best laid out. But be sure take nobody upon friends, or charitable, no, nor bare great commendations. Nay, if you will do as you ought, the reputation of a sober man, with a good stock of learning, (which is all usually required in a tutor,) will not be enough to serve your turn. In this choice be as curious, as you would be in that of a wife for him: for you must not think of trial, or changing afterwards; that will cause great inconvenience to you, and greater to your son. When I consider the scruples and cautions I here lay in your way, methinks it looks as if I advised you to something, which I would have offered at, but in effect not done. But he that shall consider, how much the business of a tutor, rightly employed, lies out of the road; and how remote it is from the thoughts of many, even of those who propose to themselves this employment; will perhaps be of my mind, that one, fit to educate and form the mind of a young gentleman, is not every-where to be found; and that more than ordinary care is to be taken in the choice of him, or else you may fail of your end.

§ 93. The character of a sober man, and a scholar, is, as I have above observed, what every one expects in a tutor.Tutor. This generally is thought enough, and is all that parents commonly look for. But when such an one has emptied out, into his pupil, all the Latin and logic he has brought from the university, will that furniture make him a fine gentleman? Or can it be expected that he should be better bred, better skilled in the world, better principled in the grounds and foundations of true virtue and generosity, than his young tutor is?

To form a young gentleman, as she should be, it is fit his governor himself should be well-bred, understand the ways of carriage, and measures of civility, in all the variety of persons, times, and places; and keep his pupil, as much as his age requires, constantly to the observation of them. This is an art not to be learnt, nor taught by books: nothing can give it, but good company and observation joined together. The taylor may make his clothes modish, and the dancing-master give fashion to his motions; yet neither of these, though they set off well, make a well-bred gentleman: no, though he have learning to boot; which, if not well managed, makes him more impertinent and intolerable in conversation. Breeding is that, which sets a gloss upon all his other good qualities, and renders them useful to him, in procuring him the esteem and good-will of all that he comes near. Without good-breeding, his other accomplishments make him pass but for proud, conceited, vain, or foolish.

Courage, in an ill-bred man, has the air, and escapes not the opinion, of brutality: learning becomes pedantry; wit, buffoonery; plainness, rusticity; good-nature, fawning: and there cannot be a good quality in him, which want of breeding will not warp, and disfigure to his disadvantage. Nay, virtue and parts, though they are allowed their due commendation, yet are not enough to procure a man a good reception, and make him welcome wherever he comes. Nobody contents himself with rough diamonds, and wears them so, who would appear with advantage. When they are polished and set, then they give a lustre. Good qualities are the substantial riches of the mind; but it is good-breeding sets them off: and he that will be acceptable, must give beauty, as well as strength, to his actions. Solidity, or even usefulness, is not enough: a graceful way and fashion, in every thing, is that which gives the ornament and liking. And, in most cases, the manner of doing is of more consequence than the thing done; and upon that depends the satisfaction, or disgust, wherewith it is received. This, therefore, which lies not in the putting off the hat, nor making of compliments, but in a due and free composure of language, looks, motion, posture, place, &c. suited to persons and occasions, and can be learned only by habit and use, though it be above the capacity of children, and little ones should not be perplexed about it; yet it ought to be begun, and in a good measure learned, by a young gentleman, whilst he is under a tutor, before he comes into the world upon his own legs; for then usually it is too late to hope to reform several habitual indecencies, which lie in little things. For the carriage is not as it should be, till it is become natural in every part; falling, as skilful musicians fingers do, into harmonious order, without care, and without thought. If in conversation a man’s mind be taken up with a solicitous watchfulness about any part of his behaviour, instead of being mended by it, it will be constrained, uneasy, and ungraceful.

Besides, this part is most necessary to be formed by the hands and care of a governor: because, though the errours committed in breeding are the first that are taken notice of by others, yet they are the last that any one is told of. Not but that the malice of the world is forward enough to tattle of them; but it is always out of his hearing, who should make profit of their judgment, and reform himself by their censure. And indeed this is so nice a point to be meddled with, that even those who are friends, and wish it were mended, scarce ever dare mention it, and tell those they love, that they are guilty in such or such cases of ill breeding. Errours in other things may often with civility be shown another; and it is no breach of good manners, or friendship, to set him right in other mistakes: but good-breeding itself allows not a man to touch upon this; or to insinuate to another, that he is guilty of want of breeding. Such information can come only from those who have authority over them: and from them too it comes very hardly and harshly to a grown man; and, however softened, goes but ill down with any one, who has lived ever so little in the world. Wherefore it is necessary, that this part should be the governor’s principal care; that an habitual gracefulness, and politeness in all his carriage, may be settled in his charge, as much as may be, before he goes out of his hands: and that he may not need advice in this point, when he has neither time nor disposition to receive it, nor has any body left to give it him. The tutor therefore ought, in the first place, to be well-bred: and a young gentleman, who gets this one qualification from his governor, sets out with great advantage; and will find, that this one accomplishment will more open his way to him, get him more friends, and carry him farther in the world, than all the hard words, or real knowledge, he has got from the liberal arts, or his tutor’s learned encyclopædia; not that those should be neglected, but by no means preferred, or suffered to thrust out the other.

§ 94. Besides being well-bred, the tutor should know the world well; the ways, the humours, the follies, the cheats, the faults of the age he is fallen into, and particularly of the country he lives in. These he should be able to show to his pupil, as he finds him capable; teach him skill in men, and their manners; pull off the mask, which their several callings and pretences cover them with; and make his pupil discern what lies at the bottom, under such appearances; that he may not, as unexperienced young men are apt to do, if they are unwarned, take one thing for another, judge by the outside, and give himself up to show, and the insinuation of a fair carriage, or an obliging application. A governor should teach his scholar to guess at, and beware of, the designs of men he hath to do with, neither with too much suspicion, nor too much confidence; but, as the young man is by nature most inclined to either side, rectify him, and bend him the other way. He should accustom him to make, as much as is possible, a true judgment of men by those marks, which serve best to show what they are, and give a prospect into their inside; which often shows itself in little things, especially when they are not in parade, and upon their guard. He should acquaint him with the true state of the world, and dispose him to think no man better or worse, wiser or foolisher, than he really is. Thus, by safe and insensible degrees, he will pass from a boy to a man; which is the most hazardous step in all the whole course of life. This therefore should be carefully watched, and a young man with great diligence handed over it; and not, as now usually is done, be taken from a governor’s conduct, and all at once thrown into the world under his own, not without manifest danger of immediate spoiling; there being nothing more frequent, than instances of the great looseness, extravagancy, and debauchery, which young men have run into, as soon as they have been let loose from a severe and strict education: which, I think, may be chiefly imputed to their wrong way of breeding, especially in this part; for, having been bred up in a great ignorance of what the world truly is, and finding it quite another thing, when they come into it, than what they were taught it should be, and so imagined it was; are easily persuaded, by other kind of tutors, which they are sure to meet with, that the discipline they were kept under, and the lectures that were read to them, were but the formalities of education, and the restraints of childhood; that the freedom belonging to men, is to take their swing in a full enjoyment of what was before forbidden them. They show the young novice the world, full of fashionable and glittering examples of this every-where, and he is presently dazzled with them. My young master, failing not to be willing to show himself a man, as much as any of the sparks of his years, lets himself loose to all the irregularities he finds in the most debauched; and thus courts credit and manliness, in the casting off the modesty and sobriety he has till then been kept in; and thinks it brave, at his first setting out, to signalize himself in running counter to all the rules of virtue, which have been preached to him by his tutor.

The showing him the world as really it is, before he comes wholly into it, is one of the best means, I think, to prevent this mischief. He should, by degrees, be informed of the vices in fashion, and warned of the applications and designs of those who will make it their business to corrupt him. He should be told the arts they use, and the trains they lay; and now and then have set before him the tragical or ridiculous examples of those who are ruining, or ruined, this way. The age is not like to want instances of this kind, which should be made land-marks to him; that by the disgraces, diseases, beggary, and shame of hopeful young men, thus brought to ruin, he may be precautioned, and be made see, how those join in the contempt and neglect of them that are undone, who, by pretences of friendship and respect, led them into it, and helped to prey upon them whilst they were undoing; that he may see, before he buys it by a too dear experience, that those who persuade him not to follow the sober advices he has received from his governors, and the counsel of his own reason, which they call being governed by others, do it only, that they may have the government of him themselves; and make him believe, he goes like a man of himself, by his own conduct, and for his own pleasure, when, in truth, he is wholly as a child, led by them into those vices, which best serve their purposes. This is a knowledge, which, upon all occasions, a tutor should endeavour to instil, and by all methods try to make him comprehend, and thoroughly relish.

I know it is often said, that to discover to a young man the vices of the age is to teach them him. That, I confess, is a good deal so, according as it is done; and therefore requires a discreet man of parts, who knows the world, and can judge of the temper, inclination, and weak side of his pupil. This farther is to be remembered, that it is not possible now (as perhaps formerly it was) to keep a young gentleman from vice, by a total ignorance of it; unless you will all his life mew him up in a closet, and never let him go into company. The longer he is kept thus hood-winked, the less he will see, when he comes abroad into open day-light, and be the more exposed to be a prey to himself and others. And an old boy, at his first appearance, with all the gravity of his ivy-bush about him, is sure to draw on him the eyes and chirping of the whole town volery; amongst which, there will not be wanting some birds of prey, that will presently be on the wing for him.

The only fence against the world, is a thorough knowledge of it: into which a young gentleman should be entered by degrees, as he can bear it; and the earlier the better, so he be in safe and skilful hands to guide him. The scene should be gently opened, and his entrance made step by step, and the dangers pointed out that attend him, from the several degrees, tempers, designs, and clubs of men. He should be prepared to be shocked by some, and caressed by others; warned who are like to oppose, who to mislead, who to undermine him, and who to serve him. He should be instructed how to know and distinguish men; where he should let them see, and when dissemble the knowledge of them, and their aims and workings. And if he be too forward to venture upon his own strength and skill, the perplexity and trouble of a misadventure now and then, that reaches not his innocence, his health, or reputation, may not be an ill way to teach him more caution.

This, I confess, containing one great part of wisdom, is not the product of some superficial thoughts, or much reading; but the effect of experience and observation in a man, who has lived in the world with his eyes open, and conversed with men of all sorts. And therefore I think it of most value to be instilled into a young man, upon all occasions which offer themselves, that when he comes to launch into the deep himself, he may not be like one at sea without a line, compass, or sea-chart; but may have some notice before-hand of the rocks and shoals, the currents and quick-sands, and know a little how to steer, that he sink not, before he get experience. He that thinks not this of more moment to his son, and for which he more needs a governor, than the languages and learned sciences, forgets of how much more use it is to judge right of men, and manage his affairs wisely with them, than to speak Greek and Latin, or argue in mood and figure; or to have his head filled with the abstruse speculations of natural philosophy and metaphysics; nay, than to be well versed in Greek and Roman writers, though that be much better for a gentleman, than to be a good peripatetic or cartesian: because those ancient authors observed and painted mankind well, and give the best light into that kind of knowledge. He that goes into the eastern parts of Asia, will find able and acceptable men, without any of these: but without virtue, knowledge of the world, and civility, an accomplished and valuable man can be found no-where.

A great part of the learning now in fashion in the schools of Europe, and that goes ordinarily into the round of education, a gentleman may, in a good measure, be unfurnished with, without any great disparagement to himself, or prejudice to his affairs. But prudence and good-breeding are, in all the stations and occurrences of life, necessary; and most young men suffer in the want of them; and come rawer, and more awkward, into the world, than they should, for this very reason; because these qualities, which are, of all other, the most necessary to be taught, and stand most in need of the assistance and help of a teacher, are generally neglected, and thought but a slight, or no part of a tutor’s business. Latin and learning make all the noise: and the main stress is laid upon his proficiency in things, a great part whereof belongs not to a gentleman’s calling; which is to have the knowledge of a man of business, a carriage suitable to his rank, and to be eminent and useful in his country, according to his station. Whenever either spare hours from that, or an inclination to perfect himself in some parts of knowledge, which his tutor did but just enter him in, set him upon any study; the first rudiments of it, which he learned before, will open the way enough for his own industry to carry him as far as his fancy will prompt, or his parts enable him to go: or, if he thinks it may save his time and pains, to be helped over some difficulties by the hands of a master, he may then take a man that is perfectly well skilled in it, or choose such an one, as he thinks fittest for his purpose. But to initiate his pupil in any part of learning, as far as is necessary for a young man in the ordinary course of his studies, an ordinary skill in the governor is enough. Nor is it requisite that he should be a thorough scholar, or possess in perfection all those sciences, which it is convenient a young gentleman should have a taste of, in some general view, or short system. A gentleman, that would penetrate deeper, must do it by his own genius and industry afterwards: for nobody ever went far in knowledge, or became eminent in any of the sciences, by the discipline and constraint of a master.

The great work of a governor is to fashion the carriage, and form the mind; to settle in his pupil good habits, and the principles of virtue and wisdom; to give him, by little and little, a view of mankind; and work him into a love and imitation of what is excellent and praise-worthy; and, in the prosecution of it, to give him vigour, activity, and industry. The studies which he sets him upon, are but, as it were, the exercises of his faculties, and employment of his time, to keep him from sauntering and idleness, to teach him application, and accustom him to take pains, and to give him some little taste of what his own industry must perfect. For who expects, that under a tutor a young gentleman should be an accomplished critic, orator, or logician; go to the bottom of metaphysics, natural philosophy, or mathematics; or be a master in history or chronology? though something of each of these is to be taught him; but it is only to open the door, that he may look in, and, as it were, begin an acquaintance, but not to dwell there: and a governor would be much blamed, that should keep his pupil too long, and lead him too far in most of them. But of good breeding, knowledge of the world, virtue, industry, and a love of reputation, he cannot have too much: and, if he have these, he will not long want what he needs or desires of the other.

And, since it cannot be hoped he should have time and strength to learn all things, most pains should be taken about that which is most necessary; and that principally looked after, which will be of most and frequentest use to him in the world.

Seneca complains of the contrary practice in his time: and yet the Burgersdiciuses and the Scheiblers did not swarm in those days, as they do now in these. What would he have thought, if he had lived now, when the tutors think it their great business to fill the studies and heads of their pupils with such authors as these? He would have had much more reason to say, as he does, “Non vitæ, sed scholæ discimus;” We learn not to live, but to dispute; and our education fits us rather for the university than the world. But it is no wonder, if those who make the fashion, suit it to what they have, and not to what their pupils want. The fashion being once established, who can think it strange, that in this, as well as in all other things, it should prevail; and that the greatest part of those, who find their account in an easy submission to it, should be ready to cry out heresy, when any one departs from it? It is nevertheless matter of astonishment, that men of quality and parts should suffer themselves to be so far misled by custom and implicit faith. Reason, if consulted with, would advise, that their children’s time should be spent in acquiring what might be useful to them, when they come to be men, rather than to have their heads stuffed with a deal of trash, a great part whereof they usually never do (it is certain they never need to) think on again as long as they live; and so much of it, as does stick by them, they are only the worse for. This is so well known, that I appeal to parents themselves, who have been at cost to have their young heirs taught it, whether it be not ridiculous for their sons to have any tincture of that sort of learning, when they come abroad into the world; whether any appearance of it would not lessen and disgrace them in company. And that certainly must be an admirable acquisition, and deserves well to make a part in education, which men are ashamed of, where they are most concerned to show their parts and breeding.

There is yet another reason, why politeness of manners, and knowledge of the world, should principally be looked after in a tutor: and that is, because a man of parts and years may enter a lad far enough in any of those sciences, which he has no deep insight into himself. Books in these will be able to furnish him, and give him light and precedency enough to go before a young follower: but he will never be able to set another right in the knowledge of the world, and, above all, in breeding, who is a novice in them himself.

This is a knowledge he must have about him, worn into him by use and conversation, and a long forming himself by what he has observed to be practised and allowed in the best company. This, if he has it not of his own, is no-where to be borrowed, for the use of his pupil: or if he could find pertinent treatises of it in books, that would reach all the particulars of an English gentleman’s behaviour; his own ill-fashioned example, if he be not well-bred himself, would spoil all his lectures; it being impossible, that any one should come forth well-fashioned out of unpolished, ill-bred company.

I say this, not that I think such a tutor is every day to be met with, or to be had at the ordinary rates: but that those, who are able, may not be sparing of inquiry or cost, in what is of so great moment; and that other parents, whose estates will not reach to greater salaries, may yet remember, what they should principally have an eye to, in the choice of one, to whom they would commit the education of their children; and what part they should chiefly look after themselves, whilst they are under their care, and as often as they come within their observation; and not think, that all lies in Latin and French, or some dry systems of logic and philosophy.

§ 95. But to return to our method again. Though I have mentioned the severity of the father’s brow, and the awe settled thereby in the mind of children when young, as one main instrument, whereby their education is to be managed; yet I am far from being of an opinion, that it should be continued all along to them: whilst they are under the discipline and government of pupilage, I think it should be relaxed, as fast as their age, discretion, and good behaviour could allow it; even to that degree, that a father will do well, as his son grows up, and is capable of it, to talk familiarlyFamiliarity. with him; nay, ask his advice, and consult with him, about those things wherein he has any knowledge or understanding. By this the father will gain two things, both of great moment. The one is, that it will put serious considerations into his son’s thoughts, better than any rules or advices he can give him. The sooner you treat him as a man, the sooner he will begin to be one: and if you admit him into serious discourses sometimes with you, you will insensibly raise his mind above the usual amusements of youth, and those trifling occupations which it is commonly wasted in. For it is easy to observe, that many young men continue longer in the thought and conversation of school-boys, than otherwise they would, because their parents keep them at that distance, and in that low rank, by all their carriage to them.

§ 96. Another thing of greater consequence, which you will obtain by such a way of treating him, will be his friendship. Many fathers, though they proportion to their sons liberal allowances, according to their age and condition; yet they keep the knowledge of their estates and concerns from them with as much reservedness, as if they were guarding a secret of state from a spy or an enemy. This, if it looks not like jealousy, yet it wants those marks of kindness and intimacy, which a father should show to his son; and, no doubt, often hinders, or abates that cheerfulness and satisfaction, wherewith a son should address himself to, and rely upon his father. And I cannot but often wonder to see fathers, who love their sons very well, yet so order the matter, by a constant stiffness, and a mien of authority and distance to them all their lives, as if they were never to enjoy or have any comfort from those they love best in the world, till they have lost them by being removed into another. Nothing cements and establishes friendship and good-will, so much as confident communication of concernments and affairs. Other kindnesses, without this, leave still some doubts; but when your son sees you open your mind to him; when he finds, that you interest him in your affairs, as things you are willing should, in their turn, come into his hands, he will be concerned for them as for his own; wait his season with patience, and love you in the mean time, who keep him not at the distance of a stranger. This will also make him see, that the enjoyment you have, is not without care; which the more he is sensible of, the less will he envy you the possession, and the more think himself happy under the management of so favourable a friend, and so careful a father. There is scarce any young man of so little thought, or so void of sense, that would not be glad of a sure friend, that he might have recourse to, and freely consult on occasion. The reservedness and distance that fathers keep, often deprive their sons of that refuge, which would be of more advantage to them, than an hundred rebukes and chidings. Would your son engage in some frolic, or take a vagary; were it not much better he should do it with, than without your knowledge? For since allowances for such things must be made to young men, the more you know of his intrigues and designs, the better will you be able to prevent great mischiefs; and, by letting him see what is like to follow, take the right way of prevailing with him to avoid less inconveniencies. Would you have him open his heart to you, and ask your advice? You must begin to do so with him first, and by your carriage beget that confidence.

§ 97. But whatever he consults you about, unless it lead to some fatal and irremediable mischief, be sure you advise only as a friend of more experience; but with your advice mingle nothing of command or authority, nor more than you would to your equal, or a stranger. That would be to drive him for ever from any farther demanding or receiving advantage from your counsel. You must consider, that he is a young man, and has pleasures and fancies, which you are passed. You must not expect his inclinations should be just as yours, nor that at twenty he should have the same thoughts you have at fifty. All that you can wish is, that since youth must have some liberty, some outleaps; they might be with the ingenuity of a son, and under the eye of a father, and then no very great harm can come of it. The way to obtain this, as I said before, is (according as you find him capable) to talk with him about your affairs, propose matters to him familiarly, and ask his advice; and when he ever lights on the right, follow it as his; and, if it succeed well, let him have the commendation. This will not at all lessen your authority, but increase his love and esteem of you. Whilst you keep your estate, the staff will still be in your own hands; and your authority the surer, the more it is strengthened with confidence and kindness. For you have not that power you ought to have over him, till he comes to be more afraid of offending so good a friend, than of losing some part of his future expectation.

§ 98. Familiarity of discourse, if it can become a father to his son, may much more be condescended to by a tutor to his pupil. All their time together should not be spent in reading of lectures, and magisterially dictating to him what he is to observe and follow; hearing him in his turn, and using him to reason about what is proposed, will make the rules go down the easier, and sink the deeper, and will give him a liking to study and instruction: and he will then begin to value knowledge, when he sees that it enables him to discourse; and he finds the pleasure and credit of bearing a part in the conversation, and of having his reasons sometimes approved and hearkened to. Particularly in morality, prudence, and breeding, cases should be put to him, and his judgment asked: this opens the understanding better than maxims, how well soever explained; and settles the rules better in the memory for practice. This way lets things into the mind, which stick there, and retain their evidence with them; whereas words at best are faint representations, being not so much as the true shadows of things, and are much sooner forgotten. He will better comprehend the foundations and measures of decency and justice, and have livelier and more lasting impressions of what he ought to do, by giving his opinion on cases proposed, and reasoning with his tutor on fit instances, than by giving a silent, negligent, sleepy audience to his tutor’s lectures; and much more than by captious logical disputes, or set declamations of his own, upon any question. The one sets the thoughts upon wit, and false colours, and not upon truth: the other teaches fallacy, wrangling, and opiniatry; and they are both of them things that spoil the judgment, and put a man out of the way of right and fair reasoning, and therefore carefully to be avoided by one who would improve himself, and he acceptable to others.

§ 99. When, by making your son sensible that he depends on you, and is in your power, you have established your authority; and by being inflexibly severe in your carriage to him, when obstinately persisting in any ill-natured trick which you have forbidden, especially lying, you have imprinted on his mind that awe which is necessary; and on the other side, when (by permitting him the full liberty due to his age, and laying no restraint in your presence to those childish actions, and gaiety of carriage, which, whilst he is very young, are as necessary to him as meat or sleep) you have reconciled him to your company, and made him sensible of your care and love of him by indulgence and tenderness, especially caressing him on all occasions wherein he does any thing well, and being kind to him, after a thousand fashions, suitable to his age, which nature teaches parents better than I can: when, I say, by these ways of tenderness and affection, which parents never want for their children, you have also planted in him a particular affection for you; he is then in the state you could desire, and you have formed in his mind that true reverence,Reverence. which is always afterwards carefully to be continued and maintained in both parts of it, love and fear, as the great principles whereby you will always have hold upon him to turn his mind to the ways of virtue and honour.

§ 100. When this foundation is once well laid, and you find this reverence begin to work in him, the next thing to be done is carefully to consider his temper,Temper. and the particular constitution of his mind. Stubbornness, lying, and ill-natured actions, are not (as has been said) to be permitted in him from the beginning, whatever his temper be: those seeds of vices are not to be suffered to take any root, but must be carefully weeded out, as soon as ever they begin to show themselves in him; and your authority is to take place, and influence his mind from the very dawning of any knowledge in him, that it may operate as a natural principle, whereof he never perceived the beginning; never knew that it was, or could be otherwise. By this, if the reverence he owes you be established early, it will always be sacred to him; and it will be as hard for him to resist it, as the principles of his nature.

§ 101. Having thus very early set up your authority, and, by the gentler applications of it, shamed him out of what leads towards an immoral habit; as soon as you have observed it in him, (for I would by no means have chiding used, much less blows, till obstinacy and incorrigibleness make it absolutely necessary,) it will be fit to consider which way the natural make of his mind inclines him. Some men, by the unalterable frame of their constitutions, are stout, others timorous; some confident, others modest, tractable or obstinate, curious or careless, quick or slow. There are not more differences in men’s faces, and the outward lineaments of their bodies, than there are in the makes and tempers of their minds: only there is this difference, that the distinguishing characters of the face, and the lineaments of the body, grow more plain and visible with time and age, but the peculiar physiognomy of the mind is most discernible in children, before art and cunning have taught them to hide their deformities, and conceal their ill inclinations under a dissembled outside.

§ 102. Begin therefore betimes nicely to observe your son’s temper; and that, when he is under least restraint, in his play, and, as he thinks, out of your sight. See what are his predominant passions, and prevailing inclinations; whether he be fierce or mild, bold or bashful, compassionate or cruel, open or reserved, &c. For as these are different in him, so are your methods to be different, and your authority must hence take measures to apply itself different ways to him. These native propensities, these prevalencies of constitution, are not to be cured by rules, or a direct contest; especially those of them that are the humbler and meaner sort which proceed from fear and lowness of spirit; though with art they may be much mended, and turned to good purpose. But this be sure of, after all is done, the bias will always hang on that side where nature first placed it: and if you carefully observe the characters of his mind now in the first scenes of his life, you will ever after be able to judge which way his thoughts lean, and what he aims at even hereafter, when, as he grows up, the plot thickens, and he puts on several shapes to act it.

§ 103. I told you before, that children love liberty; and therefore they should be brought to do the things that are fit for them, without feeling any restraint laid upon them. I now tell you, they love something more; and that is dominion:Dominion. and this is the first original of most vicious habits, that are ordinary and natural. This love of power and dominion shows itself very early, and that in these two things.

§ 104. 1. We see children (as soon almost as they are born, I am sure long before they can speak) cry, grow peevish, sullen, and out of humour, for nothing but to have their wills. They would have their desires submitted to by others; they contend for a ready compliance from all about them, especially from those that stand near or beneath them in age or degree, as soon as they come to consider others with those distinctions.

§ 105. 2. Another thing, wherein they show their love of dominion, is their desire to have things to be theirs; they would have property and possession, pleasing themselves with the power which that seems to give, and the right they thereby have to dispose of them as they please. He that has not observed these two humours working very betimes in children, has taken little notice of their actions: and he who thinks that these two roots of almost all the injustice and contention that so disturb human life, are not early to be weeded out, and contrary habits introduced, neglects the proper season to lay the foundations of a good and worthy man. To do this, I imagine, these following things may somewhat conduce.

§ 106. 1. That a child should never be suffered to have what he craves,Craving. much less what he cries for, I had said, or so much as speaks for. But that being apt to be misunderstood, and interpreted as if I meant a child should never speak to his parents for any thing, which will perhaps be thought to lay too great a curb on the minds of children, to the prejudice of that love and affection which should be between them and their parents; I shall explain myself a little more particularly. It is fit that they should have liberty to declare their wants to their parents, and that with all tenderness they should be hearkened to, and supplied, at least, whilst they are very little. But it is one thing to say, I am hungry; another to say, I would have roast-meat. Having declared their wants, their natural wants, the pain they feel from hunger, thirst, cold, or any other necessity of nature, it is the duty of their parents, and those about them, to relieve them: but children must leave it to the choice and ordering of their parents what they think properest for them, and how much; and must not be permitted to choose for themselves; and say, I would have wine, or white bread; the very naming of it should make them lose it.

§ 107. That which parents should take care of here, is to distinguish between the wants of fancy and those of nature; which Horace has well taught them to do in this verse,

“Queis humana sibi doleat natura negatis.”

Those are truly natural wants, which reason alone, without some other help, is not able to fence against, nor keep from disturbing us. The pains of sickness and hurts, hunger, thirst, and cold, want of sleep and rest, or relaxation of the part wearied with labour, are what all men feel, and the best disposed mind cannot but be sensible of their uneasiness; and therefore ought, by fit applications, to seek their removal, though not with impatience, or over-great haste, upon the first approaches of them, where delay does not threaten some irreparable harm. The pains that come from the necessities of nature, are monitors to us to beware of greater mischiefs, which they are the forerunners of; and therefore they must not be wholly neglected, nor strained too far. But yet, the more children can be inured to hardships of this kind, by a wise care to make them stronger in body and mind, the better it will be for them. I need not here give any caution to keep within the bounds of doing them good, and to take care, that what children are made to suffer should neither break their spirits, nor injure their health; parents being but too apt of themselves to incline, more than they should, to the softer side.

But whatever compliance the necessities of nature may require, the wants of fancy children should never be gratified in, nor suffered to mention. The very speaking for any such thing should make them lose it. Clothes, when they need, they must have; but if they speak for this stuff, or that colour, they should be sure to go without it. Not that I would have parents purposely cross the desires of their children in matters of indifferency: on the contrary, where their carriage deserves it, and one is sure it will not corrupt or effeminate their minds, and make them fond of trifles, I think, all things should be contrived, as much as could be, to their satisfaction, that they might find the ease and pleasure of doing well. The best for children is, that they should not place any pleasure in such things at all, nor regulate their delight by their fancies; but be indifferent to all that nature has made so. This is what their parents and teachers should chiefly aim at: but till this be obtained, all that I oppose here, is the liberty of asking; which, in these things of conceit, ought to be restrained by a constant forfeiture annexed to it.

This may perhaps be thought a little too severe, by the natural indulgence of tender parents: but yet it is no more than necessary. For since the method I propose is to banish the rod, this restraint of their tongues will be of great use to settle that awe we have elsewhere spoken of, and to keep up in them the respect and reverence due to their parents. Next, it will teach them to keep in, and so master their inclinations. By this means they will be brought to learn the art of stifling their desires, as soon as they rise up in them, when they are easiest to be subdued. For giving vent, gives life and strength to our appetites; and he that has the confidence to turn his wishes into demands, will be but a little way from thinking he ought to obtain them. This I am sure of, every one can more easily bear a denial from himself, than from any body else. They should therefore be accustomed betimes to consult and make use of their reason, before they give allowance to their inclinations. It is a great step towards the mastery of our desires, to give this stop to them, and shut them up in silence. This habit, got by children, of staying the forwardness of their fancies, and deliberating whether it be fit or no before they speak, will be of no small advantage to them in matters of greater consequence in the future course of their lives. For that which I cannot too often inculcate, is that whatever the matter be, about which it is conversant, whether great or small, the main (I had almost said only) thing to be considered, in every action of a child, is, what influence it will have upon his mind; what habit it tends to, and is like to settle in him; how it will become him when he is bigger; and, if it be encouraged, whither it will lead him when grown up.

My meaning therefore is not, that children should purposely be made uneasy: this would relish too much of inhumanity and ill-nature, and be apt to infect them with it. They should be brought to deny their appetites; and their minds, as well as bodies, be made vigorous, easy, and strong, by the custom of having their inclinations in subjection, and their bodies exercised with hardships; but all this without giving them any mark or apprehension of ill-will towards them. The constant loss of what they craved or carved to themselves should teach them modesty, submission, and a power to forbear: but the rewarding their modesty and silence, by giving them what they liked, should also assure them of the love of those who rigorously exacted this obedience. The contenting themselves now, in the want of what they wished for, is a virtue, that another time should be rewarded with what is suited and acceptable to them; which should be bestowed on them, as if it were a natural consequence of their good behaviour, and not a bargain about it. But you will lose your labour, and, what is more, their love and reverence too, if they can receive from others what you deny them. This is to be kept very staunch, and carefully to be watched. And here the servants come again in my way.

§ 108. If this be begun by times, and they accustom themselves early to silence their desires, this useful habit will settle them; and, as they come to grow up in age and discretion, they may be allowed greater liberty; when reason comes to speak in them, and not passion. For whenever reason would speak, it should be hearkened to. But, as they should never be heard, when they speak for any particular thing they would have, unless it be first proposed to them; so they should always be heard, and fairly and kindly answered, when they ask after any thing they would know, and desire to be informed about. CuriosityCuriosity. should be as carefully cherished in children, as other appetites suppressed.

However strict a hand is to be kept upon all desires of fancy, yet there is one case wherein fancy must be permitted to speak, and be hearkened to also. RecreationRecreation. is as necessary as labour or food: but because there can be no recreation without delight, which depends not always on reason, but oftener on fancy, it must be permitted children not only to divert themselves, but to do it after their own fashion, provided it be innocently, and without prejudice to their health; and therefore in this case they should not be denied, if they proposed any particular kind of recreation; though I think, in a well-ordered education, they will seldom be brought to the necessity of asking any such liberty. Care should be taken, that what is of advantage to them, they should always do with delight; and, before they are wearied with one, they should be timely diverted to some other useful employment. But if they are not yet brought to that degree of perfection, that one way of improvement can be made a recreation to them, they must be let loose to the childish play they fancy; which they should be weaned from, by being made surfeited of it: but from things of use, that they are employed in, they should always be sent away with an appetite; at least be dismissed before they are tired, and grow quite sick of it; that so they may return to it again, as to a pleasure that diverts them. For you must never think them set right, till they can find delight in the practice of laudable things; and the useful exercises of the body and mind, taking their turns, make their lives and improvement pleasant in a continued train of recreations, wherein the wearied part is constantly relieved and refreshed. Whether this can be done in every temper, or whether tutors and parents will be at the pains, and have the discretion and patience to bring them to this, I know not; but that it may be done in most children, if a right course be taken to raise in them the desire of credit, esteem, and reputation, I do not at all doubt. And when they have so much true life put into them, they may freely be talked with, about what most delights them, and be directed, or let loose to it, so that they may perceive that they are beloved and cherished, and that those under whose tuition they are, are not enemies to their satisfaction. Such a management will make them in love with the hand that directs them, and the virtue they are directed to.

This farther advantage may be made by a free liberty permitted them in their recreations, that it will discover their natural tempers, show their inclinations and aptitudes; and thereby direct wise parents in the choice, both of the course of life and employment they shall design them for, and of fit remedies, in the mean time, to be applied to whatever bent of nature they may observe most likely to mislead any of their children.

§ 109. 2. Children, who live together, often strive for mastery, whose wills shall carry it over the rest: whoever begins the contest, should be sure to be crossed in it. But not only that, but they should be taught to have all the deference, complaisance, and civility one for the other imaginable. This, when they see it procures them respect, love, and esteem, and that they lose no superiority by it, they will take more pleasure in, than in insolent domineering; for so plainly is the other.

The accusations of children one against another, which usually are but the clamours of anger and revenge, desiring aid, should not be favourably received nor hearkened to. It weakens and effeminates their minds to suffer them to complain:Complaints. and if they endure sometimes crossing or pain from others, without being permitted to think it strange or intolerable, it will do them no harm to learn sufferance, and harden them early. But, though you give no countenance to the complaints of the querulous, yet take care to curb the insolence and ill-nature of the injurious. When you observe it yourself, reprove it before the injured party: but if the complaint be of something really worth your notice and prevention another time, then reprove the offender by himself alone, out of sight of him that complained, and make him go and ask pardon, and make reparation. Which coming thus, as it were from himself, will be the more cheerfully performed, and more kindly received, the love strengthened between them, and a custom of civility grow familiar amongst your children.

§ 110. 3. As to having and possessing of things, teach them to part with what they have, easily and freely to their friends; and let them find by experience, that the most liberalLiberality. has always most plenty, with esteem and commendation to boot, and they will quickly learn to practise it. This, I imagine, will make brothers and sisters kinder and civiller to one another, and consequently to others, than twenty rules about good manners, with which children are ordinarily perplexed and cumbered. Covetousness, and the desire of having in our possession, and under our dominion, more than we have need of, being the root of all evil, should be early and carefully weeded out; and the contrary quality, or a readiness to impart to others, implanted. This should be encouraged by great commendation and credit, and constantly taking care, that he loses nothing by his liberality. Let all the instances he gives of such freeness, be always repaid, and with interest; and let him sensibly perceive, that the kindness he shows to others is no ill husbandry for himself; but that it brings a return of kindness, both from those that receive it, and those who look on. Make this a contest among children, who shall out-do one another this way. And by this means, by a constant practice, children having made it easy to themselves to part with what they have, good-nature may be settled in them into an habit, and they may take pleasure, and pique themselves in being kind, liberal, and civil to others.

If liberality ought to be encouraged, certainly great care is to be taken that children transgress not the rules of justice:Justice. and whenever they do, they should be set right; and, if there be occasion for it, severely rebuked.

Our first actions being guided more by self-love than reason or reflection, it is no wonder that in children they should be very apt to deviate from the just measures of right and wrong, which are in the mind the result of improved reason and serious meditation. This the more they are apt to mistake, the more careful guard ought to be kept over them, and every the least slip in this great social virtue taken notice of and rectified; and that in things of the least weight and moment, both to instruct their ignorance, and prevent ill habits, which, from small beginnings, in pins and cherry-stones, will, if let alone, grow up to higher frauds, and be in danger to end at last in downright hardened dishonesty. The first tendency to any injustice that appears, must be suppressed with a show of wonder and abhorrency in the parents and governors. But because children cannot well comprehend what injustice is, till they understand property, and how particular persons come by it, the safest way to secure honesty, is to lay the foundations of it early in liberality, and an easiness to part with to others whatever they have, or like, themselves. This may be taught them early, before they have language and understanding enough to form distinct notions of property, and to know what is theirs by a peculiar right exclusive of others. And since children seldom have any thing but by gift, and that for the most part from their parents, they may be at first taught not to take or keep any thing, but what is given them by those whom they take to have a power over it; and, as their capacities enlarge, other rules and cases of justice, and rights concerning “meum” and “tuum,” may be proposed and inculcated. If any act of injustice in them appears to proceed, not from mistake, but perverseness in their wills, when a gentle rebuke and shame will not reform this irregular and covetous inclination, rougher remedies must be applied: and it is but for the father or tutor to take and keep from them something that they value, and think their own; or order somebody else to do it; and by such instances make them sensible, what little advantage they are like to make, by possessing themselves unjustly of what is another’s, whilst there are in the world stronger and more men than they. But if an ingenuous detestation of this shameful vice be but carefully and early instilled into them, as I think it may, that is the true and genuine method to obviate this crime; and will be a better guard against dishonesty, than any considerations drawn from interest; habits working more constantly and with greater facility, than reason; which, when we have most need of it, is seldom fairly consulted, and more rarely obeyed.

§ 111. CryingCrying. is a fault that should not be tolerated in children; not only for the unpleasant and unbecoming noise it fills the house with, but for more considerable reasons, in reference to the children themselves: which is to be our aim in education.

Their crying is of two sorts; either stubborn and domineering, or querulous and whining.

Their crying is very often a striving for mastery, and an open declaration of their insolence or obstinacy: when they have not the power to obtain their desire, they will, by their clamour and sobbing, maintain their title and right to it. This is an avowed continuing of their claim, and a sort of remonstrance against the oppression and injustice of those who deny them what they have a mind to.

§ 112. 2. Sometimes their crying is the effect of pain or true sorrow, and a bemoaning themselves under it.

These two, if carefully observed, may, by the mien, look, and actions, and particularly by the tone of their crying, be easily distinguished; but neither of them must be suffered, much less encouraged.

The obstinate or stomachful crying should by no means be permitted; because it is but another way of flattering their desires, and encouraging those passions, which it is our main business to subdue: and if it be, as often it is, upon the receiving any correction, it quite defeats all the good effects of it; for any chastisement, which leaves them in this declared opposition, only serves to make them worse. The restraints and punishments laid on children are all misapplied and lost, as far as they do not prevail over their wills, teach them to submit their passions, and make their minds supple and pliant to what their parents reason advises them now, and so prepare them to obey what their own reason should advise hereafter. But if, in any thing wherein they are crossed, they may be suffered to go away crying, they confirm themselves in their desires, and cherish the ill humour, with a declaration of their right, and a resolution to satisfy their inclinations the first opportunity. This therefore is another argument against the frequent use of blows: for, whenever you come to that extremity, it is not enough to whip or beat them; you must do it till you find you have subdued their minds; till with submission and patience they yield to the correction; which you shall best discover by their crying, and their ceasing from it upon your bidding. Without this, the beating of children is but a passionate tyranny over them; and it is mere cruelty, and not correction, to put their bodies in pain, without doing their minds any good. As this gives us a reason why children should seldom be corrected, so it also prevents their being so. For if, whenever they are chastised, it were done thus without passion, soberly and yet effectually too, laying on the blows and smart, not furiously and all at once, but slowly, with reasoning between, and with observation how it wrought, stopping when it had made them pliant, penitent, and yielding; they would seldom need the like punishment again, being made careful to avoid the fault that deserved it. Besides, by this means, as the punishment would not be lost, for being too little, and not effectual; so it would be kept from being too much, if we gave off as soon as we perceived that it reached the mind, and that was bettered. For, since the chiding or beating of children should be always the least that possibly may be, that which is laid on in the heat of anger, seldom observes that measure; but is commonly more than it should be, though it prove less than enough.

§ 113. 2. Many children are apt to cry, upon any little pain they suffer; and the least harm that befals them, puts them into complaints and bawling. This few children avoid: for it being the first and natural way to declare their sufferings or wants, before they can speak, the compassion that is thought due to that tender age foolishly encourages, and continues it in them long after they can speak. It is the duty, I confess, of those about children, to compassionate them, whenever they suffer any hurt; but not to show it in pitying them. Help and ease them the best you can, but by no means bemoan them. This softens their minds, and makes them yield to the little harms that happen to them; whereby they sink deeper into that part which alone feels, and make larger wounds there, than otherwise they would. They should be hardened against all sufferings, especially of the body, and have no tenderness but what rises from an ingenuous shame and a quick sense of reputation. The many inconveniences this life is exposed to, require we should not be too sensible of every little hurt. What our minds yield not to, makes but a slight impression, and does us but very little harm; it is the suffering of our spirits that gives and continues the pain. This brawniness and insensibility of mind, is the best armour we can have against the common evils and accidents of life; and being a temper that is to be got by exercise and custom, more than any other way, the practice of it should be begun betimes, and happy is he that is taught it early. That effeminacy of spirit, which is to be prevented or cured, and which nothing, that I know, so much increases in children as crying; so nothing, on the other side, so much checks and restrains, as their being hindered from that sort of complaining. In the little harms they suffer, from knocks and falls, they should not be pitied for falling, but bid do so again; which, besides that it stops their crying, is a better way to cure their heedlessness, and prevent their tumbling another time, than either childing or bemoaning them. But, let the hurts they receive be what they will, stop their crying, and that will give them more quiet and ease at present, and harden them for the future.

§ 114. The former sort of crying requires severity to silence it; and where a look, or a positive command, will not do it, blows must: for it proceeding from pride, obstinacy, and stomach, the will, where the fault lies, must be bent, and made to comply, by a rigour sufficient to master it: but this latter, being ordinarily from softness of mind, a quite contrary cause, ought to be treated with a gentler hand. Persuasion, or diverting the thoughts another way, or laughing at their whining, may perhaps be at first the proper method. But for this, the circumstances of the thing, and the particular temper of the child, must be considered: no certain invariable rules can be given about it; but it must be left to the prudence of the parents or tutor. But this I think I may say in general, that there should be a constant discountenancing of this sort of crying also; and that the father, by his authority, should always stop it, mixing a greater degree of roughness in his looks or words, proportionably as the child is of a greater age, or a sturdier temper; but always, let it be enough to silence their whimpering, and put an end to the disorder.

§ 115. Cowardice and courage are so nearly related to the fore-mentioned tempers, that it may not be amiss here to take notice of them. Fear is a passion, that, if rightly governed, has its use. And though self-love seldom fails to keep it watchful and high enough in us, yet there may be an excess on the daring side; fool-hardinessFool-hardiness. and insensibility of danger being as little reasonable, as trembling and shrinking at the approach of every little evil. Fear was given us as a monitor to quicken our industry, and keep us upon our guard against the approaches of evil: and therefore to have no apprehension of mischief at hand, not to make a just estimate of the danger, but heedlessly to run into it, be the hazard what it will, without considering of what use or consequence it may be; is not the resolution of a rational creature, but brutish fury. Those who have children of this temper, have nothing to do but a little to awaken their reason, which self-preservation will quickly dispose them to hearken to; unless (which is usually the case) some other passion hurries them on headlong, without sense, and without consideration. A dislike of evil is so natural to mankind, that nobody, I think, can be without fear of it; fear being nothing but an uneasiness under the apprehension of that coming upon us which we dislike. And therefore, whenever any one runs into danger, we may say it is under the conduct of ignorance, or the command of some more imperious passion, nobody being so much an enemy to himself, as to come within the reach of evil out of free choice, and court danger for danger’s sake. If it be therefore pride, vain-glory, or rage, that silences a child’s fear, or makes him not hearken to its advice, those are by fit means to be abated, that a little consideration may allay his heat, and make him bethink himself whether this attempt be worth the venture. But this being a fault that children are not so often guilty of, I shall not be more particular in its cure. Weakness of spirit is the more common defect, and therefore will require the greater care.

Fortitude is the guard and support of the other virtues; and without courage a man will scarce keep steady to his duty, and fill up the character of a truly worthy man.

Courage,Courage. that makes us bear up against dangers that we fear, and evils that we feel, is of great use in an estate, as ours is in this life, exposed to assaults on all hands: and therefore it is very advisable to get children into this armour as early as we can. Natural temper, I confess, does here a great deal: but even where that is defective, and the heart is in itself weak and timorous, it may, by a right management, be brought to a better resolution. What is to be done to prevent breaking children’s spirits by frightful apprehensions instilled into them when young, or bemoaning themselves under every little suffering, I have already taken notice. How to harden their tempers, and raise their courage, if we find them too much subject to fear, is farther to be considered.

True fortitude I take to be the quiet possession of a man’s self, and an undisturbed doing his duty, whatever evil besets, or danger lies in his way. This there are so few men attain to, that we are not to expect it from children. But yet something may be done; and a wise conduct, by insensible degrees, may carry them farther than one expects.

The neglect of this great care of them, whilst they are young, is the reason, perhaps, why there are so few that have this virtue, in its full latitude, when they are men. I should not say this in a nation so naturally brave as ours is, did I think, that true fortitude required nothing but courage in the field and a contempt of life in the face of an enemy. This, I confess, is not the least part of it, nor can be denied, the laurels and honours always justly due to the valour of those who venture their lives for their country. But yet this is not all: dangers attack us in other places besides the field of battle; and though death be the king of terrours, yet pain, disgrace, and poverty, have frightful looks, able to discompose most men, whom they seem ready to seize on: and there are those who contemn some of these, and yet are heartily frighted with the other. True fortitude is prepared for dangers of all kinds, and unmoved, whatsoever evil it be that threatens: I do not mean unmoved with any fear at all. Where danger shows itself, apprehension cannot, without stupidity, be wanting. Where danger is, sense of danger should be; and so much fear as should keep us awake, and excite our attention, industry, and vigour; but not disturb the calm use of our reason, nor hinder the execution of what that dictates.

The first step to get this noble and manly steadiness, is, what I have above mentioned, carefully to keep children from frights of all kinds, when they are young. Let not any fearful apprehensions be talked into them, nor terrible objects surprise them. This often so shatters and discomposes the spirits, that they never recover it again; but during their whole life, upon the first suggestion, or appearance of any terrifying idea, are scattered and confounded; the body is enervated, and the mind disturbed, and the man scarce himself, or capable of any composed or rational action.Cowardice. Whether this be from an habitual motion of the animal spirits, introduced by the first strong impression: or from the alteration of the constitution, by some more unaccountable way; this is certain, that so it is. Instances of such, who in a weak timorous mind have born, all their whole lives through, the effects of a fright when they were young, are every-where to be seen; and therefore, as much as may be, to be prevented.

The next thing is, by gentle degrees, to accustom children to those things they are too much afraid of. But here great caution is to be used, that you do not make too much haste, nor attempt this cure too early, for fear lest you increase the mischief instead of remedying it. Little ones in arms may be easily kept out of the way of terrifying objects, and till they can talk and understand what is said to them, are scarce capable of that reasoning and discourse, which should be used to let them know there is no harm in those frightful objects, which we would make them familiar with, and do, to that purpose, by gentle degrees, bring nearer and nearer to them. And therefore it is seldom there is need of any application to them of this kind, till after they can run about and talk. But yet, if it should happen, that infants should have taken offence at any thing which cannot be easily kept out of their way; and that they show marks of terrour, as often as it comes in sight; all the allays of fright, by diverting their thoughts, or mixing pleasant and agreeable appearances with it, must be used, till it be grown familiar and inoffensive to them.

I think we may observe, that when children are first born, all objects of sight, that do not hurt the eyes, are indifferent to them; and they are no more afraid of a blackamoor, or a lion, than of their nurse, or a cat. What is it then, that afterwards, in certain mixtures of shape and colour, comes to affright them? Nothing but the apprehensions of harm, that accompany those things. Did a child suck every day a new nurse, I make account it would be no more affrighted with the change of faces at six months old, than at sixty. The reason then, why it will not come to a stranger, is because, having been accustomed to receive its food and kind usage only from one or two that are about it, the child apprehends, by coming into the arms of a stranger, the being taken from what delights and feeds it, and every moment supplies its wants, which it often feels, and therefore fears when the nurse is away.

Timorousness.The only thing we naturally are afraid of, is pain, or loss of pleasure. And because these are not annexed to any shape, colour, or size of visible objects, we are frighted with none of them, till either we have felt pain from them, or have notions put into us, that they will do us harm. The pleasant brightness and lustre of flame and fire so delights children, that at first they always desire to be handling of it: but when constant experience has convinced them, by the exquisite pain it has put them to, how cruel and unmerciful it is, they are afraid to touch it, and carefully avoid it. This being the ground of fear, it is not hard to find whence it arises, and how it is to be cured in all mistaken objects of terrour: and when the mind is confirmed against them, and has got a mastery over itself, and its usual fears in lighter occasions, it is in good preparation to meet more real dangers. Your child shrieks, and runs away at the sight of a frog, let another catch it, and lay it down at a good distance from him: at first accustom him to look upon it; when he can do that, then to come nearer to it, and see it leap without emotion; then to touch it lightly, when it is held fast in another’s hand; and so on, till he can come to handle it as confidently as a butterfly, or a sparrow. By the same way any other vain terrours may be removed, if care be taken that you go not too fast, and push not the child on to a new degree of assurance, till he be thoroughly confirmed in the former. And thus the young soldier is to be trained on to the warfare of life; wherein care is to be taken, that more things be not represented as dangerous, than really are so; and then, that whatever you observe him to be more frighted at than he should, you be sure to toll him on to, by insensible degrees, till he at last, quitting his fears, masters the difficulty, and comes off with applause. Successes of this kind, often repeated, will make him find, that evils are not always so certain, or so great, as our fears represent them; and that the way to avoid them is not to run away, or be discomposed, dejected, and deterred by fear, where either our credit or duty requires us to go on.

But, since the great foundation of fear in children is pain, the way to hardenHardiness. and fortify children against fear and danger, is to accustom them to suffer pain. This, it is possible, will be thought, by kind parents, a very unnatural thing towards their children; and by most, unreasonable, to endeavour to reconcile any one to the sense of pain, by bringing it upon him. It will be said, it may perhaps give the child an aversion for him that makes him suffer; but can never recommend to him suffering itself. This is a strange method. You will not have children whipped and punished for their faults; but you would have them tormented for doing well, or for tormenting’s sake. I doubt not but such objections as these will be made, and I shall be thought inconsistent with myself, or fantastical in proposing it. I confess, it is a thing to be managed with great discretion; and therefore it falls not out amiss, that it will not be received or relished, but by those who consider well, and look into the reason of things. I would not have children much beaten for their faults, because I would not have them think bodily pain the greatest punishment; and I would have them, when they do well, be sometimes put in pain, for the same reason, that they might be accustomed to bear it without looking on it as the greatest evil. How much education may reconcile young people to pain and sufferance, the examples of Sparta do sufficiently show: and they who have once brought themselves not to think bodily pain the greatest of evils, or that which they ought to stand most in fear of, have made no small advance towards virtue. But I am not so foolish to propose the Lacedæmonian discipline in our age or constitution: but yet I do say, that inuring children gently to suffer some degrees of pain without shrinking, is a way to gain firmness to their minds, and lay a foundation for courage and resolution in the future part of their lives.

Not to bemoan them, or permit them to bemoan themselves, on every little pain they suffer, is the first step to be made. But of this I have spoken elsewhere.

The next thing is, sometimes designedly to put them in pain: but care must be taken that this be done when the child is in good humour, and satisfied of the goodwill and kindness of him that hurts him, at the time that he does it. There must no marks of anger or displeasure on the one side, nor compassion or repenting on the other, go along with it; and it must be sure to be no more than the child can bear, without repining or taking it amiss, or for a punishment. Managed by these degrees, and with such circumstances, I have seen a child run away laughing, with good smart blows of a wand on his back, who would have cried for an unkind word, and have been very sensible of the chastisement of a cold look from the same person. Satisfy a child, by a constant course of your care and kindness, that you perfectly love him; and he may by degrees be accustomed to bear very painful and rough usage from you, without flinching or complaining: and this we see children do every day in playing one with another. The softer you find your child is, the more you are to seek occasions at fit times thus to harden him. The great art in this is to begin with what is but very little painful, and to proceed by insensible degrees, when you are playing and in good humour with him, and speaking well of him: and when you have once got him to think himself made amends for his suffering, by the praise given him for his courage; when he can take a pride in giving such marks of his manliness, and can prefer the reputation of being brave and stout, to the avoiding a little pain, or the shrinking under it; you need not despair in time, and by the assistance of his growing reason, to master his timorousness, and mend the weakness of his constitution. As he grows bigger, he is to be set upon bolder attempts than his natural temper carries him to; and whenever he is observed to flinch from what one has reason to think he would come off well in, if he had but courage to undertake; that he should be assisted in at first, and by degrees shamed to, till at last practice has given more assurance, and with it a mastery, which must be rewarded with great praise, and the good opinion of others, for his performance. When by these steps he has got resolution enough not to be deterred from what he ought to do, by the apprehension of danger; when fear does not, in sudden or hazardous occurrences, discompose his mind, set his body a trembling, and make him unfit for action, or run away from it; he has then the courage of a rational creature; and such an hardiness we should endeavour by custom and use to bring children to, as proper occasions come in our way.

§ 116. One thing I have frequently observed in children, that, when they have got possession of any poor creature, they are apt to use it ill; they often torment and treat very roughly young birds, butterflies, and such other poor animals, which fall into their hands, and that with a seeming kind of pleasure. This, I think, should be watched in them; and if they incline to any such cruelty,Cruelty. they should be taught the contrary usage; for the custom of tormenting and killing of beasts will, by degrees, harden their minds even towards men; and they who delight in the suffering and destruction of inferior creatures, will not be apt to be very compassionate or benign to those of their own kind. Our practice takes notice of this, in the exclusion of butchers from juries of life and death. Children should from the beginning be bred up in an abhorrence of killing or tormenting any living creature, and be taught not to spoil or destroy any thing unless it be for the preservation or advantage of some other that is nobler. And truly, if the preservation of all mankind, as much as in him lies, were every one’s persuasion, as indeed it is every one’s duty, and the true principle to regulate our religion, politics, and morality by, the world would be much quieter, and better-natured, than it is. But to return to our present business; I cannot but commend both the kindness and prudence of a mother I knew, who was wont always to indulge her daughters, when any of them desired dogs, squirrels, birds, or any such things, as young girls use to be delighted with: but then, when they had them, they must be sure to keep them well, and look diligently after them, that they wanted nothing, or were not ill used; for, if they were negligent in their care of them, it was counted a great fault, which often forfeited their possession; or at least they failed not to be rebuked for it, whereby they were early taught diligence and good-nature. And indeed I think people should be accustomed, from their cradles, to be tender to all sensible creatures, and to spoil or waste nothing at all.

This delight they take in doing of mischief (whereby I mean spoiling of any thing to no purpose, but more especially the pleasure they take to put any thing in pain that is capable of it) I cannot persuade myself to be any other than a foreign and introduced disposition, an habit borrowed from custom and conversation. People teach children to strike, and laugh when they hurt, or see harm come to others; and they have the examples of most about them to confirm them in it. All the entertainment of talk and history is of nothing almost but fighting and killing; and the honour and renown that is bestowed on conquerors (who for the most part are but the great butchers of mankind) farther mislead growing youths, who by this means come to think slaughter the laudable business of mankind, and the most heroic of virtues. By these steps unnatural cruelty is planted in us; and what humanity abhors, custom reconciles and recommends to us, by laying it in the way to honour. Thus, by fashion and opinion, that comes to be a pleasure, which in itself neither is, nor can be any. This ought carefully to be watched, and early remedied, so as to settle and cherish the contrary and more natural temper of benignity and compassion in the room of it; but still by the same gentle methods, which are to be applied to the other two faults before mentioned. It may not perhaps be unreasonable here to add this farther caution, viz. that the mischiefs or harms that come by play, inadvertency, or ignorance, and were not known to be harms, or designed for mischief’s sake, though they may perhaps be sometimes of considerable damage, yet are not at all, or but very gently, to be taken notice of. For this, I think, I cannot too often inculcate, that whatever miscarriage a child is guilty of, and whatever be the consequence of it, the thing to be regarded in taking notice of it, is only what root it springs from, and what habit it is like to establish; and to that the correction ought to be directed, and the child not to suffer any punishment for any harm which may have come by his play or inadvertency. The faults to be amended lie in the mind; and if they are such as either age will cure, or no ill habits will follow from, the present action, whatever displeasing circumstances it may have, is to be passed by without any animadversion.

§ 117. Another way to instil sentiments of humanity, and to keep them lively in young folks, will be, to accustom them to civility, in their language and deportment towards their inferiours, and the meaner sort of people, particularly servants. It is not unusual to observe the children, in gentlemen’s families, treat the servants of the house with domineering words, names of contempt, and an imperious carriage; as if they were of another race, and species beneath them. Whether ill example, the advantage of fortune, or their natural vanity, inspire this haughtiness, it should be prevented, or weeded out; and a gentle, courteous, affable carriage towards the lower ranks of men, placed in the room of it. No part of their superiority will be hereby lost, but the distinction increased, and their authority strengthened, when love in inferiours is joined to outward respect, and an esteem of the person has a share in their submission; and domestics will pay a more ready and cheerful service, when they find themselves not spurned, because fortune has laid them below the level of others, at their master’s feet. Children should not be suffered to lose the consideration of human nature in the shufflings of outward conditions: the more they have, the better-humoured they should be taught to be, and the more compassionate and gentle to those of their brethren, who are placed lower, and have scantier portions. If they are suffered from their cradles to treat men ill and rudely, because, by their father’s title, they think they have a little power over them; at best it is ill-bred; and, if care be not taken, will, by degrees, nurse up their natural pride into an habitual contempt of those beneath them: and where will that probably end, but in oppression and cruelty?

§ 118. CuriosityCuriosity. in children (which I had occasion just to mention, § 108) is but an appetite after knowledge, and therefore ought to be encouraged in them, not only as a good sign, but as the great instrument nature has provided, to remove that ignorance they were born with, and which without this busy inquisitiveness will make them dull and useless creatures. The ways to encourage it, and keep it active and busy, are, I suppose, these following:

Not to check or discountenance any inquiries he shall make, nor suffer them to be laughed at; but to answer all his questions, and explain the matters he desires to know, so as to make them as much intelligible to him, as suits the capacity of his age and knowledge. But confound not his understanding with explications or notions that are above it, or with the variety or number of things that are not to his present purpose. Mark what it is his mind aims at in the question, and not what words he expresses it in: and, when you have informed and satisfied him in that, you shall see how his thoughts will enlarge themselves, and how by fit answers he may be led on farther than perhaps you could imagine. For knowledge is grateful to the understanding, as light to the eyes: children are pleased and delighted with it exceedingly, especially if they see that their inquiries are regarded, and that their desire of knowing is encouraged and commended. And I doubt not but one great reason, why many children abandon themselves wholly to silly sports, and trifle away all their time insipidly, is, because they have found their curiosity baulked, and their inquiries neglected. But had they been treated with more kindness and respect, and their questions answered, as they should, to their satisfaction, I doubt not but they would have taken more pleasure in learning, and improving their knowledge, wherein there would be still newness and variety, which is what they are delighted with, than in returning over and over to the same play and play-things.

§ 119. 2. To this serious answering their questions, and informing their understandings in what they desire, as if it were a matter that needed it, should be added some peculiar ways of commendation. Let others, whom they esteem, be told before their faces of the knowledge they have in such and such things; and since we are all, even from our cradles, vain and proud creatures, let their vanity be flattered with things that will do them good; and let their pride set them on work on something which may turn to their advantage. Upon this ground you shall find, that there cannot be a greater spur to the attaining what you would have the elder learn and know himself, than to set him upon teaching it his younger brothers and sisters.

§ 120. 3. As children’s inquiries are not to be slighted, so also great care is to be taken, that they never receive deceitful and illuding answers. They easily perceive when they are slighted or deceived, and quickly learn the trick of neglect, dissimulation, and falsehood, which they observe others to make use of. We are not to intrench upon truth in any conversation, but least of all with children; since, if we play false with them, we not only deceive their expectation, and hinder their knowledge, but corrupt their innocence, and teach them the worst of vices. They are travellers newly arrived in a strange country, of which they know nothing: we should therefore make conscience not to mislead them. And though their questions seem sometimes not very material, yet they should be seriously answered; for however they may appear to us (to whom they are long since known) inquiries not worth the making, they are of moment to those who are wholly ignorant. Children are strangers to all we are acquainted with; and all the things they meet with are at first unknown to them, as they once were to us; and happy are they who meet with civil people, that will comply with their ignorance, and help them to get out of it.

If you or I now should be set down in Japan, with all our prudence and knowledge about us, a conceit whereof makes us perhaps so apt to slight the thoughts and inquiries of children; should we, I say, be set down in Japan, we should, no doubt, (if we would inform ourselves of what is there to be known,) ask a thousand questions, which to a supercilious or inconsiderate Japanese, would seem very idle and impertinent; though to us they would be very material, and of importance to be resolved; and we should be glad to find a man so complaisant and courteous, as to satisfy our demands, and instruct our ignorance.

When any new thing comes in their way, children usually ask the common question of a stranger, What is it? whereby they ordinarily mean nothing but the name; and therefore to tell them how it is called, is usually the proper answer to that demand. The next question usually is, What is it for? And to this it should be answered truly and directly; the use of the thing should be told, and the way explained, how it serves to such a purpose, as far as their capacities can comprehend it; and so of any other circumstances they shall ask about it: not turning them going, till you have given them all the satisfaction they are capable of, and so leading them by your answers into farther questions. And perhaps to a grown man such conversation will not be altogether so idle and insignificant, as we are apt to imagine. The native and untaught suggestions of inquisitive children do often offer things that may set a considering man’s thoughts on work. And I think there is frequently more to be learned from the unexpected questions of a child than the discourses of men, who talk in a road, according to the notions they have borrowed, and the prejudices of their education.

§ 121. 4. Perhaps it may not sometimes be amiss to excite their curiosity, by bringing strange and new things in their way, on purpose to engage their enquiry, and give them occasion to inform themselves about them; and if by chance their curiosity leads them to ask what they should not know, it is a great deal better to tell them plainly, that it is a thing that belongs not to them to know, than to pop them off with a falsehood, or a frivolous answer.

§ 122. Pertness, that appears sometimes so early, proceeds from a principle that seldom accompanies a strong constitution of body, or ripens into a strong judgment of mind. If it were desirable to have a child a more brisk talker, I believe there might be ways found to make him so; but, I suppose, a wise father had rather that his son should be able and useful, when a man, than pretty company, and a diversion to others, whilst a child; though, if that too were to be considered, I think I may say, there is not so much pleasure to have a child prattle agreeably, as to reason well. Encourage therefore his inquisitiveness all you can, by satisfying his demands, and informing his judgment, as far as it is capable. When his reasons are any way tolerable, let him find the credit and commendation of them; and when they are quite out of the way, let him, without being laughed at for his mistake, be gently put into the right; and, if he show a forwardness to be reasoning about things that come in his way, take care, as much as you can, that nobody check this inclination in him, or mislead it by captious or fallacious ways of talking with him: for, when all is done, this, as the highest and most important faculty of our minds, deserves the greatest care and attention in cultivating it: the right improvement and exercise of our reason being the highest perfection that a man can attain to in this life.

§ 123. Contrary to this busy inquisitive temper, there is sometimes observable in children a listless carelessness, a want of regard to any thing, and a sort of trifling, even at their business. This saunteringSauntering. humour I look on as one of the worst qualities can appear in a child, as well as one of the hardest to be cured, where it is natural. But, it being liable to be mistaken in some cases, care must be taken to make a right judgment concerning that trifling at their books or business, which may sometimes be complained of in a child. Upon the first suspicion a father has, that his son is of a sauntering temper, he must carefully observe him, whether he be listless and indifferent in all his actions, or whether in some things alone he be slow and sluggish, but in others vigorous and eager: for though he find that he does loiter at his book, and let a good deal of the time he spends in his chamber or study run idly away, he must not presently conclude, that this is from a sauntering humour in his temper; it may be childishness, and a preferring something to his study, which his thoughts run on; and he dislikes his book, as is natural, because it is forced upon him as a task. To know this perfectly, you must watch him at play, when he is out of his place and time of study, following his own inclinations; and see there, whether he be stirring and active; whether he designs any thing, and with labour and eagerness pursues it, till he has accomplished what he aimed at; or whether he lazily and listlessly dreams away his time. If this sloth be only when he is about his book, I think it may be easily cured; if it be in his temper, it will require a little more pains and attention to remedy it.

§ 124. If you are satisfied, by his earnestness at play, or any thing else he sets his mind on, in the intervals between his hours of business, that he is not of himself inclined to laziness, but that only want of relish of his book makes him negligent and sluggish in his application to it; the first step is to try, by talking to him kindly of the folly and inconvenience of it, whereby he loses a good part of his time, which he might have for his diversion; but be sure to talk calmly and kindly, and not much at first, but only these plain reasons in short. If this prevails, you have gained the point in the most desirable way, which is that of reason and kindness. If this softer application prevails not, try to shame him out of it, by laughing at him for it, asking every day, when he comes to table, if there be no strangers there, “how long he was that day about his business?” And if he has not done it, in the time he might be well supposed to have dispatched it, expose and turn him into ridicule for it; but mix no chiding, only put on a pretty cold brow towards him, and keep it till he reform; and let his mother, tutor, and all about him, do so too. If this work not the effect you desire, then tell him, “he shall be no longer troubled with a tutor to take care of his education: you will not be at the charge to have him spend his time idly with him: but since he prefers this or that [whatever play he delights in] to his book, that only he shall do;” and so in earnest set him to work on his beloved play, and keep him steadily, and in earnest to it, morning and afternoon, till he be fully surfeited, and would at any rate change it for some hours at his book again: but when you thus set him his task of play, you must be sure to look after him yourself, or set somebody else to do it, that may constantly see him employed in it, and that he be not permitted to be idle at that too. I say, yourself look after him; for it is worth the father’s while, whatever business he has, to bestow two or three days upon his son, to cure so great a mischief as his sauntering at his business.

§ 125. This is what I propose, if it be idleness, not from his general temper, but a peculiar or acquired aversion to learning, which you must be careful to examine and distinguish. But, though you have your eyes upon him, to watch what he does with the time which he has at his own disposal, yet you must not let him perceive that you, or any body else do so; for that may hinder him from following his own inclination, which he being full of, and not daring, for fear of you, to prosecute what his head and heart are set upon, he may neglect all other things, which then he relishes not, and so may seem to be idle and listless: when, in truth, it is nothing but being intent on that, which the fear of your eye or knowledge keeps him from executing. To be clear in this point, the observation must be made when you are out of the way, and he not so much as under the restraint of a suspicion that any body has an eye upon him. In those seasons of perfect freedom, let somebody, you can trust, mark how he spends his time, whether he inactively loiters it away, when, without any check, he is left to his own inclination. Thus, by his employing of such times of liberty, you will easily discern whether it be listlessness in his temper, or aversion to his book, that makes him saunter away his time of study.

§ 126. If some defect in his constitution has cast a damp on his mind, and he be naturally listless and dreaming, this unpromising disposition is none of the easiest to be dealt with; because generally carrying with it an unconcernedness for the future, it wants the two great springs of action, foresight and desire; which, how to plant and increase, where nature has given a cold and contrary temper, will be the question. As soon as you are satisfied that this is the case, you must carefully inquire whether there be nothing he delights in; inform yourself, what it is he is most pleased with; and if you can find any particular tendency his mind hath, increase it all you can, and make use of that to set him on work, and to excite his industry. If he loves praise, or play, or fine clothes, &c. or, on the other side, dreads pain, disgrace, or your displeasure, &c. whatever it be that he loves most, except it be sloth, (for that will never set him on work) let that be made use of to quicken him, and make him bestir himself; for in this listless temper you are not to fear an excess of appetite (as in all other cases) by cherishing it. It is that which you want, and therefore must labour to raise and increase; for, where there is no desire, there will be no industry.

§ 127. If you have not hold enough upon him this way, to stir up vigour and activity in him, you must employ him in some constant bodily labour, whereby he may get an habit of doing something: the keeping him hard to some study, were the better way to get him an habit of exercising and applying his mind. But, because this is an invisible attention, and nobody can tell when he is, or is not idle at it, you must find bodily employments for him, which he must be constantly busied in, and kept to; and, if they have some little hardship and shame in them, it may not be the worse, that they may the sooner weary him, and make him desire to return to his book: but be sure, when you exchange his book for his other labour, set him such a task, to be done in such a time, as may allow him no opportunity to be idle. Only, after you have by this way brought him to be attentive and industrious at his book, you may, upon his dispatching his study within the time set him, give him, as a reward, some respite from his other labour; which you may diminish, as you find him grow more and more steady in his application; and, at last, wholly take off, when his sauntering at his book is cured.

Compulsion.§ 128. We formerly observed, that variety and freedom was that which delighted children, and recommended their plays to them; and that therefore their book, or any thing we would have them learn, should not be enjoined them as business. This their parents, tutors, and teachers, are apt to forget; and their impatience to have them busied in what is fit for them to do, suffers them not to deceive them into it: but, by the repeated injunctions they meet with, children quickly distinguish between what is required of them, and what not. When this mistake has once made his book uneasy to him, the cure is to be applied at the other end. And since it will be then too late to endeavour to make it a play to him, you must take the contrary course: observe what play he is most delighted with; enjoin that, and make him play so many hours every day, not as a punishment for playing, but as if it were the business required of him. This, if I mistake not, will, in a few days, make him so weary of his most beloved sport, that he will prefer his book, or any thing, to it, especially if it may redeem him from any part of the task of play is set him; and he may be suffered to employ some part of the time destined to his task of play in his book, or such other exercise as is really useful to him. This I at least think a better cure than that forbidding (which usually increases the desire) or any other punishment should be made use of to remedy it; for, when you have once glutted his appetite, (which may safely be done in all things but eating and drinking,) and made him surfeit of what you would have him avoid, you have put into him a principle of aversion, and you need not so much fear afterwards his longing for the same thing again.

§ 129. This, I think, is sufficiently evident, that children generally hate to be idle: all the care then is, that their busy humour should be constantly employed in something of use to them; which if you will attain, you must make what you would have them do, a recreation to them, and not a business. The way to do this, so that they may not perceive you have any hand in it, is this proposed here, viz. to make them weary of that which you would not have them do, by enjoining and making them, under some pretence or other, do it till they are surfeited. For example; Does your son play at top and scourge too much? Enjoin him to play so many hours every day, and look that he do it; and you shall see he will quickly be sick of it, and willing to leave it. By this means, making the recreations you dislike, a business to him, he will of himself, with delight, betake himself to those things you would have him do, especially if they be proposed as rewards for having performed his task in that play which is commanded him. For, if he be ordered every day to whip his top, so long as to make him sufficiently weary, do you not think he will apply himself with eagerness to his book, and wish for it, if you promise it him as a reward of having whipped his top lustily, quite out all the time that is set him? Children, in the things they do, if they comport with their age, find little difference, so they may be doing: the esteem they have for one thing above another, they borrow from others; so that what those about them make to be a reward to them, will really be so. By this art, it is in their governor’s choice, whether scotch-hoppers shall reward their dancing, or dancing their scotch-hoppers; whether peg-top, or reading, playing at trap, or studying the globes, shall be more acceptable and pleasing to them; all that they desire being to be busy, and busy, as they imagine, in things of their own choice, and which they receive as favours from their parents, or others for whom they have a respect, and with whom they would be in credit. A set of children thus ordered, and kept from the ill example of others, would, all of them, I suppose, with as much earnestness and delight, learn to read, write, and what else one would have them, as others do their ordinary plays; and the eldest being thus entered, and this made the fashion of the place, it would be as impossible to hinder them from learning the one, as it is ordinarily to keep them from the other.

§ 130. Play-things,Play-games. I think, children should have, and of divers sorts; but still to be in the custody of their tutors, or somebody else, whereof the child should have in his power but one at once, and should not be suffered to have another, but when he restored that: this teaches them, betimes, to be careful of not losing or spoiling the things they have; whereas plenty and variety, in their own keeping, makes them wanton and careless, and teaches them from the beginning to be squanderers and wasters. These, I confess, are little things, and such as will seem beneath the care of a governor; but nothing that may form children’s minds is to be overlooked and neglected; and whatsoever introduces habits, and settles customs in them, deserves the care and attention of their governors, and is not a small thing in its consequences.

One thing more about children’s play-things may be worth their parent’s care: though it be agreed they should have of several sorts, yet, I think, they should have none bought for them. This will hinder that great variety they are often overcharged with, which serves only to teach the mind to wander after change and superfluity, to be unquiet, and perpetually stretching itself after something more still, though it knows not what, and never to be satisfied with what it hath. The court that is made to people of condition in such kind of presents to their children, does the little ones great harm; by it they are taught pride, vanity, and covetousness, almost before they can speak; and I have known a young child so distracted with the number and variety of his play-games, that he tired his maid every day to look them over; and was so accustomed to abundance, that he never thought he had enough, but was always asking, What more? What more? What new thing shall I have? A good introduction to moderate desires, and the ready way to make a contented happy man!

How then shall they have the play-games you allow them, if none must be bought for them? I answer, they should make them themselves, or at least endeavour it, and set themselves about it; till then they should have none, and till then, they will want none of any great artifice. A smooth pebble, a piece of paper, the mother’s bunch of keys, or any thing they cannot hurt themselves with, serves as much to divert little children, as those more chargeable and curious toys from the shops, which are presently put out of order and broken. Children are never dull or out of humour for want of such play-things, unless they have been used to them: when they are little, whatever occurs serves the turn; and as they grow bigger, if they are not stored by the expensive folly of others, they will make them themselves. Indeed, when they once begin to set themselves to work about any of their inventions, they should be taught and assisted; but should have nothing whilst they lazily sit still, expecting to be furnished from other hands without employing their own: and if you help them where they are at a stand, it will more endear you to them, than any chargeable toys you shall buy for them. Play-things which are above their skill to make, as tops, gigs, battledores, and the like, which are to be used with labour, should, indeed, be procured them: these, it is convenient, they should have, not for variety, but exercise; but these, too, should be given them as bare as might be. If they had a top, the scourge-stick and leather-strap should be left to their own making and fitting. If they sit gaping to have such things drop into their mouths, they should go without them. This will accustom them to seek for what they want in themselves, and in their own endeavours; whereby they will be taught moderation in their desires, application, industry, thought, contrivance, and good husbandry; qualities that will be useful to them when they are men, and therefore cannot be learned too soon, nor fixed too deep. All the plays and diversions of children should be directed towards good and useful habits, or else they will introduce ill ones. Whatever they do, leaves some impression on that tender age, and from thence they receive a tendency to good or evil: and whatever hath such an influence, ought not to be neglected.

§ 131. LyingLying. is so ready and cheap a cover for any miscarriage, and so much in fashion amongst all sorts of people, that a child can hardly avoid observing the use is made of it on all occasions, and so can scarce be kept, without great care, from getting into it. But it is so ill a quality, and the mother of so many ill ones, that spawn from it, and take shelter under it, that a child should be brought up in the greatest abhorrence of it imaginable: it should be always (when occasionally it comes to be mentioned) spoken of before him with the utmost detestation, as a quality so wholly inconsistent with the name and character of a gentleman, that nobody of any credit can bear the imputation of a lye; a mark that is judged the utmost disgrace, which debases a man to the lowest degree of a shameful meanness, and ranks him with the most contemptible part of mankind, and the abhorred rascality; and is not to be endured in any one, who would converse with people of condition, or have any esteem or reputation in the world. The first time he is found in a lye, it should rather to be wondered at, as a monstrous thing in him, than reproved as an ordinary fault. If that keeps him not from relapsing, the next time he must be sharply rebuked, and fall into the state of great displeasure of his father and mother, and all about him, who take notice of it. And if this way work not the cure, you must come to blows; for, after he has been thus warned, a premeditated lye must always be looked upon as obstinacy, and never be permitted to escape unpunished.

§ 132. Children, afraid to have their faults seen in their naked colours, will, like the rest of the sons of Adam, be apt to make excuses.Excuses. This is a fault usually bordering upon, and leading to untruth, and is not to be indulged in them; but yet it ought to be cured rather with shame than roughness. If therefore, when a child is questioned for any thing, his first answer be an excuse, warn him soberly to tell the truth; and then, if he persists to shuffle it off with a falsehood, he must be chastised; but, if he directly confess, you must commend his ingenuity, and pardon the fault, be it what it will; and pardon it so, that you never so much as reproach him with it, or mention it to him again: for, if you would have him in love with ingenuity, and by a constant practice make it habitual to him, you must take care that it never procure him the least inconvenience; but, on the contrary, his own confession, bringing always with it perfect impunity, should be, besides, encouraged by some marks of approbation. If his excuse be such at any time, that you cannot prove it to have any falsehood in it, let it pass for true, and be sure not to show any suspicion of it. Let him keep up his reputation with you as high as is possible; for, when once he finds he has lost that, you have lost a great and your best hold upon him. Therefore let him not think he has the character of a lyar with you, as long as you can avoid it without flattering him in it. Thus some slips in truth may be overlooked. But, after he has once been corrected for a lye, you must be sure never after to pardon it in him, whenever you find, and take notice to him, that he is guilty of it: for it being a fault, which he has been forbid, and may, unless he be wilful, avoid, the repeating of it is perfect perverseness, and must have the chastisement due to that offence.

§ 133. This is what I have thought, concerning the general method of educating a young gentleman; which, though I am apt to suppose may have some influence on the whole course of his education, yet I am far from imagining it contains all those particulars which his growing years, or peculiar temper, may require. But this being premised in general, we shall, in the next place, descend to a more particular consideration of the several parts of his education.

§ 134. That which every gentleman (that takes any care of his education) desires for his son, besides the estate he leaves him, is contained (I suppose) in these four things, virtue, wisdom, breeding, and learning. I will not trouble myself whether these names do not some of them sometimes stand for the same thing, or really include one another. It serves my turn here to follow the popular use of these words, which I presume is clear enough to make me be understood, and I hope there will be no difficulty to comprehend my meaning.

§ 135. I place virtue as the first and most necessary of those endowments that belong to a man or a gentleman, as absolutely requisite to make him valued and beloved by others, acceptable or tolerable to himself. Without that, I think, he will be happy neither in this, nor the other world.

§ 136. As the foundation of this, there ought very early to be imprinted on his mind a true notion of God,God. as of the independent supreme Being, Author, and Maker of all things, from whom we receive all our good, who loves us, and gives us all things: and, consequent to this, instil into him a love and reverence of this supreme Being. This is enough to begin with, without going to explain this matter any farther, for fear, lest by talking too early to him of spirits, and being unseasonably forward to make him understand the incomprehensible nature of that infinite Being, his head be either filled with false, or perplexed with unintelligible notions of him. Let him only be told upon occasion, that God made and governs all things, hears and sees every thing, and does all manner of good to those that love and obey him. You will find, that, being told of such a God, other thoughts will be apt to rise up fast enough in his mind about him; which, as you observe them to have any mistakes, you must set right. And I think it would be better, if men generally rested in such an idea of God, without being too curious in their notions about a Being, which all must acknowledge incomprehensible; whereby many, who have not strength and clearness of thought to distinguish between what they can, and what they cannot know, run themselves into superstition or atheism, making God like themselves, or (because they cannot comprehend any thing else) none at all. And I am apt to think the keeping children constantly morning and evening to acts of devotion to God, as to their Maker, Preserver, and Benefactor, in some plain and short form of prayer, suitable to their age and capacity, will be of much more use to them in religion, knowledge, and virtue, than to distract their thoughts with curious inquiries into his inscrutable essence and being.

§ 137. Having by gentle degrees, as you find him capable of it, settled such an idea of God in his mind, and taught him to pray to him, and praise him as the Author of his being, and of all the good he does or can enjoy, forbear any discourse of other spirits,Spirits. till the mention of them coming in his way, upon occasion hereafter to be set down, and his reading the scripture-history, put him upon that inquiry.

§ 138. But even then, and always whilst he is young, be sure to preserve his tender mind from all impressions and notions of spirits and goblins,Goblins. or any fearful apprehensions in the dark. This he will be in danger of from the indiscretion of servants, whose usual method is to awe children, and keep them in subjection, by telling them of raw-head and bloody-bones, and such other names, as carry with them the ideas of something terrible and hurtful, which they have reason to be afraid of, when alone, especially in the dark. This must be carefully prevented; for though by this foolish way they may keep them from little faults, yet the remedy is much worse than the disease; and there are stamped upon their imaginations, ideas that follow them with terror and affrightment. Such bug-bear thoughts, once got into the tender minds of children, and being set on with a strong impression from the dread that accompanies such apprehensions, sink deep, and fasten themselves so, as not easily, if ever, to be got out again; and, whilst they are there, frequently haunt them with strange visions, making children dastards when alone, and afraid of their shadows and darkness all their lives after. I have had those complain to me, when men, who had been thus used, when young; that, though their reason corrected the wrong ideas they had taken in, and they were satisfied that there was no cause to fear invisible beings more in the dark, than in the light; yet that these notions were apt still, upon any occasion, to start up first in their prepossessed fancies, and not to be removed without some pains. And, to let you see how lasting frightful images are, that take place in the mind early, I shall here tell you a pretty remarkable, but true story; there was in a town on the west a man of a disturbed brain, whom the boys used to teaze, when he came in their way: this fellow one day, seeing in the street one of those lads that used to vex him, stepped into a cutler’s shop he was near, and there seizing on a naked sword, made after the boy, who, seeing him coming so armed, betook himself to his feet, and ran for his life, and by good luck had strength and heels enough to reach his father’s house, before the madman could get up to him: the door was only latched: and, when he had the latch in his hand, he turned about his head to see how near his pursuer was, who was at the entrance of the porch, with his sword up ready to strike; and he had just time to get in and clap to the door, to avoid the blow, which, though his body escaped, his mind did not. This frightening idea made so deep an impression there, that it lasted many years, if not all his life after; for telling this story when he was a man, he said, that after that time till then, he never went in at that door (that he could remember) at any time, without looking back, whatever business he had in his head, or how little soever, before he came thither, he thought of this madman.

If children were let alone, they would be no more afraid in the dark, than in broad sun-shine; they would in their turns as much welcome the one for sleep, as the other to play in: there should be no distinction made to them, by any discourse, of more danger, or terrible things in the one than the other. But, if the folly of any one about them should do them this harm, and make them think there is any difference between being in the dark and winking, you must get it out of their minds as soon as you can; and let them know, that God, who made all things good for them, made the night, that they might sleep the better and the quieter: and that they being under his protection, there is nothing in the dark to hurt them. What is to be known more of God and good spirits, is to be deferred till the time we shall hereafter mention; and of evil spirits, it will be well if you can keep him from wrong fancies about them, till he is ripe for that sort of knowledge.

§ 139. Having laid the foundations of virtue in a trueTruth. notion of a God, such as the creed wisely teaches, as far as his age is capable, and by accustoming him to pray to him; the next thing to be taken care of, is to keep him exactly to speaking of truth, and by all the ways imaginable inclining him to be good-natured.Good-nature. Let him know, that twenty faults are sooner to be forgiven, than the straining of truth, to cover any one by an excuse: and to teach him betimes to love and be good-natured to others, is to lay early the true foundation of an honest man; all injustice generally springing from too great love of ourselves, and too little of others.

This is all I shall say of this matter in general, and is enough for laying the first foundations of virtue in a child. As he grows up, the tendency of his natural inclination must be observed; which, as it inclines him, more than is convenient, on one or the other side, from the right path of virtue, ought to have proper remedies applied; for few of Adam’s children are so happy, as not to be born with some bias in their natural temper, which it is the business of education either to take off, or counterbalance: but to enter into particulars of this, would be beyond the design of this short treatise of education. I intend not a discourse of all the virtues and vices, and how each virtue is to be attained, and every particular vice by its peculiar remedies cured; though I have mentioned some of the most ordinary faults, and the ways to be used in correcting them.

§ 140. WisdomWisdom. I take, in the popular acceptation, for a man’s managing his business ably, and with foresight, in this world. This is the product of a good natural temper, application of mind, and experience together; and so above the reach of children. The greatest thing that in them can be done towards it, is to hinder them, as much as may be, from being cunning; which, being the ape of wisdom, is the most distant from it that can be: and, as an ape, for the likeness it has to a man, wanting what really should make him so, is by so much the uglier; cunning is only the want of understanding; which, because it cannot compass its end by direct ways, would do it by a trick and circumvention; and the mischief of it is, a cunning trick helps but once, but hinders ever after. No cover was ever made either so big, or so fine, as to hide itself. Nobody was ever so cunning, as to conceal their being so: and, when they are once discovered, every body is shy, every body distrustful of crafty men; and all the world forwardly join to oppose and defeat them: whilst the open, fair, wise man has every body to make way for him, and goes directly to his business. To accustom a child to have true notions of things, and not to be satisfied till he has them; to raise his mind to great and worthy thoughts; and to keep him at a distance from falsehood and cunning, which has always a broad mixture of falsehood in it; is the fittest preparation of a child for wisdom. The rest, which is to be learned from time, experience, and observation, and an acquaintance with men, their tempers and designs, is not to be expected in the ignorance and inadvertency of childhood, or the inconsiderate heat and unwariness of youth: all that can be done towards it, during this unripe age, is, as I have said, to accustom them to truth and sincerity; to a submission to reason; and, as much as may be, to reflection on their own actions.

§ 141. The next good quality belonging to a gentleman, is good-breeding.Breeding. There are two sorts of ill-breeding; the one, a sheepish bashfulness; and the other, a misbecoming negligence and disrespect in our carriage; both which are avoided, by duly observing this one rule, Not to think meanly of ourselves, and not to think meanly of others.

§ 142. The first part of this rule must not be understood in opposition to humility, but to assurance. We ought not to think so well of ourselves, as to stand upon our own value; and assume to ourselves a preference before others, because of any advantage we may imagine we have over them; but modestly to take what is offered, when it is our due. But yet we ought to think so well of ourselves, as to perform those actions which are incumbent on, and expected of us, without discomposure or disorder, in whose presence soever we are, keeping that respect and distance which is due to every one’s rank and quality. There is often in people, especially children, a clownish shamefacedness before strangers, or those above them; they are confounded in their thoughts, words, and looks, and so lose themselves in that confusion, as not to be able to do any thing, or at least not to do it with that freedom and gracefulness which pleases and makes them acceptable. The only cure for this, as for any other miscarriage, is by use to introduce the contrary habit. But since we cannot accustom ourselves to converse with strangers, and persons of quality, without being in their company, nothing can cure this part of ill-breeding, but change and variety of company, and that of persons above us.

§ 143. As the before-mentioned consists in too great a concern how to behave ourselves towards others, so the other part of ill-breeding lies in the appearance of too little care of pleasing or showing respect to those we have to do with. To avoid this these two things are requisite: first, a disposition of the mind not to offend others; and, secondly, the most acceptable and agreeable way of expressing that disposition. From the one, men are called civil; from the other, well-fashioned. The latter of these is that decency and gracefulness of looks, voice, words, motions, gestures, and of all the whole outward demeanour, which takes in company, and makes those with whom we may converse easy and well-pleased. This is, as it were, the language, whereby that internal civility of the mind is expressed; which, as other languages are, being very much governed by the fashion and custom of every country, must, in the rules and practice of it, be learned chiefly from observation, and the carriage of those who are allowed to be exactly well-bred. The other part, which lies deeper than the outside, is that general good-will and regard for all people, which makes any one have a care not to show, in his carriage, any contempt, disrespect, or neglect of them; but to express, according to the fashion and way of that country, a respect and value for them, according to their rank and condition. It is a disposition of the mind that shows itself in the carriage, whereby a man avoids making any one uneasy in conversation.

I shall take notice of four qualities that are most directly opposite to this first and most taking of all the social virtues. And from some one of these four it is, that incivility commonly has its rise. I shall set them down, that children may be preserved or recovered from their ill influence.

The first is, a natural roughness,Roughness. which makes a man uncomplaisant to others, so that he has no deference for their inclinations, tempers, or conditions. It is the sure badge of a clown, not to mind what pleases or displeases those he is with; and yet one may often find a man, in fashionable clothes, give an unbounded swing to his own humour, and suffer it to justle or over-run any one that stands in its way, with a perfect indifferency how they take it. This is a brutality that every one sees and abhors, and nobody can be easy with: and therefore this finds no place in any one, who would be thought to have the least tincture of good-breeding. For the very end and business of good-breeding is to supple the natural stiffness, and so soften men’s tempers, that they may bend to a compliance, and accommodate themselves to those they have to do with.

Contempt,Contempt. or want of due respect, discovered either in looks, words, or gesture: this, from whomsoever it comes, brings always uneasiness with it; for nobody can contentedly bear being slighted.

Censoriousness,Censoriousness. and finding fault with others, has a direct opposition to civility. Men, whatever they are or are not guilty of, would not have their faults displayed, and set in open view and broad day-light, before their own, or other people’s eyes. Blemishes affixed to any one, always carry shame with them: and the discovery, or even bare imputation of any defect, is not born without some uneasiness. RailleryRaillery. is the most refined way of exposing the faults of others; but, because it is usually done with wit and good language, and gives entertainment to the company, people are led into a mistake, and, where it keeps within fair bounds, there is no incivility in it: and so the pleasantry of this sort of conversation often introduces it amongst people of the better rank; and such talkers are favourably heard, and generally applauded by the laughter of the by-standers on their side: but they ought to consider, that the entertainment of the rest of the company is at the cost of that one, who is set out in their burlesque colours, who therefore is not without uneasiness, unless the subject, for which he is rallied, be really in itself matter of commendation; for then the pleasant images and representations, which make the raillery, carrying praise as well as sport with them, the rallied person also finds his account, and takes part in the diversion. But, because the nice management of so nice and ticklish a business, wherein a little slip may spoil all, is not every body’s talent, I think those, who would secure themselves from provoking others, especially all young people, should carefully abstain from raillery; which, by a small mistake, or any wrong turn, may leave upon the mind of those, who are made uneasy by it, the lasting memory of having been piquantly, though wittily, taunted for something censurable in them.

Besides raillery, contradictionContradiction. is a kind of censoriousness, wherein ill-breeding often shows itself. Complaisance does not require that we should always admit all the reasonings or relations that the company is entertained with; no, nor silently let pass all that is vented in our hearing. The opposing the opinions, and rectifying the mistakes of others, is what truth and charity sometimes require of us, and civility does not oppose, if it be done with due caution and care of circumstances. But there are some people, that one may observe possessed, as it were, with the spirit of contradiction, that steadily, and without regard to right or wrong, oppose some one, or perhaps every one of the company, whatever they say. This is so visible and outrageous a way of censuring, that nobody can avoid thinking himself injured by it. All opposition to what another man has said, is so apt to be suspected of censoriousness, and is so seldom received without some sort of humiliation, that it ought to be made in the gentlest manner, and softest words can be found; and such as, with the whole deportment, may express no forwardness to contradict. All marks of respect and good-will ought to accompany it, that, whilst we gain the argument, we may not lose the esteem of those that hear us.

CaptiousnessCaptiousness. is another fault opposite to civility, not only because it often produces misbecoming and provoking expressions and carriage, but because it is a tacit accusation and reproach of some incivility, taken notice of in those whom we are angry with. Such a suspicion, or intimation, cannot be born by any one without uneasiness. Besides, one angry body discomposes the whole company, and the harmony ceases upon any such jarring.

The happiness, that all men so steadily pursue, consisting in pleasure, it is easy to see why the civil are more acceptable than the useful. The ability, sincerity, and good intention, of a man of weight and worth, or a real friend, seldom atones for the uneasiness, that is produced by his grave and solid representations. Power and riches, nay virtue itself, are valued only as conducing to our happiness; and therefore he recommends himself ill to another, as aiming at his happiness, who, in the services he does him, makes him uneasy in the manner of doing them. He that knows how to make those he converses with easy, without debasing himself to low and servile flattery, has found the true art of living in the world, and being both welcome and valued every-where. Civility therefore is what, in the first place, should with great care be made habitual to children and young people.

§ 144. There is another fault in good manners, and that is, excess of ceremony, and an obstinate persisting to force upon another what is not his due, and what he cannot take without folly or shame. This seems rather a design to expose, than oblige; or, at least, looks like a contest for mastery; and, at best, is but troublesome, and so can be no part of good breeding,Breeding. which has no other use or end, but to make people easy and satisfied in their conversation with us. This is a fault few young people are apt to fall into; but yet, if they are ever guilty of it, or are suspected to incline that way, they should be told of it, and warned of this mistaken civility. The thing they should endeavour and aim at in conversation, should be to show respect, esteem, and good-will, by paying to every one that common ceremony and regard, which is in civility due to them. To do this, without a suspicion of flattery, dissimulation, or meanness, is a great skill, which good sense, reason, and good company, can only teach; but is of so much use in civil life, that it is well worth the studying.

§ 145. Though the managing ourselves well in this part of our behaviour has the name of good-breeding, as if peculiarly the effect of education; yet, as I have said, young children should not be much perplexed about it; I mean, about putting off their hats, and making legs modishly. Teach them humility, and to be good-natured, if you can, and this sort of manners will not be wanting: civility being, in truth, nothing but a care not to show any slighting or contempt, of any one in conversation. What are the most allowed and esteemed ways of expressing this, we have above observed. It is as peculiar and different, in several countries of the world, as their languages; and therefore, if it be rightly considered, rules and discourses, made to children about it, are as useless and impertinent, as it would be, now and then, to give a rule or two of the Spanish tongue, to one that converses only with Englishmen. Be as busy as you please with discourses of civility to your son; such as is his company, such will be his manners. A ploughman of your neighbourhood, that has never been out of his parish, read what lectures you please to him, will be as soon in his language, as his courage, a courtier; that is, in neither will be more polite, than those he uses to converse with: and therefore of this no other care can be taken, till he be of an age to have a tutor put to him, who must not fail to be a well-bred man. And, in good earnest, if I were to speak my mind freely, so children do nothing out of obstinacy, pride, and illnature, it is no great matter how they put off their hats, or make legs. If you can teach them to love and respect other people, they will, as their age requires it, find ways to express it acceptably to every one, according to the fashions they have been used to: and, as to their motions, and carriage of their bodies, a dancing-master, as has been said, when it is fit, will teach them what is most becoming. In the mean time, when they are young, people expect not that children should be over-mindful of these ceremonies; carelessness is allowed to that age, and becomes them as well as compliments do grown people: or, at least, if some very nice people will think it a fault, I am sure it is a fault that should be over-looked, and left to time, a tutor, and conversation, to cure: and therefore I think it not worth your while to have your son (as I often see children are) molested or child about it; but where there is pride, or ill-nature, appearing in his carriage, there he must be persuaded, or shamed, out of it.

Though children, when little, should not be much perplexed with rules and ceremonious parts of breeding; yet there is a sort of unmannerliness very apt to grow up with young people, if not early restrained; and that is a forwardness to interruptInterruption. others that are speaking, and to stop them with some contradiction. Whether the custom of disputing, and the reputation of parts and learning usually given to it, as if it were the only standard and evidence of knowledge, make young men so forward to watch occasions to correct others in their discourse, and not to slip any opportunity of showing their talents; so it is, that I have found scholars most blamed in this point. There cannot be a greater rudeness, than to interrupt another in the current of his discourse; for, if there be not impertinent folly in answering a man before we know what he will say, yet it is a plain declaration, that we are weary to hear him talk any longer; and have a disesteem of what he says; which we, judging not fit to entertain the company, desire them to give audience to us, who have something to produce worth their attention. This shows a very great disrespect, and cannot but be offensive; and yet, this is what almost all interruption constantly carries with it. To which, if there be added, as is usual, a correcting of any mistake, or a contradiction of what has been said, it is a mark of yet greater pride and self-conceitedness, when we thus intrude ourselves for teachers, and take upon us, either to set another right in his story, or show the mistakes of his judgment.

I do not say this, that I think there should be no difference of opinions in conversation, nor opposition in men’s discourses: this would be to take away the greatest advantage of society, and the improvements that are to be made by ingenious company; where the light is to be got from the opposite arguings of men of parts, showing the different sides of things, and their various aspects and probabilities, would be quite lost, if every one were obliged to assent to, and say after the first speaker. It is not the owning one’s dissent from another that I speak against, but the manner of doing it. Young men should be taught not to be forward to interpose their opinions, unless asked, or when others have done, and are silent; and then only by way of inquiry, not instruction. The positive asserting, and the magisterial air, should be avoided; and when a general pause of the whole company affords an opportunity, they may modestly put in their question as learners.

This becoming decency will not cloud their parts, nor weaken the strength of their reason; but bespeak the more favourable attention, and give what they say the greater advantage. An ill argument, or ordinary observation, thus introduced, with some civil preface of deference and respect to the opinions of others, will procure them more credit and esteem, than the sharpest wit, or profoundest science, with a rough, insolent, or noisy management; which always shocks the hearers, and leaves an ill opinion of the man, though he get the better of it in the argument.

This therefore should be carefully watched in young people, stopped in the beginning, and the contrary habit introduced in all their conversation: and the rather, because forwardness to talk, frequent interruptions in arguing, and loud wrangling, are too often observable amongst grown people, even of rank amongst us. The Indians, whom we call barbarous, observe much more decency and civility in their discourses and conversation, giving one another a fair silent hearing, till they have quite done: and then answering them calmly, and without noise or passion. And if it be not so in this civilized part of the world, we must impute it to a neglect in education, which has not yet reformed this ancient piece of barbarity amongst us. Was it not, think you, an entertaining spectacle, to see two ladies of quality accidentally seated on the opposite sides of a room, set round with company, fall into a dispute, and grow so eager in it, that in the heat of their controversy, edging by degrees their chairs forwards, they were in a little time got up close to one another in the middle of the room; where they for a good while managed the disputeDispute. as fiercely as two game-cocks in the pit, without minding, or taking any notice of the circle, which could not all the while forbear smiling? This I was told by a person of quality, who was present at the combat, and did not omit to reflect upon the indecencies, that warmth in dispute often runs people into; which, since custom makes too frequent, education should take the more care of. There is nobody but condemns this in others, though they overlook it in themselves: and many who are sensible of it in themselves, and resolve against it, cannot yet get rid of an ill custom, which neglect in their education has suffered to settle into an habit.

§ 146. What has been above said concerning company,Company. would, perhaps, if it were well reflected on, give us a larger prospect, and let us see how much farther its influence reaches. It is not the modes of civility alone, that are imprinted by conversation; the tincture of company sinks deeper than the outside; and possibly, if a true estimate were made of the morality and religions of the world, we should find, that the far greater part of mankind received even those opinions and ceremonies they would die for, rather from the fashions of their countries, and the constant practice of those about them, than from any conviction of their reasons. I mention this only to let you see of what moment I think company is to your son in all the parts of his life, and therefore how much that one part is to be weighed and provided for, it being of greater force to work upon him, than all you can do besides.

§ 147. You will wonder, perhaps, that I put learningLearning. last, especially if I tell you I think it the least part. This may seem strange in the mouth of a bookish man: and this making usually the chief, if not only bustle and stir about children, this being almost that alone, which is thought on, when people talk of education, makes it the greater paradox. When I consider what ado is made about a little Latin and Greek, how many years are spent in it, and what a noise and business it makes to no purpose, I can hardly forbear thinking, that the parents of children still live in fear of the schoolmaster’s rod, which they look on as the only instrument of education; as if a language or two were its whole business. How else is it possible, that a child should be chained to the oar seven, eight, or ten of the best years of his life, to get a language or two, which I think might be had at a great deal cheaper rate of pains and time, and be learned almost in playing?

Forgive me, therefore, if I say, I cannot with patience think, that a young gentleman should be put into the herd, and be driven with a whip and scourge, as if he were to run the gauntlet through the several classes, “ad capiendum ingenii cultum.” “What then, say you, would you not have him write and read? Shall he be more ignorant than the clerk of our parish, who takes Hopkins and Sternhold for the best poets in the world, whom yet he makes worse than they are, by his ill reading?” Not so, not so fast, I beseech you. Reading, and writing, and learning, I allow to be necessary, but yet not the chief business. I imagine you would think him a very foolish fellow, that should not value a virtuous, or a wise man, infinitely before a great scholar. Not but that I think learning a great help to both, in well-disposed minds; but yet it must be confessed also, that in others not so disposed, it helps them only to be the more foolish, or worse men. I say this, that, when you consider of the breeding of your son, and are looking out for a school-master, or a tutor, you would not have (as is usual) Latin and logic only in your thoughts. Learning must be had, but in the second place, as subservient only to greater qualities. Seek out somebody, that may know how discreetly to frame his manners: place him in hands, where you may, as much as possible, secure his innocence, cherish and nurse up the ggood, and gently correct and weed out any bad inclinations, and settle in him good habits. This is the main point; and this being provided for, learning may be had into the bargain; and that as I think, at a very easy rate, by methods that may be thought on.

§ 148. When he can talk, it is time he should begin to learn to read.Reading. But as to this, give me leave here to inculcate again what is very apt to be forgotten, viz. that great care is to be taken, that it be never made as a business to him, nor he look on it as a task. We naturally, as I said, even from our cradles, love liberty, and have therefore an aversion to many things, for no other reason, but because they are injoined us. I have always had a fancy, that learning might be made a play and recreation to children; and that they might be brought to desire to be taught, if it were proposed to them as a thing of honour, credit, delight, and recreation, or as a reward for doing something else, and if they were never chid or corrected for the neglect of it. That which confirms me in this opinion, is, that amongst the Portuguese, it is so much a fashion and emulation amongst their children to learn to read and write, that they cannot hinder them from it: they will learn it one from another, and are as intent on it as if it were forbid them. I remember, that being at a friend’s house, whose younger son, a child in coats, was not easily brought to his book (being taught to read at home by his mother); I advised to try another way, than requiring it of him as his duty. We therefore, in a discourse on purpose amongst ourselves, in his hearing, but without taking any notice of him, declared that it was the privilege and advantage of heirs and elder brothers, to be scholars; that this made them fine gentlemen, and beloved by every body: and that for younger brothers, it was a favour to admit them to breeding; to be taught to read and write, was more than came to their share; they might be ignorant bumpkins and clowns, if they pleased. This so wrought upon the child, that afterwards he desired to be taught; would come himself to his mother to learn; and would not let his maid be quiet, till she heard him his lesson. I doubt not but some way like this might be taken with other children; and, when their tempers are found, some thoughts be instilled into them, that might set them upon desiring of learning themselves, and make them seek it, as another sort of play or recreation. But, then, as I said before, it must never be imposed as a task, nor made a trouble to them. There may be dice, and play-things, with the letters on them, to teach children the alphabet by playing; and twenty other ways may be found, suitable to their particular tempers, to make this kind of learning a sport to them.

§ 149. Thus children may be cozened into a knowledge of the letters; be taught to read, without perceiving it to be any thing but a sport, and play themselves into that which others are whipped for. Children should not have any thing like work, or serious, laid on them; neither their minds nor bodies will bear it. It injures their healths; and their being forced and tied down to their books, in an age at enmity with all such restraint, has, I doubt not, been the reason why a great many have hated books and learning all their lives after: it is like a surfeit, that leaves an aversion behind, not to be removed.

§ 150. I have therefore thought, that if play-things were fitted to this purpose, as they are usually to none, contrivances might be made to teach children to read, whilst they thought they were only playing. For example; What if an ivory ball were made like that of the royal-oak lottery, with thirty-two sides, or one rather of twenty-four or twenty-five sides; and upon several of those sides pasted on an A, upon several others B, on others C, and on others D? I would have you begin with but these four letters, or perhaps only two at first; and when he is perfect in them, then add another; and so on, till each side having one letter, there be on it the whole alphabet. This I would have others play with before him, it being as good a sort of play to lay a stake who shall first throw an A or B, as who upon dice shall throw six or seven. This being a play amongst you, tempt him not to it, lest you make it business; for I would not have him understand it is any thing but a play of older people, and I doubt not but he will take to it of himself. And that he may have the more reason to think it is a play that he is sometimes in favour admitted to; when the play is done, the ball should be laid up safe out of his reach, that so it may not, by his having it in his keeping at any time, grow stale to him.

§ 151. To keep up his eagerness to it, let him think it a game belonging to those above him; and when by this means he knows the letters, by changing them into syllables, he may learn to read, without knowing how he did so, and never have any chiding or trouble about it, nor fall out with books, because of the hard usage and vexation they have caused him. Children, if you observe them, take abundance of pains to learn several games, which, if they should be enjoined them, they would abhor as a task, and business. I know a person of great quality, (more yet to be honoured for his learning and virtue, than for his rank and high place,) who, by pasting on the six vowels (for in our language Y is one) on the six sides of a die, and the remaining eighteen consonants on the sides of three other dice, has made this a play for his children, that he shall win, who, at one cast, throws most words on these four dice; whereby his eldest son, yet in coats, has played himself into spelling, with great eagerness, and without once having been chid for it, or forced to it.

§ 152. I have seen little girls exercise whole hours together, and take abundance of pains to be expert at dibstones, as they call it. Whilst I have been looking on, I have thought it wanted only some good contrivance to make them employ all that industry about something that might be more useful to them; and methinks it is only the fault and negligence of elder people, that it is not so. Children are much less apt to be idle than men; and men are to be blamed, if some part of that busy humour be not turned to useful things; which might be made usually as delightful to them as those they are employed in, if men would be but half so forward to lead the way, as these little apes would be to follow. I imagine some wise Portuguese heretofore began this fashion amongst the children of his country, where I have been told, as I said, it is impossible to hinder the children from learning to read and write: and in some parts of France they teach one another to sing and dance from the cradle.

§ 153. The letters pasted upon the sides of the dice, or polygon, were best to be of the size of those of the folio bible to begin with, and none of them capital letters; when once he can read what is printed in such letters, he will not long be ignorant of the great ones: and in the beginning he should not be perplexed with variety. With this die also, you might have a play just like the royal-oak, which would be another variety; and play for cherries or apples, &c.

§ 154. Besides these, twenty other plays might be invented, depending on letters, which those, who like this way, may easily contrive, and get made to this use, if they will. But the four dice above mentioned I think so easy and useful, that it will be hard to find any better, and there will be scarce need of any other.

§ 155. Thus much for learning to read, which let him never be driven to, nor chid for; cheat him into it if you can, but make it not a business for him. It is better it be a year later before he can read, than that he should this way get an aversion to learning. If you have any contests with him, let it be in matters of moment, of truth, and good-nature: but lay no task on him about A B C. Use your skill to make his will supple and pliant to reason: teach him to love credit and commendation; to abhor being thought ill or meanly of, especially by you and his mother; and then the rest will come all easily. But, I think, if you will do that, you must not shackle and tie him up with rules about indifferent matters, nor rebuke him for every little fault, or perhaps some, that to others would seem great ones. But of this I have said enough already.

§ 156. When, by these gentle ways he begins to be able to read, some easy pleasant book, suited to his capacity, should be put into his hands, wherein the entertainment, that he finds, might draw him on, and reward his pains in reading; and yet not such as should fill his head with perfectly useless trumpery, or lay the principles of vice and folly. To this purpose I think Æsop’s fables the best, which being stories apt to delight and entertain a child, may yet afford useful reflections to a grown man; and if his memory retain them all his life after, he will not repent to find them there, amongst his manly thoughts, and serious business. If his Æsop has pictures in it, it will entertain him much the better, and encourage him to read, when it carries the increase of knowledge with it; for such visible objects children hear talked of in vain, and without any satisfaction, whilst they have no ideas of them: those ideas being not to be had from sounds, but from the things themselves, or their pictures. And therefore, I think, as soon as he begins to spell, as many pictures of animals should be got him as can be found, with the printed names to them, which at the same time will invite him to read, and afford him matter of inquiry and knowledge. Reynard the fox is another book, I think, may be made use of to the same purpose. And if those about him will talk to him often about the stories he has read, and hear him tell them, it will, besides other advantages, add encouragement and delight to his reading, when he finds there is some use and pleasure in it. These baits seem wholly neglected in the ordinary method; and it is usually long before learners find any use or pleasure in reading, which may tempt them to it, and so take books only for fashionable amusements, or impertinent troubles, good for nothing.

§ 157. The Lord’s prayer, the creed, and ten commandments, it is necessary he should learn perfectly by heart; but, I think, not by reading them himself in his primer, but by somebody’s repeating them to him, even before he can read. But learning by heart, and learning to read, should not, I think, be mixed, and so one made to clog the other. But his learning to read should be made as little trouble or business to him as might be.

What other books there are in English of the kind of those above mentioned, fit to engage the liking of children, and tempt them to read, I do not know; but am apt to think, that children, being generally delivered over to the method of schools, where the fear of the rod is to inforce, and not any pleasure of the employment to invite, them to learn; this sort of useful books, amongst the number of silly ones that are of all sorts, have yet had the fate to be neglected; and nothing that I know has been considered of this kind out of the ordinary road of the horn-book, primer, psalter, Testament, and Bible.

§ 158. As for the Bible, which children are usually employed in, to exercise and improve their talent in reading, I think the promiscuous reading of it, though by chapters as they lie in order, is so far from being of any advantage to children, either for the perfecting their reading, or principling their religion, that perhaps a worse could not be found. For what pleasure or encouragement can it be to a child, to exercise himself in reading those parts of a book where he understands nothing? And how little are the law of Moses, the Song of Solomon, the prophecies in the Old, and the epistles and apocalypse in the New Testament, suited to a child’s capacity? And though the history of the evangelists, and the Acts, have something easier; yet, taken all together, it is very disproportional to the understanding of childhood. I grant, that the principles of religion are to be drawn from thence, and in the words of the scripture; yet none should be proposed to a child, but such as are suited to a child’s capacity and notions. But it is far from this to read through the whole Bible, and that for reading’s sake. And what an odd jumble of thoughts must a child have in his head, if he have any at all, such as he should have concerning religion, who in his tender age reads all the parts of the Bible indifferently, as the word of God, without any other distinction! I am apt to think, that this, in some men, has been the very reason why they never had clear and distinct thoughts of it all their lifetime.

§ 159. And now I am by chance fallen on this subject, give me leave to say, that there are some parts of the scripture, which may be proper to be put into the hands of a child to engage him to read: such as are the story of Joseph and his brethren, of David and Goliath, of David and Jonathan, &c. and others, that he should be made to read for his instruction; as that, “What you would have others do unto you, do you the same unto them:” and such other easy and plain moral rules, which, being fitly chosen, might often be made use of, both for reading and instruction together; and so often read, till they are thoroughly fixed in his memory; and then afterwards, as he grows ripe for them, may in their turns, on fit occasions, be inculcated as the standing and sacred rules of his life and actions. But the reading of the whole scripture indifferently, is what I think very inconvenient for children, till, after having been made acquainted with the plainest fundamental parts of it, they have got some kind of general view of what they ought principally to believe and practise, which yet, I think, they ought to receive in the very words of the scripture, and not in such as men, prepossessed by systems and analogies, are apt in this case to make use of, and force upon them. Dr. Worthington, to avoid this, has made a catechism, which has all its answers in the precise words of the scripture, a thing of good example, and such a sound form of words as no christian can except against, as not fit for his child to learn. Of this, as soon as he can say the Lord’s prayer, creed, and ten commandments by heart, it may be fit for him to learn a question every day, or every week, as his understanding is able to receive, and his memory to retain them. And when he has this catechism perfectly by heart, so as readily and roundly to answer to any question in the whole book, it may be convenient to lodge in his mind the remaining moral rules, scattered up and down in the Bible, as the best exercise of his memory, and that which may be always a rule to him, ready at hand, in the whole conduct of his life.

§ 160. When he can read English well, it will be seasonable to enter him in writing.Writing. And here the first thing should be taught him, is to hold his pen right; and this he should be perfect in, before he should be suffered to put it to paper: for not only children, but any body else, that would do any thing well, should never be put upon too much of it at once, or be set to perfect themselves in two parts of an action at the same time, if they can possibly be separated. I think the Italian way of holding the pen between the thumb and the fore-finger alone may be best; but in this you should consult some good writing-master, or any other person who writes well and quick. When he has learned to hold his pen right, in the next place he should learn how to lay his paper, and place his arm and body to it. These practices being got over, the way to teach him to write without much trouble, is to get a plate graved with the characters of such a hand as you like best: but you must remember to have them a pretty deal bigger than he should ordinarily write; for every one naturally comes by degrees to write a less hand than he at first was taught, but never a bigger. Such a plate being graved, let several sheets of good writing-paper be printed off with red ink, which he has nothing to do but to go over with a good pen filled with black ink, which will quickly bring his hand to the formation of those characters, being at first showed where to begin, and how to form every letter. And when he can do that well, he must then exercise on fair paper; and so may easily be brought to write the hand you desire.

§ 161. When he can write well, and quick, I think it may be convenient, not only to continue the exercise of his hand in writing, but also to improve the use of it farther in drawing,Drawing. a thing very useful to a gentleman on several occasions, but especially if he travel, as that which helps a man often to express, in a few lines well put together, what a whole sheet of paper in writing would not be able to represent and make intelligible. How many buildings may a man see, how many machines and habits meet with, the ideas whereof would be easily retained and communicated by a little skill in drawing; which, being committed to words, are in danger to be lost, or at best but ill retained in the most exact descriptions? I do not mean that I would have your son a perfect painter; to be that to any tolerable degree, will require more time than a young gentleman can spare from his other improvements of greater moment; but so much insight into perspective, and skill in drawing, as will enable him to represent tolerably on paper any thing he sees, except faces, may, I think, be got in a little time, especially if he have a genius to it: but where that is wanting, unless it be in the things absolutely necessary, it is better to let him pass them by quietly, than to vex him about them to no purpose: and therefore in this, as in all other things not absolutely necessary, the rule holds, “Nihil invitâ Minervâ.”

¶ 1. Short-hand,Short-hand. an art, as I have been told, known only in England, may perhaps be thought worth the learning, both for dispatch in what men write for their own memory, and concealment of what they would not have lie open to every eye. For he that has once learned any sort of character, may easily vary it to his own private use or fancy, and with more contraction suit it to the business he would employ it in. Mr. Rich’s, the best contrived of any I have seen, may, as I think, by one who knows and considers grammar well, be made much easier and shorter. But, for the learning this compendious way of writing, there will be no need hastily to look out a master; it will be early enough, when any convenient opportunity offers itself, at any time after his hand is well settled in fair and quick writing. For boys have but little use of short-hand, and should by no means practise it, till they write perfectly well, and have thoroughly fixed the habit of doing so.

§ 162. As soon as he can speak English, it is time for him to learn some other language: this nobody doubts of, when FrenchFrench. is proposed. And the reason is, because people are accustomed to the right way of teaching that language, which is by talking it into children in constant conversation, and not by grammatical rules. The Latin tongue would easily be taught the same way, if his tutor, being constantly with him, would talk nothing else to him, and make him answer still in the same language. But because French is a living language, and to be used more in speaking, that should be first learned, that the yet pliant organs of speech might be accustomed to a due formation of those sounds, and he get the habit of pronouncing French well, which is the harder to be done, the longer it is delayed.

§ 163. When he can speak and read French well, which in this method is usually in a year or two, he should proceed to Latin,Latin. which it is a wonder parents, when they have had the experiment in French, should not think ought to be learned the same way, by talking and reading. Only care is to be taken, whilst he is learning those foreign languages, by speaking and reading nothing else with his tutor, that he do not forget to read English, which may be preserved by his mother, or some body else, hearing him read some chosen parts of the scripture or other English book, every day.

§ 164. Latin I look upon as absolutely necessary to a gentleman; and indeed custom, which prevails over every thing, has made it so much a part of education, that even those children are whipped to it, and made spend many hours of their precious time uneasily in Latin, who, after they are once gone from school, are never to have more to do with it, as long as they live. Can there be any thing more ridiculous, than that a father should waste his own money, and his son’s time, in setting him to learn the Roman language, when, at the same time, he designs him for a trade, wherein he having no use of Latin, fails not to forget that little which he brought from school, and which it is ten to one he abhors for the ill usage it procured him? Could it be believed, unless we had every-where amongst us examples of it, that a child should be forced to learn the rudiments of a language, which he is never to use in the course of life that he is designed to, and neglect all the while the writing a good hand, and casting accounts, which are of great advantage in all conditions of life, and to most trades indispensably necessary? But though these qualifications, requisite to trade and commerce, and the business of the world, are seldom or never to be had at grammar-schools; yet thither not only gentlemen send their younger sons intended for trades, but even tradesmen and farmers fail not to send their children, though they have neither intention nor ability to make them scholars. If you ask them, why they do this? they think it as strange a question as if you should ask them why they go to church? Custom serves for reason, and has, to those that take it for reason, so consecrated this method, that it is almost religiously observed by them; and they stick to it, as if their children had scarce an orthodox education, unless they learned Lilly’s grammar.

§ 165. But how necessary soever Latin be to some, and is thought to be to others, to whom it is of no manner of use or service, yet the ordinary way of learning it in a grammar-school, is that, which having had thoughts about, I cannot be forward to encourage. The reasons against it are so evident and cogent, that they have prevailed with some intelligent persons to quit the ordinary road, not without success, though the method made use of was not exactly that which I imagine the easiest, and in short is this: to trouble the child with no grammar at all, but to have Latin, as English has been, without the perplexity of rules, talked into him; for, if you will consider it, Latin is no more unknown to a child, when he comes into the world, than English: and yet he learns English without master, rule, or grammar; and so might he Latin too, as Tully did, if he had somebody always to talk to him in this language. And when we so often see a Frenchwoman teach an English girl to speak and read French perfectly, in a year or two, without any rule of grammar, or any thing else, but prattling to her; I cannot but wonder, how gentlemen have been overseen this way for their sons, and thought them more dull or incapable than their daughters.

§ 166. If therefore a man could be got, who, himself speaking good Latin, could always be about your son, talk constantly to him, and suffer him to speak or read nothing else, this will be the true and genuine way, and that which I would propose, not only as the easiest and best, wherein a child might, without pains or chiding, get a language, which others are wont to be whipped for at school, six or seven years together; but also as that, wherein at the same time he might have his mind and manners formed, and he be instructed to boot in several sciences, such as are a good part of geography, astronomy, chronology, anatomy, besides some parts of history, and all other parts of knowledge of things, that fall under the senses, and require little more than memory. For there, if we would take the true way, our knowledge should begin, and in those things be laid the foundation; and not in the abstract notions of logic and metaphysics, which are fitter to amuse, than inform the understanding, in its first setting out towards knowledge. When young men have had their heads employed a while in those abstract speculations, without finding the success and improvement, or that use of them which they expected, they are apt to have mean thoughts, either of learning, or themselves; they are tempted to quit their studies, and throw away their books, as containing nothing but hard words, and empty sounds; or else to conclude, that if there be any real knowledge in them, they themselves have not understandings capable of it. That this is so, perhaps I could assure you upon my own experience. Amongst other things to be learned by a young gentleman in this method, whilst others of his age are wholly taken up with Latin and languages, I may also set down geometry for one, having known a young gentleman, bred something after this way, able to demonstrate several propositions in Euclid, before he was thirteen.

§ 167. But if such a man cannot be got, who speaks good Latin, and, being able to instruct your son in all these parts of knowledge, will undertake it by this method; the next best is to have him taught as near this way as may be, which is by taking some easy and pleasant book, such as Æsop’s fables, and writing the English translation (made as literal as it can be) in one line, and the Latin words, which answer each of them, just over it in another. These let him read every day over and over again, till he perfectly understands the Latin; and then go on to another fable, till he be also perfect in that, not omitting what he is already perfect in, but sometimes reviewing that, to keep it in his memory. And when he comes to write, let these be set him for copies; which, with the exercise of his hand, will also advance him in Latin. This being a more imperfect way than by talking Latin unto him, the formation of the verbs first, and afterwards the declensions of the nouns and pronouns perfectly learnt by heart, may facilitate his acquaintance with the genius and manner of the Latin tongue, which varies the signification of verbs and nouns, not as the modern languages do by particles prefixed, but by changing the last syllables. More than this of grammar I think he need not have, till he can read himself “Sanctii Minerva,” with Scioppius and Perizonius’s notes.

In teaching of children this too, I think, it is to be observed, that in most cases, where they stick, they are not to be farther puzzled, by putting them upon finding it out themselves; as by asking such questions as these, viz. Which is the nominative case in the sentence they are to construe? or demanding what “aufero,” signifies, to lead them to the knowledge what “abstulere” signifies, &c. when they cannot readily tell. This wastes time only in disturbing them; for whilst they are learning, and applying themselves with attention, they are to be kept in good humour, and every thing made easy to them, and as pleasant as possible. Therefore, wherever they are at a stand, and are willing to go forwards, help them presently over the difficulty, without any rebuke or chiding: remembering that, where harsher ways are taken, they are the effect only of pride and peevishness in the teacher, who expects children should instantly be masters of as much as he knows: whereas he should rather consider, that his business is to settle in them habits, not angrily to inculcate rules, which serve for little in the conduct of our lives; at least are of no use to children, who forget them as soon as given. In sciences where their reason is to be exercised, I will not deny, but this method may sometimes be varied, and difficulties proposed on purpose to excite industry, and accustom the mind to employ its whole strength and sagacity in reasoning. But yet, I guess, this is not to be done to children whilst very young; nor at their entrance upon any sort of knowledge: then every thing of itself is difficult, and the great use and skill of a teacher is to make all as easy as he can. But particularly in learning of languages there is least occasion for posing of children. For languages being to be learned by rote, custom, and memory, are then spoken in greatest perfection, when all rules of grammar are utterly forgotten. I grant the grammar of a language is sometimes very carefully to be studied: but it is only to be studied by a grown man, when he applies himself to the understanding of any language critically, which is seldom the business of any but professed scholars. This, I think, will be agreed to, that, if a gentleman be to study any language, it ought to be that of his own country, that he may understand the language, which he has constant use of, with the utmost accuracy.

There is yet a farther reason, why masters and teachers should raise no difficulties to their scholars; but, on the contrary, should smooth their way, and readily help them forwards, where they find them stop. Children’s minds are narrow and weak, and usually susceptible but of one thought at once. Whatever is in a child’s head, fills it for the time, especially if set on with any passion. It should therefore be the skill and art of the teacher, to clear their heads of all other thoughts, whilst they are learning of any thing, the better to make room for what he would instil into them, that it may be received with attention and application, without which it leaves no impression. The natural temper of children disposes their minds to wander. Novelty alone takes them; whatever that presents, they are presently eager to have a taste of, and are as soon satiated with it. They quickly grow weary of the same thing, and so have almost their whole delight in change and variety. It is a contradiction to the natural state of childhood, for them to fix their fleeting thoughts. Whether this be owing to the temper of their brains, or the quickness or instability of their animal spirits, over which the mind has not yet got a full command; this is visible, that it is a pain to children to keep their thoughts steady to any thing. A lasting continued attention is one of the hardest tasks can be imposed on them: and therefore, he that requires their application, should endeavour to make what he proposes as grateful and agreeable as possible; at least, he ought to take care not to join any displeasing or frightful idea with it. If they come not to their books with some kind of liking and relish, it is no wonder their thoughts should be perpetually shifting from what disgusts them, and seek better entertainment in more pleasing objects, after which they will unavoidably be gadding.

It is, I know, the usual method of tutors, to endeavour to procure attention in their scholars, and to fix their minds to the business in hand, by rebukes and corrections, if they find them ever so little wandering. But such treatment is sure to produce the quite contrary effect. Passionate words or blows from the tutor fill the child’s mind with terrour and affrightment, which immediately takes it wholly up, and leaves no room for other impressions. I believe there is nobody, that reads this, but may recollect, what disorder hasty or imperious words from his parents or teachers have caused in his thoughts; how for the time it has turned his brains, so that he scarce knew what was said by, or to him: he presently lost the sight of what he was upon; his mind was filled with disorder and confusion, and in that state was no longer capable of attention to any thing else.

It is true, parents and governors ought to settle and establish their authority, by an awe over the minds of those under their tuition; and to rule them by that: but when they have got an ascendant over them, they should use it with great moderation, and not make themselves such scarecrows, that their scholars should always tremble in their sight. Such an austerity may make their government easy to themselves, but of very little use to their pupils. It is impossible children should learn any thing, whilst their thoughts are possessed and disturbed with any passion, especially fear, which makes the strongest impression on their yet tender and weak spirits. Keep the mind in an easy calm temper, when you would have it receive your instructions, or any increase of knowledge. It is as impossible to draw fair and regular characters on a trembling mind, as on a shaking paper.

The great skill of a teacher is to get and keep the attention of his scholar: whilst he has that, he is sure to advance as fast as the learner’s abilities will carry him; and without that, all his bustle and pother will be to little or no purpose. To attain this, he should make the child comprehend (as much as may be) the usefulness of what he teaches him; and let him see, by what he has learned, that he can do something which he could not do before; something which gives him some power and real advantage above others, who are ignorant of it. To this he should add sweetness in all his instructions; and by a certain tenderness in his whole carriage, make the child sensible that he loves him, and designs nothing but his good; the only way to beget love in the child, which will make him hearken to his lessons, and relish what he teaches him.

Nothing but obstinacy should meet with any imperiousness or rough usage. All other faults should be corrected with a gentle hand; and kind encouraging words will work better and more effectually upon a willing mind, and even prevent a good deal of that perverseness, which rough and imperious usage often produces in well-disposed and generous minds. It is true, obstinacy and wilful neglects must be mastered, even though it cost blows to do it: but I am apt to think perverseness in the pupils is often the effect of frowardness in the tutor; and that most children would seldom have deserved blows, if needless and misapplied roughness had not taught them ill-nature, and given them an aversion to their teacher, and all that comes from him.

Inadvertency, forgetfulness, unsteadiness, and wandering of thought, are the natural faults of childhood: and therefore, when they are not observed to be wilful, are to be mentioned softly, and gained upon by time. If every slip of this kind produces anger and rating, the occasions of rebuke and corrections will return so often, that the tutor will be a constant terrour and uneasiness to his pupils; which one thing is enough to hinder their profiting by his lessons, and to defeat all his methods of instruction.

Let the awe he has got upon their minds be so tempered with the constant marks of tenderness and goodwill, that affection may spur them to their duty, and make them find a pleasure in complying with his dictates. This will bring them with satisfaction to their tutor; make them hearken to him; as to one who is their friend, that cherishes them, and takes pains for their good; this will keep their thoughts easy and free, whilst they are with him, the only temper wherein the mind is capable of receiving new informations, and of admitting into itself those impressions, which if not taken and retained, all that they and their teacher do together is lost labour; there is much uneasiness, and little learning.

§ 168. When, by this way of interlining Latin and English one with another, he has got a moderate knowledge of the Latin tongue, he may then be advanced a little farther to the reading of some other easy Latin book, such as Justin, or Eutropius; and to make the reading and understanding of it the less tedious, and difficult to him, let him help himself, if he please, with the English translation. Nor let the objection, that he will then know it only by rote, fright any one. This, when well considered, is not of any moment against, but plainly for, this way of learning a language; for languages are only to be learned by rote; and a man, who does not speak English or Latin perfectly by rote, so that having thought of the thing he would speak of, his tongue of course, without thought of rule or grammar, falls into the proper expression and idiom of that language, does not speak it well, nor is master of it. And I would fain have any one name to me that tongue, that any one can learn or speak as he should do, by the rules of grammar. Languages were made not by rules or art, but by accident, and the common use of the people. And he that will speak them well, has no other rule but that: nor any thing to trust to but his memory, and the habit of speaking after the fashion learned from those that are allowed to speak properly, which, in other words, is only to speak by rote.

It will possibly be asked here, Is grammarGrammar. then of no use? And have those who have taken so much pains in reducing several languages to rules and observations, who have writ so much about declensions and conjugations, about concords and syntaxis, lost their labour, and been learned to no purpose? I say not so; grammar has its place too. But this I think I may say, there is more stir a great deal made with it than there needs, and those are tormented about it, to whom it does not at all belong; I mean children, at the age wherein they are usually perplexed with it in grammar-schools.

There is nothing more evident, than that languages learned by rote serve well enough for the common affairs of life, and ordinary commerce. Nay, persons of quality of the softer sex, and such of them as have spent their time in well-bred company, show us, that this plain natural way, without the least study or knowledge of grammar, can carry them to a great degree of elegancy and politeness in their language: and there are ladies who, without knowing what tenses and participles, adverbs and prepositions are, speak as properly, and as correctly, (they might take it for an ill compliment, if I said as any country school-master,) as most gentlemen who have been bred up in the ordinary methods of grammar-schools. Grammar therefore we see may be spared in some cases. The question then will be, To whom should it be taught, and when? To this I answer,

Men learn languages for the ordinary intercourse of society, and communication of thoughts in common life, without any farther design in their use of them. And for this purpose the original way of learning a language by conversation not only serves well enough, but is to be preferred, as the most expedite, proper, and natural. Therefore to this use of language one may answer, that grammar is not necessary. This so many of my readers must be forced to allow, as understand what I here say, and who, conversing with others, understand them without having ever been taught the grammar of the English tongue: which I suppose is the case of incomparably the greatest part of Englishmen; of whom I have never yet known any one who learned his mother-tongue by rules.

Others there are, the greatest part of whose business in this world is to be done with their tongues, and with their pens; and to those it is convenient, if not necessary, that they should speak properly and correctly, whereby they may let their thoughts into other men’s minds, the more easily, and with the greater impression. Upon this account it is, that any sort of speaking, so as will make him be understood, is not thought enough for a gentleman. He ought to study grammar, amongst the other helps of speaking well; but it must be the grammar of his own tongue, of the language he uses, that he may understand his own country speech nicely, and speak it properly, without shocking the ears of those it is addressed to with solecisms and offensive irregularities. And to this purpose grammar is necessary: but it is the grammar only of their own proper tongues, and to those only who would take pains in cultivating their language, and in perfecting their styles. Whether all gentlemen should not do this, I leave to be considered, since the want of propriety, and grammatical exactness, is thought very misbecoming one of that rank, and usually draws on one guilty of such faults the censure of having had a lower breeding, and worse company, than suits with his quality. If this be so, (as I suppose it is,) it will be matter of wonder, why young gentlemen are forced to learn the grammars of foreign and dead languages, and are never once told of the grammar of their own tongues: they do not so much as know there is any such thing, much less is it made their business to be instructed in it. Nor is their own language ever proposed to them as worthy their care and cultivating, though they have daily use of it, and are not seldom in the future course of their lives judged of, by their handsome or awkward way of expressing themselves in it. Whereas the languages whose grammars they have been so much employed in, are such as probably they shall scarce ever speak or write; or, if upon occasion this should happen, they shall be excused for the mistakes and faults they make in it. Would not a Chinese, who took notice of this way of breeding, be apt to imagine, that all our young gentlemen were designed to be teachers and professors of the dead languages of foreign countries, and not to be men of business in their own?

There is a third sort of men, who applying themselves to two or three foreign, dead (and which amongst us are called the learned) languages, make them their study, and pique themselves upon their skill in them. No doubt those who propose to themselves the learning of any language with this view, and would be critically exact in it, ought carefully to study the grammar of it. I would not be mistaken here, as if this were to undervalue Greek and Latin: I grant these are languages of great use and excellency; and a man can have no place amongst the learned, in this part of the world, who is a stranger to them. But the knowledge a gentleman would ordinarily draw for his use, out of the Roman and Greek writers, I think he may attain without studying the grammars of those tongues, and, by bare reading, may come to understand them sufficiently for all his purposes. How much farther he shall at any time be concerned to look into the grammar and critical niceties of either of these tongues, he himself will be able to determine, when he comes to propose to himself the study of any thing that shall require it. Which brings me to the other part of the inquiry, viz.

“When grammar should be taught?”

To which upon the premised grounds, the answer is obvious, viz.

That, it grammar ought to be taught at any time, it must be to one that can speak the language already: how else can he be taught the grammar of it? This, at least, is evident from the practice of the wise and learned nations amongst the ancients. They made it a part of education to cultivate their own, not foreign tongues. The Greeks counted all other nations barbarous, and had a contempt for their languages. And, though the Greek learning grew in credit amongst the Romans, towards the end of their commonwealth, yet it was the Roman tongue that was made the study of their youth: their own language they were to make use of, and therefore it was their own language they were instructed and exercised in.

But more particularly to determine the proper season for grammar; I do not see how it can reasonably be made any one’s study, but as an introduction to rhetoric: when it is thought time to put any one upon the care of polishing his tongue, and of speaking better than the illiterate, then is the time for him to be instructed in the rules of grammar, and not before. For grammar being to teach men not to speak, but to speak correctly, and according to the exact rules of the tongue, which is one part of elegancy, there is little use of the one to him that has no need of the other; where rhetoric is not necessary, grammar may be spared. I know not why any one should waste his time, and beat his head about the Latin grammar, who does not intend to be a critic, or make speeches, and write dispatches in it. When any one finds in himself a necessity or disposition to study any foreign language to the bottom, and to be nicely exact in the knowledge of it, it will be time enough to take a grammatical survey of it. If his use of it be only to understand some books writ in it, without a critical knowledge of the tongue itself, reading alone, as I have said, will attain this end, without charging the mind with multiplied rules and intricacies of grammar.

§ 169. For the exercise of his writing, let him sometimes translate Latin into English: but the learning of Latin being nothing but the learning of words, a very unpleasant business both to young and old, join as much other real knowledge with it as you can, beginning still with that which lies most obvious to the senses; such as is the knowledge of minerals, plants, and animals, and particularly timber and fruit-trees, their parts and ways of propagation, wherein a great deal may be taught a child, which will not be useless to the man: but more especially geography, astronomy, and anatomy. But, whatever you are teaching him, have a care still, that you do not clog him with too much at once; or make any thing his business but downright virtue, or reprove him for any thing but vice, or some apparent tendency to it.

§ 170. But if, after all, his fate be to go to school to get the Latin tongue, it will be in vain to talk to you concerning the method I think best to be observed in schools. You must submit to that you find there, not expect to have it changed for your son; but yet by all means obtain, if you can, that he be not employed in making Latin themesThemes. and declamations, and, least of all, verses of any kind. You may insist on it, if it will do any good, that you have no design to make him either a Latin orator or poet, but barely would have him understand perfectly a Latin author; and that you observe those who teach any of the modern languages, and that with success, never amuse their scholars to make speeches or verses either in French or Italian, their business being language barely, and not invention.

§ 171. But to tell you, a little more fully, why I would not have him exercised in making of themes and verses: 1. As to themes, they have, I confess, the pretence of something useful, which is to teach people to speak handsomely and well on any subject; which, if it could be attained this way, I own would be a great advantage; there being nothing more becoming a gentleman, nor more useful in all the occurrences of life, than to be able, on any occasion, to speak well, and to the purpose. But this I say, that the making of themes, as is usual in schools, helps not one jot towards it; for do but consider what it is in making a theme that a young lad is employed about; it is to make a speech on some Latin saying, as “Omnia vincit amor,” or “Non licet in bello bis peccare,” &c. And here the poor lad, who wants knowledge of those things he is to speak of, which is to be had only from time and observation, must set his invention on the rack, to say something where he knows nothing, which is a sort of Ægyptian tyranny, to bid them make bricks who have not yet any of the materials. And therefore it is usual, in such cases, for the poor children to go to those of higher forms with this petition, “Pray give me a little sense;” which, whether it be more reasonable or more ridiculous, is not easy to determine. Before a man can be in any capacity to speak on any subject, it is necessary he be acquainted with it; or else it is as foolish to set him to discourse of it, as to set a blind man to talk of colours, or a deaf man of music. And would you not think him a little cracked who would require another to make an argument on a moot point, who understands nothing of our laws? And what, I pray, do school-boys understand concerning those matters, which are used to be proposed to them in their themes, as subjects to discourse on, to whet and exercise their fancies?

§ 172. In the next place, consider the language that their themes are made in: it is Latin, a language foreign in their country, and long since dead every-where; a language which your son, it is a thousand to one, shall never have an occasion once to make a speech in as long as he lives, after he comes to be a man; and a language wherein the manner of expressing one’s self is so far different from ours, that to be perfect in that, would very little improve the purity and facility of his English style. Besides that, there is now so little room or use for set speeches in our own language in any part of our English business, that I can see no pretence for this sort of exercise in our schools; unless it can be supposed, that the making of set Latin speeches should be the way to teach men to speak well in English extempore. The way to that I should think rather to be this: that there should be proposed to young gentlemen rational and useful questions, suited to their age and capacities, and on subjects not wholly unknown to them, nor out of their way: such as these, when they are ripe for exercises of this nature, they should, extempore, or after a little meditation upon the spot, speak to, without penning of any thing. For I ask, if he will examine the effects of this way of learning to speak well, who speak best in any business, when occasion calls them to it upon any debate; either those who have accustomed themselves to compose and write down before-hand what they would say; or those, who thinking only of the matter to understand that as well as they can, use themselves only to speak extempore? And he that shall judge by this, will be little apt to think, that the accustoming him to study speeches, and set compositions, is the way to fit a young gentleman for business.

§ 173. But perhaps we shall be told, it is to improve and perfect them in the Latin tongue. It is true, that is their proper business at school; but the making of themes is not the way to it: that perplexes their brains, about invention of things to be said, not about the signification of words to be learnt; and, when they are making a theme, it is thoughts they search and sweat for, and not language. But the learning and mastery of a tongue, being uneasy and unpleasant enough in itself, should not be cumbered with any other difficulties, as is done in this way of proceeding. In fine, if boys invention be to be quickened by such exercise, let them make themes in English, where they have facility, and a command of words, and will better see what kind of thoughts they have, when put into their own language: and, if the Latin tongue be to be learned, let it be done in the easiest way, without toiling and disgusting the mind by so uneasy an employment as that of making speeches joined to it.

§ 174. If these may be any reasons against children’s making Latin themes at school, I have much more to say, and of more weight, against their making versesVerses. of any sort, for, if he has no genius to poetry, it is the most unreasonable thing in the world to torment a child, and waste his time about that which can never succeed; and if he have a poetic vein, it is to me the strangest thing in the world, that the father should desire or suffer it to be cherished or improved. Methinks the parents should labour to have it stifled and suppressed as much as may be; and I know not what reason a father can have to wish his son a poet, who does not desire to have him bid defiance to all other callings and business; which is not yet the worst of the case; for if he proves a successful rhymer, and gets once the reputation of a wit, I desire it may be considered, what company and places he is like to spend his time in, nay, and estate too: for it is very seldom seen, that any one discovers mines of gold or silver in Parnassus. It is a pleasant air, but a barren soil; and there are very few instances of those who have added to their patrimony by any thing they have reaped from thence. Poetry and gaming, which usually go together, are alike in this too, that they seldom bring any advantage, but to those who have nothing else to live on. Men of estates almost constantly go away losers; and it is well if they escape at a cheaper rate than their whole estates, or the greatest part of them. If therefore you would not have your son the fiddle to every jovial company, without whom the sparks could not relish their wine, nor know how to pass an afternoon idly; if you would not have him waste his time and estate to divert others, and contemn the dirty acres left him by his ancestors, I do not think you will much care he should be a poet, or that his school-master should enter him in versifying. But yet, if any one will think poetry a desirable quality in his son, and that the study of it would raise his fancy and parts, he must need yet confess, that, to that end, reading the excellent Greek and Roman poets, is of more use than making bad verses of his own, in a language that is not his own. And he, whose design it is to excel in English poetry, would not, I guess, think the way to it were to make his first essays in Latin verses.

Memoriter.§ 175. Another thing, very ordinary in the vulgar method of grammar-schools, there is, of which I see no use at all, unless it be to baulk young lads in the way to learning languages, which, in my opinion, should be made as easy and pleasant as may be; and that which was painful in it, as much as possible, quite removed. That which I mean, and here complain of, is, their being forced to learn by heart great parcels of the authors which are taught them; wherein I can discover no advantage at all, especially to the business they are upon. Languages are to be learnt only by reading and talking, and not by scraps of authors got by heart; which when a man’s head is stuffed with, he has got the just furniture of a pedant, and it is the ready way to make him one, than which there is nothing less becoming a gentleman. For what can be more ridiculous, than to mix the rich and handsome thoughts and sayings of others with a deal of poor stuff of his own; which is thereby the more exposed; and has no other grace in it, nor will otherwise recommend the speaker, than a thread-bare russet-coat would that was set off with large patches of scarlet and glittering brocade? Indeed, where a passage comes in the way, whose matter is worth remembrance, and the expression of it very close and excellent, (as there are many such in the ancient authors,) it may not be amiss to lodge it in the minds of young scholars, and with such admirable strokes of those great masters sometimes exercise the memories of school-boys: but their learning of their lessons by heart, as they happen to fall out in their books without choice or distinction, I know not what it serves for, but to mispend their time and pains, and give them a disgust and aversion to their books, wherein they find nothing but useless trouble.

§ 176. I hear it is said, that children should be employed in getting things by heart, to exercise and improve their memories. I could wish this were said with as much authority of reason, as it is with forwardness of assurance; and that this practice were established upon good observation, more than old custom; for it is evident, that strength of memory is owing to an happy constitution, and not to any habitual improvement got by exercise. It is true, what the mind is intent upon, and for fear of letting it slip, often imprints afresh on itself by frequent reflection, that it is apt to retain, but still according to its own natural strength of retention. An impression made on bees wax or lead will not last so long as on brass or steel. Indeed, if it be renewed often, it may last the longer; but every new reflecting on it is a new impression, and it is from thence one is to reckon, if one would know how long the mind retains it. But the learning pages of Latin by heart, no more fits the memory for retention of any thing else, than the graving of one sentence in lead, makes it the more capable of retaining firmly any other characters. If such a sort of exercise of the memory were able to give it strength, and improve our parts, players of all other people must needs have the best memories, and be the best company; but whether the scraps they have got into their head this way, make them remember other things the better; and whether their parts be improved proportionably to the pains they have taken in getting by heart other sayings; experience will show. Memory is so necessary to all parts and conditions of life, and so little is to be done without it, that we are not to fear it should grow dull and useless for want of exercise, if exercise would make it grow stronger. But I fear this faculty of the mind is not capable of much help and amendment in general, by any exercise or endeavour of ours, at least not by that used upon this pretence in grammar-schools. And if Xerxes was able to call every common soldier by his name, in his army, that consisted of no less than an hundred thousand men, I think it may be guessed, he got not this wonderful ability by learning his lessons by heart, when he was a boy. This method of exercising and improving the memory by toilsome repetitions, without book, of what they read, is, I think, little used in the education of princes: which, if it had that advantage talked of, should be as little neglected in them, as in the meanest school-boys: princes having as much need of good memories as any men living, and have generally an equal share in this faculty with other men: though it has never been taken care of this way. What the mind is intent upon, and careful of, that it remembers best, and for the reason above mentioned: to which if method and order be joined, all is done, I think, that can be, for the help of a weak memory; and he that will take any other way to do it, especially that of charging it with a train of other people’s words, which he that learns cares not for; will, I guess, scarce find the profit answer half the time and pains employed in it.

I do not mean hereby, that there should be no exercise given to children’s memories. I think their memories should be employed, but not in learning by rote whole pages out of books, which, the lesson being once said, and that task over, are delivered up again to oblivion, and neglected for ever. This mends neither the memory nor the mind. What they should learn by heart out of authors, I have above mentioned: and such wise and useful sentences, being once given in charge to their memories, they should never be suffered to forget again, but be often called to account for them: whereby, besides the use those sayings may be to them in their future life, as so many good rules and observations; they will be taught to reflect often, and bethink themselves what they have to remember, which is the only way to make the memory quick and useful. The custom of frequent reflection will keep their minds from running adrift, and call their thoughts home from useless inattentive roving: and therefore, I think, it may do well to give them something every day to remember; but something still, that is in itself worth the remembering, and what you would never have out of mind, whenever you call or they themselves search for it. This will oblige them often to turn their thoughts inwards, than which you cannot wish them a better intellectual habit.

§ 177. But under whose care soever a child is put to be taught during the tender and flexible years of his life, this is certain, it should be one who thinks LatinLatin. and language the least part of education; one, who knowing how much virtue, and a well-tempered soul, is to be preferred to any sort of learning or language, makes it his chief business to form the mind of his scholars and give that a right disposition: which, if once got, though all the rest should be neglected, would, in due time, produce all the rest; and which if it be not got, and settled so as to keep out ill and vicious habits, languages and sciences, and all the other accomplishments of education, will be to no purpose, but to make the worse or more dangerous man. And indeed, whatever stir there is made about getting of Latin, as the great and difficult business; his mother may teach it him herself, if she will but spend two or three hours in a day with him, and make him read the evangelists in Latin to her: for she need but buy a Latin testament, and having got somebody to mark the last syllable but one, where it is long, in words above two syllables, (which is enough to regulate her pronunciation, and accenting the words,) read daily in the gospels, and then let her avoid understanding them in Latin, if she can. And when she understands the evangelists in Latin, let her, in the same manner, read Æsop’s fables, and so proceed on to Eutropius, Justin, and other such books. I do not mention this as an imagination of what I fancy may do, but as of a thing I have known done, and the Latin tongue with ease got this way.

But to return to what I was saying: he that takes on him the charge of bringing up young men, especially young gentlemen, should have something more in him than Latin, more than even a knowledge in the liberal sciences; he should be a person of eminent virtue and prudence, and with good sense have good humour, and the skill to carry himself with gravity, ease and kindness, in a constant conversation with his pupils. But of this I have spoken at large in another place.

§ 178. At the same time that he is learning French and Latin, a child, as has been said, may also be entered in arithmetic, geography,Geography. chronology, history, and geometry too. For if these be taught him in French or Latin, when he begins once to understand either of these tongues, he will get a knowledge in these sciences, and the language to-boot.

Geography, I think, should be begun with; for the learning of the figure of the globe, the situation and boundaries of the four parts of the world, and that of particular kingdoms and countries, being only an exercise of the eyes and memory, a child with pleasure will learn and retain them: and this is so certain, that I now live in the house with a child, whom his mother has so well instructed this way in geography, that he knew the limits of the four parts of the world, could readily point, being asked, to any country upon the globe, or any county in the map of England; knew all the great rivers, promontories, straits, and bays in the world, and could find the longitude and latitude of any place before he was six years old. These things, that he will thus learn by sight, and have by rote in his memory, are not all, I confess, that he is to learn upon the globes. But yet it is a good step and preparation to it, and will make the remainder much easier, when his judgment is grown ripe enough for it: besides that, it gets so much time now, and by the pleasure of knowing things, leads him on insensibly to the gaining of languages.

§ 179. When he has the natural parts of the globe well fixed in his memory, it may then be time to begin arithmetic. By the natural parts of the globe, I mean several positions of the parts of the earth and sea, under different names and distinctions of countries; not coming yet to those artificial and imaginary lines, which have been invented, and are only supposed, for the better improvement of that science.

§ 180. ArithmeticArithmetic. is the easiest, and consequently the first sort of abstract reasoning, which the mind commonly bears, or accustoms itself to: and is of so general use in all parts of life and business, that scarce any thing is to be done without it. This is certain, a man cannot have too much of it, nor too perfectly; he should therefore begin to be exercised in counting, as soon, and as far, as he is capable of it; and do something in it every day till he is master of the art of numbers. When he understands addition and subtraction, he may then be advanced farther in geography, and after he is acquainted with the poles, zones, parallel circles, and meridians, be taught longitude and latitude, and by them be made to understand the use of maps, and by the numbers placed on their sides, to know the respective situation of countries, and how to find them out on the terrestrial globe. Which when he can readily do, he may then be entered in the celestial;Astronomy. and there going over all the circles again, with a more particular observation of the ecliptic or zodiac, to fix them all very clearly and distinctly in his mind, he may be taught the figure and position of the several constellations, which may be showed him first upon the globe, and then in the heavens.

When that is done, and he knows pretty well the constellations of this our hemisphere, it may be time to give him some notions of this our planetary world, and to that purpose it may not be amiss to make him a draught of the Copernican system; and therein explain to him the situation of the planets, their respective distances from the sun, the centre of their revolutions. This will prepare him to understand the motion and theory of the planets the most easy and natural way. For, since astronomers no longer doubt of the motion of the planets about the sun, it is fit he should proceed upon that hypothesis, which is not only the simplest and least perplexed for a learner, but also the likeliest to be true in itself. But in this, as in all other parts of instruction, great care must be taken with children, to begin with that which is plain and simple, and to teach them as little as can be at once, and settle that well in their heads, before you proceed to the next, or any thing new in that science. Give them first one simple idea, and see that they take it right, and perfectly comprehend it, before you go any farther; and then add some other simple idea, which lies next in your way to what you aim at; and so proceeding by gentle and insensible steps, children, without confusion and amazement, will have their understandings opened, and their thoughts extended, farther than could have been expected. And when any one has learned any thing himself, there is no such way to fix it in his memory, and to encourage him to go on, as to set him to teach it others.

§ 181. When he has once got such an acquaintance with the globes, as is above mentioned, he may be fit to be tried a little in geometry;Geometry. wherein I think the six first books of Euclid enough for him to be taught. For I am in some doubt whether more to a man of business be necessary or useful; at least if he have a genius or inclination to it, being entered so far by his tutor, he will be able to go on of himself without a teacher.

The globes therefore must be studied, and that diligently, and, I think, may be begun betimes, if the tutor will but be careful to distinguish what the child is capable of knowing, and what not; for which this may be a rule, that perhaps will go a pretty way, (viz.) that children may be taught any thing that falls under their senses, especially their sight, as far as their memories only are exercised; and thus a child very young may learn, which is the æquator, which the meridian, &c. which Europe, and which England, upon the globes, as soon almost as he knows the rooms of the house he lives in; if care be taken not to teach him too much at once, nor to set him upon a new part, till that, which he is upon, be perfectly learned and fixed in his memory.

§ 182. With geography, chronologyChronology. ought to go hand in hand; I mean the general part of it, so that he may have in his mind a view of the whole current of time, and the several considerable epochs that are made use of in history. Without these two, history, which is the great mistress of prudence and civil knowledge; and ought to be the proper study of a gentleman or man of business in the world: without geography and chronology, I say, history will be very ill retained, and very little useful; but be only a jumble of matters of fact, confusedly heaped together without order or instruction. It is by these two that the actions of mankind are ranked into their proper places of times and countries; under which circumstances, they are not only much easier kept in the memory, but, in that natural order, are only capable to afford those observations, which make a man the better and the abler for reading them.

§ 183. When I speak of chronology as a science he should be perfect in, I do not mean the little controversies that are in it. These are endless, and most of them of so little importance to a gentleman, as not to deserve to be inquired into, were they capable of an easy decision. And therefore all that learned noise and dust of the chronologist is wholly to be avoided. The most useful book I have seen in that part of learning, is a small treatise of Strauchius, which is printed in twelves, under the title of “Breviarium Chronologicum,” out of which may be selected all that is necessary to be taught a young gentleman concerning chronology; for all that is in that treatise a learner need not be cumbered with. He has in him the most remarkable or usual epochs reduced all to that of the Julian period, which is the easiest, and plainest, and surest method, that can be made use of in chronology. To this treatise of Strauchius, Helvicus’s tables may be added, as a book to be turned to on all occasions.

§ 184. As nothing teaches, so nothing delights, more than history.History. The first of these recommends it to the study of grown men; the latter makes me think it the fittest for a young lad, who, as soon as he is instructed in chronology, and acquainted with the several epochs in use in this part of the world, and can reduce them to the Julian period, should then have some Latin history put into his hand. The choice should be directed by the easiness of the style; for wherever he begins, chronology will keep it from confusion; and the pleasantness of the subject inviting him to read, the language will insensibly be got, without that terrible vexation and uneasiness which children suffer where they are put into books beyond their capacity, such as are the Roman orators and poets, only to learn the Roman language. When he has by reading mastered the easier, such perhaps as Justin, Eutropius, Quintus Curtius, &c. the next degree to these will give him no great trouble: and thus, by a gradual progress from the plainest and easiest historians, he may at last come to read the most difficult and sublime of the Latin authors, such as are Tully, Virgil, and Horace.

§ 185. The knowledge of virtue, all along from the beginning, in all the instances he is capable of, being taught him, more by practice than rules; and the love of reputation, instead of satisfying his appetite, being made habitual in him; I know not whether he should read any other discourses of morality, but what he finds in the bible; or have any system of ethicsEthics. put into his hand, till he can read Tully’s Offices, not as a school-boy to learn Latin, but as one that would be informed in the principles and precepts of virtue, for the conduct of his life.

§ 186. When he has pretty well digested Tully’s Offices, and added to it “Puffendorf de officio hominis & civis,” it may be seasonable to set him upon “Grotius de jure belli & pacis,” or, which perhaps is the better of the two, “Puffendorf de jure naturali & gentium,” wherein he will be instructed in the natural rights of men, and the original and foundations of society, and the duties resulting from thence. This general part of civil lawCivil law. and history are studies which a gentleman should not barely touch at, but constantly dwell upon, and never have done with. A virtuous and well-behaved young man, that is well versed in the general part of the civil law, (which concerns not the chicane of private cases, but the affairs and intercourse of civilized nations in general, grounded upon principles of reason,) understands Latin well, and can write a good hand, one may turn loose into the world, with great assurance that he will find employment and esteem every-where.

§ 187. It would be strange to suppose an English gentleman should be ignorant of the lawLaw. of his country. This, whatever station he is in, is so requisite, that, from a justice of the peace to a minister of state, I know no place he can well fill without it. I do not mean the chicane or wrangling and captious part of the law; a gentleman whose business is to seek the true measures of right and wrong, and not the arts how to avoid doing the one, and secure himself in doing the other, ought to be as far from such a study of the law, as he is concerned diligently to apply himself to that wherein he may be serviceable to his country. And to that purpose I think the right way for a gentleman to study our law, which he does not design for his calling, is to take a view of our English constitution and government, in the ancient books of the common law, and some more modern writers, who out of them have given an account of this government. And having got a true idea of that, then to read our history, and with it join in every king’s reign the laws then made. This will give an insight into the reason of our statutes, and show the true ground upon which they came to be made, and what weight they ought to have.

§ 188. Rhetoric and logicRhetoric. Logic. being the arts that in the ordinary method usually follow immediately after grammar, it may perhaps be wondered, that I have said so little of them. The reason is, because of the little advantage young people receive by them; for I have seldom or never observed any one to get the skill of reasoning well, or speaking handsomely, by studying those rules which pretend to teach it: and therefore I would have a young gentleman take a view of them in the shortest systems could be found, without dwelling long on the contemplation and study of those formalities. Right reasoning is founded on something else than the predicaments and predicables, and does not consist in talking in mode and figure itself. But it is besides my present business to enlarge upon this speculation. To come therefore to what we have in hand; if you would have your son reason well, let him read Chillingworth; and if you would have him speak well, let him be conversant in Tully, to give him the true idea of eloquence; and let him read those things that are well writ in English, to perfect his style in the purity of our language.

§ 189. If the use and end of right reasoning be to have right notions, and a right judgment of things; to distinguish betwixt truth and falsehood, right and wrong, and to act accordingly; be sure not to let your son be bred up in the art and formality of disputing, either practising it himself, or admiring it in others; unless, instead of an able man, you desire to have him an insignificant wrangler, opiniatre in discourse, and priding himself in contradicting others; or, which is worse, questioning every thing, and thinking there is no such thing as truth to be sought, but only victory, in disputing. There cannot be any thing so disingenuous, so misbecoming a gentleman, or any one who pretends to be a rational creature, as not to yield to plain reason, and the conviction of clear arguments. Is there any thing more inconsistent with civil conversation, and the end of all debate, than not to take an answer, though ever so full and satisfactory; but still to go on with the dispute, as long as equivocal sounds can furnish [a “medius terminus”] a term to wrangle with on the one side, or a distinction on the other? Whether pertinent or impertinent, sense or nonsense, agreeing with, or contrary to, what he had said before, it matters not. For this, in short, is the way and perfection of logical disputes, that the opponent never takes any answer, nor the respondent ever yields to any argument. This neither of them must do, whatever becomes of truth or knowledge, unless he will pass for a poor baffled wretch, and lie under the disgrace of not being able to maintain whatever he has once affirmed, which is the great aim and glory in disputing. Truth is to be found and supported by a mature and due consideration of things themselves, and not by artificial terms and ways of arguing: these lead not men so much into the discovery of truth, as into a captious and fallacious use of doubtful words, which is the most useless and most offensive way of talking, and such as least suits a gentleman or a lover of truth of any thing in the world.

There can scarce be a greater defect in a gentleman, than not to express himself well, either in writing or speaking. But yet, I think, I may ask my reader, Whether he doth not know a great many, who live upon their estates, and so, with the name, should have the qualities of gentlemen, who cannot so much as tell a story as they should, much less speak clearly and persuasively in any business? This I think not to be so much their fault, as the fault of their education; for I must, without partiality, do my countrymen this right, that where they apply themselves, I see none of their neighbours outgo them. They have been taught rhetoric, but yet never taught how to express themselves handsomely with their tongues, or pens, in the language they are always to use; as if the names of the figures, that embellished the discourses of those who understood the art of speaking, were the very art and skill of speaking well. This, as all other things of practice, is to be learned not by a few or a great many rules given, but by exercise and application, according to good rules, or rather patterns, till habits are got, and a facility of doing it well.

Style.Agreeable hereunto, perhaps it might not be amiss to make children, as soon as they are capable of it, often to tell a story of any thing they know; and to correct at first the most remarkable fault they are guilty of, in their way of putting it together. When that fault is cured, then to show them the next, and so on, till, one after another, all, at least the gross ones, are mended. When they can tell tales pretty well, then it may be time to make them write them. The fables of Æsop, the only book almost that I know fit for children, may afford them matter for this exercise of writing English, as well as for reading and translating, to enter them in the Latin tongue. When they are got past the faults of grammar, and can join in a continued coherent discourse the several parts of a story, without bald and unhandsome forms of transition (as is usual) often repeated; he that desires to perfect them yet farther in this, which is the first step to speaking well, and needs no invention, may have recourse to Tully; and by putting in practice those rules, which that master of eloquence gives in his first book “De Inventione,” § 20. make them know wherein the skill and graces of an handsome narrative, according to the several subjects and designs of it, lie. Of each of which rules fit examples may be found out, and therein they may be shown how others have practised them. The ancient classic authors afford plenty of such examples, which they should be made not only to translate, but have set before them as patterns for their daily imitation.

When they understand how to write English with due connexion, propriety, and order, and are pretty well masters of a tolerable narrative style, they may be advanced to writing of letters; wherein they should not be put upon any strains of wit or compliment, but taught to express their own plain easy sense, without any incoherence, confusion, or roughness. And when they are perfect in this, they may, to raise their thoughts, have set before them the example of Voiture’s, for the entertainment of their friends at a distance, with letters of compliment, mirth, raillery, or diversion; and Tully’s epistles, as the best pattern, whether for business or conversation. The writing of lettersLetters. has so much to do in all the occurrences of human life, that no gentleman can avoid showing himself in this kind of writing: occasions will daily force him to make this use of his pen, which, besides the consequences, that, in his affairs, his well or ill managing of it often draws after it, always lays him open to a severer examination of his breeding, sense, and abilities, than oral discourses; whose transient faults, dying for the most part with the sound that gives them life, and so not subject to a strict review, more easily escape observation and censure.

Had the methods of education been directed to their right end, one would have thought this, so necessary a part, could not have been neglected, whilst themes and verses in Latin, of no use at all, were, so constantly every-where, pressed, to the racking of children’s inventions beyond their strength, and hindering their cheerful progress in learning the tongues, by unnatural difficulties. But custom has so ordained it, and who dares disobey? And would it not be very unreasonable to require of a learned country school-master (who has all the tropes and figures in Farnaby’s rhetoric at his fingers ends) to teach his scholar to express himself handsomely in English,English. when it appears to be so little his business or thought, that the boy’s mother (despised, it is like, a illiterate, for not having read a system of logic and rhetoric) outdoes him in it?

To write and speak correctly, gives a grace, and gains a favourable attention to what one has to say: and, since it is English that an English gentleman will have constant use of, that is the language he should chiefly cultivate, and wherein most care should be taken to polish and perfect his style. To speak or write better Latin than English, may make a man be talked of; but he would find it more to his purpose to express himself well in his own tongue, that he uses every moment, than to have the vain commendation of others for a very insignificant quality. This I find universally neglected, and no care taken any-where to improve young men in their own language, that they may thoroughly understand and be masters of it. If any one among us have a facility or purity more than ordinary in his mother tongue, it is owing to chance, or his genius, or any thing, rather than to his education, or any care of his teacher. To mind what English his pupil speaks or writes, is below the dignity of one bred up amongst Greek and Latin, though he have but little of them himself. These are the learned languages, fit only for learned men to meddle with and teach; English is the language of the illiterate vulgar; though yet we see the policy of some of our neighbours hath not thought it beneath the public care to promote and reward the improvement of their own language. Polishing and enriching their tongue, is no small business amongst them: it hath colleges and stipends appointed it, and there is raised amongst them a great ambition and emulation of writing correctly: and we see what they are come to by it, and how far they have spread one of the worst languages, possibly, in this part of the world, if we look upon it as it was in some few reigns backwards, whatever it be now. The great men amongst the Romans were daily exercising themselves in their own language; and we find yet upon record the names of orators, who taught some of their emperors Latin, though it were their mother-tongue.

It is plain the Greeks were yet more nice in theirs; all other speech was barbarous to them but their own, and no foreign language appears to have been studied or valued amongst that learned and acute people; though it be past doubt, that they borrowed their learning and philosophy from abroad.

I am not here speaking against Greek and Latin; I think they ought to be studied, and the Latin, at least, understood well, by every gentleman. But whatever foreign languages a young man meddles with, (and the more he knows, the better,) that which he should critically study, and labour to get a facility, clearness, and elegancy to express himself in, should be his own, and to this purpose he should daily be exercised in it.

§ 190. Natural philosophy,Natural Philosophy. as a speculative science, I imagine, we have none; and perhaps I may think I have reason to say, we never shall be able to make a science of it. The works of nature are contrived by a wisdom, and operate by ways, too far surpassing our faculties to discover, or capacities to conceive, for us ever to be able to reduce them into a science. Natural philosophy being the knowledge of the principles, properties, and operations of things, as they are in themselves, I imagine there are two parts of it, one comprehending spirits, with their nature and qualities; and the other bodies. The first of these is usually referred to metaphysics: but under what title soever the consideration of spirits comes, I think it ought to go before the study of matter and body, not as a science that can be methodized into a system, and treated of, upon principles of knowledge; but as an enlargement of our minds towards a truer and fuller comprehension of the intellectual world, to which we are led both by reason and revelation. And since the clearest and largest discoveries we have of other spirits, besides God and our own souls, is imparted to us from heaven by revelation, I think the information, that at least young people should have of them, should be taken from that revelation. To this purpose, I conclude, it would be well, if there were made a good history of the Bible for young people to read; wherein if every thing that is fit to be put into it, were laid down in its due order of time, and several things omitted, which are suited only to riper age; that confusion, which is usually produced by promiscuous reading of the scripture, as it lies now bound up in our Bibles, would be avoided; and also this other good obtained, that by reading of it constantly, there would be instilled into the minds of children a notion and belief of spirits, they having so much to do, in all the transactions of that history, which will be a good preparation to the study of bodies. For, without the notion and allowance of spirit, our philosophy will be lame and defective in one main part of it, when it leaves out the contemplation of the most excellent and powerful part of the creation.

§ 191. Of this history of the Bible, I think too it would be well, if there were a short and plain epitome made, containing the chief and most material heads for children to be conversant in, as soon as they can read. This, though it will lead them early into some notion of spirits, yet is not contrary to what I said above, that I would not have children troubled, whilst young, with notions of spirits; whereby my meaning was, that I think it inconvenient, that their yet tender minds should receive early impressions of goblins, spectres, and apparitions, wherewith their maids, and those about them, are apt to fright them into a compliance of their orders, which often proves a great inconvenience to them all their lives after, by subjecting their minds to frights, fearful apprehensions, weakness, and superstition: which, when coming abroad into the world and conversation, they grow weary and ashamed of; it not seldom happens, that to make, as they think, a thorough cure, and ease themselves of a load, which has sat so heavy on them, they throw away the thoughts of all spirits together, and so run into the other, but worse extreme.

§ 192. The reason why I would have this premised to the study of bodies, and the doctrine of the scriptures well imbibed, before young men be entered in natural philosophy, is, because matter being a thing that all our senses are constantly conversant with, it is so apt to possess the mind, and exclude all other beings but matter, that prejudice, grounded on such principles, often leaves no room for the admittance of spirits, or the allowing any such things as immaterial beings, “in rerum naturâ;” when yet it is evident, that by mere matter and motion, none of the great phænomena of nature can be resolved: to instance but in that common one of gravity, which I think impossible to be explained by any natural operation of matter, or any other law of motion, but the positive will of a superior Being so ordering it. And therefore since the deluge cannot be well explained, without admitting something out of the ordinary course of nature, I propose it to be considered, whether God’s altering the centre of gravity in the earth for a time (a thing as intelligible as gravity itself, which perhaps a little variation of causes, unknown to us, would produce) will not more easily account for Noah’s flood, than any hypothesis yet made use of, to solve it. I hear the great objection to this is, that it would produce but a partial deluge. But the alteration of the centre of gravity once allowed, it is no hard matter to conceive, that the divine power might make the centre of gravity, placed at a due distance from the centre of the earth, move round it in a convenient space of time; whereby the flood would become universal, and, as I think, answer all the phænomena of the deluge, as delivered by Moses, at an easier rate than those many hard suppositions that are made use of, to explain it. But this is not a place for that argument, which is here only mentioned by the by, to show the necessity of having recourse to something beyond bare matter, and its motion, in the explication of nature: to which the notions of spirits, and their power, as delivered in the bible, where so much is attributed to their operation, may be a fit preparative; reserving to a fitter opportunity a fuller explication of this hypothesis, and the application of it to all the parts of the deluge, and any difficulties that can be supposed in the history of the flood, as recorded in the scripture.

§ 193. But to return to the study of natural philosophy: though the world be full of systems of it, yet I cannot say, I know any one which can be taught a young man as a science, wherein he may be sure to find truth and certainty, which is what all sciences give an expectation of. I do not hence conclude, that none of them are to be read: it is necessary for a gentleman, in this learned age, to look into some of them to fit himself for conversation: but whether that of Des Cartes be put into his hands, as that which is the most in fashion, or it be thought fit to give him a short view of that and several others also; I think the systems of natural philosophy, that have obtained in this part of the world, are to be read more to know the hypotheses, and to understand the terms and ways of talking of the several sects, than with hopes to gain thereby a comprehensive scientifical and satisfactory knowledge of the works of nature: only this may be said, that the modern corpuscularians talk, in most things, more intelligibly than the peripatetics, who possessed the schools immediately before them. He that would look farther back, and acquaint himself with the several opinions of the ancients, may consult Dr. Cudworth’s Intellectual System: wherein that very learned author hath, with such accurateness and judgment, collected and explained the opinions of the Greek philosophers, that what principles they built on, and what were the chief hypotheses that divided them, is better to be seen in him, than any where else that I know. But I would not deter any one from the study of nature, because all the knowledge we have, or possibly can have of it, cannot be brought into a science. There are very many things in it, that are convenient and necessary to be known to a gentleman; and a great many other, that will abundantly reward the pains of the curious with delight and advantage. But these, I think, are rather to be found amongst such writers, as have employed themselves in making rational experiments and observations, than in starting barely speculative systems. Such writings, therefore, as many of Mr. Boyle’s are, with others that have writ of husbandry, planting, gardening, and the like, may be fit for a gentleman, when he has a little acquainted himself with some of the systems of natural philosophy in fashion.

§ 194. Though the systems of physics, that I have met with, afford little encouragement to look for certainty, or science, in any treatise, which shall pretend to give us a body of natural philosophy from the first principles of bodies in general; yet the incomparable Mr. Newton has shown, how far mathematics, applied to some parts of nature, may, upon principles that matter of fact justify, carry us in the knowledge of some, as I may so call them, particular provinces of the incomprehensible universe. And if others could give us so good and clear an account of other parts of nature, as he has of this our planetary world, and the most considerable phænomena observable in it, in his admirable book “Philosophiæ naturalis principia mathematica,” we might in time hope to be furnished with more true and certain knowledge in several parts of this stupendous machine, than hitherto we could have expected. And though there are very few that have mathematics enough to understand his demonstrations; yet the most accurate mathematicians, who have examined them, allowing them to be such, his book will deserve to be read, and give no small light and pleasure to those, who, willing to understand the motions, properties, and operations of the great masses of matter in this our solar system, will but carefully mind his conclusions, which may be depended on as propositions well proved.

§ 195. This is, in short, what I have thought concerning a young gentleman’s studies; wherein it will possibly be wondered, that I should omit Greek,Greek. since amongst the Grecians is to be found the original, as it were, and foundation of all that learning which we have in this part of the world. I grant it so; and will add, that no man can pass for a scholar, that is ignorant of the Greek tongue. But I am not here considering the education of a professed scholar, but of a gentleman, to whom Latin and French, as the world now goes, is by every one acknowledged to be necessary. When he comes to be a man, if he has a mind to carry his studies farther, and look into the Greek learning, he will then easily get that tongue himself; and if he has not that inclination, his learning of it under a tutor, will be but lost labour, and much of his time and pains spent in that, which will be neglected and thrown away as soon as he is at liberty. For how many are there of an hundred, even amongst scholars themselves, who retain the Greek they carried from school; or ever improve it to a familiar reading and perfect understanding of Greek authors?

To conclude this part, which concerns a young gentleman’s studies; his tutor should remember, that his business is not so much to teach him all that is knowable, as to raise in him a love and esteem of knowledge; and to put him in the right way of knowing and improving himself, when he has a mind to it.

The thoughts of a judicious author on the subject of languages, I shall here give the reader, as near as I can, in his own way of expressing them. He says, “One can scarce burden children too much with the knowledge of languages. They are useful to men of all conditions, and they equally open them the entrance, either to the most profound, or the more easy and entertaining parts of learning. If this irksome study be put off to a little more advanced age, young men either have not resolution enough to apply to it out of choice, or steadiness to carry it on. And if any one has the gift of perseverance, it is not without the inconvenience of spending that time upon languages, which is destined to other uses: and he confines to the study of words that age of his life that is above it, and requires things; at least, it is losing the best and beautifullest season of one’s life. This large foundation of languages cannot be well laid, but when every thing makes an easy and deep impression on the mind; when the memory is fresh, ready, and tenacious; when the head and heart are as yet free from cares, passions, and designs; and those, on whom the child depends, have authority enough to keep him close to a long-continued application. I am persuaded that the small number of truly learned, and the multitude of superficial pretenders, is owing to the neglect of this.”

I think every body will agree with this observing gentleman, that languages are the proper study of our first years. But it is to be considered by the parents and tutors, what tongues it is fit the child should learn. For it must be confessed, that it is fruitless pains, and loss of time, to learn a language, which in the course of life that he is designed to, he is never like to make use of; or, which one may guess by his temper, he will wholly neglect and lose again, as soon as an approach to manhood, setting him free from a governor, shall put him into the hands of his own inclination; which is not likely to allot any of his time to the cultivating the learned tongues; or dispose him to mind any other language, but what daily use, or some particular necessity, shall force upon him.

But yet, for the sake of those who are designed to be scholars, I will add, what the same author subjoins, to make good his foregoing remark. It will deserve to be considered by all who desire to be truly learned, and therefore may be a fit rule for tutors to inculcate, and leave with their pupils, to guide their future studies.

“The study, says he, of the original text can never be sufficiently recommended. It is the shortest, surest, and most agreeable way to all sorts of learning. Draw from the spring-head, and take not things at second-hand. Let the writings of the great masters be never laid aside; dwell upon them, settle them in your mind, and cite them upon occasion; make it your business thoroughly to understand them in their full extent, and all their circumstances: acquaint yourself fully with the principles of original authors; bring them to a consistency, and then do you yourself make your deductions. In this state were the first commentators, and do not you rest till you bring yourself to the same. Content not yourself with those borrowed lights, nor guide yourself by their views, but where your own fails you, and leaves you in the dark. Their explications are not yours, and will give you the slip. On the contrary, your own observations are the product of your own mind, where they will abide, and be ready at hand upon all occasions in converse, consultation, and dispute. Lose not the pleasure it is to see that you were not stopped in your reading, but by difficulties that are invincible: where the commentators and scholiasts themselves are at a stand, and have nothing to say; those copious expositors of other places, who, with a vain and pompous overflow of learning, poured out on passages plain and easy in themselves, are very free of their words and pains, where there is no need. Convince yourself fully by thus ordering your studies, that it is nothing but men’s laziness, which hath encouraged pedantry to cram, rather than enrich libraries, and to bury good authors under heaps of notes and commentaries; and you will perceive, that sloth herein hath acted against itself, and its own interest, by multiplying reading and inquiries, and increasing the pains it endeavoured to avoid.”

This, though it may seem to concern none but direct scholars, is of so great moment for the right ordering of their education and studies, that I hope I shall not be blamed for inserting of it here, especially if it be considered, that it may be of use to gentlemen too, when at any time they have a mind to go deeper than the surface, and get to themselves a solid, satisfactory, and masterly insight in any part of learning.

Order and constancy are said to make the great difference between one man and another; this I am sure, nothing so much clears a learner’s way, helps him so much on in it, and makes him go so easy and so far in any enquiry, as a good method.Method. His governor should take pains to make him sensible of this, accustom him to order, and teach him method in all the applications of his thoughts; show him wherein it lies, and the advantages of it; acquaint him with the several sorts of it, either from general to particulars, or from particulars to what is more general; exercise him in both of them; and make him see, in what cases each different method is most proper, and to what ends it best serves.

In history the order of time should govern; in philosophical inquiries, that of nature, which in all progression is to go from the place one is then in, to that which joins and lies next to it; and so it is in the mind, from the knowledge it stands possessed of already, to that which lies next, and is coherent to it; and so on to what it aims at, by the simplest and most uncompounded parts it can divide the matter into. To this purpose, it will be of great use to his pupil to accustom him to distinguish well, that is, to have distinct notions, whereever the mind can find any real difference; but as carefully to avoid distinctions in terms, where he has not distinct and different clear ideas.

§ 196. Besides what is to be had from study and books, there are other accomplishments necessary for a gentleman, to be got by exercise, and to which time is to be allowed, and for which masters must be had.

DancingDancing. being that which gives graceful motions all the life, and, above all things, manliness and a becoming confidence to young children, I think it cannot be learned too early, after they are once of an age and strength capable of it. But you must be sure to have a good master, that knows, and can teach, what is graceful and becoming, and what gives a freedom and easiness to all the motions of the body. One that teaches not this, is worse than none at all; natural unfashionableness being much better than apish, affected postures; and I think it much more passable to put off the hat, and make a leg, like an honest country gentleman, than like an ill-fashioned dancing master. For, as for the jigging part, and the figures of dances, I count that little or nothing, farther than as it tends to perfect graceful carriage.

§ 197. MusicMusic. is thought to have some affinity with dancing, and a good hand, upon some instruments, is by many people mightily valued. But it wastes so much of a young man’s time, to gain but a moderate skill in it; and engages often in such odd company, that many think it much better spared: and I have, amongst men of parts and business, so seldom heard any one commended or esteemed for having an excellency in music, that amongst all those things, that ever came into the list of accomplishments, I think I may give it the last place. Our short lives will not serve us for the attainment of all things; nor can our minds be always intent on something to be learned. The weakness of our constitutions, both of mind and body, requires that we should be often unbent: and he that will make a good use of any part of his life, must allow a large portion of it to recreation. At least this must not be denied to young people, unless, whilst you with too much haste make them old, you have the displeasure to set them in their graves, or a second childhood, sooner than you could wish. And therefore I think, that the time and pains allotted to serious improvements, should be employed about things of most use and consequence, and that too in the methods the most easy and short, that could be at any rate obtained; and perhaps, as I have above said, it would be none of the least secrets of education, to make the exercises in the body and the mind, the recreation one to another. I doubt not but that something might be done in it, by a prudent man, that would well consider the temper and inclination of his pupil. For he that is wearied either with study or dancing, does not desire presently to go to sleep; but to do something else which may divert and delight him. But this must be always remembered, that nothing can come into the account of recreation, that is not done with delight.

§ 198. Fencing, and riding the great horse, are looked upon as so necessary parts of breeding, that it would be thought a great omission to neglect them: the latter of the two being for the most part to be learned only in great towns, is one of the best exercises for health, which is to be had in those places of ease and luxury; and, upon that account, makes a fit part of a young gentleman’s employment, during his abode there. And, as far as it conduces to give a man a firm and graceful seat on horseback, and to make him able to teach his horse to stop, and turn quick, and to rest on his haunches, is of use to a gentleman both in peace and war. But whether it be of moment enough to be made a business of, and deserve to take up more of his time, than should barely for his health be employed, at due intervals, in some such vigorous exercise, I shall leave to the discretion of parents and tutors; who will do well to remember, in all the parts of education, that most time and application is to be bestowed on that, which is like to be the greatest consequence, and frequentest use, in the ordinary course and occurrences of that life the young man is designed for.

§ 199. As for fencing,Fencing. it seems to me a good exercise for health, but dangerous to the life, the confidence of their skill being apt to engage in quarrels those that think they have learned to use their swords. This presumption makes them often more touchy than needs, on points of honour, and slight, or no provocations. Young men in their warm blood are forward to think they have in vain learned to fence, if they never show their skill and courage in a duel; and they seem to have reason. But how many sad tragedies that reason has been the occasion of, the tears of many a mother can witness. A man that cannot fence, will be more careful to keep out of bullies and gamesters company, and will not be half so apt to stand upon punctilios, nor to give affronts, or fiercely justify them when given, which is that which usually makes the quarrel. And when a man is in the field, a moderate skill in fencing rather exposes him to the sword of his enemy, than secures him from it. And certainly a man of courage, who cannot fence at all, and therefore will put all upon one thrust, and not stand parrying, has the odds against a moderate fencer, especially if he has skill in wrestling. And therefore, if any provision be to be made against such accidents, and a man be to prepare his son for duels, I had much rather mine should be a good wrestler, than an ordinary fencer; which is the most a gentleman can attain to in it, unless he will be constantly in the fencing school, and every day exercising. But since fencing, and riding the great-horse, are so generally looked upon as necessary qualifications in the breeding of a gentleman, it will be hard wholly to deny any one of that rank these marks of distinction. I shall leave it therefore to the father, to consider, how far the temper of his son, and the station he is like to be in, will allow or encourage him to comply with fashions, which, having very little to do with civil life, were yet formerly unknown to the most warlike nations; and seem to have added little of force or courage to those who have received them: unless we will think martial skill or prowess have been improved by duelling, with which fencing came into, and with which, I presume, it will go out of the world.

§ 200. These are my present thoughts concerning learning and accomplishments. The great business of all is virtue and wisdom.

“Nullum numen abest, si sit prudentia.”

Teach him to get a mastery over his inclinations, and submit his appetite to reason. This being obtained, and by constant practice settled into habit, the hardest part of the task is over. To bring a young man to this, I know nothing which so much contributes, as the love of praise and commendation, which should therefore be instilled into him by all arts imaginable. Make his mind as sensible of credit and shame as may be: and when you have done that, you have put a principle into him, which will influence his actions, when you are not by; to which the fear of a little smart of a rod is not comparable; and which will be the proper stock, whereon afterwards to graft the true princiciples of morality and religion.

§ 201. I have one thing more to add, which as soon as I mention, I shall run the danger of being suspected to have forgot what I am about, and what I have above written concerning education, all tending towards a gentleman’s calling, with which a tradeTrade. seems wholly to be inconsistent. And yet, I cannot forbear to say, I would have him learn a trade, a manual trade; nay, two or three, but one more particularly.

§ 202. The busy inclination of children being always to be directed to something that may be useful to them, the advantages proposed from what they are set about may be considered of two kinds; 1. Where the skill itself, that is got by exercise, is worth the having. Thus skill not only in languages, and learned sciences, but in painting, turning, gardening, tempering and working in iron, and all other useful arts, is worth the having. 2. Where the exercise itself, without any consideration, is necessary or useful for health. Knowledge in some things is so necessary to be got by children, whilst they are young, that some part of their time is to be allotted to their improvement in them, though those employments contribute nothing at all to their health: such are reading, and writing, and all other sedentary studies, for the cultivating of the mind, which unavoidably take up a great part of gentlemen’s time, quite from their cradles. Other manual arts, which are both got and exercised by labour, do many of them, by that exercise, not only increase our dexterity and skill, but contribute to our health too; especially such as employ us in the open air. In these, then, health and improvement may be joined together; and of these should some fit ones be chosen, to be made the recreations of one, whose chief business is with books and study. In this choice, the age and inclination of the person is to be considered, and constraint always to be avoided in bringing him to it. For command and force may often create, but can never cure an aversion; and whatever any one is brought to by compulsion, he will leave as soon as he can, and be little profited, and less recreated by, whilst he is at it.

§ 203. That which of all others would please me best, would be a painter,Painting. were there not an argument or two against it, not easy to be answered. First, ill painting is one of the worst things in the world; and to attain a tolerable degree of skill in it, requires too much of a man’s time. If he has a natural inclination to it, it will endanger the neglect of all other more useful studies, to give way to that; and if he have no inclination to it, all the time, pains, and money shall be employed in it, will be thrown away to no purpose. Another reason why I am not for painting in a gentleman, is, because it is a sedentary recreation, which more employs the mind than the body. A gentleman’s more serious employment, I look on to be study; and when that demands relaxation and refreshment, it should be in some exercise of the body, which unbends the thought, and confirms the health and strength. For these two reasons I am not for painting.

§ 204. In the next place, for a country gentleman, I should propose one, or rather both these; viz. gardeningGardening. or husbandry in general, and working in wood, as a carpenter, joiner,Joiner. or turner; these being fit and healthy recreations for a man of study or business. For since the mind endures not to be constantly employed in the same thing or way; and sedentary or studious men should have some exercise, that at the same time might divert their minds, and employ their bodies; I know none that could do it better for a country gentleman, than these two, the one of them affording him exercise, when the weather or season keeps him from the other. Besides that, by being skilled in the one of them, he will be able to govern and teach his gardener; by the other, contrive and make a great many things both of delight and use: though these I propose not as the chief ends of his labour, but as temptations to it; diversion from his other more serious thoughts and employments, by useful and healthy manual-exercise, being what I chiefly aim at in it.

§ 205. The great men among the ancients understood very well how to reconcile manual labour with affairs of state, and thought it no lessening to their dignity, to make the one the recreation to the other. That indeed which seems most generally to have employed and diverted their spare hours, was agriculture. Gideon amongst the Jews was taken from threshing, as well as Cincinnatus amongst the Romans, from the plough, to command the armies of their countries against their enemies; and it is plain their dexterous handling of the flail, or the plough, and being good workmen with these tools, did not hinder their skill in arms, nor make them less able in the arts of war or government. They were great captains and statesmen, as well as husbandmen. Cato major, who had with great reputation born all the great offices of the commonwealth, has left us an evidence under his own hand, how much he was versed in conntry affairs; and, as I remember, Cyrus thought gardening so little beneath the dignity and grandeur of a throne, that he showed Xenophon a large field of fruit-trees, all of his own planting. The records of antiquity, both amongst jews and gentiles, are full of instances of this kind, if it were necessary to recommend useful recreations by examples.

§ 206. Nor let it be thought, that I mistake, when I call these or the like exercises of manual arts, diversions or recreations;Recreation. for recreations is not being idle, (as every one may observe,) but easing the wearied part by change of business: and he that thinks diversion may not lie in hard and painful labour, forgets the early rising, hard riding, heat, cold and hunger of huntsmen, which is yet known to be the constant recreation of men of the greatest condition. Delving, planting, inoculating, or any the like profitable employments, would be no less a diversion, than any of the idle sports in fashion, if men could but be brought to delight in them, which custom and skill in a trade will quickly bring any one to do. And I doubt not but there are to be found those, who, being frequently called to cards, or any other play, by those they could not refuse, have been more tired with these recreations, than with any the most serious employment of life: though the play has been such as they have naturally had no aversion to, and with which they could willingly sometimes divert themselves.

§ 207. Play, wherein persons of condition, especially ladies, waste so much of their time, is a plain instance to me, that men cannot be perfectly idle; they must be doing something. For how else could they sit so many hours toiling at that, which generally gives more vexation than delight to people, whilst they are actually engaged in it? It is certain, gaming leaves no satisfaction behind it to those who reflect when it is over; and it no way profits either body or mind: as to their estates, if it strike so deep as to concern them, it is a trade then, and not a recreation, wherein few, that have any thing else to live on, thrive; and, at best, a thriving gamester has but a poor trade on it, who fills his pockets at the price of his reputation.

Recreation belongs not to people who are strangers to business, and are not wasted and wearied with the employment of their calling. The skill should be, so to order their time of recreation, that it may relax and refresh the part that has been exercised, and is tired; and yet do something, which, besides the present delight and ease, may produce what will afterwards be profitable. It has been nothing but the vanity and pride of greatness and riches, that has brought unprofitable and dangerous pastimes (as they are called) into fashion, and persuaded people into a belief, that the learning or putting their hands to any thing that was useful, could not be a diversion fit for a gentleman. This has been that which has given cards, dice, and drinking, so much credit in the world; and a great many throw away their spare hours in them, through the prevalency of custom, and want of some better employment to fill up the vacancy of leisure, more than from any real delight is to be found in them. They cannot bear the dead weight of unemployed time lying upon their hands, nor the uneasiness it is to do nothing at all; and having never learned any laudable manual art, wherewith to divert themselves, they have recourse to those foolish or ill ways in use, to help off their time, which a rational man, till corrupted by custom, could find very little pleasure in.

§ 208. I say not this, that I would never have a young gentleman accommodate himself to the innocent diversions in fashion, amongst those of his age and condition. I am so far from having him austere and morose to that degree, that I would persuade him to more than ordinary complaisance for all the gaieties and diversions of those he converses with, and be averse or testy in nothing they should desire of him, that might become a gentleman, and an honest man: though, as to cards and dice, I think the safest and best way is never to learn any play upon them, and so to be incapacitated for those dangerous temptations, and incroaching wasters, of useful time. But allowance being made for idle and jovial conversation, and all fashionable becoming recreations; I say, a young man will have time enough, from his serious and main business, to learn almost any trade.Trade. It is for want of application, and not of leisure, that men are not skilful in more arts than one; and an hour in a day, constantly employed in such a way of diversion, will carry a man in a short time a great deal farther than he can imagine: which, if it were of no other use but to drive the common, vicious, useless, and dangerous pastimes out of fashion, and to show there was no need of them, would deserve to be encouraged. If men from their youth were weaned from that sauntering humour, wherein some, out of custom, let a good part of their lives run uselessly away, without either business or recreation; they would find time enough to acquire dexterity and skill in hundreds of things, which, though remote from their proper callings, would not at all interfere with them. And therefore, I think, for this, as well as other reasons before mentioned, a lazy, listless humour, that idly dreams away the days, is of all others the least to be indulged, or permitted in young people. It is the proper state of one sick, and out of order in his health, and is tolerable in nobody else, of what age or condition soever.

§ 209. To the arts above mentioned may be added perfuming, varnishing, graving, and several sorts of working in iron, brass, and silver: and if, as it happens to most young gentlemen, that a considerable part of his time be spent in a great town, he may learn to cut, polish, and set precious stones, or employ himself in grinding and polishing optical glasses. Amongst the great variety there is of ingenious manual arts, it will be impossible that no one should be found to please and delight him, unless he be either idle or debauched, which is not to be supposed in a right way of education. And since he cannot always be employed in study, reading, and conversation, there will be many an hour, besides what his exercises will take up, which, if not spent this way, will be spent worse. For, I conclude, a young man will seldom desire to sit perfectly still and idle; or if he does, it is a fault that ought to be mended.

§ 210. But if his mistaken parents, frightened with the disgraceful names of mechanic and trade, shall have an aversion to any thing of this kind in their children; yet there is one thing relating to trade, which, when they consider, they will think absolutely necessary for their sons to learn.

Merchants accounts,Merchants accounts. though a science not likely to help a gentleman to get an estate, yet possibly there is not any thing of more use and efficacy to make him preserve the estate he has. It is seldom observed, that he who keeps an account of his income and expences, and thereby has constantly under view the course of his domestic affairs, lets them run to ruin; and I doubt not but many a man gets behind-hand, before he is aware, or runs further on, when he is once in, for want of this care, or the skill to do it. I would therefore advise all gentlemen to learn perfectly merchants accounts, and not to think it is a skill that belongs not to them, because it has received its name from, and has been chiefly practised by, men of traffic.

§ 211. When my young master has once got the skill of keeping accounts, (which is a business of reason more than arithmetic) perhaps it will not be amiss, that his father from thenceforth require him to do it in all his concernments. Not that I would have him set down every pint of wine, or play, that costs him money; the general name of expences will serve for such things well enough: nor would I have his father look so narrowly into these accounts, as to take occasion from thence to criticise on his expences. He must remember, that he himself was once a young man, and not forget the thoughts he had then, nor the right his son has to have the same, and to have allowance made for them. If therefore I would have the young gentleman obliged to keep an account, it is not at all to have that way a check upon his expences, (for what the father allows him, he ought to let him be fully master of,) but only, that he might be brought early into the custom of doing it, and that it might be made familiar and habitual to him betimes, which will be so useful and necessary to be constantly practised through the whole course of his life. A noble Venetian, whose son wallowed in the plenty of his father’s riches, finding his son’s expences grow very high and extravagant, ordered his cashier to let him have, for the future, no more money than what he should count when he received it. This one would think no great restraint to a young gentleman’s expences, who could freely have as much money as he would tell. But yet this, to one who was used to nothing but the pursuit of his pleasures, proved a very great trouble, which at last ended in this sober and advantageous reflection: “If it be so much pains to me, barely to count the money I would spend; what labour and pains did it cost my ancestors, not only to count, but get it?” This rational thought, suggested by this little pains imposed upon him, wrought so effectually upon his mind, that it made him take up, and from that time forwards prove a good husband. This at least every body must allow, that nothing is likelier to keep a man within compass, than the having constantly before his eyes the state of his affairs, in a regular course of account.

§ 212. The last part usually in education, is travel,Travel. which is commonly thought to finish the work, and complete the gentleman. I confess, travel into foreign countries has great advantages; but the time usually chosen to send young men abroad, is, I think, of all other, that which renders them least capable of reaping those advantages. Those which are proposed, as to the main of them, may be reduced to these two: first, language; secondly, an improvement in wisdom and prudence, by seeing men, and conversing with people of tempers, customs, and ways of living, different from one another, and especially from those of his parish and neighbourhood. But from sixteen to one-and-twenty, which is the ordinary time of travel, men are, of all their lives, the least suited to these improvements. The first season to get foreign languages, and form the tongue to their true accents, I should think, should be from seven to fourteen or sixteen; and then too a tutor with them is useful and necessary, who may with those languages, teach them other things. But to put them out of their parents view, at a great distance, under a governor, when they think themselves too much men to be governed by others, and yet have not prudence and experience enough to govern themselves: what is it but to expose them to all the greatest dangers of their whole life, when they have the least fence and guard against them? Till that boiling boisterous part of life comes on, it may be hoped the tutor may have some authority; neither the stubbornness of age, nor the temptation or examples of others can take him from his tutor’s conduct, till fifteen or sixteen: but then, when he begins to consort himself with men, and thinks himself one; when he comes to relish, and pride himself in, manly vices, and thinks it a shame to be any longer under the control and conduct of another: what can be hoped from even the most careful and discreet governor, when neither he has power to compel, nor his pupil a disposition to be persuaded; but, on the contrary, has the advice of warm blood, and prevailing fashion, to hearken to the temptations of his companions, just as wise as himself, rather than to the persuasions of his tutor, who is now looked on as the enemy to his freedom? And when is a man so like to miscarry, as when at the same time he is both raw and unruly? This is the season of all his life, that most requires the eye and authority of his parents and friends, to govern it. The flexibleness of the former part of a man’s age, not yet grown up to be headstrong, makes it more governable and safe; and, in the after-part, reason and foresight begin a little to take place, and mind a man of his safety and improvement. The time therefore I should think the fittest for a young gentleman to be sent abroad, would be, either when he is younger, under a tutor, whom he might be the better for; or when he is some years older, without a governor; when he is of age to govern himself, and make observations of what he finds in other countries worthy his notice, and that might be of use to him after his return: and when too, being thoroughly acquainted with the laws and fashions, the natural and moral advantages and defects of his own country, he has something to exchange with those abroad, from whose conversation he hoped to reap any knowledge.

§ 213. The ordering of travel otherwise, is that, I imagine, which makes so many young gentlemen come back so little improved by it. And if they do bring home with them any knowledge of the places and people they have seen, it is often an admiration of the worst and vainest practices they met with abroad; retaining a relish and memory of those things, wherein their liberty took its first swing, rather than of what should make them better and wiser after their return. And indeed, how can it be otherwise, going abroad at the age they do, under the care of another, who is to provide their necessaries, and make their observations for them? Thus, under the shelter and pretence of a governor, thinking themselves excused from standing upon their own legs, or being accountable for their own conduct, they very seldom trouble themselves with inquiries, or making useful observations of their own. Their thoughts run after play and pleasure, wherein they take it as a lessening to be controlled; but seldom trouble themselves to examine the designs, observe the address, and consider the arts, tempers, and inclinations of men they meet with; that so they may know how to comport themselves towards them. Here he that travels with them, is to skreen them, get them out, when they have run themselves into the briars; and in all their miscarriages be answerable for them.

§ 214. I confess, the knowledge of men is so great a skill, that it is not to be expected a young man should presently be perfect in it. But yet his going abroad is to little purpose, if travel does not sometimes open his eyes, make him cautious and wary, and accustom him to look beyond the outside, and, under the inoffensive guard of a civil and obliging carriage, keep himself free and safe in his conversation with strangers, and all sorts of people, without forfeiting their good opinion. He that is sent out to travel at the age, and with the thoughts, of a man designing to improve himself, may get into the conversation and acquaintance of persons of condition where he comes: which, though a thing of most advantage to a gentleman that travels; yet I ask, among our young men that go abroad under tutors, What one is there of an hundred, that ever visits any person of quality? much less makes an acquaintance with such, from whose conversation he may learn what is good breeding in that country, and what is worth observation in it; though from such persons it is, one may learn more in one day, than in a year’s rambling from one inn to another. Nor indeed is it to be wondered; for men of worth and parts will not easily admit the familiarity of boys, who yet need the care of a tutor: though a young gentleman and stranger, appearing like a man, and showing a desire to inform himself in the customs, manners, laws, and government of the country he is in, will find welcome assistance and entertainment amongst the best and most knowing persons every-where, who will be ready to receive, encourage, and countenance any ingenious and inquisitive foreigner.

§ 215. This, how true soever it be, will not, I fear, alter the custom, which has cast the time of travel upon the worst part of a man’s life; but for reasons not taken from their improvement. The young lad must not be ventured abroad at eight or ten, for fear of what may happen to the tender child, though he then runs ten times less risque than at sixteen or eighteen. Nor must he stay at home till that dangerous heady age be over, because he must be back again by one-and-twenty, to marry and propagate. The father cannot stay any longer for the portion, nor the mother for a new set of babies to play with: and so my young master, whatever comes on it, must have a wife looked out for him, by that time he is of age; though it would be no prejudice to his strength, his parts, or his issue, if it were respited for some time, and he had leave to get, in years and knowledge, the start a little of his children, who are often found to tread too near upon the heels of their fathers, to the no great satisfaction either of son or father. But the young gentleman being got within view of matrimony, it is time to leave him to his mistress.

§ 216. Though I am now come to a conclusionConclusion. of what obvious remarks have suggested to me concerning education, I would not have it thought, that I look on it as a just treatise on this subject. There are a thousand other things that may need consideration; especially if one should take in the various tempers, different inclinations, and particular defaults, that are to be found in children; and prescribe proper remedies. The variety is so great, that it would require a volume; nor would that reach it. Each man’s mind has some peculiarity, as well as his face, that distinguishes him from all others; and there are possibly scarce two children, who can be conducted by exactly the same method. Besides that, I think a prince, a nobleman, and an ordinary gentleman’s son, should have different ways of breeding. But having had here only some general views in reference to the main end and aims in education, and those designed for a gentleman’s son, who being then very little, I considered only as white paper, or wax, to be moulded and fashioned as one pleases; I have touched little more than those heads, which I judged necessary for the breeding of a young gentleman of his condition in general; and have now published these my occasional thoughts, with this hope, that, though this be far from being a complete treatise on this subject, or such as that every one may find what will just fit his child in it; yet it may give some small light to those, whose concern for their dear little ones makes them so irregularly bold, that they dare venture to consult their own reason, in the education of their children, rather than wholly to rely upon old custom.

THE REASONABLENESS OF CHRISTIANITY, AS DELIVERED IN THE SCRIPTURES

THE 1824 TEXT

CONTENTS

THE PREFACE.

THE REASONABLENESS OF CHRISTIANITY, AS DELIVERED IN THE SCRIPTURES.

THE PREFACE.

The little satisfaction and consistency that is to be found, in most of the systems of divinity I have met with, made me betake myself to the sole reading of the scriptures (to which they all appeal) for the understanding the Christian Religion. What from thence, by an attentive and unbiassed search, I have received, Reader, I here deliver to thee. If by this my labour thou receivest any light, or confirmation in the truth, join with me in thanks to the Father of lights, for his condescension to our understandings. If upon a fair and unprejudiced examination, thou findest I have mistaken the sense and tenour of the Gospel, I beseech thee, as a true Christian, in the spirit of the Gospel, (which is that of charity,) and in the words of sobriety, set me right, in the doctrine of salvation.

THE REASONABLENESS OF CHRISTIANITY, AS DELIVERED IN THE SCRIPTURES.

It is obvious to any one, who reads the New Testament, that the doctrine of redemption, and consequently of the gospel, is founded upon the supposition of Adam’s fall. To understand, therefore, what we are restored to by Jesus Christ, we must consider what the scriptures show we lost by Adam. This I thought worthy of a diligent and unbiassed search: since I found the two extremes that men run into on this point, either on the one hand shook the foundations of all religion, or, on the other, made christianity almost nothing: for while some men would have all Adam’s posterity doomed to eternal, infinite punishment, for the transgression of Adam, whom millions had never heard of, and no one had authorised to transact for him, or be his representative; this seemed to others so little consistent with the justice or goodness of the great and infinite God, that they thought there was no redemption necessary, and consequently, that there was none; rather than admit of it upon a supposition so derogatory to the honour and attributes of that infinite Being; and so made Jesus Christ nothing but the restorer and preacher of pure natural religion; thereby doing violence to the whole tenour of the New Testament. And, indeed, both sides will be suspected to have trespassed this way, against the written word of God, by any one, who does but take it to be a collection of writings, designed by God, for the instruction of the illiterate bulk of mankind, in the way to salvation; and therefore, generally, and in necessary points, to be understood in the plain direct meaning of the words and phrases: such as they may be supposed to have had in the mouths of the speakers, who used them according to the language of that time and country wherein they lived; without such learned, artificial, and forced senses of them, as are sought out, and put upon them, in most of the systems of divinity, according to the notions that each one has been bred up in.

To one that, thus unbiassed, reads the scriptures, what Adam fell from (is visible) was the state of perfect obedience, which is called justice in the New Testament; though the word, which in the original signifies justice, be translated righteousness: and by this fall he lost paradise, wherein was tranquillity and the tree of life; i. e. he lost bliss and immortality. The penalty annexed to the breach of the law, with the sentence pronounced by God upon it, show this. The penalty stands thus, Gen. ii. 17, “In the day that thou eatest thereof, thou shalt surely die.” How was this executed? He did eat: but, in the day he did eat, he did not actually die; but was turned out of paradise from the tree of life, and shut out for ever from it, lest he should take thereof, and live for ever. This shows, that the state of paradise was a state of immortality, of life without end; which he lost that very day that he eat: his life began from thence to shorten, and waste, and to have an end; and from thence to his actual death, was but like the time of a prisoner, between the sentence passed, and the execution, which was in view and certain. Death then entered, and showed his face, which before was shut out, and not known. So St. Paul, Rom. v. 12, “By one man sin entered into the world, and death by sin;” i. e. a state of death and mortality: and, 1 Cor. xv. 22, “In Adam all die;” i. e. by reason of his transgression, all men are mortal, and come to die.

This is so clear in these cited places, and so much the current of the New Testament, that nobody can deny, but that the doctrine of the gospel is, that death came on all men by Adam’s sin; only they differ about the signification of the word death: for some will have it to be a state of guilt, wherein not only he, but all his posterity was so involved, that every one descended of him deserved endless torment, in hell-fire. I shall say nothing more here, how far, in the apprehensions of men, this consists with the justice and goodness of God, having mentioned it above: but it seems a strange way of understanding a law, which requires the plainest and directest words, that by death should be meant eternal life in misery. Could any one be supposed, by a law, that says, “For felony thou shalt die;” not that he should lose his life; but be kept alive in perpetual, exquisite torments? And would any one think himself fairly dealt with, that was so used?

To this, they would have it be also a state of necessary sinning, and provoking God in every action that men do: a yet harder sense of the word death than the other. God says, that “in the day that thou eatest of the forbidden fruit, thou shalt die;” i. e. thou and thy posterity shall be, ever after, incapable of doing any thing, but what shall be sinful and provoking to me and shall justly deserve my wrath and indignation. Could a worthy man be supposed to put such terms upon the obedience of his subjects? Much less can the righteous God be supposed, as a punishment of one sin, wherewith he is displeased, to put man under the necessity of sinning continually, and so multiplying the provocation. The reason of this strange interpretation, we shall perhaps find, in some mistaken places of the New Testament. I must confess, by death here, I can understand nothing but a ceasing to be, the losing of all actions of life and sense. Such a death came on Adam, and all his posterity, by his first disobedience in paradise; under which death they should have lain for ever, had it not been for the redemption by Jesus Christ. If by death, threatened to Adam, were meant the corruption of human nature in his posterity, ’tis strange, that the New Testament should not any-where take notice of it, and tell us, that corruption seized on all, because of Adam’s transgression, as well as it tells us so of death. But, as I remember, every one’s sin is charged upon himself only.

Another part of the sentence was, “Cursed is the ground for thy sake: in sorrow shalt thou eat of it all the days of thy life; in the sweat of thy face shall thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken; dust thou art, and to dust shalt thou return,” Gen. iii. 17 — 19. This shows, that paradise was a place of bliss, as well as immortality; without drudgery, and without sorrow. But, when man was turned out, he was exposed to the toil, anxiety, and frailties of this mortal life, which should end in the dust, out of which he was made, and to which he should return; and then have no more life or sense, than the dust had, out of which he was made.

As Adam was turned out of paradise, so all his posterity were born out of it, out of the reach of the tree of life; all, like their father Adam, in a state of mortality, void of the tranquility and bliss of paradise. Rom. v. 12, “By one man sin entered into the world, and death by sin.” But here will occur the common objection, that so many stumble at: “How doth it consist with the justice and goodness of God, that the posterity of Adam should suffer for his sin; the innocent be punished for the guilty?” Very well, if keeping one from what he has no right to, be called a punishment; the state of immortality, in paradise, is not due to the posterity of Adam, more than to any other creature. Nay, if God afford them a temporary, mortal life, ’tis his gift; they owe it to his bounty; they could not claim it as their right, nor does he injure them when he takes it from them. Had he taken from mankind any thing that was their right, or did he put men in a state of misery, worse than not being, without any fault or demerit of their own; this, indeed, would be hard to reconcile with the notion we have of justice; and much more with the goodness, and other attributes of the supreme Being, which he has declared of himself; and reason, as well as revelation, must acknowledge to be in him; unless we will confound good and evil, God and Satan. That such a state of extreme, irremediable torment is worse than no being at all; if every one’s own sense did not determine against the vain philosophy, and foolish metaphysics of some men; yet our Saviour’s peremptory decision, Matt. xxvi. 24, has put it past doubt, that one may be in such an estate, that it had been better for him not to have been born. But that such a temporary life, as we now have, with all its frailties and ordinary miseries, is better than no being, is evident, by the high value we put upon it ourselves. And therefore, though all die in Adam, yet none are truly punished, but for their own deeds. Rom. ii. 6, “God will render to every one,” How? “According to his deeds. To those that obey unrighteousness, indignation and wrath, tribulation and anguish, upon every soul of man that doth evil,” ver. 9. 2 Cor. v. 10, “We must appear before the judgment seat of Christ, that every one may receive the things done in his body, according to that he has done, whether it be good or bad.” And Christ himself, who knew for what he should condemn men at the last day, assures us, in the two places, where he describes his proceeding at the great judgment, that the sentence of condemnation passes only upon the workers of iniquity, such as neglected to fulfil the law in acts of charity, Matt. vii. 23, Luke xiii. 27, Matt. xxv. 41, 42, &c. “And again, John v. 29, our Saviour tells the jews, that all shall come forth of their graves, they that have done good to the resurrection of life; and they that have done evil, unto the resurrection of damnation.” But here is no condemnation of any one, for what his fore-father Adam had done; which it is not likely should have been omitted, if that should have been a cause why any one was adjudged to the fire, with the devil and his angels. And he tells his disciples, that when he comes again with his angels, in the glory of his Father, that then he will render to every one according to his works, Matt. xvi. 27.

Adam being thus turned out of paradise, and all his posterity born out of it, the consequence of it was, that all men should die, and remain under death for ever, and so be utterly lost.

From this estate of death, Jesus Christ restores all mankind to life; 1 Cor. xv. 22, “As in Adam all die, so in Christ shall all be made alive.” How this shall be, the same apostle tells us in the foregoing ver. 21. “By man death came, by man also came the resurrection from the dead.” Whereby it appears, that the life, which Jesus Christ restores to all men, is that life, which they receive again at the resurrection. Then they recover from death, which otherwise all mankind should have continued under, lost for ever; as appears by St. Paul’s arguing, 1 Cor. xv. concerning the resurrection.

And thus men are, by the second Adam, restored to life again; that so by Adam’s sin they may none of them lose any thing, which by their own righteousness they might have a title to: for righteousness, or an exact obedience to the law, seems, by the scripture, to have a claim of right to eternal life, Rom. iv. 4. “To him that worketh,” i. e. does the works of the law, “is the reward not reckoned of grace, but of debt.” And Rev. xxii. 14, “Blessed are they who do his commandments, that they may have right to the tree of life, which is in the paradise of God.” If any of the posterity of Adam were just, they shall not lose the reward of it, eternal life and bliss, by being his mortal issue: Christ will bring them all to life again; and then they shall be put every one upon his own trial, and receive judgment, as he is found to be righteous, or not. And the righteous, as our Saviour says, Matt. xxv. 46, shall go into eternal life. Nor shall any one miss it, who has done, what our Saviour directed the lawyer, who asked, Luke x. 25, What he should do to inherit eternal life? “Do this,” i. e. what is required by the law, “and thou shalt live.”

On the other side, it seems the unalterable purpose of the divine justice, that no unrighteous person, no one that is guilty of any breach of the law, should be in paradise: but that the wages of sin should be to every man, as it was to Adam, an exclusion of him out of that happy state of immortality, and bring death upon him. And this is so conformable to the eternal and established law of right and wrong, that it is spoken of too, as if it could not be otherwise. St. James says, chap. i. 15, “Sin, when it is finished, bringeth forth death,” as it were, by a natural and necessary production. “Sin entered into the world, and death by sin,” says St. Paul, Rom. v. 12: and vi. 23, “The wages of sin is death.” Death is the purchase of any, of every sin. Gal. iii. 10, “Cursed is every one, who continueth not in all things which are written in the book of the law to do them.” And of this St. James gives a reason, chap. ii. 10, 11, “Whosoever shall keep the whole law, and yet offend in one point, he is guilty of all: for he that said, Do not commit adultery, said also, Do not kill:” i. e. he that offends in any one point, sins against the authority which established the law.

Here then we have the standing and fixed measures of life and death. Immortality and bliss, belong to the righteous; those who have lived in an exact conformity to the law of God, are out of the reach of death; but an exclusion from paradise and loss of immortality is the portion of sinners; of all those who have any way broke that law, and failed of a complete obedience to it, by the guilt of any one transgression. And thus mankind by the law are put upon the issues of life or death, as they are righteous or unrighteous, just, or unjust; i. e. exact performers or transgressors of the law.

But yet, “all having sinned,” Rom. iii. 23, “and come short of the glory of God,” i. e. the kingdom of God in heaven, (which is often called his glory,) “both jews and gentiles;” ver. 22, so that, “by the deeds of the law,” no one could be justified, ver. 20, it follows, that no one could then have eternal life and bliss.

Perhaps, it will be demanded, “Why did God give so hard a law to mankind, that to the apostle’s time no one of Adam’s issue had kept it? As appears by Rom. iii. and Gal. iii. 21, 22.”

Answ. It was such a law as the purity of God’s nature required, and must be the law of such a creature as man; unless God would have made him a rational creature, and not required him to have lived by the law of reason; but would have countenanced in him irregularity and disobedience to that light which he had, and that rule which was suitable to his nature; which would have been to have authorised disorder, confusion, and wickedness in his creatures: for that this law was the law of reason, or as it is called, of nature; we shall see by and by: and if rational creatures will not live up to the rule of their reason, who shall excuse them? If you will admit them to forsake reason in one point, why not in another? Where will you stop? To disobey God in any part of his commands, (and ’tis he that commands what reason does,) is direct rebellion; which, if dispensed with in any point, government and order are at an end; and there can be no bounds set to the lawless exorbitancy of unconfined man. The law therefore was, as St. Paul tells us, Rom. vii. 12, “holy, just, and good,” and such as it ought, and could not otherwise be.

This then being the case, that whoever is guilty of any sin should certainly die, and cease to be; the benefit of life, restored by Christ at the resurrection, would have been no great advantage, (for as much as, here again, death must have seized upon all mankind, because all have sinned; for the wages of sin is everywhere death, as well after as before the resurrection,) if God had not found out a way to justify some, i. e. so many as obeyed another law, which God gave; which in the New Testament is called “the law of faith,” Rom. iii. 27, and is opposed to “the law of works.” And therefore the punishment of those who would not follow him, was to lose their souls, i. e. their lives, Mark viii. 35 — 38, as is plain, considering the occasion it was spoke on.

The better to understand the law of faith, it will be convenient, in the first place, to consider the law of works. The law of works then, in short, is that law which requires perfect obedience, without any remission or abatement; so that, by that law, a man cannot be just, or justified, without an exact performance of every tittle. Such a perfect obedience, in the New Testament, is termed διϰαιοσύνη, which we translate righteousness.

The language of this law is, “Do this and live, transgress and die.” Lev. xviii. 5, “Ye shall keep my statutes and my judgments, which if a man do, he shall live in them.” Ezek. xx. 11, “I gave them my statutes, and showed them my judgments, which if a man do, he shall even live in them. Moses, says St. Paul, Rom. x. 5, describeth the righteousness, which is of the law, that the man, which doth these things, shall live in them.” Gal. iii. 12, “The law is not of faith; but that man, that doth them, shall live in them.” On the other side, transgress and die; no dispensation, no atonement. Ver-10, “Cursed is every one that continueth not in all things which are written in the book of the law to do them.”

Where this law of works was to be found, the New Testament tells us, viz. in the law delivered by Moses, John i. 17, “The law was given by Moses, but grace and truth came by Jesus Christ.” Chap. vii. 19, “Did not Moses give you the law?” says our Saviour, “and yet none of you keep the law.” And this is the law, which he speaks of, where he asks the lawyer, Luke x. 26, “What is written in the law? How readest thou? ver. 28, This do, and thou shalt live.” This is that which St. Paul so often styles the law, without any other distinction, Rom. ii. 13, “Not the hearers of the law are just before God, but the doers of the law are justified.” ’Tis needless to quote any more places; his epistles are full of it, especially this of the Romans.

“But the law given by Moses, being not given to all mankind, how are all men sinners; since, without a law, there is no transgression?” To this the apostle, ver. 14, answers, “For when the gentiles, which have not the law, do (i. e. find it reasonable to do) by nature the things contained in the law; these, having not the law, are a law unto themselves; which show the work of the law written in their hearts; their consciences also bearing witness, and amongst themselves their thoughts accusing or excusing one another.” By which, and other places in the following chapter, ’tis plain, that under the law of works, is comprehended also the law of nature, knowable by reason, as well as the law given by Moses. For, says St. Paul, Rom. iii. 9, 23, “We have proved both jews and gentiles, that they are all under sin: for all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God:” which they could not do without a law.

Nay, whatever God requires any-where to be done, without making any allowance for faith, that is a part of the law of works: so that forbidding Adam to eat of the tree of knowledge was part of the law of works. Only we must take notice here, that some of God’s positive commands, being for peculiar ends, and suited to particular circumstances of times, places, and persons; have a limited and only temporary obligation by virtue of God’s positive injunction; such as was that part of Moses’s law, which concerned the outward worship or political constitution of the jews; and is called the ceremonial and judicial law, in contradistinction to the moral part of it; which being conformable to the eternal law of right, is of eternal obligation; and therefore remains in force still, under the gospel; nor is abrogated by the law of faith, as St. Paul found some ready to infer, Rom. iii. 31, “Do we then make void the law, through faith? God forbid; yea we establish the law.”

Nor can it be otherwise: for, were there no law of works, there could be no law of faith. For there could be no need of faith, which should be counted to men for righteousness; if there were no law, to be the rule and measure of righteousness, which men failed in their obedience to. Where there is no law, there is no sin; all are righteous equally, with or without faith.

The rule, therefore, of right, is the same that ever it was; the obligation to observe it is also the same: the difference between the law of works, and the law of faith, is only this: that the law of works makes no allowance for failing on any occasion. Those that obey are righteous; those that in any part disobey, are unrighteous, and must not expect life, the reward of righteousness. But, by the law of faith, faith is allowed to supply the defect of full obedience: and so the believers are admitted to life and immortality, as if they were righteous. Only here we must take notice, that when St. Paul says, that the gospel establishes the law, he means the moral part of the law of Moses; for that he could not mean the ceremonial, or political part of it, is evident, by what I quoted out of him just now, where he says, That the gentiles do, by nature, the things contained in the law, their consciences bearing witness. For the gentiles neither did, nor thought of, the judicial or ceremonial institutions of Moses; ’twas only the moral part their consciences were concerned in. As for the rest, St. Paul tells the Galatians, chap. iv. they are not under that part of the law, which ver. 3, he calls elements of the world; and ver. 9, weak and beggarly elements. And our Saviour himself, in this gospel sermon on the mount, tells them, Matt. v. 17, That, whatever they might think, he was not come to dissolve the law, but to make it more full and strict: for that which is meant by πληρῶσαι is evident from the following part of that chapter, where he gives the precepts in a stricter sense, than they were received in before. But they are all precepts of the moral law, which he re-inforces. What should become of the ritual law, he tells the woman of Samaria, in these words, John iv. 21, 23, “The hour cometh, when you shall, neither in this mountain, nor yet at Jerusalem, worship the Father. But the true worshippers shall worship the Father in spirit and in truth; for the Father seeketh such to worship him.”

Thus then, as to the law, in short: the civil and ritual part of the law, delivered by Moses, obliges not christians, though, to the jews, it were a part of the law of works; it being a part of the law of nature, that man ought to obey every positive law of God, whenever he shall please to make any such addition to the law of his nature. But the moral part of Moses’s law, or the moral law, (which is every-where the same, the eternal rule of right,) obliges christians, and all men, every-where, and is to all men the standing law of works. But christian believers have the privilege to be under the law of faith too; which is that law, whereby God justifies a man for believing, though by his works he be not just or righteous, i. e. though he come short of perfect obedience to the law of works. God alone does or can justify, or make just, those who by their works are not so: which he doth, by counting their faith for righteousness, i. e. for a complete performance of the law. Rom. iv. 3, “Abraham believed God, and it was counted to him for righteousness.” Ver. 5, “To him that believeth on him that justifieth the ungodly, his faith is counted for righteousness.” Ver. 6, “Even as David also describeth the blessedness of the man unto whom God imputeth righteousness without works;” i. e. without a full measure of works, which is exact obedience. Ver. 7, Saying, “Blessed are they whose iniquities are forgiven, and whose sins are covered.” Ver. 8, “Blessed is the man, to whom the Lord will not impute sin.”

This faith, for which God justified Abraham, what was it? It was the believing God, when he engaged his promise in the covenant he made with him. This will be plain to any one, who considers these places together, Gen. xv. 6, “He believed in the Lord, or believed the Lord.” For that the Hebrew phrase, “believing in,” signifies no more but believing, is plain from St. Paul’s citation of this place, Rom. iv. 3, where he repeats it thus: “Abraham believed God,” which he thus explains, ver. 18 — 22, “Who against hope believed in hope, that he might become the father of many nations: according to that which was spoken, So shall thy seed be. And, being not weak in faith, he considered not his own body now dead, when he was about an hundred years old, nor yet the deadness of Sarah’s womb. He staggered not at the promise of God, through unbelief; but was strong in faith giving glory to God. And being fully persuaded, that what he had promised he was also able to perform. And therefore it was imputed to him for righteousness.” By which it is clear, that the faith which God counted to Abraham for righteousness, was nothing but a firm belief of what God declared to him; and a steadfast relying on him, for the accomplishment of what he had promised.

“Now this,” says St. Paul, ver. 23, 24, “was not writ for his [Abraham’s] sake alone, but for us also;” teaching us, that as Abraham was justified for his faith, so also ours shall be accounted to us for righteousness, if we believe God, as Abraham believed him. Whereby it is plain is meant the firmness of our faith, without staggering, and not the believing the same propositions that Abraham believed; viz. that though he and Sarah were old, and past the time and hopes of children, yet he should have a son by her, and by him become the father of a great people, which should possess the land of Canaan. This was what Abraham believed, and was counted to him for righteousness. But nobody, I think, will say, that any one’s believing this now, shall be imputed to him for righteousness. The law of faith then, in short, is for every one to believe what God requires him to believe, as a condition of the covenant he makes with him: and not to doubt of the performance of his promises. This the apostle intimates in the close here, ver. 24, “But for us also, to whom it shall be imputed, if we believe on him that raised up Jesus our Lord from the dead.” We must, therefore, examine and see what God requires us to believe now, under the revelation of the gospel; for the belief of one invisible, eternal, omnipotent God, maker of heaven and earth, &c. was required before, as well as now.

What we are now required to believe to obtain eternal life, is plainly set down in the gospel. St. John tells us, John iii. 36, “He that believeth on the Son, hath eternal life; and he that believeth not the Son, shall not see life.” What this believing on him is, we are also told in the next chapter: “The woman said unto him, I know that the Messiah cometh: when he is come, he will tell us all things. Jesus saith unto her, I that speak unto thee, am he. The woman then went into the city, and saith to the men, come see a man that hath told me all things that ever I did: is not this the Messiah? and many of the Samaritans believed on him for the saying of the woman, who testified, he told me all that ever I did. So when the Samaritans were come unto him, many more believed because of his words, and said to the woman, We believe not any longer, because of thy saying; for we have heard ourselves, and we know that this man is truly the Saviour of the world, the Messiah.” John iv. 25, 26, 29, 39, 40, 41, 42.

By which place it is plain, that believing on the Son is the believing that Jesus was the Messiah; giving credit to the miracles he did, and the profession he made of himself. For those who are said to believe on him, for the saying of the woman, ver. 39, tell the woman that they now believed not any longer, because of her saying: but that having heard him themselves, they knew, i. e. believed, past doubt, that he was the Messiah.

This was the great proposition that was then controverted, concerning Jesus of Nazareth, “Whether he was the Messiah or no?” And the assent to that was that which distinguished believers from unbelievers. When many of his disciples had forsaken him, upon his declaring that he was the bread of life, which came down from heaven, “He said to his apostles, Will ye also go away?” Then Simon Peter answered him, “Lord, to whom shall we go? Thou hast the words of eternal life. And we believe, and are sure, that thou art the Messiah, the Son of the living God,” John vi. 69. This was the faith which distinguished them from apostates and unbelievers, and was sufficient to continue them in the rank of apostles: and it was upon the same proposition, “That Jesus was the Messiah, the Son of the living God,” owned by St. Peter, that our Sayiour said, he would build his church, Matt. xvi. 16 — 18.

To convince men of this, he did his miracles; and their assent to, or not assenting to this, made them to be, or not to be, of his church; believers, or not believers: “The jews came round about him, and said unto him, How long dost thou make us doubt? If thou be the Messiah, tell us plainly. Jesus answered them, I told you, and ye believed not: the works that I do in my Father’s name, they bear witness of me. But ye believe not, because ye are not of my sheep,” John x. 24 — 26. Conformable hereunto, St. John tells us, that “many deceivers are entered into the world, who confess not that Jesus, the Messiah, is come in the flesh. This is a deceiver and an antichrist; whosoever abideth not in the doctrine of the Messiah, has not God. He that abideth in the doctrine of the Messiah,” i. e. that Jesus is he, “hath both the Father and the Son,” 2 John 7, 9. That this is the meaning of the place, is plain from what he says in his foregoing epistle, “Whosoever believeth that Jesus is the Messiah, is born of God,” 1 John v. 1. And therefore, drawing to a close of his gospel, and showing the end for which he writ it, he has these words: “Many other signs truly did Jesus in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book: but these are written that ye may believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God; and that believing, you might have life through his name,” John xx. 30, 31. Whereby it is plain, that the gospel was writ to induce men into a belief of this proposition, “That Jesus of Nazareth was the Messiah;” which if they believed, they should have life.

Accordingly the great question among the jews was, whether he were the Messiah or no? and the great point insisted on and promulgated in the gospel, was, that he was the Messiah. The first glad tidings of his birth, brought to the shepherds by an angel, was in these words: “Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people: for to you is born this day, in the city of David, a Saviour, who is the Messiah, the Lord,” Luke ii. 11. Our Saviour discoursing with Martha about the means of attaining eternal life, saith to her, John xi. 27, “Whosoever believeth in me, shall never die. Believest thou this? She saith unto him, Yea, Lord, I believe that thou art the Messiah, the Son of God, which should come into the world.” This answer of hers showeth, what it is to believe in Jesus Christ, so as to have eternal life; viz. to believe that he is the Messiah, the son of God, whose coming was foretold by the prophets. And thus Andrew and Philip express it: Andrew says to his brother Simon, “we have found the Messiah, which is, being interpreted, the Christ. Philip saith to Nathanael, we have found him, of whom Moses in the law and the prophets did write, Jesus of Nazareth, the son of Joseph,” John i. 41, 45. According to what the evangelist says in this place, I have, for the clearer understanding of the scripture, all along put Messiah for Christ: Christ being but the Greek name for the Hebrew Messiah, and both signifying the Anointed.

And that he was the Messiah, was the great truth he took pains to convince his disciples and apostles of; appearing to them after his resurrection: as may be seen, Luke xxiv. which we shall more particularly consider in another place. There we read what gospel our Saviour preached to his disciples and apostles; and that as soon as he was risen from the dead, twice, the very day of his resurrection.

And, if we may gather what was to be believed by all nations from what was preached unto them, we may certainly know what they were commanded, Matt. ult. to teach all nations, by what they actually did teach all nations. We may observe, that the preaching of the apostles every-where in the Acts, tended to this one point, to prove that Jesus was the Messiah. Indeed, now, after his death, his resurrection was also commonly required to be believed, as a necessary article, and sometimes solely insisted on: it being a mark and undoubted evidence of his being the Messiah, and necessary now to be believed by those who would receive him as the Messiah. For since the Messiah was to be a Saviour and a king, and to give life and a kingdom to those who received him, as we shall see by and by; there could have been no pretence to have given him out for the Messiah, and to require men to believe him to be so, who thought him under the power of death, and corruption of the grave. And therefore those who believed him to be the Messiah, must believe that he was risen from the dead: and those who believed him to be risen from the dead, could not doubt of his being the Messiah. But of this more in another place.

Let us see therefore, how the apostles preached Christ, and what they proposed to their hearers to believe. St. Peter at Jerusalem, Acts ii. by his first sermon, converted three thousand souls. What was his word, which, as we are told, ver. 41, “they gladly received, and thereupon were baptized?” That may be seen from ver. 22 to 36. In short, this; which is the conclusion, drawn from all that he had said, and which he presses on them, as the thing they were to believe, viz. “Therefore let all the house of Israel know assuredly, that God hath made that same Jesus, whom ye have crucified, Lord and Messiah,” ver. 36.

To the same purpose was his discourse to the jews, in the temple, Acts iii. the design whereof you have, ver. 18. “But those things that God before had showed, by the mouth of all his prophets, that the Messiah should suffer, he hath so fulfilled.”

In the next chapter, Acts iv. Peter and John being examined, about the miracle on the lame man, profess it to have been done in the name of Jesus of Nazareth, who was the Messiah, in whom alone there was salvation, ver. 10 — 12. The same thing they confirm to them again, Acts v. 29 — 32. “And daily in the temple, and in every house, they ceased not to teach and preach Jesus the Messiah,” ver. 42.

What was Stephen’s speech to the council, Acts vii. but a reprehension to them that they were the betrayers and murderers of the Just One? Which is the title, by which he plainly designs the Messiah whose coming was foreshown by the prophets, ver. 51, 52. And that the Messiah was to be without sin, (which is the import of the word Just,) was the opinion of the jews, appears from John ix. ver. 22, compared with 24.

Act viii. Philip carries the gospel to Samaria: “Then Philip went down to Samaria, and preached to them.” What was it he preached? You have an account of it in this one word, “the Messiah,” ver. 5. This being that alone which was required of them, to believe that Jesus was the Messiah; which when they believed they were baptized. “And when they believed Philip’s preaching the gospel of the kingdom of God, and the name of Jesus the Messiah, they were baptized, both men and women,” ver. 12.

Philip being sent from thence by a special call of the Spirit, to make an eminent convert; out of Isaiah preaches to him Jesus, ver. 35. And what it was he preached concerning Jesus, we may know by the profession of faith the eunuch made, upon which he was admitted to baptism, ver. 37. “I believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God:” which is as much as to say, I believe that he, whom you call Jesus Christ, is really and truly the Messiah, that was promised. For, that believing him to be the Son of God, and to be the Messiah, was the same thing, may appear, by comparing John i. 45, with ver. 49, where Nathanael owns Jesus to be the Messiah, in these terms: “Thou art the Son of God; thou art the king of Israel.” So the jews, Luke xxii. 70, asking Christ, whether he were the Son of God, plainly demanded of him, whether he were the Messiah? Which is evident, by comparing that with the three preceding verses. They ask him, ver. 67, Whether he were the Messiah? He answers, “If I tell you, you will not believe:” but withal tells them, that from thenceforth he should be in possession of the kingdom of the Messiah, expressed in these words, ver. 69. “Hereafter shall the Son of Man sit on the right hand of the power of God:” which made them all cry out, “Art thou then the Son of God?” i. e. Dost thou then own thyself to be the Messiah? To which he replies, “Ye say that I am.” That the Son of God was the known title of the Messiah at that time, amongst the jews, we may see also from what the jews say to Pilate, John xix. 7. “We have a law, and by our law he ought to die, because he made himself the Son of God;” i. e. by making himself the Messiah, the prophet which was to come, but falsely; and therefore he deserves to die by the law, Deut. xviii. 20. That this was the common signification of the Son of God, is farther evident, from what the chief priests, mocking him, said, when he was on the cross, Matt. xxvii. 42. “He saved others, himself he cannot save: if he be the king of Israel, let him now come down from the cross, and we will believe him. He trusted in God, let him deliver him now, if he will have him; for he said, I am the Son of God;” i. e. He said, he was the Messiah: but ’tis plainly false; for, if he were, God would deliver him: for the Messiah is to be king of Israel, the Saviour of others; but this man cannot save himself. The chief priests mention here the two titles, then in use, whereby the jews commonly designed the Messiah, viz. “Son of God, and king of Israel.” That of Son of God was so familiar a compellation of the Messiah, who was then so much expected and talked of, that the Romans, it seems, who lived amongst them, had learned it, as appears from ver. 54. “Now when the centurion and they that were with him, watching Jesus, saw the earthquake, and those things that were done, they feared greatly, saying, truly this was the Son of God;” this was that extraordinary person that was looked for.

Acts ix. St. Paul, exercising the commission to preach the gospel, which he had received in a miraculous way, ver. 20. “Straitway preached Christ in the synagogues, that he is the Son of God;” i. e. that Jesus was the Messiah: for Christ, in this place, is evidently a proper name. And that this was it, which Paul preached, appears from ver. 22. “Saul increased the more in strength, and confounded the jews, who dwelt in Damascus, proving that this is the very Christ,” i. e. the Messiah.

Peter, when he came to Cornelius at Cæsarea, who, by a vision, was ordered to send for him, as St. Peter on the other side was by a vision commanded to go to him; what does he teach him? His whole discourse, Acts x. tends to show what, he says, God commanded the apostles, “To preach unto the people, and to testify, that it is he [Jesus] which was ordained of God to be the judge of the quick and the dead. And that it was to him, that all the prophets give witness, that, through his name, whosoever believeth in him, shall have remission of sins,” ver. 42, 43. “This is the word, which God sent to the children of Israel; that word, which was published throughout all Judea, and began from Galilee, after the baptism which John preached,” ver. 36, 37. And these are the words, which had been promised to Cornelius, Acts xi. 14, “Whereby he and all his house should be saved:” which words amount only to thus much: that Jesus was the Messiah, the Saviour that was promised. Upon their receiving of this, (for this was all was taught them,) the Holy Ghost fell on them, and they were baptized. ’Tis observable here, that the Holy Ghost fell on them, before they were baptized, which, in other places, converts received not till after baptism. The reason whereof seems to be this, that God, by bestowing on them the Holy Ghost, did thus declare from Heaven, that the gentiles, upon believing Jesus to be the Messiah, ought to be admitted into the church by baptism, as well as the jews. Whoever reads St. Peter’s defence, Acts xi. when he was accused by those of the circumcision, that he had not kept that distance, which he ought, with the uncircumcised, will be of this opinion; and see by what he says, ver. 15, 16, 17, that this was the ground, and an irresistible authority to him for doing so strange a thing, as it appeared to the jews, (who alone yet were members of the christian church,) to admit gentiles into their communion, upon their believing. And therefore St. Peter, in the foregoing chapter, Acts x. before he would baptize them, proposes this question, “to those of the circumcision, which came with him, and were astonished, because that on the gentiles also was poured out the gift of the Holy Ghost: can any one forbid water, that these should not be baptized, who have received the Holy Ghost as well as we?” ver. 47. And when some of the sect of the pharisees, who believed, thought it needful that the converted gentiles should be circumcised and keep the law of Moses, Acts xv. “Peter rose up and said unto them, men and brethren, you know that a good while ago God made choice amongst us, that the gentiles,” viz. Cornelius, and those here converted with him, “by my mouth should hear the gospel and believe. And God, who knoweth the hearts, bare them witness, giving them the Holy Ghost, even as he did unto us, and put no difference hetween us and them, purifying their hearts by faith,” v. 7 — 9. So that both jews and gentiles, who believed Jesus to be the Messiah, received thereupon the seal of baptism; whereby they were owned to be his, and distinguished from unbelievers. From what is above said, we may observe that this preaching Jesus to be the Messiah is called the Word, and the Word of God: and believing it, receiving the Word of God. Vid. Acts x. 36, 37. and xi. 1, 19, 20. and the word of the gospel, Acts xv. 7. And so likewise in the history of the gospel, what Mark, chap. iv. 14, 15, calls simply the word, St. Luke calls the word of God, Luke viii. 11. And St. Matthew, chap. xiii. 19, the word of the kingdom; which were, it seems, in the gospel-writers synonymous terms, and are so to be understood by us.

But to go on: Acts xiii. Paul preaches in the synagogue at Antioch, where he makes it his business to convince the jews, that “God, according to his promise, had of the seed of David raised to Israel a Saviour Jesus.” v. 24. That he was He of whom the prophets writ, v. 25 — 29, i. e. the Messiah: and that, as a demonstration of his being so, God had raised him from the dead, v. 30. From whence he argues thus, v. 32, 33. We evangelize to you, or bring you this gospel, “how that the promise which was made to our fathers, God hath fulfilled the same unto us, in that he hath raised Jesus again;” as it is also written in the second psalm, “Thou art my Son, this day I have begotten thee.” And having gone on to prove him to be the Messiah, by his resurrection from the dead, he makes this conclusion, v. 38, 39. “Be it known unto you, therefore, men and brethren, that through this man is preached unto you forgiveness of sins; and by him all who believe are justified from all things, from which they could not be justified by the law of Moses.” This is in this chapter called “the Word of God,” over and over again: compare v. 42, with 44, 46, 48, 49, and chap. xii. v. 24.

Acts xvii. 2 — 4. At Thessalonica, “Paul, as his manner was, went into the synagogue, and three sabbath days reasoned with the jews out of the scriptures; opening and alleging, that the Messiah must needs have suffered, and risen again from the dead: and that this Jesus, whom I preach unto you, is the Messiah. And some of them believed, and consorted with Paul and Silas: but the jews which believed not, set the city in an uproar.” Can there be any thing plainer, than that the assenting to this proposition, that Jesus was the Messiah, was that which distinguished the believers from the unbelievers? For this was that alone, which, three sabbaths, Paul endeavoured to convince them of, as the text tells us in direct words.

From thence he went to Berœa, and preached the same thing: and the Berœans are commended, v. 11, for searching the scriptures, whether those things, i. e. which he had said, v. 2, 3, concerning Jesus’s being the Messiah, were true or no.

The same doctrine we find him preaching at Corinth, Acts xviii. 4 — 6. “And he reasoned in the synagogue every sabbath, and persuaded the jews and the Greeks. And when Silas and Timotheus were come from Macedonia, Paul was pressed in spirit, and testified to the jews, that Jesus was the Messiah. And when they opposed themselves, and blasphemed, he shook his raiment, and said unto them, Your blood be upon your own heads, I am clean; from henceforth I will go unto the Greeks.”

Upon the like occasion he tells the jews at Antioch, Acts xiii. 46, “It was necessary that the word of God should first have been spoken to you; but seeing you put it off from you, we turn to the gentiles.” ’Tis plain here, St. Paul’s charging their blood on their own heads, is for opposing this single truth, that Jesus was the Messiah; that salvation or perdition depends upon believing or rejecting this one proposition. I mean, this is all that is required to be believed by those who acknowledge but one eternal and invisible God, the maker of heaven and earth, as the jews did. For that there is something more required to salvation, besides believing, we shall see hereafter. In the mean time, it is fit here on this occasion to take notice, that though the apostles in their preaching to the jews, and the devout, (as we translate the word σε[Editor: illegible character]όμενοι, who were proselytes of the gate, and the worshippers of one eternal and invisible God,) said nothing of the believing in this one true God, the maker of heaven and earth; because it was needless to press this to those who believed and professed it already (for to such, ’tis plain, were most of their discourses hitherto.) Yet when they had to do with idolatrous heathens, who were not yet come to the knowledge of the one only true God; they began with that, as necessary to be believed; it being the foundation on which the other was built, and without which it could signify nothing.

Thus Paul speaking to the idolatrous Lystrians, who would have sacrificed to him and Barnabas, says, Acts xiv. 15, “We preach unto you, that ye should turn from these vanities unto the living God, who made heaven and earth, and the sea, and all things that are therein: who in times past suffered all nations to walk in their own ways. Nevertheless he left not himself without witness, in that he did good, and gave us rain from heaven, and fruitful seasons, filling our hearts with food and gladness.”

Thus also he proceeded with the idolatrous Athenians, Acts xvii. telling them, upon occasion of the altar, dedicated to the unknown God, “whom you ignorantly worship, him declare I unto you. God who made the world, and all things therein, seeing that he is Lord of heaven and earth, dwelleth not in temples made with hands. — Forasmuch then as we are the offspring of God, we ought not to think that the Godhead is like unto gold, or silver, or stone, graven by art, or man’s device. And the times of this ignorance God winked at; but now commandeth all men every-where to repent; because he hath appointed a day in which he will judge the world in righteousness, by that man whom he hath ordained: whereof he hath given assurance unto all men, in that he hath raised him from the dead.” So that we see, where any thing more was necessary to be proposed to be believed, as there was to the heathen idolaters, there the apostles were careful not to omit it.

Acts xviii. 4, “Paul at Corinth reasoned in the synagogue every sabbath-day, and testified to the jews, that Jesus was the Messiah.” Ver. 11, “And he continued there a year and six months, teaching the word of God amongst them;” i. e. The good news, that Jesus was the Messiah; as we have already shown is meant by “the Word of God.”

Apollos, another preacher of the gospel, when he was instructed in the way of God more perfectly, what did he teach but this same doctrine? As we may see in this account of him, Acts xviii. 27. That, “when he was come into Achaia, he helped the brethren much, who had believed through grace. For he mightily convinced the jews, and that publicly, showing by the scriptures that Jesus was the Messiah.”

St. Paul, in the account he gives of himself before Festus and Agrippa, professes this alone to be the doctrine he taught after his conversion: for, says he, Acts xxvi. 22, “Having obtained help of God, I continue unto this day, witnessing both to small and great, saying none other things than those which the prophets and Moses did say should come: that the Messiah should suffer, and that he should be the first that should rise from the dead, and should show light unto the people, and to the gentiles.” Which was no more than to prove that Jesus was the Messiah. This is that, which, as we have above observed, is called the Word of God; Acts xi. 1. compared with the foregoing chapter, from v. 34. to the end. And xiii. 42. compared with 44, 46, 48, 49, and xvii. 13. compared with v. 11, 13. It is also called, “the Word of the Gospel,” Acts xv. 7. And this is that Word of God, and that Gospel, which, wherever their discourses are set down, we find the apostles preached; and was that faith, which made both jews and gentiles believers and members of the church of Christ; purifying their hearts, Acts xv. 9, and carrying with it remission of sins, Acts x. 43. So that all that was to be believed for justification, was no more but this single proposition, that “Jesus of Nazareth was the Christ, or the Messiah.” All, I say, that was to be believed for justification: for that it was not all that was required to be done for justification, we shall see hereafter.

Though we have seen above from what our Saviour has pronounced himself, John iii. 36, “that he that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life; and he that believeth not the Son, shall not see life, but the wrath of God abideth on him;” and are taught from John iv. 39, compared with v. 42, that believing on him, is believing that he is the Messiah, the Saviour of the world; and the confession made by St. Peter, Matt. xvi. 16, that he is “the Messiah, the Son of the living God,” being the rock, on which our Saviour has promised to build his church; though this I say, and what else we have already taken notice of, be enough to convince us what it is we are in the gospel required to believe to eternal life, without adding what we have observed from the preaching of the apostles; yet it may not be amiss, for the farther clearing this matter, to observe what the evangelists deliver concerning the same thing, though in different words; which, therefore, perhaps, are not so generally taken notice of to this purpose.

We have above observed, from the words of Andrew and Philip compared, that “the Messiah, and him of whom Moses in the law and the prophets did write,” signify the same thing. We shall now consider that place, John i. a little farther. Ver. 41, “Andrew says to Simon, we have found the Messiah.” Philip, on the same occasion, v. 45, says to Nathanael, “we have found him of whom Moses in the law and the prophets did write, Jesus of Nazareth, the son of Joseph.” Nathanael, who disbelieved this, when, upon Christ’s speaking to him, he was convinced of it, declares his assent to it in these words: “Rabbi, thou art the Son of God, thou art the king of Israel.” From which it is evident, that to believe him to be “Him of whom Moses and the prophets did write,” or to be “the Son of God,” or to be “the king of Israel,” was in effect the same as to believe him to be the Messiah: and an assent to that, was what our Saviour received for believing. For, upon Nathanael’s making a confession in these words, “Thou art the Son of God, thou art the king of Israel, Jesus answered and said to him, Because I said to thee I saw thee under the fig-tree, dost thou believe? Thou shalt see greater things than these,” ver. 51. I desire any one to read the latter part of the first of John, from ver. 25, with attention, and tell me, whether it be not plain, that this phrase, The Son of God, is an expression used for the Messiah. To which let him add Martha’s declaration of her faith, John xi. 27, in these words: “I believe that thou art the Messiah, the Son of God, who should come into the world;” and that passage of St. John xx. 31, “That ye might believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God; and that, believing, ye might have life through his name:” and then tell me whether he can doubt that Messiah, the Son of God, were synonymous terms, at that time, amongst the jews.

The prophecy of Daniel, chap. ix. when he is called “Messiah the Prince;” and the mention of his government and kingdom, and the deliverance by him, in Isaiah, Daniel, and other prophecies, understood of the Messiah; were so well known to the jews, and had so raised their hopes of him about this time, which, by their account, was to be the time of his coming, to restore the kingdom of Israel; that Herod no sooner heard of the magi’s inquiry after “Him that was born king of the jews,” Matt. ii. but he forthwith “demanded of the chief priests and scribes, where the Messiah should be born,” ver. 4. Not doubting but, if there were any king born to the jews, it was the Messiah: whose coming was now the general expectation, as appears, Luke iii. 15, “The people being in expectation, and all men musing in their hearts, of John, whether he were the Messiah or not.” And when the priests and levites sent to ask him who he was; he, understanding their meaning, answers, John i. 20, “That he was not the Messiah;” but he bears witness, that Jesus “is the Son of God,” i. e. the Messiah, ver. 34.

This looking for the Messiah, at this time, we see also in Simeon; who is said to be “waiting for the consolation of Israel,” Luke ii. 21. And having the child Jesus in his arms, he says he had “seen the salvation of the Lord,” ver. 30. And, “Anna coming at the same instant into the temple, she gave thanks also unto the Lord, and spake of him to all them that looked for redemption in Israel,” ver. 38. And of Joseph of Arimathea, it is said, Mark xv. 43, That “he also expected the kingdom of God:” by all which was meant the coming of the Messiah; and Luke xix. 11, it is said, “They thought that the kingdom of God should immediately appear.”

This being premised, let us see what it was that John the Baptist preached, when he first entered upon his ministry. That St. Matthew tells us, chap. iii. 1, 2, “In those days came John the Baptist preaching in the wilderness of Judea, saying, repent; for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.” This was a declaration of the coming of the Messiah: the kingdom of heaven, and the kingdom of God, being the same, as is clear out of several places of the evangelists; and both signifying the kingdom of the Messiah. The profession which John the Baptist made, when sent to the jews, John i. 19, was, that “he was not the Messiah;” but that Jesus was. This will appear to any one, who will compare ver. 26 — 34, with John iii. 27, 30. The jews being very inquisitive to know, whether John were the Messiah; he positively denies it; but tells them, he was only his forerunner; and that there stood one amongst them, who would follow him, whose shoe-latchet he was not worthy to untie. The next day, seeing Jesus, he says, he was the man; and that his own baptizing in water was only that Jesus might be manifested to the world; and that he knew him not, till he saw the Holy Ghost descend upon him: he that sent him to baptize, having told him, that he on whom he should see the Spirit descend, and rest upon, he it was that should baptize with the Holy Ghost; and that therefore he witnessed, that “this was the Son of God,” ver. 34, i. e. the Messiah; and, chap. iii. 26, &c. they come to John the Baptist, and tell him, that Jesus baptized, and that all men went to him. John answers, He has his authority from heaven; you know I never said, I was the Messiah, but that I was sent before him. He must increase, but I must decrease; for God hath sent him, and he speaks the words of God; and God hath given all things into the hands of his Son, “And he that believes on the Son, hath eternal life;” the same doctrine, and nothing else but what was preached by the apostles afterwards: as we have seen all through the Acts. v. g. that Jesus was the Messiah. And thus it was, that John bears witness of our Saviour, as Jesus himself says, John v. 33.

This also was the declaration given of him at his baptism, by a voice from heaven: “This is my beloved Son in whom I am well pleased.” Matt. iii. 17. Which was a declaration of him to be the Messiah, the Son of God being (as we have showed) understood to signify the Messiah. To which we may add the first mention of him after his conception, in the words of the angel to Joseph, Matt. i. 21. “Thou shalt call his name Jesus,” or Saviour; “for he shall save his people from their sins.” It was a received doctrine in the jewish nation, that at the coming of the Messiah, all their sins should be forgiven them. These words, therefore, of the angel, we may look upon as a declaration, that Jesus was the Messiah; whereof these words, “his people,” are a farther mark: which suppose him to have a people, and consequently to be a king.

After his baptism, Jesus himself enters upon his ministry. But, before we examine what it was he proposed to be believed, we must observe, that there is a threefold declaration of the Messiah.

By miracles. The spirit of prophecy had now for many ages forsaken the jews; and, though their commonwealth were not quite dissolved, but that they lived under their own laws, yet they were under a foreign dominion, subject to the Romans. In this state their account of the time being up, they were in expectation of the Messiah, and of deliverance by him in a kingdom he was to set up, according to their ancient prophecies of him: which gave them hopes of an extraordinary man yet to come from God, who, with an extraordinary and divine power, and miracles, should evidence his mission, and work their deliverance. And, of any such extraordinary person, who should have the power of doing miracles, they had no other expectation, but only of their Messiah. One great prophet and worker of miracles, and only one more, they expected; who was to be the Messiah. And therefore we see the people justified their believing in him, i. e. their believing him to be the Messiah, because of the miracles he did; John vii. 41. “And many of the people believed in him, and said, When the Messiah cometh, will he do more miracles, than this man hath done?” And when the jews, at the feast of dedication, John x. 24, 25, coming about him, said unto him, “How long dost thou make us doubt? If thou be the Messiah, tell us plainly; Jesus answered them, I told you, and ye believed not; the works that I do in my Father’s name bear witness of me.” And, John v. 36, he says, “I have a greater witness than that of John; for the works, which the Father hath given me to do, the same works that I do, bear witness of me, that the Father hath sent me.” Where, by the way, we may observe, that his being “sent by the Father,” is but another way of expressing the Messiah; which is evident from this place here, John v. compared with that of John x. last quoted. For there he says, that his works bear witness of him: And what was that witness? viz. That he was “the Messiah.” Here again he says, that his works bear witness of him: And what is that witness? viz. “That the Father sent him.” By which we are taught, that to be sent by the Father, and to be the Messiah, was the same thing, in his way of declaring himself. And accordingly we find, John iv. 53, and xi. 45, and elsewhere, many hearkened and assented to his testimony, and believed on him, seeing the things that he did.

Another way of declaring the coming of the Messiah, was by phrases and circumlocutions, that did signify or intimate his coming; though not in direct words pointing out the person. The most usual of these were, “The kingdom of God, and of heaven;” because it was that which was often spoken of the Messiah, in the Old Testament, in very plain words: and a kingdom was that which the jews most looked after and wished for. In that known place, Isa. ix. “The government shall be upon his shoulders; he shall be called the Prince of peace: of the increase of his government and peace there shall be no end; upon the throne of David, and upon his kingdom, to order it, and to establish it with judgment, and with justice, from henceforth even for ever.” Micah v. 2, “But thou, Bethlehem Ephratah, though thou be little among the thousands of Judah, yet out of thee shall he come forth unto me, that is to be the Ruler in Israel.” And Daniel, besides that he calls him “Messiah the Prince,” chap. ix. 25, in the account of his vision “of the Son of man,” chap. vii. 13, 14, says, “There was given him dominion, glory, and a kingdom, that all people, nations, and languages should serve him: his dominion is an everlasting dominion, which shall not pass away; and his kingdom that which shall not be destroyed.” So that the kingdom of God, and the kingdom of heaven, were common phrases amongst the jews, to signify the times of the Messiah. Luke xiv. 15, “One of the jews that sat at meat with him, said unto him, Blessed is he that shall eat bread in the kingdom of God.” Chap. xvii. 20, The pharisees demanded, “when the kingdom of God should come?” And St. John Baptist “came, saying, Repent; for the kingdom of heaven is at hand;” a phrase he would not have used in preaching, had it not been understood.

There are other expressions that signified the Messiah, and his coming, which we shall take notice of, as they come in our way.

By plain and direct words, declaring the doctrine of the Messiah, speaking out that Jesus was he; as we see the apostles did, when they went about preaching the gospel, after our Saviour’s resurrection. This was the open clear way, and that which one would think the Messiah himself, when he came, should have taken; especially, if it were of that moment, that upon men’s believing him to be the Messiah depended the forgiveness of their sins. And yet we see, that our Saviour did not: but on the contrary, for the most part, made no other discovery of himself, at least in Judea, and at the beginning of his ministry, but in the two former ways, which were more obscure; not declaring himself to be the Messiah, any otherwise than as it might be gathered from the miracles he did, and the conformity of his life and actions with the prophecies of the Old Testament concerning him: and from some general discourses of the kingdom of the Messiah being come, under the name of the “kingdom of God, and of heaven.” Nay, so far was he from publicly owning himself to be the Messiah, that he forbid the doing of it: Mark viii. 27 — 30. “He asked his disciples, Whom do men say that I am? And they answered, John the Baptist; but some say Elias; and others, one of the prophets.” (So that it is evident, that even those, who believed him an extraordinary person, knew not yet who he was, or that he gave himself out for the Messiah; though this was in the third year of his ministry, and not a year before his death.) “And he saith unto them, But whom say ye that I am? And Peter answered and said unto him, Thou art the Messiah. And he charged them, that they should tell no man of him.” Luke iv. 41. “And devils came out of many, crying, Thou art the Messiah, the Son of God: and he, rebuking them, suffered them not to speak, that they knew him to be the Messiah.” Mark iii. 11, 12. “Unclean spirits, when they saw him, fell down before him, and cried, saying, Thou art the Son of God: and he straitly charged them, that they should not make him known.” Here again we may observe, from the comparing of the two texts, that “Thou art the Son of God,” or, “Thou art the Messiah,” were indifferently used for the same thing. But to return to the matter in hand.

This concealment of himself will seem strange, in one who was come to bring light into the world, and was to suffer death for the testimony of the truth. This reservedness will be thought to look, as if he had a mind to conceal himself, and not to be known to the world for the Messiah, nor to be believed on as such. But we shall be of another mind, and conclude this proceeding of his according to divine wisdom, and suited to a fuller manifestation and evidence of his being the Messiah; when we consider that he was to fill out the time foretold of his ministry; and after a life illustrious in miracles and good works, attended with humility, meekness, patience, and sufferings, and every way conformable to the prophecies of him; should be led as a sheep to the slaughter, and with all quiet and submission be brought to the cross, though there were no guilt, nor fault found in him. This could not have been, if, as soon as he appeared in public, and began to preach, he had presently professed himself to have been the Messiah; the king that owned that kingdom, he published to be at hand. For the sanhedrim would then have laid hold on it, to have got him into their power, and thereby have taken away his life; at least they would have disturbed his ministry, and hindered the work he was about. That this made him cautious, and avoid, as much as he could, the occasions of provoking them and falling into their hands, is plain from John vii. 1. “After these things Jesus walked in Galilee;” out of the way of the chief priests and rulers; “for he would not walk in Jewry, because the jews sought to kill him.” Thus, making good what he foretold them at Jerusalem, when, at the first passover after his beginning to preach the gospel, upon his curing the man at the pool of Bethesda, they sought to kill him, John v. 16, “Ye have not,” says he, ver. 38, “his word abiding amongst you; for whom he hath sent, him ye believe not.” This was spoken more particularly to the jews of Jerusalem, who were the forward men, zealous to take away his life: and it imports, that, because of their unbelief and opposition to him, the word of God, i. e. the preaching of the kingdom of the Messiah, which is often called “the word of God,” did not stay amongst them, he could not stay amongst them, preach and explain to them the kingdom of the Messiah.

That the word of God, here, signifies “the word of God,” that should make Jesus known to them to be the Messiah, is evident from the context: and this meaning of this place is made good by the event. For, after this, we hear no more of Jesus at Jerusalem, till the pentecost come twelvemonth; though it is not to be doubted, but that he was there the next passover, and other feasts between; but privately. And now at Jerusalem, at the feast of pentecost, near fifteen months after, he says little of any thing, and not a word of the kingdom of heaven being come, or at hand; nor did he any miracle there. And returning to Jerusalem at the feast of tabernacles, it is plain, that from this time ‘till then, which was a year and a half, he had not taught them at Jerusalem.

For, 1. it is said, John vii. 2, 15, That, he teaching in the temple at the feast of tabernacles, “the jews marvelled, saying, How knoweth this man letters, having never learned?” A sign they had not been used to his preaching: for, if they had, they would not now have marvelled.

2. Ver. 19, He says thus to them: “Did not Moses give you the law, and yet none of you keep the law? Why go ye about to kill me? One work,” or miracle, “I did here amongst you, and ye all marvel. Moses therefore gave unto you circumcision, and ye on the sabbath-day circumcise a man: if a man on the sabbath-day receive circumcision, that the law of Moses should not be broken, are ye angry with me, because I have made a man every way whole on the sabbath-day?” Which is a direct defence of what he did at Jerusalem, a year and a half before the work he here speaks of. We find he had not preached to them there, from that time to this; but had made good what he had told them, ver. 38, “Ye have not the word of God remaining among you, because whom he hath sent ye believe not.” Whereby, I think, he signifies his not staying, and being frequent amongst them at Jerusalem, preaching the gospel of the kingdom; because their great unbelief, opposition, and malice to him, would not permit it.

This was manifestly so in fact: for the first miracle he did at Jerusalem, which was at the second passover after his baptism, brought him in danger of his life. Hereupon we find he forbore preaching again there, ‘till the feast of tabernacles, immediately preceding his last passover: so that ‘till the half a year before his passion, he did but one miracle, and preached but once publicly at Jerusalem. These trials he made there; but found their unbelief such, that if he had staid and persisted to preach the good tidings of the kingdom, and to show himself by miracles among them, he could not have had time and freedom to do those works which his Father had given him to finish, as he says, ver. 36, of this fifth of St. John.

When, upon the curing of the withered hand on the sabbath-day, “The pharisees took counsel with the herodians, how they might destroy him, Jesus withdrew himself, with his disciples, to the sea: and a great multitude from Galilee followed him, and from Judea, and from Jerusalem, and from Idumea, and from beyond Jordan, and they about Tyre and Sidon, a great multitude; when they had heard what great things he did, came unto him, and he healed them all, and charged them, that they should not make him known: that it might be fulfilled which was spoken by the prophet Isaiah, saying, Behold, my servant, whom I have chosen; my beloved, in whom my soul is well pleased: I will put my spirit upon him, and he shall show judgment to the gentiles. He shall not strive, nor cry, neither shall any man hear his voice in the streets.” Matt. xii. Mark iii.

And, John xi. 47, upon the news of our Saviour’s raising Lazarus from the dead, “The chief priests and pharisees convened the sanhedrim, and said, What do we? For this man does many miracles.” Ver. 53, “Then from that day forth they took counsel together for to put him to death.” Ver. 54, “Jesus therefore walked no more openly amongst the jews.” His miracles had now so much declared him to be the Messiah, that the jews could no longer bear him, nor he trust himself amongst them; “But went thence unto a country near to the wilderness, into a city called Ephraim; and there continued with his disciples.” This was but a little before his last passover, as appears by the following words, ver. 55. “And the jews passover was nigh at hand,” and he could not, now his miracles had made him so well known, have been secure, the little time that remained, ‘till his hour was fully come, if he had not, with his wonted and necessary caution, withdrawn; “And walked no more openly amongst the jews,” ‘till his time (at the next passover) was fully come; and then again he appeared amongst them openly.

Nor would the Romans have suffered him, if he had gone about preaching, that he was the king whom the jews expected. Such an accusation would have been forwardly brought against him by the jews, if they could have heard it out of his own mouth; and that had been his public doctrine to his followers, which was openly preached by the apostles after his death, when he appeared no more. And of this they were accused, Acts xvii. 5 — 9. “But the jews, which believed not, moved with envy, took unto them certain lewd fellows of the baser sort, and gathered a company, and set all the city in an uproar, and assaulted the house of Jason, and sought to bring them out to the people. And when they found them [Paul and Silas] not, they drew Jason, and certain brethren, unto the rulers of the city, crying, These that have turned the world upside down, are come hither also; whom Jason hath received: and these all do contrary to the decrees of Cæsar, saying, That there is another king, one Jesus. And they troubled the people, and the rulers of the city, when they heard these things: and when they had taken security of Jason and the other, they let them go.”

Though the magistrates of the world had no great regard to the talk of a king who had suffered death, and appeared no longer any where; yet, if our Saviour had openly declared this of himself in his life time, with a train of disciples and followers every where owning and crying him up for their king; the Roman governors of Judea could not have forborne to have taken notice of it, and have made use of their force against him. This the jews were not mistaken in; and therefore made use of it as the strongest accusation, and likeliest to prevail with Pilate against him, for the taking away his life; it being treason, and an unpardonable offence, which could not escape death from a Roman deputy, without the forfeiture of his own life. Thus then they accuse him to Pilate, Luke xxiii. 2. “We found this fellow perverting the nation, forbidding to give tribute to Cæsar, saying, that he himself is a king;” or rather “the Messiah, the King.”

Our Saviour, indeed, now that his time was come, (and he in custody, and forsaken of all the world, and so out of all danger of raising any sedition or disturbance,) owns himself to Pilate to be a king; after first having told Pilate, John xviii. 36, “That his kingdom was not of this world;” and, for a kingdom in another world, Pilate knew that his master at Rome concerned not himself. But had there been any the least appearance of truth in the allegations of the jews, that he had perverted the nation, forbidding to pay tribute to Cæsar, or drawing the people after him, as their king; Pilate would not so readily have pronounced him innocent. But we see what he said to his accusers, Luke xxiii. 13, 14. “Pilate, when he had called together the chief priests and the rulers of the people, said unto them, You have brought this man unto me as one that perverteth the people; and behold, I, having examined him before you, have found no fault in this man, touching those things whereof you accuse him: no, nor yet Herod, for I sent you to him; and, lo, nothing worthy of death is done by him.” And therefore, finding a man of that mean condition, and innocent life, (no mover of seditions, or disturber of the public peace) without a friend or a follower, he would have dismissed him, as a king of no consequence; as an innocent man, falsely and maliciously accused by the jews.

How necessary this caution was in our Saviour, to say or do nothing that might justly offend, or render him suspected to the Roman governor: and how glad the jews would have been to have had any such thing against him, we may see, Luke xx. 20. The chief priests and the scribes “watched him, and sent forth spies, who should feign themselves just men, that might take hold of his words, that so they might deliver him unto the power and authority of the governor.” And the very thing wherein they hoped to entrap him in this place, was paying tribute to Cæsar; which they afterwards falsely accused him of. And what would they have done, if he had before them professed himself to have been the Messiah, their King and deliverer?

And here we may observe the wonderful providence of God, who had so ordered the state of the jews, at the time when his son was to come into the world, that though neither their civil constitution nor religious worship were dissolved, yet the power of life and death was taken from them; whereby he had an opportunity to publish “the kingdom of the Messiah;” that is, his own royalty, under the name of “the kingdom of God, and of heaven;” which the jews well enough understood, and would certainly have put him to death for, had the power been in their own hands. But this being no matter of accusation to the Romans, hindered him not from speaking of the “kingdom of heaven,” as he did, sometimes in reference to his appearing in the world, and being believed on by particular persons; sometimes in reference to the power should be given him by the Father at his resurrection; and sometimes in reference to his coming to judge the world at the last day, in the full glory and completion of his kingdom. These were ways of declaring himself, which the jews could lay no hold on, to bring him in danger with Pontius Pilate, and get him seized and put to death.

Another reason there was, that hindered him as much as the former, from professing himself, in express words, to be the Messiah; and that was, that the whole nation of the jews, expecting at this time their Messiah, and deliverance, by him, from the subjection they were in to a foreign yoke, the body of the people would certainly, upon his declaring himself to be the Messiah, their king, have rose up in rebellion, and set him at the head of them. And indeed, the miracles that he did, so much disposed them to think him to be the Messiah, that, though shrouded under the obscurity of a mean condition, and a very private simple life; though he passed for a Galilean (his birth at Bethlehem being then concealed), and assumed not to himself any power or authority, or so much as the name of the Messiah; yet he could hardly avoid being set up by a tumult, and proclaimed their king. So John tells us, chap. vi. 14, 15, “Then those men, when they had seen the miracles that Jesus did, said, This is of a truth that prophet that should come into the world. When therefore Jesus perceived that they would come to take him by force to make him king, he departed again into a mountain, himself alone.” This was upon his feeding of five thousand with five barley loaves and two fishes. So hard was it for him, doing those miracles which were necessary to testify his mission, and which often drew great multitudes after him, Matt. iv. 25, to keep the heady and hasty multitude from such disorder, as would have involved him in it; and have disturbed the course, and cut short the time of his ministry; and drawn on him the reputation and death of a turbulent, seditious malefactor; contrary to the design of his coming, which was, to be offered up a lamb blameless, and void of offence; his innocence appearing to all the world, even to him that delivered him up to be crucified. This it would have been impossible to have avoided, if, in his preaching every-where, he had openly assumed to himself the title of their Messiah; which was all was wanting to set the people in a flame; who drawn by his miracles, and the hopes of finding a Deliverer in so extraordinary a man, followed him in great numbers. We read every-where of multitudes, and in Luke xii. 1, of myriads that were gathered about him. This conflux of people, thus disposed, would not have failed, upon his declaring himself to be the Messiah, to have made a commotion, and with force set him up for their King. It is plain, therefore, from these two reasons, why (though he came to preach the gospel, and convert the world to a belief of his being the Messiah; and though he says so much of his kingdom, under the title of the kingdom of God, and the kingdom of heaven) he yet makes it not his business to persuade them, that he himself is the Messiah, nor does, in his public preaching, declare himself to be him. He inculcates to the people, on all occasions, that the kingdom of God is come: he shows the way of admittance into this kingdom, viz. repentance and baptism; and teaches the laws of it, viz. good life, according to the strictest rules of virtue and morality. But who the King was of this kingdom, he leaves to his miracles to point out, to those who would consider what he did, and make the right use of it now; or to witness to those who should hearken to the apostles hereafter when they preached it in plain words, and called upon them to believe it, after his resurrection, when there should be no longer room to fear, that it should cause any disturbance in civil societies, and the governments of the world. But he could not declare himself to be the Messiah, without manifest danger of tumult and sedition: and the miracles he did declared it so much, that he was fain often to hide himself, and withdraw from the concourse of the people. The leper that he cured, Mark i, though forbid to say any thing, yet “blazed it so abroad, that Jesus could no more openly enter into the city, but was without in desert places,” living in retirement, as appears from Luke v. 16, and there “they came to him from every quarter.” And thus he did more than once.

This being premised, let us take a view of the promulgation of the gospel by our Saviour himself, and see what it was he taught the world, and required men to believe.

The first beginning of his ministry, whereby he showed himself, seems to be at Cana in Galilee, soon after his baptism; where he turned water into wine: of which St. John, chap. ii. 11, says thus: “This beginning of miracles Jesus made, and manifested his glory, and his disciples believed in him.” His disciples here believed in him, but we hear not of any other preaching to them, but by this miracle, whereby he “manifested his glory,” i. e. of being the Messiah, the Prince. So Nathanael, without any other preaching, but only our Saviour’s discovering to him, that he knew him after an extraordinary manner, presently acknowledges him to be the Messiah; crying, “Rabbi, thou art the Son of God; thou art the King of Israel.”

From hence, staying a few days at Capernaum, he goes to Jerusalem, to the passover, and there he drives the traders out of the temple, John ii. 12 — 15, saying, “Make not my Father’s house a house of merchandize.” Where we see he uses a phrase, which, by interpretation, signifies that he was the “Son of God,” though at that time unregarded. Ver. 16, Hereupon the jews demand, “What sign dost thou show us, since thou doest these things?” Jesus answered, “Destroy ye this temple, and in three days I will raise it again.” This is an instance of what way Jesus took to declare himself: for it is plain, by their reply, the jews understood him not, nor his disciples neither; for it is said, ver. 22, “When, therefore, he was risen from the dead, his disciples remembered, that he said this to them: and they believed the scripture, and the saying of Jesus to them.”

This, therefore, we may look on in the beginning, as a pattern of Christ’s preaching, and showing himself to the jews, which he generally followed afterwards; viz. such a manifestation of himself, as every one at present could not understand; but yet carried such an evidence with it, to those who were well disposed now, or would reflect on it when the whole course of his ministry was over, as was sufficient clearly to convince them that he was the Messiah.

The reason of this method used by our Saviour, the scripture gives us here, at this his first appearing in public, after his entrance upon his ministry, to be a rule and light to us in the whole course of it: for the next verse taking notice, that many believed on him, “because of his miracles,” (which was all the preaching they had,) it is said, ver. 24, “But Jesus did not commit himself unto them, because he knew all men;” i. e. he declared not himself so openly to be the Messiah, their King, as to put himself into the power of the jews, by laying himself open to their malice; who, he knew, would be so ready to lay hold on it to accuse him; for, as the next verse 25, shows, he knew well enough what was in them. We may here further observe, that “believing in his name” signifies believing him to be the Messiah. Ver. 22, tells us, That “many at the passover believed in his name, when they saw the miracles that he did.” What other faith could these miracles produce in them who saw them, but that this was he of whom the scripture spoke, who was to be their Deliverer?

Whilst he was now at Jerusalem, Nicodemus, a ruler of the jews, comes to him, John iii. 1 — 21, to whom he preaches eternal life by faith in the Messiah, ver. 15 and 17, but in general terms, without naming himself to be that Messiah, though his whole discourse tends to it. This is all we hear of our Saviour the first year of his ministry, but only his baptism, fasting, and temptation in the beginning of it, and spending the rest of it after the passover, in Judea with his disciples, baptizing there. But “when he knew that the pharisees reported, that he made and baptized more disciples than John, he left Judea,” and got out of their way again into Galilee, John iv. 1, 3.

In his way back, by the well of Sichar, he discourses with the Samaritan woman; and after having opened to her the true and spiritual worship which was at hand, which the woman presently understands of the times of the Messiah, who was then looked for; thus she answers, ver. 25, “I know that the Messiah cometh: when he is come, he will tell us all things.” Whereupon our Saviour, though we hear no such thing from him in Jerusalem or Judea, or to Nicodemus; yet here, to this Samaritan woman, he in plain and direct words owns and declares, that he himself, who talked with her, was the Messiah, ver. 26.

This would seem very strange, that he should be more free and open to a Samaritan, than he was to the jews, were not the reason plain, from what we have observed above. He was now out of Judea,, among a people with whom the jews had no commerce; ver. 9, who were not disposed, out of envy, as the jews were, to seek his life, or to accuse him to the Roman governor, or to make an insurrection, to set a jew up for their King. What the consequence was of his discourse with this Samaritan woman, we have an account, ver. 28, 39 — 42. “She left her water-pot, and went her way into the city, and saith to the men, Come, see a man who told me all things that ever I did: Is not this the Messiah? And many of the Samaritans of that city believed on him for the saying of the woman, which testified, He told me all that ever I did. So when the Samaritans were come unto him, they besought him, that he would tarry with them: and he abode there two days. And many more believed because of his own word; and said unto the woman, Now we believe not because of thy saying: for we have heard him ourselves; and we know,” (i.e. are fully persuaded) “that this is indeed the Messiah, the Saviour of the world.” By comparing ver. 39, with 41 and 42, it is plain, that “believing on him” signifies no more than believing him to be the Messiah.

From Sichar Jesus goes to Nazareth, the place he was bred up in; and there reading in the synagogue a prophecy concerning the Messiah, out of the lxi. of Isaiah, he tells them, Luke iv. 21, “This day is this scripture fulfilled in your ears.”

But being in danger of his life at Nazareth, he leaves it for Capernaum: and then, as St. Matthew informs us, chap. iv. 17, “He began to preach and say, Repent; for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.” Or, as St. Mark has it, chap. i. 14, 15, “Preaching the gospel of the kingdom of God, and saying, The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand; repent ye, and believe the gospel;” i. e. believe this good news. This removing to Capernaum, and seating himself there in the borders of Zabulon and Naphtali, was, as St. Matthew observes, chap. iv. 13 — 16, that a prophecy of Isaiah might be fulfilled. Thus the actions and circumstances of his life answered the prophecies, and declared him to be the Messiah. And by what St. Mark says in this place, it is manifest, that the gospel which he preached and required them to believe, was no other but the good tidings of the coming of the Messiah, and of his kingdom, the time being now fulfilled.

In his way to Capernaum, being come to Cana, a nobleman of Capernaum came to him, ver. 47, “And besought him that he would come down and heal his son; for he was at the point of death.” Ver. 48, “Then said Jesus unto him, Except ye see signs and wonders, ye will not believe.” Then he returning homewards, and finding that his son began to “mend at the same hour which Jesus said unto him, Thy son liveth; he himself believed, and his whole house,” ver. 53.

Here this nobleman is by the apostles pronounced to be a believer. And what does he believe? Even that which Jesus complains, ver. 48, “they would not believe, except they saw signs and wonders; which could be nothing but what those of Samaria in the same chapter believed, viz. that he was the Messiah. For we no-where in the gospel hear of any thing else, that had been proposed to be believed by them.

Having done miracles, and cured all their sick at Capernaum, he says, “Let us go to the adjoining towns, that I may preach there also; for therefore came I forth,” Mark i. 38. Or, as St. Luke has it, chap. iv. 43, he tells the multitude, who would have kept him, that he might not go from them, “I must evangelize,” or tell the good tidings of “the kingdom of God to other cities also; for therefore am I sent.” And St. Matthew, chap. iv. 23, tells us how he executed this commission he was sent on: “And Jesus went about all Galilee, teaching in their synagogues, and preaching the gospel of the kingdom, and curing all diseases.” This then was what he was sent to preach every-where, viz. the gospel of the kingdom of the Messiah; and by the miracles and good he did he let them know who was the Messiah.

Hence he goes up to Jerusalem, to the second passover, since the beginning of his ministry. And here, discoursing to the jews, who sought to kill him upon occasion of the man whom he had cured carrying his bed on the sabbath-day, and for making God his Father, he tells them that he wrought these things by the power of God, and that he shall do greater things; for that the dead shall, at his summons, be raised; and that he, by a power committed to him from his Father, shall judge them; and that he is sent by his Father, and that whoever shall hear his word, and believe in him that sent him, has eternal life. This though a clear description of the Messiah, yet we may observe, that here, to the angry jews, who sought to kill him, he says not a word of his kingdom, nor so much as names the Messiah; but yet that he is the Son of God, and sent from God, he refers them to the testimony of John the Baptist; to the testimony of his own miracles, and of God himself in the voice from heaven, and of the scriptures, and of Moses. He leaves them to learn from these the truth they were to believe, viz. that he was the Messiah sent from God. This you may read more at large, John v. 1 — 47.

The next place where we find him preaching, was on the mount, Matt. v. and Luke vi. This is by much the longest sermon we have of his, any-where; and, in all likelihood, to the greatest auditory: for it appears to have been to the people gathered to him from Galilee, and Judea, and Jerusalem, and from beyond Jordan, and that came out of Idumea, and from Tyre and Sidon, mentioned Mark iii. 7, 8. and Luke vi. 17. But in this whole sermon of his, we do not find one word of believing, and therefore no mention of the Messiah, or any intimation to the people who himself was. The reason whereof we may gather from Matt. xii. 16, where “Christ forbids them to make him known;” which supposes them to know already who he was. For that this 12th chapter of St. Matthew ought to precede the sermon in the mount, is plain, by comparing it with Mark ii. beginning at ver. 13, to Mark iii. 8, and comparing those chapters of St. Mark with Luke vi. And I desire my reader, once for all, here to take notice, that I have all along observed the order of time in our Saviour’s preaching, and have not, as I think, passed by any of his discourses. In this sermon, our Saviour only teaches them what were the laws of his kingdom, and what they must do who were admitted into it, of which I shall have occasion to speak more at large in another place, being at present only inquiring what our Saviour proposed as matter of faith to be believed.

After this, John the Baptist sends to him this message, Luke vii. 19, asking, “Art thou he that should come, or do we expect another?” That is, in short, Art thou the Messiah? And if thou art, why dost thou let me, thy forerunner, languish in prison? Must I expect deliverance from any other? To which Jesus returns this answer, ver. 22, 23, “Tell John what ye have seen and heard; the blind see, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, to the poor the gospel is preached; and blessed is he who is not offended in me.” What it is to be “offended, or scandalized in him,” we may see by comparing Matt. xiii. 28, and Mark iv. 17, with Luke viii. 13. For what the two first call “scandalized,” the last call “standing off from, or forsaking,” i. e. not receiving him as the Messiah (vid. Mark vi. 1 — 6.) or revolting from him. Here Jesus refers John, as he did the jews before, to the testimony of his miracles, to know who he was; and this was generally his preaching, whereby he declared himself to be the Messiah, who was the only prophet to come, whom the jews had any expectation of; nor did they look for any other person to be sent to them with the power of miracles, but only the Messiah. His miracles, we see by his answer to John the Baptist, he thought a sufficient declaration amongst them, that he was the Messiah. And therefore, upon his curing the possessed of the devil, the dumb, and blind, Matt. xii. the people, who saw the miracles, said, ver. 23, “Is not this the son of David?” As much as to say, Is not this the Messiah? Whereat the pharisees being offended, said, “He cast out devils by Beelzebub.” Jesus, showing the falsehood and vanity of their blasphemy, justifies the conclusion the people made from this miracle, saying, ver. 28, That his casting out devils by the Spirit of God, was an evidence that the kingdom of the Messiah was come.

One thing more there was in the miracles done by his disciples, which showed him to be the Messiah; that they were done in his name. “In the name of Jesus of “Nazareth, rise up and walk,” says St. Peter to the lame man, whom he cured in the temple, Acts iii. 6. And how far the power of that name reached, they themselves seem to wonder, Luke x. 17. “And the seventy returned again with joy, saying, Lord, even the devils are subject to us in thy name.”

From this message from John the Baptist, he takes occasion to tell the people that John was the forerunner of the Messiah; that from the time of John the Baptist the kingdom of the Messiah began; to which time all the prophets and the law pointed, Luke vii. and Matt. xi.

Luke viii. 1, “Afterwards he went through every city and village, preaching and showing the good tidings of the kingdom of God.” Here we see as everywhere, what his preaching was, and consequently what was to be believed.

Soon after, he preaches from a boat to the people on the shore. His sermon at large we may read, Matt. xiii. Mark iv. and Luke viii. But this is very observable, that this second sermon of his, here, is quite different from his former in the mount: for that was all so plain and intelligible, that nothing could be more so; whereas this is all so involved in parables, that even the apostles themselves did not understand it. If we inquire into the reason of this, we shall possibly have some light, from the different subjects of these two sermons. There he preached to the people only morality; clearing the precepts of the law from the false glosses which were received in those days, and setting forth th duties of a good life in their full obligation and extent, beyond what the judiciary laws of the Israelites did, or the civil laws of any country could prescribe, or take notice of. But here, in this sermon by the sea-side, he speaks of nothing but the kingdom of the Messiah, which he does all in parables. One reason whereof St. Matthew gives us, chap. xiii. 35, “That it might be fulfilled which was spoken by the prophets,” saying, “I will open my mouth in parables, I will utter things that have been kept secret from the foundations of the world.” Another reason our Saviour himself gives of it, ver. 11, 12, Because to you is given to know the mysteries of the kingdom of heaven, but to them it is not given. For whosoever hath, to him shall be given, and he shall have more abundantly; but whosoever hath not,” i. e. improves not the talents that he hath, “from him shall be taken away even that he hath.”

One thing it may not be amiss to observe, that our Saviour here, in the explication of the first of these parables to his apostles, calls the preaching of the kingdom of the Messiah, simply, “The word,” and Luke viii. 21, “The word of God:” from whence St. Luke, in the Acts, often mentions it under the name of the “word,” and “the word of God,” as we have elsewhere observed. To which I shall here add that of Acts viii. 4, “Therefore they that were scattered abroad, went every-where preaching the word;” which word, as we have found by examining what they preached all through their history, was nothing but this, that “Jesus was the Messiah:” I mean, this was all the doctrine they proposed to be believed: for what they taught, as well as our Saviour, contained a great deal more; but that concerned practice, and not belief. And therefore our Saviour says, in the place before quoted, Luke viii. 21, “they are my mother and my brethren, who hear the word of God, and do it:” obeying the law of the Messiah their king being no less required, than their believing that Jesus was the Messiah, the king and deliverer that was promised them.

Matt. ix. 13, we have an account again of this preaching; what it was, and how: “And Jesus went about all the cities and villages, teaching in their synagogues, and preaching the gospel of the kingdom, and healing every sickness and every disease among the people.” He acquainted them, that the kingdom of the Messiah was come, and left it to his miracles to instruct and convince them, that he was the Messiah.

Matt. x. when he sent his apostles abroad, their commission to preach we have, ver. 7, 8, in these words: “As ye go, preach saying, The kingdom of heaven is at hand: heal the sick,” &c. All that they had to preach was, that the kingdom of the Messiah was come.

Whosoever should not receive them, the messengers of these good tidings, nor hearken to their message, incurred a heavier doom than Sodom and Gomorrah, at the day of judgment, ver. 14, 15. But ver. 32, “Whosoever shall confess me before men, I will confess him before my Father who is in heaven.” What this confessing of Christ is, we may see by comparing John xii. 42. with ix. 22. “Nevertheless, among the chief rulers also many believed on him; but because of the pharisees they did not confess him, lest they should be put out of the synagogue. And chap. ix. 22, “These words spake his parents, because they feared the jews; for the jews had agreed already, that if any man did confess that he was the Messiah, he should be put out of the synagogue.” By which places it is evident, that to confess him was to confess that he was the Messiah. From which, give me leave to observe also, (what I have cleared from other places, but cannot be too often remarked, because of the different sense has been put upon that phrase) viz. “that believing on, or in him,” (for εἰς ἀυτὸν is rendered either way by the English translation,) signifies believing that he was the Messiah. For many of the rulers (the text says) “believed on him:” but they durst not confess what they believed, “for fear they should be put out of the synagogue.” Now the offence for which it was agreed that any one should be put out of the synagogue, was, if he “did confess, that Jesus was the Messiah.” Hence we may have a clear understanding of that passage of St. Paul to the Romans, where he tells them positively, what is the faith he preaches, Rom. x. 8, 9, “That is the word of faith which we preach, that if thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and believe in thine heart, that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved;” and that also of 1 John iv. 14, 15, “We have seen, and do testify, that the Father sent the Son to be the Saviour of the world: whosoever shall confess, that Jesus is the Son of God, God dwelleth in him, and he in God.” Where confessing Jesus to be the Son of God, is the same with confessing him to be the Messiah; those two expressions being understood amongst the jews to signify the same thing, as we have shown already.

How calling him the Son of God, came to signify that he was the Messiah, would not be hard to show. But it is enough, that it appears plainly, that it was so used, and had that import among the jews at that time: which if any one desires to have further evidenced to him, he may add Matt. xxvi. 63. John vi. 69. and xi. 27. and xx. 31. to those places before occasionally taken notice of.

As was the apostles commission, such was their performance; as we read, Luke xi. 6, “They departed and went through the towns, preaching the gospel, and healing every-where.” Jesus bid them preach, “saying, The kingdom of heaven is at hand.” And St. Luke tells us, they went through the towns preaching the gospel; a word which in Saxon answers well the Greek εὐαγγέλιον, and signifies, as that does, “good news.” So that what the inspired writers call the gospel, is nothing but the good tidings, that the Messiah and his kingdom was come; and so it is to be understood in the New Testament, and so the angel calls it, “good tidings of great joy,” Luke ii. 10, bringing the first news of our Saviour’s birth. And this seems to be all that his disciples were at that time sent to preach.

So, Luke ix. 59, 60, to him that would have excused his present attendance, because of burying his father; “Jesus said unto him, let the dead bury their dead, but go thou and preach the kingdom of God.” When I say, this was all they were to preach, I must be understood that this was the faith they preached; but with it they joined obedience to the Messiah, whom they received for their king. So likewise, when he sent out the seventy, Luke x. their commission was in these words, ver. 9, “Heal the sick, and say unto them, The kingdom of God is come nigh unto you.”

After the return of his apostles to him, he sits down with them on a mountain; and a great multitude being gathered about them, St. Luke tells us, chap. ix. 11, “The people followed him, and he received them, and spake unto them of the kingdom of God, and healed them that had need of healing.” This was his preaching to this assembly, which consisted of five thousand men, besides women and children: all which great multitude he fed with five loaves and two fishes, Matt. xiv. 21. And what this miracle wrought upon them, St. John tells us, chap. vi. 14, 15, “Then these men, when they had seen the miracle that Jesus did, said, This is of a truth that prophet that should come into the world,” i. e. the Messiah. For the Messiah was the only person that they expected from God, and this the time they looked for him. And hence John the Baptist, Matt. xi. 3, styles him, “He that should come;” as in other places, “come from God,” or “sent from God,” are phrases used for the Messiah.

Here we see our Saviour keep to his usual method of preaching: he speaks to them of the kingdom of God, and does miracles; by which they might understand him to be the Messiah, whose kingdom he spake of. And here we have the reason also, why he so much concealed himself, and forbore to own his being the Messiah. For what the consequence was, of the multitude’s but thinking him so, when they were got together, St. John tells us in the very next words: “When Jesus then perceived, that they would come and take him by force to make him a king, he departed again into a mountain himself alone.” If they were so ready to set him up for their king, only because they gathered from his miracles that he was the Messiah, whilst he himself said nothing of it: what would not the people have done, and what would not the scribes and pharisees have had an opportunity to accuse him of, if he had openly professed himself to have been the Messiah, that king they looked for? But this we have taken notice of already.

From hence going to Capernaum, whither he was followed by a great part of the people, whom he had the day before so miraculously fed; he, upon the occasion of their following him for the loaves, bids them seek for the meat that endureth to eternal life: and thereupon, John vi. 22 — 69, declares to them his being sent from the Father; and that those who believed in him, should be raised to eternal life: but all this very much involved in a mixture of allegorical terms of eating, and of bread; bread of life, which came down from heaven, &c. Which is all comprehended and expounded in these short and plain words, ver. 47 and 54, “Verily, verily, I say unto you, he that believeth on me hath everlasting life, and I will raise him up at the last day.” The sum of all which discourse is, that he was the Messiah sent from God; and that those who believed him to be so, should be raised from the dead at the last day, to eternal life. These whom he spoke to here were of those who, the day before, would by force have made him king; and therefore it is no wonder he should speak to them of himself, and his kingdom and subjects, in obscure and mystical terms; and such as should offend those who looked for nothing but the grandeur of a temporal kingdom in this world, and the protection and prosperity they had promised themselves under it. The hopes of such a kingdom, now that they had found a man that did miracles, and therefore concluded to be the Deliverer they expected; had the day before almost drawn them into an open insurrection, and involved our Saviour in it. This he thought fit to put a stop to; they still following him, ’tis like, with the same design. And therefore, though he here speaks to them of his kingdom, it was in a way that so plainly baulked their expectation, and shocked them, that when they found themselves disappointed of those vain hopes, and that he talked of their eating his flesh, and drinking his blood, that they might have life; the jews said, ver. 52, “How can this man give us his flesh to eat? And many, even of his disciples said, It was an hard saying: Who can hear it?” And so were scandalized in him, and forsook him, ver. 60, 66. But what the true meaning of this discourse of our Saviour was, the confession of St. Peter, who understood it better, and answered for the rest of the apostles, shows: when Jesus answered him, ver. 67, “Will ye also go away?” Then Simon Peter answered him, “Lord, to whom shall we go? Thou hast the words of eternal life:” i. e. thou teachest us the way to attain eternal life; and accordingly, “we believe, and are sure, that thou art the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” This was the eating his flesh and drinking his blood, whereby those who did so had eternal life.

Some time after this, he inquires of his disciples, Mark viii. 27, who the people took him for? They telling him, “for John the Baptist,” or one of the old prophets risen from the dead; he asked, What they themselves thought? And here again, Peter answers in these words, Mark viii. 29, “Thou art the Messiah,” Luke ix. 20, “The Messiah of God.” And Matt. xvi. 16, “Thou art the Messiah, the Son of the living God:” Which expressions, we may hence gather, amount to the same thing. Whereupon our Saviour tells Peter, Matt. xvi. 17, 18, That this was such a truth “as flesh and blood could not reveal to him, but only his Father who was in heaven;” and that this was the foundation, on which he was “to build his church:” by all the parts of which passage it is more than probable, that he had never yet told his apostles in direct words, that he was the Messiah; but that they had gathered it from his life and miracles. For which we may imagine to ourselves this probable reason; because that, if he had familiarly, and in direct terms, talked to his apostles in private, that he was the Messiah the Prince, of whose kingdom he preached so much in public every-where; Judas, whom he knew false and treacherous, would have been readily made use of, to testify against him, in a matter that would have been really criminal to the Roman governor. This, perhaps, may help to clear to us that seemingly abrupt reply of our Saviour to his apostles, John vi. 70, when they confessed him to be the Messiah: I will, for the better explaining of it, set down the passage at large. Peter having said, “We believe and are sure that thou art the Messiah, the Son of the living God; Jesus answered them, Have not I chosen you twelve, and one of you is διά[Editor: illegible character]ολος?” This is a reply, seeming at first sight, nothing to the purpose; when yet it is sure all our Saviour’s discourses were wise and pertinent. It seems therefore to me to carry this sense, to be understood afterwards by the eleven (as that of destroying the temple, and raising it again in three days was) when they should reflect on it, after his being betrayed by Judas: you have confessed, and believe the truth concerning me; I am the Messiah your king: but do not wonder at it, that I have never openly declared it to you; for amongst you twelve, whom I have chosen to be with me, there is one who is an informer, or false accuser, (for so the Greek word signifies, and may, possibly, here be so translated, rather than devil) who, if I had owned myself in plain words to have been the “Messiah, the king of Israel,” would have betrayed me, and informed against me.

That he was yet cautious of owning himself to his apostles, positively, to be the Messiah, appears farther from the manner wherein he tells Peter, ver. 18, that he will build his church upon that confession of his, that he was the Messiah: I say unto thee, “Thou art Cephas,” or a rock, “and upon this rock I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.” Words too doubtful to be laid hold on against him, as a testimony that he professed himself to be the Messiah; especially if we join with them the following words, ver. 19, “And I will give thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and what thou shalt bind on earth, shall be bound in heaven; and what thou shalt loose on earth, shall be loosed in heaven.” Which being said personally to Peter, render the foregoing words of our Saviour (wherein he declares the fundamental article of his church to be the believing him to be the Messiah) the more obscure and doubtful, and less liable to be made use of against him; but yet such as might afterwards be understood. And for the same reason, he yet, here again, forbids the apostles to say that he was the Messiah, ver. 20.

From this time (say the evangelists) “Jesus began to show to his disciples,” i. e. his apostles, (who are often called disciples,) “that he must go to Jerusalem, and suffer many things from the elders, chief priests, and scribes; and be killed, and be raised again the third day,” Matt. xvi. 21. These, though all marks of the Messiah, yet how little understood by the apostles, or suited to their expectation of the Messiah, appears from Peter’s rebuking him for it in the following words, Matt. xvi. 22. Peter had twice before owned him to be the Messiah, and yet he cannot here bear that he should suffer, and be put to death, and be raised again. Whereby we may perceive, how little yet Jesus had explained to the apostles what personally concerned himself. They had been a good while witnesses of his life and miracles: and thereby being grown into a belief that he was the Messiah, were, in some degree, prepared to receive the particulars that were to fill up that character, and answer the prophecies concerning him. This, from henceforth, he began to open to them (though in a way which the jews could not form an accusation out of;) the time of the accomplishment of all, in his sufferings, death, and resurrection, now drawing on. For this was in the last year of his life: he being to meet the jews at Jerusalem but once more at the passover, and then they should have their will upon him: and, therefore, he might now begin to be a little more open concerning himself: though yet so, as to keep himself out of the reach of any accusation, that might appear just or weighty to the Roman deputy.

After his reprimand to Peter, telling him, “That he savoured not the things of God, but of man,” Mark viii. 34, he calls the people to him, and prepares those, who would be his disciples, for suffering, telling them, ver. 38, “Whosoever shall be ashamed of me and my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of him also shall the Son of man be ashamed, when he cometh in the glory of his Father, with the holy angels:” and then subjoins, Matt. xvi. 27, 28, two great and solemn acts, wherein he would show himself to be the Messiah, the king: “For the Son of man shall come in the glory of his Father, with his angels; and then he shall render to every man according to his works.” This is evidently meant of the glorious appearance of his kingdom, when he shall come to judge the world at the last day; described more at large, Matt. xxv. “When the Son of man shall come in his glory, and all the holy angels with him, then shall he sit upon the throne of his glory. Then shall the King say to them on his right hand,” &c.

But what follows in the place above quoted, Matt. xvi. 28, “Verily, verily, there be some standing here, who shall not taste of death, till they see the Son of man coming in his kingdom;” importing that dominion, which some there should see him exercise over the nation of the jews; was so covered, by being annexed to the preaching, ver. 27, (where he spoke of the manifestation and glory of his kingdom, at the day of judgment,) that though his plain meaning here in ver. 28, be, that the appearance and visible exercise of his kingly power in his kingdom was so near, that some there should live to see it; yet if the foregoing words had not cast a shadow over these latter, but they had been left plainly to be understood, as they plainly signified; that he should be a King, and that it was so near, that some there should see him in his kingdom; this might have been laid hold on, and made the matter of a plausible and seemingly just accusation against him, by the jews before Pilate. This seems to be the reason of our Saviour’s inverting here the order of the two solemn manifestations to the world, of his rule and power; thereby perplexing at present his meaning, and securing himself, as was necessary, from the malice of the jews, which always lay at catch to entrap him, and accuse him to the Roman governor; and would, no doubt, have been ready to have alleged these words, “Some here shall not taste of death, till they see the Son of man coming in his kingdom,” against him, as criminal, had not their meaning been, by the former verse, perplexed, and the sense at that time rendered unintelligible, and not applicable by any of his auditors to a sense that might have been prejudicial to him before Pontius Pilate. For how well the chief of the jews were disposed towards him, St. Luke tells us, chap. xi. 54, “Laying wait for him, and seeking to catch something out of his mouth, that they might accuse him;” which may be a reason to satisfy us of the seemingly doubtful and obscure way of speaking, used by our Saviour in other places; his circumstances being such, that without such a prudent carriage and reservedness, he could not have gone through the work which he came to do; nor have performed all the parts of it, in a way correspondent to the descriptions given of the Messiah; and which would be afterwards fully understood to belong to him, when he had left the world.

After this, Matt. xvii. 10, &c. he, without saying it in direct words, begins, as it were, to own himself to his apostles to be the Messiah, by assuring them, that as the scribes, according to the prophecy of Malachi, chap. iv. 5, rightly said, that Elias was to usher in the Messiah; so indeed Elias was already come, though the jews knew him not, and treated him ill; whereby “they understood that he spoke to them of John the Baptist,” ver. 13. And a little after he somewhat more plainly intimates, that he is the Messiah, Mark ix. 41, in these words: “Whosoever shall give you a cup of water to drink in my name, because ye belong to the Messiah.” This, as I remember, is the first place where our Saviour ever mentioned the name of Messiah; and the first time that he went so far towards the owning, to any of the jewish nation, himself to be him.

In his way to Jerusalem, bidding one follow him, Luke ix. 59, who would first bury his father, ver. 60, “Jesus said unto him, Let the dead bury their dead; but go thou and preach the kingdom of God.” And Luke x. 1, sending out the seventy disciples, he says to them, ver. 9, “Heal the sick, and say, The kingdom of God is come nigh unto you.” He had nothing else for these, or for his apostles, or any one, it seems, to preach, but the good news of the coming of the kingdom of the Messiah. And if any city would not receive them, he bids them, ver. 10, “Go into the streets of the same, and say, Even the very dust of your city, which cleaveth on us, do we wipe off against you; notwithstanding, be ye sure of this, that the kingdom of God is come nigh unto you.” This they were to take notice of, as that which they should dearly answer for, viz. that they had not with faith received the good tidings of the kingdom of the Messiah.

After this, his brethren say unto him, John vii. 2, 3, 4, (the feast of tabernacles being near,) “Depart hence, and go into Judea, that thy disciples also may see the works that thou doest: for there is no man that does any thing in secret, and he himself seeketh to be known openly. If thou do these things, show thyself to the world.” Here his brethren, which, the next verse tells us, “did not believe in him,” seem to upbraid him with the inconsistency of his carriage; as if he designed to be received for the Messiah, and yet was afraid to show himself: to whom he justified his conduct (mentioned ver. 1.) in the following verses, by telling them, “That the world” (meaning the jews especially) “hated him, because he testified of it, that the works thereof are evil; and that his timew as not yet fully come,” wherein to quit his reserve, and abandon himself freely to their malice and fury. Therefore, though he “went up unto the feast,” it was “not openly, but, as it were, in secret,” ver. 10. And here, coming into the temple about the middle of the feast, he justifies his being sent from God; and that he had not done any thing against the law, in curing the man at the pool of Bethesda, John v. 1 — 16, on the sabbath-day; which, though done above a year and a half before, they made use of as a pretence to destroy him. But what was the true reason of seeking his life, appears from what we have in this viith chapter, ver. 25 — 34, “Then said some of them at Jerusalem, Is not this he whom they seek to kill? But lo, he speaketh boldly, and they say nothing unto him. Do the rulers know indeed, that this is the very Messiah? Howbeit, we know this man whence he is; but when the Messiah cometh, no man knoweth whence he is. Then cried Jesus in the temple, as he taught, Ye both know me and ye know whence I am: and I am not come of myself, but he that sent me is true, whom ye know not. But I know him; for I am from him, and he hath sent me. Then they sought [an occasion] to take him, but no man laid hands on him, because his hour was not yet come. And many of the people believed on him, and said, When the Messiah cometh, will he do more miracles than these, which this man hath done? The pharisees heard that the people murmured such things concerning him; and the pharisees and chief priests sent officers to take him. Then said Jesus unto them, Yet a little while am I with you, and then I go to him that sent me: ye shall seek me, and not find me; and where I am, there you cannot come. Then said the jews among themselves, Whither will he go, that we shall not find him?” Here we find that the great fault in our Saviour, and the great provocation to the jews, was his being taken for the Messiah; and doing such things as made the people “believe in him;” i. e. believe that he was the Messiah. Here also our Saviour declares, in words very easy to be understood, at least after his resurrection, that he was the Messiah: for, if he were “sent from God,” and did his miracles by the Spirit of God, there could be no doubt but he was the Messiah. But yet this declaration was in a way that the pharisees and priests could not lay hold on, to make an accusation of, to the disturbance of his ministry, or the seizure of his person, how much soever they desired it: for his time was not yet come. The officers they had sent to apprehend him, charmed with his discourse, returned without laying hands on him, ver. 45, 46. And when the chief priests asked them, “Why they brought him not?” They answered, “Never man spake like this man.” Whereupon the pharisees reply, “Are ye also deceived? Have any of the rulers, or of the pharisees, believed on him? But this people, who know not the law, are cursed.” This shows what was meant “by believing on him,” viz. believing that he was the Messiah. For, say they, have any of the rulers, who are skilled in the law, or of the devout and learned pharisees, acknowledged him to be the Messiah? For as for those who in the division among the people concerning him, say, “That he is the Messiah,” they are ignorant and vile wretches, know nothing of the scripture, and being accursed, are given up by God, to be deceived by this impostor, and to take him for the Messiah. Therefore, notwithstanding their desire to lay hold on him, he goes on; and ver. 37, 38, “In the last and great day of the feast, Jesus stood and cried, saying, If any man thirst, let him come unto me and drink: he that believeth on me, as the scripture hath said, out of his belly shall flow rivers of living water.” And thus he here again declares himself to be the Messiah; but in the prophetic style, as we may see by the next verse of this chapter, and those places in the Old Testament, that these words of our Saviour refer to.

In the next chapter, John viii. all that he says concerning himself, and what they were to believe, tends to this, viz. that he was sent from God his Father; and that, if they did not believe that he was the Messiah, they should die in their sins: but this, in a way, as St. John observes, ver. 27, that they did not well understand. But our Saviour himself tells them, ver. 28, “When ye have lift up the Son of man, then ye shall know that I am he.”

Going from them, he cures the man born blind, whom meeting with again, after the jews had questioned him, and cast him out, John ix. 35 — 38, “Jesus said to him, Dost thou believe on the Son of God? He answered, Who is he, Lord, that I might believe on him? And Jesus said unto him, Thou hast both seen him, and it is he that talketh with thee. And he said, Lord, I believe.” Here we see this man is pronounced a believer, when all that was proposed to him to believe, was, that Jesus was “the Son of God,” which was, as we have already shown, to believe that he was the Messiah.

In the next chapter, John x. 1 — 21, he declares the laying down of his life both for jews and gentiles; but in a parable which they understood not, ver. 6 — 20.

As he was going to the feast of the dedication, the pharisees ask him, Luke xvii. 20, “When the kingdom of God,” i. e. of the Messiah, “should come?” He answers, That it should not come with pomp and observation, and great concourse; but that it was already begun amongst them. If he had stopt here, the sense had been so plain, that they could hardly have mistaken him; or have doubted, but that he meant, that the Messiah was already come, and amongst them; and so might have been prone to infer, that Jesus took upon him to be him. But here, as in the place before taken notice of, subjoining to this future revelation of himself, both in his coming to execute vengeance on the jews, and in his coming to judgment, mixed together, he so involved his sense, that it was not easy to understand him. And therefore the jews came to him again in the temple, John x. 23, and said, “How long dost thou make us doubt? If thou be the Christ tell us plainly. Jesus answered, I told you, and ye believed not: the works that I do in my Father’s name, they bear witness of me. But ye believed not, because ye are not of my sheep, as I told you.” The believing here, which he accuses them of not doing, is plainly their not believing him to be the Messiah, as the foregoing words evince; and in the same sense it is evidently meant in the following verses of this chapter.

From hence Jesus going to Bethabara, and thence returning into Bethany; upon Lazarus’s death, John xi. 25 — 27, Jesus said to Martha, “I am the resurrection and the life; he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live; and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall not die for ever.” So I understand ἀποθάνη εἰς τὸν αἰῶνα, answerable to ζήσεται εἰς τὸν αἰῶνα, of the septuagint, Gen. iii. 22, or John vi. 51, which we read right, in our English translation, “live for ever.” But whether this saying of our Saviour here, can with truth be translated, “He that liveth and believeth in me shall never die,” will be apt to be questioned. But to go on, “Believest thou this? She said unto him, Yea, Lord, I believe that thou art the Messiah, the Son of God, which should come into the world.” This she gives as a full answer to our Saviour’s demands; this being that faith, which, whoever had, wanted no more to make them believers.

We may observe farther, in this same story of the raising of Lazarus, what faith it was our Saviour expected, by what he says, ver. 41, 42, “Father, I thank thee, that thou hast heard me; and I know that thou hearest me always. But because of the people who stand by, I said it, that they may believe that thou hast sent me.” And what the consequence of it was, we may see, ver. 45, “Then many of the jews who came to Mary, and had seen the things which Jesus did, believed on him;” which belief was, that he was “sent from the Father;” which, in other words, was, that he was the Messiah. That this is the meaning, in the evangelists, of the phrase, of “believing on him,” we have a demonstration in the following words, ver. 47, 48, “Then gathered the chief priests and pharisees a council, and said, What do we? For this man does many miracles; and if we let him alone, all men will believe on him.” Those who here say, all men would believe on him, were the chief priests and pharisees, his enemies, who sought his life, and therefore could have no other sense nor thought of this faith in him, which they spake of; but only the believing him to be the Messiah: and that that was their meaning, the adjoining words show: “If we let him alone, all the world will believe on him;” i. e. believe him to be the Messiah. “And the Romans will come and take away both our place and nation.” Which reasoning of theirs was thus grounded: If we stand still, and let the people “believe on him,” i. e. receive him for the Messiah: they will thereby take him and set him up for their king, and expect deliverance by him; which will draw the Roman arms upon us, to the destruction of us and our country. The Romans could not be thought to be at all concerned in any other belief whatsoever, that the people might have on him. It is therefore plain, that “believing on him,” was, by the writers of the gospel, understood to mean the “believing him to be the Messiah.” The sanhedrim therefore, ver. 53, 54, from that day forth consulted to put him to death. “Jesus therefore walked not yet” (for so the word ἔτι signifies, and so I think it ought here to be translated) “boldly,” or open-faced, “among the jews,” i. e. of Jerusalem.” Ἔτι cannot wellhere be translated “no more,” because, within a very short time after, he appeared openly at the passover, and by his miracles and speech declared himself more freely than ever he had done; and all the week before his passion, taught daily in the temple, Matt. xx. 17. Mark. x. 32. Luke xviii. 31, &c. The meaning of this place seems therefore to be this: that his time being not yet come, he durst not yet show himself openly and confidently before the scribes and pharisees, and those of the sanhedrim at Jerusalem, who were full of malice against him, and had resolved his death: “But went thence into a country near the wilderness, into a city called Ephraim, and there continued with his disciples,” to keep himself out of the way until the passover, “which was nigh at hand,” ver. 55. In his return thither, he takes the twelve aside, and tells them before-hand what should happen to him at Jerusalem, whither they were now going; and that all things that are written by the prophets, concerning the Son of man, should be accomplished; that he should be betrayed to the chief priests and scribes: and that they should condemn him to death and deliver him to the gentiles; that he should be mocked, and spit on, and scourged and put to death; and the third day he should rise again. But St. Luke tells us, chap. xviii. 34, That the apostles “understood none of these things, and this saying was hid from them; neither knew they the things which were spoken.” They believed him to be the Son of God, the Messiah sent from the Father; but their notion of the Messiah was the same with the rest of the jews, that he should be a temporal prince and deliverer: accordingly we see, Mark x. 35, that, even in this their last journey with him to Jerusalem, two of them, James and John, coming to him, and falling at his feet, said, “Grant unto us that we may sit one on thy right hand, and the other on thy left hand, in thy glory:” or, as St. Matthew has it, chap. xx. 21, “in thy kingdom.” That which distinguished them from the unbelieving jews, was, that they believed Jesus to be the very Messiah, and so received him as their King and Lord.

And now, the hour being come that the Son of man should be glorified, he, without his usual reserve, makes his public entry into Jerusalem, riding on a young ass! “As it is written, Fear not, daughter of Sion; behold, thy King cometh, sitting on an ass’s colt.” But “these things,” says St. John, chap. xii. 16, “his disciples understood not, at the first; but when Jesus was glorified, then remembered they that these things were written of him, and that they had done these things unto him.” Though the apostles believed him to be the Messiah, yet there were many occurrences of his life, which they understood not (at the time when they happened) to be foretold of the Messiah; which, after his ascension, they found exactly to quadrate. Thus according to what was foretold of him, he rode into the city, “all the people crying, Hosanna, blessed is the King of Israel, that cometh in the name of the Lord.” This was so open a declaration of his being the Messiah, that, Luke xix. 39, “Some of the pharisees from among the multitude said unto him, Master, rebuke thy disciples.” But he was so far now from stopping them, or disowning this their acknowledgment of his being the Messiah, that he said unto them, “I tell you, that if these should hold their peace, the stones would immediately cry out.” And again upon the like occasion of their crying, “Hosanna to the Son of David,” in the temple, Matt. xxi. 15, 16, “When the chief priests and scribes were sore displeased, and said unto him, Hearest thou what they say? Jesus said unto them, Yea; have ye never read, Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings thou hast perfected praise?” And now, ver. 14, 15, “He cures the blind and the lame openly in the temple. And when the chief priests and scribes saw the wonderful things that he did, and the children crying in the temple, Hosanna, they were enraged.” One would not think, that after the multitude of miracles that our Saviour had now been doing for above three years together, the curing the lame and blind should so much move them. But we must remember, that though his ministry had abounded with miracles, yet the most of them had been done about Galilee, and in parts remote from Jerusalem. There is but one left on record, hitherto done in that city; and that had so ill a reception, that they sought his life for it: as we may read John v. 16. And therefore we hear not of his being at the next passover, because he was there only privately, as an ordinary jew: the reason whereof we may read, John vii. 1, “After these things Jesus walked in Galilee; for he would not walk in Jewry, because the jews sought to kill him.”

Hence we may guess the reason why St. John omitted the mention of his being at Jerusalem, at the third passover, after his baptism; probably because he did nothing memorable there. Indeed when he was at the feast of tabernacles, immediately preceding this his last passover, he cured the man born blind: but it appears not to have been done in Jerusalem itself, but in the way, as he retired to the mount of Olives; for there seems to have been nobody by when he did it, but his apostles. Compare ver. 2. with ver. 8, 10, of John ix. This, at least, is remarkable, that neither the cure of this blind man, nor that of the other infirm man, at the passover, above a twelve-month before, at Jerusalem, was done in the sight of the scribes, pharisees, chief priests, or rulers. Nor was it without reason, that in the former part of his ministry, he was cautious of showing himself to them to be the Messiah. But now, that he was come to the last scene of his life, and that the passover was come, the appointed time, wherein he was to complete the work he came for, in his death and resurrection, he does many things in Jerusalem itself before the face of the scribes, pharisees, and whole body of the jewish nation, to manifest himself to be the Messiah. And, as St. Luke says, chap. xix. 47, 48, “he taught daily in the temple: but the chief priests, and the scribes, and the chief of the people, sought to destroy him; and could not find what they might do; for all the people were very attentive to hear him.” What he taught we are left to guess, by what we have found him constantly preaching elsewhere: but St. Luke tells us, chap. xx. 1, “He taught in the temple, and evangelized;” or, as we translate it, “preached the gospel;” which, as we have showed, was the making known to them the good news of the kingdom of the Messiah. And this we shall find he did, in what now remains of his history.

In the first discourse of his, which we find upon record, after this, John xii. 20, &c. he foretels his crucifixion, and the belief of all sorts, both jews and gentiles, on him after that. Whereupon the people say to him, ver. 34, “We have heard out of the law, that the Messiah abideth for ever: and how sayest thou, that the Son of man must be lifted up? Who is this Son of man?” In his answer, he plainly designs himself under the name of Light; which was what he had declared himself to them to be, the last time that they had seen him in Jerusalem. For then at the feast of tabernacles, but six months before, he tells them in the very place where he now is, viz. in the temple, “I am the Light of the world; whosoever follows me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life;” as we may read, John viii. 12. And ix. 5, he says, “As long as I am in the world, I am the Light of the world.” But neither here, nor any-where else, does he, even in these four or five last days of his life, (though he knew his hour was come, and was prepared to his death, ver. 27, and scrupled not to manifest himself to the rulers of the jews to be the Messiah, by doing miracles before them in the temple,) ever once in direct words own himself to the jews to be the Messiah; though by miracles and other ways he did every-where make it known unto them, so that it might be understood. This could not be without some reason; and the preservation of his life, which he came now to Jerusalem on purpose to lay down, could not be it. What other could it then be, but the same which had made him use caution in the former part of his ministry; so to conduct himself, that he might do the work which he came for, and in all parts answer the character given of the Messiah, in the law and the prophets? He had fulfilled the time of his ministry; and now taught and did miracles openly in the temple, before the rulers and the people, not fearing to be seized. But he would not be seized for any thing that might make him a criminal to the government: and therefore he avoided giving those, who, in the division that was about him, inclined towards him, occasion of tumult for his sake: or to the jews, his enemies, matter of just accusation, against him, out of his own mouth, by professing himself to be the Messiah, the King of Israel, in direct words. It was enough that by words and deeds he declared it so to them, that they could not but understand him; which it is plain they did, Luke xx. 16, 19. Matt. xxi. 45. But yet neither his actions, which were only doing of good; nor words, which were mystical and parabolical (as we may see, Matt. xxi. and xxii, and the parallel places of Matthew and Luke;) nor any of his ways of making himself known to be the Messiah; could be brought in testimony, or urged against him, as opposite or dangerous to the government. This preserved him from being condemned as a malefactor; and procured him a testimony from the Roman governor, his judge, that he was an innocent man, sacrificed to the envy of the jewish nation. So that he avoided saying that he was the Messiah, that to those who would call to mind his life and death, after his resurrection, he might the more clearly appear to be so. It is farther to be remarked, that though he often appeals to the testimony of his miracles, who he is, yet he never tells the jews, that he was born at Bethlehem, to remove the prejudice that lay against him, whilst he passed for a Galilean, and which was urged as a proof that he was not the Messiah, John vii. 41, 42. The healing of the sick, and doing good miraculously, could be no crime in him, nor accusation against him. But the naming of Bethlehem for his birth-place might have wrought as much upon the mind of Pilate, as it did on Herod’s; and have raised a suspicion in Pilate, as prejudicial to our Saviour’s innocence as Herod was to the children born there. His pretending to be born at Bethlehem, as it was liable to be explained by the jews could not have failed to have met with a sinister interpretation in the Roman governor, and have rendered Jesus suspected of some criminal design against the government. And hence we see, that when Pilate asked him, John xix. 9, “Whence art thou? Jesus gave him no answer.”

Whether our Saviour had not an eye to this straitness, this narrow room that was left to his conduct, between the new converts and the captious jews, when he says, Luke xii. 50, “I have a baptism to be baptized with, and πῶς συνέχομαι, how am I straitened until it be accomplished!” I leave to be considered. “I am come to send fire on the earth,” says our Saviour, “and what if it be already kindled?” i. e. There begin already to be divisions about me, John vii. 12, 43, and ix. 16, and x. 19. And I have not the freedom, the latitude, to declare myself openly to be the Messiah; though I am he, that must not be spoken on, until after my death. My way to my throne is closely hedged in on every side, and much straitened; within which I must keep, until it bring me to my cross in its due time and manner; so that it do not cut short the time, nor cross the end of my ministry.

And therefore, to keep up this inoffensive character, and not to let it come within the reach of accident or calumny, he withdrew, with his apostles, out of the town, every evening; and kept himself retired out of the way, Luke xxi. 37. “And in the day-time he was teaching in the temple, and every night he went out and abode in the mount, that is called the Mount of Olives,” that he might avoid all concourse to him in the night, and give no occasion of disturbance, or suspicion of himself, in that great conflux of the whole nation of the jews, now assembled in Jerusalem at the passover.

But to return to his preaching in the temple: he bids them, John xii. 36, “To believe in the Light, whilst they have it.” And he tells them, ver. 46, “I am the Light come into the world, that every one who believes in me, should not remain in darkness;” which believing in him, was the believing him to be the Messiah, as I have elsewhere showed.

The next day, Matt. xxi. he rebukes them for not having believed John the Baptist, who had testified that he was the Messiah. And then, in a parable, declares himself to be the “Son of God,” whom they should destory; and that for it God would take away the kingdom of the Messiah from them, and give it to the gentiles. That they understood him thus, is plain from Luke xxi. 16, “And when they heard it, they said, God forbid.” And ver. 19, “For they knew that he had spoken this parable against them.”

Much to the same purpose was his next parable, concerning “the kingdom of heaven,” Matt. xxi. 1 — 10. That the jews not accepting of the kingdom of the Messiah, to whom it was first offered, other should be brought in.

The scribes and pharisees and chief priests, not able to bear the declaration he made of himself to be the Messiah (by his discourses and miracles before them, ἔμπροσθεν αὐτῶν, John xii. 37, which he had never done before) impatient of his preaching and miracles, and being not able otherwise to stop the increase of his followers, (for, “said the pharisees among themselves, Perceive ye how ye prevail nothing? Behold, the world is gone after him,”) John xii. 19. So that “the chief priests, and the scribes, and the chief of the people sought to destroy him,” the first day of his entrance into Jerusalem, Luke xix. 47. The next day again, they were intent upon the same thing, Mark xi. 17, 18, “And he taught in the temple; and the scribes and the chief priests heard it, and sought how they might destroy him; for they feared him, because all the people were astonished at his doctrine.”

The next day but one, upon his telling them the kingdom of the Messiah should be taken from them, “The chief priests and scribes sought to lay hands on him the same hour, and they feared the people,” Luke xx. 19. If they had so great a desire to lay hold on him, why did they not? They were the chief priests and the rulers, the men of power. The reason St. Luke plainly tells us in the next verse: “And they watched him, and sent forth spies, who should feign themselves just men, that they might take hold of his words, that so they might deliver him unto the power and authority of the governor.” They wanted matter of accusation against him, to the power they were under; that they watched for, and that they would have been glad of, if they could have “entangled him in his talk;” as St. Matthew expresses it, chap. xxii. 15. If they could have laid hold on any word, that had dropt from him, that they might have rendered him guilty, or suspected to the Roman governor; that would have served their turn, to have laid hold upon him, with hopes to destroy him. For their power not answering their malice, they could not put him to death by their own authority, without the permission and assistance of the governor; as they confess, John xviii. 31, “It is not lawful for us to put any man to death.” This made them so earnest for a declaration in direct words, from his own mouth, that he was the Messiah. It was not that they would more have believed in him, for such a declaration of himself, than they did for his miracles, or other ways of making himself known, which it appears they understood well enough. But they wanted plain direct words, such as might support an accusation, and be of weight before an heathen judge. This was the reason why they pressed him to speak out, John x. 24, “Then came the jews round about him, and said unto him, How long dost thou hold us in suspense? If thou be the Messiah, tell us plainly, παῤῥησίᾳ;” i. e. in direct words: for that St. John uses it in that sense we may see, chap. xi. 11 — 14, “Jesus saith to them, Lazarus sleepeth. His disciples said, If he sleeps, he shall do well. Howbeit, Jesus spake of his death; but they thought he had spoken of taking rest in sleep. Then said Jesus to them plainly, παῤῥησίᾳ, Lazarus is dead.” Here we see what is meant by παῤῥησίᾳ, plain, direct words, such as express the same thing without a figure; and so they would have had Jesus pronounce himself to be the Messiah. And the same thing they press again, Matt. xxvi. 63, the high priest adjuring him by the living God, to tell them whether he were the Messiah the Son of God; as we shall have occasion to take notice by-and-by.

This we may observe in the whole management of their design against his life. It turned upon this, that they wanted and wished for a declaration from him in direct words, that he was the Messiah; something from his own mouth that might offend the Roman power, and render him criminal to Pilate. In the 21st verse of this xxth of Luke, “They asked him, saying, Master, we know that thou sayest and teachest rightly; neither acceptest thou the person of any, but teachest the way of God truly. Is it lawful for us to give tribute to Cæsar, or no?” By this captious question they hoped to catch him, which way soever he answered. For if he had said they ought to pay tribute to Cæsar, it would be plain he allowed their subjection to the Romans; and so in effect disowned himself to be their King and Deliverer; whereby he would have contradicted what his carriage and doctrine seemed to aim at, the opinion that was spread amongst the people, that he was the Messiah. This would have quashed the hopes, and destroyed the faith of those that believed on him; and have turned the ears and hearts of the people from him. If on the other side he answered, No, it is not lawful to pay tribute to Cæsar, they had out of his own mouth wherewithal to condemn him before Pontius Pilate. But St. Luke tells us, ver. 23, “He perceived their craftiness, and said unto them, Why tempt ye me?” i. e. Why do ye lay snares for me? “Ye hypocrites, show me the tribute money;” so it is, Matt. xxii. 19, “Whose image and inscription has it? They said Cæsar’s.” He said unto them, “Render therefore to Cæsar the things that are Cæsar’s, and to God the things that are God’s.” By the wisdom and caution of which unexpected answer, he defeated their whole design: “and they could not take hold of his words before the people; and they marvelled at his answer, and held their peace.” Luke xx. 26. “And leaving him, they departed.” Matt. xxii. 22.

He having, by this reply (and what he answered to the sadducees, concerning the resurrection, and to the lawyer about the first commandment, Mark xii.) answered so little to their satisfaction or advantage, they durst ask him no more questions, any of them. And now, their mouths being stopped, he himself begins to question them about the Messiah; asking the pharisees, Matt. xxii. 41, “What think ye of the Messiah? whose son is he? They say unto him, the Son of David.” Wherein though they answered right, yet he shows them in the following words, that, however they pretended to be studiers and teachers of the law, yet they understood not clearly the scriptures concerning the Messiah; and thereupon he sharply rebukes their hypocrisy, vanity, pride, malice, covetousness, and ignorance; and particularly tells them, ver. 13, “Ye shut up the kingdom of heaven against men: for ye neither go in yourselves, nor suffer ye them that are entering, to go in.” Whereby he plainly declares to them, that the Messiah was come, and his kingdom begun; but that they refused to believe in him themselves, and did all they could to hinder others from believing in him; as is manifest throughout the New Testament; the history whereof sufficiently explains what is meant here by “the kingdom of heaven,” which the scribes and pharisees would neither go into themselves, nor suffer others to enter into. And they could not choose but understand him, though he named not himself in the case.

Provoked anew by his rebukes, they get presently to council, Matt. xxvi. 3, 4. “Then assembled together the chief priests, and the scribes and the elders of the people, unto the palace of the high priest, who was called Caiaphas, and consulted that they might take Jesus by subtlety, and kill him. But they said, Not on the feast-day, lest there should be an uproar among the people. For they feared the people,” says Luke, chap. xxii. 2.

Having in the night got Jesus into their hands, by the treachery of Judas, they presently led him away bound to Annas, the father-in-law of Caiaphas. Annas, probably, having examined him, and getting nothing out of him for his purpose, sends him away to Caiaphas, John xviii. 24, where the chief priests, the scribes, and the elders were assembled, Matt. xxvi. 57. John xviii. 13, 19. “The high priest then asked Jesus of his disciples, and of his doctrine. Jesus answered him, I spake openly to the world: I ever taught in the synagogue, and in the temple, whither the jews always resort, and in secret have I said nothing.” A proof that he had not in private, to his disciples, declared himself in express words to be the Messiah, the Prince. But he goes on: “Why askest thou me?” Ask Judas, who has been always with me. “Ask them who heard me, what I have said unto them; behold, they know what I said.” Our Saviour, we see here, warily declines, for the reasons above-mentioned, all discourse of his doctrine. The sanhedrim, Matt. xxvi. 59, “sought false witness against him:” but when “they found none that were sufficient,” or came up to the point they desired, which was to have something against him to take away his life (for so I think the words ἶσαι and ἴση mean, Mark xiv. 56, 59.) they try again what they can get out of him himself, concerning his being the Messiah; which, if he owned in express words, they thought they should have enough against him at the tribunal of the Roman governor, to make him “læsæ majestatis reum,” and to take away his life. They therefore say to him, Luke xxii. 67, “If thou be the Messiah, tell us.” Nay, as St. Matthew hath it, the high priest adjures him by the living God, to tell him whether he were the Messiah. To which our Saviour replies, “If I tell you, ye will not believe; and if I also ask you, ye will not answer me, nor let me go.” If I tell you, and prove to you, by the testimony given me from heaven, and by the works that I have done among you, you will not believe in me, that I am the Messiah. Or if I should ask where the Messiah is to be born, and what state he should come in; how he should appear, and other things that you think in me are not reconcileable with the Messiah; you will not answer me, nor let me go, as one that has no pretence to be the Messiah, and you are not afraid should be received for such. But yet I tell you, “Hereafter shall the Son of man sit on the right hand of the power of God,” ver. 70. “Then say they all, Art thou then the Son of God? And he said unto them, Ye say that I am.” By which discourse with them, related at large here by St. Luke, it is plain, that the answer of our Saviour, set down by St. Matthew, chap. xxvi. 64, in these words, “Thou hast said;” and by St. Mark, chap. xiv. 62, in these, “I am;” is in answer only to this question, “Art thou then the Son of God?” and not to that other, “Art thou the Messiah?” which preceded, and he had answered to before; though Matthew and Mark, contracting the story, set them down together, as if making but one question, omitting all the intervening discourse; whereas it is plain out of St. Luke, that they were two distinct questions, to which Jesus gave two distinct answers. In the first whereof he, according to his usual caution, declined saying in plain express words, that he was the Messiah; though in the latter he owned himself to be “the Son of God.” Which though they, being jews, understood to signify the Messiah, yet he knew could be no legal or weighty accusation against him before a heathen; and so it proved. For upon his answering to their question, “Art thou then the Son of God? Ye say that I am;” they cry out, Luke xxii. 71, “What need we any further witness? For we ourselves have heard out of his own mouth.” And so thinking they had enough against him, they hurry him away to Pilate. Pilate asking them, John xviii. 29 — 32, “What accusation bring you against this man? They answered and said, If he were not a malefactor we would not have delivered him up unto thee.” Then said Pilate unto them, “Take ye him, and judge him according to your law.” But this would not serve their turn, who aimed at his life, and would be satisfied with nothing else. “The jews therefore said unto him, It is not lawful for us to put any man to death.” And this was also, “That the saying of Jesus might be fulfilled, which he spake, signifying what death he should die.” Pursuing therefore their design of making him appear, to Pontius Pilate, guilty of treason against Cæsar, Luke xxiii. 2, “They began to accuse him, saying, We found this fellow perverting the nation, and forbidding to give tribute to Cæsar; saying, that he himself is the Messiah, the King;” all which were inferences of theirs, from his saying, he was “the Son of God:” which Pontius Pilate finding (for it is consonant that he examined them to the precise words he had said), their accusation had no weight with him. However, the name of king being suggested against Jesus, he thought himself concerned to search it to the bottom, John xviii. 33 — 37. “Then Pilate entered again into the judgment-hall, and called Jesus, and said unto him, Art thou the king of the jews? Jesus answered him, Sayest thou this of thyself, or did others tell it thee of me? Pilate answered, Am I a jew? Thine own nation and the chief priests have delivered thee unto me: what hast thou done? Jesus answered, My kingdom is not of this world: if my kingdom were of this world, then would my servants fight, that I should not be delivered to the jews; but now my kingdom is not from hence. Pilate therefore said unto him, Art thou a king then? Jesus answered, Thou sayest that I am a king. For this end was I born, and for this cause came I into the world, that I should bear witness to the truth: every one that is of the truth heareth my voice.” In this dialogue between our Saviour and Pilate, we may observe, 1. That being asked, Whether he were “The king of the jews?” he answered so, that though he deny it not, yet he avoids giving the least umbrage, that he had any design upon the government. For, though he allows himself to be a king, yet, to obviate any suspicion, he tells Pilate, “his kingdom is not of this world;” and evidences it by this, that if he had pretended to any title to that country, his followers, which were not a few, and were forward enough to believe him their king, would have fought for him, if he had had a mind to set himself up by force, or his kingdom were so to be erected. “But my kingdom,” says he, “is not from hence,” is not of this fashion, or of this place.

2. Pilate being, by his words and circumstances, satisfied that he laid no claim to his province, or meant any disturbance of the government; was yet a little surprised to hear a man in that poor garb, without retinue, or so much as a servant, or a friend, own himself to be a king; and therefore asks him, with some kind of wonder, “Art thou a king then?”

That our Saviour declares, that his great business into the world was, to testify and make good this great truth, that he was a king; i. e. in other words, that he was the Messiah.

That whoever were followers of truth, and got into the way of truth and happiness, received this doctrine concerning him, viz. That he was the Messiah, their King.

Pilate being thus satisfied that he neither meant, nor could there arise, any harm from his pretence, whatever it was, to be a king; tells the jews, ver. 31, “I find no fault in this man.” But the jews were the more fierce, Luke xxiii. 5. saying, “He stirreth up the people to sedition, by his preaching through all Jewry, beginning from Galilee to this place.” And then Pilate, learning that he was of Galilee, Herod’s jurisdiction, sent him to Herod; to whom also “the chief priests and scribes,” ver. 10, “vehemently accused him.” Herod, finding all their accusations either false or frivolous, thought our Saviour a bare object of contempt; and so turning him only into ridicule, sent him back to Pilate: who, calling unto him the chief priests, and the rulers, and the people, ver. 14, “Said unto them, Ye have brought this man unto me, as one that perverteth the people; and behold, I having examined him before you, have found no fault in this man, touching these things whereof ye accuse him; no, nor yet Herod; for I sent you to him: and lo, nothing worthy of death is done by him.” And therefore he would have released him: “For he knew the chief priests had delivered him through envy,” Mark xv. 10. And when they demanded Barabbas to be released, but as for Jesus, cried, “Crucify him;” Luke xxiii. 22; “Pilate said unto them the third time, Why? What evil hath he done? I have found no cause of death in him; I will, therefore, chastise him, and let him go.

We may observe, in all this whole prosecution of the jews, that they would fain have got it out of Jesus’s own mouth, in express words, that he was the Messiah: which not being able to do, with all their heart and endeavour; all the rest that they could allege against him not amounting to a proof before Pilate, that he claimed to be king of the jews; or that he had caused, or done any thing towards a mutiny or insurrection among the people (for upon these two, as we see, their whole charge turned); Pilate again and again pronounced him innocent: for so he did a fourth, and a fifth time; bringing him out to them, after he had whipped him, John xix. 4, 6. And after all, “when Pilate saw that he could prevail nothing, but that rather a tumult was made, he took water, and washed his hands before the multitude, saying, I am innocent of the blood of this just man: see you to it:” Matt. xxvii. 24. Which gives us a clear reason of the cautious and wary conduct of our Saviour, in not declaring himself, in the whole course of his ministry, so much as to his disciples, much less to the multitude, or to the rulers of the jews, in express words, to be the Messiah the King; and why he kept himself always in prophetical or parabolical terms (he and his disciples preaching only the kingdom of God, i. e. of the Messiah, to be come), and left to his miracles to declare who he was; though this was the truth, which he came into the world, as he says himself, John xviii. 37, to testify and which his disciples were to believe.

When Pilate, satisfied of his innocence, would have released him; and the jews persisted to cry out, “Crucify him, crucify him,” John xix. 6, “Pilate says to them, Take ye him yourselves, and crucify him: for I do not find any fault in him.” The jews then, since they could not make him a state criminal, by alleging his saying, that he was “the Son of God,” say, by their law it was a capital crime, ver. 7. “The jews answered to Pilate, We have a law, and by our law he ought to die; because he made himself the Son of God,” i. e. because, by saying “he is the Son of God,” he has made himself the Messiah, the prophet, which was to come. For we find no other law but that against false prophets, Deut. xviii. 20, whereby “making himself the Son of God,” deserved death. After this, Pilate was the more desirous to release him, ver. 12, 13. “But the jews cried out, saying, If thou let this man go, thou art not Cæsar’s friend; whosoever maketh himself a king, speaketh against Cæsar.” Here we see the stress of their charge against Jesus; whereby they hoped to take away his life, viz. that he “made himself king.” We see also upon what they grounded this accusation, viz. because he had owned himself to be “the Son of God.” For he had in their hearing, never made or professed himself to be a king. We see here, likewise, the reason why they were so desirous to draw from his own mouth a confession in express words, that he was the Messiah; viz. That they might have what might be a clear proof that he did so. And, last of all, we see reason why, though in expressions which they understood, he owned himself to them to be the Messiah; yet he avoided declaring it to them in such words as might look criminal at Pilate’s tribunal. He owned himself to be the Messiah plainly, to the understanding of the jews; but in ways that could not, to the understanding of Pilate, make it appear that he had laid claim to the kingdom of Judea; or went about to make himself king of that country. But whether his saying that he was “the Son of God,” was criminal by their law, that Pilate troubled not himself about.

He that considers what Tacitus, Suetonius, Seneca de benef. l. 3. c. 26. say of Tiberius and his reign, will find how necessary it was for our Saviour, if he would not die as a criminal and a traitor, to take great heed to his words and actions; that he did or said not any thing that might be offensive, or give the least umbrage to the Roman government. It behoved an innocent man, who was taken natice of, for something extraordinary in him, to be very wary under a jealous and cruel prince, who encouraged informations, and filled his reign with executions for treason; under whom, words spoken innocently, or in jest, if they could be misconstrued, were made treason, and prosecuted with a rigour, that made it always the same thing to be accused and condemned. And therefore we see, that when the jews told Pilate, John xix. 12, that he should not be a friend to Cæsar, if he let Jesus go (for that whoever made himself king, was a rebel against Cæsar:) he asks them no more whether they would take Barabbas, and spare Jesus, but (though against his conscience) gives him up to death, to secure his own head.

One thing more there is, that gives us light into this wise and necessarily cautious management of himself, which manifestly agrees with it and makes a part of it: and that is, the choice of his apostles: exactly suited to the design and foresight of the necessity of keeping the declaration of the kingdom of the Messiah, which was now expected, within certain general terms, during his ministry. It was not fit to open himself too plainly or forwardly to the heady jews, that he himself was the Messiah; that was to be left to the observation of those who would attend to the purity of his life, the testimony of his miracles, and the conformity of all with the predictions concerning him: by these marks, those he lived amongst were to find it out, without an express promulgation that he was the Messiah until after his death. His kingdom was to be opened to them by degrees, as well to prepare them to receive it, as to enable him to be long enough amongst them, to perform what was the work of the Messiah to be done; and fulfil all those several parts of what was foretold of him in the Old Testament, and we see applied to him in the New.

The jews had no other thoughts of their Messiah, but of a mighty temporal prince, that should raise their nation into an higher degree of power, dominion, and prosperity than ever it had enjoyed. They were filled with the expectation of a glorious earthly kingdom. It was not, therefore, for a poor man, the son of a carpenter, and (as they thought) born in Galilee, to pretend to it. None of the jews, no, not his disciples, could have borne this, if he had expressly avowed this at first, and began his preaching and the opening of his kingdom this way, especially if he had added to it, that in a year or two, he should die an ignominious death upon the cross. They are therefore prepared for the truth by degrees. First, John the Baptist tells them, “The kingdom of God” (a name by which the jews called the kingdom of the Messiah) “is at hand.” Then our Saviour comes, and he tells them “of the kingdom of God;” sometimes that it is at hand, and upon some occasions, that it is come; but says, in his public preaching, little or nothing of himself. Then come the apostles and evangelists after his death, and they, in express words, teach what his birth, life, and doctrine had done before, and had prepared the well-disposed to receive, viz. That “Jesus is the Messiah.”

To this design and method of publishing the gospel, was the choice of the apostles exactly adjusted; a company of poor, ignorant, illiterate men; who, as Christ himself tells us, Matt. xi. 25, and Luke x. 21, were not of the “wise and prudent” men of the world: they were, in that respect, but mere children. These, convinced by the miracles they saw him daily do, and the unblameable life he led, might be disposed to believe him to be the Messiah: and though they, with others, expected a temporal kingdom on earth, might yet rest satisfied in the truth of their master (who had honoured them with being near his person) that it would come, without being too inquisitive after the time, manner, or seat of his kingdom, as men of letters, more studied in their rabbins, or men of business, more versed in the world, would have been forward to have been. Men, great or wise in knowledge, or ways of the world, would hardly have been kept from prying more narrowly into his design and conduct; or from questioning him about the ways and measures he would take, for ascending the throne; and what means were to be used towards it, and when they should in earnest set about it. Abler men, of higher births or thoughts, would hardly have been hindered from whispering, at least to their friends and relations, that their master was the Messiah; and that, though he concealed himself to a fit opportunity, and until things were ripe for it, yet they should, ere long, see him break out of his obscurity, cast off the cloud, and declare himself, as he was, King of Israel. But the ignorance and lowness of these good, poor men, made them of another temper. They went along, in an implicit trust on him, punctually keeping to his commands, and not exceeding his commission. When he sent them to preach the gospel, he bid them preach “the kingdom of God” to be at hand; and that they did, without being more particular than he had ordered, or mixing their own prudence with his commands, to promote the kingdom of the Messiah. They preached it, without giving, or so much as intimating that their master was he: which men of another condition, and an higher education, would scarce have forborne to have done. When he asked them, who they thought him to be; and Peter answered, “The Messiah, the Son of God,” Matt. xvi. 16, he plainly shows by the following words, that he himself had not told them so; and at the same time, ver. 20. forbids them to tell this their opinion of him to any body. How obedient they were to him in this, we may not only conclude from the silence of the evangelists concerning any such thing, published by them any-where before his death; but from the exact obedience three of them paid to a like command of his. He takes Peter, James, and John, into a mountain; and there Moses and Elias coming to him, he is transfigured before them, Matt. xvii. 9. He charges them, saying, “See that ye tell no man what ye have seen, until the Son of man shall be risen from the dead.” And St. Luke tells us, what punctual observers they were of his orders in this case, chap. ix. 36, “They kept it close, and told no man in those days, any of those things which they had seen.”

Whether twelve other men, of quicker parts, and of a station or breeding, which might have given them any opinion of themselves, or their own abilities, would have been so easily kept from meddling, beyond just what was prescribed them, in a matter they had so much interest in; and have said nothing of what they might, in human prudence, have thought would have contributed to their master’s reputation, and made way for his advancement to his kingdom; I leave to be considered. And it may suggest matter of meditation, whether St. Paul was not for this reason, by his learning, parts, and warmer temper, better fitted for an apostle after, than during our Saviour’s ministry: and therefore, though a chosen vessel, was not by the divine wisdom called, until after Christ’s resurrection.

I offer this only as a subject of magnifying the admirable contrivance of the divine wisdom, in the whole work of our redemption, as far as we are able to trace it, by the footsteps which God hath made visible to human reason. For though it be as easy to omnipotent power to do all things by an immediate over-ruling will, and so to make any instruments work, even contrary to their nature, in subserviency to his ends; yet his wisdom is not usually at the expence of miracles, (if I may so say,) but only in cases that require them, for the evidencing of some revelation or mission to be from him. He does constantly (unless where the confirmation of some truth requires it otherwise) bring about his purposes by means operating according to their natures. If it were not so, the course and evidence of things would be confounded, miracles would lose their name and force; and there could be no distinction between natural and supernatural.

There had been no room left to see and admire the wisdom, as well as innocence of our Saviour, if he had rashly every-where exposed himself to the fury of the jews, and had always been preserved by a miraculous suspension of their malice, or a miraculous rescuing him out of their hands. It was enough for him once to escape from the men of Nazareth, who were going to throw him down a precipice, for him never to preach to them again. Our Saviour had multitudes that followed him for the loaves; who barely seeing the miracles that he did, would have made him king. If to the miracles he did, he had openly added, in express words, that he was the Messiah, and the king they expected to deliver them, he would have had more followers, and warmer in the cause, and readier to set him up at the head of a tumult. These indeed God, by a miraculous influence, might have hindered from any such attempt: but then posterity could not have believed, that the nation of the jews did, at that time, expect the Messiah, their king and deliverer; or that Jesus, who declared himself to be that king and deliverer, showed any miracles amongst them, to convince them of it; or did any thing worthy to make him be credited or received. If he had gone about preaching to the multitude, which he drew after him, that he was the “Messiah, the king of Israel,” and this had been evidenced to Pilate; God could indeed, by a supernatural influence upon his mind, have made Pilate pronounce him innocent, and not condemn him as a malefactor, who had openly for three years together, preached sedition to the people, and endeavoured to persuade them, that he was “the Messiah, their king,” of the royal blood of David, come to deliver them. But then I ask, Whether posterity would not either have suspected the story, or that some art had been used to gain that testimony from Pilate? Because he could not (for nothing) have been so favourable to Jesus, as to be willing to release so turbulent and seditious a man; to declare him innocent, and to cast the blame and guilt of his death, as unjust, upon the envy of the jews.

But now, the malice of the chief priests, scribes and pharisees; the headiness of the mob, animated with hopes, and raised with miracles; Judas’s treachery, and Pilate’s care of his government, and of the peace of his province, all working naturally as they should; Jesus, by the admirable wariness of his carriage, and an extraordinary wisdom, visible in his whole conduct; weathers all these difficulties, does the work he comes for, uninterruptedly goes about preaching his full appointed time, sufficiently manifests himself to be the Messiah, in all the particulars the scriptures had foretold of him; and when his hour is come, suffers death: but is acknowledged, both by Judas that betrayed, and Pilate that condemned him, to die innocent. For, to use his own words, Luke xxiv. 46, “Thus it is written, and thus it behoved the Messiah to suffer.” And of his whole conduct we have a reason and clear resolution in those words to St. Peter, Matt. xxvi. 53, “Thinkest thou that I cannot now pray to my Father, and he shall presently give me more than twelve legions of angels? But how then shall the scripture be fulfilled, that thus it must be?”

Having this clew to guide us, let us now observe, how our Saviour’s preaching and conduct comported with it in the last scene of his life. How cautious he had been in the former part of his ministry, we have already observed. We never find him to use the name of the Messiah but once, until he now came to Jerusalem, this last passover. Before this, his preaching and miracles were less at Jerusalem) where he used to make but very short stays) than any-where else. But now he comes six days before the feast, and is every day in the temple teaching; and there publicly heals the blind and the lame, in the presence of the scribes, pharisees, and chief priests. The time of his ministry drawing to an end, and his hour coming, he cared not how much the chief priests, elders, rulers, and the sanhedrim, were provoked against him by his doctrine and miracles: he was as open and bold in his preaching, and doing the works of the Messiah now at Jerusalem, and in the sight of the rulers, and of all the people; as he had been before cautious and reserved there, and careful to be little taken notice of in that place, and not to come in their way more than needs. All that he now took care of was, not what they should think of him, or design against him, (for he knew they would seize him,) but to say or do nothing that might be a just matter of accusation against him, or render him criminal to the governor. But, as for the grandees of the jewish nation, he spares them not, but sharply now reprehends their miscarriages publicly in the temple; where he calls them more than once, “hypocrites;” as is to be seen, Matt. xxiii. And concludes all with no softer a compellation than “serpents,” and “a generation of vipers.”

After this severe reproof of the scribes and pharisees, being retired with his disciples into the “Mount of Olives” over against the temple, and there foretelling the destruction of it; his disciples ask him, Matt. xxiv. 3, &c. “When it should be, and what should be the sign of his coming?” He says, to them, “Take heed that no man deceive you: for many shall come in my name,” (i. e. taking on them the name and dignity of the Messiah, which is only mine,) saying, “I am the Messiah, and shall deceive many.” But be not you by them misled, nor by persecution driven away from this fundamental truth, that I am the Messiah: “for many shall be scandalized,” and apostatize; “but he that endures to the end, the same shall be saved: and this gospel of the kingdom shall be preached in all the world:” i. e. the good news of me, the Messiah, and my kingdom, shall be spread through the world. This was the great and only point of belief they were warned to stick to; and this is inculcated again, ver. 23 — 26, and Mark xiii. 21 — 23, with this emphatical application to them, in both these evangelists, “Behold, I have told you beforehand; remember, you are forewarned.”

This was in answer to the apostles inquiry, concerning his “coming, and the end of the world,” ver. 3. For so we translate τῆς συντελείας τ[Editor: illegible character] αἰῶνος. We must understand the disciples here to put their question, according to the notion and way of speaking of the jews. For they had two worlds, as we translate it, ὁ νῦν αἰὼν, ϰαι ὁ μέλλων αἰὼν; “the present world,” and the “world to come.” The kingdom of God, as they called it, or the time of the Messiah, they called ὁ μέλλων αἰὼν, “the world to come,” which they believed was to put an end to “this world;” and that then the just should be raised from the dead, to enjoy in that “new world” a happy eternity, with those of the jewish nation, who should be then living.

These two things, viz. the visible and powerful appearance of his kingdom, and the end of the world, being confounded in the apostles question, our Saviour does not separate them, nor distinctly reply to them apart; but, leaving the inquirers in the common opinion, answers at once concerning his coming to take vengeance on the jewish nation, and put an end to their church worship and commonwealth; which was their ὀ νῦν αἰὼν, “present world,” which they counted should last till the Messiah came; and so it did, and then had an end put to it. And to this he joins his last coming to judgment, in the glory of his Father, to put a final end to this world, and all the dispensation belonging to the posterity of Adam upon earth. This joining them together, made his answer obscure, and hard to be understood by them then; nor was it safe for him to speak plainer of his kingdom, and the destruction of Jerusalem; unless he had a mind to be accused for having designs against the government. For Judas was amongst them: and whether no other but his apostles were comprehended under the name of “his disciples,” who were with him at this time, one cannot determine. Our Saviour, therefore, speaks of his kingdom in no other style, but that which he had all along hitherto used, viz. “the kingdom of God,” Luke xxi. 31, “When you see these things come to pass, know ye that the kingdom of God is nigh at hand.” And continuing on his discourse with them, he has the same expression, Matt. xxv. 1, “Then the kingdom of heaven shall be like unto ten virgins.” At the end of the following parable of the talents, he adds, ver. 31, “When the Son of man shall come in his glory, and all the holy angels with him, then shall he sit upon the throne of his glory. And before him shall be gathered all the nations. And he shall set the sheep on his right hand, and the goats on his left. Then shall the King say,” &c. Here he describes to his disciples the appearance of his kingdom, wherein he will show himself a king in glory upon his throne; but this in such a way, and so remote, and so unintelligible to an heathen magistrate; that, if it had been alleged against him, it would have seemed rather the dream of a crazy brain, than the contrivance of an ambitious or dangerous man, designing against the government: the way of expressing what he meant, being in the prophetic style, which is seldom so plain as to be understood, till accomplished. It is plain, that his disciples themselves comprehended not what kingdom he here spoke of, from their question to him after his resurrection, “Wilt thou at this time restore again the kingdom unto Israel?”

Having finished these discourses, he takes order for the passover, and eats it with his disciples; and at supper tells them, that one of them should betray him; and adds, John xiii. 19, “I tell it you now, before it come, that when it is come to pass, you may know that I am.” He does not say out, “the Messiah;” Judas should not have that to say against him, if he would; though that be the sense in which he uses this expression, ἐγω εἰμι, “I am,” more than once. And that this is the meaning of it, is clear from Mark xii. 6, Luke xxi. 8. In both which evangelists the words are, “For many shall come in my name, saying, ἐγω εἰμι, I am;” the meaning whereof we shall find explained in the parallel place of St. Matthew, chap. xxiv. 5, “For many shall come in my name, saying, ἐγω εἰμι ὁ Χριςὸς, I am the Messiah.” Here, in this place of John xiii. Jesus foretels what should happen to him, viz. that he should be betrayed by Judas; adding this prediction to the many other particulars of his death and suffering, which he had at other times foretold to them. And here he tells them the reason of these his predictions, viz. that afterwards they might be a confirmation to their faith. And what was it that he would have them believe, and be confirmed in the belief of? Nothing but this, ὅτι ἐγω εἰμι ὁ Χϱιςὸς, “that he was the Messiah.” The same reason he gives, John xiv. 28, You have heard how I said unto you, I go away, and come again unto you: and now I have told you, before it comes to pass, that when it comes to pass, ye might believe.”

When Judas had left them, and was gone out, he talks a little freer to them of his glory and his kingdom, than ever he had done before. For now he speaks plainly of himself, and of his kingdom, John xiii. 31, “Therefore when he [Judas] was gone out, Jesus said, Now is the Son of man glorified, and God is also glorified in him. And, if God be glorified in him, God shall also glorify him in himself, and shall straitway glorify him.” And Luke xxii. 29, “And I will appoint unto you a kingdom, as my Father hath appointed unto me; that ye may eat and drink with me at my table, in my kingdom.” Though he has every-where, all along through his ministry, preached the “gospel of the kingdom,” and nothing else but that and repentance, and the duties of a good life: yet it has been always “the kingdom of God,” and “the kingdom of heaven:” and I do not remember, that “any-where, till now, he uses any such expression, as my kingdom.” But here now he speaks in the first person, “I will appoint you a kingdom,” and, “in my kingdom:” and this we see is only to the eleven, now Judas was gone from them.

With these eleven, whom he was just now leaving, he has a long discourse, to comfort them for the loss of him; and to prepare them for the persecution of the world, and to exhort them to keep his commandments, and to love one another. And here one may expect all the articles of faith should be laid down plainly, if any thing else were required of them to believe, but what he had taught them, and they believed already, viz. “That he was the Messiah.” John xiv. 1, “Ye believe in God, believe also in me.” Ver. 29, “I have told you before it come to pass, that when it is come to pass, ye may believe.” It is believing on him without any thing else. John xvi. 31, “Jesus answered them, Do ye now believe?” This was in answer to their profession, ver. 30, “Now are we sure that thou knowest all things, and needest not that any man should ask thee: by this we believe that thou camest forth from God.”

John xvii. 20, “Neither pray I for these alone, but for them also which shall believe on me through their word.” All that is spoke of believing, in this his last sermon to them, is only “believing on him,” or believing that “he came from God;” which was no other than believing him to be the Messiah.

Indeed, John xiv. 9, our Saviour tells Philip, “He that hath seen me, hath seen the Father.” And adds, ver. 10, “Believest thou not that I am in the Father, and the Father in me? The words that I speak unto you, I speak not of myself: but the Father that dwelleth in me, he doth the works.” Which being in answer to Philip’s words, ver. 9, “Show us the Father,” seem to import thus much: “No man hath seen God at any time,” he is known only by his works. And that he is my Father, and I the Son of God, i. e. the Messiah, you may know by the works I have done; which it is impossible I could do of myself, but by the union I have with God my Father. For that by being “in God,” and “God in him,” he signifies such an union with God, that God operates in and by him, appears not only by the words above cited out of ver. 10 (which can scarce otherwise be made coherent sense), but also from the same phrase, used again by our Saviour presently after, ver. 20, “At that day,” viz. after his resurrection, when they should see him again, “you shall know that I am in the Father, and you in me, and I in you;” i. e. by the works that I shall enable you to do, through a power I have received from the Father: which whosoever sees me do, must acknowledge the Father to be in me; and whosoever sees you do, must acknowledge me to be in you. And therefore he says, ver. 12, “Verily, verily, I say unto you, he that believeth on me, the works that I do shall he do also, because I go unto my Father.” Though I go away, yet I shall be in you, who believe in me; and ye shall be enabled to do miracles also, for the carrying on of my kingdom, as I have done; that it may be manifested to others, that you are sent by me, as I have evidenced to you, that I am sent by the Father. And hence it is that he says, in the immediately preceding ver. 11, “Believe me, that I am in the Father, and the Father in me; if not, believe me for the sake of the works themselves.” Let the works that I have done convince you, that I am sent by the Father; that he is with me, and that I do nothing but by his will; and by virtue of the union I have with him; and that consequently I am the Messiah, who am anointed, sanctified, and separated by the Father, to the work for which he sent me.

To confirm them in this faith, and to enable them to do such works as he had done, he promises them the Holy Ghost, John xiv. 25, 26. “These things I have said unto you, being yet present with you.” But when I am gone, “The Holy Ghost, the Paraclet,” (which may signify Monitor, as well as Comforter, or Advocate,) “which the Father shall send you in my name, he shall show you all things, and bring to your remembrance all things which I have said.” So that considering all that I have said, and laying it together, and comparing it with what you shall see come to pass; you may be more abundantly assured, that I am the Messiah; and fully comprehend, that I have done and suffered all things foretold of the Messiah, and that were to be accomplished and fulfilled by him, according to the scriptures. But be not filled with grief, that I leave you, John xvi. 7, “It is expedient for you, that I go away; for if I go not away, the Paraclet will not come unto you.” One reason why, if he went not away, the Holy Ghost could not come, we may gather from what has been observed, concerning the prudent and wary carriage of our Saviour all through his ministry, that he might not incur death with the least suspicion of a malefactor. And therefore, though his disciples believed him to be the Messiah, yet they neither understood it so well, nor were so well confirmed in the belief of it, as after that, he being crucified and risen again, they had received the Holy Ghost; and with the gifts of the Holy Spirit, a fuller and clearer evidence and knowledge that he was the Messiah. They then were enlightened to see how his kingdom was such as the scriptures foretold; though not such as they, till then, had expected. And now this knowledge and assurance, received from the Holy Ghost, was of use to them after his resurrection; when they could now boldly go about, and openly preach, as they did, that Jesus was the Messiah; confirming that doctrine by the miracles which the Holy Ghost empowered them to do. But till he was dead and gone, they could not do this. Their going about openly preaching, as they did after his resurrection, that Jesus was the Messiah, and doing miracles every-where, to make it good, would not have consisted with that character of humility, peace and innocence, which the Messiah was to sustain, if they had done it before his crucifixion. For this would have drawn upon him the condemnation of a malefactor, either as a stirrer of sedition against the public peace, or as a pretender to the kingdom of Israel. Hence we see, that they, who before his death preached only the “gospel of the kingdom;” that “the kingdom of God was at hand;” as soon as they had received the Holy Ghost, after his resurrection, changed their style, and everywhere in express words declare, that Jesus is the Messiah, that King which was to come. This, the following words here in St. John xvi. 8 — 14, confirm; where he goes on to tell them, “And when he is come, he will convince the world of sin; because they believed not on me.” Your preaching then, accompanied with miracles, by the assistance of the Holy Ghost, shall be a conviction to the world, that the jews sinned in not believing me to be the Messiah. “Of righteousness,” or justice; “because I go to my Father, and ye see me no more.” By the same preaching and miracles you shall confirm the doctrine of my ascension; and thereby convince the world, that I was that just one, who am, therefore, ascended to the Father into heaven, where no unjust person shall enter. “Of judgment; because the prince of this world is judged.” And by the same assistance of the Holy Ghost ye shall convince the world, that the devil is judged or condemned by your casting of him out, and destroying his kingdom, and his worship, where-ever you preach. Our Saviour adds, “I have yet many things to say unto you, but you cannot bear them now.” They were yet so full of a temporal kingdom, that they could not bear the discovery of what kind of kingdom his was, nor what a king he was to be: and therefore he leaves them to the coming of the Holy Ghost, for a farther and fuller discovery of himself, and the kingdom of the Messiah; for fear they should be scandalized in him, and give up the hopes they now had in him, and forsake him. This he tells them, ver. 1, of this xvith chapter: “These things I have said unto you, that you may not be scandalized.” The last thing he had told them, before his saying this to them, we find in the last verses of the preceding chapter: “When the Paraclet is come, the Spirit of truth, he shall witness concerning me.” He shall show you who I am, and witness it to the world; and then, “Ye also shall bear witness, because ye have been with me from the beginning.” He shall call to your mind what I have said and done, that ye may understand it, and know, and bear witness concerning me. And again here, John xvi. after he had told them they could not bear what he had more to say, he adds, ver. 13, “Howbeit, when the Spirit of truth is come, he will guide you into all truth; and he will show you things to come: he shall glorify me.” By the Spirit, when he comes, ye shall be fully instructed concerning me; and though you cannot yet, from what I have said to you, clearly comprehend my kingdom and glory, yet he shall make it known to you wherein it consists: and though I am now in a mean state, and ready to be given up to contempt, torment, and death, so that ye know not what to think of it; yet the Spirit, when he comes, “shall glorify me,” and fully satisfy you of my power and kingdom; and that I sit on the right hand of God, to order all things for the good and increase of it, till I come again at the last day, in the fulness of glory.

Accordingly, the apostles had a full and clear sight and persuasion of this, after they had received the Holy Ghost; and they preached it every-where boldly and openly, without the least remainder of doubt or uncertainty. But that, even so late as this, they understood not his death and resurrection, is evident from ver. 17, 18, “Then said some of his disciples among themselves, What is it that he saith unto us; A little while, and ye shall not see me; and again, a little while, and ye shall see me; and because I go to the Father? They said therefore, What is this that he saith, A little while? We know not what he saith.” Upon which he goes on to discourse to them of his death and resurrection, and of the power they should have of doing miracles. But all this he declares to them in a mystical and involved way of speaking: as he tells them himself, ver. 25, “These things have I spoken to you in proverbs;” i. e. in general, obscure, ænigmatical, or figurative terms (all which, as well as allusive apologues, the jews called proverbs or parables). Hitherto my declaring of myself to you hath been obscure, and with reserve: and I have not spoken of myself to you in plain and direct words, because ye “could not bear it.” A Messiah, and not a King, you could not understand: and a King living in poverty and persecution, and dying the death of a slave and malefactor upon a cross; you could not put together. And I had told you in plain words, that I was the Messiah, and given you a direct commission to preach to others, that I professedly owned myself to be the Messiah, you and they would have been ready to have made a commotion, to have set me upon the throne of my father David, and to fight for me; and that your Messiah, your King, in whom are your hopes of a kingdom, should not be delivered up into the hands of his enemies, to be put to death; and of this Peter will instantly give you a proof. But “the time cometh, when I shall no more speak unto you in parables; but I shall show unto you plainly of the Father.” My death and resurrection, and the coming of the Holy Ghost, will speedily enlighten you, and then I shall make you know the will and design of my Father; what a kingdom I am to have, and by what means, and to what end, ver. 27. And this the Father himself will show unto you: “For he loveth you, because ye have loved me, and have believed that I came out from the Father.” Because ye have believed that I am “the Son of God, the Messiah;” that he hath anointed and sent me; though it hath not yet been fully discovered to you, what kind of kingdom it shall be, nor by what means brought about. And then our Saviour, without being asked, explaining to them what he had said, and making them understand better what before they stuck at, and complained secretly among themselves that they understood not; they thereupon declare, ver. 30, “Now are we sure that thou knowest all things, and needest not that any man should ask thee.” It is plain, thou knowest men’s thoughts and doubts before they ask. “By this we believe that thou camest forth from God. Jesus answered, Do ye now believe?” Notwithstanding that you now believe, that I came from God, and am the Messiah, sent by him: “Behold, the hour cometh, yea, is now come, that ye shall be scattered;” and as it is Matth. xxvi. 31, and “shall all be scandalized in me.” What it is to be scandalized in him, we may see by what followed hereupon, if that which he says to St. Peter, Mark xiv. did not sufficiently explain it.

This I have been the more particular in; that it may be seen, that in this last discourse to his disciples (where he opened himself more than he had hitherto done; and where, if any thing more was required to make them believers than what they already believed, we might have expected they should have heard of it) there were no new articles proposed to them, but what they believed before, viz. that he was the Messiah, the Son of God, sent from the Father; though of his manner of proceeding, and his sudden leaving of the world, and some few particulars, he made them understand something more than they did before. But as to the main design of the gospel, viz. that he had a kingdom, that he should be put to death, and rise again, and ascend into heaven to his Father, and come again in glory to judge the world; this he had told them: and so had acquainted them with the great counsel of God, in sending him the Messiah, and omitted nothing that was necessary to be known or believed in it. And so he tells them himself, John xv. 15, “Henceforth I call you not servants: for the servant knoweth not what his Lord does: but I have called you friends; for all things that I have heard of my Father, I have made known unto you;” though perhaps ye do not so fully comprehend them, as you will shortly, when I am risen and ascended.

To conclude all, in his prayer, which shuts up this discourse, he tells the Father, what he had made known to his apostles; the result whereof we have John xvii. 8, “I have given unto them the words which thou gavest me, and they have received them, and they have believed that thou didst send me.” Which is, in effect, that he was the Messiah promised and sent by God. And then he prays for them, and adds, ver. 20, 21, “Neither pray I for these alone, but for them also who shall believe on me through their word.” What that word was, through which others should believe in him, we have seen in the preaching of the apostles, all through the history of the Acts, viz. this one great point, that Jesus was the Messiah. The apostles, he says, ver. 25, “know that thou hast sent me;” i. e. are assured that I am the Messiah. And in ver. 21 and 23, he prays, “That the world may believe” (which, ver. 23, is called knowing) “that thou has sent me.” So that what Christ would have believed by his disciples, we may see by this his last prayer for them, when he was leaving the world, as by what he preached whilst he was in it.

And, as a testimony of this, one of his last actions, even when he was upon the cross, was to confirm his doctrine, by giving salvation to one of the thieves that was crucified with him, upon his declaration that he believed him to be the Messiah: for so much the words of his request imported, when he said, “Remember me, Lord, when thou comest into thy kingdom,” Luke xxiii. 42. To which Jesus replied, ver. 43, “Verily, I say unto thee, To-day shalt thou be with me in paradise.” An expression very remarkable: for as Adam, by sin, lost paradise, i. e. a state of happy immortality; here the believing thief, through his faith in Jesus the Messiah, is promised to be put in paradise, and so re-instated in an happy immortality.

Thus our Saviour ended his life. And what he did after his resurrection, St. Luke tells us, Acts i. 3, That he showed himself to the apostles, “forty days, speaking things concerning the kingdom of God.” This was what our Saviour preached in the whole course of his ministry, before his passion: and no other mysteries of faith does he now discover to them after his resurrection. All he says, is concerning the kingdom of God; and what it was he said concerning that, we shall see presently out of the other evangelists; having first only taken notice, that when now they asked him, ver. 6, “Lord, wilt thou at this time restore again the kingdom of Israel? He said unto them, ver. 7, It is not for you to know the times and the seasons, which the Father hath put in his own power: but ye shall receive power, after that the Holy Ghost is come upon you; and ye shall be witnesses unto me, unto the utmost parts of the earth.” Their great business was to be witnesses to Jesus, of his life, death, resurrection, and ascension; which, put together, were undeniable proofs of his being the Messiah. This was what they were to preach, and what he said to them, concerning the kingdom of God; as will appear by what is recorded of it in the other evangelists.

When on the day of his resurrection he appeared to the two going to Emmaus, Luke xxiv. they declare, ver. 21, what his disciples faith in him was: “But we trusted that it had been he that should have redeemed Israel:” i. e. we believed that he was the Messiah, come to deliver the nation of the jews. Upon this, Jesus tells them they ought to believe him to be the Messiah, notwithstanding what had happened: nay, they ought, by his sufferings and death, to be confirmed in that faith, that he was the Messiah. And ver. 26, 27, “Beginning at Moses and all the prophets, he expounded unto them, in all the scriptures, the things concerning himself,” how, “that the Messiah ought to have suffered these things, and to have entered into his glory.” Now he applies the prophecies of the Messiah to himself, which we read not, that he did ever do before his passion. And afterwards appearing to the eleven, Luke xxiv. 36, he said unto them, ver. 44 — 47, “These are the words, which I spake unto you, while I was yet with you, that all things must be fulfilled which are written in the law of Moses, and in the prophets, and in the psalms concerning me. Then opened he their understanding, that they might understand the scripture, and said unto them: Thus it is written, and thus it behoved the Messiah to suffer, and to rise from the dead the third day; and that repentance and remission of sins should be preached in his name among all nations, beginning at Jerusalem.” Here we see what it was he had preached to them, though not in so plain open words before his crucifixion; and what it is he now makes them understand; and what it was that was to be preached to all nations, viz. That he was the Messiah that had suffered, and rose from the dead the third day, and fulfilled all things that were written in the Old Testament concerning the Messiah; and that those who believed this, and repented, should receive remission of their sins, through this faith in him. Or, as St. Mark has it, chap. xvi. 15, “Go into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature; he that believeth, and is baptized, shall be saved; but he that believeth not, shall be damned,” ver. 16. What the “gospel,” or “good news,” was, we have showed already, viz. The happy tidings of the Messiah being come. Ver. 20, And “they went forth and preached every-where, the Lord working with them, and confirming the word with signs following.” What the “word” was which they preached, and the Lord confirmed with miracles, we have seen already, out of the history of their Acts. I have already given an account of their preaching every-where, as it is recorded in the Acts, except some few places, where the kingdom of “the Messiah” is mentioned under the name of “the kingdom of God;” which I forbore to set down, till I had made it plain out of the evangelists, that that was no other but the kingdom of the Messiah.

It may be seasonable therefore, now, to add to those sermons we have formerly seen of St. Paul, (wherein he preached no other article of faith, but that Jesus was “the Messiah,” the King, who being risen from the dead, now reigneth, and shall more publicly manifest his kingdom, in judging the world at the last day,) what farther is left upon record of his preaching. Acts xix. 8, at Ephesus, “Paul went into the synagogues, and spake boldly for the space of three months; disputing and persuading, concerning the kingdom of God.” And, Acts xx. 25, at Miletus he thus takes leave of the elders of Ephesus: “And now, behold, I know that ye all, among whom I have gone preaching the kingdom of God, shall see my face no more.” What this preaching the kingdom of God was, he tells you, ver. 20, 21, “I have kept nothing back from you, which was profitable unto you; but have showed you, and have taught you publickly, and from house to house; testifying both to the jews, and to the Greeks, repentance towards God, and faith towards our Lord Jesus Christ.” And so again, Acts xxviii. 23, 24, “When they [the jews at Rome] had appointed him [Paul] a day, there came many to him into his lodging; to whom he expounded and testified the kingdom of God; persuading them concerning Jesus, both out of the law of Moses, and out of the prophets, from morning to evening. And some believed the things which were spoken, and some believed not.” And the history of the Acts is concluded with this account of St. Paul’s preaching: “And Paul dwelt two whole years in his own hired house, and received all that came in unto him, preaching the kingdom of God, and teaching those things which concern the Lord Jesus the Messiah.” We may therefore here apply the same conclusion to the history of our Saviour, writ by the evangelists, and to the history of the apostles, writ in the Acts, which St. John does to his own gospel, chap. xx. 30, 31, “Many other signs did Jesus before his disciples;” and in many other places the apostles preached the same doctrine, “which are not written” in these books; “but these are written that you may believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God; and that believing you may have life in his name.”

What St. John thought necessary and sufficient to be believed, for the attaining eternal life, he here tells us. And this not in the first dawning of the gospel; when, perhaps, some will be apt to think less was required to be believed, than after the doctrine of faith, and mystery of salvation, was more fully explained, in the epistles writ by the apostles, for it is to be remembered, that St. John says this, not as soon as Christ was ascended; for these words, with the rest of St. John’s gospel, were not written till many years after not only the other gospels, and St. Luke’s history of the Acts, but in all appearance, after all the epistles writ by the other apostles. So that above threescore years after our Saviour’s passion (for so long after, both Epiphanius and St. Jerom assure us this gospel was written) St. John knew nothing else required to be believed, for the attaining of life, but that “Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God.”

To this, it is likely, it will be objected by some, that to believe only that Jesus of Nazareth is the Messiah, is but an historical, and not a justifying, or saving faith.

To which I answer, That I allow to the makers of systems and their followers to invent and use what distinctions they please, and to call things by what names they think fit. But I cannot allow to them, or to any man, an authority to make a religion for me, or to alter that which God hath revealed. And if they please to call the believing that which our Saviour and his apostles preached, and proposed alone to be believed, an historical faith; they have their liberty. But they must have a care, how they deny it to be a justifying or saving faith, when our Saviour and his apostles have declared it so to be; and taught no other which men should receive, and whereby they should be made believers unto eternal life: unless they can so far make bold with our Saviour, for the sake of their beloved systems, as to say, that he forgot what he came into the world for; and that he and his apostles did not instruct people right in the way and mysteries of salvation. For that this is the sole doctrine pressed and required to be believed in the whole tenour of our Saviour’s and his apostles preaching, we have showed through the whole history of the evangelists and the Acts. And I challenge them to show that there was any other doctrine, upon their assent to which, or disbelief of it, men were pronounced believers or unbelievers; and accordingly received into the church of Christ, as members of his body; as far as mere believing could make them so: or else kept out of it. This was the only gospel-article of faith which was preached to them. And if nothing else was preached every-where, the apostle’s argument will hold against any other articles of faith to be believed under the gospel, Rom. x. 14, “How shall they believe that whereof they have not heard?” For to preach any other doctrines necessary to be believed, we do not find that any body was sent.

Perhaps it will farther be urged, that this is not a “saving faith;” because such a faith as this the devils may have, and it was plain they had; for they believed and declared “Jesus to be the Messiah.” And St. James, ch. ii. 19, tells us, “The devils believe and tremble;” and yet they shall not be saved. To which I answer, 1. That they could not be saved by any faith, to whom it was not proposed as a means of salvation, nor ever promised to be counted for righteousness. This was an act of grace shown only to mankind. God dealt so favourably with the posterity of Adam, that if they would believe Jesus to be the Messiah, the promised King and Saviour, and perform what other conditions were required of them by the covenant of grace; God would justify them, because of this belief. He would account this faith to them for righteousness, and look on it as making up the defects of their obedience; which being thus supplied, by what was taken instead of it, they were looked on as just or righteous; and so inherited eternal life. But this favour shown to mankind, was never offered to the fallen angels. They had no such proposals made to them: and therefore, whatever of this kind was proposed to men, it availed not devils, whatever they performed of it. This covenant of grace was never offered to them.

2. I answer; that though the devils believed, yet they could not be saved by the covenant of grace; because they performed not the other condition required in it, altogether as necessary to be performed as this of believing: and that is repentance. Repentance is as absolute a condition of the covenant of grace as faith; and as necessary to be performed as that. John the Baptist, who was to prepare the way for the Messiah, “Preached the baptism of repentance for the remission of sins,” Mark i. 4.

As John began his preaching with “Repent; for the kingdom of heaven is at hand,” Mat. iii. 2; so did our Saviour begin his, Matt. iv. 17, “From that time began Jesus to preach, and to say, Repent; for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.” Or, as St. Mark has it in that parallel place, Mark i. 14, 15, “Now, after that John was put in prison, Jesus came into Galilee, preaching the gospel of the kingdom of God, and saying, The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand: repent ye, and believe the gospel.” This was not only the beginning of his preaching, but the sum of all that he did preach; viz. That men should repent, and believe the good tidings which he brought them; that “the time was fulfilled” for the coming of the Messiah. And this was what his apostles preached, when he sent them out, Mark vi. 12, “And they, going out, preached that men should repent.” Believing Jesus to be the Messiah, and repenting, were so necessary and fundamental parts of the covenant of grace, that one of them alone is often put for both. For here St. Mark mentions nothing but their preaching repentance: as St. Luke, in the parallel place, chap. ix. 6, mentions nothing but their evangelizing, or preaching the good news of the kingdom of the Messiah: and St. Paul often, in his epistles, puts faith for the whole duty of a christian. But yet the tenour of the gospel is what Christ declares, Luke xii. 3, 5, “Unless ye repent, ye shall all likewise perish.” And in the parable of the rich man in hell, delivered by our Saviour, Luke xvi. repentance alone is the means proposed, of avoiding that place of torment, ver. 30, 31. And what the tenour of the doctrine which should be preached to the world should be, he tells his apostles, after his resurrection, Luke xxiv. 27, viz. “That repentance and remission of sins” should be preached “in his name,” who was the Messiah. And accordingly, believing Jesus to be the Messiah, and repenting, was what the apostles preached. So Peter began, Acts ii. 38, “Repent, and be baptized.” These two things were required for the remission of sins, viz. entering themselves in the kingdom of God; and owning and professing themselves the subjects of Jesus, whom they believed to be the Messiah, and received for their Lord and King; for that was to be “baptized in his name:” baptism being an initiating ceremony, known to the jews, whereby those, who leaving heathenism, and professing a submission to the law of Moses, were received into the commonwealth of Israel. And so it was made use of by our Saviour, to be that solemn visible act, whereby those who believed him to be the Messiah, received him as their king, and professed obedience to him, were admitted as subjects into his kingdom: which, in the gospel, is called “the kingdom of God;” and in the Acts and epistles, often by another name, viz. the “Church.”

The same St. Peter preaches again to the jews, Acts iii. 19, “Repent, and be converted, that your sins may be blotted out.”

What this repentance was which the new covenant required, as one of the conditions to be performed by all those who should receive the benefits of that covenant; is plain in the scripture, to be not only a sorrow for sins past, but (what is a natural consequence of such sorrow, if it be real) a turning from them into a new and contrary life. And so they are joined together, Acts iii. 19, “Repent and turn about;” or, as we render it, “be converted.” And Acts xxvi. 20, “Repent and turn to God.”

And sometimes “turning about” is put alone to signify repentance, Matt. xiii. 15, Luke xxii. 32, which in other words is well expressed by “newness of life.” For it being certain that he, who is really sorry for his sins, and abhors them, will turn from them, and forsake them; either of these acts, which have so natural a connection one with the other, may be, and is often put for both together. Repentance is an hearty sorrow for our past misdeeds, and a sincere resolution and endeavour, to the utmost of our power, to conform all our actions to the law of God. So that repentance does not consist in one single act of sorrow, (though that being the first and leading act gives denomination to the whole,) but in “doing works meet for repentance;” in a sincere obedience to the law of Christ, the remainder of our lives. This was called for by John the Baptist, the preacher of repentance, Matt. iii. 8, “Bring forth fruits meet for repentance.” And by St. Paul here, Acts xxvi. 20, “Repent and turn to God, and do works meet for repentance.” There are works to follow belonging to repentance, as well as sorrow for what is past.

These two, faith and repentance, i. e. believing Jesus to be the Messiah, and a good life, are the indispensable conditions of the new covenant, to be performed by all those who would obtain eternal life. The reasonableness, or rather necessity of which, that we may the better comprehend, we must a little look back to what was said in the beginning.

Adam being the Son of God, and so St. Luke calls him, chap. iii. 38, had this part also of the likeness and image of his father, viz. that he was immortal. But Adam, transgressing the command given him by his heavenly Father, incurred the penalty; forfeited that state of immortality, and became mortal. After this, Adam begot children: but they were “in his own likeness, after his own image;” mortal, like their father.

God nevertheless, out of his infinite mercy, willing to bestow eternal life on mortal men, sends Jesus Christ into the world; who being conceived in the womb of a virgin (that had not known man) by the immediate power of God, was properly the Son of God; according to what the angel declared unto his mother, Luke i. 30 — 35, “The Holy Ghost shall come upon thee, and the power of the Highest shall over-shadow thee: therefore also that holy thing, which shall be born of thee, shall be called the Son of God.” So that being the Son of God, he was like the Father, immortal; as he tells us, John v. 26, “As the Father hath life in himself, so hath he given to the Son to have life in himself.”

And that immortality is a part of that image, wherein those (who were the immediate sons of God, so as to have no other father) were made like their father, appears probable, not only from the places in Genesis concerning Adam, above taken notice of, but seems to me also to be intimated in some expressions, concerning Jesus the Son of God, in the New Testament. Col. i. 15, he is called “the image of the invisible God.” Invisible seems put in, to obviate any gross imagination, that he (as images used to do) represented God in any corporeal or visible resemblance. And there is farther subjoined, to lead us into the meaning of it, “The first-born of every creature;” which is farther explained, ver. 18, where he is termed “The first-born from the dead;” thereby making out, and showing himself to be the image of the invisible; that death hath no power over him; but being the Son of God, and not having forfeited that sonship by any transgression; was the heir of eternal life, as Adam should have been, had he continued in his filial duty. In the same sense the apostle seems to use the word image in other places, viz. Rom. viii. 29, “Whom he did foreknow, he also did predestinate to be conformed to the image of his Son, that he might be the first-born among many brethren.” This image, to which they were conformed, seems to be immortality and eternal life: for it is remarkable, that in both these places, St. Paul speaks of the resurrection; and that Christ was “The first-born among many brethren;” he being by birth the Son of God, and the others only by adoption, as we see in this same chapter ver. 15 — 17, “Ye have received the Spirit of adoption, whereby we cry, Abba, Father; the Spirit itself bearing witness with our spirit, that we are the children of God. And if children, then heirs, and joint-heirs with Christ; if so be that we suffer with him, that we may also be glorified together.” And hence we see, that our Saviour vouchsafes to call those, who at the day of judgment are, through him, entering into eternal life, his brethren; Matt. xxv. 40, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren.” May we not in this find a reason, why God so frequently in the New Testament, and so seldom, if at all, in the Old, is mentioned under the single title of the father? And therefore our Saviour says, Matt. xi. “No man knoweth the Father, save the Son, and he to whomsoever the Son will reveal him.” God has now a son again in the world, the first-born of many brethren, who all now, by the Spirit of adoption, can say, Abba, Father. And we, by adoption, being for his sake made his brethren, and the sons of God, come to share in that inheritance, which was his natural right; he being by birth the Son of God: which inheritance is eternal life. And again, ver. 23, “We groan within ourselves, waiting for the adoption, to wit, the redemption of our body;” whereby is plainly meant, the change of these frail mortal bodies, into the spiritual immortal bodies at the resurrection; “When this mortal shall have put on immortality,” 1 Cor. xv. 54; which in that chapter, ver. 42 — 44, he farther expresses thus; “So also is the resurrection of the dead. It is sown in corruption, it is raised in incorruption; it is sown in dishonour, it is raised in glory; it is sown in weakness, it is raised in power; it is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body,” &c. To which he subjoins, ver. 49, “As we have born the image of the earthly,” (i. e. as we have been mortal, like earthy Adam, our father, from whom we are descended, when he was turned out of paradise,) “we shall also bear the image of the heavenly;” into whose sonship and inheritance being adopted, we shall, at the resurrection, receive that adoption we expect, “even the redemption of our bodies;” and after his image, which is the image of the Father, become immortal. Hear what he says himself, Luke xx. 35, 36, “They who shall be accounted worthy to obtain that world, and the resurrection from the dead, neither marry, nor are given in marriage. Neither can they die any more; for they are equal to the angels, and are the sons of god, being the sons of the resurrection.” And he that shall read St. Paul’s arguing, Acts xiii. 32, 33, will find that the great evidence that Jesus was the “Son of God,” was his resurrection. Then the image of his Father appeared in him, when he visibly entered into the state of immortality. For thus the apostle reasons, “We preach to you, how that the promise which was made to our fathers, God hath fulfilled the same unto us, in that he hath raised up Jesus again; as it is also written in the second psalm, Thou art my Son, this day have I begotten thee.”

This may serve a little to explain the immortality of the sons of God, who are in this like their Father, made after his image and likeness. But that our Saviour was so, he himself farther declares, John x. 18, where speaking of his life, he says, “No one taketh it from me, but I lay it down of myself; I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it up again.” Which he could not have had, if he had been a mortal man, the son of a man, of the seed of Adam; or else had by any transgression forfeited his life. “For the wages of sin is death;” and he that hath incurred death for his own transgression, cannot lay down his life for another, as our Saviour professes he did. For he was the just one, Acts vii. 52, and xxii. 14, “Who knew no sin;” 2 Cor. v. 21, “Who did no sin, neither was guile found in his mouth.” And thus, “As by man came death, so by man came the resurrection of the dead. For as in Adam all die, so in Christ shall all be made alive.”

For this laying down his life for others, our Saviour tells us, John x. 17, “Therefore does my Father love me, because I lay down my life, that I might take it again.” And this his obedience and suffering was rewarded with a kingdom: which he tells us, Luke xxii. “His Father had appointed unto him:” and which, it is evident out of the epistle to the Hebrews, chap. xii. 2, he had a regard to in his sufferings: “Who for the joy that was set before him, endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God.” Which kingdom, given him upon this account of his obedience, suffering, and death, he himself takes notice of in these words, John xvii. 1 — 4, “Jesus lifted up his eyes to heaven, and said, Father, the hour is come: glorify thy Son, that thy Son also may glorify thee: as thou hast given him power over all flesh, that he should give eternal life to as many as thou hast given him. And this is life eternal, that they may know thee the only true God, and Jesus, the Messiah, whom thou hast sent. I have glorified thee on earth: I have finished the work which thou gavest me to do.” And St. Paul, in his epistle to the Philippians, chap. ii. 8 — 11, “He humbled himself, and became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross. Wherefore God also hath highly exalted him, and given him a name that is above every name; that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, of things in heaven, and things in earth, and things under the earth; and that every tongue should confess, that Jesus Christ is Lord.”

Thus God, we see, designed his Son Jesus Christ a kingdom, an everlasting kingdom in heaven. But though, “as in Adam all die, so in Christ shall all be made alive;” and all men shall return to life again at the last day; yet all men having sinned, and thereby “come short of the glory of God,” as St. Paul assures us, Rom. iii. 23, i. e. not attaining to the heavenly kingdom of the Messiah, which is often called the glory of God; (as may be seen, Rom. v. 2, and xv. 7; and ii. 7; Matt. xvi. 27; Mark vii. 38. For no one who is unrighteous, i. e. comes short of perfect righteousness, shall be admitted into the eternal life of that kingdom; as is declared, 1 Cor. vi. 9, “The unrighteous shall not inherit the kingdom of God;”) and death, the wages of sin, being the portion of all those who had transgressed the righteous law of God; the son of God would in vain have come into the world to lay the foundations of a kingdom, and gather together a select people out of the world, if, (they being found guilty at their appearance before the judgment-seat of the righteous Judge of all men at the last day,) instead of entrance into eternal life in the kingdom he had prepared for them, they should receive death, the just reward of sin which every one of them was guilty of; this second death would have left him no subjects; and instead of those ten thousand times ten thousand, and thousands of thousands, there would not have been one left him to sing praises unto his name, saying, “Blessing, and honour, and glory, and power, be unto him that sitteth on the throne, and unto the lamb for ever and ever.” God therefore, out of his mercy to mankind, and for the erecting of the kingdom of his Son, and furnishing it with subjects out of every kindred, and tongue, and people, and nation; proposed to the children of men, that as many of them as would believe Jesus his Son (whom he sent into the world) to be the Messiah, the promised Deliverer; and would receive him for their King and Ruler; should have all their past sins, disobedience, and rebellion forgiven them: and if for the future they lived in a sincere obedience to his law, to the utmost of their power; the sins of human frailty for the time to come, as well as all those of their past lives; should, for his Son’s sake, because they gave themselves up to him, to be his subjects, be forgiven them: and so their faith, which made them be baptized into his name, (i. e. enrol themselves in the kingdom of Jesus the Messiah, and profess themselves his subjects, and consequently live by the laws of his kingdom,) should be accounted to them for righteousness; i. e. should supply the defects of a scanty obedience in the sight of God; who, counting faith to them for righteousness, or complete obedience, did thus justify, or make them just, and thereby capable of eternal life.

Now, that this is the faith for which God of his free grace justifies sinful man, (for “it is God alone that justifieth,” Rom. viii. 33, Rom. iii. 26,) we have already showed, by observing through all the history of our Saviour and the apostles, recorded in the evangelists, and in the Acts, what he and his apostles preached, and proposed to be believed. We shall show now, that besides believing him to be the Messiah, their King, it was farther required, that those who would have the privilege, advantage, and deliverance of his kingdom, should enter themselves into it; and by baptism being made denizens, and solemnly incorporated into that kingdom, live as became subjects obedient to the laws of it. For if they believed him to be the Messiah, their King, but would not obey his laws, and would not have him to reign over them; they were but the greater rebels; and God would not justify them for a faith that did but increase their guilt, and oppose diametrically the kingdom and design of the Messiah; “Who gave himself for us, that he might redeem us from all iniquity, and purify unto himself a peculiar people zealous of good works,” Titus ii. 14. And therefore St. Paul tells the Galatians, That that which availeth is faith; but “faith working by love.” And that faith without works, i. e. the works of sincere obedience to the law and will of Christ, is not sufficient for our justification, St. James shows at large, chap. ii.

Neither, indeed, could it be otherwise; for life, eternal life, being the reward of justice or righteousness only, appointed by the righteous God (who is of purer eyes than to behold iniquity) to those who only had no taint or infection of sin upon them, it is impossible that he should justify those who had no regard to justice at all whatever they believed. This would have been to encourage iniquity, contrary to the purity of his nature; and to have condemned that eternal law of right, which is holy, just, and good; of which no one precept or rule is abrogated or repealed; nor indeed can be, whilst God is an holy, just, and righteous God, and man a rational creature. The duties of that law, arising from the constitution of his very nature, are of eternal obligation; nor can it be taken away or dispensed with, without changing the nature of things, overturning the measures of right and wrong, and thereby introducing and authorizing irregularity, confusion, and disorder in the world. Christ’s coming into the world was not for such an end as that; but, on the contrary, to reform the corrupt state of degenerate man; and out of those who would mend their lives, and bring forth fruit meet for repentance, erect a new kingdom.

This is the law of that kingdom, as well as of all mankind; and that law, by which all men shall be judged at the last day. Only those who have believed Jesus to be the Messiah, and have taken him to be their King, with a sincere endeavour after righteousness, in obeying his law; shall have their past sins not imputed to them; and shall have that faith taken instead of obedience, where frailty and weakness made them transgress, and sin prevailed after conversion; in those who hunger and thirst after righteousness, (or perfect obedience,) and do not allow themselves in acts of disobedience and rebellion, against the laws of that kingdom they are entered into.

He did not expect, it is true, a perfect obedience, void of slips and falls: he knew our make, and the weakness of our constitution too well, and was sent with a supply for that defect. Besides, perfect obedience was the righteousness of the law of works; and then the reward would be of debt, and not of grace; and to such there was no need of faith to be imputed to them for righteousness. They stood upon their own legs, were just already, and needed no allowance to be made them for believing Jesus to be the Messiah, taking him for their king, and becoming his subjects. But that Christ does require obedience, sincere obedience, is evident from the law he himself delivers (unless he can be supposed to give and inculcate laws, only to have them disobeyed) and from the sentence he will pass when he comes to judge.

The faith required was, to believe Jesus to be the Messiah, the Anointed: who had been promised by God to the world. Among the jews (to whom the promises and prophecies of the Messiah were more immediately delivered) anointing was used to three sorts of persons, at their inauguration; whereby they were set apart to three great offices, viz. of priests, prophets, and kings. Though these three offices be in holy writ attributed to our Saviour, yet I do not remember that he any-where assumes to himself the title of a priest, or mentions any thing relating to his priesthood; nor does he speak of his being a prophet but very sparingly, and only once or twice, as it were by the by: but the gospel, or the good news of the kingdom of the Messiah, is what he preaches every-where, and makes it his great business to publish to the world. This he did not only as most agreeable to the expectation of the jews, who looked for the Messiah, chiefly as coming in power to be their king and deliverer: but as it best answered the chief end of his coming, which was to be a king, and, as such, to be received by those who would be his subjects in the kingdom which he came to erect. And though he took not directly on himself the title of king, until he was in custody, and in the hands of Pilate; yet it is plain, “King” and “King of Israel,” were the familiar and received titles of the Messiah. See John i. 50, Luke xix. 38, compared with Matt. xxi. 9; and Mark xi. 9, John xii. 13, Matt. xxi. 5, Luke xxiii. 2, compared with Matt. xxvii. 11; and John xviii. 33 — 37, Mark xv. 12, compared with Matt. xxvii. 22, 42.

What those were to do, who believed him to be the Messiah, and received him for their king, that they might be admitted to be partakers with him of his kingdom in glory, we shall best know by the laws he gives them, and requires them to obey; and by the sentence which he himself will give, when sitting on his throne they shall all appear at his tribunal, to receive every one his doom from the mouth of this righteous judge of all men.

What he proposed to his followers to be believed, we have already seen, by examining his and his apostles preaching, step by step, all through the history of the four evangelists, and the Acts of the Apostles. The same method will best and plainest show us, whether he required of those who believed him to be the Messiah, any thing besides that faith, and what it was. For, he being a king, we shall see by his commands what he expects from his subjects: for, if he did not expect obedience to them, his commands would be but mere mockery; and if there were no punishment for the transgressors of them, his laws would not be the laws of a king, and that authority to command, and power to chastise the disobedient, but empty talk, without force, and without influence.

We shall therefore from his injunctions (if any such there be) see what he has made necessary to be performed, by all those who shall be received into eternal life, in his kingdom prepared in the heavens. And in this we cannot be deceived. What we have from his own mouth, especially if repeated over and over again, in different places and expressions, will be past doubt and controversy. I shall pass by all that is said by St. John Baptist, or any other before our Saviour’s entry upon his ministry, and public promulgation of the laws of his kingdom.

He began his preaching with a command to repent, as St. Matthew tells us, iv. 17. “From that time Jesus began to preach, saying, Repent; for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.” And Luke v. 32, he tells the scribes and pharisees, “I come not to call the righteous;” (those who were truly so, needed no help, they had a right to the tree of life), “but sinners, to repentance.”

In his sermon, as it is called, in the mount, Luke vi. and Matt. v. &c. he commands they should be exemplary in good works: “Let your light so shine amongst men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven,” Matt. v. 15. And that they might know what he came for, and what he expected of them, he tells them, ver. 17 — 20, “Think not that I am come to dissolve,” or loosen, “the law, or the prophets: I am not come to dissolve,” or loosen, “but to make it full,” or complete; by giving it you in its true and strict sense. Here we see he confirms, and at once re-inforces all the moral precepts in the Old Testament. “For verily I say to you, Till heaven and earth pass, one jot or one tittle, shall in no wise pass from the law, till all be done. Whosoever therefore shall break one of these least commandments, and shall teach men so, he shall be called the least (i, e. as it is interpreted, shall not be at all) in the kingdom of heaven.” Ver. 21, “I say unto you, That except your righteousness,” i. e. your performance of the eternal law of right, “shall exceed the righteousness of the scribes and pharisees, ye shall in no case enter into the kingdom of heaven.” And then he goes on to make good what he said, ver. 17, viz. “That he was come to complete the law,” viz. by giving its full and clear sense, free from the corrupt and loosening glosses of the scribes and pharisees, ver. 22 — 26. He tells them, That not only murder, but causeless anger, and so much as words of contempt, were forbidden. He commands them to be reconciled and kind towards their adversaries; and that upon pain of condemnation. In the following part of his sermon, which is to be read Luke vi. and more at large, Matt. v. vi. vii. he not only forbids actual uncleanness, but all irregular desires, upon pain of hell-fire; causeless divorces; swearing in conversation, as well as forswearing in judgment; revenge; retaliation; ostentation of charity, of devotion, and of fasting; repetitions in prayer, covetousness, worldly care, censoriousness: and on the other side commands loving our enemies, doing good to those that hate us, blessing those that curse us, praying for those that despitefully use us; patience and meekness under injuries, forgiveness, liberality, compassion: and closes all his particular injunctions, with this general golden rule, Matt. vii. 12, “All things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do you even so to them, for this is the law and the prophets.” And to show how much he is in earnest, and expects obedience to these laws, he tells them, Luke vi. 35, That if they obey, “great shall be their reward;” they “shall be called the sons of the Highest.” And to all this, in the conclusion, he adds the solemn sanction; “Why call ye me, Lord, Lord, and do not the things that I say?” It is in vain for you to take me for the Messiah your King, unless you obey me. “Not every one who calls me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven,” or be the Sons of God; “but he that doth the will of my father which is in heaven.” To such disobedient subjects, though they have prophesied and done miracles in my name, I shall say at the day of judgment, “Depart from me, ye workers of iniquity; I know you not.”

When, Matt. xii. he was told, that his mother and brethren sought to speak with him, ver. 49, “Stretching out his hands to his disciples, he said, Behold my mother and my brethren; for whosoever shall do the will of my Father, who is in heaven, he is my brother, and sister, and mother.” They could not be children of the adoption, and fellow heirs with him of eternal life, who did not do the will of his heavenly Father.

Matt. xv. and Mark vi. the pharisees finding fault, that his disciples eat with unclean hands, he makes this declaration to his apostles: “Do not ye perceive, that whatsoever from without entereth into a man cannot defile him, because it entereth not into his heart, but his belly? That which cometh out of the man, that defileth the man; for from within, out of the heart of men, proceed evil thoughts, adulteries, fornications, murders, thefts, false witnesses, covetousness, wickedness, deceit, lasciviousness, an evil eye, blasphemy, pride, foolishness. All these ill things come from within, and defile a man.”

He commands self-denial, and the exposing ourselves to suffering and danger, rather than to deny or disown him: and this upon pain of losing our souls; which are of more worth than all the world. This we may read, Matt. xvi. 24 — 27, and the parallel places, Mark viii. and Luke ix.

The apostles disputing among them, who should be greatest in the kingdom of the Messiah, Matt. xviii. 1, he thus determines the controversy, Mark ix. 35, “If any one will be first, let him be last of all, and servant of all:” and setting a child before them adds, Matt. xviii. 3, “Verily I say unto you, Unless ye turn, and become as children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.”

Matth. xviii. 15, “If thy brother shall trespass against thee, go and tell him his fault between thee and him alone: if he shall hear thee, thou hast gained thy brother. But if he will not hear thee, then take with thee one or two more, that in the mouth of two or three witnesses every word may be established. And if he shall neglect to hear them, tell it to the church: but if he neglect to hear the church, let him be unto thee, as an heathen and publican.” Ver. 21, “Peter said, Lord, how often shall my brother sin against me and I forgive him? Till seven times? Jesus said unto him, I say not unto thee, till seven times; but until seventy times seven.” And then ends the parable of the servant, who being himself forgiven, was rigorous to his fellow-servant, with these words, ver. 34, “and his Lord was wroth, and delivered him to the tormentors, till he should pay all that was due to him. So likewise shall my heavenly Father do also unto you, if you from your hearts forgive not every one his brother their trespasses.”

Luke x. 25, to the lawyer, asking him, “What shall I do to inherit eternal life? He said, What is written in the law? How readest thou?” He answered, “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, and with all thy mind; and thy neighbour as thyself.” Jesus said, “This do, and thou shalt live.” And when the lawyer, upon our Saviour’s parable of the good Samaritan, was forced to confess, that he that showed mercy was his neighbour; Jesus dismissed him with this charge, ver. 37, “Go, and do thou likewise.”

Luke xi. 41, “Give alms, of such things as ye have; behold all things are clean unto you.”

Luke xii. 15, “Take heed, and beware of covetousness.” Ver. 22, “Be not solicitous what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink, nor what ye shall put on;” be not fearful, or apprehensive of want; “for it is your Father’s pleasure to give you a kingdom. Sell that you have, and give alms: and provide yourselves bags that wax not old, a treasure in the heavens, that faileth not: for where your treasure is, there will your heart be also. Let your loins be girded, and your lights burning; and ye yourselves like unto men that wait for the Lord when he will return. Blessed are those servants, whom the Lord, when he cometh, shall find watching. Blessed is that servant, whom the Lord having made ruler of his househould, to give them their portion of meat in due season, the Lord, when he cometh, shall find so doing. Of a truth I say unto you, that he will make him ruler over all that he hath. But if that servant say in his heart, my Lord delayeth his coming; and shall begin to beat the men servants, and maidens, and to eat and drink, and to be drunken; the Lord of that servant will come in a day when he looketh not for him, and at an hour when he is not aware; and will cut him in sunder, and will appoint him his portion with unbelievers. And that servant who knew his lord’s will, and prepared not himself, neither did according to his will, shall be beaten with many stripes. But he that knew not and did commit things worthy of stripes, shall be beaten with few stripes. For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall much be required: and to whom men have committed much, of him they will ask the more.”

Luke xiv. 11, “Whosoever exalteth himself shall be abased: and he that humbleth himself shall be exalted.”

Ver. 12, “When thou makest a dinner, or supper, call not thy friends, or thy brethren, neither thy kinsmen, nor thy neighbours; lest they also bid thee again, and a recompense be made thee. But when thou makest a feast, call the poor, and maimed, the lame and the blind; and thou shalt be blessed, for they cannot recompense thee; for thou shalt be recompensed at the resurrection of the just.”

Ver. 33, “So likewise, whosoever he be of you, that is not ready to forego all that he hath, he cannot be my disciple.”

Luke xiv. 9, “I say unto you, make to yourselves friends of the mammon of unrighteousness: that when ye fail, they may receive you into everlasting habitations. If ye have not been faithful in the unrighteous mammon, who will commit to your trust the true riches? And if ye have not been faithful in that which is another man’s, who shall give you that which is your own?”

Luke xvii. 3, “If thy brother trespass against thee, rebuke him; and if he repent forgive him. And if he trespass against thee seven times in a day, and seven times in a day turn again unto thee, saying, I repent, thou shalt forgive him.”

Luke xviii. 1, “He spoke a parable to them to this end, that men ought always to pray, and not to faint.”

Ver. 18, “One comes to him and asks him, saying, Master, what shall I do to inherit eternal life? Jesus said unto him, If thou wilt enter into life, keep the commandments. He says, Which? Jesus said, Thou knowest the commandments. Thou shalt not kill; thou shalt not commit adultery; thou shalt not steal; thou shalt not bear false witness; defraud not; honour thy father and thy mother; and thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself. He said, all these have I observed from my youth. Jesus hearing this, loved him, and said unto him, Yet lackest thou one thing: sell all that thou hast, and give it to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me.” To understand this right, we must take notice, that this young man asks our Saviour, what he must do to be admitted effectually into the kingdom of the Messiah? The jews believed, that when the Messiah came, those of their nation that received him, should not die; but that they, with those who, being dead, should then be raised again by him, should enjoy eternal life with him. Our Saviour, in answer to this demand, tells the young man, that to obtain the eternal life of the kingdom of the Messiah, he must keep the commandments. And then enumerating several of the precepts of the law, the young man says, he had observed these from his childhood. For which the text tells us, Jesus loved him. But our Saviour, to try whether in earnest he believed him to be the Messiah, and resolved to take him to be his king, and to obey him as such, bids him give all that he has to the poor, and come, and follow him; and he should have treasure in heaven. This I look on to be the meaning of the place; this, of selling all he had, and giving it to the poor, not being a standing law of his kingdom; but a probationary command to this young man; to try whether he truly believed him to be the Messiah, and was ready to obey his commands, and relinquish all to follow him, when he, his prince, required it.

And therefore we see, Luke xix. 14, where our Saviour takes notice of the jews not receiving him as the Messiah, he expresses it thus: “We will not have this man to reign over us.” It is not enough to believe him to be the Messiah, unless we also obey his laws, and take him to be our king to reign over us.

Matt. xxii. 11 — 13, he that had not on the wedding-garment, though he accepted of the invitation, and came to the wedding, was cast into utter darkness. By the wedding-garment, it is evident good works are meant here; that wedding-garment of fine linen, clean, and white, which we are told, Rev. xix, 8, is the διϰαιώματα, “righteous acts of the saints;” or, as St. Paul calls it, Ephes. iv. 1, “The walking worthy of the vocation wherewith we are called.” This appears from the parable itself: “The kingdom of heaven,” says our Saviour, ver. 2, “is like unto a king, who made a marriage for his son.” And here he distinguishes those who were invited, into three sorts: 1. Those who were invited, and came not; i. e. those who had the gospel, the good news of the kingdom of God proposed to them, but believed not. 2. Those who came, but had not on a wedding-garment; i. e. believed Jesus to be the Messiah, but were not new clad (as I may so say) with a true repentance, and amendment of life: nor adorned with those virtues, which the apostle, Col. iii. requires to be put on. 3. Those who were invited, did come, and had on the wedding-garment; i. e. heard the gospel, believed Jesus to be the Messiah, and sincerely obeyed his laws. These three sorts are plainly designed here; whereof the last only were the blessed, who were to enjoy the kingdom prepared for them.

Matt. xxiii. “Be not ye called Rabbi; for one is your master, even the Messiah, and ye are all brethren. And call no man your father upon the earth: for one is your Father which is in heaven. Neither be ye called masters: for one is your master, even the Messiah. But he that is greatest amongst you, shall be your servant. And whosoever shall exalt himself, shall be abased; and he that shall humble himself, shall be exalted.”

Luke xxi. 34, “Take heed to yourselves, lest your hearts be at any time overcharged with surfeiting and drunkenness, and cares of this life.”

Luke xxii. 25, “He said unto them, the kings of the gentiles exercise lordship over them; and they that exercise authority upon them, are called benefactors. But ye shall not be so. But he that is greatest among you, let him be as the younger; and he that is chief, as he that doth serve.”

John xiii. 34, “A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another: as I have loved you, that ye also love one another. By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye love one another.” This command, of loving one another, is repeated again, chap. xv. 12, and 17.

John xiv. 15, “If ye love me, keep my commandments.” Ver. 21, “He that hath my commandments, and keepeth them, he it is that loveth me: and he that loveth me, shall be loved of my Father, and I will love him, and manifest myself to him.” Ver. 23, “If a man loveth me he will keep my words.” Ver. 24, “He that loveth me not, keepeth not my sayings.”

John xv. 8, “In this is my Father glorified, that ye bear much fruit; so shall ye be my disciples.” Ver. 14, “Ye are my friends, if ye do whatsoever I command you.”

Thus we see our Saviour not only confirmed the moral law; and clearing it from the corrupt glosses of the scribes and pharisees, showed the strictness as well as obligation of its injunctions; but moreover, upon occasion, requires the obedience of his disciples to several of the commands he afresh lays upon them; with the inforcement of unspeakable rewards and punishments in another world, according to their obedience or disobedience. There is not, I think, any of the duties of morality, which he has not, somewhere or other, by himself and his apostles, inculcated over and over again to his followers in express terms. And is it for nothing that he is so instant with them to bring forth fruit? Does he, their King, command, and is it an indifferent thing? Or will their happiness or misery not at all depend upon it, whether they obey or no? They were required to believe him to be the Messiah; which faith is of grace promised to be reckoned to them, for the completing of their righteousness, wherein it was defective: but righteousness, or obedience to the law of God, was their great business, which, if they could have attained by their own performances, there would have been no need of this gracious allowance, in reward of their faith: but eternal life, after the resurrection, had been their due by a former covenant, even that of works; the rule whereof was never abolished, though the rigour was abated. The duties enjoined in it were duties still. Their obligations had never ceased; nor a wilful neglect of them was ever dispensed with. But their past transgressions were pardoned, to those who received Jesus, the promised Messiah, for their king; and their future slips covered, if renouncing their former iniquities, they entered into his kingdom, and continued his subjects with a steady resolution and endeavour to obey his laws. This righteousness therefore, a complete obedience, and freedom from sin, are still sincerely to be endeavoured after. And it is no-where promised, that those who persist in a wilful disobedience to his laws, shall be received into the eternal bliss of his kingdom, how much soever they believe in him.

A sincere obedience, how can any one doubt to be, or scruple to call, a condition of the new covenant, as well as faith; whoever reads our Saviour’s sermon in the mount, to omit all the rest? Can any thing be more express than these words of our Lord? Matt. vi. 14, “If you forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you: but if you forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.” And John xiii. 17, “If ye know these things, happy are ye if you do them.” This is so inindispensable a condition of the new covenant, that believing without it, will not do, nor be accepted; if our Saviour knew the terms on which he would admit men into life. “Why call ye me, Lord, Lord,” says he, Luke vi. 46, “and do not the things which I say?” It is not enough to believe him to be the Messiah, the Lord, without obeying him. For that these he speaks to here, were believers, is evident from the parallel place, Matt. vii. 21 — 23, where it is thus recorded: “Not every one who says, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven; but he that doth the will of my father, which is in heaven.” No rebels, or refractory disobedient, shall be admitted there, though they have so far believed in Jesus, as to be able to do miracles in his name: as is plain out of the following words: “Many will say to me in that day, Have we not prophesied in thy name, and in thy name have cast out devils, and in thy name have done many wonderful works? And then will I profess unto them, I never knew you; depart from me, ye workers of iniquity.”

This part of the new covenant, the apostles also, in their preaching the gospel of the Messiah, ordinarily joined with the doctrine of faith.

St. Peter, in his first sermon, Acts ii. when they were pricked in heart, and asked, “What shall we do?” says, ver. 38, “Repent, and be baptized, every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ, for the remission of sins.” The same he says to them again in his next speech, Acts iv. 26, “Unto you first, God having raised up his Son Jesus, sent him to bless you.” How was this done? “in turning away every one from your iniquities.”

The same doctrine they preach to the high priest and rulers, Acts v. 30, “The God of our fathers raised up Jesus, whom ye slew, and hanged on a tree. Him hath God exalted with his right hand, to be a Prince and a Saviour, for to give repentance to Israel, and forgiveness of sins; and we are witnesses of these things, and so is also the Holy Ghost, whom God hath given to them that obey him.”

Acts xvii. 30, St. Paul tells the Athenians, That now under the gospel, “God commandeth all men everywhere to repent.”

Acts xx. 21, St. Paul, in his last conference with the elders of Ephesus, professes to have taught them the whole doctrine necessary to salvation: “I have,” says he, “kept back nothing that was profitable unto you; but have showed you, and have taught you publicly, and from house to house; testifying both to the jews and to the Greeks:” and then gives an account what his preaching had been, viz. “Repentance towards God, and faith towards our Lord Jesus the Messiah.” This was the sum and substance of the gospel which St. Paul preached, and was all that he knew necessary to salvation; viz. “Repentance, and believing Jesus to be the Messiah:” and so takes his last farewell of them, whom he shall never see again, ver. 32, in these words, “And now, brethren, I commend you to God, and to the word of his grace, which is able to build you up, and to give you an inheritance among all them that are sanctified.” There is an inheritance conveyed by the word and covenant of grace; but it is only to those who are sanctified.

Acts xxiv. 24, “When Felix sent for Paul,” that he and his wife Drusilla might hear him, “concerning the faith in Christ;” Paul reasoned of righteousness, or justice; and temperance; the duties we owe to others, and to ourselves; and of the judgment to come; until he made Felix to tremble. Whereby it appears, that “temperance and justice” were fundamental parts of the religion that Paul professed, and were contained in the faith which he preached. And if we find the duties of the moral law not pressed by him every-where, we must remember, that most of his sermons left upon record, were preached in their synagogues to the jews, who acknowledged their obedience due to all the precepts of the law; and would have taken it amiss to have been suspected not to have been more zealous for the law than he. And therefore it was with reason that his discourses were directed chiefly to what they yet wanted, and were averse to, the knowledge and embracing of Jesus, their promised Messiah. But what his preaching generally was, if we will believe him himself, we may see, Acts xxvi. where giving an account to king Agrippa, of his life and doctrine, he tells him, ver. 20, “I showed unto them of Damascus, and at Jerusalem, and throughout all the coasts of Judea, and then to the gentiles, that they should repent and turn to God, and do works meet for repentance.”

Thus we see, by the preaching of our Saviour and his apostles, that he required of those who believed him to be the Messiah, and received him for their Lord and Deliverer, that they should live by his laws: and that (though in consideration of their becoming his subjects, by faith in him, whereby they believed and took him to be the Messiah, their former sins should be forgiven, yet) he would own none to be his, nor receive them as true denizens of the new Jerusalem, into the inheritance of eternal life; but leave them to the condemnation of the unrighteous; who renounced not their former miscarriages, and lived in a sincere obedience to his commands. What he expects from his followers, he has sufficiently declared as a legislator: and that they may not be deceived, by mistaking the doctrine of faith, grace, free-grace, and the pardon and forgiveness of sins, and salvation by him, (which was the great end of his coming,) he more than once declares to them, for what omissions and miscarriages he shall judge and condemn to death, even those who have owned him, and done miracles in his name: when he comes at last to render to every one according to what he had done in the flesh, sitting upon his great and glorious tribunal, at the end of the world.

The first place where we find our Saviour to have mentioned the day of judgment, is John v. 28, 29, in these words: “the hour is coming, in which all that are in their grave shall hear his [i. e. the Son of God’s] voice, and shall come forth; they that have done good, unto the resurrection of life; and they that have done evil, unto the resurrection of damnation.” That which puts the distinction, if we will believe our Saviour, is the having done good or evil. And he gives a reason of the necessity of his judging or condemning those “who have done evil,” in the following words, ver. 30, “I can of myself do nothing. As I hear I judge; and my judgment is just; because I seek not my own will, but the will of my Father who hath sent me.” He could not judge of himself; he had but a delegated power of judging from the Father, whose will he obeyed in it; and who was of purer eyes than to admit any unjust person into the kingdom of heaven.

Matt. vii. 22, 23, speaking again of that day, he tells what his sentence will be, “Depart from me, ye workers of iniquity.” Faith in the penitent and sincerely obedient, supplies the defect of their performances; and so by grace they are made just. But we may observe, none are sentenced or punished for unbelief, but only for their misdeeds. “They are workers of iniquity” on whom the sentence is pronounced.

Matt. xiii. 41, “At the end of the world, the Son of man shall send forth his angels; and they shall gather out of his kingdom all scandals, and them which do iniquity; and cast them into a furnace of fire; there shall be wailing and gnashing of teeth.” And again, ver. 49, “The angels shall sever the wicked from among the just; and shall cast them into the furnace of fire.”

Matt. xvi. 24, “For the Son of man shall come in the glory of his Father, with his angels: and then he shall reward every man according to his works.”

Luke xiii. 26, “Then shall ye begin to say, We have eaten and drank in thy presence, and thou hast taught in our streets. But he shall say, I tell you, I know you not; depart from me, ye workers of iniquity.”

Matt. xxv. 31 — 46, “When the Son of man shall come in his glory; and before him shall be gathered all nations; he shall set the sheep on his right hand, and the goats on his left. Then shall the king say to them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was an hungered, and ye gave me meat; I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink; I was a stranger, and ye took me in; naked, and ye clothed me; I was sick, and ye visited me; I was in prison, and ye came unto me. Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungered, and fed thee? &c. And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily, I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me. Then shall he say unto them on the left hand, Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels: for I was an hungered, and ye gave me no meat; I was thirsty, and ye gave me no drink; I was a stranger, and ye took me not in; naked, and ye clothed me not; sick, and in prison, and ye visited me not. Insomuch that ye did it not to one of these, ye did it not to me. And these shall go into everlasting punishment; but the righteous into life eternal.”

These, I think, are all the places where our Saviour mentions the last judgment, or describes his way of proceeding in that great day; wherein, as we have observed, it is remarkable, that every-where the sentence follows doing or not doing, without any mention of believing or not believing. Not that any, to whom the gospel hath been preached, shall be saved, without believing Jesus to be the Messiah: for all being sinners, and transgressors of the law, and so unjust; are all liable to condemnation; unless they believe, and so through grace are justified by God, for this faith, which shall be accounted to them for righteousness. But the rest wanting this cover, this allowance for their transgressions, must answer for all their actions; and being found transgressors of the law, shall, by the letter and sanction of that law, be condemned for not having paid a full obedience to that law; and not for want of faith. That is not the guilt on which the punishment is laid; though it be the want of faith, which lays open their guilt uncovered; and exposes them to the sentence of the law, against all that are unrighteous.

The common objection here, is, If all sinners shall be condemned, but such as have a gracious allowance made them; and so are justified by God, for believing Jesus to be the Messiah, and so taking him for their King, whom they are resolved to obey to the utmost of their power; “What shall become of all mankind, who lived before our Saviour’s time, who never heard of his name, and consequently could not believe in him?” To this the answer is so obvious and natural, that one would wonder how any reasonable man should think it worth the urging. No-body was, or can be required to believe, what was never proposed to him to believe. Before the fulness of time, which God from the counsel of his own wisdom had appointed to send his Son in, he had, at several times, and in different manners, promised to the people of Israel, an extraordinary person to come; who, raised from amongst themselves, should be their Ruler and Deliverer. The time, and other circumstances of his birth, life, and person, he had in sundry prophecies so particularly described, and so plainly foretold, that he was well known, and expected by the jews, under the name of the Messiah, or Anointed, given him in some of these prophecies. All then that was required, before his appearing in the world, was to believe what God had revealed, and to rely with a full assurance on God, for the performance of his promise; and to believe, that in due time he would send them the Messiah, this anointed King, this promised Saviour and Deliverer, according to his word. This faith in the promises of God, this relying and acquiescing in his word and faithfulness, the Almighty takes well at our hands, as a great mark of homage, paid by us poor frail creatures, to his goodness and truth, as well as to his power and wisdom: and accepts it as an acknowledgment of his peculiar providence, and benignity to us. And therefore our Saviour tells us, John xii. 44, “He that believes on me, believes not on me, but on him that sent me.” The works of nature show his wisdom and power; but it is his peculiar care of mankind most eminently discovered in his promises to them, that shows his bounty and goodness; and consequently engages their hearts in love and affection to him. This oblation of an heart, fixed with dependence on, and affection to him, is the most acceptable tribute we can pay him, the foundation of true devotion, and life of all religion. What a value he puts on this depending on his word, and resting satisfied in his promises, we have an example in Abraham; whose faith “was counted to him for righteousness,” as we have before remarked out of Rom. iv. And his relying firmly on the promise of God, without any doubt of its performance, gave him the name of the father of the faithful; and gained him so much favour with the Almighty, that he was called the “friend of God;” the highest and most glorious title that can be bestowed on a creature. The thing promised was no more but a son by his wife Sarah; and a numerous posterity by him, which should possess the land of Canaan. These were but temporal blessings, and (except the birth of a son) very remote, such as he should never live to see, nor in his own person have the benefit of. But because he questioned not the performance of it; but rested fully satisfied in the goodness, truth, and faithfulness of God, who had promised, it was counted to him for righteousness. Let us see how St. Paul expresses it, Rom. iv. 18 — 22, “Who, against hope, believed in hope, that he might become the father of many nations; according to that which was spoken, So shall thy seed be. And being not weak in faith, he considered not his own body now dead, when he was above an hundred years old, neither yet the deadness of Sarah’s womb. He staggered not at the promise of God through unbelief, but was strong in faith: giving glory to God, and being fully persuaded, that what he had promised he was able to perform. And therefore it was imputed to him for righteousness.” St. Paul having here emphatically described the strength and firmness of Abraham’s faith, informs us, that he thereby “gave glory to God;” and therefore it was accounted to him for righteousness.” This is the way that God deals with poor frail mortals. He is graciously pleased to take it well of them, and give it the place of righteousness, and a kind of merit in his sight; if they believe his promises, and have a steadfast relying on his veracity and goodness. St. Paul, Heb. xi. 6, tells us, “Without faith it is impossible to please God:” but at the same time tells us what faith that is. “For,” says he, “he that cometh to God, must believe that he is; and that he is a rewarder of them that diligently seek him.” He must be persuaded of God’s mercy and goodwill to those who seek to obey him; and rest assured of his rewarding those who rely on him, for whatever, either by the light of nature, or particular promises, he has revealed to them of his tender mercies, and taught them to expect from his bounty. This description of faith (that we might not mistake what he means by that faith, without which we cannot please God, and which recommended the saints of old) St. Paul places in the middle of the list of those who were eminent for their faith; and whom he sets as patterns to the converted Hebrews, under persecution, to encourage them to persist in their confidence of deliverance by the coming of Jesus Christ, and in their belief of the promises they now had under the gospel. By those examples he exhorts them not to “draw back” from the hope that was set before them, nor apostatize from the profession of the christian religion. This is plain from ver. 35 — 38, of the precedent chapter: “Cast not away therefore your confidence, which hath great recompence of reward. For ye have great need of persisting or perseverance;” (for so the Greek word signifies here, which our translation renders “patience.” Vide Luke viii. 15.) “that after ye have done the will of God, ye might receive the promise. For yet a little while, and he that shall come will come, and will not tarry. Now the just shall live by faith. But if any man draw back, my soul shall have no pleasure in him.”

The examples of faith, which St. Paul enumerates and proposes in the following words, chap. xi. plainly show, that the faith whereby those believers of old pleased God, was nothing but a steadfast reliance on the goodness and faithfulness of God, for those good things, which either the light of nature, or particular promises, had given them grounds to hope for. Of what avail this faith was with God, we may see, ver. 4, “By faith Abel offered unto God a more excellent sacrifice than Cain; by which he obtained witness that he was righteous.” Ver. 5, “By faith Enoch was translated, that he should not see death: for before his translation he had this testimony, that he pleased God.” Ver. 7, “Noah being warned of God of things not seen as yet;” being wary, “by faith prepared an ark, to the saving of his house; by the which he condemned the world, and became heir of the righteousness which is by faith.” And what it was that God so graciously accepted and rewarded, we are told, ver. 11, “Through faith also Sarah herself received strength to conceive seed, and was delivered of a child, when she was past age.” How she came to obtain this grace from God, the apostle tells us, “Because she judged him faithful who had promised.” Those therefore, who pleased God, and were accepted by him before the coming of Christ, did it only by believing the promises, and relying on the goodness of God, as far as he had revealed it to them. For the apostle, in the following words, tells us, ver. 13, “These all died in faith, not having received (the accomplishment of) the promises; but having seen them afar off: and were persuaded of them, and embraced them.” This was all that was required of them; to be persuaded of, and embrace the promises which they had. They could be “persuaded of” no more than was proposed to them; “embrace” no more than was revealed; according to the promises they had received, and the dispensations they were under. And if the faith of things “seen afar off;” if their trusting in God for the promises he then gave them; if a belief of the Messiah to come; were sufficient to render those who lived in the ages before Christ acceptable to God, and righteous before him: I desire those who tell us, that God will not (nay, some go so far as to say, cannot) accept any, who do not believe every article of their particular creeds and systems, to consider, why God, out of his infinite mercy, cannot as well justify men now, for believing Jesus of Nazareth to be the promised Messiah, the King and Deliverer; as those heretofore, who believed only that God would, according to his promise, in due time, send the Messiah, to be a King and Deliverer.

There is another difficulty often to be met with, which seems to have something of more weight in it: and that is, that “though the faith of those before Christ (believing that God would send the Messiah, to be a Prince and a Saviour to his people, as he had promised), and the faith of those since his time (believing Jesus to be that Messiah, promised and sent by God), shall be accounted to them for righteousness; yet what shall become of all the rest of mankind, who, having never heard of the promise or news of a Saviour; not a word of a Messiah to be sent, or that was come; have had no thought or belief concerning him?”

To this I answer; that God will require of every man, “according to what a man hath, and not according to what he hath not.” He will not expect the improvement of ten talents, where he gave but one; nor require any one should believe a promise of which he has never heard. The apostle’s reasoning, Rom. x. 14, is very just: “How shall they believe in him, of whom they have not heard?” But though there be many who being strangers to the commonwealth of Israel, were also strangers to the oracles of God, committed to that people; many, to whom the promise of the Messiah never came, and so were never in a capacity to believe or reject that revelation; yet God had, by the light of reason, revealed to all mankind, who would make use of that light, that he was good and merciful. The same spark of the divine nature and knowledge in man, which making him a man, showed him the law he was under, as a man; showed him also the way of atoning the merciful, kind, compassionate Author and Father of him and his being, when he had transgressed that law. He that made use of this candle of the Lord, so far as to find what was his duty, could not miss to find also the way to reconciliation and foregiveness, when he had failed of his duty: though, if he used not his reason this way, if he put out or neglected this light, he might, perhaps, see neither.

The law is the eternal, immutable standard of right. And a part of that law is, that a man should forgive, not only his children, but his enemies, upon their repentance, asking pardon, and amendment. And therefore he could not doubt that the author of this law, and God of patience and consolation, who is rich in mercy, would forgive his frail offspring, if they acknowledged their faults, disapproved the iniquity of their transgressions, begged his pardon, and resolved in earnest, for the future, to conform their actions to this rule, which they owned to be just and right. This way of reconciliation, this hope of atonement, the light of nature revealed to them: and the revelation of the gospel, having said nothing to the contrary, leaves them to stand and fall to their own Father and Master, whose goodness and mercy is over all his works.

I know some are forward to urge that place of the Acts, chap. iv. as contrary to this. The words, ver. 10 and 12, stand thus: “Be it known unto you all, and to all the people of Israel, that by the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, whom ye crucified, whom God raised from the dead, even by him, doth this man” [i. e. the lame man restored by Peter] “stand here before you whole. This is the stone which is set at nought by you builders, which is become the head of the corner. Neither is there salvation in any other: for there is none other name under heaven given among men, in which we must be saved.” Which, in short, is, that Jesus is the only true Messiah, neither is there any other person, but he, given to be a mediator between God and man; in whose name we may ask, and hope for salvation.

It will here possibly be asked, “Quorsum perditio hæc?” What need was there of a Saviour? What advantage have we by Jesus Christ?

It is enough to justify the fitness of any thing to be done, by resolving it into the “wisdom of God,” who had done it; though our short views, and narrow understandings, may utterly incapacitate us to see that wisdom, and to judge rightly of it. We know little of this visible, and nothing at all of the state of that intellectual world, wherein are infinite numbers and degrees of spirits out of the reach of our ken, or guess; and therefore know not what transactions there were between God and our Saviour, in reference to his kingdom. We know not what need there was to set up an head and a chieftain, in opposition to “the prince of this world, the prince of the power of the air,” &c. whereof there are more than obscure intimations in scripture. And we shall take too much upon us, if we shall call God’s wisdom or providence to account, and pertly condemn for needless all that our weak, and perhaps biassed, understanding cannot account for.

Though this general answer be reply enough to the forementioned demand, and such as a rational man, or fair searcher after truth, will acquiesce in; yet in this particular case, the wisdom and goodness of God has shown itself so visibly to common apprehensions, that it hath furnished us abundantly wherewithal to satisfy the curious and inquisitive; who will not take a blessing, unless they be instructed what need they had of it, and why it was bestowed upon them. The great and many advantages we receive by the coming of Jesus the Messiah, will show, that it was not without need, that he was sent into the world.

The evidence of our Saviour’s mission from heaven is so great, in the multitude of miracles he did before all sorts of people, that what he delivered cannot but be received as the oracles of God, and unquestionable verity. For the miracles he did were so ordered by the divine providence and wisdom, that they never were, nor could be denied by any of the enemies, or opposers of christianity.

Though the works of nature, in every part of them, sufficiently evidence a deity; yet the world made so little use of their reason, that they saw him not, where, even by the impressions of himself, he was easy to be found. Sense and lust blinded their minds in some, and a careless inadvertency in others, and fearful apprehensions in most, (who either believed there were, or could not but suspect there might be, superiour unknown beings,) gave them up into the hands of their priests, to fill their heads with false notions of the Deity, and their worship with foolish rites, as they pleased: and what dread or craft once began, devotion soon made sacred, and religion immutable. In this state of darkness and ignorance of the true God, vice and superstition held the world. Nor could any help be had, or hoped for, from reason; which could not be heard, and was judged to have nothing to do in the case; the priests, everywhere, to secure their empire, having excluded reason from having any thing to do in religion. And in the crowd of wrong notions, and invented rites, the world had almost lost the sight of the one only true God. The rational and thinking part of mankind, it is true, when they sought after him, they found the one supreme, invisible God; but if they acknowledged and worshipped him, it was only in their own minds. They kept this truth locked up in their own breasts as a secret, nor ever durst venture it amongst the people; much less amongst the priests, those wary guardians, of their own creeds and profitable inventions. Hence we see, that reason, speaking ever so clearly to the wise and virtuous, had never authority enough to prevail on the multitude; and to persuade the societies of men, that there was but one God, that alone was to be owned and worshipped. The belief and worship of one God, was the national religion of the Israelites alone: and if we will consider it, it was introduced and supported amongst the people by revelation. They were in Goshen, and had light, whilst the rest of the word were in almost Egyptian darkness, “without God in the world.” There was no part of mankind, who had quicker parts, or improved them more; that had a greater light of reason, or followed it farther in all sorts of speculations, than the Athenians; and yet we find but one Socrates amongst them, that opposed and laughed at their polytheism, and wrong opinions of the Deity; and we see how they rewarded him for it. Whatsoever Plato, and the soberest of the philosophers, thought of the nature and being of the one God, they were fain, in their outward professions and worship, to go with the herd, and keep to their religion established by law: which what it was, and how it had disposed the minds of these knowing and quick-sighted Grecians, St. Paul tells us, Acts xvii. 22 — 29, “Ye men of Athens,” says he, “I perceive, that in all things ye are too superstitious. For as I passed by, and beheld your devotions, I found an altar with this inscription, to the unknown god. Whom therefore ye ignorantly worship, him declare I unto you. God that made the world, and all things therein, seeing that he is Lord of heaven and earth, dwelleth not in temples made with hands: neither is worshipped with men’s hands, as though he needed any thing, seeing that he giveth unto all life, and breath, and all things; and hath made of one blood all the nations of men, for to dwell on the face of the earth; and hath determined the times before appointed, and the bounds of their habitations; that they should seek the Lord, if haply they might feel him out and find him, though he be not far from every one of us.” Here he tells the Athenians, that they, and the rest of the world (given up to superstition) whatever light there was in the works of creation and providence, to lead them to the true God; yet few of them found him. He was every-where near them; yet they were but like people groping and feeling for something in the dark, and did not see him with a full and clear day-light; “but thought the Godhead like to gold and siver, and stone, graven by art and man’s device.”

In this state of darkness and errour, in reference to the “true God,” our Saviour found the world. But the clear revelation he brought with him, dissipated this darkness; made the “one invisible true God” known to the world: and that with such evidence and energy, that polytheism and idolatry have no-where been able to withstand it: but wherever the preaching of the truth he delivered, and the light of the gospel hath come, those mists have been dispelled. And, in effect, we see, that since our Saviour’s time, the “belief of one God” has prevailed and spread itself over the face of the earth. For even to the light that the Messiah brought into the world with him, we must ascribe the owning and profession of one God, which the mahometan religion hath derived and borrowed from it. So that in this sense it is certainly and manifestly true of our Saviour, what St. John says of him, 1 John iii. 8, “For this purpose the Son of God was manifested, that he might destroy the works of the devil.” This light the world needed, and this light is received from him: that there is but “one God,” and he “eternal, invisible;” not like to any visible objects, nor to be represented by them.

If it be asked, whether the revelation to the patriarchs by Moses did not teach this, and why that was not enough? The answer is obvious; that however clearly the knowledge of one invisible God, maker of heaven and earth, was revealed to them; yet that revelation was shut up in a little corner of the world; amongst a people, by that very law, which they received with it, excluded from a commerce and communication with the rest of mankind. The gentile world, in our Saviour’s time, and several ages before, could have no attestation of the miracles on which the Hebrews built their faith, but from the jews themselves, a people not known to the greatest part of mankind; contemned and thought vilely of, by those nations that did know them; and therefore very unfit and unable to propagate the doctrine of one God in the world, and diffuse it through the nations of the earth, by the strength and force of that ancient revelation, upon which they had received it. But our Saviour, when he came, threw down this wall of partition; and did not confine his miracles or message to the land of Canaan, or the worshippers at Jerusalem. But he himself preached at Samaria, and did miracles in the borders of Tyre and Sidon, and before multitudes of people gathered from all quarters. And after his resurrection, sent his apostles amongst the nations, accompanied with miracles; which were done in all parts so frequently, and before so many witnesses of all sorts, in broad day-light, that, as I have before observed, the enemies of christianity have never dared to deny them; no, not Julian himself: who neither wanted skill nor power to inquire into the truth: nor would have failed to have proclaimed and exposed it, if he could have detected any falsehood in the history of the gospel; or found the least ground to question the matter of fact published of Christ and his apostles. The number and evidence of the miracles done by our Saviour and his followers, by the power and force of truth, bore down this mighty and accomplished emperor, and all his parts, in his own dominions. He durst not deny so plain a matter of fact, which being granted, the truth of our Saviour’s doctrine and mission unavoidably follows; notwithstanding whatsoever artful suggestions his wit could invent, or malice should offer to the contrary.

Next to the knowledge of one God; maker of all things; “a clear knowledge of their duty was wanting to mankind.” This part of knowledge, though cultivated with some care by some of the heathen philosophers, yet got little footing among the people. All men, indeed, under pain of displeasing the gods, were to frequent the temples: every one went to their sacrifices and services: but the priests made it not their business to teach them virtue. If they were diligent in their observations and ceremonies; punctual in their feasts and solemnities, and the tricks of religion; the holy tribe assured them the gods were pleased, and they looked no farther. Few went to the schools of the philosophers to be instructed in their duties, and to know what was good and evil in their actions. The priests sold the better pennyworths, and therefore had all the custom. Lustrations and processions were much easier than a clean conscience, and a steady course of virtue; and an expiatory sacrifice that atoned for the want of it, was much more convenient than a strict and holy life. No wonder then, that religion was everywhere distinguished from, and preferred to virtue; and that it was dangerous heresy and profaneness to think the contrary. So much virtue as was necessary to hold societies together, and to contribute to the quiet of governments, the civil laws of commonwealths taught, and forced upon men that lived under magistrates. But these laws being for the most part made by such, who had no other aims but their own power, reached no farther than those things that would serve to tie men together in subjection; or at most were directly to conduce to the prosperity and temporal happiness of any people. But natural religion, in its full extent, was no-where, that I know, taken care of, by the force of natural reason. It should seem, by the little that has hitherto been done in it, that it is too hard a task for unassisted reason to establish morality in all its parts, upon its true foundation, with a clear and convincing light. And it is at least a surer and shorter way, to the apprehensions of the vulgar, and mass of mankind, that one manifestly sent from God, and coming with visible authority from him, should, as a king and law-maker, tell them their duties; and require their obedience; than leave it to the long and sometimes intricate deductions of reason, to be made out to them. Such trains of reasoning the greatest part of mankind have neither leisure to weigh; nor, for want of education and use, skill to judge of. We see how unsuccessful in this the attempts of philosophers were before our Saviour’s time. How short their several systems came of the perfection of a true and complete morality, is very visible. And if, since that, the christian philosophers have much out-done them: yet we may observe, that the first knowledge of the truths they have added, is owing to revelation: though as soon as they are heard and considered, they are found to be agreeable to reason; and such as can by no means be contradicted. Every one may observe a great many truths, which he receives at first from others, and readily assents to, as consonant to reason, which he would have found it hard, and perhaps beyond his strength, to have discovered himself. Native and original truth is not so easily wrought out of the mine, as we, who have it delivered already dug and fashioned into our hands, are apt to imagine. And how often at fifty or threescore years old are thinking men told what they wonder how they could miss thinking of? Which yet their own contemplations did not, and possibly never would have helped them to. Experience shows, that the knowledge of morality, by mere natural light, (how agreeable soever it be to it,) makes but a slow progress, and little advance in the world. And the reason of it is not hard to be found in men’s necessities, passions, vices, and mistaken interests; which turn their thoughts another way: and the designing leaders, as well as following herd, find it not to their purpose to employ much of their meditations this way. Or whatever else was the cause, it is plain, in fact, that human reason unassisted failed men in its great and proper business of morality. It never from unquestionable principles, by clear deductions, made out an entire body of the “law of nature.” And he that shall collect all the moral rules of the philosophers, and compare them with those contained in the New Testament, will find them to come short of the morality delivered by our Saviour, and taught by his apostles; a college made up, for the most part, of ignorant, but inspired fishermen.

Though yet, if any one should think, that out of the sayings of the wise heathens before our Saviour’s time, there might be a collection made of all those rules of morality, which are to be found in the christian religion; yet this would not at all hinder, but that the world, nevertheless, stood as much in need of our Saviour, and the morality delivered by him. Let it be granted (though not true) that all the moral precepts of the gospel were known by somebody or other, amongst mankind before. But where, or how, or of what use, is not considered. Suppose they may be picked up here and there; some from Solon and Bias in Greece, others from Tully in Italy: and to complete the work, let Confucius, as far as China, be consulted; and Anacharsis, the Scythian, contribute his share. What will all this do, to give the world a complete morality, that may be to mankind the unquestionable rule of life and manners? I will not here urge the impossibility of collecting from men, so far distant from one another, in time and place, and languages. I will suppose there was a Stobeus in those times, who had gathered the moral sayings from all the sages of the world. What would this amount to, towards being a steady rule; a certain transcript of a law that we are under? Did the saying of Aristippus, or Confucius, give it an authority? Was Zeno a law-giver to mankind? If not, what he or any other philosopher delivered, was but a saying of his. Mankind might hearken to it, or reject it, as they pleased; or as it suited their interest, passions, principles or humours. They were under no obligation; the opinion of this or that philosopher was of no authority. And if it were, you must take all he said under the same character. All his dictates must go for law, certain and true; or none of them. And then, if you will take any of the moral sayings of Epicurus (many whereof Seneca quotes with esteem and approbation) for precepts of the law of nature, you must take all the rest of his doctrine for such too; or else his authority ceases: and so no more is to be received from him, or any of the sages of old, for parts of the law of nature, as carrying with it an obligation to be obeyed, but what they prove to be so. But such a body of ethics, proved to be the law of nature, from principles of reason, and teaching all the duties of life; I think nobody will say the world had before our Saviour’s time. It is not enough, that there were up and down scattered sayings of wise men, conformable to right reason. The law of nature, is the law of convenience too: and it is no wonder that those men of parts, and studious of virtue, (who had occasion to think on any particular part of it,) should, by meditation, light on the right even from the observable convenience and beauty of it; without making out its obligation from the true principles of the law of nature, and foundations of morality. But these incoherent apophthegms of philosophers, and wise men, however excellent in themselves, and well intended by them; could never make a morality, whereof the world could be convinced; could never rise to the force of a law, that mankind could with certainty depend on. Whatsoever should thus be universally useful, as a standard to which men should conform their manners, must have its authority, either from reason or revelation. It is not every writer of morality, or compiler of it from others, that can thereby be erected into a law-giver to mankind; and a dictator of rules, which are therefore valid, because they are to be found in his books; under the authority of this or that philosopher. He, that any one will pretend to set up in this kind, and have his rules pass for authentic directions, must show, that either he builds his doctrine upon principles of reason, self-evident in themselves; and that he deduces all the parts of it from thence, by clear and evident demonstration: or must show his commission from heaven, that he comes with authority from God, to deliver his will and commands to the world. In the former way, no-body that I know, before our Saviour’s time, ever did, or went about to give us a morality. It is true, there is a law of nature: but who is there that ever did, or undertook to give it us all entire, as a law; no more, nor no less, than what was contained in, and had the obligation of that law? Who ever made out all the parts of it, put them together, and showed the world their obligation? Where was there any such code, that mankind might have recourse to, as their unerring rule, before our Saviour’s time? If there was not, it is plain there was need of one to give us such a morality; such a law, which might be the sure guide of those who had a desire to go right; and, if they had a mind, need not mistake their duty, but might be certain when they had performed, when failed in it. Such a law of morality Jesus Christ hath given us in the New Testament; but by the latter of these ways, by revelation. We have from him a full and sufficient rule for our direction, and conformable to that of reason. But the truth and obligation of its precepts have their force, and are put past doubt to us, by the evidence of his mission. He was sent by God: his miracles show it; and the authority of God in his precepts cannot be questioned. Here morality has a sure standard, that revelation vouches, and reason cannot gainsay, nor question; but both together witness to come from God the great law-maker. And such an one as this, out of the New Testament, I think the world never had, nor can any one say, is any-where else to be found. Let me ask any one, who is forward to think that the doctrine of morality was full and clear in the world, at our Saviour’s birth; whither would he have directed Brutus and Cassius, (both men of parts and virtue, the one whereof believed, and the other disbelieved a future being,) to be satisfied in the rules and obligations of all the parts of their duties; if they should have asked him, Where they might find the law they were to live by, and by which they should be charged, or acquitted, as guilty, or innocent? If to the sayings of the wise, and the declarations of philosophers, he sends them into a wild wood of uncertainty, to an endless maze, from which they should never get out: if to the religions of the world, yet worse: and if to their own reason, he refers them to that which had some light and certainty; but yet had hitherto failed all mankind in a perfect rule; and we see, resolved not the doubts that had arisen amongst the studious and thinking philosophers; nor had yet been able to convince the civilized parts of the world, that they had not given, nor could, without a crime, take away the lives of their children, by exposing them.

If any one shall think to excuse human nature, by laying blame on men’s negligence, that they did not carry morality to an higher pitch; and make it out entire in every part, with that clearness of demonstration which some think it capable of; he helps not the matter. Be the cause what it will, our Saviour found mankind under a corruption of manners and principles, which ages after ages had prevailed, and must be confessed, was not in a way or tendency to be mended. The rules of morality were in different countries and sects different. And natural reason no-where had cured, nor was like to cure the defects and errours in them. Those just measures of right and wrong, which necessity had anywhere introduced, the civil laws prescribed, or philosophy recommended, stood on their true foundations. They were looked on as bonds of society, and conveniencies of common life, and laudable practices. But where was it that their obligation was thoroughly known and allowed, and they received as precepts of a law; of the highest law, the law of nature? That could not be, without a clear knowledge and acknowledgment of the law-maker, and the great rewards and punishments, for those that would, or would not obey him. But the religion of the heathens, as was before observed, little concerned itself in their morals. The priests, that delivered the oracles of heaven, and pretended to speak from the gods, spoke little of virtue and a good life. And, on the other side, the philosophers, who spoke from reason, made not much mention of the Deity in their ethics. They depended on reason and her oracles, which contain nothing but truth: but yet some parts of that truth lie too deep for our natural powers easily to reach, and make plain and visible to mankind; without some light from above to direct them. When truths are once known to us, though by tradition, we are apt to be favourable to our own parts; and ascribe to our own understandings the discovery of what, in reality, we borrowed from others: or, at least, finding we can prove, what at first we learn from others, we are forward to conclude it an obvious truth, which, if we had sought, we could not have missed. Nothing seems hard to our understandings that is once known: and because what we see, we see with our own eyes; we are apt to overlook, or forget the help we had from others who showed it us, and first made us see it; as if we were not at all beholden to them, for those truths they opened the way to, and led us into. For knowledge being only of truths that are perceived to be so, we are favourable enough to our own faculties, to conclude, that they of their own strength would have attained those discoveries, without any foreign assistance; and that we know those truths, by the strength and native light of our own minds, as they did from whom we received them by theirs, only they had the luck to be before us. Thus the whole stock of human knowledge is claimed by every one, as his private possession, as soon as he (profiting by others discoveries) has got it into his own mind: and so it is; but not properly by his own single industry, nor of his own acquisition. He studies, it is true, and takes pains to make a progress in what others have delivered: but their pains were of another sort, who first brought those truths to light, which he afterwards derives from them. He that travels the roads now, applauds his own strength and legs that have carried him so far in such a scantling of time; and ascribes all to his own vigour; little considering how much he owes to their pains, who cleared the woods, drained the bogs, built the bridges, and made the ways passable; without which he might have toiled much with little progress. A great many things which we have been bred up in the belief of, from our cradles, (and are notions grown familiar, and, as it were, natural to us, under the gospel,) we take for unquestionable obvious truths, and easily demonstrable; without considering how long we might have been in doubt or ignorance of them, had revelation been silent. And many are beholden to revelation, who do not acknowledge it. It is no diminishing to revelation, that reason gives its suffrage too, to the truths revelation has discovered. But it is our mistake to think, that because reason confirms them to us, we had the first certain knowledge of them from thence; and in that clear evidence we now possess them. The contrary is manifest, in the defective morality of the gentiles, before our Saviour’s time; and the want of reformation in the principles and measures of it, as well as practice. Philosophy seemed to have spent its strength, and done its utmost: or if it should have gone farther, as we see it did not, and from undeniable principles given us ethics in a science like mathematics, in every part demonstrable; this yet would not have been so effectual to man in this imperfect state, nor proper for the cure. The greatest part of mankind want leisure or capacity for demonstration; nor can carry a train of proofs, which in that way they must always depend upon for conviction, and cannot be required to assent to, until they see the demonstration. Wherever they stick, the teachers are always put upon proof, and must clear the doubt by a thread of coherent deductions from the first principle, how long, or how intricate soever they be. And you may as soon hope to have all the day-labourers and tradesmen, the spinsters and dairy-maids, perfect mathematicians, as to have them perfect in ethics this way. Hearing plain commands, is the sure and only course to bring them to obedience and practice. The greatest part cannot know, and therefore they must believe. And I ask, whether one coming from heaven in the power of God, in full and clear evidence and demonstration of miracles, giving plain and direct rules of morality and obedience; be not likelier to enlighten the bulk of mankind, and set them right in their duties, and bring them to do them, than by reasoning with them from general notions and principles of human reason? And were all the duties of human life clearly demonstrated, yet I conclude, when well considered, that method of teaching men their duties would be thought proper only for a few, who had much leisure, improved understandings, and were used to abstract reasonings. But the instruction of the people were best still to be left to the precepts and principles of the gospel. The healing of the sick, the restoring sight to the blind by a word, the raising and being raised from the dead, are matters of fact, which they can without difficulty conceive, and that he who does such things, must do them by the assistance of a divine power. These things lie level to the ordinariest apprehension: he that can distinguish between sick and well, lame and sound, dead and alive, is capable of this doctrine. To one who is once persuaded that Jesus Christ was sent by God to be a King, and a Saviour of those who do believe in him; all his commands become principles; there needs no other proof for the truth of what he says, but that he said it. And then there needs no more, but to read the inspired books, to be instructed: all the duties of morality lie there clear, and plain, and easy to be understood. And here I appeal, whether this be not the surest, the safest, and most effectual way of teaching: especially if we add this farther consideration, that as it suits the lowest capacities of reasonable creatures, so it reaches and satisfies, nay, enlightens the highest. The most elevated understandings cannot but submit to the authority of this doctrine as divine; which coming from the mouths of a company of illiterate men, hath not only the attestation of miracles, but reason to confirm it: since they delivered no precepts but such, as though reason of itself had not clearly made out, yet it could not but assent to, when thus discovered, and think itself indebted for the discovery. The credit and authority our Saviour and his apostles had over the minds of men, by the miracles they did, tempted them not to mix (as we find in that of all the sects and philosophers, and other religions) any conceits, any wrong rules, any thing tending to their own by-interest, or that of a party, in their morality. No tang of prepossession, or fancy; no footsteps of pride, or vanity; no touch of ostentation, or ambition: appears to have a hand in it. It is all pure, all sincere; nothing too much, nothing wanting; but such a complete rule of life, as the wisest men must acknowledge, tends entirely to the good of mankind, and that all would be happy, if all would practise it.

3. The outward forms of worshipping the Deity, wanted a reformation. Stately buildings, costly ornaments, peculiar and uncouth habits, and a numerous huddle of pompous, fantastical, cumbersome ceremonies, every-where attended divine worship. This, as it had the peculiar name, so it was thought the principal part, if not the whole of religion. Nor could this, possibly, be amended, whilst the jewish ritual stood; and there was so much of it mixed with the worship of the true God. To this also our Saviour, with the knowledge of the infinite, invisible, supreme Spirit, brought a remedy, in a plain, spiritual, and suitable worship. Jesus says to the woman of Samaria, “The hour cometh, when ye shall neither in this mountain, nor yet at Jerusalem, worship the Father. But the true worshippers shall worship the Father, both in Spirit and in truth; for the Father seeketh such to worship him.” To be worshipped in spirit and truth, with application of mind, and sincerity of heart, was what God henceforth only required. Magnificent temples, and confinement to certain places, were now no longer necessary for his worship, which by a pure heart might be performed any-where. The splendour and distinction of habits, and pomp of ceremonies, and all outside performances, might now be spared. God, who was a spirit, and made known to be so, required none of those, but the spirit only; and that in public assemblies, (where some actions must lie open to the view of the world), all that could appear and be seen, should be done decently, and in order, and to edification. Decency, order and edification, were to regulate all their public acts of worship, and beyond what these required, the outward appearance (which was of little value in the eyes of God) was not to go. Having shut indecency and confusion out of their assemblies, they need not be solicitous about useless ceremonies. Praises and prayer, humbly offered up to the Deity, were the worship he now demanded; and in these every one was to look after his own heart, and to know that it was that alone which God had regard to, and accepted.

4. Another great advantage received by our Saviour, is the great encouragement he brought to a virtuous and pious life; great enough to surmount the difficulties and obstacles that lie in the way to it, and reward the pains and hardships of those who stuck firm to their duties, and suffered for the testimony of a good conscience. The portion of the righteous has been in all ages taken notice of, to be pretty scanty in this world. Virtue and prosperity do not often accompany one another; and therefore virtue seldom had many followers. And it is no wonder she prevailed not much in a state, where the inconveniencies that attended her were visible, and at hand; and the rewards doubtful, and at a distance. Mankind, who are and must be allowed to pursue their happiness, nay, cannot be hindered; could not but think themselves excused from a strict observation of rules, which appeared so little to consist of their chief end, happiness; whilst they kept them from the enjoyments of this life; and they had little evidence and security of another. It is true they might have argued the other way, and concluded, That because the good were most of them ill-treated here, there was another place where they should meet with better usage; but it is plain they did not: their thoughts of another life were at best obscure, and their expectations uncertain. Of manes, and ghosts, and the shades of departed men, there was some talk; but little certain, and less minded. They had the names of Styx and Acheron, of Elysian fields and seats of the blessed: but they had them generally from their poets, mixed with their fables. And so they looked more like the inventions of wit, and ornaments of poetry, than the serious persuasions of the grave and the sober. They came to them bundled up among their tales, and for tales they took them. And that which rendered them more suspected, and less useful to virtue, was, that the philosophers seldom set their rules on men’s minds and practices, by consideration of another life. The chief of their arguments were from the excellency of virtue; and the highest they generally went, was the exalting of human nature, whose perfection lay in virtue. And if the priest at any time talked of the ghosts below, and a life after this; it was only to keep men to their superstitious and idolatrous rites; whereby the use of this doctrine was lost to the credulous multitude, and its belief to the quicker-sighted; who suspected it presently of priestcraft. Before our Saviour’s time the doctrine of a future state, though it were not wholly hid, yet it was not clearly known in the world. It was an imperfect view of reason, or, perhaps, the decayed remains of an ancient tradition, which seemed rather to float on men’s fancies, than sink deep into their hearts. It was something they knew not what, between being and not being. Something in man they imagined might escape the grave; but a perfect complete life, of an eternal duration, after this, was what entered little into their thoughts and less into their persuasions. And they were so far from being clear herein, that we see no nation of the world publicly professed it, and built upon it: no religion taught it; and it was no-where made an article of faith, and principle of religion, until Jesus Christ came; of whom it is truly said, that he, at his appearing, “brought life and immortality to light.” And that not only in the clear revelation of it, and in instances shown of men raised from the dead; but he has given us an unquestionable assurance and pledge of it in his own resurrection and ascension into heaven. How has this one truth changed the nature of things in the world, and given the advantage to piety over all that could tempt or deter men from it! The philosophers, indeed, showed the beauty of virtue; they set her off so, as drew men’s eyes and approbation to her; but leaving her unendowed, very few were willing to espouse her. The generality could not refuse her their esteem and commendation; but still turned their backs on her, and forsook her, as a match not for their turn. But now there being put into the scales on her side, “an exceeding and immortal weight of glory;” interest is come about to her, and virtue now is visibly the most enriching purchase, and by much the best bargain. That she is the perfection and excellency of our nature; that she is herself a reward, and will recommend our names to future ages, is not all that can now be said of her. It is not strange that the learned heathens satisfied not many with such airy commendations. It has another relish and efficacy to persuade men, that if they live well here, they shall be happy hereafter. Open their eyes upon the endless, unspeakable joys of another life, and their hearts will find something solid and powerful to move them. The view of heaven and hell will cast a slight upon the short pleasures and pains of this present state, and give attractions and encouragements to virtue which reason and interest, and the care of ourselves, cannot but allow and prefer. Upon this foundation, and upon this only, morality stands firm, and may defy all competition. This makes it more than a name; a substantial good, worth all our aims and endeavours; and thus the gospel of Jesus Christ has delivered it to us.

To these I must add one advantage more by Jesus Christ, and that is the promise of assistance. If we do what we can, he will give us his Spirit to help us to do what, and how we should. It will be idle for us, who know not how our own spirits move and act us, to ask in what manner the Spirit of God shall work upon us. The wisdom that accompanies that Spirit knows better than we, how we are made, and how to work upon us. If a wise man knows how to prevail on his child, to bring him to what he desires; can we suspect that the spirit and wisdom of God should fail in it; though we perceive or comprehend not the ways of his operation? Christ has promised it, who is faithful and just; and we cannot doubt of the performance. It is not requisite on this occasion, for the enhancing of this benefit, to enlarge on the frailty of our minds, and weakness of our constitutions; how liable to mistakes, how apt to go astray, and how easily to be turned out of the paths of virtue. If any one needs go beyond himself, and the testimony of his own conscience in this point; if he feels not his own errours and passions always tempting, and often prevailing, against the strict rules of his duty; he need but look abroad into any stage of the world, to be convinced. To a man under the difficulties of his nature, beset with temptations, and hedged in with prevailing custom; it is no small encouragement to set himself seriously on the courses of virtue, and practice of true religion; that he is from a sure hand, and an Almighty arm, promised assistance to support and carry him through.

There remains yet something to be said to those, who will be ready to object, “If the belief of Jesus of Nazareth to be the Messiah, together with those concomitant articles of his resurrection, rule, and coming again to judge the world, be all the faith required, as necessary to justification, to what purpose were the epistles written; I say, if the belief of those many doctrines contained in them be not also necessary to salvation; and what is there delivered a christian may believe or disbelieve, and yet, nevertheless, be a member of Christ’s church, and one of the faithful?”

To this I answer, that the epistles are written upon several occasions: and he that will read them as he ought, must observe what it is in them, which is principally aimed at; find what is the argument in hand, and how managed; if he will understand them right, and profit by them. The observing of this will best help us to the true meaning and mind of the writer; for that is the truth which is to be received and believed; and not scattered sentences in scripture-language, accommodated to our notions and prejudices. We must look into the drift of the discourse, observe the coherence and connexion of the parts, and see how it is consistent with itself and other parts of scripture; if we will conceive it right. We must not cull out, as best suits our system, here and there a period or verse; as if they were all distinct and independent aphorisms; and make these the fundamental articles of the christian faith, and necessary to salvation; unless God has made them so. There be many truths in the bible, which a good christian may be wholly ignorant of, and so not believe: which, perhaps, some lay great stress on, and call fundamental articles, because they are the distinguishing points of their communion. The epistles, most of them, carry on a thread of argument, which, in the style they are writ, cannot every-where be observed without great attention, and to consider the texts as they stand, and bear a part in that, is to view them in their due light, and the way to get the true sense of them. They were writ to those who were in the faith, and true christians already: and so could not be designed to teach them the fundamental articles and points necessary to salvation. The epistle to the Romans was writ to all “that were at Rome, beloved of God, called to be saints, whose faith was spoken of through the world,” chap. i. 7, 8. To whom St. Paul’s first epistle to the Corinthians was, he shows, chap. i. 2, 4, &c. “Unto the church of God which is at Corinth, to them that are sanctified in Christ Jesus, called to be saints; with all them that in every place call upon the name of Jesus Christ our Lord, both theirs and ours. I thank my God always on your behalf, for the grace of God which is given you by Jesus Christ; that in every thing ye are enriched by him, in all utterance, and in all knowledge: even as the testimony of Christ was confirmed in you. So that ye come behind in no gift; waiting for the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ.” And so likewise the second was, “To the church of God at Corinth, with all the saints in Achaia,” chap. i. 1. His next is to the churches of Galatia. That to the Ephesians was, “To the saints that were at Ephesus, and to the faithful in Christ Jesus.” So likewise, “To the saints and faithful brethren in Christ at Colosse, who had faith in Christ Jesus, and love to the saints. To the church of the Thessalonians. To Timothy his son in the faith. To Titus his own son after the common faith. To Philemon his dearly beloved, and fellow-labourer.” And the author to the Hebrews calls those he writes to “Holy brethren, partakers of the heavenly calling,” chap. iii. 1. From whence it is evident, that all those whom St. Paul writ to, were brethren, saints, faithful in the church, and so christians already; and therefore, wanted not the fundamental articles of the christian religion; without a belief of which they could not be saved; nor can it be supposed, that the sending of such fundamentals was the reason of the apostle’s writing to any of them. To such also St. Peter writes, as is plain from the first chapter of each of his epistles. Nor is it hard to observe the like in St. James’s and St. John’s epistles. And St. Jude directs his thus: “To them that are sanctified by God the Father, and preserved in Jesus Christ, and called.” The epistles, therefore, being all written to those who were already believers and christians, the occasion and end of writing them could not be to instruct them in that which was necessary to make them christians. This, it is plain, they knew and believed already; or else they could not have been christians and believers. And they were writ upon particular occasions; and without those occasions, had not been writ; and so cannot be thought necessary to salvation: though they resolving doubts, and reforming mistakes, are of great advantage to our knowledge and practice. I do not deny, but the great doctrines of the christian faith are dropt here and there, and scattered up and down in most of them. But it is not in the epistles we are to learn what are the fundamental articles of faith, where they are promiscuously and without distinction mixed with other truths, in discourses that were (though for edification, indeed, yet) only occasional. We shall find and discern those great and necessary points best, in the preaching of our Saviour and the apostles, to those who were yet strangers, and ignorant of the faith; to bring them in, and convert them to it. And what that was, we have seen already, out of the history of the evangelists, and the acts; where they are plainly laid down, so that nobody can mistake them. The epistles to particular churches, besides the main argument of each of them, (which was some present concernment of that particular church, to which they severally were addressed,) do in many places explain the fundamentals of the christian religion, and that wisely; by proper accommodations to the apprehensions of those they were writ to; the better to make them imbibe the christian doctrine, and the more easily to comprehend the method, reasons, and grounds of the great work of salvation. Thus we see, in the epistle to the Romans, adoption (a custom well known amongst those of Rome) is much made use of, to explain to them the grace and favour of God, in giving them eternal life; to help them to conceive how they became the children of God, and to assure them of a share in the kingdom of heaven, as heirs to an inheritance. Whereas the setting out, and confirming the christian faith to the Hebrews, in the epistle to them, is by illusions and arguments, from the ceremonies, sacrifices, and œconomy of the jews, and references to the records of the Old Testament. And as for the general epistles, they, we may see, regard the state and exigencies, and some peculiarities of those times. These holy writers, inspired from above, writ nothing but truth; and in most places, very weighty truths to us now; for the expounding, clearing, and confirming of the christian doctrine, and establishing those in it who had embraced it. But yet every sentence of theirs must not be taken up, and looked on as a fundamental article, necessary to salvation; without an explicit belief whereof, no-body could be a member of Christ’s church here, nor be admitted into his eternal kingdom hereafter. If all, or most of the truths declared in the epistles, were to be received and believed as fundamental articles, what then became of those christians who were fallen asleep (as St. Paul witnesses in his first to the Corinthians, many were) before these things in the epistles were revealed to them? Most of the epistles not being written till above twenty years after our Saviour’s ascension, and some after thirty.

But farther, therefore, to those who will be ready to say, “May those truths delivered in the epistles, which are not contained in the preaching of our Saviour and his apostles, and are therefore, by this account, not necessary to salvation; be believed or disbelieved, without any danger? May a christian safely question or doubt of them?”

To this I answer, That the law of faith, being a covenant of free grace, God alone can appoint what shall be necessarily believed by every one whom he will justify. What is the faith which he will accept and account for righteousness, depends wholly on his good pleasure. For it is of grace, and not of right, that this faith is accepted. And therefore he alone can set the measures of it: and what he has so appointed and declared is alone necessary. No-body can add to these fundamental articles of faith; nor make any other necessary, but what God himself hath made, and declared to be so. And what these are which God requires of those who will enter into, and receive the benefits of the new covenant, has already been shown. An explicit belief of these is absolutely required of all those to whom the gospel of Jesus Christ is preached, and salvation through his name proposed.

The other parts of divine revelation are objects of faith, and are so to be received. They are truths, whereof no one can be rejected; none that is once known to be such, may, or ought to be disbelieved. For to acknowledge any proposition to be of divine revelation and authority; and yet to deny, or disbelieve it; is to offend against this fundamental article and ground of faith, that God is true. But yet a great many of the truths revealed in the gospel, every one does, and must confess, a man may be ignorant of; nay, disbelieve, without danger to his salvation: as is evident in those, who, allowing the authority, differ in the interpretation and meaning of several texts of scripture, not thought fundamental: in all which, it is plain, the contending parties on one side or the other, are ignorant of, nay, disbelieve the truths delivered in holy writ; unless contrarieties and contradictions can be contained in the same words; and divine revelation can mean contrary to itself.

Though all divine revelation requires the obedience of faith, yet every truth of inspired scriptures is not one of those, that by the law of faith is required to be explicitly believed to justification. What those are, we have seen by what our Saviour and his apostles proposed to, and required in those whom they converted to the faith. Those are fundamentals, which it is not enough not to disbelieve: every one is required actually to assent to them. But any other proposition contained in the scripture, which God has not thus made a necessary part of the law of faith, (without an actual assent to which, he will not allow any one to be a believer,) a man may be ignorant of, without hazarding his salvation by a defect in his faith. He believes all that God has made necessary for him to believe, and assent to; and as for the rest of divine truths, there is nothing more required of him, but that he receive all the parts of divine revelation, with a docility and disposition prepared to embrace and assent to all truths coming from God; and submit his mind to whatsoever shall appear to him to bear that character. Where he, upon fair endeavours, understands it not, how can he avoid being ignorant? And where he cannot put several texts, and make them consist together, what remedy? He must either interpret one by the other, or suspend his opinion. He that thinks that more is, or can be required of poor frail man in matters of faith, will do well to consider what absurdities he will run into. God, out of the infiniteness of his mercy, has dealt with man, as a compassionate and tender Father. He gave him reason, and with it a law: that could not be otherwise than what reason should dictate: unless we should think, that a reasonable creature should have an unreasonable law. But, considering the frailty of man, apt to run into corruption and misery, he promised a Deliverer, whom in his good time he sent; and then declared to all mankind, that whoever would believe him to be the Saviour promised, and take him now raised from the dead, and constituted the Lord and Judge of all men, to be their King and Ruler, should be saved. This is a plain intelligible proposition: and the all-merciful God seems herein to have consulted the poor of this world, and the bulk of mankind. These are articles that the labouring and illiterate man may comprehend. This is a religion suited to vulgar capacities; and the state of mankind in this world, destined to labour and travel. The writers and wranglers in religion fill it with niceties, and dress it up with notions, which they make necessary and fundamental parts of it; as if there were no way into the church, but through the academy or lyceum. The greatest part of mankind have not leisure for learning and logic, and superfine distinctions of the schools. Where the hand is used to the plough and the spade, the head is seldom elevated to sublime notions, or exercised in mysterious reasoning. It is well if men of that rank (to say nothing of the other sex) can comprehend plain propositions, and a short reasoning about things familiar to their minds, and nearly allied to their daily experience. Go beyond this, and you amaze the greatest part of mankind; and may as well talk Arabic to a poor day-labourer, as the notions and language that the books and disputes of religion are filled with; and as soon you will be understood. The dissenting congregation are supposed by their teachers to be more accurately instructed in matters of faith, and better to understand the christian religion, than the vulgar conformists, who are charged with great ignorance; how truly, I will not here determine. But I ask them to tell me seriously, “Whether half their people have leisure to study? Nay, Whether one in ten, of those who come to their meetings in the country, if they had time to study them, do or can understand the controversies at this time so warmly managed amongst them, about ‘justification,’ the subject of this present treatise?” I have talked with some of their teachers, who confess themselves not to understand the difference in debate between them. And yet the points they stand on, are reckoned of so great weight; so material, so fundamental in religion, that they divide communion, and separate upon them. Had God intended that none but the learned scribe, the disputer, or wise of this world, should be christians, or be saved, thus religion should have been prepared for them, filled with speculations and niceties, obscure terms, and abstract notions. But men of that expectation, men furnished with such acquisitions, the apostle tells us, 1 Cor. i. are rather shut out from the simplicity of the gospel; to make way for those poor, ignorant, illiterate, who heard and believed promises of a Deliverer, and believed Jesus to be him; who could conceive a man dead and made alive again; and believe that he should, at the end of the world, come again and pass sentence on all men, according to their deeds. That the poor had the gospel preached to them; Christ makes a mark, as well as business of his mission, Matt. xi. 5. And if the poor had the gospel preached to them, it was, without doubt, such a gospel as the poor could understand; plain and intelligible; and so it was, as we have seen, in the preachings of Christ and his apostles.

A VINDICATION OF THE REASONABLENESS OF CHRISTIANITY

THE 1824 TEXT

MY BOOK had not been long out, before it fell under the correction of the author of a Treatise, entitled, “Some Thoughts concerning the several Causes and Occasions of Atheism, especially in the present Age.” No contemptible adversary, I’ll assure you; since, as it seems, he has got the faculty to heighten every thing that displeases him, into the capital crime of atheism; and breathes against those, who come in his way, a pestilential air, whereby every the least distemper is turned into the plague, and becomes mortal. For whoever does not just say after Mr. Edwards, cannot, it is evident, escape being an atheist, or a promoter of atheism. I cannot but approve of any one’s zeal, to guard and secure that great and fundamental article of all religion and morality, “That there is a God:” but atheism being a crime, which, for its madness as well as guilt, ought to shut a man out of all sober and civil society, should be very warily charged on any one, by deductions and consequences, which he himself does not own, or, at least, do not manifestly and unavoidably flow from what he asserts. This caution, charity, I think, obliges us to: and our author would possibly think himself hardly dealt with, if, for neglecting some of those rules he himself gives, and 34, against atheism, he should be pronounced a promoter of it: as rational a charge, I imagine, as some of those he makes; and as fitly put together, as “the Treatise of the Reasonableness of Christianity, &c.” brought in among the causes of atheism. However I shall not much complain of him, since he joins me, , with no worse company, than two eminently pious and learned prelates of our church, whom he makes favourers of the same conceit, as he calls it. But what has that conceit to do with atheism? Very much. That conceit is of kin to socinianism, and socinianism to atheism. Let us hear Mr. Edwards himself. He says, , I am “all over socinianized:” and therefore, my book fit to be placed among the causes of atheism. For in the 64th, and following pages, he endeavours to show, That “a socinian is an atheist;” or, lest that should seem harsh, “one that favours the cause of atheism,” . For so he has been pleased to mollify, now it is published as a treatise, what was much more harsh, and much more confident in it, when it was preached as a sermon. In this abatement, he seems a little to comply with his own advice, against his fourth cause of atheism; which we have in these words, , “Wherefore, that we may effectually prevent this folly in ourselves, let us banish presumption, confidence, and self-conceit; let us extirpate all pride and arrogance; let us not list ourselves in the number of capricious opinionators.”

I shall leave the socinians themselves to answer his charge against them, and shall examine his proof of my being a socinian. It stands thus, , “When he” (the author of the Reasonableness of Christianity, &c.) “proceeds to mention the advantages and benefits of Christ’s coming into the world, and appearing in the flesh, he hath not one syllable of his satisfying for us; or, by his death, purchasing life or salvation, or any thing that sounds like it. This, and several other things, show, that he is all over socinianized.” Which in effect is, that because I have not set down all that this author perhaps would have done, therefore I am a socinian. But what if I should say, I set down as much as my argument required, and yet am no socinian? Would he, from my silence and omission, give me the lie, and say I am one? Surmises that may be overturned by a single denial, are poor arguments, and such as some men would be ashamed of: at least, if they are to be permitted to men of this gentleman’s skill and zeal, who knows how to make a good use of conjectures, suspicions, and uncharitable censures in the cause of God; yet even there too (if the cause of God can need such arts) they require a good memory to keep them from recoiling upon the author. He might have taken notice of these words in my book, (page 9 of this vol.) “From this estate of death, Jesus Christ restores all mankind to life.” And a little lower, “The life which Jesus Christ restores to all men.” And , “He that hath incurred death for his own transgression, cannot lay down his life for another, as our Saviour professes he did.” This, methinks, sounds something like “Christ’s purchasing life for us by his death.” But this reverend gentleman has an answer ready; it was not in the place he would have had it in, it was not where I mention the advantages and benefits of Christ’s coming. And therefore, I not having there one syllable of Christ’s purchasing life and salvation for us by his death, or any thing that sounds like it: this and several other things that might be offered, show that I am “all over socinianized.” A very clear and ingenuous proof, and let him enjoy it.

But what will become of me, that I have not mentioned satisfaction!

Possibly, this reverend gentleman would have had charity enough for a known writer of the brotherhood, to have found it by an “inuendo,” in those words above quoted, of laying down his life for another. But every thing is to be strained here the other way. For the author of “the Reasonableness of Christianity, &c.” is of necessity to be represented as a socinian; or else his book may be read, and the truths in it, which Mr. Edwards likes not, be received, and people put upon examining. Thus one, as full of happy conjectures and suspicions as this gentleman, might be apt to argue. But what if the author designed his treatise, as the title shows, chiefly for those who were not yet thoroughly, or firmly, christians, proposing to work on those, who either wholly disbelieved, or doubted of the truth of the christian religion? Would any one blame his prudence, if he mentioned only those advantages, which all christians are agreed in? Might he not remember and observe that command of the apostle, Rom. xiv. 1, “Him that is weak in the faith, receive ye, but not to doubtful disputations;” without being a socinian? Did he amiss, that he offered to the belief of those who stood off, that, and only that, which our Saviour and his apostles preached, for the reducing the unconverted world: and would any one think he in earnest went about to persuade men to be christians, who should use that as an argument to recommend the gospel, which he has observed men to lay hold on, as an objection against it? To urge such points of controversy, as necessary articles of faith, when we see our Saviour and the apostles, in their preaching, urged them not as necessary to be believed to make men christians, is (by our own authority) to add prejudices to prejudices, and to block up our own way to those men, whom we would have access to, and prevail upon. But some men had rather you should write booty, and cross your own design of removing men’s prejudices to christianity, than leave out one tittle of what they put into their systems. To such, I say, convince but men of the mission of Jesus Christ, make them but see the truth, simplicity, and reasonableness, of what he himself taught, and required to be believed by his followers; and you need not doubt, but being once fully persuaded of his doctrine, and the advantages which all christians agree are received by him, such converts will not lay by the scriptures, but by a constant reading and study of them get all the light they can from this divine revelation, and nourish themselves up in the words of faith, and of good doctrine, as St. Paul speaks to Timothy. But some men will not bear it, that any one should speak of religion, but according to the model that they themselves have made of it. Nay, though he proposes it upon the very terms, and in the very words which our Saviour and his apostles preached it in, yet he shall not escape censures and the severest insinuations. To deviate in the least, or to omit any thing contained in their articles, is heresy, under the most invidious names in fashion, and ’tis well if he escapes being a downright atheist. Whether this be the way for teachers to make themselves hearkened to, as men in earnest in religion, and really concerned for the salvation of men’s souls, I leave them to consider. What success it has had, towards persuading men of the truth of christianity, their own complaints of the prevalency of atheism, on the one hand, and the number of deists on the other, sufficiently show.

Another thing laid to my charge, and 107, is my “forgetting, or rather wilful omitting, some plain and obvious passages,” and some “famous testimonies in the evangelists; namely, Matt. xxviii. 19, Go, teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.” And John i. 1, “In the beginning was the Word, and the word was with God, and the word was God.” And verse 14, “And the word was made flesh.” Mine, it seems, in this book, are all sins of omission. And yet, when it came out, the buz, the flutter, and noise which was made, and the reports which were raised, would have persuaded the world, that it subverted all morality, and was designed against the christian religion. I must confess, discourses of this kind, which I met with, spread up and down, at first amazed me; knowing the sincerity of those thoughts, which persuaded me to publish it (not without some hope of doing some service to decaying piety, and mistaken and slandered christianity.) I satisfied myself against those heats, with this assurance, that, if there was any thing in my book against what any one called religion, it was not against the religion contained in the gospel. And for that, I appeal to all mankind.

But to return to Mr. Edwards, in particular, I must take leave to tell him, that if “omitting plain and obvious passages, the famous testimonies in the evangelists,” be a fault in me, I wonder why he, among so many of this kind that I am guilty of, mentions so few. For I must acknowledge I have omitted more, nay, many more, that are “plain and obvious passages, and famous testimonies in the evangelists,” than those he takes notice of. But if I have left out none of those “passages or testimonies,” which contain what our Saviour and his apostles preached, and required assent to, to make men believers, I shall think my omissions (let them be what they will) no faults in the present case. Whatever doctrines Mr. Edwards would have to be believed, if they are such as our Saviour and his apostles required to be believed, to make a man a christian, he will be sure to find them in those preachings and “famous testimonies,” of our Saviour and his apostles, that I have quoted. And if they are not there, he may rest satisfied, that they were not proposed by our Saviour and his apostles, as necessary to be believed, to make men Christ’s disciples.

If the omission of other texts in the evangelists (which are all true also, and no one of them to be disbelieved) be a fault, it might have been expected that Mr. Edwards should have accused me for leaving out Matth. i. 18 — 23, and Matth. xxvii. 24, 35, 50, 60, for these are “plain and obvious passages and famous testimonies in the evangelists;” and such, whereon these articles of the apostles creed, viz. “born of the virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, dead and buried,” are founded. These, being articles of the apostles creed, are looked upon as “fundamental doctrines:” and one would wonder, why Mr. Edwards so quietly passes by their omission; did it not appear, that he was so intent on fixing his imputation of socinianism upon me, that, rather than miss that, he was content to drop the other articles of his creed. For I must observe to him, that if he had blamed me for the omission of the places last quoted out of St. Matthew, (as he had as much reason as for any other,) it would plainly have appeared, how idle and ill-grounded his charging socinianism on me was. But, at any rate, he was to give the book an ill name: not because it was socinian; for he has no more reason to charge it with socinianism for the omissions he mentions, than the apostles creed. It is therefore well for the compilers of that creed, that they lived not in Mr. Edwards’s days: for he would, no doubt, have found them “all over socinianized,” for omitting the texts he quotes, and the doctrines he collects out of John i. and John xiv. , 108. Socinianism then is not the fault of the book, whatever else it be. For I repeat it again, there is not one word of socinianism in it. I, that am not so good at conjectures as Mr. Edwards, shall leave it to him to say, or to those who can bear the plainness and simplicity of the gospel, to guess, what its fault is.

Some men are shrewd guessers, and others would be thought to be so; but he must be carried far by his forward inclination, who does not take notice, that the world is apt to think him a diviner, for any thing rather than for the sake of truth, who sets up his own suspicions against the direct evidence of things; and pretends to know other men’s thoughts and reasons, better than they themselves. I had said, that the epistles, being writ to those who were already believers, could not be supposed to be writ to them to teach them fundamentals, without which they could not be believers.

And the reason I gave, why I had not gone through the writings in the epistles, to collect the fundamental articles of faith, as I had through the preachings of our Saviour and the apostles, was, because those fundamental articles were in those epistles promiscuously, and without distinction, mixed with other truths. And, therefore, we shall find and discern those great and necessary points best in the preachings of our Saviour and the apostles, to those who were yet ignorant of the faith, and unconverted. This, as far as I know my own thoughts, was the reason why I did (as Mr. Edwards complains, ) “not proceed to the epistles, and not give an account of them, as I had done of the gospels and acts.” This, I imagined, I had in the close of my book so fully and clearly expressed, particularly of this vol. that I supposed no-body, how willing soever, could have mistaken me. But this gentleman is so much better acquainted with me, than I am with myself; sees so deeply into my heart, and knows so perfectly every thing that passes there; that he, with assurance, tells the world, , “That I purposely omitted the epistolary writings of the apostles, because they are fraught with other fundamental doctrines, besides that one which I mention.” And then he goes to enumerate those fundamental articles, , 111, viz. “The corruption and degeneracy of human nature, with the true original of it, (the defection of our first parents,) the propagation of sin and mortality, our restoration and reconciliation by Christ’s blood, the eminency and excellency of his priesthood, the efficacy of his death, the full satisfaction made, thereby, to divine justice, and his being made an all-sufficient sacrifice for sin. Christ’s righteousness, our justification by it, election, adoption, sanctification, saving faith, the nature of the gospel, the new covenant, the riches of God’s mercy in the way of salvation by Jesus Christ, the certainty of the resurrection of human bodies, and of the future glory.”

Give me leave now to ask you seriously, whether these, which you have here set down under the title of “fundamental doctrines,” are such (when reduced to propositions) that every one of them is required to be believed to make a man a christian, and such as, without the actual belief thereof, he cannot be saved. If they are not so, every one of them, you may call them “fundamental doctrines,” as much as you please, they are not of those doctrines of faith I was speaking of, which are only such as are required to be actually believed to make a man a christian. If you say, some of them are such necessary points of faith, and others not, you, by this specious list of well-sounding, but unexplained terms, arbitrarily collected, only make good what I have said, viz. that the necessary articles of faith are, in the epistles, promiscuously delivered with other truths, and, therefore, they cannot be distinguished but by some other mark, than being barely found in the epistles. If you say, that they are all of them necessary articles of faith, I shall then desire you to reduce them to so many plain doctrines, and then prove them to be every one of them required to be believed by every christian man, to make him a member of the christian church. For, to begin with the first, it is not enough to tell us, as you do, that “the corruption and degeneracy of human nature, with the true original of it, (the defection of our first parents,) the propagation of sin and mortality, is one of the great heads of christian divinity.” But you are to tell us, what are the propositions we are required to believe concerning this matter: for nothing can be an article of faith, but some proposition; and then it will remain to be proved, that these articles are necessary to be believed to salvation. The apostles creed was taken, in the first ages of the church, to contain all things necessary to salvation; I mean, necessary to be believed: but you have now better thought on it, and are pleased to enlarge it, and we, no doubt, are bound to submit to your orthodoxy.

The list of materials for his creed (for the articles are not yet formed) Mr. Edwards closes, , with these words, “These are the matters of faith contained in the epistles, and they are essential and integral parts of the gospel itself.” What, just these? Neither more nor less? If you are sure of it, pray let us have them speedily, for the reconciling of differences in the christian church, which has been so cruelly torn, about the articles of the christian faith, to the great reproach of christian charity, and scandal of our true religion.

Mr. Edwards, having thus, with two learned terms of “essential and integral parts,” sufficiently proved the matter in question, viz. That all those he has set down are articles of faith necessary to be believed to make a man a christian, he grows warm at my omission of them. This I cannot complain of as unnatural: the spirit of creed-making always rising from an heat of zeal for our own opinions, and warm endeavours, by all ways possible, to decry and bear down those who differ in a tittle from us. What then could I expect more gentle and candid, that what Mr. Edwards has subjoined in these words? “And therefore it is no wonder that our author, being sensible of this,” (viz. That the points he has named were essential and integral parts of the gospel,) “would not vouchsafe to give us an abstract of those inspired writings [the epistles]; but passes them by with some contempt.” Sir, when your angry fit is over, and the abatement of your passion has given way to the return of your sincerity, I shall beg you to read this passage in page 154 of this vol. “These holy writers (viz. the pen-men of the scriptures) inspired from above, writ nothing but truth, and, in most places, very weighty truths to us now, for the expounding, clearing, and confirming of the christian doctrine; and establishing those in it who had embraced it.” And again, , “The other parts of divine revelation are objects of faith, and are so to be received. They are truths, of which none that is once known to be such, i. e. revealed, may or ought to be disbelieved.” And if this does not satisfy you, that I have as high a veneration for the epistles, as you or any one can have, I require you to publish to the world those passages, which show my contempt of them. In the mean time, I shall desire my reader to examine what I have writ concerning the epistles, which is all contained between and 158 of this vol. and then to judge whether I have made bold with the epistles in what I have said of them, or this gentleman made bold with truth in what he has writ of me. Human frailty will not, I see, easily quit its hold; what it loses in one part, it will be ready to regain in another; and not be hindered from taking reprisals, even on the most privileged sort of men. Mr. Edwards, who is intrenched in orthodoxy, and so is as safe in matters of faith almost as infallibility itself, is yet as apt to err as others in matters of fact.

But he has not yet done with me about the epistles: all his fine draught of my slighting that part of the scripture will be lost, unless the strokes complete it into socinianism. In his following words you have the conclusion of the whole matter. His words are these: “And more especially, if I may conjecture,” (by all means, sir, conjecturing is your proper talent: you have hitherto done nothing else; and I will say that for you, you have a lucky hand at it:) “he doth this (i. e. pass by the epistles with contempt) because he knew that there are so many and frequent, and those so illustrious and eminent attestations to the doctrine of the ever to be adored Trinity, in these epistles.” Truly, sir, if you will permit me to know what I know, as well as you do allow yourself to conjecture what you please, you are out for this once; the reason why I went not through the epistles, as I did the gospels and the acts, was that very reason I printed, and that will be found so sufficient a one to all considerate readers, that I believe, they will think you need not strain your conjectures for another. And, if you think it to be so easy to distinguish fundamentals from non-fundamentals in the epistles, I desire you to try your skill again, in giving the world a perfect collection of propositions out of the epistles, that contain all that is required, and no more than what is absolutely required to be believed by all christians, without which faith they cannot be of Christ’s church. For I tell you, notwithstanding the show you have made, you have not yet done it, nor will you affirm that you have.

His next page, , is made up of the same, which he calls, not uncharitable conjectures. I expound, he says, “John xiv. 9, &c. after the antitrinitarian mode:” and I make “Christ and Adam to be sons of God, in the same sense, and by their birth, as the racovians generally do.” I know not but it may be true, that the antitrinitarians and racovians understand those places as I do: but it is more than I know, that they do so. I took not my sense of those texts from those writers, but from the scripture itself, giving light to its own meaning, by one place compared with another: what in this way appears to me its true meaning, I shall not decline, because I am told that it is so understood by the racovians, whom I never yet read; nor embrace the contrary, though the “generality of divines” I more converse with should declare for it. If the sense, wherein I understand those texts, be a mistake, I shall be beholden to you, if you will set me right. But they are not popular authorities, or frightful names, whereby I judge of truth or falsehood. You will now, no doubt, applaud your conjectures; the point is gained, and I am openly a socinian, since I will not disown, that I think the Son of God was a phrase, that among the jews, in our Saviour’s time, was used for the Messiah, though the socinians understand it in the same sense; and therefore I must certainly be of their persuasion in every thing else. I admire the acuteness, force, and fairness of your reasoning, and so I leave you to triumph in your conjectures. Only I must desire you to take notice, that that ornament of our church, and every way eminent prelate, the late archbishop of Canterbury, understood that phrase in the same sense that I do, without being a socinian. You may read what he says concerning Nathanael, in his first “Sermon of Sincerity,” published this year: his words are these, , “And being satisfied that he [our Saviour] was the Messiah, he presently owned him for such, calling him the Son of God, and the King of Israel.”

Though this gentleman knows my thoughts as perfectly as if he had for several years past lain in my bosom, yet he is mightily at a loss about my person: as if it at all concerned the truth contained in my book, what hand it came from. However, the gentleman is mightily perplexed about the author. Why, sir, what if it were writ by a scribbler of Bartholomew-fair drolls, with all that flourish of declamatory rhetoric, and all that smartness of wit and jest about captain Tom, unitarians, units, and cyphers, &c. which are to be found between pages 115 and 123 of a book that came out during the merry time of rope dancing, and puppet plays? What is truth, would, I hope, nevertheless be truth in it, however oddly spruced up by such an author: though perhaps, it is likely some would be apt to say, such merriment became not the gravity of my subject, and that I writ not in the style of a graduate in divinity. I confess (as Mr. Edwards rightly says) my fault lies on the other side, in a want of “vivacity and elevation:” and I cannot wonder, that one of his character and palate, should find out and complain of my flatness, which has so over-charged my book with plain and direct texts of scripture, in a matter capable of no other proofs. But yet I must acknowledge his excess of civility to me; he shows me more kindness than I could expect or wish, since he prefers what I say to him myself to what is offered to him from the word of God; and makes me this compliment, that I begin to mend, about the close, i. e. when I leave off quoting of scripture: and the dull work was done, of “going through the history of the Evangelists and Acts,” which he computes, , to take up three quarters of my book. Does not all this deserve, at least, that I should, in return, take some care of his credit? Which I know not how better to do, than by entreating him, that when he takes next in hand such a subject as this, wherein the salvation of souls is concerned, he would treat it a little more seriously, and with a little more candour; lest men should find in his writings, another cause of atheism, which in this treatise, he has not thought fit to mention. “Ostentation of wit” in general he has made a “cause of atheism,” . But the world will tell him, that frothy light discourses concerning the serious matters of religion; and ostentation of trifling and misbecoming wit in those who come as ambassadors from God, under the title of successors of the apostles, in the great commission of the gospel; are none of the least causes of atheism.

Some men have so peculiar a way of arguing, that one may see it influences them in the repeating another man’s reasoning, and seldom fails to make it their own. In the next paragraph I find these words: “what makes him contend for one single article, with the exclusion of all the rest? He pretends it is this, that all men ought to understand their religion.” This, I confess, is a reasoning I did not think of; nor could it hardly, I fear, have been used but by one who had first took up his opinion from the recommendation of fashion or interest, and then sought topics to make it good. Perhaps the deference due to your character, excused you from the trouble of quoting the page, where I pretend, as you say; and it is so little like my way of reasoning, that I shall not look for it in a book where I remember nothing of it, and where, without your direction, I fear the reader will scarce find it. Though I have not “that vivacity of thought, that elevation of mind,” which Mr. Edwards demands, yet common sense would have kept me from contending that there is but one article, because all men ought to understand their religion. Numbers of propositions may be harder to be remembered, but it is the abstruseness of the notions, or obscurity, inconsistency, or doubtfulness of the terms or expressions that makes them hard to be understood; and one single proposition may more perplex the understanding than twenty others. But where did you find “I contended for one single article, so as to exclude all the rest?” You might have remembered that I say, , 17, That the article of the one only true God, was also necessary to be believed. This might have satisfied you, that I did not so contend for one article of faith, as to be at defiance with more than one. However, you insist on the word one with great vigour, from to 121. And you did well, you had else lost all the force of that killing stroke reserved for the close, in that sharp jest of unitarians, and a clench or two more of great moment.

Having found, by a careful perusal of the preachings of our Saviour and his apostles, that the religion they proposed, consisted in that short, plain, easy and intelligible summary which I set down, , in these words: “Believing Jesus to be the Saviour promised, and taking him, now raised from the dead, and constituted the Lord and Judge of men, to be their King and “Ruler;” I could not forbear magnifying the wisdom and goodness of God (which infinitely exceeds the thoughts of ignorant, vain, and narrow-minded man) in these following words: “The All-merciful God seems herein to have consulted the poor of this world, and the bulk of mankind: these are articles that the labouring and illiterate man may comprehend.” Having thus plainly mentioned more than one article, I might have taken it amiss, that Mr. Edwards should be at so much pains as he is, to blame me for “contending for one” article; because I thought more than one could not be understood; had he not had many fine things to say in his declamation upon one article, which affords him so much matter, that less than seven pages could not hold it. Only here and there, as men of oratory often do, he mistakes the business, as , where he says, “I urge, that there must be nothing in christianity that is not plain, and exactly levelled to all men’s mother-wit.” I desire to know where I said so, or that “the very manner of every thing in christianity must be clear and intelligible, every thing must be presently comprehended by the weakest noddle, or else it is no part of religion, especially of christianity;” as he has it, . I am sure it is not in — 136, 149 — 151, of my book: these, therefore, to convince him that I am of another opinion, I shall desire somebody to read to Mr. Edwards, for he himself reads my book with such spectacles, as make him find meanings and words in it, neither of which I put there. He should have remembered, that I speak not of all the doctrines of christianity, nor all that is published to the world in it; but of those truths only, which are absolutely required to be believed to make any one a christian. And these, I find, are so plain and easy, that I see no reason why every body, with me, should not magnify the goodness and condescension of the Almighty, who having, out of his free grace, proposed a new law of faith to sinful and lost man; hath, by that law, required no harder terms, nothing as absolutely necessary to be believed, but what is suited to vulgar capacities, and the comprehension of illiterate men.

You are a little out again, , where you ironically say, as if it were my sense, “Let us have but one article, though it be with defiance to all the rest.” Jesting apart, sir, this is a serious turn, that what our Saviour and his apostles preached, and admitted men into the church for believing, is all that is absolutely required to make a man a christian. But this is, without any “defiance to all the rest,” taught in the word of God. This excludes not the belief of any of those many other truths contained in the scriptures of the Old and New Testaments, which it is the duty of every christian to study, and thereby build himself up in our most holy faith; receiving with stedfast belief, and ready obedience, all those things which the spirit of truth hath therein revealed. But that all the rest of the inspired writings, or, if you please, “articles, are of equal necessity” to be believed to make a man a christian, with what was preached by our Saviour and his apostles, that I deny. A man, as I have shown, may be a christian and believer, without actually believing them, because those whom our Saviour and his apostles, by their preaching and discourses, converted to the faith, were made christians and believers, barely upon the receiving what they preached to them.

I hope it is no derogation to the christian religion, to say, that the fundamentals of it, i. e. all that is necessary to be believed in it, by all men, is easy to be understood by all men. This I thought myself authorized to say, by the very easy and very intelligible articles, insisted on by our Saviour and his apostles; which contain nothing but what could be understood by the bulk of mankind: a term which, I know not why, Mr. Edwards, , is offended at; and thereupon is, after his fashion, sharp upon me about captain Tom and his myrmidons, for whom, he tells me, I am “going to make a religion.” The making of religions and creeds I leave to others. I only set down the christian religion as I find our Saviour and his apostles preached it, and preached it to, and left it for, the “ignorant and unlearned multitude.” For I hope you do not think, how contemptibly soever you speak of the “venerable mob,” as you are pleased to dignify them, , that the bulk of mankind, or, in your phrase, the “rabble,” are not concerned in religion, or ought to understand it, in order to their salvation. Nor are you, I hope, acquainted with any who are of that Muscovite divine’s mind, who, to one that was talking to him about religion, and the other world, replied, That for the czar, indeed, and bojars, they might be permitted to raise their hopes to heaven; but that for such poor wretches as he, they were not to think of salvation.

I remember the pharisees treated the common people with contempt, and said, “Have any of the rulers, or of the pharisees, believed in him? But this people, who knoweth not the law, are cursed.” But yet these, who in the censure of the pharisees, were cursed, were some of the poor; or, if you please to have it so, the mob, to whom the “gospel was preached” by our Saviour, as he tells John’s disciples, Matt. xi. 5.

Pardon me, sir, that I have here laid these examples and considerations before you; a little to prevail with you not to let loose such a torrent of wit and eloquence against the “bulk of mankind,” another time, and that for a mere fancy of your own: for I do not see how they here came in your way; but that you were resolved to set up something to have a fling at, and show your parts, in what you call your “different strain,” though besides the purpose. I know nobody was going to “ask the mob, What you must believe?” And as for me, I suppose you will take my word for it, that I think no mob, no, not your “venerable mob,” is to be asked, what I am to believe; nor that “Articles of faith” are to be “received by the vote of club-men,” or any other sort of men, you will name instead of them.

In the following words, , you ask, “Whether a man may not understand those articles of faith, which you mentioned out of the gospels and epistles, if they be explained to him, as well as that one, I speak of?” It is as the articles are, and as they are explained. There are articles that have been some hundreds of years explaining; which there are many, and those not of the most illiterate, who profess they do not yet understand. And to instance in no other, but “He descended into hell,” the learned are not yet agreed in the sense of it, though great pains have been taken to explain it.

Next, I ask, Who are to explain your articles? The papists will explain some of them one way, and the reformed another. The remonstrants, and anti-remonstrants, give them different senses. And probably, the trinitarians and unitarians will profess, that they understand not each others explications. And at last, I think it may be doubted, whether any articles, which need men’s explications, can be so clearly and certainly understood, as one which is made so very plain by the scripture itself, as not to need any explication at all. Such is this, that Jesus is the Messiah. For though you learnedly tell us, that Messiah is a Hebrew word, and no better understood by the vulgar, than Arabic; yet I guess it is so fully explained in the New Testament, and in those places I have quoted out of it, that nobody, who can understand any ordinary sentence in the scripture, can be at a loss about it. And it is plain, it needs no other explication, than what our Saviour and the apostles gave it in their preaching; for, as they preached it, men received it, and that sufficed to make them believers.

To conclude, when I heard that this learned gentleman, who had a name for his study of the scriptures, and writings on them, had done me the honour to consider my treatise, I promised myself, that his degree, calling, and fame in the world, would have secured to me something of weight in his remarks, which might have convinced me of my mistakes; and, if he had found any in it, justified my quitting of them. But having examined what, in his, concerns my book, I to my wonder find, that he has only taken pains to give it an ill name, without so much as attempting to refute any one position in it, how much soever he is pleased to make a noise against several propositions, which he might be free with, because they are his own: and I have no reason to take it amiss if he has shown his zeal and skill against them. He has been so favourable to what is mine, as not to use any one argument against any passage in my book. This, which I take for a public testimony of his approbation, I shall return him my thanks for, when I know whether I owe it to his mistake, conviction, or kindness. But if he writ only for his bookseller’s sake, he alone ought to thank him.

After the foregoing papers were sent to the press, the “Witnesses to Christianity,” of the reverend and learned Dr. Patrick, now lord bishop of Ely, fell into my hands. I regretted the not having seen it, before I writ my treatise of the “Reasonableness of Christianity, &c.” I should then, possibly, by the light given me by so good a guide, and so great a man, with more confidence directly have fallen into the knowledge of christianity; which, in the way I sought it, in its source, required the comparing of texts with texts, and the more than once reading over the Evangelists and Acts, besides other parts of scripture. But I had the ill luck not to see that treatise, until so few hours since, that I have had time only to read as far as the end of the introduction or first chapter: and there Mr. Edwards may find, that this pious bishop (whose writings show he studies, as well as his life that he believes, the scriptures) owns what Mr. Edwards is pleased to call, “a plausible conceit,” which, he says, “I give over and over again in these formal words, viz. That nothing is required to be believed by any christian man, but this, That Jesus is the Messiah.”

The liberty Mr. Edwards takes, in other places, deserves not it should be taken upon his word, “That these formal words” are to be found “over and over again” in my book, unless he had quoted the pages. But I will set him down the “formal words,” which are to be found in this reverend prelate’s book, , “To be the Son of God, and to be Christ, being but different expressions of the same thing.” And, , “It is the very same thing to believe, that Jesus is the Christ, and to believe, that Jesus is the Son of God; express it how you please. This alone is the faith which can regenerate a man, and put a divine spirit into him; that is, make him a conqueror over the world, as Jesus was.” I have quoted only these few words; but Mr. Edwards, if he pleases, or any body else, may, in this first chapter, satisfy himself more fully, that the design of it is to show, that in our Saviour’s time, “Son of God,” was a known and received name and appellation of the Messiah, and so used in the holy writers. And that the faith that was to make men christians, was only the believing, “that Jesus is the Messiah.” It is to the truth of this proposition that he “examines his witnesses,” as he speaks, . And this, if I mistake not, in his epistle dedicatory, he calls “christianity;” fol. A 3, where he calls them “witnesses to christianity.” But these two propositions, viz. That “Son of God,” in the gospel, stands for Messiah; and that the faith, which alone makes men christians, is the believing “Jesus to be the Messiah,” displeases Mr. Edwards so much in my book, that he thinks himself authorized from them, to charge me with socinianism, and want of sincerity. How he will be pleased to treat this reverend prelate, whilst he is alive (for the dead may, with good manners, be made bold with) must be left to his decisive authority. This, I am sure, which way soever he determine, he must, for the future, either afford me more good company, or fairer quarter.

A SECOND VINDICATION OF THE REASONABLENESS OF CHRISTIANITY

THE 1824 TEXT

CONTENTS

PREFACE TO THE READER.

TO MR. BOLD.

A SECOND VINDICATION OF THE REASONABLENESS OF CHRISTIANITY, &C.

PREFACE TO THE READER.

It hath pleased Mr. Edwards, in answer to the “Reasonableness of Christianity, &c.” and its “Vindication,” to turn one of the most weighty and important points that can come into question (even no less, than the very fundamentals of the christian religion), into a mere quarrel against the author: as every one, with Mr. Bold, may observe. In my reply to him, I have endeavoured, as much as his objections would allow me, to bring him to the subject-matter of my book, and the merits of the cause; though his peculiar way of writing controversy has made it necessary for me in following him step by step, to wipe off the dirt he has thrown on me, and clear myself from those falsehoods he has filled his book with. This I could not but do, in dealing with such an antagonist; that by the untruths I have proved upon him, the reader may judge of those other allegations of his, whereof the proof lying on his side, the bare denial is enough on mine, and, indeed, are wholly nothing to the truth or falsehood of what is contained in my “Reasonableness of Christianity, &c.” To which I shall desire the reader to add this farther consideration from his way of writing, not against my book, but against me, for writing it, that if he had had a real concern for truth and religion in this dispute, he would have treated it after another manner; and we should have had from him more argument, reasoning, and clearness, and less boasting declamation, and railing. It has been unavoidable for me to take notice of a great deal of this sort of stuff, in answering a writer, who has very little else to say in the controversy, and places his strength in things beside the question: but yet I have been so careful, to take all occasions to explain the doctrine of my book, that I hope the reader will not think his pains wholly lost labour, in persuing this reply; wherein he will find some farther, and, I hope, satisfying account, concerning the writings of the New Testament, and the Christian Religion contained in it.

Mr. Edwards’s ill language, which I thought personally to me (though I know not how I had provoked a man whom I had never had to do with), I am now satisfied, by his rude and scurrilous treating of Mr. Bold, is his way and strength in management of controversy; and therefore requires a little more consideration in this disputant, than otherwise it would deserve. Mr. Bold, with the calmness of a christian, the gravity of a divine, the clearness of a man of parts, and the civility of a well-bred man, made some “animadversions” on his “Socinianism unmasked;” which, with a sermon preached on the same subject with my “Reasonableness of Christianity,” he published: and how he has been used by Mr. Edwards, let the world judge.

I was extremely surprised with Mr. Bold’s book, at a time when there was so great an outcry against mine, on all hands. But, it seems, he is a man that does not take up things upon hearsay; nor is afraid to own truth, whatever clamour or calumny it may lie under. Mr. Edwards confidently tells the world, that Mr. Bold has been drawn in to espouse this cause, upon base and mean considerations. Whose picture of the two, such a description is most likely to give us, I shall leave to the reader to judge, from what he will find in their writings on this subject. For as to the persons themselves, I am equally a stranger to them both: I know not the face of either of them: and having hitherto never had any communication with Mr. Bold, I shall begin with him, as I did with Mr. Edwards in print; and here publicly return him this following acknowledgment, for what he has printed in this controversy.

TO MR. BOLD.

Sir,

Though I do not think I ought to return thanks to any one, for being of my opinion, any more than to fall out with him, for differing from me; yet I cannot but own to all the world, the esteem, that I think is due to you, for that proof you have given, of a mind and temper becoming a true minister of the gospel; in appearing as you have done, in the defence of a point, a great point of christianity, which it is evident you could have no other temptation to declare for, but the love of truth. It has fared with you herein no better than with me. For Mr. Edwards not being able to answer your arguments, he has found out already, that you are a mercenary, defending a cause against your persuasion for hire; and that you “are sailing to Racovia by a side-wind:” such inconsistencies can one (whose business it is to rail for a cause he cannot defend) put together to make a noise with: and he tells you plainly, what you must expect, if you write any more on this argument, viz. to be pronounced a downright apostate and renegado.

As soon as I saw your sermon and animadversions, I wondered what scarecrow Mr. Edwards would set up wherewith he might hope to deter men of more caution than sense, from reading of them; since socinianism, from which you were known to be as remote as he, I concluded would not do. The unknown author of the “Reasonableness of Christianity,” he might make a socinian, mahometan, atheist, or what sort of raw-head and bloody-bones he pleased. But I imagined he had had more sense than to venture any such aspersions, on a man whom, though I have not yet the happiness personally to know; yet, I know, hath justly a great and settled reputation amongst worthy men: and I thought that that coat, which you had worn with so much reputation, might have preserved you from the bespatterings of Mr. Edwards’s dunghill. But what is to be expected from a warrior that hath no other ammunition, and yet ascribes to himself victory from hence, and, with this artillery, imagines he carries all before him? And so Skimmington rides in triumph, driving all before him, by the ordures that he bestows on those that come in his way. And, were not christianity concerned in the case, a man would scarce excuse to himself the ridiculousness of entering into the list with such a combatant. I do not, therefore, wonder that this mighty boaster, having no other way to answer the books of his opponents, but by popular calumnies, is fain to have recourse to his only refuge, and lay out his natural talent in vilifying and slandering the author. But I see, by what you have already writ, how much you are above that; and as you take not up your opinions from fashion or interest, so you quit them not, to avoid the malicious reports of those that do: out of which number, they can hardly be left, who (unprovoked) mix, with the management of their cause, injuries and ill-language, to those they differ from. This, at least, I am sure, zeal or love for truth can never permit falsehood to be used in the defence of it.

Your mind, I see, prepared for truth, by resignation of itself, not to the traditions of men, but the doctrine of the gospel, has made you more readily entertain, and more easily enter into the meaning of my book, than most I have heard speak of it. And since you seem to me to comprehend what I have laid together, with the same disposition of mind, and in the same sense that I received it from the holy scriptures, I shall, as a mark of my respect to you, give you a particular accoun of it.

The beginning of the year in which it was published the controversy that made so much noise and heat amongst some of the dissenters, coming one day accidentally into my mind, drew me, by degrees, into a stricter and more thorough inquiry into the question about justification. The scripture was direct and plain, that it was faith that justified: The next question then, was, What faith that was that justified; what it was which, if a man believed, it should be imputed to him for righteousness? To find out this, I thought the right way was, to search the scriptures; and thereupon betook myself seriously to the reading of the New Testament, only to that purpose. What that produced, you and the world have seen.

The first view I had of it seemed mightily to satisfy my mind, in the reasonableness and plainness of this doctrine; but yet the general silence I had in my little reading met with, concerning any such thing, awed me with the apprehension of singularity; until going on in the gospel-history, the whole tenour of it made it so clear and visible, that I more wondered that every body did not see and embrace it; than that I should assent to what was so plainly laid down, and so frequently inculcated in holy writ, though systems of divinity said nothing of it. That which added to my satisfaction was, that it led me into a discovery of the marvellous and divine wisdom of our Saviour’s conduct, in all the circumstances of his promulgating this doctrine; as well as of the necessity that such a law-giver should be sent from God, for the reforming the morality of the world; two points, that, I must confess, I had not found so fully and advantageously explained in the books of divinity I had met with, as the history of the gospel seemed to me, upon an attentive perusal, to give occasion and matter for. But the necessity and wisdom of our Saviour’s opening the doctrine (which he came to publish) as he did in parables and figurative ways of speaking, carries such a thread of evidence through the whole history of the evangelists, as, I think, is impossible to be resisted; and makes it a demonstration, that the sacred historians did not write by concert, as advocates for a bad cause, or to give colour and credit to an imposture they would usher into the world: since they, every one of them, in some place or other, omit some passages of our Saviour’s life, or circumstance of his actions; which show the wisdom and wariness of his conduct; and which, even those of the evangelists who have recorded, do barely and transiently mention, without laying any stress on them, or making the least remark of what consequence they are, to give us our Saviour’s true character, and to prove the truth of their history. These are evidences of truth and sincerity, which result alone from the nature of things, and cannot be produced by any art or contrivance.

How much I was pleased with the growing discovery, every day, whilst I was employed in this search, I need not say. The wonderful harmony, that the farther I went disclosed itself, tending to the same points, in all the parts of the sacred history of the gospel, was of no small weight with me and another person, who every day, from the beginning to the end of my search, saw the progress of it, and knew, at my first setting out, that I was ignorant whither it would lead me; and therefore, every day asked me, What more the scripture had taught me? So far was I from the thoughts of socinianism, or an intention to write for that, or any other party, or to publish any thing at all. But, when I had gone through the whole, and saw what a plain, simple, reasonable thing christianity was, suited to all conditions and capacities; and in the morality of it now, with divine authority, established into a legible law, so far surpassing all that philosophy and human reason had attained to, or could possibly make effectual to all degrees of mankind; I was flattered to think it might be of some use in the world; especially to those, who thought either that there was no need of revelation at all, or that the revelation of our Saviour required the belief of such articles for salvation, which the settled notions, and their way of reasoning in some, and want of understanding in others, made impossible to them. Upon these two topics the objections seemed to turn, which were with most assurance made by deists, against christianity; but against christianity misunderstood. It seemed to me, that there needed no more to show them the weakness of their exceptions, but to lay plainly before them the doctrine of our Saviour and his apostles, as delivered in the scriptures, and not as taught by the several sects of christians.

This tempted me to publish it, not thinking it deserved an opposition from any minister of the gospel; and least of all, from any one in the communion of the church of England. But so it is, that Mr. Edwards’s zeal for he knows not what (for he does not yet know his own creed, nor what is required to make him a christian) could not brook so plain, simple, and intelligible a religion; but yet, not knowing what to say against it, and the evidence it has from the word of God, he thought fit to let the book alone, and fall upon the author. What great matter he has done in it, I need not tell you, who have seen and showed the weakness of his wranglings. You have here, Sir, the true history of the birth of my “Reasonableness of Christianity, as delivered in the Scriptures,” and my design in publishing it, &c. What it contains, and how much it tends to peace and union among christians, if they would receive christianity as it is, you have discovered. I am,

Sir, Your most humble servant,

B.

My readers will pardon me, that, in my preface to them, I make this particular address to Mr. Bold. He hath thought it worth his while to defend my book. How well he has done it, I am too much a party to say. I think it so sufficient to Mr. Edwards, that I needed not to have troubled myself any farther about him, on the account of any argument that remained in his book to be answered. But a great part of the world judging of the contests about truth, as they do of popular elections, that the side carries it where the greatest noise is; it was necessary they should be undeceived, and be let see, that sometimes such writers may be let alone, not because they cannot, but because they deserve not to be answered.

This farther I ought to acknowledge to Mr. Bold, and own to the world, that he hath entered into the true sense of my treatise, and his notions do so perfectly agree with mine, that I shall not be afraid, by thoughts and expressions very like his, in this my second vindication, to give Mr. Edwards (who is exceedingly quick-sighted, and positive in such matters) a handle to tell the world, that either I borrowed this my “vindication” from Mr. Bold, or writ his “animadversions” for him. The former of these I shall count no discredit, if Mr. Edwards think fit to charge me with it; and the latter, Mr. Bold’s character is answer enough to. Though the impartial reader, I doubt not, will find, that the same uniform truth considered by us, suggested the same thoughts to us both, without any other communication.

There is another author who in a civiler style hath made it necessary for me to vindicate my book from a reflection or two of his, wherein he seems to come short of that candour he professes. All that I shall say on this occasion here, is, that it is a wonder to me, that having published what I thought the scripture told me was the faith that made a christian, and desired, that if I was mistaken, any one that thought so, would have the goodness to inform me better; so many with their tongues, and some in print, should intemperately find fault with a poor man out of his way, who desires to be set right; and no one, who blames his faith, as coming short, will tell him what that faith is, which is required to make him a christian. But I hope, that amongst so many censurers, I shall at last find one, who knowing himself to be a christian upon other grounds than I am, will have so much christian charity, as to show me what more is absolutely necessary to be believed, by me, and every man, to make him a christian.

A SECOND VINDICATION OF THE REASONABLENESS OF CHRISTIANITY, &C.

A cause that stands in need of falsehoods to support it, and an adversary that will make use of them, deserve nothing but contempt; which I doubt not but every considerate reader thought answer enough to “Mr. Edwards’s Socinianism unmasked.” But, since, in his late “Socinian creed,” he says, “I would have answered him if I could,” that the interest of christianity may not suffer by my silence, nor the contemptibleness of his treatise afford him matter of triumph among those who lay any weight on such boasting, it is fit it should be shown what an arguer he is, and how well he deserves, for his performance, to be dubbed, by himself, “irrefragable.”

Those who, like Mr. Edwards, dare to publish inventions of their own, for matters of fact, deserve a name so abhorred, that it finds not room in civil conversation. This secures him from the proper answer, due to his imputations to me, in print, of matters of fact utterly false, which, without any reply of mine, fix upon him that name (which, without a profligate mind, a man cannot expose himself to) till he hath proved them. Till then, he must wear what he has put upon himself. This being a rule, which common justice hath prescribed to the private judgments of mankind, as well as to the public judicature of courts, that all allegations of facts, brought by contending parties, should be presumed to be false, till they are proved.

There are two ways of making a book unanswerable. The one is by the clearness, strength, and fairness of the argumentation. Men who know how to write thus, are above bragging what they have done, or boasting to the world that their adversaries are baffled. Another way to make a book unanswerable, is to lay a stress on matters of fact foreign to the question, as well as to truth; and to stuff it with scurrility and fiction. This hath been always so evident to common sense, that no man, who had any regard to truth, or ingenuity, ever thought matters of fact besides the argument, and stories made at pleasure, the way of managing controversies. Which showing only the want of sense and argument, could, if used on both sides, end in nothing but downright railing: and he must always have the better of the cause, who has lying and impudence on his side.

The unmasker, in the entrance of his book, sets a great distance between his and my way of writing. I am not sorry that mine differs so much as it does from his. If it were like his, I should think, like his, it wanted the author’s commendations. For, in his first paragraph, which is all laid out in his own testimony of his own book, he so earnestly bespeaks an opinion of mastery in politeness, order, coherence, pertinence, strength, seriousness, temper, and all the good qualities requisite in controversy, that I think, since he pleases himself so much with his own good opinion, one in pity ought not to go about to rob him of so considerable an admirer. I shall not, therefore, contest any of those excellencies he ascribes to himself, or faults he blames in me, in the management of the dispute between us, any farther than as particular passages of his book, as I come to examine them, shall suggest unavoidable remarks to me. I think the world does not so much concern itself about him, or me, that it need be told in that inventory, he has given of his own good parts, in his first paragraph, which of us two has the better hand at “flourishes, jesting, and common-places;” if I am, as he says, , troubled with “angry fits, and passionate ferments, which, though I strive to palliate, are easily discernible, &c.” and he be more laudably ingenuous in the openness of that temper, which he shows in every leaf; I shall leave to him the entire glory of boasting of it. Whatever we brag of our performances, they will be just as they are, however he may think to add to his, by his own encomium on them. The difference in style, order, coherence, good breeding, (for all those, amongst others, the unmasker mentions,) the reader will observe, whatever I say of them; and at best they are nothing to the question in hand. For though I am a “tool, pert, childish, starch’d, impertinent, incoherent, trifling, weak, passionate, &c.” commendations I meet with before I get to the 4th page, besides what follows, as “upstart racovian,” , “flourishing scribbler,” , “dissembler,” 106, “pedantic,” 107: I say, although I am all this, and what else he liberally bestows on me in the rest of his book, I may have truth on my side, and that in the present case serves my turn.

Having thus placed the laurels on his own head, and sung applause to his own performance, he, , enters, as he thinks, upon his business, which ought to be, as he confesses, , “to make good his former charges.” The first whereof he sets down in these words: That “I unwarrantably crowded all the necessary articles of faith into one, with a design of favouring socinianism.”

If it may be permitted to the subdued, to be so bold with one, who is already conqueror, I desire to know, where that proposition is laid down in these terms, as laid to my charge. Whether it be true, or false, shall, if he pleases, be hereafter examined: but it is not, at present, the matter in question. There are certain propositions, which he having affirmed, and I denied, are under debate between us: and that the dispute may not run into an endless ramble, by multiplying of new, before the points in contest are decided, those ought first to be brought to an issue.

To go on, therefore, in the order of his “Socinianism unmasked,” (for, , he has, out of the Mishna, taught me good breeding, “to answer the first, and so in order.”) The next thing he has against me is , which that the reader may understand the force of, I must inform him, that in of his “Thoughts concerning the causes of atheism,” he said, that I “give this plausible conceit,” as he calls it, “over and over again, in these formal words,” viz. “That nothing is required to be believed by any christian man, but this, that Jesus is the Messiah.” This I denied. To make it good, “Socinianism unmasked,” , he thus argues. First, “It is observable, that this guilty man would be shifting off the indictment, by excepting against the formality of words, as if such were not to be found in his book; but when doth he do this? In the close of it, when this matter was exhausted, and he had nothing else to say,” Vind. , “then he bethinks himself of his salvo, &c.” Answ. As if a falsehood were ever the less a falsehood, because it was not opposed, or would grow into a truth, if it were not taken notice of, before the 38th page of the answer. I desire him to show me these “formal words over and over again,” in my “Reasonableness of christianity:” nor let him hope to evade, by saying, I would be “shifting, by excepting against the formality of the words.”

To say, that “I have, over and over again, those formal words,” in my book, is an assertion of a matter of fact; let him produce the words, and justify his allegation, or confess, that this is an untruth published to the world: and since he makes so bold with truth, in a matter visible to every body, let the world be judge, what credit is to be given to his allegations of matters of fact, in things foreign to what I have printed; and that are not capable of a negative proof. A sample whereof the reader has at the entrance, in his introduction, p. A. 4, and the three or four following pages. Where he affirms to the world, not only what I know to be false; but that every one must see, he could not know to be true. For he pretends to know and deliver my thoughts. And what the character is of one that confidently affirms what he does not know, nobody need be told.

But he adds, “I had before pleaded to the indictment, and thereby owned it to be true.” This is to make good his promise, , to keep at a distance from my “feeble strugglings.” Here this strong arguer must prove, that what is not answered or denied, in the very beginning of a reply, or before the 11th page, “is owned to be true.” In the mean time, ‘till he does that, I shall desire such of my readers, as think the unmasker’s veracity worth examining, to see in my Vindication, from , &c. wherein is contained, what I have said about one article, whether I have owned what he charged me with, on that subject.

This proposition then remains upon him still to be proved, viz.

I. “THAT I HAVE, OVER AND OVER AGAIN, THESE FORMAL WORDS IN MY REASONABLENESS OF CHRISTIANITY, VIZ. THAT NOTHING IS REQUIRED TO BE BELIEVED BY ANY CHRISTIAN MAN, BUT THIS, THAT JESUS IS THE MESSIAH.”

He goes on, , “And indeed he could do no other, for it was the main work he set himself about, to find but one article of faith in all the chapters of the four evangelists, and the acts of the apostles;” this is to make good his promise, , “To clear his book from those sorry objections and cavils I had raised against it.” Several of my “sorry objections and cavils” were to represent to the reader, that a great part of what is said was nothing but suspicious and conjectures; and such he could not but then own them to be. But now he has rid himself of all his conjectures; and has raised them up into direct, positive affirmations, which, being said with confidence without proof, who can deny but he has cleared, thoroughly cleared, that part from my “sorry objections and cavils?” He says, “it was the main work I set myself about, to find but one article of faith.” This I must take the liberty to deny; and I desire him to prove it. A man may “set himself to find two,” or as many as there be, and yet find but one: or a man may “set himself to find but one,” and yet find two more. It is no argument, from what a man has found, to prove what was his main work to find, unless where his aim was only to find what there was, whether more or less. For a writer may find the reputation of a poor contemptible railer; nay of a downright impudent lyar; and yet nobody will think it was his main work to find that. Therefore, sir, if you will not find what it is like you did not seek, you must prove those many confident assertions you have published, which I shall give you in tale, whereof this is the second, viz.

II. “THAT THE MAIN BUSINESS I SET MYSELF ABOUT, WAS TO FIND BUT ONE ARTICLE OF FAITH.”

In the following part of this sentence, he quotes my own words with the pages where they are to be found: the first time, that, in either of his two books against me, he has vouchsafed to do so, concerning one article, wherewith he has made so much noise. My words in ( of) my “Reasonableness of Christianity” stand thus: “for that this is the sole doctrine pressed and required to be believed, in the whole tenour of our Saviour’s and his apostles preaching, we have showed, through the whole history of the Evangelists and Acts, and I challenge them to show, that there was any other doctrine upon their assent to which, or disbelief of it, men were pronounced believers, or unbelievers, and accordingly received into the church of Christ, as members of his body, as far as mere believing could make them so; or else kept out. This was the only gospel article of faith, which was preached to them.” Out of this passage, the unmasker sets down these words, “This is the sole doctrine pressed and required to be believed, in the whole tenour of our Saviour’s and his apostles preaching,” , “this was the only gospel article of faith, which was preached to them.”

I shall pass by all other observations, that this way of citing these words would suggest, and only remark, that, if he brought these words, to prove the immediately preceding assertion of his, viz. That “to find out but one article of faith was the main work I set myself about,” this argument, reduced into form, will stand thus:

He who says, that this is the sole doctrine pressed and required to be believed in the whole tenour of our Saviour’s and his apostles preaching, upon their assent to which, or disbelief of it, men were pronounced believers, or unbelievers, and accordingly received into the church of Christ, as members of his body, as far as mere believing could make them so, or else kept out; sets himself to find out but one article of faith, as his main work. But the vindicator did so: ergo,

If this were the use he would make of those words of mine cited, I must desire him to prove the major. But he talks so freely, and without book every-where, that I suppose he thought himself, by the privilege of a declaimer, exempt from being called strictly to an account, for what he loosely says, and from proving what he should be called to an account for. Rail lustily, is a good rule; something of it will stick, true or false, proved or not proved.

If he alleges these words of mine, to answer my demand, Vind. , where he found that “I contended for one single article of faith, with the exclusion and defiance of all the rest,” which he had charged me with; I say, it proves this as little as the former. For to say, “That I had showed through the whole history of the Evangelists, and the Acts, that this is the sole doctrine, or only gospel article pressed and required to be believed in the whole tenour of our Saviour and his apostles preaching; upon their assent to which, or disbelieving of it, men were pronounced believers or unbelievers, and accordingly received into the church of Christ, or kept out;” is the simple assertion of a positive matter of fact, and so carries in it no defiance, no, nor exclusion of any other doctrinal, or historical truth, contained in the scripture: and therefore it remains still on the unmasker to show, where it is I express any defiance of any other truth contained in the word of God; or where I exclude any one doctrine of the scriptures. So that if it be true, that “I contend for one article,” my contention may be without any defiance, or so much as exclusion, of any of the rest, notwithstanding any thing contained in these words. Nay, if it should happen that I am in a mistake, and that this was not the sole doctrine, which our Saviour and his apostles preached, and, upon their assent to which, men were admitted into the church: yet the unmasker’s accusation would be never the truer for that, unless it be necessary, that he that mistakes in one matter of fact, should be at defiance with all other truths; or, that he who erroneously says, that our Saviour and his apostles admitted men into the church, upon the believing him to be the Messiah, does thereby exclude all other truths published to the jews before, or to christian believers afterwards.

If these words be brought to prove that I contended “for one article,” barely “one article,” without any defiance or exclusion annexed to that contention; I say neither do they prove that, as is manifest from the words themselves, as well as from what I said elsewhere, concerning the article of one God. For here, I say, this is the only gospel article, &c. upon which men were pronounced believers; which plainly intimates some other article, known and believed in the world before, and without the preaching of the gospel.

To this the unmasker thinks he has provided a salvo, in these words, “Socinianism unmasked,” , “And when I told him of this one article, he knew well enough, that I did not exclude the article of the Deity, for that is a principle of natural religion.” If it be fit for an unmasker to perceive what is in debate, he would know, that the question is not, what he excluded, or excluded not, but what articles he charged me to have excluded.

Taking it therefore to be his meaning, (which it must be, if he meant any thing to the purpose), viz. That when he charged me so often and positively, for contesting for “one article,” viz. that “Jesus was the Messiah,” he did not intend to accuse me for excluding “the article of the Deity.” To prove that he did not so intend it, he tells me, that “I knew that he did not.”

Answ. How should I know it? He never told me so, either in his book, or otherwise. This I know, that he said, , that “I contended for one article, with the exclusion of all the rest.” If then the belief of the Deity be an article of faith, and be not the article of Jesus being the Messiah, it is one “of the rest;” and if “all the rest” were excluded, certainly that, being one of “all the rest,” must be excluded. How then he could say, “I knew that he excluded it not,” i. e. meant not that I excluded it, when he positively says, I did “exclude it,” I cannot tell, unless he thought that I knew him so well, that when he said one thing, I knew that he meant another, and that the quite contrary.

He now, it seems, acknowledges that I affirmed, that the belief of the Deity, as well as of Jesus being the Messiah, was required to make a man a believer. The believing in “one God, the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth,” is one article; and in “Jesus Christ, his only Son our Lord,” is another article. These, therefore, being “two articles,” and both asserted by me, to be required to make a man a christian, let us see with what truth or ingenuity the unmasker could apply, besides that above mentioned, these following expressions to me, as he does without any exception: “Why then must there be one article and no more?” . “Going to make a religion for his myrmidons, he contracts all into one article, and will trouble them with no more,” . “Away with systems, away with creeds, let us have but one article, though it be with defiance to all the rest,” . “Thus we see, why he reduces all belief to that one article before rehearsed,” . And all this without any the least exception of the article of a Deity, as he now pretends. Nor could he, indeed, as is evident from his own words, , 122: “To conclude, this gentleman and his fellows are resolved to be unitarians; they are for one article of faith, as well as One person in the Godhead: — But, if these learned men were not prejudiced, — they would perceive, that, when the catholic faith is thus brought down to one single article, it will soon be reduced to none; the unit will dwindle into a cypher.” By which the reader may see that his intention was, to persuade the world, that I reduced all belief, the catholic faith, (they are in his own words,) “to one single article, and no more.” For if he had given but the least hint, that I allowed of Two, all the wit and strength of argument, contained in unitarians, unit and cypher, with which he winds up all, had been utterly lost, and dwindled into palpable nonsense.

To demonstrate that this was the sense he would be understood in, we are but to observe what he says again, of his “Socinianism unmasked,” where he tells his readers, that “I and my friends have new-modelled the apostles creed; yea, indeed, have presented them with one article, instead of twelve.” And hence we may see, what sincerity there is, in the reason he brings, to prove that he did not exclude the “article of the Deity.” “For, says he, , that is a principle of natural religion.”

Answ. Ergo, he did not in positive words, without any exception, say, I reduced “all belief, the catholic faith, to one single article, and no more.” But to make good his promise, “not to resemble me in the little artifices of evading,” he wipes his mouth, and says at the bottom of this page, “But the reader sees his [the vindicator’s] shuffling.” Whilst the article of “One God” is a part of “all belief, a part of the catholic faith,” all which he affirmed I excluded, but the one article concerning the Messiah; every one will see where the shuffling is: and, if it be not clear enough from those words themselves, let those above quoted, out of , of his “Socinianism unmasked,” where he says, that “I have new modelled the apostles creed, and presented the world with one article instead of twelve,” be an interpretation of them. For, if the article of “one eternal God, maker of heaven and earth,” be one of the articles of the apostles creed, and the one article I presented them with, be not that, it is plain, he did, and would be understood to mean, that by my one article, I excluded that of the one eternal God, which branch soever of religion, either natural, or revealed, it belongs to.

I do not endeavour to “persuade the reader,” as he says, , “that he misunderstood me,” but yet every body will see that he misrepresented me. And I challenge him to say, that those expressions above quoted out of him, concerning “one article,” in the obvious sense of the words, as they stand in his accusation of me, were true.

This flies so directly in his face, that he labours mightily to get it off, and therefore adds these words, “My discourse did not treat (neither doth his book run that way) of principles of natural religion, but of the revealed, and particularly the christian: accordingly, this was it that I taxed him with, That, of all the principles and articles of christianity, he chose out but one, as necessary to be believed to make a man a christian.”

Answ. His book was of — atheism, which one may think should make his “discourse treat of natural religion.” But I pass by that, and bid him tell me where he taxed me, “That, of all the principles and articles of christianity, I chose out but one:” let him show, in all his discourse, but such a word, or any thing said, like “one article of christianity,” and I will grant that he meant particularly, but spoke generally; misled his reader, and left himself a subterfuge. But if there be no expression to be found in him, tending that way, all this is but the covering of one falsehood with another, which thereby only becomes the grosser. Though if he had in express words taxed me, That, of all the principles and articles of the christian religion, I chose out but one, that would not at all help him, till he farther declares, that the belief of one God is not an “article of the christian religion.” For, of “all the articles of the christian religion,” he says, “I chose but one;” which not being that of a Deity, his words plainly import, that that was left out amongst the rest, unless it be possible for a man to choose but one article of the christian religion, viz. That “Jesus is the Messiah;” and at the same time, to choose two articles of the christian religion, viz. That there is one eternal God, and that Jesus is the Messiah. If he had spoken clearly, and like a fair man, he should have said, That he taxed me with choosing but one article of revealed religion. This had been plain and direct to his purpose: but then he knew the falsehood of it would be too obvious: for, in the seven pages, wherein he taxes me so much with One article, christianity is several times named, though not once to the purpose he here pretends. But revelation is not so much as once mentioned in them, nor, as I remember, in any of the pages he bestows upon me.

To conclude, the several passages above quoted out of him, concerning one sole article, are all in general terms, without any the least limitation or restriction; and, as they stand in him, fit to persuade the reader, that I excluded all other articles whatsoever, but that one, of “Jesus the Messiah:” and if, in that sense, they are not true, they are so many falsehoods of his, repeated there, to mislead others into a wrong opinion of me. For, if he had a mind his readers should have been rightly informed, why was it not as easy once to explain himself, as so often to affirm it in general and unrestrained terms? This, all the boasted strength of the unmasker will not be able to get him out of. This very well becomes one, who so loudly charges me with shuffling. Having repeated the same thing over and over again, in as general terms as was possible, without any the least limitation, in the whole discourse, to have nothing else to plead when required to prove it, but that it was meant in a limited sense, in an unmasker, is not shuffling. For, by this way, he may have the convenience to say, and unsay, what he pleases; to vent what stuff he thinks for his turn; and, when he is called to account for it, reply, He meant no such thing. Should any one publish, that the unmasker had but “one article of faith, and no more,” viz. That the doctrines in fashion, and likely to procure preferment, are alone to be received; that all his belief was comprised in this “one single article:” and when such a talker was demanded to prove his assertion, should he say, he meant to except his belief of the apostles creed: would he not, notwithstanding such a plea, be thought a shuffling lyar? And, if the unmasker can no otherwise prove those universal propositions above cited, but by saying, he meant them with a tacit restriction, (for none is expressed,) they will still, and for ever remain to be accounted for, by his veracity.

What he says in the next paragraph, , of my “splitting one article into two,” is just of the same force, and with the same ingenuity. I had said, That the belief of one God was necessary; which is not denied: I had also said, “That the belief of Jesus of Nazareth to be the Messiah, together with those concomitant articles of his resurrection, rule, and coming again to judge the world, was necessary, . And again, , That God had declared, whoever would believe Jesus to be the Saviour promised, and take him now raised from the dead, and constituted the Lord and Judge of all men, to be their King and Ruler, should be saved.” This made me say, “These, and those articles” (in words of the plural number) more than once; evidence enough to any but a caviller, that I “contend not for one single article, and no more.” And to mind him of it, I, in my Vindication, reprinted one of those places, where I had done so; and, that he might not, according to his manner, overlook what does not please him, the words, these are articles, were printed in great characters. Whereupon he makes this remark, , “And though since he has tried to split this one into two, , yet he labours in vain: for to believe Jesus to be the Messiah, amounts to the same with believing him to be King and Ruler; his being anointed, (i. e. being the Messiah,) including that in it: yet he has the vanity to add in great characters, these are articles; as if the putting them into these great letters, would make one article two.”

Ans. Though no letters will make one article two; yet that there is one God, and Jesus Christ his only Son our Lord, who rose again from the dead, ascended into heaven, and sitteth at the right hand of God, shall come to judge the quick and the dead, are, in the apostles creed, set down as more than one article, and therefore may, very properly, be called these articles, without splitting one into two.

What, in my “Reasonableness of christianity,” I have said of one article, I shall always own; and in what sense I have said it, is easy to be understood; and with a man of the least candour, whose aim was truth, and not wrangling, it would not have occasioned one word of dispute. But as for this unmasker, who makes it his business, not to convince me of any mistakes in my opinion, but barely to misrepresent me; my business at present with him is, to show the world, that what he has captiously and scurrilously said of me, relating to one article, is false; and that he neither has, nor can prove one of those assertions concerning it, above cited out of him, in his own words. Nor let him pretend a meaning against his direct words: such a caviller as he, who would shelter himself under the pretence of a meaning, whereof there are no footsteps; whose disputes are only calumnies directed against the author, without examining the truth or falsehood of what I had published; is not to expect the allowances one would make to a fair and ingenuous adversary, who showed so much concern for truth, that he treated of it with a seriousness due to the weightiness of the matter, and used other arguments, besides obloquy, clamour and falsehoods, against what he thought errour. And therefore I again positively demand of him to prove these words of his to be true, or confess that he cannot; viz.

III. “THAT I CONTEND FOR ONE ARTICLE OF FAITH, WITH THE EXCLUSION AND DEFIANCE OF ALL THE REST.”

Two other instances of this sort of arguments, I gave in the 175th page of my Vindication, out of the 115th and 119th pages of his “Thoughts concerning the causes of atheism;” and I here demand of him again to show, since he has not thought fit hitherto to give any answer to it,

IV. “WHERE I URGE, THAT THERE MUST BE NOTHING IN CHRISTIANITY, THAT IS NOT PLAIN, AND EXACTLY LEVELLED TO ALL MEN’S MOTHER-WIT, AND EVERY COMMON APPREHENSION.”

Or, where he finds, in my “Reasonableness of christianity,” this other proposition:

V. “THAT THE VERY MANNER OF EVERY THING IN CHRISTIANITY, MUST BE CLEAR AND INTELLIGIBLE; EVERY THING MUST IMMEDIATELY BE COMPREHENDED BY THE WEAKEST NODDLE; OR ELSE IT IS NO PART OF RELIGION, ESPECIALLY OF CHRISTIANITY.”

These things he must prove that I have said; I put it again upon him to show where I said them, or else to confess the forgery: for till he does one or the other, he shall be sure to have these, with a large catalogue of other falsehoods, laid before him.

Page 26, of his “Socinianism unmasked,” he endeavours to make good his saying, that “I set up one article, with defiance to all the rest,” in these words: “for what is excluding them wholly, but defying them? Wherefore, seeing he utterly excludes all the rest, by representing them as useless to the making a man a christian, which is the design of his whole undertaking, it is manifest that he defies them.”

Answ. This at least is manifest from hence, that the unmasker knows not, or cares not what he says. For whoever, but he, thought, that a bare exclusion, or passing by was defiance? If he understands so, I would advise him not to seek preferment. For exclusions will happen; and if every exclusion be defiance, a man had need be well assured of his own good temper, who shall not think his peace and charity in danger, amongst so many enemies that are at defiance with him. Defiance, if, with any propriety, it can be spoken of an article of faith, must signify a professed enmity to it. For, in its proper use, which is to persons, it signifies an open and declared enmity, raised to that height, that he, in whom it is, challenges the party defied to battle, that he may there wreak his hatred on his enemy, in his destruction. So that “my defiance of all the rest” remains still to be proved.

But, secondly, There is another thing manifest from these words of his, viz. that, notwithstanding his great brags in his first paragraph, his main skill lies in fancying what would be for his turn, and then confidently fathering it upon me. It never entered into my thoughts, nor, I think, into any body’s else, (I must always except the acute unmasker, who makes no difference between useful and necessary,) that all but the fundamental articles of the christian faith were useless to make a man a christian; though, if it be true, that the belief of the fundamentals alone (be they few, or many) is all that is necessary to his being made a christian, all that may any way persuade him to believe them, may certainly be useful towards the making him a christian: and therefore here again, I must propose to him, and leave it with him to be showed where it is.

VI. “I HAVE REPRESENTED ALL THE REST AS USELESS TO THE MAKING A MAN A CHRISTIAN?” AND HOW IT APPEARS, THAT “THIS IS THE DESIGN OF MY WHOLE UNDERTAKING?”

In his “Thoughts concerning the causes of atheism,” he says, page 115, “What makes him contend for one single article, with the exclusion of all the rest? He pretends it is this, that all men ought to understand their religion.” This reasoning I disowned, , of my Vindication, and intimated, that he should have quoted the page where I so pretended.

To this, , he tells me with great confidence, and in abundance of words, as we shall see by and by, that I had done so; as if repetition were a proof. He had done better to have quoted one place, where I so pretend. Indeed, , for want of something better, he quotes these words of mine out of , of the Reasonableness of christianity: “The all-merciful God seems herein to have consulted the poor of this world, and the bulk of mankind. These are articles that the labouring and illiterate man may comprehend.” I ask, whether it be possible for one to bring any thing more direct against himself? The thing he was to prove was, that “I contended for one single article, with the exclusion of all the rest, because I pretended, that all men ought to understand their religion:” i. e. the reason I gave, why there was to be “but one single article in religion, with the exclusion of all the rest,” was, because men ought to understand their religion. And the place he brings, to prove my contending upon that ground, “for one single article, with the exclusion of all the rest,” is a passage wherein I speak of more than one article, and say, “these articles.” Whether I said, “these articles,” properly or improperly, it matters not, in the present case (and that we have examined in another place) it is plain, I meant more than one article, when I said, “these articles;” and did not think, that the labouring and illiterate man could not understand them, if they were more than one: and therefore, I pretended not, that there must be but one, because by illiterate men more than one could not be understood. The rest of this paragraph is nothing but a repetition of the same assertion, without proof, which, with the unmasker, often passes for a way of proving, but with nobody else.

But, that I may keep that distance, which he boasts, there is betwixt his and my way of writing, I shall not say this without proof. One instance of his repetition, of which there is such plenty in his book, pray take here. His business, , is to prove, that “I pretended that I contended for one single article, with the exclusion of all the rest, because all men ought to understand their religion:” , of my Vindication, I denied that I had so pretended. To convince me that I had, thus he proceeds:

Unmasker. “He founds his conceit” of one article, “partly upon this, that a multitude of doctrines is obscure, and hard to be understood.”

Answer. You say it, and had said it before: but I ask you, as I did before, Where I did so?

Unm. “And therefore he trusses all up in one article, that the poor people and bulk of mankind may bear it.”

Answ. I desire again to know where I made that inference, and argued so, for “one article?”

Unm. “This is the scope of a great part of his book.”

Answ. This is saying again, show it once.

Unm. “But his memory does not keep pace with his invention, and thence he says, he remembers nothing of this in his book,” Vind. .

Answ. This is to say that it is in my book. You have said it more than once already; I demand of you to show me where.

Unm. “This worthy writer does not know his own reasoning, that he uses.”

Answ. I ask, Where does he use that reasoning?

Unm. “As particularly thus, that he troubles christian men with no more, but one article: because that is intelligible, and all people, high and low, may comprehend it.”

Answ. We have heard it affirmed by you, over and over again, but the question still is, “Where is that way of arguing to be found in my book?”

Unm. “For he has chosen out, as he thinks, a plain and easy article. Whereas the others, which are commonly propounded, are not generally agreed on, (he saith,) and are dubious and uncertain. But the believing that Jesus is the Messiah, has nothing of doubtfulness or obscurity in it.”

Answ. The word “For,” in the beginning of this sentence, makes it stand for one of your reasons; though it be but a repetition of the same thing in other words.

Unm. “This the reader will find to be the drift and design of several of his pages.”

Answ. This must signify “that I trouble men with no more but one article, because only one is intelligible,” and then it is but a repetition. If any thing else be meant by the word This, it is nothing to the purpose. For that I said, that all things necessary to be believed are plain in scripture, and easy to be understood, I never denied; and should be very sorry, and recant it, if I had.

Unm. “And the reason why I did not quote any single one of them, was, because he insists on it, so long together: and spins it out after his way, in of his “Reasonableness of Christianity,” where he sets down the short, plain, easy, and intelligible summary (as he calls it) of religion,” couched in a single article: he immediately adds: “the all-merciful God seems herein to have consulted the poor of this world, and the bulk of mankind: these are articles” (whereas he had set down but one) “that the labouring and illiterate man may comprehend.”

Answ. If “my insisting on it so long together” was the cause why, in your thoughts of the causes of “atheism,” you did not quote any single passage; methinks here, in your “Socinianism unmasked,” where you knew it was expected of you, my “insisting on it,” as you say, “so long together,” might have afforded, at least, one quotation to your purpose.

Unm. “He assigns this, as a ground, why it was God’s pleasure, that there should be but one point of faith, because thereby religion may be understood the better; the generality of people may comprehend it.”

Answ. I hear you say it again, but want a proof still, and ask, “where I assign that ground?”

Unm. “This he represents as a great kindness done by God to man; whereas the variety of articles would be hard to be understood.”

Answ. Again the same cabbage; an affirmation, but no proof.

Unm. “This he enlarges upon, and flourishes it over, after his fashion: and yet desires to know, When he said so?” Vind.

Answ. And if I did, let the world here take a sample of the unmasker’s ability, or truth, who spends above two whole pages, 26, 27, in repetitions of the same assertion, without the producing any but one place for proof; and that too against him, as I have shown. But he has not yet done with confounding me by dint of repetition; he goes on.

Unm. “Good sir, let me be permitted to acquaint you, that your memory is as defective as your judgment.”

Answ. I thank you for the regard you have had to it; for often repetition is a good help to a bad memory. In requital, I advise you to have some eye to your own memory and judgment too. For one, or both of them, seem a little to blame, in the reason you subjoin to the foregoing words, viz.

Unm. “For in the very Vindication, you attribute it to the goodness and condescension of the Almighty, that he requires nothing, as absolutely necessary to be believed, but what is suited to vulgar capacities, and the comprehension of illiterate men.”

Answ. I will, for the unmasker’s sake, put this argument of his into a syllogism. If the vindicator, in his vindication, attributes it to the goodness and condescension of the Almighty, that he requires nothing to be believed, but what is suited to vulgar capacities, and the comprehension of illiterate men; then he did, in his “Reasonableness of christianity,” pretend, that the reason, why he contended for One article, with the exclusion of all the rest, was because all men ought to understand their religion.

But the vindicator, in his vindication, attributes it to the goodness and condescension of Almighty God, that he requires nothing to be believed, but what is suited to vulgar capacities, and the comprehension of illiterate men.

“Ergo,” in his “Reasonableness of christianity,” he pretended, that the reason why he contended for one article, with the exclusion of all the rest, was, because all men ought to understand their religion.

This was the proposition to be proved, and which, as he confesses here, , I denied to remember to be in my “Reasonableness of christianity.” Who can but admire his logic!

But, besides the strength of judgment, which you have showed in this clear and cogent reasoning, Does not your memory too deserve its due applause? You tell me, in your “Socinianism unmasked,” that in of my Vindication, I desired to know when I said so. To which desire of mine, you reply in these words before cited: “Good sir, let me be permitted to acquaint you, that your memory is as defective as your judgment; for, in the very Vindication, you attribute it to the goodness and condescension of the Almighty, that he requires nothing, as absolutely necessary to be believed, but what is suited to vulgar capacities, and the comprehension of illiterate men,” .

Sure the unmasker thinks himself at cross questions. I ask him, in the 29th page of my Vindication, When I said so? And he answers, that I had said so in the 30th page of my Vindication; i. e. when I writ the 29th page, I asked the question, When I had said, what he charged me with saying? And I am answered, I had said in the 30th page; which was not yet written: i. e. I asked the question to-day, When I had said so? And I am answered, I had said it to-morrow. As opposite and convincing an answer, to make good his charge, as if he had said, To-morrow I found a horse-shoe. But, perhaps this judicious disputant will ease himself of this difficulty, by looking again into the 175th page of my Vindication, out of which he cites these words for mine: “I desire to know, When I said so?” But my words in that place are, “I desire to know, Where I said so?” A mark of his exactness in quoting, when he vouchsafes to do it. For unmaskers, when they turn disputants, think it the best way to talk at large, and charge home in generals: but do not often find it convenient to quote pages, set down words, and come to particulars. But, if he had quoted my words right, his answer had been just as pertinent. For I ask him, Where, in my “Reasonableness of christianity,” I had said so? And he answers, I had said so in my Vindication. For where, in my question, refers to my “Reasonableness of christianity,” which the unmasker had seen, and charged with this saying; and could not refer to my Vindication, which he had not yet seen, nor to a passage in it, which was not then written. But this is nothing with an unmasker; therefore, what is yet worse, those words of mine, Vindication, , relate not to the passage he is here proving, I had said, but to another different from it; as different as it is to say, “That, because all men are to understand their religion, therefore there is to be but one article in it;” and to say, “that there must be nothing in christianity that is not plain, and exactly levelled to all men’s mother-wit:” both which he falsely charges on me; but it is only to the latter of them, that my words, “I desire to know, where I said so?” are applied.

Perhaps the well-meaning man sees no difference between these propositions, yet I shall take the liberty to ask him again, Where I said either of them, as if they were two? Although he should accuse me again, of “excepting against the formality of words,” and doing so foolish a thing, as to expect, that a disputing unmasker should account for his words, or any proposition he advances. It is his privilege to plead, he did not mean as his words import, and without any more ado he is assoiled; and he is the same unmasker he was before. But let us hear him out on the argument he was upon, for his repetitions on it are not yet done. His next words are,

Unm. “It is clear then, that you found your one article on this, that it is suited to the vulgar capacities: whereas the other articles mentioned by me, are obscure and ambiguous, and therefore surpass the comprehension of the illiterate.”

Answ. The latter part, indeed, is now the first time imputed to me; but all the rest is nothing but an unproved repetition, though ushered in with “it is clear then;” words that should have a proof going before them.

Unm. “But yet you pretend, that you have forgot that any such thing was said by you.”

Answ. I have indeed forgot, and notwithstanding all your pains, by so many repetitions, to beat it into my head, I fear I shall never remember it.

Unm. “Which shows that you are careless of your words, and that you forget what you write.”

Answ. So you told me before, and this repeating of it does no more convince me than that did.

Unm. “What shall we say to such an oblivious author?”

Answ. Show it him in his book, or else he will never be able to remember that it is there, nor any body else be able to find it.

Unm. “He takes no notice of what falls from his own pen.”

Answ. So you have told him more than once. Try him once with showing it him, amongst other things which fell from his own pen, and see what then he will say: that perhaps may refresh his memory.

Unm. “And therefore, within a page or two, he confutes himself, and gives himself the lye.”

Answ. It is a fault he deserves to be told of, over and over again. But he says, he shall not be able to find the two pages wherein he “gives himself the lye,” unless you set down their numbers, and the words in them, which confute, and which are confuted.

I beg my reader’s pardon, for laying before him so large a pattern of our unmasker’s new-fashioned stuff; his fine tissue of argumentation not easily to be matched, but by the same hand. But it lay all together in , 27, 28; and it was fit the reader should have this one instance of the excellencies he promises in his first paragraph, in opposition to my “impertinencies, incoherences, weak and feeble strugglings.” Other excellencies he there promised, upon the same ground, which I shall give my reader a taste of in fit places: not but that the whole is of a piece, and one cannot miss some of them in every page; but to transcribe them all, would be more than they are worth. If any one desires more plenty, I send him to his book itself. But saying a thousand times, not being proved once, it remains upon him still to show,

VII. WHERE, IN MY “REASONABLENESS OF CHRISTIANITY,” “I PRETEND THAT I CONTEND FOR ONE SINGLE ARTICLE, WITH THE EXCLUSION OF ALL THE REST, BECAUSE ALL MEN OUGHT TO UNDERSTAND THEIR RELIGION.”

And in the next place, where it is that I say,

VIII. “THAT THERE MUST BE NOTHING IN CHRISTIANITY THAT IS NOT PLAIN AND EXACTLY LEVEL TO ALL MEN’S MOTHER-WIT.”

Let us now return to his 8th page: for the bundling together, as was fit, all that he has said, in distant places, upon the subject of One article, has made me trespass a little, against the jewish character of a well bred man, recommended by him to me, out of the Mishna. Though I propose to myself to follow him, as near as I can, step by step as he proceeds.

In the 110th and 111th pages of his “Thoughts concerning the causes of atheism,” he gave us a list of his “fundamental articles:” upon which, I thus applied myself to him, Vind. , &c. “Give me leave now to ask you seriously, Whether these you have here set down under the title of “fundamental doctrines,” are such (when reduced to propositions) that every one of them is required to make a man a christian, and such as, without the actual belief thereof, he cannot be saved? If they are not so, every one of them, you may call them “fundamental doctrines,” as much as you please, they are not of those doctrines of faith I was speaking of; which are only such as are required to be actually believed, to make a man a christian.” And again, Vind. , I asked him, “Whether just these, neither more nor less,” were those necessary articles?

To which we have his answer, “Socinianism unmasked,” , &c. From to 20, he has quoted near forty texts of scripture, of which he saith, , “Thus I have briefly set before the reader, those evangelical truths, those christian principles, which belong to the very essence of christianity: I have proved them to be such, and I have reduced most of them to certain propositions, which is a thing the vindicator called for.”

Answ. Yes: but that was not all the vindicator called for, and had reason to expect. For I asked, “Whether those the unmasker gave us, in his Thoughts concerning the causes of atheism,” were the fundamental articles, “without an actual belief whereof, a man could not be a christian; just all, neither more nor less?” This I had reason to demand from him, or from any one, who questions that part of my book; and I shall insist upon it, until he does it, or confesses he cannot. For having set down the articles, which the scripture, upon a diligent search, seemed to me to require as necessary, and only necessary; I shall not lose my time in examining what another says against those fundamentals, which I have gathered out of the preachings of our Saviour and his apostles, until he gives me a list of his fundamentals, which he will abide by; that so, by comparing them together, I may see which is the true catalogue of necessaries. For after so serious and diligent a search, which has given me light and satisfaction in this great point, I shall not quit it, and set myself on float again, at the demand of any one, who would have me be of his faith, without telling me what it is. Those fundamentals the scripture has so plainly given, and so evidently determined, that it would be the greatest folly imaginable, to part with this rule for asking; and give up myself blindly to the conduct of one, who either knows not, or will not tell me, what are the points necessary to be believed to make me a christian. He that shall find fault with my collection of fundamentals, only to unsettle me, and not give me a better of his own, I shall not think worth minding, until, like a fair man, he puts himself upon equal terms, and makes up the defects of mine, by a complete one of his own. For a deficiency, or errour, in one necessary, is as fatal, and as certainly excludes a man from being a christian, as in an hundred. When any one offers me a complete catalogue of his fundamentals, he does not unreasonably demand me to quit mine for nothing: I have then one, that being set by mine, I may compare them; and so be able to choose the true and perfect one, and relinquish the other.

He that does not do this, plainly declares, that, (without showing me the certain way to salvation) he expects, that I should depend on him with an implicit faith, whilst he reserves to himself the liberty to require of me to believe, what he shall think fit, as he sees occasion; and in effect says thus, “Distrust those fundamentals, which the preachings of Our Saviour and his apostles have showed to be all that is necessary to be believed to make a man a christian; and, though I cannot tell you, what are those other articles which are necessary and sufficient to make a man a christian, yet take me for your guide, and that is as good as if I made up, in a complete list, the defects of your fundamentals?” To which this is a sufficient answer, Si quid novisti rectiùs, imperti; si non, his utere mecum.”

The unmasker, of his own accord, of his “Thoughts concerning the causes of atheism,” sets down several, which he calls “fundamental doctrines.” I ask him, whether those be all? For answer, he adds more to them in his “Socinianism unmasked:” but in a great pet refuses to tell me, whether this second list of fundamentals be complete: and, instead of answering so reasonable a demand, pays me with ill language, in these words, , subjoined to those last quoted, “If what I have said will not content him, I am sure I can do nothing that will; and therefore, if he should capriciously require any thing more, it would be as great folly in me to comply with it, as it is in him to move it.” If I did ask a question, which troubles you, be not so angry; you yourself were the occasion of it. I proposed my collection of fundamentals, which I had, with great care, sought; and thought I had found clear in the scripture; you tell me no, it is imperfect, and offer me one of your own. I ask, whether that be perfect? Thereupon you grow into choler, and tell me it is a foolish question. Why! then I think it was not very wise in you so forwardly to offer one, unless you had one ready, not liable to the same exception. Would you have me so foolish, to take a list of fundamentals from you, who have not yet one for yourself; nor are yet resolved with yourself, what doctrines are to be put in, or left out of it? Farther, pray tell me, if you had a settled collection of fundamentals, that you would stand to, why should I take them from you, upon your word, rather than from an anabaptist, or a quaker, or an arminian, or a socinian, or a lutheran, or a papist; who, I think, are not perfectly agreed with you, or one another in fundamentals? And yet, there is none amongst them, that I have not as much reason to believe, upon his bare word, as an unmasker, who, to my certain knowledge, will make bold with truth. If you set up for infallibility, you may have some claim to have your bare word taken, before any other but the pope. But yet, if you demand to be an unquestionable proposer, of what is absolutely necessary to be believed to make a man a christian, you must perform it a little better, than hitherto you have done. For it is not enough, sometimes to give us texts of scripture; sometimes propositions of your own framing, and sometimes texts of scripture, out of which they are to be framed; as , you say, “These and the like places afford us such fundamental and necessary doctrines as these:” and again, , after the naming several other texts of scripture, you add, “which places yield us such propositions as these;” and then in both places set down what you think fit to draw out of them. And , you have these words: “and here, likewise, it were easy to show, that adoption, justification, pardon of sins, &c. which are privileges and benefits bestowed upon us by the Messiah, are necessary matters of our belief.” By all which, as well as the whole frame, wherein you make show of giving us your fundamental articles, it is plain, that what you have given us there, is nothing less than a complete collection of fundamentals, even in your own opinion of it.

But, good sir, Why is it a foolish question in me? You have found fault with my summary for being short; the defect in my collection of necessary articles, has raised your zeal into so severe censures, and drawn upon me, from you, so heavy a condemnation, that, if half you have said of me be true, I am in a very ill case, for having so curtailed the fundamental doctrines of christianity. Is it folly, then, for me to ask from you a complete creed? If it be so dangerous (as certainly it is) to fail in any necessary article of faith, Why is it folly in me, to be instant with you, to give me them all? Or why is it folly in you, to grant so reasonable a demand? A short faith, defective in necessaries, is no more tolerable in you, than in me; nay, much more inexcusable, if it were for no other reason but this, that you rest in it yourself, and would impose it on others; and yet do not yourself know, or believe it to be complete. For if you do, why dare you not say so, and give it us all entire, in plain propositions; and not, as you have in a great measure done here, give only the texts of scripture, from whence, you say, necessary articles are to be drawn? Which is too great an uncertainty for doctrines absolutely necessary. For, possibly, all men do not understand those texts alike, and some may draw articles out of them quite different from your system; and so, though they agree in the same texts, may not agree in the same fundamentals; and till you have set down plainly and distinctly your articles, that you think contained in them, cannot tell whether you will allow them to be christians, or no. For you know, sir, several inferences are often drawn from the same text: and the different systems of dissenting (I was going to say christians, but that none must be so, but those who receive your collection of fundamentals, when you please to give it them) professors are all founded on the scripture.

Why, I beseech you, is mine a foolish question to ask, “What are the necessary articles of faith?” It is of no less consequence than, nor much different from the jailer’s question in the sixteenth of the Acts, “What shall I do to be saved?” And that was not, that ever I heard, counted by any one a foolish question. You grant, there are articles necessary to be believed for salvation: Would it not then be wisdom to know them? Nay, is it not our duty to know and believe them? If not, why do you, with so much outcry, reprehend me, for not knowing them? Why do you fill your books with such variety of invectives, as if you could never say enough, nor bad enough against me, for having left out some of them? And, if it be so dangerous, so criminal to miss any of them, Why is it a folly in me, to move you to give me a complete list?

If fundamentals are to be known, easy to be known, (as without doubt, they are,) then a catalogue may be given of them. But, if they are not, if it cannot certainly be determined, which are they; but the doubtful knowledge of them depends upon guesses; Why may not I be permitted to follow my guesses, as well as you yours? Or why, of all others, must you prescribe your guesses to me, when there are so many that are as ready to prescribe as you, and of as good authority? The pretence, indeed, and clamour is religion, and the saving of souls: but your business, it is plain, is nothing but to over-rule and prescribe, and be hearkened to as a dictator: and not to inform, teach, and instruct in the sure way to salvation. Why else do you so start and fling, when I desire to know of you, what is necessary to be believed to make a man a christian, when this is the only material thing in controversy between us; and my mistake in it has made you begin a quarrel with me, and let loose your pen against me in no ordinary way of reprehension?

Besides, in this way which you take, you will be in no better a case than I. For, another having as good a claim to have his guesses give the rule, as you yours; or to have his system received, as well as you yours; he will complain of you as well, and upon as good grounds, as you do of me; and (if he have but as much zeal for his orthodoxy, as you show for yours) in as civil, well-bred, and christian-like language.

In the next place, pray tell me, Why would it be folly in you, to comply with what I require of you? Would it not be useful to me, to be set right in this matter? If so, Why is it folly in you to set me right? Consider me, if you please, as one of your parishioners, who (after you have resolved which catalogue of fundamentals to give him, either that in your “Thoughts of the Causes of Atheism,” or this other here, in your “Socinianism unmasked;” for they are not both the same, nor either of them perfect) asked you, “Are these all fundamental articles necessary to be believed to make a man a christian; and are there no more but these?” Would you answer him, that it was folly in you to comply with him, in what he desired? Is it of no moment to know, what is required of men to be believed; without a belief of which, they are not christians, nor can be saved? And is it folly in a minister of the gospel, to inform one committed to his instruction, in so material a point as this, which distinguishes believers from unbelievers? Is it folly in one, whose business it is to bring men to be christians, and to salvation, to resolve a question, by which they may know, whether they are christians or no; and, without a resolution of which, they cannot certainly know their condition, and the state they are in? Is it besides your commission and business, and therefore a folly, to extend your care of souls so far as this, to those who are committed to your charge?

Sir, I have a title to demand this of you, as if I were your parishioner: you have forced yourself upon me for a teacher, in this very point, as if you wanted a parishioner to instruct: and therefore I demand it of you, and shall insist upon it, till you either do it, or confess you cannot. Nor shall it excuse you, to say it is capriciously required. For this is no otherwise capricious, than all questions are capricious to a man, that cannot answer them; and such an one, I think, this is to you. For, if you could answer it, nobody can doubt, but that you would, and that with confidence: for nobody will suspect it is the want of that makes you so reserved. This is, indeed, a frequent way of answering questions, by men, that cannot otherwise cover the absurdities of their opinions, and their insolence of expecting to be believed upon their bare words, by saying they are capriciously asked, and deserve no other answer.

But how far soever capriciousness (when proved, for saying is not enough) may excuse from answering a material question, yet your own words here will clear this from this being a capricious question in me. For that those texts of scripture which you have set down, do not, upon your own grounds, contain all the fundamental doctrines of religion, all that is necessary to be believed to make a man a christian; what you say a little lower, in this very page, as well as in other places, does demonstrate. Your words are, “I think I have sufficiently proved, that there are other doctrines besides that [Jesus is the Messiah] which are required to be believed to make a man a christian; Why did the apostles write these doctrines? Was it not, that those they writ to, might give their assent to them?” This argument, for the necessity of believing the texts you cite from their being set down in the “New Testament,” you urged thus, , “Is this set down to no purpose in these inspired epistles? Is it not requisite that we should know it and believe?” And again, , “they are in our bibles to that very purpose, to be believed.” If then it be necessary to know and believe those texts of scripture you have collected, because the apostles writ them, and they were not “set down to no purpose: and they are set down in our bibles on purpose to be believed:” I have reason to demand of you other texts, besides those you have enumerated, as containing points necessary to be believed; because there are other texts which the apostles writ, and were not “set down to no purpose, and are in our bibles, on purpose to be believed,” as well as those which you have cited.

Another reason of doubting, and consequently of demanding, whether those propositions you have set down for fundamental doctrines, be every one of them necessary to be believed, and all that are necessary to be believed to make a man a christian, I have from your next argument; which, joined to the former, stands thus, : “Why did the apostles write these doctrines? Was it not that those they writ to, might give their assent to them? Nay, did they not require assent to them? Yes verily; for this is to be proved from the nature of the things contained in these doctrines, which are such as had immediate respect to the occasion, author, way, means and issue, of their redemption and salvation.” If therefore all “things which have an immediate respect to the occasion, author, way, means and issue of men’s redemption and salvation,” are those and those only, which are necessary to be believed to make a man a christian; may a man not justly doubt, whether those propositions, which the unmasker has set down, contain all those things, and whether there be not other things contained in other texts of scripture, or in some of those cited by him, but otherwise understood, that have as immediate a “respect to the occasion, author, way, means and issue, of men’s redemption and salvation,” as those he has set down? and therefore I have reason to demand a completer list. For at best, to tell us of “all things that have an immediate respect to the occasion, author, way, means and issue, of men’s redemption and salvation,” is but a general description of fundamentals, with which some may think some articles agree, and others, others: and the terms, “immediate respect,” may give ground enough for difference about them, to those who agree that the rest of your description is right. My demand therefore is not a general description of fundamentals, but, for the reasons above mentioned, the particular articles themselves, which are necessary to be believed to make a man a christian.

It is not my business at present, to examine the validity of these arguments of his, to prove all the propositions to be necessary to be believed, which he has here, in his “Socinianism unmasked,” set down as such. The use I make of them now, is to show the reason they afford me to doubt, that those propositions, which he has given us, for doctrines necessary to be believed, are either not all such, or more than all, by his own rule: and therefore, I must desire him to give us a completer creed, that we may know, what in his sense, is necessary, and enough to make a man a christian.

Nor will it be sufficient, in this case, to do what he tells us he has done, in these words, , “I have briefly set before the reader those evangelical truths, those christian principles, which belong to the very essence of christianity;” — and “I have reduced most of them to certain propositions, which is a thing the vindicator called for,” . With submission, I think he mistakes the vindicator. What I called for, was, not that, “most of them should be reduced to certain propositions,” but that all of them should: and the reason of my demanding that was plain, viz. that then, having the unmasker’s creed in clear and distinct propositions, I might be able to examine whether it was what God in the scriptures indispensably required of every man to make him a christian, that so I might thereby correct the errours or defects of what I at present apprehend the scripture taught me in the case.

The unmasker endeavours to excuse himself from answering my question by another exception against it, , in these words: “Surely none, but this upstart racovian, will have the confidence to deny, that these articles of faith are such as are necessary to constitute a christian, as to the intellectual and doctrinal part of christianity; such as must, in some measure, be known and assented to by him. Not that a man is supposed, every moment, actually to exert his assent and belief; for none of the moral virtues, none of the evangelical graces, are exerted thus always. Wherefore that question,” in , “though he says he asks it” (seriously) “might have been spared,” “Whether every one of these fundamentals is required to be believed to make a man a christian, and such as, without the actual belief thereof, he cannot be saved?” Here is seriousness pretended where there is none; for the design is only to cavil, and (if he can) to expose my assertion. But he is not able to do it; for all his critical demands are answered in these few words, viz. That the intellectual (as well as moral endowments) are never supposed to be always in act: they are exerted upon occasion, not all of them at a time. And therefore he mistakes, if he thinks, or rather as he objects without thinking, that these doctrines, if they be fundamental and necessary, must be always actually believed. No man, besides himself, ever started such a thing.”

This terrible long combat has the unmasker managed with his own shadow, to confound the seriousness of my question; and, as he says himself, is come off, not only safe and sound, but triumphant. But for all that, sir, may not a man’s question be serious, though he should chance to express it ill? I think you and I were not best to set up for critics in language, and nicety of expression, for fear we should set the world a laughing. Yet for this once, I shall take the liberty to defend mine here. For I demand in what expression of mine, I said or supposed, that a man should, every moment, actually exert his assent to any proposition required to be believed? Cannot a man say, that the unmasker cannot be admitted to any preferment in the church of England, without an actual assent to, or subscribing of the thirty-nine articles; unless it be supposed, that he must every moment, from the time he first read, assented to, and subscribed those articles, until he received institution and induction, “actually exert his assent” to every one of them, and repeat his subscription? In the same sense it is literally true, that a man cannot be admitted into the church of Christ, or into heaven, without actually believing all the articles necessary to make a man a christian, without supposing that he must “actually exert that assent every moment,” from the time that he first gave it, until the moment that he is admitted into heaven. He may eat, drink, make bargains, study Euclid, and think of other things between; nay, sometimes sleep, and neither think of those articles, nor any thing else; and yet it be true, that he shall not be admitted into the church, or heaven, without an actual assent to them: that condition of an actual assent, he has performed, and until he recall that assent, by actual unbelief, it stands good: and though a lunacy, or lethargy, should seize on him presently after, and he should never think of it again as long as he lived, yet it is literally true, he is not saved without an actual assent. You might therefore have spared your pains, in saying, “that none of the moral virtues, none of the evangelical graces, are exerted thus always,” until you had met with somebody who said thus. That I did so, I think, would have entered into no body’s thoughts but yours, it being evident from , of my book, that by actual, I meant explicit. You should rather have given a direct answer to my question, which I here again seriously ask you, viz. Whether

IX. THOSE YOU CALLED “FUNDAMENTAL DOCTRINES,” IN YOUR “THOUGHTS CONCERNING THE CAUSES OF ATHEISM,” OR THOSE CHRISTIAN PRINCIPLES, WHICH BELONG TO THE VERY ESSENCE OF CHRISTIANITY,” SO MANY AS YOU HAVE GIVEN US OF THEM IN YOUR “SOCINIANISM UNMASKED,” (FOR YOU MAY TAKE WHICH OF YOUR TWO CREEDS YOU PLEASE,) ARE JUST THOSE, NEITHER MORE OR LESS, THAT ARE EVERY ONE OF THEM REQUIRED TO BE BELIEVED TO MAKE A MAN A CHRISTIAN, AND SUCH AS, WITHOUT THE ACTUAL, OR (SINCE THAT WORD DISPLEASES YOU) THE EXPLICIT BELIEF WHEREOF, HE CANNOT BE SAVED?

When you have answered this question, we shall then see which of us two is nearest the right: but if you shall forbear railing, which, I fear, you take for arguing, against that summary of faith, which our Saviour and his apostles taught, and which only they proposed to their hearers to be believed, to make them christians, until you have found another perfect creed, of only necessary articles, that you dare own for such; you are like to have a large time of silence. Before I leave the passage above cited, I must desire the reader to take notice of what he says, concerning his list of fundamentals, viz. That “these his articles of faith,” necessary to constitute a christian, are such as must, in some measure, be known and assented to by him: a very wary expression concerning fundamentals! The question is about articles necessary to be explicitly believed to make a man a christian. These, in his list, the unmasker tells us, are “necessary to constitute a christian, and must, in some measure, be known and assented to.” I would now fain know of the reader, Whether he understands thereby, that the masker means, that these his necessary articles must be explicitly believed or not? If he means an explicit knowledge and belief, why does he puzzle his reader, by so improper a way of speaking? For what is as complete and perfect as it ought to be, cannot properly be said to be “in some measure.” If his, “in some measure,” falls short of explicitly knowing and believing his fundamentals, his necessary articles are such as a man may be a christian, without explicitly knowing and believing, i. e. are no fundamentals, no necessary articles at all. Thus men, uncertain what to say, betray themselves by their great caution.

Having pronounced it folly in himself to make up the defects of my short, and therefore so much blamed collection of fundamentals, by a full one of his own, though his attempt shows he would if he could; he goes on thus, , “From what I [the unmasker] have said, it is evident, that the vindicator is grossly mistaken, when he saith, ‘Whatever doctrines the apostles required to be believed to make a man a christian, are to be found in those places of scripture which he has quoted in his book.’ “ And a little lower, “I think I have sufficiently proved, that there are other doctrines besides that, which are required to be believed to make a man a christian.”

Answ. Whatever you have proved, or (as you never fail to do) boast you have proved, will signify nothing, until you have proved one of these propositions; and have shown either,

X. THAT WHAT OUR SAVIOUR AND HIS APOSTLES PREACHED, AND ADMITTED MEN INTO THE CHURCH FOR BELIEVING, IS NOT ALL THAT IS ABSOLUTELY REQUIRED TO MAKE A MAN A CHRISTIAN. OR, THAT THE BELIEVING HIM TO BE THE MESSIAH, WAS NOT THE ONLY ARTICLE THEY INSISTED ON, TO THOSE WHO ACKNOWLEDGED ONE GOD; AND, UPON THE BELIEF WHEREOF THEY ADMITTED CONVERTS INTO THE CHURCH, IN ANY ONE OF THOSE MANY PLACES QUOTED BY ME OUT OF THE HISTORY OF THE NEW TESTAMENT.

I say, any one: for though it be evident, throughout the whole gospel, and the Acts, that this was the one doctrine of faith, which, in all their preachings everywhere, they principally drive at: yet, if it were not so, but that in other places they taught other things, that would not prove that those other things were articles of faith, absolutely necessarily required to be believed to make a man a christian, unless it had been so said. Because, if it appears that ever any one was admitted into the church, by our Saviour or his apostles, without having that article explicitly laid before him, and without his explicit assent to it, you must grant, that an explicit assent to that article is not necessary to make a man a christian: unless you will say, that our Saviour and his apostles admitted men into the church that were not qualified with such a faith as was absolutely necessary to make a man a christian; which is as much as to say, that they allowed and pronounced men to be christians, who were not christians. For he that wants what is necessary to make a man a christian, can no more be a christian, than he that wants what is necessary to make him a man, can be a man. For what is necessary to the being of any thing, is essential to its being; and any thing may be as well without its essence, as without any thing that is necessary to its being: and so a man be a man, without being a man; and a christian a christian, without being a christian; and an unmasker may prove this, without proving it. You may, therefore, set up, by your unquestionable authority, what articles you please, as necessary to be believed to make a man a christian: if our Saviour and his apostles admitted converts into the church, without preaching those your articles to them, or requiring an explicit assent to what they did not preach and explicitly lay down, I shall prefer their authority to yours, and think it was rather by them, than by you, that God promulgated the law of faith, and manifested what that faith was, upon which he would receive penitent converts.

And though, by his apostles, our Saviour taught a great many other truths, for the explaining this fundamental article of the law of faith, that Jesus is the Messiah; some whereof have a nearer, and some a more remote connexion with it, and so cannot be denied by any christian, who sees that connexion, or knows they are so taught: yet an explicit belief of any one of them, is no more necessarily required to make a man a christian, than an explicit belief of all those truths, which have a connexion with the being of a God, or are revealed by him, is necessarily required to make a man not to be an atheist: though none of them can be denied by any one who sees that connexion, or acknowledges that revelation, without his being an atheist. All these truths, taught us from God, either by reason or revelation, are of great use, to enlighten our minds, confirm our faith, stir up our affections, &c. And the more we see of them, the more we shall see, admire, and magnify the wisdom, goodness, mercy, and love of God, in the work of our redemption. This will oblige us to search and study the scripture, wherein it is contained and laid open to us.

All that we find in the revelation of the “New Testament,” being the declared will and mind of our Lord and Master, the Messiah, whom we have taken to be our king, we are bound to receive as right and truth, or else we are not his subjects, we do not believe him to be the Messiah, our King, but cast him off, and with the jews say, “We will not have this man reign over us.” But it is still what we find in the scripture, not in this or that system; what we, sincerely seeking to know the will of our Lord, discover to be his mind. Where it is spoken plainly, we cannot miss it; and it is evident he requires our assent: where there is obscurity, either in the expressions themselves, or by reason of the seeming contrariety of other passages, there a fair endeavour, as much as our circumstances will permit, secures us from a guilty disobedience of his will, or a sinful errour in faith, which way soever our inquiry resolves the doubt, or perhaps leaves it unresolved. If he had required more of us in those points, he would have declared his will plainer to us, and discovered the truth contained in those obscure, or seemingly contradictory places, as clearly, and as uniformly as he did that fundamental article, that we were to believe him to be the Messiah, our King.

As men, we have God for our King, and are under the law of reason: as christians, we have Jesus the Messiah for our King, and are under the law revealed by him in the gospel. And though every christian, both as a deist and a christian, be obliged to study both the law of nature and the revealed law, that in them he may know the will of God, and of Jesus Christ, whom he hath sent; yet, in neither of these laws, is there to be found a select set of fundamentals, distinct from the rest, which are to make him a deist, or a christian. But he that believes one eternal, invisible God, his Lord and King, ceases thereby to be an atheist; and he that believes Jesus to be the Messiah, his king, ordained by God, thereby becomes a christian, is delivered from the power of darkness, and is translated into the kingdom of the Son of God; is actually within the covenant of grace, and has that faith, which shall be imputed to him for righteousness; and, if he continues in his allegiance to this his King, shall receive the reward, eternal life.

He that considers this, will not be so hot as the unmasker, to contend for a number of fundamental articles, all necessary, every one of them, to be explicitly believed by every one for salvation, without knowing them himself, or being able to enumerate them to another. Can there be any thing more absurd than to say, there are several fundamental articles, each of which every man must explicitly believe, upon pain of damnation, and yet not be able to say, which they be? The unmasker has set down no small number; but yet dares not say, these are all. On the contrary, he has plainly confessed there are more; but will not, i. e. cannot tell what they are, that remain behind; nay, has given a general description of his fundamental articles, by which it is not evident, but there may be ten times as many as those he had named; and amongst them (if he durst, or could name them) probably several that many a good christian, who died in the faith, and is now in heaven, never once thought of; and others, which many, of as good authority as he, would, from their different systems, certainly deny and contradict.

This, as great an absurdity as it is, cannot be otherwise, whilst men will take upon them to alter the terms of the gospel; and when it is evident, that our Saviour and his apostles received men into the church, and pronounced them believers, for taking him to be the Messiah, their King and deliverer, sent by God, have a boldness to say, “this is not enough.” But, when you would know of them, what then is enough, they cannot tell you: the reason whereof is visible, viz. because they being able to produce no other reason for their collection of fundamental articles, to prove them necessary to be believed, but because they are of divine authority, and contained in the holy scriptures; and are, as the unmasker says, “writ there on purpose to be believed;” they know not where to stop, when they have once begun: those texts that they leave out, or from which they deduce none of their fundamentals, being of the same divine authority, and so upon that account equally fundamental with what they culled out, though not so well suited to their particular systems.

Hence come those endless and unreasonable contentions about fundamentals, whilst each censures the defect, redundancy, or falsehood of what others require, as necessary to be believed: and yet he himself gives not a catalogue of his own fundamentals, which he will say is sufficient and complete. Nor is it to be wondered; since, in this way, it is impossible to stop short of putting every proposition, divinely revealed, into the list of fundamentals; all of them being of divine, and so of equal authority; and, upon that account, equally necessary to be believed by every one that is a christian, though they are not all necessary to be believed, to make any one a christian. For the New Testament containing the laws of the Messiah’s kingdom, in regard of all the actions, both of mind and body, of all his subjects; every christian is bound, by his allegiance to him, to believe all that he says in it to be true; as well as to assent, that all he commands in it is just and good: and what negligence, perverseness, or guilt there is, in his mistaking in the one, or failing in his obedience to the other, that this righteous judge of all men, who cannot be deceived, will at the last day lay open, and reward accordingly.

It is no wonder, therefore, there have been such fierce contests, and such cruel havock made amongst christians about fundamentals; whilst every one would set up his system, upon pain of fire and faggot in this, and hellfire in the other world. Though, at the same time, whilst he is exercising the utmost barbarities against others, to prove himself a true christian, he professes himself so ignorant, that he cannot tell, or so uncharitable, that he will not tell, what articles are absolutely necessary and sufficient to make a man a christian. If there be any such fundamentals, as it is certain there are, it is as certain they must be very plain. Why then does every one urge and make a stir about fundamentals, and no body give a list of them? but because (as I have said) upon the usual grounds, they cannot: for I will be bold to say, that every one who considers the matter, will see, that either only the article of his being the Messiah their King, which alone our Saviour and his apostles preached to the unconverted world, and received those that believed it into the church, is the only necessary article to be believed by an atheist, to make him a christian; or else, that all the truths contained in the New Testament, are necessary articles to be believed to make a man a christian: and that between these two, it is impossible any-where to stand; the reason whereof is plain. Because, either the believing Jesus to be the Messiah, i. e. the taking him to be our King, makes us subjects and denizens of his kingdom, that is, christians: or else an explicit knowledge of, and actual obedience to the laws of his kingdom, is what is required to make us subjects; which, I think, it was never said of any other kingdom. For a man must be a subject before he is bound to obey.

Let us suppose it will be said here, that an obedience to the laws of Christ’s kingdom, is what is necessary to make us subjects of it, without which we cannot be admitted into it, i. e. be christians: and, if so, this obedience must be universal; I mean, it must be the same sort of obedience to all the laws of this kingdom: which, since no body says is in any one such as is wholly free from errour, or frailty, this obedience can only lie in a sincere disposition and purpose of mind, to obey every one of the laws of the Messiah, delivered in the New Testament, to the utmost of our power. Now, believing right being one part of that obedience, as well as acting right is the other part, the obedience of assent must be implicitly to all that is delivered there, that it is true. But for as much as the particular acts of an explicit assent cannot go any farther than his understanding, who is to assent; what he understands to be truth, delivered by our Saviour, or the apostles commissioned by him, and assisted by his Spirit, that he must necessarily believe: it becomes a fundamental article to him, and he cannot refuse his assent to it, without renouncing his allegiance. For he that denies any of the doctrines that Christ has delivered, to be true, denies him to be sent from God, and consequently to be the Messiah; and so ceases to be a christian. From whence it is evident, that if any more be necessary to be believed to make a man a christian, than the believing Jesus to be the Messiah, and thereby taking him for our King, it cannot be any set bundle of fundamentals, culled out of the scripture, with an omission of the rest, according as best suits any one’s fancy, system, or interest: but it must be an explicit belief of all those propositions, which he, according to the best of his understanding, really apprehends to be contained and meant in the scripture; and an implicit belief of all the rest, which he is ready to believe, as soon as it shall please God, upon his use of the means, to enlighten him, and make them clear to his understanding. So that in effect, almost every particular man in this sense has, or may have, a distinct catalogue of fundamentals, each whereof it is necessary for him explicitly to believe, now that he is a christian; whereof if he should disbelieve or deny any one, he would cast off his allegiance, disfranchise himself, and be no longer a subject of Christ’s kingdom. But, in this sense, no body can tell what is fundamental to another, what is necessary for another man to believe. This catalogue of fundamentals, every one alone can make for himself: no body can fix it for him; no body can collect or prescribe it to another: but this is, according as God has dealt to every one the measure of light and faith; and has opened each man’s understanding, that he may understand the scriptures. Whoever has used what means he is capable of, for the informing of himself, with a readiness to believe and obey what shall be taught and prescribed by Jesus, his Lord and King, is a true and faithful subject of Christ’s kingdom; and cannot be thought to fail in any thing necessary to salvation.

Supposing a man and his wife, barely by seeing the wonderful things that Moses did, should have been persuaded to put themselves under his government; or by reading his law, and liking it; or by any other motive, had been prevailed on sincerely to take him for their ruler and law-giver; and accordingly (renouncing their former idolatry and heathenish pollutions) in token thereof had, by baptism and circumcision, the initiating ceremonies, solemnly entered themselves into that communion, under the law of Moses; had they not, thereby, been made denizens of the commonwealth of Israel, and invested with all the privileges and prerogatives of true children of Abraham, leaving to their posterity a right to their share in the promised land, though they had died before they had performed any other act of obedience to that law; nay, though they had not known whose son Moses was, nor how he had delivered the children of Israel out of Egypt, nor whither he was leading them? I do not say, it is likely they should be so far ignorant. But, whether they were or no, it was enough that they took him for their prince and ruler, with a purpose to obey him, to submit themselves entirely to his commands and conduct; and did nothing afterwards, whereby they disowned or rejected his authority over them. In that respect, none of his laws were greater or more necessary to be submitted to, one than another, though the matter of one might be of much greater consequence than of another. But a disobedience to any law of the least consequence, if it carry with it a disowning of the authority that made it, forfeits all, and cuts off such an offender from that commonwealth, and all the privileges of it.

This is the case, in respect of other matters of faith, to those who believe Jesus to be the Messiah, and take him to be their King, sent from God, and so are already christians. It is not the opinion, that any one may have of the weightiness of the matter, (if they are, without their own fault, ignorant that our Saviour hath revealed it,) that shall disfranchise them, and make them forfeit their interest in his kingdom: they may still be good subjects, though they do not believe a great many things, which creed-makers may think necessary to be believed. That which is required of them is a sincere endeavour to know his mind, declared in the gospel, and an explicit belief of all that they understand to be so. Not to believe what he has revealed, whether in a lighter, or more weighty matter, calls his veracity into question, destroys his mission, denies his authority, and is a flat disowning him to be the Messiah, and so overturns that fundamental and necessary article whereby a man is a christian. But this cannot be done by a man’s ignorance or unwilful mistake of any of the truths published by our Saviour himself, or his authorized and inspired ministers, in the New Testament. Whilst a man knows not that it was his will or meaning, his allegiance is safe, though he believe the contrary.

If this were not so, it is impossible that any one should be a christian. For in some things we are ignorant, and err all, not knowing the scriptures. For the holy inspired writings, being all of the same divine authority, must all equally in every article be fundamental, and necessary to be believed; if that be a reason, that makes any one proposition in it necessary to be believed. But the law of faith, the covenant of the gospel, being a covenant of grace, and not of natural right, or debt; nothing can be absolutely necessary to be believed, but what, by this new law of faith, God of his good pleasure hath made to be so. And this, it is plain, by the preaching of our Saviour and his apostles, to all that believed not already in him, was only the believing the only true God, and Jesus to be the Messiah, whom he hath sent. The performance of this puts a man within the covenant, and is that, which God will impute to him for righteousness. All the other acts of assent to other truths, taught by our Saviour, and his apostles, are not what make a man a christian; but are necessary acts of obedience to be performed by one, who is a christian; and therefore, being a christian, ought to live by the laws of Christ’s kingdom.

Nor are we without some glimpse of light, why it hath pleased God of his grace, that the believing Jesus to be the Messiah should be that faith which he would impute to men for righteousness. It is evident from scripture, that our Saviour despised the shame and endured the cross for the joy set before him; which joy, it is also plain, was a kingdom. But, in this kingdom, which his Father had appointed to him, he could have none but voluntary subjects; such as leaving the kingdom of darkness, and of the prince of this world, with all the pleasures, pomps, and vanities thereof would put themselves under his dominion, and translate themselves into his kingdom; which they did, by believing and owning him to be the Messiah their King, and thereby taking him to rule over them. For the faith for which God justifieth, is not an empty speculation, but a faith joined with repentance, and working by love. And for this, which was, in effect, to return to God himself, and to their natural allegiance due to him, and to advance as much as lay in them, the glory of the kingdom, which he had promised his Son; God was pleased to declare, he would accept them, receive them to grace, and blot out all their former transgressions.

This is evidently the covenant of grace, as delivered in the scriptures: and if this be not, I desire any one to tell me what it is, and what are the terms of it. It is a law of faith, whereby God has promised to forgive all our sins, upon our repentance and believing something; and to impute that faith to us for righteousness. Now I ask, what it is by the law of faith, we are required to believe? For until that be known, the law of faith is not distinctly known; nor the terms of the covenant upon which the all-merciful God graciously offers us salvation. And, if any one will say, this is not known, nay, is not easily and certainly to be known under the gospel, I desire him to tell me, what the greatest enemies of christianity can say worse against it? For a way proposed to salvation, that does not certainly lead thither, or is proposed, so as not to be known, are very little different as to their consequence; and mankind would be left to wander in darkness and uncertainty, with the one as well as the other.

I do not write this for controversy’s sake; for had I minded victory, I would not have given the unmasker this new matter of exception. I know whatever is said, he must be bawling for his fashionable and profitable orthodoxy, and cry out against this too, which I have here added, as socinianism; and cast that name upon all that differs from what is held by those he would recommend his zeal to in writing. I call it bawling, for whether what he has said be reasoning, I shall refer to those of his own brotherhood, if he be of any brotherhood, and there be any that will join with him in his set of fundamentals, when his creed is made.

Had I minded nothing but how to deal with him, I had tied him up short to his list of fundamentals, without affording him topics of declaiming, against what I have here said. But I have enlarged on this point, for the sake of such readers, who, with the love of truth, read books of this kind, and endeavour to inform themselves in the things of their everlasting concernment: it being of greater consideration with me to give any light and satisfaction to one single person, who is really concerned to understand, and be convinced of the religion he professes, than what a thousand fashionable, or titular professors of any sort of orthodoxy shall say, or think of me, for not doing as they do; i. e. for not saying after others, without understanding what is said, or upon what grounds, or caring to understand it.

Let us now consider his argument, to prove the articles he has given us to be fundamentals. In his “Thoughts concerning the causes of atheism,” , he argues from 1 Tim. iii. 16, where he says “Christianity is called a mystery; that all things in christianity are not plain, and exactly level to every common apprehension; and that every thing in christianity is not clear, and intelligible and comprehensible by the weakest noddle.” Let us take this for proved as much as he pleases; and then let us see the force of this subtile disputant’s argument, for the necessity there is, that every christian man should believe those, which he has given us for fundamental articles, out of the epistles. The reason of that obligation, and the necessity of every man’s and woman’s believing in them, he has laid in this, that they are to be found in the epistles, or in the bible. This argument for them we have, over and over again, in his “Socinianism unmasked,” as here, , thus: “Are they set down to no purpose, in these inspired epistles? Why did the apostles write these doctrines, was it not, that those they writ to, might give their assent to them?” . “They are in our bibles, for that very purpose, to be believed,” . Now I ask, Can any one more directly invalidate all he says here, for the necessity of believing his articles? Can any one more apparently write booty, than by saying, that “these his doctrines, these his fundamental articles” (which are, after his fashion, set down between the 8th and 20th pages of this his first chapter) are of necessity to be believed by every one, before he can be a christian, because they are in the epistles and in the bible; and yet affirm, that in christianity, i. e. in the epistles and in the bible, there are mysteries, there are things “not plain, not clear, not intelligible to common apprehensions?” If his articles, some of which contain mysteries, are necessary to be believed to make a man a christian, because they are in the bible; then, according to this rule, it is necessary for many men to believe what is not intelligible to them; what their noddles cannot apprehend, (as the unmasker is pleased to turn the supposition of vulgar people’s understanding the fundamentals of their religion into ridicule,) i. e. it is necessary for many men to do, what is impossible for them to do, before they can be christians. But if there be several things in the bible, and in the epistles, that are not necessary for men to believe, to make them christians: then all the unmasker’s arguments, upon their being in the epistles, are no proofs, that all his articles are necessary to be believed to make a man a christian, because they are set down in the epistles; much less, because he thinks they may be drawn, according to his system, out of what is set down in the epistles. Let him, therefore, either confess these and the like questions, “Why did the apostles write these? Was it not, that those they write to, might give their assent to them? Why should not every one of these evangelical truths be believed and embraced? They are in our bibles, for that very purpose;” and the like; to be impertinent and ridiculous. Let him cease to propose them with so much ostentation, for they can serve only to mislead unwary readers: or let him unsay what he has said, of things “not plain to common apprehensions, not clear and intelligible.” Let him recant what he has said of mysteries in christianity. For I ask with him, , “where can we be informed, but in the sacred and inspired writings?” It is ridiculous to urge, that any thing is necessary to be explicitly believed, to make a man a christian, because it is writ in the epistles, and in the bible; unless he confess that there is no mystery, nothing not plain, or unintelligible to vulgar understandings, in the epistles, or in the bible.

This is so evident, that the unmasker himself, who, , of his “Thoughts concerning the Causes of Atheism,” thought it ridiculous to suppose, that the vulgar should understand christianity, is here of another mind: and, , says of his evangelical doctrines and articles, necessary to be assented to, that they are intelligible and plain; there is no “ambiguity and doubtfulness in them; they shine with their own light, and to an unprejudiced eye are plain, evident, and illustrious.”

To draw the unmasker out of the clouds, and prevent his hiding himself in the doubtfulness of his expressions, I shall desire him to say directly, whether the articles, which are necessary to be believed, to make a man a christian, and particularly those he has set down for such, are all plain and intelligible, and such as may be understood and comprehended (I will not say in the unmasker’s ridiculous way, by the weakest noddles, but) by every illiterate country man and woman, capable of church-communion?

If he says, Yes; then all mysteries are excluded out of his articles necessary to be believed to make a man a christian. For that which can be comprehended by every day-labourer, every poor spinster, that is a member of the church, cannot be a mystery. And, if what such illiterate people cannot understand be required to be believed, to make them christians, the greatest part of mankind are shut out from being christians.

But the unmasker has provided an answer, in these words, , “There is” says he, “a difficulty in the doctrine of the trinity, and several truths of the gospel, as to the exact manner of the things themselves, which we shall never be able to comprehend, at least on this side of heaven: but there is no difficulty as to the reality and certainty of them, because we know they are revealed to us by God in the holy scriptures.”

Which answer of “difficulty in the manner,” and “no difficulty in the reality,” having the appearance of a distinction, looks like learning; but when it comes to be applied to the case in hand, will scarce afford us sense.

The question is about a proposition to be believed, which must first necessarily be understood. For a man cannot possibly give his assent to any affirmation or negation, unless he understand the terms as they are joined in that proposition, and has a conception of the thing affirmed or denied, and also a conception of the thing, concerning which it is affirmed or denied, as they are there put together. But let the proposition be what it will, there is no more to be understood than is expressed in the terms of that proposition. If it be a proposition concerning a matter of fact, it is enough to conceive, and believe the matter of fact. If it be a proposition concerning the manner of the fact, the manner of the fact must also be believed, as it is intelligibly expressed in that proposition; v. g. should this proposition νεϰροἰ ἐγείρονται be offered as an article of faith, to an illiterate countryman of England, he could not believe it: because, though a true proposition, yet it being proposed in words, whose meaning he understood not, he could not give any assent to it. Put it into English, he understands what is meant by the “dead shall rise.” For he can conceive, that the same man, who was dead and senseless, should be alive again; as well as he can, that the same man, who is now in a lethargy, should awake again; or the same man that is now out of his sight, and he knows not whether he be alive or dead, should return and be with him again; and so he is capable of believing it, though he conceives nothing of the manner, how a man revives, wakes or moves. But none of these manners of those actions being included in those propositions, the proposition concerning the matter of fact (if it imply no contradiction in it) may be believed; and so all that is required may be done, whatever difficulty may be, as to the exact manner, how it is brought about.

But where the proposition is about the manner, the belief too must be of the manner, v. g. the article is, “The dead shall be raised with spiritual bodies:” and then the belief must be as well of this manner of the fact, as of the fact itself. So that what is said here, by the unmasker, about the manner, signifies nothing at all in the case. What is understood to be expressed in each proposition, whether it be of the manner, or not of the manner, is (by its being a revelation from God) to be believed, as far as it is understood: but no more is required to be believed concerning any article, than is contained in that article.

What the unmasker, for the removing of difficulties, adds farther, in these words, “But there is no difficulty as to the reality and certainty of the truths of the gospel; because we know, they are revealed to us by God in the holy scripture;” is yet farther from signifying any thing to the purpose, than the former. The question is about understanding, and in what sense they are understood; not believing several propositions, or articles of faith, which are to be found in the scripture. To this the unmasker says, there can be “no difficulty at all as to their reality and certainty; because they are revealed by God.” Which amounts to no more but this, that there is no difficulty at all in the understanding and believing this proposition, “that whatever is revealed by God, is really and certainly true.” But is the understanding and believing this single proposition, the understanding and believing all the articles of faith necessary to be believed? Is this all the explicit faith a christian need have? If so, then a christian need explicitly believe no more, but this one proposition, viz. That all the propositions between the two covers of his bible, are certainly true. But I imagine the unmasker will not think the believing this one proposition, is a sufficient belief of all those fundamental articles, which he has given us, as necessary to be believed to make a man a christian. For, if that will serve the turn, I conclude he may make his set of fundamentals as large and express to his system as he pleases: calvinists, arminians, anabaptists, socinians, will all thus own the belief of them, viz. that all that God has revealed in the scripture, is really and certainly true.

But if believing this proposition, that all that is revealed by God in the scripture is true, be not all the faith which the unmasker requires, what he says about the reality and certainty of all truths revealed by God, removes nothing of the difficulty. A proposition of divine authority is found in the scripture: it is agreed presently between him and me, that it contains a real, certain truth: but the difficulty is, what is the truth it contains, to which he and I must assent; v. g. the profession of faith made by the eunuch, in these words, “Jesus Christ is the son of God,” upon which he was admitted into the church, as a christian, I believe, contains a “real and certain truth.” Is that enough? No, says the unmasker, , it “includes in it, that Christ was God;” and therefore it is not enough for me to believe; that these words contain a real certain truth: but I must believe, they contain this truth, that Jesus Christ is God; that the eunuch spoke them in that sense, and in that sense I must assent to them: whereas they appear to me to be spoken, and meant here, as well as in several other places of the “New Testament,” in this sense, viz. “That Jesus Christ is the Messiah,” and in that sense, in this place, I assent to them. The meaning then of these words, as spoken by the eunuch, is the difficulty: and I desire the unmasker, by the application of what he has said here, to remove that difficulty. For granting all revelation from God to be really and certainly true, (as certainly it is,) how does the believing that general truth remove any difficulty about the sense and interpretation of any particular proposition, found in any passage of the holy scriptures? Or is it possible for any man to understand it in one sense, and believe it in another; because it is a divine revelation, that has reality and certainty in it? Thus much, as to what the unmasker says of the fundamentals, he has given us, , viz. That “no true lover of God and truth need doubt of any of them: for there is no ambiguity and doubtfulness in them.” If the distinction he has used, “of difficulty as to the exact manner, and no difficulty as to the reality and certainty of gospeltruths,” will remove all ambiguity and doubtfulness from all those texts of scripture, from whence he and others deduce fundamental articles, so that they will be “plain and intelligible” to every man, in the sense he understands them; he has done great service to christianity.

But he seems to distrust that himself, in the following words: “They shine,” says he, “with their own light, and to an unprejudiced eye, are plain, evident, and illustrious; and they would always continue so, if some ill-minded men did not perplex and entangle them.” I see the matter would go very smooth, if the unmasker might be the sole, authentic interpreter of scripture. He is wisely of that judge’s mind, who was against hearing the counsel on the other side, because they always perplexed the cause.

But if those who differ from the unmasker, shall in their turns call him the “prejudiced and ill-minded man,” who perplexes these matters (as they may, with as much authority as he), we are but where we were; each must understand for himself, the best he can, until the unmasker be received, as the only unprejudiced man, to whose dictates every one, without examination, is with an implicit faith to submit.

Here again, , the unmasker puts upon me, what I never said: and therefore I must desire him to show, where it is, that I pretend,

XI. THAT THIS “PROPOSITION,” THAT JESUS IS THE MESSIAH, “IS MORE INTELLIGIBLE, THAN ANY OF THOSE HE HAS NAMED.”

In his “Thoughts concerning the causes of atheism,” , he argues, that this proposition [Jesus is the Messiah] has more difficulty in it, than the article of the holy Trinity. And his proofs are worthy of an unmasker. “For,” says he, “here is an Hebrew word first to be explained;” or, (as he has this strong argument again, “Socinianism unmasked,” .) “Here first the name Jesus, which is of Hebrew extraction, though since grecized, must be expounded.”

Answ. Jesus being a proper name, only denoting a certain person, needs not to be expounded, of what extraction soever it be. Is this proposition, Jonathan, was the son of Saul, king of Israel, any thing the harder, because the three proper names in it, Jonathan, Saul, and Israel, are of Hebrew extraction? And is it not as easy, and as “level to the understanding of the vulgar,” as this, Arthur was the son of Henry, king of England; though neither of these names be of Hebrew extraction? Or cannot any vulgar capacity understand this proposition, John Edwards writ a book, intitled, “Socinianism unmasked;” until the name of John, which is of Hebrew extraction, be explained to him? If this be so, parents were best beware, how hereafter they give their children scripture-names, if they cannot understand what they say to one another about them, until these names of Hebrew extraction are expounded to them; and every proposition, that is in writings and contracts, made concerning persons, that have names of Hebrew extraction, become thereby as hard to be understood, as the doctrine of the holy trinity.

His next argument is just of the same size. The word Messias must, he says, be explained too. Of what extraction soever it be, there needs no more explication of it, than what our English bible gives of it, where it is plain to any vulgar capacity, that it was used to denote that King and Deliverer, whom God had promised. So that this proposition, “Jesus is the Messiah,” has no more difficulty in it than this, Jesus is the promised King and Deliverer; or than this, Cyrus was king and deliverer of Persia; which, I think, requires not much depth of Hebrew to be understood. He that understood this proposition, and took Cyrus for his king, was a subject, and a member of his kingdom; and he that understands the other, and takes Jesus to be his king, is his subject, and a member of his kingdom. But if this be as hard as it is to some men, to understand the doctrine of the trinity, I fear many of the kings in the world have but few true subjects. To believe Jesus to be the Messiah, is (as he has been told, over and over again) to take him for our King and Ruler, promised, and sent by God. This is that which will make any one from a jew, or heathen, to be a christian. In this sense it is very intelligible to vulgar capacities. Those who so understand and believe it, are so far from “pronouncing these words as a spell,” (as the unmasker ridiculously suggests, ,) that they thereby become christians.

But what if I tell the unmasker, that there is one Mr. Edwards, who (when he speaks his mind without considering how it will make for, or against him) in another place, thinks this proposition, “Jesus is the Messias,” very easy and intelligible? To convince him of it, I shall desire him to turn to the 74th page of his “Socinianism unmasked,” where he will find that Mr. Edwards, without any great search into Hebrew extractions, interprets “Jesus the Messiah,” to signify this, “That Jesus of Nazareth was that eminent and extraordinary person prophesied of long before, and that he was sent and commissioned by God:” which, I think, is no very hard proposition to be understood. But it is no strange thing, that that which was very easy to an unmasker in one place, should be terribly hard in another, where want of something better requires to have it so.

Another argument that he uses to prove the articles he has given us to be necessary to salvation, , is, because they are doctrines which contain things, that in their nature have an “immediate respect to the occasion, author, way, end, means, and issue of men’s redemption and salvation.” And here I desire him to prove,

XII. THAT EVERY ONE OF HIS ARTICLES CONTAINS THINGS SO IMMEDIATELY RELATING TO THE “OCCASION, AUTHOR, WAY, MEANS, AND ISSUE OF OUR REDEMPTION AND SALVATION, THAT NO-BODY CAN BE SAVED, WITHOUT UNDERSTANDING THE TEXTS FROM WHENCE HE DRAWS THEM, IN THE VERY SAME SENSE THAT HE DOES; AND EXPLICITLY BELIEVING ALL THESE PROPOSITIONS THAT HE HAS DEDUCED, AND ALL THAT HE WILL DEDUCE FROM SCRIPTURE, WHEN HE SHALL PLEASE TO COMPLETE HIS CREED.”

Page 23, he says of his fundamentals, “Not without good reason, therefore, I called them essential and integral parts of our christian and evangelical faith: and why the Vindicator fleers at these terms, I know no reason, but that he cannot confute the application of them.”

Answ. One would think by the word, Therefore, which he uses here, that in the preceding paragraph, he had produced some reason to justify his ridiculous use of those terms, in his “Thoughts concerning atheism,” . But nothing therein will be found tending to it. Indeed, the foregoing paragraph begins with these words, “Thus I have briefly set before the reader those evangelical truths, those christian principles, which belong to the very essence of christianity.” Amongst these, there is the word Essence: but that from thence, or any thing else in that paragraph, the unmasked could, with good sense, or any sense at all, infer, as he does, “not without good reason, therefore I called them the essential and integral parts of our christian and evangelical faith;” requires an extraordinary sort of logic to make out. What, I beseech you, is your good reason too, here, upon which you infer, “Therefore,” &c.? For it is impossible for any one, but an unmasker, to find one word, justifying his use of the terms essential and integral. But it would be a great restraint to the running of the unmasker’s pen, if you should not allow him the free use of illative particles, where there are no premises to support them: and if you should not take affirmations without proof, for reasoning, you at once strike off above three quarters of his book; and he will often, for several pages together, have nothing to say. As for example, from to .

But to show that I did not, without reason, say, his use of the terms essential and integral, in the place before quoted, was ridiculous; I must mind my reader, that, of his “Thoughts concerning the causes of atheism,” he having said that “the epistolary writings are fraught with other fundamentals, besides that one which I mention;” and then having set them down, he closes his catalogue of them thus: “These are matters of faith contained in the epistles, and they are essential and integral parts of the gospel itself,” . Now what could be more ridiculous, than, where the question is about fundamental doctrines, which are essentials of the christian religion, without an assent to which a man cannot be a christian; and so he himself calls them, , of his “Socinianism unmasked;” that he should close the list he had made of fundamental doctrines, i. e. essential points of the christian religion, with telling his reader, “These are essential and integral parts of the gospel itself?” i. e. These, which I have given you for fundamental, for essential doctrines of the gospel, are the fundamental and not fundamental, essential and not essential, parts of the gospel mixed together. For integral parts, in all the writers I have met with, besides the unmasker, are contradistinguished to essential; and signify such parts as the thing can be without, but without them will not be so complete and entire as with them. Just such an acuteness, as our unmasker, would any one show, who taking upon him to set down the parts essential to a man, without the having of which he could not be a man, should name the soul, the head, the heart, lungs, stomach, liver, spleen, eyes, ears, tongue, arms, legs, hair, and nails; and, to make all sure, should conclude with these words; “These are parts contained” in a man, “and are essential and integral parts of a man himself;” i. e. they are parts, without some of which he cannot be a man; and others, which though they make the man entire, yet he may be a man without them; as a man ceases not to be a man, though he wants a nail, a finger, or an arm, which are integral parts of a man: “Risum teneatis!” If the unmasker can make any better sense of his “essential and integral parts of the gospel itself,” I will ask his pardon for my laughing: until then he must not be angry, if the reader and I laugh too. Besides, I must tell him, that those, which he has set down, are not the “integral parts of the christian faith,” any more than the head, the trunk, and the arms, hands, and thighs, are the integral parts of a man: for a man is not entire without the legs and feet too. They are some of the integral parts indeed; but cannot be called the integral parts, where any, that go to make up the whole man, are left out; nor those the integral, but some of the integral parts of the christian faith, out of which any of the doctrines, proposed in the “New Testament,” are omitted: for whatever is there proposed, is proposed to be believed, and so is a part of the christian faith.

Before I leave his catalogue of the “essential and integral parts” of the gospel, which he has given us, instead of one, containing the articles necessary to be believed to make a man a christian, I must take notice of what he says, whilst he is making it, : “Why then is there a treatise published, to tell the world, that the bare belief of a Messiah, is all that is required of a christian?” As if there were no difference between believing a Messiah, and believing Jesus to be the Messiah; no difference between “required of a christian,” and required to make a man a christian. As if you should say, renouncing his former idolatry, and being circumcised and baptized into Moses, was all that was required to make a man an israelite; therefore it was all that was required of an israelite. For these two falsehoods has he, in this one short sentence, thought fit slily to father upon me, the “humble imitator of the jesuits,” as he is pleased to call me. And, therefore, I msut desire him to show,

XIII. WHERE THE “WORLD IS TOLD, IN THE TREATISE THAT I PUBLISHED, THAT THE BARE BELIEF OF A MESSIAH IS ALL THAT IS REQUIRED OF A CHRISTIAN.”

The six next pages, i. e. from the twenty-eighth to the end of his second chapter, being taken up with nothing but pulpit oratory, out of its place; and without any reply, applied, or applicable to any thing I have said, in my Vindication; I shall pass by, until he shows any thing in them that is so.

In page 36, this giant in argument falls on me, and mauls me unmercifully, about the epistles. He begins thus: “The gentleman is not without his evasions, and he sees it is high time to make use of them. This puts him in some disorder. For, when he comes to speak of my mentioning his ill treatment of the epistles, — you may observe, that he begins to grow warmer than before. Now this meek man is nettled, and one may perceive he is sensible of the scandal that he hath given to good people, by his slighting the epistolary writings of the holy apostles; yet he is so cunning as to disguise his passion as well as he can.” Let all this impertinent and inconsistent stuff be so. I am angry and cannot disguise it, I am cunning and would disguise it, but yet, the quick-sighted unmasker has found me out, that I am nettled. What does all this notable prologue of “hictius doctius,” of a cunning man, and in effect “no cunning man, in disorder, warmed, nettled, in a passion,” tend to? but to show, that these following words of mine, , of my Vindication, viz. “I require you to publish to the world those passages which show my contempt of the epistles,” are so full of heat and disorder, that they need no other answer: “But what need I, good sir, do this, when you have done it yourself?” A reply I own, very soft; and whether I may not say, very silly, let the reader judge. The unmasker having accused me of contemning the epistles, my reply, in my Vindication, ibid. was thus: “Sir, when your angry fit is over, and the abatement of your passion has given way to the return of your sincerity, I shall beg you to read this passage in the 154th page of my book: These holy writers (viz. the penmen of the epistles) inspired from above, writ nothing but truth; and in most places very weighty truths to us now; for the expounding, clearing and confirming of the christian doctrine, and establishing those in it, who had embraced it.” And again, , “The other parts [i. e. besides the gospels and the Acts] of divine revelation are objects of faith, and are so to be received; they are truths, of which none that is once known to be such, i. e. revealed, may, or ought to be disbelieved. And if this does not satisfy you, that I have as high a veneration for the epistles as you, or any one can have, I require you to publish to the world those passages which show my contempt of them.” After such direct words of mine, expressing my veneration for that part of divine revelation, which is contained in the epistles, any one, but an unmasker, would blush to charge me with contempt of them; without alleging, when summoned to it, any word in my book to justify that charge.

If hardness of forehead were strength of brains, it were two to one of his side against any man I ever yet heard of. I require him to publish to the world, those passages, that show my contempt of the epistles; and he answers me, “He need not do it, for I have done it myself.” Whoever had common sense, would understand, that what I demanded was, that he should show the world where, amongst all I had published, there were any passages that expressed contempt of the epistles: for it was not expected he should quote passages of mine, that I had never published. And this acute unmasker (to this) says, I had published them myself. So that the reason why he cannot find them, is, because I had published them myself. But, says he, “I appeal to the reader, whether (after your tedious collection out of the four evangelists) your passing by the epistles, and neglecting wholly what the apostles say in them;” be not publishing to the “world your contempt of them?” I demand of him to publish to the world those passages, which show my contempt of the epistles: and he answers, “He need not, I have done it myself.” How does that appear? I have passed by the epistles, says he. My passing them by then, are passages published against the epistles? For “publishing of passages” is what you said, you “need not do,” and what “I had done.” So that the passages I have published containing a contempt of the epistles, are extant in my saying nothing of them? Surely this same passing by has done some very shrewd displeasure to our poor unmasker, that he so starts whenever it is but named, and cannot think it contains less than exclusion, defiance, and contempt. Here therefore the proposition remaining to be proved by you, is,

XIV. “THAT ONE CANNOT PASS BY ANY THING, WITHOUT CONTEMPT OF IT.”

And when you have proved it, I shall then ask you, what will become of all those parts of scripture, all those chapters and verses, that you have passed by, in your collection of fundamental articles? Those that you have vouchsafed to set down, you tell us, “are in the bible, on purpose to be believed.” What must become of all the rest, which you have omitted? Are they there not to be believed? And must the reader understand your passing them by, to be a publishing to the world your contempt of them? If so, you have unmasked yourself: If not, but you may pass by some parts of scripture, nay, whole epistles, as you have those of St. James and St. Jude, without contempt; why may not I, without contempt, pass by others; but because you have a liberty to do what you will, and I must do but what you, in your good pleasure, will allow me? But if I ask you, whence you have this privilege above others; you will have nothing to say, except it be, according to your usual skill in divining, that you know my heart, and the thoughts that are in it, which you find not like yours, right orthodox, and good; but always evil and perverse, such as I dare not own? but hypocritically either say nothing of or declare against: but yet, with all my cunning, I cannot hide them from you; your all-knowing penetration always finds them out: you know them, or you guess at them, as is best for your turn, and that is as good: and then presently I am confounded. I doubt, whether the world has ever had any two-eyed man your equal, for penetration and a quick sight. The telling by the spectator’s looks, what card he guesses, is nothing to what you can do. You take the height of an author’s parts, by numbering the pages of his book; you can spy an heresy in him, by his saying not a syllable of it; distinguish him from the orthodox, by his understanding places of scripture, just as several of the orthodox do; you can repeat by heart whole leaves of what is in his mind to say, before he speaks a word of it; you can discover designs before they are hatched, and all the intrigues of carrying them on, by those who never thought of them. All this and more you can do, by the spirit of orthodoxy; or, which is as certain, by your own good spirit of invention informing you. Is not this to be an errant conjurer?

But to your reply. You say, “After my tedious collection out of the four evangelists, my passing by the epistles, and neglecting wholly what the apostles say,” &c. I wondered at first why you mentioned not the Acts here, as well as the four evangelists: for I have not, as you have in other places observed, been sparing of collections out of the Acts too. But there was, it seems, a necessity here for your omitting it: for that would have stood too near what followed, in these words; and “neglecting wholly what the apostles say.” For if it appeared to the reader, out of your own confession, that I allowed and built upon the divine authority of what the apostles say in the Acts, he could not so easily be misled into an opinion, that I contemned what they say in their epistles. But this is but a slight touch of your leger-de-main.

And now I ask the reader, what he will think of a minister of the gospel, who cannot bear the texts of scripture I have produced, nor my quotations out of the four evangelists? This, which in his “Thoughts of the causes of atheism,” , was want of “vivacity and elevation of mind,” want of “a vein of sense and reason, yea, and of elocution too;” is here, in his “Socinianism unmasked,” a “tedious collection out of the four evangelists.” Those places I have quoted lie heavy, it seems, upon his stomach, and are too many to be got off. But it was my business not to omit one of them, that the reader might have a full view of the whole tenour of the preaching of our Saviour and his apostles, to the unconverted jews and gentiles; and might therein see, what faith they were converted to, and upon their assent to which, they were pronounced believers, and admitted into the christian church. But the unmasker complains, there are too many of them: he thinks the gospel, the good news of salvation, tedious from the mouth of our Saviour and his apostles: he is of opinion, that before the epistles were writ, and without believing precisely what he thinks fit to cull out of them, there could be no christians; and if we had nothing but the four evangelists, we could not be saved. And yet it is plain, that every single one of the four contains the gospel of Jesus Christ; and, at least, they altogether contain all that is necessary to salvation. If any one doubt of this, I refer him to Mr. Chillingworth for satisfaction, who hath abundantly proved it.

His following words (were he not the same unmasker all through) would be beyond parallel: “But let us hear why the vindicator did not attempt to collect any articles out of these writings; he assigns this as one reason: “The epistles being writ to those who were already believers, it could not be supposed that they were writ to them, to teach them fundamentals,” , Vindic. “Certainly no man would have conjectured, that he would have used such an evasion as this. I will say that for him, he goes beyond all surmises, he is above all conjectures, he hath a faculty which no creature on earth can ever fathom.” Thus far the unmasker, in his oratorical strain. In what follows, he comes to his closer reasoning, against what I have said. His words are, “do we not know, that the four gospels were writ to, and for believers, as well as unbelievers?” Answ. I grant it. Now let us see your inference; therefore what these holy historians recorded, that our Saviour and his apostles said and preached to unbelievers, was said and preached to believers. The discourse which our Saviour had with the woman of Samaria, and her townsmen, was addressed to believers; because St. John writ his gospel (wherein it is recorded as a part of our Saviour’s history) for believers, as well as unbelievers. St. Peter’s preaching to Cornelius, and St. Paul’s preaching at Antioch, at Thessalonica, at Corinth, &c. was not to unbelievers, for their conversion: because St. Luke dedicates his history of the Acts of the apostles to Theophilus, who was a christian, as the unmasker strenuously proves in this paragraph. Just as if he should say, that the discourses, which Cæsar records he had upon several occasions with the Gauls, were not addressed to the Gauls alone, but to the Romans also; because his commentaries were writ for the Romans, as well as others; or that the sayings of the ancient Greeks and Romans in Plutarch, were not spoken by them to their contemporaries only, because they are recorded by him for the benefit of posterity.

I perused the preachings of our Saviour and his apostles to the unconverted world, to see what they taught and required to be believed, to make men christians: and all these I set down, and leave the world to judge what they contained. The epistles, which were all written to those who had embraced the faith and were all christians already, I thought would not so distinctly show, what were those doctrines which were absolutely necessary to make men christians; they being not writ to convert unbelievers, but to build up those who were already believers, in their most holy faith. This is plainly expressed in the epistle to the Hebrews, chap. v. 11, &c. “Of whom (i. e. Christ) we have many things to say, and hard to be uttered, seeing ye are all dull of hearing. For when for the time ye ought to be teachers, ye have need that one teach you again, which be the first principles of the oracles of God; and are become such as have need of milk, and not of strong meat. For every one that useth milk is unskilful in the word of righteousness; for he is a babe: but strong meat belongeth to him that is full of age, even those who by reason of use have their senses exercised, to discern both good and bad. Therefore leaving the principles of the doctrine of Christ, let us go on unto perfection, not laying again the foundation of repentance from dead works, and of faith towards God, and of the doctrine of baptism, and of laying on of hands, and of the resurrection of the dead, and of eternal judgment.” Here the apostle shows, what was his design in writing this epistle, not to teach them the fundamental doctrines of the christian religion, but to lead them on to more perfection; that is, to greater degrees of knowledge, of the wise design, and wonderful contrivance, and carrying on of the gospel, and the evidence of it; which he makes out in this epistle, by showing its correspondence with the Old Testament, and particularly with the œconomy of the mosaical constitution. Here I might ask the unmasker, Whether those many things which St. Paul tells the Hebrews, he had to say of Christ, (hard to be uttered to them, because they were dull of hearing,) had not an “immediate respect to the occasion, author, way, means, or issue of their redemption and salvation?” And therefore, “whether they were such things, without the knowledge of which they could not be saved?” as the unmasker says of such things, . And the like I might ask him, concerning those things which the apostle tells the Corinthians, 1 epist. chap. iii. 2, that they “were not able to bear.” For much to the same purpose he speaks to the Corinthians, epist. 1. chap. iii. as in the above-cited places he did to the Hebrews: “That he, as a wise master-builder, had laid the foundation:” and that foundation he himself tells us, is, “Jesus the Messiah;” and that there is no other foundation to be laid. And that in this he laid the foundation of christianity at Corinth, St. Luke records, Acts xviii. 4, in these words, “Paul, at Corinth, reasoned in the synagogue every sabbath-day, and testified to the jews, that Jesus was the Messiah.” Upon which foundation, he tells them, there might be a superstructure. But that, what is built on the foundation, is not the foundation, I think I need not prove. He further tells them, that he had desired to build upon this foundation; but withal says, he had fed them until then “with milk, and not with meat; because they were babes, and had not been able to bear it, neither were they yet able.” And therefore this epistle, we see, is almost wholly spent in reproofs of their miscarriages, and in exhortations and instructions relating to practice; and very little said in it, for the explaining any part of the great mystery of salvation, contained in the gospel.

By these passages we may see (were it not evident to common sense itself, from the nature of things) that the design of these epistles was not to lay the foundations, or teach the principles of the christian religion; they being writ to those who received them, and were christians already. The same holds in all the other epistles; and therefore the epistles seemed not to me the properest parts of scripture to give us that foundation, distinct from all the superstructures built on it; because in the epistles, the latter was the thing proposed, rather than the former. For the main intention of the apostles, in writing their epistles, could not be to do what was done already; to lay down barely the foundations of christianity, to those who were christians already: but to build upon it some farther explication of it, which either their particular circumstances, or a general evidencing of the truth, wisdom, excellencies, and privileges, &c. of the gospel required. This was the reason that persuaded me to take the articles of faith, absolutely necessary to be received to make a man a christian, only from the preachings of our Saviour and his apostles to the unconverted world, as laid down in the historical part of the New Testament: and I thought it a good reason, it being past doubt, that they in their preachings proposed to the unconverted, all that was necessary to be believed, to make them christians; and also, that that faith, upon a profession whereof any one was admitted into the church, as a believer, had all that was necessary in it to make him a christian; because, if it wanted any thing necessary, he had necessarily not been admitted: unless we can suppose, that any one was admitted into the christian church by our Saviour and his apostles, who was not yet a christian; or pronounced a believer, who yet wanted something necessary to make him a believer, i. e. was a believer and not a believer, at the same time. But what those articles were which had been preached to those, to whom the epistles were writ, and upon the belief whereof they had been admitted into the christian church, and became as they are called “believers, saints, faithful, elect,” &c. could not be collected out of the epistles. This, though it were my reason, and must be a reason to every one, who would make this inquiry; and the unmasker quotes the place where I told him it was my reason; yet he, according to his nevererring illumination, flatly tells me, , that it was not; and adds, “Here then is want of sincerity,” &c. I must desire him, therefore, to prove what he says, , viz.

XV. THAT, “BY THE SAME ARGUMENT, THAT I WOULD PERSUADE, THAT THE FUNDAMENTALS ARE NOT TO BE SOUGHT FOR IN THE EPISTLES, HE CAN PROVE THAT THEY ARE NOT TO BE SOUGHT FOR IN THE GOSPELS AND IN THE ACTS; BECAUSE EVEN THESE WERE WRIT TO THOSE THAT BELIEVED.”

And next I desire him to prove, what he also says in the same page, viz.

XVI. THAT “THE EPISTLES BEING WRIT TO THOSE THAT BELIEVED, WAS NOT AN ARGUMENT THAT I DID MAKE USE OF.”

He tells us, , that it is the argument whereby I would persuade: and in the very same page, a few lines lower, says, “That it is not the argument I did make use of.” Who, but an errant unmasker, would contradict himself so flatly in the same breath? And yet, upon that, he raises a complaint of my “want of sincerity.”

For “want of sincerity” in one of us, we need not go far for an instance. The next paragraph, — 40, affords us a gross one of it: wherein the unmasker argues strongly, not against any thing I had said, but against an untruth of his own setting up. Towards the latter end of the paragraph, , he has these words: “It is manifest, that the apostles in their epistles; taught fundamentals: which is contrary to what this gentleman says, that such a thing could not be supposed.” And therefore the unmasker has taken a great deal of pains to show, that there are fundamental doctrines to be found in the epistles; as if I had denied it. And to lead the reader into an opinion that I had said so, he set down these words, “could not be supposed;” as if they were my words. And so they are, but not to that purpose. And therefore he did well not to quote the page, lest the reader, by barely turning to the place, should have a clear sight of falsehood, instead of that sincerity, which he would make the reader believe is wanting in me. My words, , of “The reasonableness of christianity,” are, nor can it be supposed, that the sending of such fundamentals was the reason of the apostles writing to any of them.” And a little lower: “The epistles therefore being all written to those that were already believers and christians, the occasion and end of writing them could not be, to instruct them in that which was necessary to make them christians.” The thing then, that I denied, was not, that there were any fundamentals in the epistles. For in the next page I have these express words; “I do not deny, but the great doctrines of the christian faith are dropt here and there, and scattered up and down in most of them.” And therefore he might have spared his endeavours, in the next paragraph, to prove, that there may be fundamentals found in the epistles, until he finds somebody that denies it. And here again, I must repeat my usual question, that with this sincere writer is so often necessary, viz.

XVII. WHERE IT IS THAT I SAY, “THAT IT CANNOT BE SUPPOSED, THAT THERE ARE FUNDAMENTAL ARTICLES IN THE EPISTLES?”

If he hopes to shift it off by the word Taught, which seems fallaciously put in; as if he meant, that there were some fundamental articles taught, necessary to be believed to make them christians, in the epistles, which those whom they were writ to, knew not before: in this sense I do deny it: and then this will be the

XVIIITH: PROPOSITION REMAINING UPON HIM TO PROVE, VIZ. “THAT THERE ARE FUNDAMENTAL ARTICLES NECESSARY TO BE BELIEVED TO MAKE A MAN A CHRISTIAN TAUGHT IN THE EPISTLES, WHICH THOSE, WHOM THEY WERE WRIT TO, KNEW NOT BEFORE.”

The former part of his next paragraph, , runs thus: “Hear another feigned ground of his omitting the epistles, viz. because the fundamental articles are here promiscuously, and without distinction, mixed with other truths,” . “But who sees not, that this is a mere elusion? For on the same account he might have forborn to search for fundamental articles in the gospels; for they do not lie there together, but are dispersed up and down. The doctrinal and historical parts are mixed with one another, but he pretends to sever them. Why then did he not make a separation between the doctrines in the epistles, and those other matters that are treated of there? He has nothing to reply to this, and therefore we must again look upon what he has suggested, as a cast of his shuffling faculty.”

The argument contained in these words is this: A man cannot well distinguish fundamental from non-fundamental doctrines in the epistles, where they are promiscuously mixed with non-fundamental doctrines: therefore he cannot well distinguish fundamental doctrines from others in the gospels, and the Acts, where they are mixed with matters of fact. As if he should say, one cannot well distinguish a bachelor of divinity from other divines, where several of them stand together promiscuously in the same habit; therefore one cannot distinguish a bachelor of divinity from a Billingsgate orator, where they stand together in their distinct habits: or that it is as easy to distinguish fine gold from that of a little lower alloy, where several pieces of each are mixed together; as it is to distinguish pieces of fine gold from pieces of silver, which they are mixed amongst.

But it seems, the unmasker thinks it as easy to distinguish between fundamental and not fundamental doctrines, in a writing of the same author, where they are promiscuously mixt together, as it is to distinguish between a fundamental doctrine of faith, and a relation of a matter of fact, where they are intermixedly reported in the same history. When he has proved this, the unmasker will have more reason to tax me with elusion, shuffling, and feigning, in the reason I gave for not collecting fundamentals out of the epistles. Until then, all that noise must stand amongst those ridiculous airs of triumph and victory which he so often gives himself, without the least advantage to his cause, or edification of his reader, though he should a thousand times say, “That I have nothing to reply.”

In the latter part of his paragraph, he says, “That necessary truths, fundamental principles, may be distinguished from those that are not such, in the epistolary writings, by the nature and importance of them, by their immediate respect to the author and the means of our salvation.” Answ. If this be so, I desire him to give me a definitive collection of fundamentals out of the Epistles, as I have given one out of the Gospels and the Acts. If he cannot do that, it is plain, he hath here given a distinguishing mark of fundamentals, by which he himself cannot distinguish them. But yet I am the shuffler.

The argument in the next paragraph, , is this:

“Necessary doctrines of faith, such as God absolutely demands to be believed for justification, may be distinguished from rules of holy living, with which they are mixed in the epistles: therefore doctrines of faith necessary, and not necessary to be believed to make a man a christian, may be distinguished, as they stand mixed in the epistles.” Which is as good sense as to say, lambs and kids may easily be distinguished in the same pen, where they are together, by their different natures: therefore the lambs I absolutely demand of you, as necessary to satisfy me, may be distinguished from others in the same pen, where they are mixed without any distinction. Doctrines of faith, and precepts of practice, are as distinguishable as doing and believing; and those as easily discernible one from another, as thinking and walking: but doctrinal propositions, all of them of divine revelation, are of the same authority, and of the same species, in respect of the necessity of believing them; and will be eternally undistinguishable into necessary, and not necessary to be believed, until there be some other way found to distinguish them, than that they are in a book, which is all of divine revelation. Though therefore doctrines of faith and rules of practice are very distinguishable in the epistles, yet it does not follow from thence, that fundamental and not fundamental doctrines, points necessary and not necessary to be believed to make men christians, are easily distinguishable in the epistles. Which, therefore, remains to be proved: and it remains incumbent upon him,

XVIII. “TO SET DOWN THE MARKS, WHEREBY THE DOCTRINES, DELIVERED IN THE EPISTLES, MAY EASILY AND EXACTLY BE DISTINGUISHED INTO FUNDAMENTAL, AND NOT FUNDAMENTAL ARTICLES OF FAITH.”

All the rest of that paragraph containing nothing against me, must be bound up with a great deal of the like stuff, which the unmasker has put into his book, to show the world he does not “imitate me in impertinencies, incoherences, and trifling excursions,” as he boasts in his first paragraph. Only I shall desire the reader to take the whole passage concerning this matter, as it stands in my “Reasonableness of christianity,” . “I do not deny but the great doctrines of the christian faith are dropt here and there, and scattered up and down in most of them. But it is not in the epistles we are to learn what are the fundamental articles of faith, where they are promiscuously, and without distinction, mixed with other truths and discourses, which were (though for edification indeed, yet) only occasional. We shall find and discern those great and necessary points best, in the preaching of our Saviour and his apostles, to those who were yet strangers and ignorant of the faith, to bring them in and convert them to it.” And then let him read these words, which the unmasker has quoted out of them: “It is not in the epistles that we are to learn what are the fundamental articles of faith; they were written for the resolving of doubts, and reforming of mistakes;” with his introduction of them in these words: “he commands the reader not to stir a jot further than the Acts.” If I should ask him where that command appears, he must have recourse to his old shift, that he did not mean as he said, or else stand convicted of a malicious untruth. An orator is not bound to speak strict truth, though a disputant be. But this unmasker’s writing against me will excuse him from being of the latter: and then why may not falsehoods pass for rhetorical flourishes, in one who has been used to popular haranguing; to which men are not generally so severe, as strictly to examine them, and expect that they should always be found to contain nothing but precise truth and strict reasoning? But yet I must not forget to put upon his score this other proposition of his, which he has, , and ask him to show,

XIX. “WHERE IT IS THAT I COMMAND MY READER NOT TO STIR A JOT FARTHER THAN THE ACTS?”

In the next two paragraphs, — 46, the unmasker is at his natural play, of declaiming without proving. It is pity the Mishna, out of which he takes his good breeding, as it told him, that “a well-bred and well-taught man answers to the first, in the first place,” had not given him this rule too, about order, viz. That proving should go before condemning; else all the fierce exaggerations ill language can heap up, are but empty scurrility. But it is no wonder that the jewish doctors should not provide rules for a christian divine, turned unmasker. For where a cause is to be maintained, and a book to be writ, and arguments are not at hand, yet something must be found to fill it; railing in such cases is much easier than reasoning, especially where a man’s parts lie that way.

The first of these paragraphs, , he begins thus: “But let us hear further what this vindicator saith to excuse his rejection of the doctrines contained in the epistles, and his putting us off with one article of faith.” And then he quotes these following words of mine: “What if the author designed his treatise, as the title shows, chiefly for those who were not yet thoroughly and firmly christians: purposing to work those, who either wholly disbelieved, or doubted of the truth of the christian religion?

Ans. This, as he has put it, is a downright falsehood. For the words he quotes were not used by me, “to excuse my rejection of the doctrines contained in the epistles,” or to prove there was but one article; but as a reason why I omitted the mention of satisfaction.

To demonstrate this, I shall set down the whole passage, as it is, , 164, of my Vindication, where it runs thus:

“But what will become of me that I have not mentioned satisfaction?”

“Possibly this reverend gentleman would have had charity enough for a known writer of the brotherhood, to have found it by an innuendo in those words above quoted, of laying down his life for another. But every thing is to be strained here the other way. For the author of the “Reasonableness of christianity, &c.” is of necessity to be represented as a socinian; or else his book may be read, and the truths in it, which Mr. Edwards likes not, be received; and people put upon examining. Thus one, as full of happy conjectures and suspicions as this gentleman, might be apt to argue. But what if the author designed his treatise, as the title shows, chiefly for those who were not yet thoroughly or firmly christians; proposing to work on those, who either wholly disbelieved, or doubted of the truth of the christian religion?”

To this he tells me, , that my “title says nothing for me,” i. e. shows not that I designed my book for those that disbelieved, or doubted of the christian religion.

Answ. I thought that a title that professed the reasonableness of any doctrine, showed it was intended for those that were not fully satisfied of the reasonableness of it; unless books are to be writ to convince those of any thing, who are convinced already. But possibly this may be the unmasker’s way: and if one should judge by his manner of treating this subject, with declamation instead of argument, one would think that he meant it for nobody but those who were of his mind already. I thought therefore, “the Reasonableness of Christianity, as delivered in the Scripture,” a proper title to signify whom it was chiefly meant for: and, I thank God, I can with satisfaction say, it has not wanted its effect upon some of them. But the unmasker proves for all that, that I could not design it chiefly for disbelievers or doubters of the christian religion. “For, says, he, , how those that wholly disregard and disbelieve the scriptures of the New Testament, as gentiles, jews, mahometans, and atheists do,” (I crave leave to put in theists, instead of atheists, for a reason presently to be mentioned) “are like to attend to the Reasonableness of Christianity, as delivered in the Scripture, is not to be conceived: and therefore we look upon this as all mere sham and sophistry.” Answ. Though the unmasker teaches good breeding out of the Mishna, yet I thought he had been a minister of the gospel, and had taught christianity out of the scripture. Why! good sir, would you teach jews and mahometans christianity out of the talmud and alcoran; because they are the books that at present they attend to, and believe? Or would you, laying by the authority of all books, preach religion to infidels, in your own name, and by your own authority, laying aside the scripture? “Is it not to be conceived,” no not by a christian divine, that the way to make unbelievers christians, is to show them the reasonableness of the religion contained in the scriptures? But it seems the unmasker has a peculiar way of preaching and propagating christianity without the scripture; as some men have a peculiar way of disputing without reason.

In the beginning of this paragraph, , the unmasker, that is always a fair interpreter of my meaning, and never fails to know it better than I do, tells me, That by those that wholly disbelieve, “I must mean atheists, turks, jews, and pagans; and by those that are not firmly christians, a few weak christians.” But did our unmasker never hear of unbelievers, under a denomination distinct from that of atheists, turks, jews, and pagans? Whilst the pulpit and the press have so often had up the name of theists or deists, has that name wholly escaped him? It was these I chiefly designed, and I believe, nobody of all that read my Vindication, but the unmasker, mistook me, if he did. But, there at least, , he might have found the name, as of a sort of unbelievers not unknown amongst us. But, whatever he thought, it was convenient, and a sort of prudence in him (when he would persuade others that I had not a design, which I say I had) to lessen as much as he could, and cover the need of any such design; and so make it, that I could not intend my book to work upon those that disbelieved, or did not firmly believe; by insinuating, there were few or none such amongst us. Hence he says, that by those that are not thoroughly and firmly christians, “I mean a few weak christians;” as well, as under those who wholly disbelieve, he left the theist out of my meaning. I am very glad to hear from the unmasker, that there are but few weak christians, few that have doubts about the truth of christianity amongst us. But if there be not a great number of deists, and that the preventing their increase be not worth every true christian’s care and endeavours, those who have been so loud against them, have been much to blame; and I wish to God there were no reason for their complaints. For these, therefore, I take the liberty to say, as I did before, that I chiefly designed my book; and shall not be ashamed of this sophistry, as you call it, if it can be sophistry to allege a matter of fact that I know; until you have arguments to convince me, that you know my intention in publishing it, better than I do myself. And I shall think it still no blameable prudence, however you exclaim against prudence, (as perhaps you have some reason,) that “I mentioned only those advantages, that all christians are agreed in; and that I observed that command of the apostle, Rom. xiv. 1, “Him that is weak in the faith receive ye, but not to doubtful disputations;” without being a socinian. I think I did not amiss, that I offered to the belief of those that stood off, that, and only that, which our Saviour and his apostles preached for the reducing the unconverted world. And would any one think, he in earnest went about to persuade men to be christians, who should use that as an argument to recommend the gospel, which he has observed men to lay hold on as an objection against it? To urge such points of controversy as necessary articles of faith, when we see our Saviour and the apostles urged them not as necessary to be believed to make men christians, is (by our own authority) to add prejudices to prejudices, and to block up our own way to those men, whom we would have access to and prevail upon.”

I have repeated this again out of the 164th page of my Vindication, where there is more to the same purpose; that the reader may see how fully the unmasker has answered it.

Because, I said “Would any one blame my prudence, if I mentioned only those advantages which all christians are agreed in?” the unmasker adds, , “socinian christians:” and then, as if the naming of that had gained him his point, he goes on victoriously thus: “He has bethought himself better, since he first published his notions, and (as the result of that) he now begins to resolve what he writ into prudence. I know whence he had this method, (and it is likely he has taken more than this from the same hands,) viz. from the missionary jesuits, that went to preach the gospel to the people of China. We are told, that they instructed them in some matters relating to our Saviour; they let them know that Jesus was the Messias, the person promised to be sent into the world: but they concealed his sufferings and death, and they would not let them know any thing of his passion and crucifixion. So our author (their humble imitator) undertakes to instruct the world in christianity, with an omission of its principal articles; and more especially that of the advantage we have by Christ’s death, which was the prime thing designed in his coming into the world. This he calls prudence: so that to hide from the people the main articles of the christian religion, to disguise the faith of the gospel, to betray christianity itself, is, according to this excellent writer, the cardinal virtue of prudence. May we be delivered then, say I, from a prudential racovian.” And there ends the rattling for this time; not to be outdone by any piece of clock-work in the town. When he is once set a going, he runs on like an alarum, always in the same strain of noisy, empty declamation, (wherein every thing is supposed, and nothing proved,) till his own weight has brought him to the ground: and then, being wound up with some new topic, takes another run, whether it makes for or against him, it matters not; he has laid about him with ill language, let it light where it will, and the vindicator is paid off.

That I may keep the due distance in our different ways of writing, I shall show the reader, that I say not this at random; but that the place affords me occasion to say so. He begins this paragraph with these words, , “Let us hear farther, what this vindicator says to excuse his rejection of the doctrines contained in the epistles.” This rejection of the doctrines contained in the epistles, was the not mentioning the satisfaction of Christ, amongst those advantages I showed that the world received by his coming. This appears by the words he here quotes, as my excuse for that omission. In which place I also produced some passages in my book, which sounded like it, some words of scripture, that are used to prove it; but this will not content him: I am for all that, a “betrayer of christianity, and contemner of the epistles.” Why? because I did not, out of them, make satisfaction. If you will have the truth of it, sir, there is not any such word in any one of the epistles, or other books of the New Testament, in my bible, as satisfying, or satisfaction made by our Saviour; and so I could not put it into my “Christianity as delivered in the Scripture.” If mine be not a true bible, I desire you to furnish me with one that is more orthodox; or, if the translators have “hid that main article of the christian religion,” they are the “betrayers of christianity, and contemners of the epistles,” who did not put it there; and not I who did not take a word from thence, which they did not put there. For truly I am not a maker of creeds; nor dare add either to the scripture, or to the fundamental articles of the christian religion.

But you will say, satisfaction, though not named in the epistles, yet may plainly be collected out of them. Answ. And so it may out of several places in my “Reasonableness of christianity,” some whereof, which I took out of the gospels, I mentioned in my vindication, , 164, and others of them, which I took out of the epistles, I shall point out to you now: as , I say, the design of our Saviour’s coming was to be offered up; and , I speak of the work of our redemption: words, which in the epistles, are taken to imply satisfaction. And therefore if that be enough, I see not, but I may be free from betraying christianity; but if it be necessary to name the word Satisfaction, and he that does not so is a betrayer of christianity, you will do well to consider, how you will acquit the holy apostles from that bold imputation; which if it be extended as far as it will go, will scarce come short of blasphemy: for I do not remember, that our Saviour has any-where named satisfaction, or implied it plainer in any words, than those I have quoted from him; and he, I hope, will escape the intemperance of your tongue.

You tell me, I had my “prudence from the missionary jesuits in China, who concealed our Saviour’s sufferings and death, because I undertake to instruct the world in christianity, with an omission of its principal articles.” And I pray, sir, from whom did you learn your prudence, when, taking upon you to teach the fundamental doctrines of christianity, in your “Thoughts concerning the causes of atheism,” you left out several, that you have been pleased since to add in your “Socinianism unmasked?” Or, if I, as you say here, betray christianity by this omission of this principal article; what do you, who are a professed teacher of it, if you omit any principal article, which your prudence is so wary in, that you will not say you have given us all that are necessary to salvation, in that list you have last published? I pray, who acts best the jesuit, (whose humble imitator, you say, I am,) you or I? when, pretending to give a catalogue of fundamentals, you have not reduced them to direct propositions, but have left some of them indefinite, to be collected as every one pleases: and instead of telling us it is a perfect catalogue of fundamentals, plainly shuffle it off, and tell me, , “If that will not content me, you are sure you can do nothing that will: if I require more, it is folly in you to comply with me?” One part of what you here say, I own to you, savours not much of the skill of a jesuit. You confess your inability, and I believe it to be perfectly true: that if what you have done already (which is nothing at all) “will not content me,” you are sure “you can do nothing that will content me,” or any reasonable man that shall demand of you a complete catalogue of fundamentals. But you make it up pretty well, with a confidence becoming one of that order. For he must have rubbed his forehead hard, who in the same treatise, where he so severely condemns the imperfection of my list of fundamentals, confesses that he cannot give a complete catalogue of his own.

You publish to the world in this 44th, and the next page, that, “I hide from the people the main articles of the christian religion; I disguise the faith of the gospel, betray christianity itself, and imitate the jesuits that went to preach the gospel to the people of China, by my omission of its principal or main articles.”

Answ. I know not how I disguise the faith of the gospel, &c. in imitation of the jesuits in China; unless taking men off from the inventions of men, and recommending to them the reading and study of the holy scripture, to find what the gospel is, and requires, be “a disguising the faith of the gospel, a betraying of christianity, and imitating the jesuits.” Besides, sir, if one may ask you, In what school did you learn that prudent wariness and reserve, which so eminently appears, , of your “Socinianism unmasked,” in these words: “These articles” (meaning those which you had before enumerated as fundamental articles) “of faith, are such as must in some measure be known and assented to by a christian, such as must generally be received and embraced by him?” You will do well the next time, to set down, how far your fundamentals must be known, assented to, and received; to avoid the suspicion, that there is a little more of jesuitism in these expressions, “in some measure known and assented to, and generally received and embraced;” than what becomes a sincere protestant preacher of the gospel. For your speaking so doubtfully of knowing and assenting to those, which you give us for fundamental doctrines, which belong (as you say) to the very essence of christianity, will hardly escape being imputed to your want of knowledge, or want of sincerity. And indeed, the word “general,” is in familiar use with you, and stands you in good stead, when you would say something, you know not what; as I shall have occasion to remark to you, when I come to your 91st page.

Further, I do not remember where it was, that I mentioned or undertook to set down all the “principal or main articles of christianity.” To change the terms of the question, from articles necessary to be believed to make a man a christian, into principal or main articles, looks a little jesuitical. But to pass by that: the apostles, when they “went to preach the gospel to people,” as much strangers to it as the Chinese were, when the Europeans came first amongst them, “Did they hide from the people the main articles of the christian religion, disguise the faith of the gospel, and betray christianity itself?” If they did not, I am sure I have not: for I have not omitted any of the main articles, which they preached to the unbelieving world. Those I have set down, with so much care, not to omit any of them, that you blame me for it more than once, and call it tedious. However you are pleased to acquit or condemn the apostles in the case, by your supreme determination, I am very indifferent. If you think fit to condemn them for “disguising or betraying the christian religion,” because they said no more of satisfaction, than I have done, in their preaching at first, to their unbelieving auditors, jews or heathens, to make them, as I think, christians, (for that I am now speaking of,) I shall not be sorry to be found in their company, under what censure soever. If you are pleased graciously to take off this your censure from them, for this omission, I shall claim a share in the same indulgence.

But to come to what, perhaps, you will think yourself a little more concerned not to censure, and what the apostles did so long since; for you have given instances of being very apt to make bold with the dead: pray tell me, does the church of England admit people into the church of Christ at hap-hazard? Or without proposing and requiring a profession of all that is necessary to be believed to make a man a christian? If she does not, I desire you to turn to the baptism of those of riper years in our liturgy: where the priest, asking the convert particularly, whether he believes the apostles creed, which he repeats to him; upon his profession that he does, and that he desires to be baptized into that faith, without one word of any other articles, baptizes him; and then declares him a christian in these words: “We receive this person into the congregation of Christ’s flock, and sign him with the sign of the cross, in token that he shall not be ashamed — to continue Christ’s faithful soldier and servant.” In all this there is not one word of satisfaction, no more than in my book, nor so much neither. And here I ask you, Whether for this omission you will pronounce that the church of England disguises the faith of the gospel? However you think fit to treat me, yet methinks you should not let yourself loose so freely against our first reformers and the fathers of our church ever since, as to call them “Betrayers of christianity itself;” because they think not so much necessary to be believed to make a man a christian, as you are pleased to put down in your articles; but omit, as well as I, your “main article of satisfaction.”

Having thus notably harangued upon the occasion of my saying, “Would any one blame my prudence?” and thereby make me a “socinian, a jesuit, and a betrayer of christianity itself,” he has in that answered all that such a miscreant as I do, or can say; and so passes by all the reasons I gave for what I did; without any other notice or answer, but only denying a matter of fact, which I only can know, and he cannot, viz. my design in printing my “Reasonableness of christianity.”

In the next paragraph, , in answer to the words of St. Paul, Rom. xiv. 1, “Him that is weak in the faith receive ye, but not to doubtful disputations;” which I brought as a reason why I mentioned not satisfaction amongst the benefits received by the coming of our Saviour; because, as I tell him in my Vindication, , “my reasonableness of christianity,” as the title shows, “was designed chiefly for those who were not yet thoroughly or firmly christians.” He replies, and I desire him to prove it,

XX. “THAT I PRETEND A DESIGN OF MY BOOK, WHICH WAS NEVER SO MUCH AS THOUGHT OF, UNTIL I WAS SOLICITED BY MY BRETHREN TO VINDICATE IT.”

All the rest in this paragraph, being either nothing to this place of the Romans, or what I have answered elsewhere, needs no farther answer.

The next two paragraphs, — 49, are meant for an answer to something I had said concerning the apostles creed, upon the occasion of his charging my book with socinianism. They begin thus:

This “author of the new christianity” [Answ. This new christianity is as old as the preaching of our Saviour and his apostles, and a little older than the unmasker’s system] “wisely objects, that the apostles creed hath none of those articles which I mention,” , &c. Answ. If that author wisely objects, the unmasker would have done well to have replied wisely. But for a man wisely to reply, it is in the first place requisite that the objection be truly and fairly set down in its full force, and not represented short, and as will best serve the answerer’s turn to reply to. This is neither wise nor honest: and this first part of a wise reply the unmasker has failed in. This will appear from my words, and the occasion of them. The unmasker had accused my book of socinianism, for omitting some points, which he urged as necessary articles of faith. To which I answered, That he had done so only, “to give it an ill name, not because it was socinian; for he had no more reason to charge it with socinianism, for the omissions he mentions, than the apostles creed.” These are my words, which he should have either set down out of , which he quotes, or at least given the objection, as I put it, if he had meant to have cleared it by a fair answer. But he, instead thereof, contents himself that “I object that the apostles creed hath none of those articles and doctrines which the unmasker mentioned.” Answ. This at best is but a part of my objection, and not to the purpose which I there meant, without the rest joined to it; which it has pleased the unmasker, according to his laudable way, to conceal. My objection, therefore, stands thus:

That the same articles, for the omission whereof the unmasker charges my book with socinianism, being also omitted in the apostles creed, he has no more reason to charge my book with socinianism, for the omissions mentioned, than he hath to charge the apostles creed with socinianism.

To this objection of mine, let us now see how he answers, .

“Nor does any considerate man wonder at it,” [i. e. that the apostles creed had none of those articles and doctrines which he had mentioned,] “for the creed is a form of outward profession, which is chiefly to be made in the public assemblies, when prayers are put up in the church, and the holy scriptures are read: then this abridgment of faith is properly used, or when there is not time or opportunity to make any enlargement. But we are not to think it expressly contains in it all the necessary and weighty points, all the important doctrines of belief; it being only designed to be an abstract.”

Answ. Another indispensable requisite in a wise reply is, that it should be pertinent. Now what can there be more impertinent, than to confess the matter of fact upon which the objection is grounded; but instead of destroying the inference drawn from that matter of fact, only amuse the reader with wrong reasons, why that matter of fact was so?

No considerate man, he says, doth wonder, that the articles and doctrines he mentioned, are omitted in the apostles creed: because “that creed is a form of outward profession.” Answ. A profession! of what, I beseech you? Is it a form to be used for form’s sake? I thought it had been a profession of something, even of the christian faith: and if it be so, any considerate man may wonder necessary articles of the christian faith should be left out of it. For how it can be an outward profession of the christian faith, without containing the christian faith, I do not see; unless a man can outwardly profess the christian faith in words, that do not contain or express it, i. e. profess the christian faith, when he does not profess it. But he says, “It is a profession chiefly to be made use of in assemblies.” Answ. Do those solemn assemblies privilege it from containing the necessary articles of the christian religion? This proves not that it does not, or was not designed to contain all the articles necessary to be believed to make a man a christian; unless the unmasker can prove that a “form of outward profession” of the christian faith, that contains all such necessary articles, cannot be made use of, in the public assemblies. “In the public assemblies,” says he, “when prayers are put up by the church, and the holy scriptures are read, then this abridgment of faith is properly used; or when there is not generally time or opportunity to make an enlargement.” Answ. But that which contains not what is absolutely necessary to be believed to make a man a christian, can no-where be properly used as a form of outward profession of the christian faith, and least of all, in the solemn public assemblies. All the sense I can make of this is, that this abridgment of the christian faith, i. e. imperfect collection (as the unmasker will have it) of some of the fundamental articles of christianity in the apostles creed, which omits the greatest part of them, is made use of as a form of outward profession of but part of the christian faith in the public assemblies; when, by reason of reading of the scripture and prayers, there is not time or opportunity for a full and perfect profession of it.

It is strange the christian church should not find time nor opportunity, in sixteen hundred years, to make, in any of her public assemblies, a profession of so much of her faith, as is necessary to make a man a christian. But pray tell me, has the church any such full and complete form of faith, that hath in it all those propositions, you have given us for necessary articles, (not to say any thing of those which you have reserved to yourself, in your own breast, and will not communicate,) of which the apostles creed is only a scanty form, a brief imperfect abstract, used only to save time in the crowd of other pressing occasions, that are always in haste to be dispatched? If she has, the unmasker will do well to produce it. If the church has no such complete form, besides the apostles creed, any-where, of fundamental articles; he will do well to leave talking idly of this abstract, as he goes on to do in the following words:

“But,” says he, “we are not to think that it expressly contains in it all the necessary and weighty points, all the important doctrines of our belief; it being only designed to be an abstract.” Answ. Of what, I beseech you, is it an abstract? For here the unmasker stops short, and, as one that knows not well what to say, speaks not out what it is an abstract of; but provides himself a subterfuge in the generality of the preceding terms, of “necessary and weighty points, and important doctrines,” jumbled together; which can be there of no other use, but to cover his ignorance or sophistry. But the question being only about necessary points, to what purpose are weighty and important doctrines joined to them; unless he will say, that there is no difference between necessary and weighty points, fundamental and important doctrines; and if so, then the distinction of points into necessary and not necessary, will be foolish and impertinent; and all the doctrines contained in the bible, will be absolutely necessary to be explicitly believed by every man to make him a christian. But taking it for granted, that the distinction of truths contained in the gospel, into points absolutely necessary, and not absolutely necessary, to be believed to make a man a christian, is good; I desire the unmasker to tell us, what the apostles creed is an abstract of? He will, perhaps, answer, that he has told us already in this very page, where he says, it is an abridgment of faith: and he has said true in words, but saying those words by rote, after others, without understanding them, he has said so in a sense that is not true. For he supposes it an abridgment of faith, by containing only a few of the necessary articles of faith, and leaving out the far greater part of them; and so takes a part of a thing for an abridgment of it; whereas an abridgment or abstract of any thing, is the whole in little; and if it be of a science or doctrine, the abridgment consists in the essential or necessary parts of it contracted into a narrower compass than where it lies diffused in the ordinary way of delivery, amongst a great number of transitions, explanations, illustrations, proofs, reasonings, corollaries, &c. All which, though they make a part of the discourse, wherein that doctrine is delivered, are left out in the abridgment of it, wherein all the necessary parts of it are drawn together into a less room. But though an abridgment need to contain none but the essential and necessary parts, yet all those it ought to contain; or else it will not be an abridgment or abstract of that thing, but an abridgment only of a part of it. I think it could not be said to be an abridgment of the law contained in an act of parliament, wherein any of the things required by that act were omitted; which yet commonly may be reduced into a very narrow compass, when stripped of all the motives, ends, enacting forms, &c. expressed in the act itself. If this does not satisfy the unmasker what is properly an abridgment, I shall refer him to Mr. Chillingworth, who, I think, will be allowed to understand sense, and to speak it properly, at least as well as the unmasker. And what he says happens to be in the very same question, between Knot, the jesuit, and him, that is here between the unmasker and me: it is but putting the unmasker in the jesuit’s place, and myself (if it may be allowed me, without vanity) in Mr. Chillingworth, the protestant’s; and Mr. Chillingworth’s very words, chap. iv. § 65, will exactly serve for my answer: “You trifle affectedly, confounding the apostles belief of the whole religion of Christ, as it comprehends both what we are to do, and what we are to believe, with that part of it which contains not duties of obedience, but only the necessary articles of simple faith. Now, though the apostles belief be, in the former sense, a larger thing than that which we call the apostles creed: yet, in the latter sense of the word, the creed (I say) is a full comprehension of their belief, which you yourself have formerly confessed, though somewhat fearfully and inconsistently. And here again, unwillingness to speak the truth makes you speak that which is hardly sense, and call it an abridgment of some articles of faith. For I demand, those some articles which you speak of, which are they? Those that are out of the creed, or those that are in it? Those that are in it, it comprehends at large, and therefore it is not an abridgment of them. Those that are out of it, it comprehends not at all, and therefore it is not an abridgment of them. If you would call it now an abridgment of faith; this would be sense; and signify thus much, that all the necessary articles of the christian faith are comprized in it. For this is the proper duty of abridgments, to leave out nothing necessary.” So that in Mr. Chillingworth’s judgment of an abridgment, it is not sense to say, as you do, , That “we are not to think, that the apostles creed expressly contains in it all the necessary points of our belief, it being only designed to be an abstract, or an abridgment of faith:” but on the contrary, we must conclude, it contains in it all the necessary articles of faith, for that very reason; because it is an abridgment of faith, as the unmasker calls it. But whether this that Mr. Chillingworth has given us here, be the nature of an abridgment or no; this is certain, that the apostles creed cannot be a form of profession of the christian faith, if any part of the faith necessary to make a man a christian, be left out of it: and yet such a profession of faith would the unmasker have this abridgment of faith to be. For a little lower, in the 47th page, he says in express terms, That “if a man believe no more than is, in express terms, in the apostles creed, his faith will not be the faith of a christian.” Wherein he does great honour to the primitive church, and particularly to the church of England. The primitive church admitted converted heathens to baptism, upon the faith contained in the apostles creed: a bare profession of that faith, and no more, was required of them to be received into the church, and made members of Christ’s body. How little different the faith of the ancient church was, from the faith I have mentioned, may be seen in these words of Tertullian: “Regula fidei una omnino est, sola, immobilis, irreformabilis, credendi, scilicet, in unicum Deum omnipotentem, mundi conditorem, & filium ejus Jesum Christum, natum ex virgine, Maria, crucifixum sub Pontio Pilato, tertia die resuscitatum à mortuis, receptum in cœlis, sedentem nunc ad dextram Patris, venturum judicare vivos & mortuos, per carnis etiam resurrectionem. Hâc lege fidei manente, cætera jam disciplinæ & conversationis admittunt novitatem correctionis:” Tert. de virg. velan. in principio. This was the faith, that in Tertullian’s time sufficed to make a christian. And the church of England, as I have remarked already, only proposed the articles of the apostles creed to the convert to be baptized; and upon his professing a belief of them, asks, Whether he will be baptized in this faith; which (if we will believe the unmasker) “is not the faith of a christian.” However, the church, without any more ado, upon the profession of this faith, and no other, baptizes him into it. So that the ancient church, if the unmasker may be believed, baptized converts into that faith, which “is not the faith of a christian.” And the church of England, when she baptizes any one, makes him not a christian. For he that is baptized only into a faith, that “is not the faith of a christian,” I would fain know how he can thereby be made a christian? So that if the omissions, which he so much blames in my book, make me a socinian, I see not how the church of England will escape that censure; since those omissions are in that very confession of faith which she proposes, and upon a profession whereof, she baptizes those whom she designs to make christians. But it seems that the unmasker (who has made bold to unmask her too) reasons right, that the church of England is mistaken, and makes none but socinians christians; or (as he is pleased now to declare) no christians at all. Which, if true, the unmasker had best look to it, whether he himself be a christian, or no; for it is to be feared, he was baptized only into that faith, which he himself confesses “is not the faith of a christian.”

But he brings himself off, in these following words: “all matters of faith, in some manner, may be reduced to this brief platform of belief.” Answ. If that be enough to make him a true and an orthodox christian, he does not consider whom, in this way, he brings off with him; for I think he cannot deny, that all matters of faith, in some manner, may be reduced to that abstract of faith which I have given, as well as to that brief platform in the apostles creed. So that, for aught I see, by this rule, we are christians or not christians, orthodox or not orthodox, equally together.

But yet he says, in the next words; when he calls it an “abstract, or abbreviature, it is implied, that there are more truths to be known and assented to by a christian, in order to making him really so, than what we meet with here.” The quite contrary whereof (as has been shown) is implied, by its being called an abstract. But what is that to the purpose? It is not fit abstracts and abbreviatures should stand in an unmasker’s way. They are sounds men have used for what they pleased; and why may not the unmasker do so too, and use them in a sense, that may make the apostles creed be only a broken scrap of the christian faith? However, in great condescension, being willing to do the apostles creed what honour he could, he says, That “all matters of faith, in some manner, may be reduced to this brief platform of belief.” But yet, when it is set in competition with the creed, which he himself is making, (for it is not yet finished,) it is by no means to be allowed as sufficient to make a man a christian: “There are more truths to be known and assented to, in order to make a man really a christian.” Which, what they are, the church of England shall know, when this new reformer thinks fit; and then she may be able to propose to those who are not yet so, a collection of articles of belief, and baptize them a-new into a faith, which will really make them christians: but hitherto, if the unmasker may be credited, she has failed in it.

“Yet he craves leave to tell me,” in the following words, , “That the apostles creed hath more in it than I, or my brethren, will subscribe to.” Were it not the undoubted privilege of the unmasker to know me better than I do myself, (for he is always telling me something of myself, which I did not know,) I would, in my turn, crave leave to tell him, that this is the faith I was baptized into, no one title whereof I have renounced, that I know; and that I heretofore thought, that gave me title to be a christian. But the unmasker hath otherwise determined: and I know not now where to find a christian. For the belief of the apostles creed will not, it seems, make a man one: and what other belief will, it does not yet please the unmasker to tell us. But yet, as to the subscribing to the apostles creed, I must take leave to say, however the unmasker may be right in the faith, he is out in the morals of a christian; it being against the charity of one, that is really so, to pronounce, as he does, peremptorily in a thing that he cannot know; and to affirm positively what I know to be a downright falsehood. But what others will do, it is not my talent to determine; that belongs to the unmasker; though, as to all that are my brethren in the christian faith, I may answer for them too, that they will also with me, do that, without which, in that sense, they cannot be my brethren.

Page 49, The unmasker smartly convinces me of no small blunder, in these words: “But was it not judiciously said by this writer, that, “it is well for the compilers of the creed, that they lived not in my days?” P. 12, “I tell you, friend, it was impossible they should; for the learned Usher and Vossius, and others have proved, that that symbol was drawn up, not at once, but that some articles of it were adjoined many years after, far beyond the extent of any man’s life; and therefore the compilers of the creed could not live in my days, nor could I live in theirs.” Answ. But it seems that, had they lived all together, you could have lived in their days. “But,” says he, “I let this pass, as one of the blunders of our thoughtful and musing author.” Answ. And I tell you, friend, that unless it were to show your reading in Usher and Vossius, you had better have let this blunder of mine alone. Does not the unmasker here give a clear proof, that he is no changeling? Whatever argument he takes in hand, weighty or trivial, material or not material to the thing in question, he brings it to the same sort of sense and force. He would show me guilty of an absurdity, in saying, “It is well for the compilers of the creed, that they lived not in his days.” This he proves to be a blunder, because they all lived not in one another’s days; therefore it was an absurdity to suppose, they might all live in his days. As if there were any greater absurdity to bring the compilers, who lived, possibly, within a few centuries of one another, by a supposition, into one time; than it is to bring the unmasker, and any one of them who lived a thousand years distant one from another, by a supposition, to be contemporaries; for it is by reason of the compilers living at a distance one from another, that he proves it impossible for him to be their contemporary. As if it were not as impossible in fact, for him who was not born until above a thousand years after, to live in any of their days, as it is for any one of them to live in either of those compilers days, that died before him. The supposition of their living together, is as easy of one as the other, at what distance soever they lived, and how many soever there were of them. This being so, I think it had been better for the unmasker to have let alone the blunder, and showed (which was his business) that he does not accuse the compilers of the creed of being all over socinianized, as well as he does me, since they were as guilty as I, of the omission of those articles, (viz. “that Christ is the word of God: that Christ was God incarnate: the eternal and ineffable generation of the Son of God: that the Son is in the Father, and the Father in the Son, which expresses their unity;”) for the omission whereof, the unmasker laid socinianism to my charge. So that it remains still upon his score to show,

XXI. “WHY THESE OMISSIONS IN THE APOSTLES CREED DO NOT AS WELL MAKE THAT ABSTRACT, AS MY ABRIDGMENT OF FAITH, TO BE SOCINIAN?”

Page 57, The unmasker “desires the reader to observe, that this lank faith of mine is in a manner no other than the faith of a Turk.” And I desire the reader to observe, that this faith of mine was all that our Saviour and his apostles preached to the unbelieving world. And this our unmasker cannot deny, as I think, will appear to any one, who observes what he says, , 77, of his Socinianism unmasked. And that they preached nothing but “a faith, that was in a manner no other than the faith of a Turk,” I think none amongst christians, but this bold unmasker, will have the irreverance profanely to say.

He tells us, , that “the musselmen” (or, as he has, for the information of his reader, very pertinently proved, it should be writ, moslemim; without which, perhaps, we should not have known his skill in Arabic, or, in plain English, the mahometans) “believe that Christ is a good man, and not above the nature of a man, and sent of God to give instruction to the world: and my faith,” he says, “is of the very same scantling.” This I shall desire him to prove; or, which in other words he insinuates in this and the neighbouring pages, viz.

XXII. THAT THAT FAITH, WHICH I HAVE AFFIRMED TO BE THE FAITH, WHICH IS REQUIRED TO MAKE A MAN A CHRISTIAN, IS NO OTHER THAN WHAT TURKS BELIEVE, AND IS CONTAINED IN THE ALCORAN.

Or, as he expresses it himself, ,

“That a Turk, according to me, is a christian; for I make the same faith serve them both.”

And particularly to show where it is I say,

XXIII. THAT “CHRIST IS NOT ABOVE THE NATURE OF A MAN,” OR HAVE MADE THAT A NECESSARY ARTICLE OF THE CHRISTIAN FAITH.

And next, where it is,

XXIV. “THAT I SPEAK AS MEANLY OF CHRIST’S SUFFERING ON THE CROSS, AND DEATH, AS IF THERE WERE NO SUCH THING.”

For thus he says of me, , “I seem to have consulted the mahometan bible, which did say, Christ did not suffer on the cross, did not die. For I, and my allies, speak as meanly of these articles, as if there were no such thing.”

To show our unmasker’s veracity in this case, I shall trouble my reader with some passages out of my “Reasonableness of christianity,” : “When we consider, that he was to fill out the time foretold of his ministry, and after a life illustrious in miracles and good works, attended with humility, meekness, patience, and suffering, and every way conformable to the prophecies of him, should be led as a sheep to the slaughter, and, with all quiet and submission, be brought to the cross, though there were no guilt or fault found in him.” And, , “contrary to the design of his coming, which was to be offered up a lamb, blameless and void of offence.” And, , “laying down his life, both for jews and gentiles.” P. 96, “given up to contempt, torment, and death.” But, say what I will, when the unmasker thinks fit to have it so, it is speaking out of the mahometan bible, that “Christ did not suffer on the cross, did not die; or at least, is speaking as meanly of these articles, as if no such thing had been.”

His next slander is, , in these words: “this gentleman presents the world with a very ill notion of faith; for the very devils are capable of all that faith, which, he says, makes a christian.” It is not strange, that the unmasker should misrepresent the faith, which, I say, makes a christian; when it seems to be his whole design to misrepresent my meaning every-where. The frequency of his doing it, I have showed in abundance of instances, to which I shall add an eminent one here; which shows what a fair champion he is for truth and religion.

Page 104, of my “Reasonableness of christianity,” I give this account of the faith which makes a christian; that it is “men’s entering themselves in the kingdom of God; owning and professing themselves the subjects of Jesus, whom they believe to be the Messiah, and receive for their Lord and King: for that was to be baptized in his name.” This sense of believing Christ to be the Messiah, that is, to take him for our King and Lord, who is to be obeyed, I have expressed over and over again; as, , 111, my words are, “that as many of them as would believe Jesus the son of God (whom he sent into the world) to be the Messiah, the promised Deliverer, and would receive him for their king and ruler, should have all their past sins, disobedience, and rebellion, forgiven them. And if, for the future, they lived in sincere obedience to his law, to the utmost of their power, the sins of human frailty for the time to come, as well as those of their past lives, should for his son’s sake, because they gave themselves up to him to be his subjects, be forgiven them: and so their faith, which made them to be baptized into his name, (i. e. inroll themselves in the kingdom of Jesus, the Messiah, and profess themselves his subjects, and consequently live by the laws of his kingdom,) should be accounted to them for righteousness.” Which account of what is necessary, I close with these words: “this is the faith for which God of his free grace justifies sinful man.” And is this the faith of devils?

To the same purpose, , are these words: “the chief end of his coming was to be a king; and, as such, to be received by those who would be his subjects in the kingdom which he came to erect.” And again, , “only those who have believed Jesus to be the Messiah, and taken him for their king, with a sincere endeavour after righteousness in obeying his law, shall have their past sins not imputed to them.” And so again and 120, and in several other places; of which I shall add but this one more, , “it is not enough to believe him to be the Messiah, unless we obey his laws, and take him to be our king to reign over us.” Can the devils thus believe him to be the Messiah? Yet this is that, which, by these and abundance of other places, I have showed to be the meaning of believing him to be the Messiah.

Besides, I have expressly distinguished the faith which makes a christian, from that which the devils have, by proving, that, to the believing Jesus to be the Messiah, must be joined repentance, or else it will not make them true christians: and what this repentance is, may be seen at large in , &c. some expressions whereof I shall here set down; as , “repentance does not consist in one single act of sorrow, (though that being first, and leading, gives denomination to the whole,) but in doing works meet for repentance; in a sincere obedience to the law of Christ, the remainder of our lives.” Again; to distinguish the faith of a christian from that of devils, I say expressly, out of St. Paul’s epistle to the Galatians, “that which availeth is faith, but faith working by love; and that faith, without works, i. e. the works of sincere obedience to the law and will of Christ, is not sufficient for our justification.” And, , “That to inherit eternal life, we must love the Lord our God, with all our heart, with all our soul, with all our strength, and with all our mind.” And , “Love Christ, in keeping his commandments.”

This, and a great deal more to this purpose, may be seen in my “Reasonableness of Christianity;” particularly, where I answer that objection, about the faith of devils, which I made in , &c. and therein at large show, wherein the faith of devils comes short of the justifying faith, which makes a christian. And yet the good, the sincere, the candid unmasker, with his becoming confidence, tells his readers here, , “That I present the world with a very ill notion of faith: for the very devils are capable of all that faith, which I say, makes a christian man.”

To prevent this calumny, I, in more places than one, distinguished between faith, in a strict sense, as it is a bare assent to any proposition, and that which is called evangelical faith, in a larger sense of the word; which comprehends under it something more than a bare simple assent; as, , “I mean, this is all that is required to be believed by those who acknowledge but one eternal, invisible God, the maker of heaven and earth: for that there is something more required to salvation, besides believing, we shall see hereafter.” P. 28, “All I say that was to be believed for justification. For that this was not all that was required to be done for justification, we shall see hereafter.” P. 51, “Obeying the law of the Messiah, their king, being no less required, than their believing that Jesus was the Messiah, the King and Deliverer, that was promised them.” P. 102, “As far as their believing could make them members of Christ’s body.” By these, and more, the like passages in my book, my meaning is so evident, that no-body, but an unmasker, would have said, that when I spoke of believing, as a bare speculative assent to any proposition, as true, I affirmed that was all that was required of a christian for justification: though that in the strict sense of the word, is all that is done in believing. And therefore, I say, As far as mere believing could make them members of Christ’s body; plainly signifying, as much as words can, that the faith, for which they were justified, included something more than a bare assent. This appears, not only from these words of mine, , “St. Paul often, in his epistles, puts faith for the whole duty of a christian:” but from my so often, and almost every-where, interpreting “believing him to be the Messiah, by taking him to be our King,” whereby is meant not a bare idle speculation, a bare notional persuasion of any truth whatsoever, floating in our brains; but an active principle of life, a faith working by love and obedience. “To make him to be our King,” carries with it a right disposition of the will to honour and obey him, joined to that assent wherewith believers embrace this fundamental truth, that Jesus was the person who was by God sent to be their King; he that was promised to be their Prince and Saviour.

But, for all this, the unmasker, , confidently tells his reader, that I say no such thing. His words are: “But besides this historical faith, (as it is generally called by divines,) which is giving credit to evangelical truths, is barely revealed, there must be something else added to make up the true substantial faith of a christian. With the assent of the understanding, must be joined the consent or approbation of the will. All those divine truths which the intellect assents to, must be allowed of by this elective power of the soul. True evangelical faith is a hearty acceptation of the Messias, as he is offered in the gospel. It is a sincere and impartial submission to all things required by the evangelical law, which is contained in the epistles, as well as the other writings. And to this practical assent and choice, there must be added, likewise, a firm trust and reliance in the blessed author of our salvation. But this late undertaker, who attempted to give us a more perfect account, than ever was before of christianity, as it is delivered in the scriptures, brings us no tidings of any such faith belonging to christianity, or discovered to us in the scriptures. Which gives us to understand, that he verily believes there is no such christian faith; for in some of his numerous pages, (especially , &c.) where he speaks so much of belief and faith, he might have taken occasion to insert one word about his complete faith of the gospel.”

Though the places above quoted, out of my “Reasonableness of Christianity,” and the whole tenour of the latter part of it, show the falsehood of what the unmasker here says; yet I will set down one passage more out of it; and then ask our unmasker, when he hath read them, Whether he hath the brow to say again, that “I bring no tidings of any such faith?” My words are, “Reasonableness of Christianity,” , “Faith in the promises of God, relying and acquiescing in his word and faithfulness, the Almighty takes well at our hands as a great mark of homage paid by us, poor frail creatures, to his goodness and truth, as well as to his power and wisdom; and accepts it as an acknowledgment of his peculiar providence and benignity to us. And, therefore, our Saviour tells us, John xii. 44, “He that believes on me, believes not on me, but on him that sent me.” The works “of nature show his wisdom and power: but it is his peculiar care of mankind, most eminently discovered in his promises to them, that shows his bounty and goodness; and consequently engages their hearts in love and affection to him. This oblation of an heart fixed with dependance and affection on him, is the most acceptable tribute we can pay him, the foundation of true devotion, and life of all religion. What a value he puts on this depending on his word, and resting satisfied on his promises, we have an example in Abraham; whose faith was counted to him for righteousness, as we have before remarked out of Rom. iv. And his relying firmly on the promise of God, without any doubt of its performance, gave him the name of the father of the faithful; and gained him so much favour with the Almighty, that he was called the friend of God, the highest and most glorious title that can be bestowed on a creature!”

The great out-cry he makes against me in his two next sections, — 60, as if I intended to introduce ignorance and popery, is to be entertained rather as the noise of a petulant scold, saying the worst things she could think of, than as the arguing of a man of sense or sincerity. All this mighty accusation is grounded upon these falsehoods: That “I make it my great business to beat men off from divine truths; that I cry down all articles of the christian faith, but one; that I will not suffer men to look into christianity; that I blast the epistolary writings.” I shall add no more to what I have already said, about the epistles, but those few words out of my “Reasonableness of christianity,” page 154, “The epistles, resolving doubts, and reforming mistakes, are of great advantage to our knowledge and practice.” And, , 156, “An explicit belief of what God requires of those, who will enter into, and receive the benefits of the new covenant, is absolutely required. The other parts of divine revelation are objects of faith, and are so to be received. They are truths, whereof none, that is once known to be such, i. e. of divine revelation,] may, or ought to be disbelieved.”

And as for that other saying of his, “That I will not suffer men to look into christianity:” I desire to know where that christianity is locked up, which “I will not suffer men to look into.” My christianity, I confess, is contained in the written word of God; and that I am so far from hindering any one to look into, that I every-where appeal to it, and have quoted so much of it, that the unmasker complains of being overlaid with it, and tells me it is tedious. “All divine revelation, I say, , requires the obedience of faith; and that every one is to receive all the parts of it, with a docility and disposition prepared to embrace and assent to all truths coming from God; and submit his mind to whatever shall appear to him to bear that character.” I speak, in the same page, of men’s endeavouring to understand it, and of their interpreting one place by another. This, and the whole design of my book, shows that I think it every christian’s duty to read, search and study the holy scriptures: and make this their great business: and yet the good unmasker, in a fit of zeal, displays his throat, and cries out, , “Hear, O ye heavens, and give ear, O earth; judge whether this be not the way to introduce darkness and ignorance into Christendom; whether this be not blinding of men’s eyes,” &c. for this mighty pathos ends not there. And all things considered, I know not whether he had not reason, in his want of arguments, this way to pour out his concern. For neither the preaching of our Saviour and his apostles, nor the apostles creed, nor any thing else, being with him the faith of a christian, i. e. sufficient to make a christian, but just his set of fundamental articles, (when he himself knows what they be;) in fine, nothing being christianity but just his system, it is time to cry out, Help, neighbours! hold fast, friends! Knowledge, religion, christianity is gone, if this be once permitted, that the people should read and understand the scripture for themselves, as God shall enlighten their understandings in the use of the means; and not be forced to depend upon me, and upon my choosing, and my interpretation, for the necessary points they are to believe to make them christians: if I, the great unmasker, have not the sole power to decree what is, or is not fundamental, and people be not bound to receive it for such, faith and the gospel are given up; darkness and barbarism will be brought in upon us by this writer’s contrivance. For “he is an underhand factor for that communion, which cries up ignorance for the mother of devotion and religion:” i. e. in plain English, for popery. For to this, and nothing else, tends all that sputter he makes in the section before mentioned.

I do not think there was ever a more thorough-paced declaimer, than our unmasker. He leaves out nothing that he thinks will make an affrighting noise in the ears of his orthodox hearers, though all the blame and censure he pours out upon others light only on himself. For let me ask this zealous upholder of light and knowledge: does he think it reasonable, that any one, who is not a christian, should be suffered to be undisturbed in his parish? Nay, does he think fit that any such should live free from the lash of the magistrate, or from the persecution of the ecclesiastical power? He seems to talk with another air, . In the next place I ask, Whether any one is a christian, who has not the faith of a christian? Thirdly, I ask, Whether he has the faith of a christian, who does not explicitly believe all the fundamental articles of christianity? And to conclude, I ask him, Whether all those that he has set down, are not fundamental necessary articles? When the unmasker has fairly answered these questions, it will be seen who is for popery, and the ignorance and tyranny that accompany it.

The unmasker is for making and imposing articles of faith; but he is for this power in himself. He likes not popery (which is nothing but the tyranny and imposing upon men’s understandings, faith and consciences) in the hands of the old gentleman at Rome: but it would, he thinks, do admirably well in his own hands. And who can blame him for it? Would not that be an excellent way to propagate light and knowledge, by tying up all men to a bundle of articles of his own culling? Or rather, to the authority of Christ and his apostles residing in him? For he does not, nor ever will, give us a full view of fundamentals of his christianity: but like the church of Rome, to secure our dependence, reserves to himself a power of declaring others, and defining what is matter of faith as he shall see occasion.

Now, therefore, veil your bonnets to the unmasker, all you that have a mind to be christians: break not your heads about the scriptures, to examine what they require of you: submit your faith implicitly to the unmasker; he will understand and find out the necessary points for you to believe. Take them, just so many as he thinks fit to deliver them to you; this is the way to be knowing christians. But be sure, ask not, Whether those he is pleased to deliver, be every one of them fundamental, and all the fundamental articles, necessary to be believed to make a man a christian? Such a capricious question spoils all, overturns christianity, which is intrusted to the unmasker’s sole keeping, to be dispensed out as he thinks fit. If you refuse an implicit faith to him, he will presently find you have it for the whore of Babylon; he will smell out popery in it immediately: for he has a very shrewd scent, and you will be discovered to be an underhand factor for the church of Rome.

But if the unmasker were such an enemy, as he pretends, to those factors, I wonder he should, in what he has said concerning the apostles creed, so exactly jump with Knot the jesuit. If any one doubt of this, I desire him to look into the fourth chapter of “Knot’s charity maintained,” and there he will see how well our unmasker and that jesuit agree in argument; nay, and expressions too. But yet I do not think him so far guilty, as to be employed as an underhand factor for popery. Every body will, I suppose, be ready to pronounce him so far an innocent, as to clear him from that. The cunning of this design goes not beyond the laying out of his preaching oratory, for the setting up his own system, and making that the sole christianity. To that end, he would be glad to have the power of interpreting scripture, of defining and declaring articles of faith, and imposing them. This, which makes the absolute power of the pope, he would not, I think, establish at Rome; but it is plain he would have it himself if he could get it, for the support of the christianity of his system. An implicit faith, if he might have the management of it, and the taking fundamentals upon trust from his authority, would be of excellent use. Such a power, in his hands, would spread truth and knowledge in the world, i. e. his own orthodoxy and set of opinions. But if a man differs, nay, questions any thing of that, whether it be absolutely necessary to make one a christian, it is immediately a contrivance to let in popery, and to bring “darkness and barbarism into the christian world.” But I must tell the innocent unmasker, whether he designs or no, that if his calling his system the only christianity, can bring the world to receive from him articles of faith of his own choosing, as fundamentals necessary to be believed by all men to make them christians, which Christ and his apostles did not propose to all men to make them christians; he does only set up popery in another guise, and lay the foundations of ignorance, darkness, and barbarism, in the christian world; for all the ignorance and blindness, that popery introduced, was only upon this foundation. And if he does not see this, (as there is reason to excuse his innocence,) it would be no hard matter to demonstrate it, if that were at present the question between us. But there are a great many other propositions to be proved by him, before we come to that new matter of debate.

But before I quit these paragraphs. I must go on with our unmasker’s account, and desire him to show where it is,

XXV. “THAT I MAKE IT MY BUSINESS TO BEAT MEN OFF FROM TAKING NOTICE OF ANY DIVINE TRUTHS?”

Next, where it is,

XXVI. THAT “I CRY DOWN ALL ARTICLES OF CHRISTIAN FAITH BUT ONE?”

Next, how it appears,

XXVII. THAT “I WILL NOT SUFFER MANKIND TO LOOK INTO CHRISTIANITY?”

Again, where it is,

XXVIII. THAT “I LABOUR INDUSTRIOUSLY TO KEEP PEOPLE IN IGNORANCE;” OR TELL THEM, THAT “THERE IS NO NECESSITY OF KNOWING ANY OTHER DOCTRINES OF THE BIBLE?”

These, and several others of the like strain, particularly concerning one article, and the epistles, (which are his common-places,) are to be found in his 59th and 60th pages. And all this out of a presumption, that his system is the only christianity; and that if men were not pressed and persuaded to receive that, just every article of it, upon pain of damnation, christianity would be lost: and not to do this, is to promote ignorance, and contemn the bible. But he fears where no fear is. If his orthodoxy be the truth, and conformable to the scriptures, the laying the foundation only where our Saviour and his Apostles have laid it, will not overturn it. And to show him, that it is so, I desire him again to consider what I said in my Vindication, , 165, which, because I do not remember he anywhere takes notice of, in his reply, I will here offer again to his consideration: “Convince but men of the mission of Jesus Christ; make them but see the truth, simplicity and reasonableness of what he himself hath taught, and required to be believed by his followers; and you need not doubt, but being once fully persuaded of his doctrine, and the advantages which, all christians agree, are received by him, such converts will not lay by the scriptures; but, by a constant reading and study of them, will get all the light they can from this divine revelation, and nourish themselves up in the words of faith and good doctrine, as St. Paul speaks to Timothy.”

If the reading and study of the scripture were more pressed than it is, and men were fairly sent to the bible to find their religion; and not the bible put into their hands, only to find the opinions of their peculiar sect or party; Christendom would have more christians, and those that are, would be more knowing, and more in the right, than they now are. That which hinders this, is that select bundle of doctrines, which it has pleased every sect to draw out of the scriptures, or their own inventions, with an omission (and, as our unmasker would say, a contempt) of all the rest. These choice truths (as the unmasker calls his) are to be the standing orthodoxy of that party, from which none of that church must recede, without the forfeiture of their christianity, and the loss of eternal life. But, whilst the people keep firm to these, they are in the church, and the way to salvation: which, in effect, what is it but to encourage ignorance, laziness, and neglect of the scriptures? For what need they be at the pains of constantly reading the bible, or perplex their heads with considering and weighing what is there delivered; when believing as the church believes, or saying, after, or not contradicting their domine, or teacher, serves the turn?

Further, I desire it may be considered, what name that mere mock-show, of recommending to men the study of the scripture, deserves; if, when they read it, they must understand it just as he (that would be, and they are too apt, contrary to the command of Christ, to call, their master) tells them. If they find any thing in the word of God, that leads them into opinions he does not allow; if any thing they meet with in holy writ, seems to them to thwart, or shake the received doctrines, the very proposing of their doubts renders them suspected. Reasoning about them, and not acquiescing in whatever is said to them, is interpreted want of due respect and deference to the authority of their spiritual guides; disrepute and censures follow: and if, in pursuance of their own light, they persist in what they think the scripture teaches them, they are turned out of the church, delivered to Satan, and no longer allowed to be christians. And is thus a sincere and rightly directed study of the scriptures, that men may understand and profit thereby, encouraged? This is the consequence of men’s assuming to themselves a power of declaring fundamentals, i. e. of setting up a christianity of their own making. For how else can they turn men of as unblameable lives as others of their members out of the church of Christ (for so they count their communion) for opinions, unless those opinions were concluded inconsistent with christianity? Thus systems, the invention of men, are turned into so many opposite gospels; and nothing is truth in each sect, but what suits with them. So that the scripture serves but, like a nose of wax, to be turned and bent, just as may fit the contrary orthodoxies of different societies. For it is these several systems, that to each party are the just standards of truth, and the meaning of the scripture is to be measured only by them. Whoever relinquishes any of those distinguishing points, immediately ceases to be a christian.

This is the way that the unmasker would have truth and religion preserved, light and knowledge propagated. But here too the different sects, giving equal authority to their own orthodoxies, will be quits with him. For as far as I can observe, the same genius seems to influence them all, even those who pretend most to freedom, the socinians themselves. For when it is observed, how positive and eager they are in their disputes; how forward to have their interpretations of scripture received for authentic, though to others, in several places, they seem very much strained; how impatient they are of contradiction; and with what disrespect and roughness they often treat their opposers: may it not be suspected, that this so visible a warmth in their present circumstances, and zeal for their orthodoxy, would (had they the power) work in them as it does in others? They in their turns would, I fear, be ready with their set of fundamentals; which they would be as forward to impose on others, as others have been to impose contrary fundamentals on them.

This is, and always will be, the unavoidable effect of intruding on our Saviour’s authority, and requiring more now, as necessary to be believed to make a man a christian, than was at first required by our Saviour and his apostles. What else can be expected among christians, but their tearing, and being torn in pieces, by one another; whilst every sect assumes to itself a power of declaring fundamentals, and severally thus narrow christianity to their distinct systems? He that has a mind to see how fundamentals come to be framed and fashioned, and upon what motives and considerations they are often taken up, or laid down according to the humours, interests, or designs of the heads of parties, as if they were things depending on men’s pleasure and to be suited to their convenience; may find an example worth his notice, in the life of Mr. Baxter, part II. — 205.

Whenever men take upon them to go beyond those fundamental articles of christianity, which are to be found in the preachings of our Saviour and his apostles, where will they stop? Whenever any set of men will require more, as necessary to be believed, to make men of their church, i. e. in their sense, christians, than what our Saviour and his apostles proposed to those whom they made christians, and admitted into the church of Christ; however they may pretend to recommend the scripture to their people, in effect, no more of it is recommended to them, than just comports with what the leaders of that sect have resolved christianity shall consist in.

It is no wonder, therefore, there is so much ignorance amongst christians, and so much vain outcry against it; whilst almost every distinct society of christians magisterially ascribes orthodoxy to a select set of fundamentals, distinct from those proposed in the preaching of our Saviour and his apostles; which, in no one point, must be questioned by any of its communion. By this means their people are never sent to the holy scriptures, that true fountain of light, but hood-winked: a veil is cast over their eyes, and then they are bid to read their bible. They must make it all chime to their church’s fundamentals, or else they were better let it alone. For if they find any thing there against the received doctrines, though they hold it and express it in the very terms the Holy Ghost has delivered it in, that will not excuse them. Heresy will be their lot, and they shall be treated accordingly. And thus we see how, amongst other good effects, creed-making always has, and always will necessarily produce and propagate ignorance in the world, however each party blame others for it. And therefore I have often wondered to hear men of several churches so heartily exclaim against the implicit faith of the church of Rome; when the same implicit faith is as much practised and required in their own, though not so openly professed, and ingenuously owned there.

In the next section, the unmasker questions the sincerity of mine, and professes the greatness of his concern for the salvation of men’s souls. And tells me of my reflection on him, upon that account, in my Vindication, . Answ. I wish he would, for the right information of the reader, every-where set down, what he has any thing to say to, in my book, or my defence of it, and save me the labour of repeating it. My words in that place are, “Some men will not bear, that any one should speak of religion, but according to the model that they themselves have made of it. Nay, though he proposes it upon the very terms, and in the very words, which our Saviour and his apostles preached it in; yet he shall not escape censures and the severest insinuations. To deviate in the least, or to omit any thing contained in their articles, is heresy, under the most invidious names in fashion; and it is well if he escapes being a downright atheist. Whether this be the way for teachers to make themselves hearkened to, as men in earnest in religion, and really concerned for the salvation of men’s souls, I leave them to consider. What success it has had, towards persuading men of the truth of christianity, their own complaints of the prevalency of atheism, on the one hand, and the number of deists on the other, sufficiently show.”

I have set down this passage at large, both as a confirmation of what I said but just now: and also to show, that the reflection I there made needed some other answer, than a bare profession of his “regard to the salvation of men’s souls.” The assuming an undue authority to his own opinions, and using manifest untruths in the defence of them, I am sure is no mark, that the directing men right in the way to salvation is his chief aim. And I wish that the greater liberties of that sort, which he has again taken in his Socinianism unmasked, and which I have so often laid open, had not confirmed that reflection. I should have been glad, that any thing in my book had been fairly controverted and brought to the touch, whether it had or had not been confuted. The matter of it would have deserved a serious debate (if any had been necessary) in the words of sobriety, and the charitable temper of the gospel, as I desired in my preface: and that would not have misbecome the unmasker’s function. But it did not consist, it seems, with his design. Christian charity would not have allowed those ill-meant conjectures, and groundless censures, which were necessary to his purpose: and therefore he took a shorter course, than to confute my book, and thereby convince me and others. He makes it his business to rail at it and the author of it, that that might be taken for a confutation. For by what he has hitherto done, arguing seems not to be his talent. And thus far, who can but allow his wisdom? But whether it be that “wisdom that is from above; first pure, then peaceable, gentle, easy to be intreated, full of mercy, and good fruits, without partiality, and without hypocrisy;” I shall leave to other readers to judge.

His saying nothing to that other reflection, which his manner of expressing himself drew from me, would make one suspect, it savoured not altogether of the wisdom of the gospel; nor showed an over-great care of the salvation of souls. My words, Vindication, , are: “I know not how better to show my care of his credit, than by entreating him, that when he takes next in hand such a subject as this, wherein the salvation of souls is concerned, he would treat it a little more seriously, and with a little more candour, lest men should find in his writings another cause of atheism, which in this treatise he has not thought fit to mention. Ostentation of wit in general, he has made a cause of atheism, . But the world will tell him, that frothy light discourses, concerning the serious matters of religion, and ostentation of trifling misbecoming wit, in those who come as ambassadors from God, under the title of successors of the apostles, in the great commission of the gospel, are none of the least causes of atheism.” But this advice I am now satisfied (by his second part of the same strain) was very improper for him; and no more reasonable, than if one should advise a buffoon to talk gravely, who has nothing left to draw attention, if he should lay by his scurrility.

The remainder of this fourth chapter, — 67, being spent in showing, why the socinians are for a few articles of faith, being a matter that I am not concerned in; I leave to that forward gentleman to examine, who examined Mr. Edwards’s exceptions against the “Reasonableness of Christianity;” and who, as the unmasker informs me, page 64, was chosen to vindicate my attempt, &c.

If the unmasker knows that he was so chosen, it is well. If I had known of such a choice, I should have desired that somebody should have been chosen to vindicate my attempt, who had understood it better. The unmasker and examiner are each of them so full of themselves, and their own systems, that I think they may be a fit match one for another; and so I leave these cocks of the game to try it out in an endless battle of wrangling (‘till death them part) which of them has made the true and exact collection of fundamentals; and whose system of the two ought to be the prevailing orthodoxy, and be received for scripture. Only I warn the examiner to look to himself: for the unmasker has the whip hand of him, and gives him to understand, , that if he cannot do it himself by the strength of his lungs, the vehemency of his oratory, and endless attacks of his repetitions; the ecclesiastical power, and the civil magistrate’s lash, have, in store, demonstrative arguments to convince him that his [the unmasker’s] system is the only true christianity.

By the way, I must not forget to mind the unmasker here again, that he hath a very unlucky hand at guessing. For whereas he names Socinus, as one from whom I received my platform, and says that “Crellius gave me my cue;” it so falls out, that they are two authors of whom I never read a page. I say not this, as if I thought it a fault if I had; for I think I should have much better spent my time in them, than in the writings of our learned unmasker.

I was sure there was no offending the unmasker, without the guilt of atheism; only he here, , very mercifully lays it upon my book, and not upon my design. The “tendency of it to irreligion and atheism,” he has proved in an eloquent harangue, for he is such an orator he cannot stir a foot without a speech (made) as he bids us suppose, by the atheistical rabble. And who can deny, but he has chosen a fit employment for himself? Where could there be found a better speechmaker for the atheistical rabble? But let us hear him: for though he would give the atheistical rabble the credit of it, yet it is the unmasker speaks. And because it is a pity such a pattern of rhetoric and reason should be lost, I have, for my reader’s edification, set it all down verbatim.

“We are beholden to this worthy adventurer for ridding the world of so great an incumbrance, viz. that huge mass and unwieldy body of christianity, which took up so much room. Now we see that it was this bulk, and not that of mankind, which he had an eye to, when he so often mentioned this latter. This is a physician for our turn, indeed; we like this chymical operator, that doth not trouble us with a parcel of heavy drugs of no value, but contracts it all into a few spirits, nay doth his business with a single drop. We have been in bondage a long time to creeds and catechisms, systems and confessions; we have been plagued with a tedious bead-roll of articles, which our reverend divines have told us, we must make the matter of our faith. Yea, so it is, both conformists and nonconformists (though disagreeing in some other things) have agreed in this, to molest and crucify us. But this noble writer (we thank him) hath set us free, and eased us, by bringing down all the christian faith into one point. We have heard some men talk of epistolary composures of the New Testament, as if great matters were contained in them, as if the great mysteries of christianity (as they call them) were unfolded there: but we could never make any thing of them; and now we find that this writer is partly of our opinion. He tells us that these are letters sent upon occasion; but we are not to look for our religion (for now, for this gentleman’s sake, we begin to talk of religion) in these places. We believe it, and we believe that there is no religion but in those very chapters and verses, which he has set down in his treatise. What need we have any other part of the New Testament? That is bible enough, if not too much. Happy, thrice happy shall this author be perpetually esteemed by us; we will chronicle him as our friend and benefactor. It is not our way to saint people, otherwise we would certainly canonize this gentleman; and when our hand is in, his pair of booksellers, for their being so beneficial to the world in publishing so rich a treasure. It was a blessed day, when this hopeful birth saw the light; for hereby all the orthodox creed-makers and systematic men are ruined for ever. In brief, if we be for any christianity, it shall be this author’s: for that agrees with us singularly well, it being so short, all couched in four words, neither more nor less. It is a very fine compendium, and we are infinitely obliged to this great reformer for it. We are glad at heart, that christianity is brought so low by this worthy penman; for this is a good presage, that it will dwindle into nothing. What! but one article, and that so brief too! We like such a faith, and such a religion, because it is nearer to none.”

He hath no sooner done, but, as it deserved, he cries out, “Euge, sophos! and is not the reader,” quoth he, “satisfied that such language as this hath real truth in it? Does not he perceive, that the discarding all the articles but one, makes way for the casting off that too?” Answ. It is but supposing that the reader is a civil gentleman, and answers, Yes, to these two questions; and then it is demonstration, that by this speech he has irrefragably proved the tendency of my book to irreligion and atheism.

I remember Chillingworth somewhere puts up this request to his adversary Knot: “Sir, I beseech you, when you write again, do us the favour to write nothing but syllogisms. For I find it still an extreme trouble to find out the concealed propositions, which are to connect the parts of your enthymems. As now, for example, I profess to you I have done my best endeavour to find some glue, or solder, or cement, or thread, or any thing to tie the antecedent and this consequent together.” The unmasker agrees so much in a great part of his opinion with that jesuit, (as I have shown already,) and does so infinitely out-do him in spinning ropes of sand, and a coarse thread of inconsistencies, which runs quite through his book; that it is with great justice I put him here in the jesuit’s place, and address the same request to him.

His very next words give me a fresh reason to do it: for thus he argues, , “May we not expect, that those who deal thus with the creed, i. e. discard all the articles of it but one, will use the same method in reducing the ten commandments and the Lord’s prayer, abbreviate the former into one precept, and the latter into one petition?” Answ. If he will tell me where this creed he speaks of is, it will be much more easy to answer his demand. Whilst his creed, which he here speaks of, is yet no-where, it is ridiculous for him to ask questions about it. The ten commandments, and the Lord’s prayer, I know where to find in express words, set down by themselves, with peculiar marks of distinction. Which is the Lord’s prayer, we are plainly taught by this command of our Saviour, Luke xi. 2, “when ye pray, say, Our father,” &c. In the same manner and words, we are taught what we should believe, to make us his disciples, by his command to the apostles what they should preach, Matt. x. 7, “As ye go, preach, saying,” (What were they to say? Only this) “The kingdom of heaven is at hand.” Or, as St. Luke expresses it, chap. ix. 2, They were sent “to preach the kingdom of God, and to heal the sick:” which, what it was, we have sufficiently explained. But this creed of the unmasker, which he talks of, where is it? Let him show it us distinctly set out from the rest of the scripture. If he knows where it is, let him produce it, or leave talking of it, until he can. It is not the apostles creed, that is evident; for that creed he has discarded from being the standard of christian faith, and has told the world in words at length, That “if a man believes no more than is in express terms in the apostles creed, his faith will not be the faith of a christian.” Nay, it is plain, that creed has, in the unmasker’s opinion, the same tendency to atheism and irreligion, that my summary has. For the apostles creed, reducing the forty, or, perhaps, the four hundred fundamental articles of his christian creed to twelve; and leaving out the greatest part of those necessary ones, which he has already, and will hereafter, in good time, give us; does as much dispose men to serve the decalogue, and the Lord’s prayer, just so, as my reducing those twelve to two. For so many, at least, he has granted to be in my summary, viz. the article of one God, maker of heaven and earth; and the other, of Jesus the Messiah; though he every-where calls them but one; which, whether it be to show, with what love and regard to truth he continues, and consequently began this controversy; or whether it be to beguile and startle unwary, or confirm prejudiced readers; I shall leave others to judge. It is evident, he thinks his cause would be mightily maimed, if he were forced to leave out the charge of one article; and he would not know what to do for wit or argument, if he should call them two: for then the whole weight and edge of his strong and sharp reasoning, in his “Thoughts concerning the causes of atheism,” , would be lost. There you have it in these words: “When the catholic faith is thus brought down to one single article, it will soon be reduced to none; the unit will dwindle into a cypher.” And here again, it makes the whole argument of his atheistical speech, which he winds up with these convincing words: “We are glad to hear, that christianity is brought so low by this worthy penman; for this is a good presage, that it will dwindle into nothing. What! one article, and that so brief too! We like such a faith, and such a religion, because it is so near none.” But I must tell this writer, of equal wit, sense, and modesty, that this religion, which he thus makes a dull farce of, and calls “near none,” is that very religion which our Saviour Jesus Christ and his apostles preached, for the conversion and salvation of mankind; no one article whereof, which they proposed as necessary to be received by unbelievers, to make them christians, is omitted. And I ask him, Whether it be his errand, as one of our Saviour’s ambassadors, to turn it thus into ridicule? For until he has shown, that they preached otherwise, and more than what the Spirit of truth has recorded of their preaching in their histories, which I have faithfully collected, and set down; all that he shall say, reflecting upon the plainness and simplicity of their doctrine, however directed against me, will by his atheistical rabble of all kinds, now they are so well entered and instructed in it by him, be all turned upon our Saviour and his apostles.

What tendency this, and all his other trifling, in so serious a cause as this is, has to the propagating of atheism and irreligion in this age, he were best to consider. This I am sure, the doctrine of but one article (if the author and finisher of our faith, and those he guided by his Spirit, had preached but one article) has no more tendency to atheism, than their doctrine of one God. But the unmasker every-where talks, as if the strength of our religion lay in the number of its articles; and would be presently routed, if it had been but a few; and therefore he has mustered up a pretty full band of them, and has a reserve of the Lord knows how many more, which shall be forth-coming upon occasion. But I shall desire to remind this learned divine, who is so afraid of what will become of his religion, if it should propose but one or a few articles, as necessary to be believed to make a man a christian; that the strength and security of our religion lies in the divine authority of those who first promulgated the terms of admittance into the church, and not in the multitude of articles, supposed by some necessary to be believed to make a man a christian: and I would have him remember, when he goes next to make use of this strong argument of “one dwindling into a cypher,” that one is as remote as a million from none. And if this be not so, I desire to know whether his way of arguing will not prove pagan polytheism to be more remote from atheism than christianity. He will do well to try the force of his speech in the mouth of an heathen, complaining of the tendency of christianity to atheism, by reducing his great number of gods to but one, which was so near none, and would, therefore, soon be reduced to none.

The unmasker seems to be upon the same topic, where he so pathetically complains of the socinians, , in these words; “It is enough to rob us of our God, by denying Christ to be so; but must they spoil us of all the other articles of christian faith but one?” Have a better heart, good sir, for I assure you nobody can rob you of your God, but by your own consent, nor spoil you of any of the articles of your faith. If you look for them, where God has placed them, in the holy scripture, and take them as he has framed and fashioned them there; there you will always find them safe and sound. But if they come out of an artificer’s shop, and be of human invention, I cannot answer for them: they may, for aught I know, be nothing but an idol of your own setting up, which may be pulled down, should you cry out ever so much, “Great is Diana of the Ephesians!”

He, who considers this argument of one and none, as managed by the unmasker, and observes his pathetical way of reasoning all through his book, must confess, that he has got the very philosopher’s stone in disputing. That which would be worthless lead in others, he turns into pure gold; his oratory changes its nature, and gives it the noble tincture: so that what, in plain reasoning, would be nonsense, let him but put it into a speech, or an exclamation, and there it becomes strong argument. Whether this be not so, I desire mode and figure may decide. And to those I shall desire he would reduce the proofs, which, , he says he has given of these following propositions, viz.

XXIX. “THAT I HAVE CORRUPTED MEN’S MINDS.”

XXX. “THAT I HAVE DEPRAVED THE GOSPEL.”

XXXI. “THAT I HAVE ABUSED CHRISTIANITY.”

For all these three, , he affirms of me without proof and without honesty.

Whether it be from confusion of thought, or unfairness of design; either because he has not clear distinct notions of what he would say, or finds it not to his purpose to speak them clearly out, or both together; so it is, that the unmasker very seldom, but when he rails, delivers himself so that one can certainly tell what he would have.

The question is, What is absolutely necessary to be believed by every one to make him a christian? It has been clearly made out, from an exact survey of the history of our Saviour and his apostles, that the whole aim of all their preaching every-where was, to convince the unbelieving world of these two great truths; first, That there was one, eternal, invisible God, maker of heaven and earth: and next, that Jesus of Nazareth was the Messiah, the promised King and Saviour: and that, upon men’s believing these two articles, they were baptized and admitted into the church, i. e. received as subjects of Christ’s kingdom, and pronounced believers. From whence it unavoidably follows, that these two are the only truths necessary to be believed to make a man a christian.

This matter of fact is so evident from the whole tenour of the four Gospels and the Acts; and presses so hard, that the unmasker, who contends for a great number of other points necessary to be believed to make a man a christian, thinks himself concerned to give some answer to it; but, in his usual way, full of uncertainty and confusion. To clear this matter, he lays down four particulars; the first is, , “That the believing Jesus to be the promised Messiah, was the first step to christianity.”

The second, , “That though this one proposition, (viz. of Jesus the Messiah) be mentioned alone in some places, yet there is reason to think, and be persuaded, that at the same time other matters of faith were proposed.”

The third, , “That though there are several parts and members of the christian faith, yet they do not all occur in any one place of scripture.”

The fourth, , “That christianity was erected by degrees.”

These particulars he tells us, , “he offers to clear an objection.” To see, therefore, whether they are pertinent or no, we must examine what the objection is, as he puts it. I think it might have been put in a few words: this I am sure, it ought to have been put very clear and distinct. But the unmasker has been pleased to give it us, , as followeth, “Because I designed these papers for the satisfying of the reader’s doubts, about any thing occurring, concerning the matter before us, and for the establishing of his wavering mind; I will here (before I pass to the second general head of my discourse) answer a query, or objection, which some, and not without some show of ground, may be apt to start: how comes it to pass, they will say, that this article of faith, viz. that Jesus is the Messiah, or Christ, is so often repeated in the New Testament? Why is this sometimes urged, without the mentioning of any other article of belief? Doth not this plainly show, that this is all that is required to be believed, as necessary to make a man a christian? May we not infer, from the frequent and sole repetition of this article in several places of the evangelists and the Acts, that there is no other point of faith of absolute necessity; but that this alone is sufficient to constitute a man a true member of Christ?”

By which he shows, that he is uncertain which way to put the objection, so as may be easiest to get rid of it: and therefore he has turned it several ways, and put several questions about it. As first,

“Why this article of faith,” viz. that Jesus is the Messiah, “is often so repeated in the New Testament?”

His next question is, “Why is this sometimes urged without the mentioning any other article of belief?” which supposes, that sometimes other articles of belief are mentioned with it.

The third question is, “May we not infer, from the frequent and sole repetition of this article, in several places of the evangelists and Acts?”

Which last question is in effect, Why is this so frequently and alone repeated in the evangelists and the Acts? i. e. in the preachings of our Saviour and his apostles to unbelievers. For of that he must give an account, if he will remove the difficulty. Which three, though put as one, yet are three as distinct questions, and demand a reason for three as distinct matters of fact, as these three are, viz. frequently proposed: sometimes proposed alone; and always proposed alone, in the preachings of our Saviour and his apostles: for so in truth it was all through the Gospels and the Acts, to the unconverted believers of one God alone.

These three questions being thus jumbled together in one objection, let us see how the four particulars, he mentions, will account for them.

The first of them is this: “That believing Jesus to be the promised Messias,” was, says he, “the first step to christianity.” Let it be so: What do you infer from thence? The next words show: “therefore this, rather than any other article, was propounded to be believed by all those, whom either our Saviour or his apostles invited to embrace christianity.” Let your premises be ever so true, and your deduction of this proposition be ever so regular from them, it is all lost labour. This conclusion is not the proposition you were to prove. Your questions were, “Why this article is so often proposed?” And in those frequent repetitions, “Why sometimes urged alone, and why always proposed alone, viz. to those whom either our Saviour or his apostles invited to embrace christianity?” And your answer is, Because the believing “Jesus to be the Messias, was the first step to christianity.” This therefore remains upon you to be proved,

XXXII. “THAT, BECAUSE THE BELIEVING JESUS TO BE THE MESSIAS IS THE FIRST STEP TO CHRISTIANITY, THEREFORE THIS ARTICLE IS FREQUENTLY PROPOSED IN THE NEW TESTAMENT, IS SOMETIMES PROPOSED WITHOUT THE MENTIONING ANY OTHER ARTICLE, AND ALWAYS ALONE TO UNBELIEVERS.”

And when you have proved this, I shall desire you to apply it to our present controversy.

His next answer to those questions is in these words, , “That though this one proposition, or article, be mentioned alone in some places, yet there is reason to think, and be persuaded, that at the same time other matters of faith were proposed.” From whence it lies upon him to make out this reasoning, viz.

XXXIII. “THAT BECAUSE THERE IS REASON TO THINK, AND BE PERSUADED, THAT AT THE SAME TIME THAT THIS ONE ARTICLE WAS MENTIONED ALONE, (AS IT WAS SOMETIMES,) OTHER MATTERS OF FAITH WERE PROPOSED: THEREFORE THIS ARTICLE WAS OFTEN PROPOSED IN THE NEW TESTAMENT; SOMETIMES PROPOSED ALONE; AND ALWAYS PROPOSED ALONE, IN THE PREACHINGS OF OUR SAVIOUR AND HIS APOSTLES TO UNBELIEVERS.”

This I set down to show the force of his answer to his questions: supposing it to be true, not that I grant it to be true, that where “this one article is mentioned alone, we have reason to think, and be persuaded, that at the same time other matters of faith [i. e. articles of faith necessary to be believed to make a man a christian] were proposed:” and I doubt not but to show the contrary.

His third particular, in answer to the question proposed in his objection, stands thus, , “That though there are several parts and members of the christian faith, yet they do not all occur in any one place of the scripture;” which answer lays it upon him to prove,

XXXIV. THAT BECAUSE “THE SEVERAL PARTS OF THE MEMBERS OF THE CHRISTIAN FAITH DO NOT ALL OCCUR IN ANY ONE PLACE OF SCRIPTURE,” THEREFORE THIS ARTICLE, THAT JESUS WAS THE “MESSIAS, WAS OFTEN PROPOSED IN THE NEW TESTAMENT, SOMETIMES PROPOSED ALONE, AND ALWAYS PROPOSED ALONE,” IN THE PREACHINGS OF OUR SAVIOUR AND HIS APOSTLES, THROUGH THE HISTORY OF THE EVANGELISTS AND THE ACTS.

The fourth and last particular, which he tell us is the main answer to the objection, is in these words, page 78,

“That christianity was erected by degrees.”

Which requires him to make out his argument, viz.

XXXV. “THAT BECAUSE CHRISTIANITY WAS ERECTED BY DEGREES, THEREFORE THIS ARTICLE, THAT JESUS WAS THE MESSIAS, WAS OFTEN PROPOSED IN THE NEW TESTAMENT, SOMETIMES PROPOSED ALONE, AND ALWAYS PROPOSED ALONE IN THE PREACHINGS OF OUR SAVIOUR AND HIS APOSTLES TO UNBELIEVERS, RECORDED IN THE HISTORY OF THE EVANGELISTS AND ACTS.”

For, as I said before, in these three questions he has put his objection; to which he tells us, this is the main answer.

Of these four particulars it is, that he says, , to “clear this objection, and to give a full and satisfactory answer to all doubts in this affair, I offer these ensuing particulars, which will lead the reader to the right understanding of the whole case.”

How well they have cleared the objection, may be seen by barely setting them down as answers to the questions, wherein he puts the objection.

This is all I have hitherto done; whereby is very visible, how well (supposing them true) they clear the objection: and how pertinently they are brought to answer those questions wherein his objection is contained. Perhaps it will be said, that neither these, nor any thing else, can be an apposite answer to those questions put so together. I answer, I am of the same mind. But if the unmasker through ignorance or shuffling, will talk thus confusedly, he must answer for it. He calls all his three questions, one objection, over and over again: and therefore, which of those questions it does or does not lie in, I shall not trouble myself to divine; since I think he himself cannot tell: for whichever he takes of them, it will involve him in equal difficulties. I now proceed to examine his particulars themselves, and the truth contained in them. The first, , stands thus:

“The believing of Jesus to be the promised Messias was the first step to christianity. It was that which made way for the embracing of all the other articles, a passage to all the rest.” Answ. If this be, as he would have it, only the leading article, amongst a great many others, equally necessary to be believed, to make a man a christian; this is a reason why it should be constantly preached in the first place: but this is no reason why this alone should be so often repeated, and the other necessary points not be once mentioned. For I desire to know what those other articles are that, in the preaching of our Saviour and his apostles, are repeated or urged besides this?

In the next place, if it be true, that this article, viz. that Jesus is the Messiah, was only the first in order amongst a great many articles, as necessary to be believed; how comes it to pass, that barely upon the proposal and believing of this, men were admitted into the church as believers? The history of the New Testament is full of instances of this, as Acts viii. 5, 12, 13. ix. and in other places.

Though it be true, what the unmasker says here, “That if they did not give credit to this in the first place, that Jesus of Nazareth was that eminent and extraordinary person prophesied of long before, and that he was sent and commissioned by God; there could be no hope that they would attend to any other proposals, relating to the christian religion;” yet what he subjoins, “that this is the true reason, why that article was constantly propounded to be believed by all that looked towards christianity, and why it is mentioned so often in the evangelical writings,” is not true. For, first, this supposes that there were other articles joined with it. This he should have first proved, and then given the reason for it; and not, as he does here, suppose what is in question, and then give a reason why it is so; and such a reason that is inconsistent with the matter of fact, that is every-where recorded in holy writ. For if the true reason why the preaching of this article, “that Jesus was the Messiah,” as it is recorded in the history of the New Testament, were only to make way for the other articles, one must needs think, that either our Saviour and his apostles (with reverence be it spoken) were very strange preachers; or, that the evangelists, and author of the Acts, were very strange historians. The first were to instruct the world in a new religion, consisting of a great number of articles, says the unmasker, necessary to be believed to make a man a christian, i. e. a great number of propositions, making a large system, every one whereof is so necessary for a man to understand and believe, that if any one be omitted, he cannot be of that religion. What now did our Saviour and his apostles do? Why, if the unmasker may be believed, they went up and down with danger of their lives, and preached to the world. What did they preach? Even this single proposition to make way for the rest, viz. “This is the eminent man sent from God,” to teach you other things: which amounts to no more but this, that Jesus was the person which was to teach them the true religion, but the true religion itself is not to be found in all their preaching; nay, scarce a word of it. Can there be any thing more ridiculous than this? And yet this was all they preached, if it be true, that this was all they meant by the preaching every-where, Jesus to be the Messiah, and if it were only an introduction, and a making way for the doctrines of the gospel. But it is plain, it was called the gospel itself. Let the unmasker, as a true successor of the apostles, go and preach the gospel, as the apostles did, to some part of the heathen world, where the name of Christ is not known: would not he himself, and every body think, he was very foolishly employed, if he should tell them nothing but this, that Jesus was the person promised and sent from God to reveal the true religion; but should teach them nothing of that true religion, but this preliminary article? Such the unmasker makes all the preaching, recorded in the New Testament, for the conversion of the unbelieving world. He makes the preaching of our Saviour and his apostles to be no more but this, that the great prophet promised to the world was come, and that Jesus was he: but what his doctrine was, that they were silent in, and taught not one article of it. But the unmasker misrepresents it: for as to his accusing the historians, the evangelists, and writers of the Acts of the apostles, for their shameful omission of the whole doctrine of the christian religion, to save his hypothesis, as he does under his next head, in these words: “that though this one proposition be mentioned alone in some places, yet there is reason to think, and be persuaded, that at the same time other matters of faith were proposed;” I shall show how bold he makes with those inspired historians, when I come to consider that particular.

How ridiculous, how senseless, this bold unmasker, and reformer of the history of the New Testament, makes the preaching of our Saviour and his apostles, as it stands recorded of them by infallible writers, is visible. But taking it, as in truth it is there, we shall have a quite other view of it. Our Saviour preached everywhere the kingdom of God; and by his miracles declared himself to be the king of that kingdom. The apostles preached the same, and after his ascension, openly avowed him to be the Prince and Saviour promised: but preached not this as a bare speculative article of simple belief; but that men might receive him for their King, and become his subjects. When they told the world that he was the Christ, it was not as the unmasker will have it: believe this man to be a prophet, and then he will teach you his new religion; which when you have received and embraced all and every article thereof, which are a great number, you will then be christians, if you be not ignorant or incredulous of any of them. But it was, believe this man to be your King sent from God; take him for such, with a resolution to observe the laws he has given you; and you are his subjects, you are christians. For those that truly did so, made themselves his subjects; and to continue so, there was no more required, than a sincere endeavour to know his will in all things, and to obey it. Such a preaching as this, of Jesus to be the Messiah, the King and Deliverer, that God almighty had promised to mankind, and now had effectually sent, to be their Prince and Ruler, was not a simple preparation to the gospel: but, when received with the obedience of faith, was the very receiving of the gospel, and had all that was requisite to make men christians. And without it be so understood, nobody can clear the preaching of our Saviour and his apostles from that incredible imperfection, or their historians from that unpardonable negligence, and not doing either what they ought, or what they undertook, which our unmasker hath so impiously charged upon them; as will appear yet plainer, in what I have to say to the unmasker’s next particular. For, as to the remainder of this paragraph, it contains nothing but his censure and contempt of me, for not being of his mind, for not seeing as he sees, i. e. in effect not laying that blame which he does, either on the preaching of our Saviour and his apostles, or on the inspired writings of their historians, to make them comply with his system, and the christianity he would make.

The unmasker’s second particular, , tells us, “That though this one proposition or article be mentioned alone in some places, yet there is reason to think and be persuaded, that at the same time other matters of faith were proposed. For it is confessed, by all intelligent and observing men, that the history of the scripture is concise; and that in relating matter of fact, many passages are omitted by the sacred penmen. Wherefore, though but this one article of belief (because it is a leading one, and makes way for the rest) be expressly mentioned in some of the gospels, yet we must not conclude thence, that no other matter of faith was required to be admitted of. For things are briefly set down in the evangelical records, and we must suppose many things which are not in direct terms related.”

Answ. The unmasker here keeps to his usual custom of speaking in doubtful terms. He says, that where this one article that Jesus is the Messiah, is alone recorded in the preaching of our Saviour and his apostles; “We have reason to be persuaded, that at the same time other matters of faith were proposed.” If this be to his purpose, by matters of faith, must be meant fundamental articles of faith, absolutely necessary to be believed by every man to make him a christian. That such matters of faith are omitted, in the history of the preaching of our Saviour and his apostles, by the sacred historians; this, he says, “we have reason to be persuaded of.”

Answ. They need be good reasons to persuade a rational man, that the evangelists, in their history of our Saviour and his apostles, (if they were but ordinarily fair and prudent men,) did, in an history published to instruct the world in a new religion, leave out the necessary and fundamental parts of that religion. But let them be considered as inspired writers, under the conduct of the infallible Spirit of God, putting them upon, and directing them in, the writing of this history of the gospel: and then it is impossible for any christian, but the unmasker, to think, that they made any such gross omissions, contrary to the design of their writing, without a demonstration to convince him of it. Now all the reason that our unmasker gives is this: “That it is confessed by all intelligent and observing men, that the history of the scripture is concise; and that in relating matters of fact, many passages are omitted by the sacred penmen.”

Answ. The unmasker might have spared the confession of intelligent and observing men, after so plain a declaration of St. John himself, chap. xx. 31, “Many other things did Jesus in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book.” And again, xxi. 25, “There are also many other things that Jesus did, the which if they should be written every one, I suppose the world could not contain the books that should be written.” There needs, therefore, no opinion of intelligent and observing men to convince us, that the history of the gospel is so far concise, that a great many matters of fact are omitted, and a great many less material circumstances, even of those that are set down. But will any intelligent or observing man, any one that bears the name of a christian, have the impudence to say, that the inspired writers, in the relation they give us of what Christ and his apostles preached to unbelievers to convert them to the faith, omitted the fundamental articles, which those preachers proposed to make men christians; and without a belief of which, they could not be christians?

The unmasker talks after his wonted fashion; i. e. seems to say something, which, when examined, proves nothing to his purpose. He tells us, “That in some places,” where the article of “Jesus the Messiah is mentioned alone, at the same time other matters of faith were proposed.” I ask, were these other matters of faith all the unmasker’s necessary articles? If not, what are those other matters of faith to the unmasker’s purpose? As for example, in St. Peter’s sermon, Acts ii. “Other matters of faith were proposed with the article of Jesus the Messiah.” But what does this make for his fundamental articles: were they all proposed with the article of Jesus the Messiah? If not, unbelievers were converted, and brought into the church, without the unmasker’s necessary articles. Three thousand were added to the church by this one sermon. I pass by, now, St. Luke’s not mentioning a syllable of the greatest part of the unmasker’s necessary articles; and shall consider only, how long that sermon may have been. It is plain from ver. 15, that it began not until about nine in the morning; and from ver. 41, that before night three thousand were converted and baptized. Now I ask the unmasker, Whether so small a number of hours, as Peter must necessarily employ in preaching to them, were sufficient to instruct such a mixed multitude so fully in all those articles, which he has proposed as necessary to be believed to make a man a christian; as that every one of those three thousand, that were that day baptized, did understand, and explicitly believe every one of those his articles, just in the sense of our unmasker’s system? Not to mention those remaining articles, which the unmasker will not be able, in twice as many months, to find and declare to us.

He says, “That in some places,” where the article of “Jesus the Messiah is mentioned alone, at the same time other matters of faith were proposed:” Let us take this to be so at present, yet this helps not the unmasker’s case. The fundamental articles, that were proposed by our Saviour and his apostles, necessary to be believed to make men christians, are not set down; but only this single one, of “Jesus the Messiah:” therefore, will any one dare to say they are omitted everywhere by the evangelists? Did the historians of the gospel make their relation so concise and short, that giving an account in so many places of the preaching of our Saviour and his apostles, for the conversion of the unbelieving world, they did not in any one place, nor in all of them together, set down the necessary points of that faith, which their unbelieving hearers were converted to? If they did not, how can their histories be called the Gospels of Jesus Christ? Or how can they serve to the end for which they were written? Which was to publish to the world the doctrine of Jesus Christ, that men might be brought into his religion. Now I challenge the unmasker to show me, not out of any one place, but out of all the preachings of our Saviour and his apostles, recorded in the four Gospels, and in the Acts, all those propositions which he has reckoned up as fundamental articles of faith. If they are not to be found there, it is plain, that either they are not articles of faith, necessary to be believed to make a man a christian; or else, that those inspired writers have given us an account of the gospel, or christian religion, wherein the greatest part of the doctrines necessary to be believed to make a man a christian, are wholly omitted. Which in short is to say, that the christianity, which is recorded in the Gospels and the Acts, is not that christianity which is sufficient to make a man a christian. This (as absurd and impious as it is) is what our unmasker charges upon the conciseness (as he is pleased to call it) of the evangelical history. And this we must take upon his word, though these inspired writers tell us the direct contrary: for St. Luke, in his preface to his gospel, tells Theophilus, that having a perfect knowledge of all things, the design of his writing was to set them in order, that he might know the certainty of those things that were believed amongst christians. And his history of the Acts begins thus: “The former treatise [i. e. his gospel] have I made, O Theophilus, of all that Jesus began to do and to teach.” So that, how concise soever the unmasker will have his history to be, he professes it to contain all that Jesus taught. Which all must, in the narrowest sense that can be given it, contain at least all things necessary to make a man a christian. It would else be a very lame and imperfect history of all that Jesus taught, if the faith contained in it were not sufficient to make a man a christian. This indeed, as the unmasker hath been pleased to term it, would be a very lank faith, a very lank gospel.

St. John also says thus, of his history of the gospel, chap. xx. 30, 31, “Many other signs truly did Jesus, in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book:” so far his history is, by his own confession, concise. “But these,” says he, “are written that ye might believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God; and that, believing, ye might have life through his name.” As concise as it was, there was yet (if the apostle’s word may be taken for it against the unmasker’s) enough contained in his gospel, for the procuring of eternal life, to those who believed it. And, whether it was that one article that he here sets down, viz. That Jesus was the Messiah, or that set of articles which the unmasker gives us, I shall leave to this modern divine to resolve. And, if he thinks still, that all the articles he has set down in his roll, are necessary to be believed to make a man a christian, I must desire him to show them to me in St. John’s gospel, or else to convince the world, that St. John was mistaken, when he said, that he had written his gospel, that men might believe that “Jesus was the Messiah, the Son of God; and that, believing, they might have life through his name.”

So that, granting the history of the scripture to be so concise, as the unmasker would have it, viz. that in some places the infallible writers, recording the discourses of our Saviour and his apostles, omitted all the other fundamental articles proposed by them to be believed to make men christians, but this one, that Jesus was the Messiah; yet this will not remove the objection that lies against his other fundamentals, which are not to be found in the histories of the four evangelists; nay, not to be found in any one of them. If every one of them contains the gospel of Jesus Christ, and consequently all things necessary to salvation, whether this will not be a new ground of accusation against me, and give the unmasker a right to charge me with laying by three of the gospels with contempt, as well as he did before charge me with a contempt of the epistles; must be left to his sovereign authority to determine.

Having showed that, allowing all he says here to be as he would have it, yet it clears not the objection that lies against his fundamentals; I shall now examine what truth there is in what he here pretends, viz. that though the one article, That Jesus is the Messiah, be mentioned “alone in some places, yet we have reason to be persuaded, from the conciseness of the” scripture history, that there were, at the same time, joined with it other necessary articles of faith, in the preaching of our Saviour and his apostles.

It is to be observed, that the unmasker builds upon this false supposition, that in some places, other necessary articles of faith, joined with that of Jesus the Messiah, are by the evangelists mentioned to be proposed by our Saviour and his apostles, as necessary to be believed to make those they preached to christians. For his saying, that in some places, that “one necessary article is mentioned alone,” implies, that in other places it is not mentioned alone, but joined with other necessary articles. But when it will remain upon him to show,

XXXVI. “IN WHAT PLACE, EITHER OF THE GOSPELS OR OF THE ACTS, OTHER ARTICLES OF FAITH ARE JOINED WITH THIS, AND PROPOSED AS NECESSARY TO BE BELIEVED TO MAKE MEN CHRISTIANS.”

The unmasker, it is probable, will tell us, that the article of Christ’s resurrection is sometimes joined with this of the Messiah, as particularly in that first sermon of St. Peter, Acts ii. by which there were three thousand added to the church at one time. Answ. This sermon, well considered, will explain to us both the preaching of the apostles; what it was that they proposed to their unbelieving auditors, to make them christians; and also the manner of St. Luke’s recording their sermons. It is true, that here are delivered by St. Peter many other matters of faith, besides that of Jesus being the Messiah; for all that he said, being of divine authority, is matter of faith, and may not be disbelieved. The first part of his discourse is to prove to the Jews, that what they had observed of extraordinary at that time, amongst the disciples, who spake variety of tongues, did not proceed from wine, but from the Holy Ghost; and that this was the pouring out of the Spirit, prophesied of by the prophet Joel. This is all matter of faith, and is written, that it might be believed: but yet I think, that neither the unmasker, nor any body else will say, that this is such a necessary article of faith, that no man could, without an explicit belief of it, be a christian; though, being a declaration of the Holy Ghost by St. Peter, it is so much a matter of faith, that no-body to whom it is now proposed, can deny it, and be a christian. And thus all the scripture of the New Testament, given by divine inspiration, is matter of faith, and necessary to be believed by all christians, to whom it is proposed. But yet I do not think any one so unreasonable as to say, that every proposition in the New Testament is a fundamental article of faith, which is required explicitly to be believed to make a man a christian.

Here now is a matter of faith joined, in the same sermon, with this fundamental article, that “Jesus is the Messiah;” and reported by the sacred historian so at large, that it takes up a third part of St. Peter’s sermon, recorded by St. Luke: and yet it is such a matter of faith, as is not contained in the unmasker’s catalogue of necessary articles. I must ask him then, whether St. Luke were so concise an historian, that he would so at large set down a matter of faith, proposed by St. Peter, that was not necessary to be believed to make a man a christian, and wholly leave out the very mention of all the unmasker’s additional necessary articles, if indeed they were necessary to be believed to make men christians? I know not how any one could charge the historian with greater unfaithfulness, or greater folly. But this the unmasker sticks not at, to preserve to himself the power of appointing what shall, and what shall not, be necessary articles: and of making his system the christianity necessary, and only necessary to be received.

The next thing that St. Peter proceeds to, in this his sermon, is, to declare to the unbelieving jews that Jesus of Nazareth, who had done miracles amongst them, whom they had crucified, and put to death, and whom God had raised again from the dead, was the Messiah.

Here indeed our Saviour’s crucifixion, death, and resurrection, are mentioned: and if they were no-where else recorded, are matters of faith; which, with all the rest of the New Testament, ought to be believed by every christian, to whom it is thus proposed, as a part of divine revelation. But that these were not here proposed to the unbelieving jews, as the fundamental articles, which St. Peter principally aimed at, and endeavoured to convince them of, is evident from hence, that they are made use of, as arguments to persuade them of this fundamental truth, viz. that Jesus was the Messiah, whom they ought to take for their Lord and Ruler. For whatsoever is brought as an argument, to prove another truth, cannot be thought to be the principal thing aimed at, in that argumentation; though it may have so strong and immediate a connection with the conclusion, that you cannot deny it, without denying even what is inferred from it, and is therefore the fitter to be an argument to prove it. But that our Saviour’s crucifixion, death, and resurrection, were used here as arguments to persuade them into a belief of this fundamental article, that Jesus was the Messiah, and not as propositions of a new faith they were to receive, is evident from hence, that St. Peter preached here to those who knew the death and crucifixion of Jesus as well as he; and therefore these could not be proposed to them, as new articles of faith to be believed; but those matters of fact being what the jews knew already, were a good argument, joined with his resurrection, to convince them of that truth, which he endeavoured to give them a belief of. And therefore he rightly inferred, from these facts joined together, this conclusion, the believing whereof would make them christians: “Therefore let all the house of Israel know assuredly, that God hath made that same Jesus, whom ye have crucified, Lord and Christ.” To the making good this sole proposition, his whole discourse tended: this was the sole truth he laboured to convince them of; this the faith he endeavoured to bring them into; which as soon as they had received with repentance, they were by baptism admitted into the church, and three thousand at once were made christians.

Here St. Luke’s own confession, without that “of intelligent and observing men,” which the unmasker has recourse to, might have satisfied him again, “that in relating matters of fact, many passages were omitted by the sacred penmen.” For, says St. Luke here, ver. 40, “And with many other words,” which are not set down.

One would, at first sight, wonder why the unmasker neglects these demonstrative authorities of the holy penmen themselves, where they own their omissions, to tell us, that it is “confessed by all intelligent and observing men, that in relating matters of fact, many passages were omitted by the sacred penmen.” St. John, in what he says of his gospel, directly professes large omissions, and so does St. Luke here. But these omissions would not serve the unmasker’s turn; for they are directly against him, and what he would have: and therefore he had reason to pass them by. For St. John, in that passage above cited, chap. xx. 30, 31, tells us, that how much soever he had left out of his history, he had inserted that which was enough to be believed to eternal life: “but these are written, that ye might believe, and believing, ye might have life.” But this is not all he assures us of, viz. that he had recorded all that was necessary to be believed to eternal life; but he, in express words, tells us what is that all, that is necessary to be believed to eternal life: and for the proof of which proposition alone, he writ all the rest of his gospel, viz. that we might believe. What? even this: “That Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God,” and that, believing this, we “might have life through his name.”

This may serve as a key to us, in reading the history of the New Testament; and show us why this article, that Jesus was the Messiah, is no-where omitted, though a great part of the arguments used to convince men of it, nay, very often the whole discourse, made to lead men into the belief of it, be intirely omitted. The Spirit of God directed them every-where to set down the article, which was absolutely necessary to be believed to make men christians; so that that could no ways be doubted of, nor mistaken: but the arguments and evidences, which were to lead men into this faith, would be sufficient, if they were once found anywhere, though scattered here and there, in those writings, whereof that infallible Spirit was the author. This preserved the decorum used in all histories, and avoided those continual, large, and unnecessary repetitions, which our critical unmasker might have called tedious, with juster reason than he does the repetition of this short proposition, that Jesus is the Messiah; which I set down no oftener in my book, than the Holy Ghost thought fit to insert it in the history of the New Testament, as concise as it is. But this, it seems to our nice unmasker, is “tedious, tedious and offensive.” And if a christian, and a successor of the apostles, cannot bear the being so often told, what it was that our Saviour and his apostles every-where preached to the believers of one God, though it be contained in one short proposition; what cause of exception and disgust would it have been to heathen readers, some whereof might, perhaps, have been as critical as the unmasker, if this sacred history had, in every page, been filled with the repeated discourses of the apostles, all of them everywhere to the same purpose, viz. to persuade men to believe, that Jesus was the Messiah? It was necessary, even by the laws of history, as often as their preaching anywhere was mentioned, to tell to what purpose they spoke; which being always to convince men of this one fundamental truth, it is no wonder we find it so often repeated. But the arguments and reasonings with which this one point is urged, are, as they ought to be, in most places, left out. A constant repetition of them had been superfluous, and consequently might justly have been blamed as “tedious.” But there is enough recorded abundantly to convince any rational man, any one not wilfully blind, that he is that promised Saviour. And, in this, we have a reason of the omissions in the history of the New Testament; which were no other than such as became prudent, as well as faithful writers. Much less did that conciseness (with which the unmasker would cover his bold censure of the Gospels and the Acts, and, as it seems, lay them by with contempt) make the holy writers omit any thing, in the preaching of our Saviour and his apostles, absolutely necessary to be known and believed to make men christians.

Conformable hereunto, we shall find St. Luke writes his history of the Acts of the Apostles. In the beginning of it, he sets down at large some of the discourses made to the unbelieving jews. But in most other places, unless it be where there was something particular in the circumstances of the matter, he contents himself to tell to what purpose they spoke: which was everywhere only this, that Jesus was the Messiah. Nay, St. Luke, in the first speech of St. Peter, Acts ii. which he thought fit to give us a great part of, yet owns the omission of several things that the apostle said. For, having expressed this fundamental doctrine, that Jesus was the Messiah, and recorded several of the arguments wherewith St. Peter urged it, for the conversion of the unbelieving jews, his auditors, he adds, ver. 40, “And with many other words did he testify and exhort, saying, Save yourselves from this untoward generation.” Here he confesses, that he omitted a great deal which St. Peter had said to persuade them, To what? To that which, in other words, he had just said before, ver. 38, “Repent and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ,” i. e. Believe Jesus to be the Messiah, take him as such for your Lord and King, and reform your lives by a sincere resolution of obedience to his laws.

Thus we have an account of the omissions in the records of matters of fact in the New Testament. But will the unmasker say, That the preaching of those articles that he has given us, as necessary to be believed to make a man a christian, was part of those matters of fact, which have been omitted in the history of the New Testament? Can any one think, that “the corruption and degeneracy of human nature, with the true original of it, (the defection of our first parents,) the propagation of sin and mortality, our restoration and reconciliation by Christ’s blood, the eminency and excellency of his priesthood, the efficacy of his death, the full satisfaction thereby made to divine justice, and his being made an all-sufficient sacrifice for sin, our justification by Christ’s righteousness, election, adoption,” &c. were all proposed, and that too, in the sense of our author’s system, by our Saviour and his apostles, as fundamental articles of faith, necessary to be explicitly believed by every man, to make him a christian, in all their discourses to unbelievers; and yet that the inspired penmen of those histories every-where left the mention of these fundamental articles wholly out? This would have been to have writ, not a concise, but an imperfect history of all that Jesus and his apostles taught.

What an account would it have been of the gospel, as it was first preached and propagated, if the greatest part of the necessary doctrines of it were wholly left out, and a man could not find, from one end to the other of this whole history, that religion which is necessary to be believed to make a man a christian? And yet this is that, which, under the notion of their being concise, the unmasker would persuade us to have been done by St. Luke and the other evangelists, in their histories. And it is no less than what he plainly says, in his “Thoughts concerning the causes of atheism,” , where, to aggravate my fault, in passing by the epistles, and to show the necessity of searching in them for fundamentals, he in words blames me; but in effect condemns the sacred history contained in the Gospels and the Acts. “It is most evident,” says he, “to any thinking man, that the author of the Reasonableness of christianity, purposely omits the epistolary writings of the apostles, because they are fraught with other fundamental doctrines, besides that one which he mentions. There we are instructed concerning these grand heads of christian divinity.” Here, i. e. in the epistles, says he, “there are discoveries concerning satisfaction,” &c. And, in the close of his list of grand heads, as he calls them, some whereof I have above set down out of him, he adds, “These are the matters of faith contained in the epistles.” By all which expressions he plainly signifies, that these, which he calls fundamental doctrines, are none of those we are instructed in, in the Gospels and the Acts; that they are not discovered nor contained in the historical writings of the evangelists: whereby he confesses, that either our Saviour and his apostles did not propose them in their preachings to their unbelieving hearers; or else, that the several faithful writers of their history, wilfully, i. e. unfaithfully, every-where omitted them in the account they have left us of those preachings; which could scarce possibly be done by them all, and every-where, without an actual combination amongst them, to smother the greatest and most material parts of our Saviour’s and his apostles discourses. For what else did they, if all that the unmasker has set down in his list be fundamental doctrines; every one of them absolutely necessary to be believed to make a man a christian, which our Saviour and his apostles every-where preached, to make men christians? but yet St. Luke, and the other evangelists, by a very guilty and unpardonable conciseness, every-where omitted them, and throughout their whole history, never once tell us, they were so much as proposed, much less, that they were those articles which the apostles laboured to establish and convince men of every-where, before they admitted them to baptism? Nay the far greatest part of them, the history they writ does not any-where so much as once mention? How, after such an imputation as this, the unmasker will clear himself from laying by the four Gospels and the Acts with contempt, let him look; if my not collecting fundamentals out of the epistles had that guilt in it. For I never denied all the fundamental doctrines to be there, but only said, that there they were not easy to be found out, and distinguished from doctrines not fundamental. Whereas our good unmasker charges the historical books of the New Testament with a total omission of the far greatest part of those fundamental doctrines of christianity, which he says, are absolutely necessary to be believed to make a man a christian.

To convince the reader what was absolutely required to be believed to make a man a christian, and thereby clear the holy writers from the unmasker’s slander, any one need but look a little farther into the history of the Acts, and observe St. Luke’s method in the writing of it. In the beginning (as we observed before), and in some few other places, he sets down at large the discourses made by the preachers of christianity, to their unbelieving auditors. But in the process of his history, he generally contents himself to relate, what it was their discourses drive at; what was the doctrine they endeavoured to convince their unbelieving hearers of, to make them believers. This we may observe, is never omitted. This is every-where set down. Thus, Acts v. 42, he tells us, that “daily in the temple, and in every house, the apostles ceased not to teach, and to preach Jesus the Messiah.” The particulars of their discourses he omits, and the arguments they used to induce men to believe, he omits; but never fails to inform us carefully, what it was the apostles taught and preached, and would have men believe. The account he gives us of St. Paul’s preaching at Thessalonica, is this: That “three sabbath-days he reasoned with the jews out of the scriptures, opening and alleging, that the Messiah must needs have suffered, and risen again from the dead; and that Jesus was the Messiah; Acts xvii. 2, 3. At Corinth, that he reasoned in the synagogue every sabbath, and persuaded the jews and the Greeks, and testified that Jesus was the Messiah;” xviii. 4, 5. That “Apollos mightily convinced the jews, showing by the Scriptures, that Jesus was the Messiah;” xviii. 28.

By these, and the like places, we may be satisfied what it was, that the apostles taught and preached, even this one proposition, That Jesus was the Messiah: for this was the sole proposition they reasoned about; this alone they testified, and they showed out of the scriptures; and of this alone they endeavoured to convince the jews and the Greeks, that believed one God. So that it is plain from hence, that St. Luke omitted nothing, that the apostles taught and preached; none of those doctrines that it was necessary to convince unbelievers of, to make them christians; though he, in most places, omitted, as was fit, the passages of scripture which they alleged, and the arguments those inspired preachers used to persuade men to believe and embrace that doctrine.

Another convincing argument, to show that St. Luke omitted none of those fundamental doctrines, which the apostles any-where proposed as necessary to be believed, is from that different account he gives us of their preaching in other places, and to auditors otherwise disposed. Where the apostles had to do with idolatrous heathens, who were not yet come to the knowledge of the only true God, there, he tells us, they proposed also the article of the one invisible God, maker of heaven and earth: and this we find recorded in him out of their preaching to the Lystrians, Acts xiv. and to the Athenians, Acts xvii. In the latter of which St. Luke, to convince his reader, that he, out of conciseness, omits none of those fundamental articles, that were any-where proposed by the preachers of the gospel, as necessary to be believed to make men christians, sets down not only the article of Jesus the Messiah, but that also of the one invisible God, creator of all things; which, if any necessary one might, this of all other fundamental articles might, by an author that affected brevity, with the fairest excuse, have been omitted, as being implied in that other, of the Messiah ordained by God. Indeed in the story of what Paul and Barnabas said at Lystra, the article of the Messiah is not mentioned. Not that St. Luke omitted that fundamental article, where the apostles taught it: but, they having here begun their preaching with that of the one living God, they had not, as appears, time to proceed farther, and propose to them what yet remained to make them christians: all that they could do, at that time, was, to hinder the people from sacrificing to them. And, before we hear any more of their preaching, they were, by the instigation of the jews, fallen upon, and Paul stoned.

This, by the way, shows the unmasker’s mistake in his first particular, , where he says (as he does here again, in the second particular, which we are now examining) that “believing Jesus to be the Messiah is the first step to christianity; and therefore this, rather than any other, was propounded to be believed by all those, whom either our Saviour, or the apostles, invited to embrace christianity.” The contrary whereof appears here; where the article of one God is proposed in the first place, to those whose unbelief made such a proposal necessary. And therefore, if his reason (which he uses again here, ) were good, viz. That the article of the Messiah is expressly mentioned alone, “because it is a leading article, and makes way for the rest,” this reason would rather conclude for the article of one God; and that alone should be expressly mentioned, instead of the other. Since, as he argues for the other, , “If they did not believe this, in the first place,” viz. that there was one God, “there could be no hopes that they would attend unto any other proposal, relating to the christian religion. The vanity and falsehood of which reasoning, viz. that “the article of Jesus the Messiah was every-where propounded, rather than any other, because it was the leading article,” we see in the history of St. Paul’s preaching to the Athenians. St. Luke mentions more than one article, where more than one was proposed by St. Paul; though the first of them was that leading article of one God, which if not received, “in the first place, there could be no hope they would attend to the rest.”

Something the unmasker would make of this argument, of a leading article, for want of a better, though he knows not what. In his first particular, , he makes use of it to show, why there was but that one article proposed by the first preachers of the gospel; and how well that succeeds with him, we have seen. For this is demonstration, that if there were but that one proposed by our Saviour and the apostles, there was but that one necessary to be believed to make men christians; unless he will impiously say, that our Saviour and the apostles went about preaching to no purpose: for if they proposed not all that was necessary to make men christians, it was in vain for them to preach, and others to hear; if when they heard and believed all that was proposed to them, they were not yet christians: for if any article was omitted in the proposal, which was necessary to make a man a christian, though they believed all that was proposed to them, they could not yet be christians; unless a man can, from an infidel, become a christian, without doing what was necessary to make him a christian.

Further, if his argument, of its being a leading article, proves, that that alone was proposed, it is a contradiction to give it as a reason, why it was set down alone by the historian, where it was not proposed alone by the preacher, but other necessary “matters of faith were proposed with it;” unless it can be true, that this article, of “Jesus is the Messiah,” was proposed alone by our Saviour and his apostles, because it was a leading article, and was mentioned alone in the history of what they preached, because it was a leading article, though it were not proposed alone, but jointly with other necessary matters of faith. For this is the use he makes here again, , of his leading article, under his second particular, viz. to show why the historians mentioned this necessary article of Jesus the Messiah alone, in places where the preachers of the gospel proposed it not alone, but with other necessary articles. But, in this latter case, it has no show of a reason at all. It may be granted as reasonable for the teachers of any religion not to go any farther, where they see the first article which they propose is rejected; where the leading truth, on which all the rest depends, is not received. But it can be no reason at all for an historian, who writes the history of these first preachers, to set down only the first and leading article, and omit all the rest, in instances where more were not only proposed, but believed and embraced, and upon that the hearers and believers admitted into the church. It is not for historians to put any distinction between leading, or not leading articles; but, if they will give a true and useful account of the religion, whose original they are writing, and of the converts made to it, they must tell, not one, but all those necessary articles, upon assent to which, converts were baptized into that religion, and admitted into the church. Whoever says otherwise, accuses them of falsifying the story, misleading the readers, and giving a wrong account of the religion which they pretend to teach the world, and to preserve and propagate to future ages. This (if it were so) no pretence of conciseness could excuse or palliate.

There is yet remaining one consideration, which were sufficient of itself to convince us, that it was the sole article of faith which was preached; and that if there had been other articles necessary to be known and believed by converts, they could not, upon any pretence of conciseness, be supposed to be omitted: and that is the commissions of those, that were sent to preach the gospel. Which since the sacred historians mention, they cannot be supposed to leave out any of the material and main heads of those commissions.

St. Luke records it, chap. iv. 43, that our Saviour says of himself, “I must go into the other towns to tell the good news of the kingdom; for (εἰς τ[Editor: illegible character]το) upon this errand am I sent.” This St. Mark calls simply preaching. This preaching, what it contained, St. Matthew tells us, chap. iv. 23, “And Jesus went about all Galilee, teaching in their synagogues, and preaching the good news of the kingdom, and healing all manner of sickness and all manner of diseases among the people.” Here we have his commission, or end of his being sent, and the execution of it; both terminating in this, that he declared the good news, that the kingdom of the Messiah was come; and gave them to understand by the miracles he did, that he himself was he. Nor does St. Matthew seem to affect such conciseness, that he would have left it out, if the gospel had contained any other fundamental parts necessary to be believed to make men christians. For he here says, “All manner of sickness, and all manner of diseases,” when either of them might have been better left out, than any necessary article of the gospel, to make his history concise.

We see what our Saviour was sent for. In the next place, let us look into the commission he gave the apostles, when he sent them to preach the gospel. We have it in the tenth of St. Matthew, in these words: “Go not into the way of the gentiles, and into any city of the Samaritans enter ye not. But go rather to the lost sheep of the house of Israel. And as ye go, preach, saying, The kingdom of heaven is at hand. Heal the sick, cleanse the lepers, raise the dead, cast out devils: freely have ye received, freely give. Provide neither gold, nor silver, nor brass in your purses, nor scrip in your journey; neither two coats, neither shoes, nor yet staves, (for the workman is worthy of his meat.) And into whatsoever city, or town, ye shall enter, inquire who in it is worthy, and there abide until ye go thence. And when ye come into any house salute it. And if the house be worthy, let your peace come upon it; and if it be not worthy, let your peace return to you. And whosoever shall not receive you, nor hear your words; when ye depart out of that house, or city, shake off the dust of your feet. Verily I say unto you, it shall be more tolerable for the land of Sodom and Gomorrha, in the day of judgment, than for that city. Behold I send you forth as sheep, in the midst of wolves: be ye therefore wise as serpents, and harmless as doves. But beware of men; for they will deliver you up to the councils, and they will scourge you in their synagogues. And ye shall be brought before governors and kings for my sake, for a testimony against them and the gentiles. But when they deliver you up, take no thought, how or what ye shall speak: for it shall be given you in that same hour, what ye shall speak. For it is not ye that speak, but the spirit of your Father, which speaketh in you. And the brother shall deliver up the brother to death, and the father the child, and the children shall rise up against the parents, and cause them to be put to death. And ye shall be hated of all men, for my name’s sake: but he that endureth to the end shall be saved. But when they persecute you in this city, flee ye into another; for verily I say unto you, ye shall not have gone over the cities of Israel until the Son of man be come. The disciple is not above his master, nor the servant above his lord. It is enough for the disciple, that he be as his master, and the servant as his lord. If they have called the master of the house Beelzebub, how much more shall they call them of his household? Fear them not therefore; for there is nothing covered, which shall not be revealed; and hid, that shall not be known. What I tell you in darkness, that speak ye in light; and what ye hear in the ear, that preach ye upon the house-tops. And fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul: but rather fear him, which is able to destroy both soul and body in hell. Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? And one of them shall not fall to the ground without your Father. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear ye not therefore; ye are of more value than many sparrows. Whosoever therefore shall confess me before men, him will I confess also before my Father, which is in heaven. But whosoever shall deny me before men, him will I also deny before my Father, which is in heaven. Think not that I am come to send peace on earth: I came not to send peace, but a sword. For I am come to set a man at variance against his father, and the daughter against her mother, and the daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law. And a man’s foes shall be they of his own household. He that loveth father and mother more than me, is not worthy of me; and he that loveth son or daughter more than me, is not worthy of me. And he that taketh not his cross, and followeth after me, is not worthy of me. He that findeth his life shall lose it: and he that loseth his life for my sake, shall find it. He that receiveth you, receiveth me: and he that receiveth me, receiveth him that sent me. He that receiveth a prophet in the name of a prophet, shall receive a prophet’s reward; and he that receiveth a righteous man in the name of a righteous man, shall receive a righteous man’s reward. And whosoever shall give to drink unto one of these little ones, a cup of cold water only, in the name of a disciple, verily I say unto you, he shall in no wise lose his reward. And it came to pass, when Jesus had made an end of commanding his twelve disciples” —

This is the commission our Saviour gave his apostles, when he sent them abroad to recover and save “the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” And will any of the unmasker’s intelligent and observing men say, that the history of the “scripture is so concise, that any passages,” any essential, any material, nay, any parts at all of the apostles commission, “are here omitted by the sacred penman?” This commission is set down so at full, and so particularly, that St. Matthew, who was one of them to whom it was given, seems not to have left out one word of all that our Saviour gave him in charge. And it is so large, even to every particular article of their instructions, that I doubt not, but my citing so much, “verbatim,” out of the sacred text, will here again be troublesome to the unmasker. But whether he will venture again to call it tedious, must be as nature or caution happen to have the better on it. Can any one, who reads this commission, unless he hath the brains, as well as the brow of an unmasker, allege, that the conciseness of the history of the scripture has concealed from us those fundamental doctrines, which our Saviour and his apostles preached; but the sacred historians thought fit by consent, for unconceivable reasons, to leave out in the narrative they give us of those preachings? This passage here, wholly confuteth that. They could preach nothing but what they were sent to preach: and that we see is contained in these few words, “preach, saying, The kingdom of heaven is at hand. Heal the sick, cleanse the lepers, raise the dead, cast out devils;” i. e. acquaint them, that the kingdom of the Messiah is come, and let them know, by the miracles that you do in my name, that I am that King and Deliverer they expect. If there were any other necessary articles that were to be believed, for the saving of the lost sheep they were sent to, can one think that St. Matthew, who sets down so minutely every circumstance of their commission, would have omitted the most important and material of it? He was an ear-witness, and one that was sent: and so (without supposing him inspired) could not be misled by the short account he might receive from others, who by their own, or others forgetfulness, might have dropped those other fundamental articles, that the apostles were ordered to preach.

The very like account St. Luke gives of our Saviour’s commission to the seventy, chap. x. 1 — 16, “After these things the Lord appointed other seventy also, and sent them two and two before his face, into every city and place, whither he himself would come. Therefore said he unto them, The harvest truly is great, but the labourers are few: pray ye therefore the Lord of the harvest, that he would send forth labourers into his harvest. Go your ways: behold I send you forth as lambs among wolves. Carry neither purse, nor scrip, nor shoes: and salute no man by the way. And into whatsoever house ye enter, first say, Peace be to this house. And if the Son of peace be there, your peace shall rest upon it; if not, it shall return to you again. And in the same house remain, eating and drinking such things as they give: for the labourer is worthy of his hire. Go not from house to house. And into whatsoever city ye enter, and they receive you, eat such things as are set before you. And heal the sick that are therein, and say unto them, The kingdom of God is come nigh unto you. But into whatsoever city ye enter, and they receive you not, go your ways out into the streets of the same, and say, even the very dust of your city, which cleaveth on us, we do wipe off against you; notwithstanding, be ye sure of this, that the kingdom of God is come nigh unto you. But I say unto you, that it shall be more tolerable, in that day, for Sodom, than for that city. Woe unto thee, Chorazin! Woe unto thee, Bethsaida! For if the mighty works had been done in Tyre and Sidon, which have been done in you, they had a great while ago repented sitting in sackcloth and ashes. But it shall be more tolerable for Tyre and Sidon, at the day of judgment, than for you. And thou Capernaum, which art exalted to heaven, shalt be thrust down to hell. He that heareth you, heareth me: and he that despiseth you, despiseth me: and he that despiseth me, despiseth him that sent me.”

Our Saviour’s commission here to the seventy, whom he sent to preach, is so exactly conformable to that which he had before given to the twelve apostles, that there needs but this one thing more to be observed, to convince any one that they were sent to convert their hearers to this sole belief, That the kingdom of the Messiah was come, and that Jesus was the Messiah: and that the historians of the New Testament are not so concise in their account of this matter, that they would have omitted any other necessary articles of belief, that had been given to the seventy in commission. That which I mean is, the kingdom of the Messiah is twice mentioned in it to be come, verse 9 and 11. If there were other articles given them by our Saviour, to propose to their hearers, St. Luke must be very fond of this one article, when, for conciseness sake, leaving out the other fundamental articles, that our Saviour gave them in charge to preach, he repeats this more than once.

The unmasker’s third particular, , begins thus: “This also must be thought of, that though there are several parts and members of the christian faith, yet they do not all occur in any one place of scripture.” Something is in it, (whether owing to his will or understanding, I shall not inquire,) that the unmasker always delivers himself in doubtful and ambiguous terms. It had been as easy for him to have said, “There are several articles of the christian faith necessary to be believed to make a man a christian,” as to say, (as he does here,) “There are several parts and members of the christian faith.” But as an evidence of the clearness of his notions, or the fairness of his arguing, he always rests in generals. There are, I grant, several parts and members of the christian faith, which do no more occur in any one place of scripture, than the whole New Testament can be said to occur in any one place of scripture. For every proposition, delivered in the New Testament for divine revelation, is “a part and member of the christian faith.” But it is not those “parts and members of the christian faith” we are speaking of; but only such “parts and members of the christian faith,” as are absolutely necessary to be believed by every man, before he can be a christian. And in that sense I deny his assertion to be true, viz. that they do not occur in any one place of the scripture: for they do all occur in that first sermon of St. Peter, Acts ii. 36, by which three thousand were at that time brought into the church, and that in these words: “therefore let all the house of Israel know assuredly, that God hath made that same Jesus, whom you have crucified, Lord and Christ. Repent, and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ.” Here is the doctrine of Jesus the Messiah, the Lord, and of repentance, proposed to those, who already believe one God: which, I say, are all the parts of the christian faith necessary to be believed to make a man a christian. To suppose, as the unmasker does here, that more is required, is to beg, not to prove the question.

If he disputes this collection of mine out of that sermon of St. Peter, I will give him a more authentic collection of the necessary parts of the christian faith, from an author that he will not question. Let him look into Acts xx. 20, &c. and there he will find St. Paul saying thus to the elders of Ephesus, whom he was taking his last leave of, with an assurance that he should never see them again: “I have kept back nothing that was profitable unto you; but have showed you, and have taught you publicly, and from house to house, testifying both to the jews, and also to the Greeks, repentance towards God, and faith towards our Lord Jesus Christ.” If St. Paul knew what was necessary to make a christian, here it is: here he (if he knew how to do it, for it is plain from his words he designed to do it) has put it together. But there is a greater yet than St. Paul, who has brought all the parts of faith necessary to salvation into one place; I mean our Saviour himself, John xvii. 13, in these words: “This is life eternal, that they might know thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent.”

But the unmasker goes on: “Therefore, when, in some places, only one single part of the christian faith is made mention of, as necessary to be embraced in order to salvation, we must be careful not to take it alone, but to supply it from several other places, which make mention of other necessary and indispensable points of belief. I will give the reader a plain instance of this, Rom. x. 9, “if thou shalt believe in thine heart, that God hath raised him (i. e. the Lord Jesus) from the dead, thou shalt be saved.” Here one article of faith, viz. the belief of Christ’s resurrection (because it is of so great importance in christianity) is only mentioned: but all the rest must be supposed, because they are mentioned in other places.”

Answ. One would wonder that any one conversant in holy writ, with ever so little attention, much more that an expounder of the scriptures, should so mistake the sense and style of the scripture. Believing Jesus to be the Messiah, with a lively faith, i. e. as I have showed, taking him to be our King, with a sincere submission to the laws of his kingdom, is all that is required to make a man a christian; for this includes repentance too. The believing him therefore to be the Messiah is very often, and with great reason, put both for faith and repentance too: which are sometimes set down singly, where one is put for both, as implying the other; and sometimes they are both mentioned; and then faith, as contradistinguished to repentance, is taken for a simple assent of the mind to this truth, that Jesus is the Messiah. Now this faith is variously expressed in scripture.

There are some particulars in the history of our Saviour, allowed to be so peculiarly appropriated to the Messiah, such incommunicable marks of him, that to believe them of Jesus of Nazareth, was in effect the same, as to believe him to be the Messiah, and so are put to express it. The principal of these is his resurrection from the dead; which being the great and demonstrative proof of his being the Messiah, it is not at all strange, that the believing his resurrection should be put for believing him to be the Messiah; since the declaring his resurrection, was declaring him to be the Messiah. For thus St. Paul argues, Acts xiii. 32, 33, “We declare unto you good tidings, or we preach the gospel to you [for so the word signifies], how that the promise, that was made unto the fathers, God hath fulfilled the same unto us their children, in that he hath raised up Jesus again.” The force of which argument lies in this, that, if Jesus was raised from the dead, then he was certainly the Messiah: and thus the promise of the Messiah was fulfilled, in raising Jesus from the dead. The like argument St. Paul useth, 1 Cor. xv. 17, “If Christ be not raised, your faith is vain, you are yet in your sins;” i. e. if Jesus be not risen from the dead, he is not the Messiah, your believing it is in vain, and you will receive no benefit by that faith. And so, likewise, from the same argument of his resurrection, he at Thessalonica proves him to be the Messiah, Acts xvii. 2, 3. “And Paul, as his manner was, went into the synagogue, and three sabbath-days reasoned with the jews out of the scriptures, opening and alleging, that the Messiah must needs have suffered and risen again from the dead; and that this Jesus, whom I preach unto you, is the Messiah.”

The necessary connection of these two, that if he rose from the dead, he was the Messiah; and if he rose not from the dead, he was not the Messiah; the chief priest and pharisees, that had prosecuted him to death, understood very well: who therefore “came together unto Pilate, saying, Sir, we remember that that deceiver said, whilst he was yet alive, After three days I will rise again. Command, therefore, that the sepulchre be made sure unto the third day, lest his disciples come by night, and steal him away, and say unto the people, “He is risen from the dead:” “so the last errour shall be worse than the first.” The errour they here speak of, it is plain, was the opinion, that he was the Messiah. To stop that belief, which his miracles had procured him amongst the people, they had got him put to death; but if, after that, it should be believed, that he rose again from the dead, this demonstration, that he was the Messiah, would but establish what they had laboured to destroy by his death; since no one, who believed his resurrection, could doubt of his being the Messiah.

It is not at all therefore to be wondered, that his resurrection, his ascension, his rule and dominion, and his coming to judge the quick and the dead, which are characteristical marks of the Messiah, and belong peculiarly to him, should sometimes in scripture be put alone, as sufficient descriptions of the Messiah; and the believing them of him put for believing him to be the Messiah. Thus, Acts x. our Saviour, in Peter’s discourse to Cornelius, when he brought him the gospel, is described to be the Messiah, by his miracles, death, resurrection, dominion, and coming to judge the quick and the dead.

These, (which in my “Reasonableness of christianity,” I have upon this ground taken the liberty to call concomitant articles,) where they are set alone for the faith to which salvation is promised, plainly signify the believing Jesus to be the Messiah, that fundamental article, which has the promise of life; and so give no foundation at all for what the unmasker says, in these words: “Here one article of faith, viz. the belief of Christ’s resurrection (because it is of so great importance in christianity) is only mentioned; but all the rest must be supposed, because they are mentioned in other places.”

Answ. If all the rest be of absolute and indispensable necessity to be believed to make a man a christian, all the rest are, every one of them, of equal importance. For things of equal necessity, to any end, are of equal importance to that end. But here the truth forced its way unawares from the unmasker: Our Saviour’s resurrection, for the reason I have given, is truly of great importance in christianity; so great, that his being, or not being the Messiah, stands or falls with it: so that these two important articles are inseparable, and in effect make but one. For, since that time, believe one, and you believe both; deny one of them, and you can believe neither. If the unmasker can show me any one of the articles in his list, which is not of this great importance, mentioned alone, with a promise of salvation for believing it, I will grant him to have some colour for what he says here. But where is to be found in the scripture any such expression as this: if thou shalt believe with thy heart “the corruption and degeneracy of human nature,” thou shalt be saved? or the like. This place, therefore, out of the Romans, makes not for, but against his list of necessary articles. One of them, alone, he cannot show me any-where set down, with a supposition of the rest, as having salvation promised to it: though it be true, that that one, which alone is absolutely necessary to be superadded to the belief of one God, is, in divers places, differently expressed.

That which he subjoins, as a consequence of what he had said, is a farther proof of this: “And consequently, says he, if we would give an impartial account of our belief, we must consult those places: and they are not altogether, but dispersed here and there. Wherefore we must look them out, and acquaint ourselves with the several particulars, which make up our belief, and render it intire and consummate.”

Answ. Never was a man constanter to a loose way of talking. The question is only about articles necessary to be believed to make a man a christian: and here he talks of the “several particulars which make up our belief, and render it intire and consummate;” confounding, as he did before, essential and integral parts, which, it seems, he cannot distinguish. Our faith is true and saving, when it is such as God, by the new covenant, requires it to be: but it is not intire and consummate, until we explicitly believe all the truths contained in the word of God. For the whole revelation of truth in the scripture being the proper and intire object of faith, our faith cannot be intire and consummate, until it be adequate to its proper object, which is the whole divine revelation contained in the scripture: and so, to make our faith intire and consummate, we must not look out those places, which, he says, are not altogether. To talk of looking out, and culling of places, is nonsense, where the whole scripture alone can “make up our belief, and render it intire and consummate:” which no one, I think, can hope for, in this frail state of ignorance and errour. To make the unmasker speak sense and to the purpose here, we must understand him thus: “That if we will give an impartial account” of the articles, that are necessary to be believed to make a man a christian, “we must consult those places where they are; for they are not all together, but dispersed here and there; wherefore we must look them out,” and acquaint ourselves with the several particulars, which make up the fundamental articles of our belief, and will render a catalogue of them intire and consummate. If his supposition be true, I grant his method to be reasonable, and upon that I join issue with him. Let him thus “give an impartial account of our belief; let him acquaint us with the several particulars which make up a christian’s belief, and render it intire and consummate.” Until he has done this, let him not talk thus in the air of a method, that will not do: let him not reproach me, as he does, for not taking a course, by which he himself cannot do, what he reviles me for failing in. “But our hasty author,” says he, “took another course, and thereby deceived himself, and unhappily deceived others.” If it be so, I desire the unmasker to take the course he proposes, and thereby undeceive me and others; and “acquaint us with the several particulars which make up a christian’s belief, and render it intire and consummate;” for I am willing to be undeceived: but until he has done that, and shown us by the success of it, that his course is better, he cannot blame us for following that course we have done.

I come now to his fourth and last particular, , which, he says, is the main answer to the objection; and therefore I shall set it down in his own words, intire, as it stands together. “This,” says he, “must be born in our minds, that christianity was erected by degrees, according to that prediction and promise of our Saviour, that “the Spirit should teach them all things.” John xiv. 26. and that “he should guide them into all truth.” John xvi. 13. viz. “after his departure and ascension, when the Holy Ghost was to be sent in a special manner, to enlighten men’s minds, and to discover to them the great mysteries of christianity. This is to be noted by us, as that which gives great light in the present case. The discovery of the doctrines of the gospel was gradual. It was by certain steps that christianity climbed to its height. We are not to think then, that all the necessary doctrines of the christian religion were clearly published to the world in our Saviour’s time. Not but that all that were necessary for that time were published, but some which were necessary for the succeeding one, were not then discovered, or, at least, not fully. They had ordinarily no belief, before Christ’s death and resurrection, of those substantial articles, i. e. that he should die and rise again: but we read in the Acts, and in the epistles, that these were formal articles of faith afterwards, and are ever since necessary to complete the christian belief. So as to other great verities, the gospel increased by degrees, and was not perfect at once. Which furnishes us with a reason why most of the choicest and sublimest truths of christianity are to be met with in the epistles of the apostles, they being such doctrines as were not clearly discovered and opened in the Gospels and the Acts.” Thus far the unmasker.

I thought hitherto, that the covenant of grace in Christ Jesus had been but one, immutably the same: but our unmasker here makes two, or I know not how many. For I cannot tell how to conceive, that the conditions of any covenant should be changed, and the covenant remain the same; every change of conditions, in my apprehension, makes a new and another covenant. We are not to think, says the unmasker, “That all the necessary doctrines of the christian religion were clearly published to the world in our Saviour’s time; not but that all that were necessary for that time were published: but some, which were necessary for the succeeding one, were not then discovered, or, at least, not fully.” Answ. The unmasker, constant to himself, speaks here doubtfully, and cannot tell whether he should say, that the articles necessary to succeeding times, were discovered in our Saviour’s time, or no; and therefore, that he may provide himself a retreat, in the doubt he is in, he says, “They were not clearly published; they were not then discovered, or, at least, not fully.” But we must desire him to pull off his mask, and to that purpose,

I ask him how he can tell, that all the necessary doctrines were obscuredly published, or in part discovered? For an obscure publishing, a discovery in part, is opposed to, and intimated in, “not clearly published, not fully discovered.” And, if a clear and full discovery be all that he denies to them, I ask,

XXXVII. WHICH THOSE FUNDAMENTAL ARTICLES ARE, “WHICH WERE OBSCURELY PUBLISHED,” BUT NOT FULLY DISCOVERED IN OUR SAVIOUR’S TIME?

And next I shall desire him to tell me,

XXXVIII. WHETHER THERE ARE ANY ARTICLES NECESSARY TO BE BELIEVED TO MAKE A MAN A CHRISTIAN, THAT WERE NOT DISCOVERED AT ALL IN OUR SAVIOUR’S TIME: AND WHICH THEY ARE?

If he cannot show these distinctly, it is plain he talks at random about them; but has no clear and distinct conception of those that were published, or not published, clearly or obscurely discovered in our Saviour’s time. It was necessary for him to say something for those his pretended necessary articles, which are not to be found any-where proposed in the preaching of our Saviour and his apostles, to their yet unbelieving auditors; and therefore, he says, “We are not to think all the necessary doctrines of the christian religion were clearly published to the world in our Saviour’s time.” But he barely says it, without giving any reason, why “we are not to think so.” It is enough that it is necessary to his hypothesis. He says, “we are not to think so,” and we are presently bound not to think so. Else, from another man, that did not usurp an authority over our thoughts, it would have required some reason to make them think, that something more was required to make a man a christian after, than in our Saviour’s time. For, as I take it, it is not a very probable, much less a self-evident proposition, to be received without proof, that there was something necessary for that time to make a man a christian, and something more, that was necessary to make a christian in the succeeding time.

However, since this great master says, “we ought to think so,” let us in obedience think so as well as we can; until he vouchsafes to give us some reason to think, that there was more required to be believed to make a man a christian, in the succeeding time, than in our Saviour’s. This, instead of removing, does but increase the difficulty: for if more were necessary to be believed to make a man a christian after our Saviour’s time, than was during his life; how comes it, that no more was proposed by the apostles, in their preaching to unbelievers, for the making them christians, after our Saviour’s death, than there was before; even this one article, “that he was the Messiah?” For I desire the unmasker to show me any of those articles mentioned in his list, (except the resurrection and ascension of our Saviour, which were intervening matters of fact, evidencing him to be the Messiah,) that were proposed by the apostles, after our Saviour’s time, to their unbelieving hearers, to make them christians. This one doctrine, “That Jesus was the Messiah,” was that which was proposed in our Saviour’s time to be believed, as necessary to make a man a christian: the same doctrine was, likewise, what was proposed afterwards, in the preaching of the apostles to unbelievers, to make them christians.

I grant this was more clearly proposed after, than in our Saviour’s time: but in both of them it was all that was proposed to the believers of one God, to make them christians. Let him show, that there were any other proposed in, or after our Saviour’s time, to be believed to make unbelievers christians. If he means, by “necessary articles published to the world,” the other doctrines contained in the epistles; I grant, they are all of them necessary articles, to be believed by every christian, as far as he understands them. But I deny, that they were proposed to those they were writ to, as necessary to make them christians, for this demonstrative reason; because they were christians already. For example, Many doctrines proving, and explaining, and giving a farther light into the gospel, are published in the epistles to the Corinthians and Thessalonians. These are all of divine authority, and none of them may be disbelieved by any one who is a christian; but yet what was proposed or published to both the Corinthians and Thessalonians, to make them christians was only this doctrine, “That Jesus was the Messiah:” as may be seen, Acts xvii. xviii. This, then, was the doctrine necessary to make men christians, in our Saviour’s time; and this the only doctrine necessary to make unbelievers christians, after our Saviour’s time. The only difference was, that it was more clearly proposed after, than before his ascension: the reason whereof has been sufficiently explained. But any other doctrine but this, proposed clearly or obscurely, in or after our Saviour’s time, as necessary to be believed to make unbelievers christians, that remains yet to be shown.

When the unmasker speaks of the doctrines that were necessary for the succeeding time after our Saviour, he is in doubt, whether he should say they were, or were not discovered, in our Saviour’s time; and how far they were then discovered: and therefore he says, “Some of them were not then discovered, or at least, not fully.” We must here excuse the doubtfulness of his talking, concerning the discovery of his other necessary articles. For how could he say, they were discovered, or not discovered, clearly or obscurely, fully or not fully; when he does not yet know them all, nor can tell us, what those necessary articles are? If he does know them, let him give us a list of them, and then we shall see easily, whether they were at all published or discovered in our Saviour’s time. If there are some of them that were not at all discovered in our Saviour’s time, let him speak it out, and leave shifting: and if some of those that were “not necessary for our Saviour’s time, but for the succeeding one only,” were yet discovered in our Saviour’s time, why were they not necessary to be believed in that time? But the truth is, he knows not what these doctrines, necessary for succeeding times, are: and therefore can say nothing positively about their discovery. And for those that he has set down, as soon as he shall name any one of them to be of the number of those, “not necessary for our Saviour’s time, but necessary for the succeeding one,” it will presently appear, either that it was discovered in our Saviour’s time; and then it was as necessary for his time as the succeeding; or else, that it was not discovered in his time, nor to several converts after his time, before they were made christians; and therefore it was no more necessary to be believed to make a man a christian in the succeeding, than it was in our Saviour’s time. However, general positions and distinctions without a foundation serve for show, and to beguile unwary and inattentive readers.

Having thus minded him, that the question is about articles of faith, necessary to be explicitly and distinctly believed to make a man a christian; I then, in the next place, demand of him to tell me,

XXXIX. WHETHER OR NO ALL THE ARTICLES, NECESSARY NOW TO BE DISTINCTLY AND EXPLICITLY BELIEVED, TO MAKE ANY MAN A CHRISTIAN, WERE DISTINCTLY AND EXPLICITLY PUBLISHED OR DISCOVERED IN OUR SAVIOUR’S TIME?

And then I shall desire to know of him,

XL. A REASON WHY THEY WERE NOT.

Those that he instances in, of Christ’s death and resurrection, will not help him one jot; for they are not new doctrines revealed, new mysteries discovered; but matters of fact, which happen to our Saviour in their due time, to complete in him the character and predictions of the Messiah, and demonstrate him to be the Deliverer promised. These are recorded of him by the Spirit of God in holy writ, but are no more necessary to be believed to make a man a christian, than any other part of divine revelation, but as far as they have an immediate connexion with his being the Messiah, and cannot be denied without denying him to be the Messiah; and therefore this article of his resurrection, (which supposes his death,) and such other propositions as are convertible with his being the Messiah, are, as they very well may be, put for his being the Messiah; and, as I have showed, proposed to be believed in the place of it.

All that is revealed in scripture has a consequential necessity of being believed by all those, to whom it is proposed; because it is of divine authority, one part as much as another. And, in this sense, all the divine truths in the inspired writings are fundamental, and necessary to be believed. But then this will destroy our unmasker’s select number of fundamental articles; and “the choicest and sublimest truths of christianity,” which, he tells us, “are to be met with in the Epistles,” will not be more necessary to be believed than any, which he may think the commonest or meanest truths in any of the Epistles or the Gospels. Whatsoever part of divine revelation, whether revealed before, or in, or after our Saviour’s time; whether it contains (according to the distinction of our unmasker’s nice palate) choice or common, sublime or not sublime truths, is necessary to be believed by every one to whom it is proposed, as far as he understands what is proposed. But God, by Jesus Christ, has entered into a covenant of grace with mankind; a covenant of faith; instead of that of works, wherein some truths are absolutely necessary to be explicitly believed by them to make men christians; and therefore those truths are necessary to be known and consequently necessary to be proposed to them to make men christians. This is peculiar to them to make men christians. For all men, as men, are under a necessary obligation to believe what God proposes to them to be believed; but there being certain distinguishing truths, which belong to the covenant of the gospel, which if men know not, they cannot be christians; and they being, some of them, such as cannot be known without being proposed; those, and those only, are the necessary doctrines of christianity I speak of; without a knowledge of, and assent to which, no man can be a christian.

To come therefore to a clear decision of this controversy, I desire the unmasker to tell me,

XLI. WHAT THOSE DOCTRINES ARE, WHICH ARE ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY TO BE PROPOSED TO EVERY MAN TO MAKE HIM A CHRISTIAN?

XLII. 1. WHETHER THEY ARE ALL THE TRUTHS OF DIVINE REVELATION CONTAINED IN THE BIBLE?

For I grant his argument, (which in another place he uses for some of them, and truly belongs to them all,) viz. that they were revealed and written there, on purpose to be believed, and that it is indispensably necessary for christians to believe them.

XLIII. 2. OR, WHETHER IT BE ONLY THAT ONE ARTICLE, OF JESUS BEING THE MESSIAH, WHICH THE HISTORY OF OUR SAVIOUR AND HIS APOSTLES PREACHING HAS, WITH SUCH A PECULIAR DISTINCTION, EVERY-WHERE PROPOSED?

XLIV. 3. OR, WHETHER THE DOCTRINES NECESSARY TO BE PROPOSED TO EVERY ONE TO MAKE HIM A CHRISTIAN, BE ANY SET OF TRUTHS BETWEEN THE TWO?

And if he says this latter, then I must ask him,

XLV. WHAT THEY ARE? THAT WE MAY SEE, WHY THOSE, RATHER THAN ANY OTHER, CONTAINED IN THE NEW TESTAMENT, ARE NECESSARY TO BE PROPOSED TO EVERY MAN TO MAKE HIM A CHRISTIAN; AND, IF THEY ARE NOT EVERY ONE PROPOSED TO HIM, AND ASSENTED TO BY HIM, HE CANNOT BE A CHRISTIAN.

The unmasker makes a great noise, and hopes to give his unwary, though well-meaning readers, odd thoughts, and strong impressions against my book, by declaiming against my lank faith, and my narrowing of christianity to one article; which, as he says, is the next way to reduce it to none. But when it is considered, it will be found, that it is he that narrows christianity. The unmasker, as if he were arbiter and dispenser of the oracles of God, takes upon him to single out some texts of scripture; and, where the words of scripture will not serve his turn, to impose on us his interpretations and deductions, as necessary articles of faith; which is, in effect, to make them of equal authority with the unquestionable word of God. And thus, partly in the words of scripture, and partly in words of his own, he makes a set of fundamentals, with an exclusion of all the other truths delivered by the Spirit of God, in the Bible; though all the rest be of the same divine authority and original, and ought therefore all equally, as far as they are understood by every christian, to be believed. I tell him, and I desire him to take notice of it, God has no-where given him an authority thus to garble the inspired writings of the holy scriptures. Every part of it is his word, and ought, every part of it, to be believed by every christian man, according as God shall enable him to understand it. It ought not to be narrowed to the cut of the unmasker’s peculiar system; it is a presumption of the highest nature, for him thus to pretend, according to his own fancy, to establish a set of fundamental articles. This is to diminish the authority of the word of God, to set up his own; and create a reverence to his system, from which the several parts of divine revelation are to receive their weight, dignity, and authority. Those passages of holy writ which suit with that, are fundamental, choice, sublime, and necessary: the rest of the scripture (as of no great moment) is not fundamental, is not necessary to be believed, may be neglected, or must be tortured, to comply with an analogy of faith of his own making. But though he pretends to a certain set of fundamentals, yet to show the vanity and impudence of that pretence, he cannot tell us what they are; and therefore in vain contends for a creed he knows not, and is yet no-where. He neither does, and which is more, I tell him, he never can, give us a collection of his fundamentals gathered upon his principles, out of the scripture, with the rejection of all the rest, as not fundamental. He does not observe the difference there is between what is necessary to be believed by every man to make him a christian, and what is required to be believed by every christian. The first of these is what, by the covenant of the gospel, is necessary to be known, and consequently to be proposed to every man, to make him a christian: the latter is no less than the whole revelation of God, all the divine truths contained in holy scripture: which every christian man is under a necessity to believe, so far as it shall please God, upon his serious and constant endeavours, to enlighten his mind to understand them.

The preaching of our Saviour, and his apostles, has sufficiently taught us what is necessary to be proposed to every man, to make him a christian. He that believes him to be the promised Messiah, takes Jesus for his King, and repenting of his former sins, sincerely resolves to live, for the future, in obedience to his laws, is a subject of his kingdom, is a christian. If he be not, I desire the unmasker to tell me, what more is requisite to make him so. Until he does that, I rest satisfied, that this is all that was at first, and is still, necessary to make a man a christian.

This, though it be contained in a few words, and those not hard to be understood; though it be in one voluntary act of the mind, relinquishing all irregular courses, and submitting itself to the rule of him, whom God hath sent to be our King, and promised to be our Saviour; yet it having relation to the race of mankind, from the first man Adam to the end of the world; it being a contrivance, wherein God has displayed so much of his wisdom and goodness to the corrupt and lost sons of men; and it being a design, to which the Almighty had a peculiar regard in the whole constitution and œconomy of the jews, as well as in the prophecies and history of the Old Testament; this was a foundation capable of large superstructures: 1. In explaining the occasion, necessity, use, and end of his coming. 2. Next in proving him to be the person promised, by a correspondence of his birth, life, sufferings, death, and resurrection, to all those prophecies and types of him, which had given the expectation of such a Deliverer; and to those descriptions of him, whereby he might be known, when he did come. 3. In the discovery of the sort, constitution, extent, and management of his kingdom. 4. In showing from what we are delivered by him, and how that deliverance is wrought out, and what are the consequences of it.

These, and a great many more the like, afford great numbers of truths delivered both in the historical, epistolary, and prophetical writings of the New Testament, wherein the mysteries of the gospel, hidden from former ages, were discovered; and that more fully, I grant, after the pouring out of the Holy Ghost upon the apostles. But could nobody take Christ for their promised King, and resolve to obey him, unless he understood all the truths that concerned his kingdom, or, as I may say, mysteries of state of it? The truth of the contrary is manifest, out of the plain and uniform preaching of the apostles, after they had received the Holy Ghost, that was to guide them into all truth. Nay, after the writing of those epistles, wherein were contained the unmasker’s sublimest truths; they every-where proposed to unbelievers Jesus the Messiah, to be their King, ordained of God; and to this joined repentance: and this alone they preached for the conversion of their unbelieving hearers. As soon as any one assented to this he was pronounced a believer; and these inspired rulers of the church, these infallible preachers of the gospel, admitted into Christ’s kingdom by baptism. And this after, long “after our Saviour’s ascension, when (as our unmasker expresses it) the Holy Ghost was to be sent in an especial manner to enlighten men’s minds, and to discover to them the great mysteries of christianity,” even as long as the apostles lived: and what others were to do, who afterwards were to preach the gospel, St. Paul tells us, 1 Cor. iii. 11, “Other foundation can no man lay than that is laid, even Jesus the Messiah.” Though upon this foundation men might build variously things that would, or would not hold the touch, yet however as long as they kept firm to this foundation, they should be saved, as appears in the following verses.

And indeed, if all the doctrines of the gospel, which are contained in the writings of the apostles and evangelists, were necessary to be understood, and explicitly believed in the true sense of those that delivered them, to make a man a christian; I doubt, whether ever any one, even to this day, was a true christian; though I believe the unmasker will not deny, but that, ere this, christianity (as he expresses it) “is by certain steps climbed to its height.”

But for this the unmasker has found a convenient and wise remedy. It is but for him to have the power to declare, which of the doctrines delivered in holy writ are, and which are not necessary to be believed, with an additional power to add others of his own, that he cannot find there; and the business is done. For unless this be allowed him, his system cannot stand; unless his interpretations be received for authentic revelation, we cannot have all the doctrines necessary for our time; in truth, we cannot be christians. For to this only what he says, concerning the “gradual discovery of the doctrines of the gospel,” tends. “We are not to think,” says he, “that all the necessary doctrines of the christian religion were clearly published to the world in our Saviour’s time: not but that all that were necessary for that time were published; but some that were necessary for the succeeding one, were not then discovered, or, at least, not fully.”

I must ask the unmasker a short question or two; as, first,

XLVI. ARE NOT ALL THE DOCTRINES, NECESSARY FOR OUR TIME, CONTAINED IN HIS SYSTEM?

Next,

XLVII. CAN ALL THE DOCTRINES, NECESSARY FOR OUR TIME, BE PROPOSED IN THE EXPRESS WORDS OF THE SCRIPTURE?

When he has answered these two plain questions, (and an answer to them I shall expect,) the world will then see, what he designs by “doctrines necessary for our Saviour’s time, and doctrines necessary for succeeding times;” whether he means any thing else by it, but the setting up his system, as the exact standard of the gospel, and the true and unalterable measure of christianity, in which “it has climbed to its height.”

Let not good and sincere christians be deceived, nor perplexed, by this maker of another christianity, than what the infallible Spirit of God has left us in the scriptures. It is evident from thence, that whoever takes Jesus the Messiah for his King, with a resolution to live by his laws, and does sincerely repent, as often as he transgresses any of them, is his subject; all such are christians. What they are to know, or believe more concerning him and his kingdom, when they are his subjects, he has left upon record in the great and sacred code and constitutions of his kingdom; I mean in the holy scriptures. All that is contained therein, as coming from the God of truth, they are to receive as truth, and embrace as such. But since it is impossible explicitly to believe any proposition of the christian doctrine, but what we understand, or in any other sense, than we understand it to have been delivered in; an explicit belief is, or can be required in no man, of more than what he understands of that doctrine. And thus, whatsoever upon fair endeavours he understands to be contained in that doctrine, is necessary to him to be believed: nor can he continue a subject of Christ upon other terms.

What he is persuaded is the meaning of Christ his King in any expression he finds in the sacred code; that, by his allegiance, he is bound to submit his mind to receive for true, or else he denies the authority of Christ, and refuses to believe him; nor can be excused, by calling any one on earth master. And hence it is evidently impossible for a christian to understand any text, in one sense, and believe it in another, by whomsoever dictated.

All that is contained in the inspired writings, is all of divine authority, must all be allowed for such, and received for divine and infallible truth, by every subject of Christ’s kingdom, i. e. every christian. How comes then the unmasker to distinguish these dictates of the Holy Spirit, into necessary and not necessary truths? I desire him to produce his commission, whereby he hath the power given him to tell, which of the divine truths, contained in the holy scripture, are of necessity to be believed, and which not. Who made him a judge or divider between them? Who gave him this power over the oracles of God, to set up one and debase another, at his pleasure? Some, as he thinks fit, are the choicest truths: and what, I beseech him, are the other? Who made him a chooser, where nobody can pick and choose? Every proposition there, as far as any christian can understand it, is indispensably necessary to be believed: and farther than he does understand it, it is impossible for him to believe it. The laws of Christ’s kingdom do not require impossibilities; for they are all reasonable, and good.

Some of the truths delivered in the holy writ are very plain: it is impossible, I think, to mistake their meaning; and those certainly are all necessary to be explicitly believed. Others have more difficulty in them, and are not easy to be understood. Is the unmasker appointed Christ’s vicegerent here, or the Holy Ghost’s interpreter, with authority to pronounce which of these are necessary to be believed, and in what sense, and which not? The obscurity, that is to be found in several passages of the scripture, the difficulties that cover and perplex the meaning of several texts, demand of every christian study, diligence, and attention, in reading and hearing the scriptures; in comparing and examining them; and receiving what light he can from all manner of helps, to understand these books, wherein are contained the words of life. This the unmasker, and every one, is to do for himself; and thereby find out what is necessary for him to believe. But I do not know that the unmasker is to understand and interpret for me, more than I for him. If he has such a power, I desire him to produce it. Until then, I can acknowledge no other infallible, but that guide, which he directs me to himself, here in these words: “according to our Saviour’s promise, the Holy Ghost was to be sent in a special manner to enlighten men’s minds, and to discover to them the great mysteries of christianity.” For whether by men, he here means those on whom the Holy Ghost was so eminently poured out, Acts ii. or whether he means by these words, that special assistance of the Holy Ghost, whereby particular men, to the end of the world, are to be led into the truth, by opening their understandings, that they may understand the scriptures, (for he always loves to speak doubtfully and indefinitely,) I know no other infallible guide, but the Spirit of God in the scriptures. Nor has God left it in my choice to take any man for such. If he had, I should think the unmasker the unlikeliest to be he, and the last man in the world to be chosen for that guide: and herein I appeal to any sober christian, who hath read what the unmasker has, with so little truth and decency, (for it is not always men’s fault if they have not sense,) writ upon this question, whether he would not be of the same mind?

But yet, as very an unmasker as he is, he will be extremely apt to call you names, nay, to declare you no christian; and boldly affirm, you have no christianity, if you will not swallow it just as it is of his cooking. You must take it just as he has been pleased to dose it no more, nor no less, than what is in his system. He hath put himself into the throne of Christ, and pretends to tell you which are, and which are not the indispensable laws of his kingdom: which parts of his divine revelation you must necessarily know, understand, and believe, and in what sense; and which you need not trouble your head about, but may pass by, as not necessary to be believed. He will tell you, that some of his necessary articles are mysteries, and yet (as he does, , of his “Thoughts concerning the causes of atheism”) that they are easy to be understood by any man, when explained to him. In answer to that I demanded of him, “Who was to explain them? The papists, I told him, would explain some of them one way, and the reformed another; the remonstrants and anti-remonstrants give them different senses; and probably the trinitarians and unitarians will profess, that they understand not each other’s explications.” But to this, in his reply, he has not vouch-safed to give me any answer; which yet I expect, and I will tell him why; because, as there are different explainers, there will be different fundamentals. And therefore unless he can show his authority to be the sole explainer of fundamentals, he will in vain make such a pother about his fundamentals. Another explainer, of as good authority as he, will set up others against them. And what then shall we be the better for all this stir and noise of fundamentals? All the effect of it will be just the same it has been these thousand years and upwards; schisms, separations, contentions, animosities, quarrels, blood and butchery, and all that train of mischiefs, which have so long harassed and defamed christianity, and are so contrary to the doctrines, spirit, and end of the gospel; and which must still continue as long as any such unmasker shall take upon him to be the dispenser and dictator to others of fundamentals; and peremptorily to define which parts of divine revelation are necessary to be believed, and which christians may with safety dispense with, and not believe.

To conclude, what was sufficient to make a man a christian in our Saviour’s time, is sufficient still, viz. the taking him for our King and Lord, ordained so by God. What was necessary to be believed by all christians in our Saviour’s time, as an indispensable duty, which they owed to their lord and master, was the believing all divine revelation, as far as every one could understand it: and just so it is still, neither more nor less. This being so, the unmasker may make what use he pleases of his notion, “that christianity was erected by degrees,” it will no way (in that sense, in which it is true) turn to the advantage of his select, fundamental, necessary doctrines.

The next chapter has nothing in it but his great bugbear, whereby he hopes to fright people from reading my book, by crying out Socinianism, Socinianism! Whereas I challenge him again, to show one word of socinianism in it. But, however, it is worth while to write a book to prove me a socinian. Truly, I did not think myself so considerable, that the world need be troubled about me, whether I were a follower of Socinus, Arminius, Calvin, or any other leader of a sect among christians. A christian I am sure I am, because I believe “Jesus to be the Messiah,” the King and Saviour promised and sent by God: and, as a subject of his kingdom, I take the rule of my faith and life from his will, declared and left upon record in the inspired writings of the apostles and evangelists in the New Testament; which I endeavoured to the utmost of my power, as is my duty, to understand in their true sense and meaning. To lead me into their true meaning, I know (as I have above declared) no infallible guide, but the same Holy Spirit, from whom these writings at first came. If the unmasker knows any other infallible interpreter of scripture, I desire him to direct me to him: until then, I shall think it according to my master’s rule, not to be called, nor to call any man on earth, Master. No man, I think, has a right to prescribe to me my faith, or magisterially to impose his interpretations or opinions on me: nor is it material to any one what mine are any farther than they carry their own evidence with them. If this, which I think makes me of no sect, entitles me to the name of a papist, or a socinian, because the unmasker thinks these the worst and most invidious he can give me: and labours to fix them on me for no other reason, but because I will not take him for my master on earth, and his system for my gospel: I shall leave him to recommend himself to the world by this skill, who, no doubt, will have reason to thank him for the rareness and subtilty of his discovery. For I think, I am the first man that ever was found to be at the same time a socinian, and a factor for Rome. But what is too hard for such an unmasker? I must be what he thinks fit; when he pleases, a papist; and when he pleases, a socinian; and when he pleases, a mahometan: and probably, when he has considered a little better, an atheist; for I hardly escaped it when he writ last. My book, he says, had a tendency to it; and if he can but go on, as he has done hitherto, from surmises to certainties, by that time he writes next, his discovery will be advanced, and he will certainly find me an atheist. Only one thing I dare assure him of, that he shall never find, that I treat the things of God or religion so, as if I made only a trade or a jest of them. But let us now see, how at present he proves me a socinian.

His first argument is, my not answering for my leaving out Matt. xxviii. 19, and John i. 1, page 82, of his Socinianism unmasked. This he takes to be a confession, that I am a socinian. I hope he means fairly, and that if it be so on my side, it must be taken for a standing rule between us, that where any thing is not answered, it must be taken for granted. And upon that score I must desire him to remember some passages of my Vindication, which I have already, and others, which I shall mind him of hereafter, which he passed over in silence, and had nothing to say to: which therefore, by his own rule, I shall desire the reader to observe, that he has granted.

This being premised, I must tell the unmasker, that I perceive he reads my book with the same understanding that he writes his own. If he had done otherwise, he might have seen, that I had given him a reason for my omission of those two, and other “plain and obvious passages, and famous testimonies in the evangelists,” as he calls them; where I say, , “That if I have left out none of those passages or testimonies, which contain what our Saviour and his apostles preached and required assent to, to make men believers, I shall think my omissions (let them be what they will) no faults in the present case. Whatever doctrines Mr. Edwards would have to be believed, to make a man a christian, he will be sure to find them in those preachings, and famous testimonies, of our Saviour and his apostles, I have quoted. And if they are not there, he may rest satisfied, that they were not proposed, by our Saviour and his apostles, as necessary to be believed to make men Christ’s disciples.” From which words, any one, but an unmasker, could have understood my answer to be, that all that was necessary to be believed to make men christians, might be found in what our Saviour and his apostles proposed to unbelievers for their conversion: but the two passages above mentioned, as well as a great many others in the evangelists, being none of those, I had no reason to take notice of them. But the unmasker having, out of his good pleasure, put it once upon me, as he does in his “Thoughts of the causes of atheism,” , that I was an “epitomiser of the evangelical writings,” though every one may see I make not that my business; yet it is no matter for that, I must be always accountable to that fancy of his. But when he has proved,

XLVIII. THAT THIS IS NOT AS JUST A REASONING FOR MY OMITTING THEM, AS SEVERAL OTHER OBVIOUS PASSAGES AND FAMOUS TESTIMONIES IN THE EVANGELISTS, WHICH I THERE MENTION, FOR WHOSE OMISSION HE DOES NOT BLAME ME;

I will undertake to give him another reason, which I know not whether he were not better let alone.

The next proof of my being a socinian, is, that I take the Son of God to be an expression used to signify the Messiah. Slichtingius and Socinus understood it so; and therefore I am, the unmasker says, a socinian. Just as good an argument, as that I believe Jesus to be a prophet, and so do the mahometans; therefore I am a mahometan: or thus, the unmasker holds, that the apostles creed does not contain all things necessary to salvation; and so says Knot the jesuit; therefore the unmasker is a papist. Let me turn the tables, and by the same argument I am orthodox again. For two orthodox, pious, and very eminent prelates of our church, whom, when I follow authorities, I shall prefer to Slichtingius and Socinus, understand it as I do; and therefore I am orthodox. Nay, it so falls out, that if it were of force either way, the argument would weigh most on this side; since I am not wholly a stranger to the writings of those two orthodox bishops; but I never read a page in either of those socinians. The never sufficiently admired and valued archbishop Tillotson’s words, which I quoted, the unmasker says, “do not necessarily import any such thing.” I know no words that necessarily import any thing to a caviller. But he was known to have such clear thoughts, and so clear a style, so far from having any thing doubtful or fallacious in what he said, that I shall only set down his words as they are in his sermon of sincerity, , to show his meaning: “Nathanael,” says he, “being satisfied, that he [our Saviour] was the Messiah, he presently owned him for such, calling him the Son of God, and the King of Israel.”

The words of the other eminent prelate, the bishop of Ely, whom our church is still happy in, are these: “To be the Son of God, and to be Christ, being but different expressions of the same thing:” witness . And , “It is the very same thing to believe that Jesus is the Christ,” and to believe, “that Jesus is the Son of God, express it how you please.” “This alone is the faith which can regenerate a man, and put a divine Spirit into him, that it makes him a conqueror over the world, as Jesus was.” Of this the unmasker says, that this reverend author, “speaking only in a general way, represents these two as the same thing,” viz. that Jesus is the Christ, and that Jesus is the Son of God, because these expressions are applied to the same person, and because they are both comprehended in one general name, viz. Jesus. Answ. The question is, Whether these two expressions, “the Son of God,” and “the Messiah,” in the learned bishop’s opinion, signify the same thing? If his opinion had been asked in the point, I know not how he could have declared it more clearly. For he says, they are “Expressions of the same thing;” and that it is the very same thing to believe, “that Jesus is the Messiah,” and to believe, “that he is the Son of God;” which cannot be so, if Messiah and Son of God have different significations: for then they will make two distinct propositions in different senses, which it can be no more the same thing to believe, than it is the same thing to believe that Mr. Edwards is a notable preacher, and a notable railer; or than it is to believe one truth, and all truths. For by the same reason, that it is the same thing to believe two distinct truths, it will be the same thing to believe two thousand distinct truths, and consequently all truths. The unmasker, that he might seem to say something, says, that “the reverend author represents these as the same thing.” Answ. The unmasker never fails, like Midas, to turn every thing he touches into his own metal. The learned bishop says, very directly and plainly, that “to be the Son of God, and to be the Messiah, are expressions of the same thing:” and the unmasker says, he “represents these expressions as one thing:” for it is of expressions that both the bishop and he speak. Now, expressions can be one thing, but one of these two ways: either in sound, and so these two expressions are not one; or in signification, and so they are. And then the unmasker says, but in other words, what the bishop had said before, viz. That these two, “to be the Son of God, and to be the Messiah, are expressions of the same thing.” Only the unmasker has put in the word represents, to amuse his reader, as if he had said something; and so indeed he does, after his fashion, i. e. obscurely and fallaciously; which, when it comes to be examined, is but the same thing under show of a difference; or else, if it has a different meaning, it is demonstratively false. But so it be obscure enough to deceive a willing reader, who will not be at the pains to examine what he says, it serves his turn.

But yet, as if he had said something of weight, he gives reasons for putting “represents these two expressions as one thing,” instead of saying “these two are but different expressions of the same thing.”

The first of his reasons is, Because the reverend author is here “speaking only in a general way.” Answ. What does the unmasker mean by a general way? The learned bishop speaks of two particular expressions applied to our Saviour. But was his discourse ever so general how could that alter the plain signification of his words, viz. that those two are but “different expressions of the same thing?”

Secondly, “Because these expressions are applied to the same person.” Answ. A very demonstrative reason, is it not? that therefore they cannot be different expressions of the same thing.

Thirdly, “And because they are both comprehended in one general name, viz. Jesus.” Answ. It requires some skill to put so many falsehoods in so few words; for neither both nor either of these expressions are comprehended in the name Jesus; and that Jesus, the name of a particular person, should be a general name, is a discovery reserved to be found out by this new logician. However, general, is a learned word, which when a man of learning has used twice, as a reason of the same thing, he is covered with generals. He need not trouble himself any farther about sense; he may safely talk what stuff he pleases without the least suspicion of his reader.

Having thus strongly proved just nothing, he proceeds and tells us, , “Yet it does not follow thence, but that if we will speak strictly and closely, we must be forced to confess, they are of different significations.” By which words (if his words have any signification) he plainly allows, that the bishop meant as he says, that these two are but “different expressions of the same thing;” but withal tells him, that, if he will “speak closely and strictly,” he must say, “they are of different significations.” My concernment in the case being only that in the passage alleged, the reverend author said, that the Son of God, and the Messiah, were “different expressions of the same thing.” I have no more to demand after these words of the unmasker; he has in them granted all I would have: and I shall not meddle with his “speaking closely and strictly,” but shall leave it to the decisive authority of this superlative critic to determine whether this learned bishop, or any one living, besides himself, can understand the phrases of the New Testament, and “speak strictly and closely” concerning them. Perhaps, his being yet alive, may preserve this eminent prelate from the malicious drivelling of this unmasker’s pen, which has bespattered the ashes of two of the same order, who were no mean ornaments of the English church; and if they had been now alive, nobody will doubt but the unmasker would have treated them after another fashion.

But let me ask the unmasker, whether if either of these pious prelates, whose words I have above quoted, did understand that phrase of the Son of God to stand for the Messiah, (which they might do without holding any one socinian tenet;) he will dare to pronounce him a socinian? This is so ridiculous an inference, that I could not but laugh at it. But withal tell him, Vindic. , “That if the sense wherein I understand those texts, be a mistake, I shall be beholden to him to set me right: but they are not popular authorities, or frightful names, whereby I judge of truth or falsehood.” To which I subjoin these words: “You will now, no doubt, applaud your conjectures; the point is gained, and I am openly a socinian; since I will not disown, that I think the Son of God was a phrase, that, among the jews, in our Saviour’s time, was used for the Messiah, though the socinians understood it in the same sense. And therefore I must certainly be of their persuasion in every thing else. I admire the acuteness, force, and fairness of your reasoning; and so I leave you to triumph in your conjectures.” Nor has he failed my expectation: “for here, , of his Socinianism unmasked, he upon this erects his comb, and crows most mightily. We may,” says he, “from hence, as well as other reasons, pronounce him the same with those gentlemen, (i. e. as he is pleased to call them, my good patrons and friends, the racovians;) which you may perceive he is very apprehensive of, and thinks that this will be reckoned a good evidence of his being, what he denied himself to be before.” “The point is gained, saith he, and I am openly a socinian.” “He never uttered truer words in his life, and they are the confutation of all his pretences to the contrary. This truth, which unwarily dropped from his pen, confirms what I have laid to his charge.” Now you have sung your song of triumph, it is fit you should gain your victory, by showing,

XLIX. HOW MY UNDERSTANDING THE SON OF GOD TO BE A PHRASE USED AMONGST THE JEWS, IN OUR SAVIOUR’S TIME, TO SIGNIFY THE MESSIAH, PROVES ME TO BE A SOCINIAN?

Or, if you think you have proved it already, I desire you to put your proof into a syllogism: for I confess myself so dull, as not to see any such conclusion deducible from my understanding that phrase as I do, even when you have proved that I am mistaken in it.

The places, which in the New Testament show that the Son of God stands for the Messiah, are so many and so clear, that I imagine nobody that ever considered and compared them together, could doubt of their meaning, unless he were an unmasker. Several of them I have collected and set down in my “Reasonableness of christianity,” , 18, 19, 21, 28, 52.

First, John the Baptist, John i. 20, when the jews sent to know who he was, confessed he himself was not the Messiah. But of Jesus he says, ver. 34, after having several ways, in the foregoing verses, declared him to be the Messiah: “And I saw and bare record, that this is the Son of God.” And again, chap. iii. 26 — 36, he declaring Jesus to be, and himself not to be the Messiah, he does it in these synonymous terms, of the Messiah, and the Son of God; as appears by comparing ver. 28, 35, 36.

Nathanael owns him to be the Messiah, in these words, John i. 50, “Thou art the Son of God, thou art the King of Israel:” which our Saviour, in the next verse, calls believing; a term, all through the history of our Saviour, used for owning Jesus to be the Messiah. And for confirming that faith of his, that he was the Messiah, our Saviour further adds, that he should see greater things, i. e. should see him do greater miracles, to evidence that he was the Messiah.

Luke iv. 41, “And devils also came out of many, crying, Thou art the Messiah, the Son of God; and he, rebuking them, suffered them not to speak.” And so again, St. Mark tells us, chap. iii. 11, 12, “That unclean spirits, when they saw him, fell down before him, and cried, saying, Thou art the Son of God. And he strictly charged them, that they should not make him known.” In both these places, which relate to different times, and different occasions, the devils declare Jesus to be the Son of God. It is certain, whatever they meant by it, they used a phrase of a known signification in that country: and what may we reasonably thing they designed to make known to the people by it? Can we imagine these unclean spirits were promoters of the gospel, and had a mind to acknowledge and publish to the people the deity of our Saviour, which the unmasker would have to be the signification of the Son of God? Who can entertain such a thought? No, they were no friends to our Saviour: and therefore desired to spread a belief of him, that he was the Messiah, that so he might, by the envy of the scribes and pharisees, be disturbed in his ministry, and be cut off before he had completed it. And therefore we see, our Saviour in both places forbids them to make him known; as he did his disciples themselves, for the same reason. For when St. Peter, Matt. xvi. 16, had owned Jesus to be the Messiah, in these words: “Thou art the Messiah, the Son of the living God;” it follows, ver. 20, “Then charged he his disciples, that they should tell no man that he was Jesus the Messiah;” just as he had forbid the devils to make him known, i. e. to be the Messiah. Besides, these words here of St. Peter, can be taken in no other sense, but barely to signify, that Jesus was the Messiah, to make them a proper answer to our Saviour’s question. His first question here to his disciples, ver. 13, is, “Whom do men say, that I, the Son of man,” am? The question is not, Of what original do you think the Messiah, when he comes, will be? For then this question would have been as it is, Matt. xxii. 42, “What think ye of the Messiah, whose Son is he?” if he had inquired about the common opinion, concerning the nature and descent of the Messiah. But this question is concerning himself: Whom, of all the extraordinary persons known to the jews, or mentioned in their sacred writing, the people thought him to be? That this was the meaning of his question, is evident from the answer the apostles gave to it, and his further demand, ver. 14, 15, “They said, Some say thou art John the Baptist, some Elias, and others Jeremias, or one of the prophets. He saith unto them, But whom say ye that I am? The people take me, some for one of the prophets or extraordinary messengers from God, and some for another: but which of them do you take me to be? Simon Peter answered and said, Thou art the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” In all which discourse, it is evident there was not the least inquiry made by our Saviour concerning the person, nature, or qualifications of the Messiah; but whether the people or his apostles thought him, i. e. Jesus of Nazareth, to be the Messiah. To which St. Peter gave him a direct and plain answer in the foregoing words, declaring their belief of him to be the Messiah: which is all that, with any manner of congruity, could be made the sense of St. Peter’s answer. This alone of itself were enough to justify my interpretation of St. Peter’s words, without the authority of St. Mark, and St. Luke, both whose words confirm it. For St. Mark, chap. viii. 29, renders it, “Thou art the Messiah; and St. Luke, chap. ix. 20, The Messiah of God.” To the like question, “Who art thou?” John the Baptist gives a like answer, John i. 19, 20, “I am not the Christ.” By which answer, as well as by the foregoing verses, it is plain, nothing was understood to be meant by that question, but, Which of the extraordinary persons, promised to, or expected by, the jews art thou?

John xi. 27, the phrase of the Son of God is made use of by Martha; and that it was used by her to signify the Messiah, and nothing else, is evident out of the context. Martha tells our Saviour, that if he had been there before her brother died, he, by that divine power which he had manifested in so many miracles which he had done, could have saved his life; and that now, if our Saviour would ask it of God, he might obtain the restoration of his life. Jesus tells her, he shall rise again: which words, Martha taking to mean, at the general resurrection, at the last day; Jesus thereupon takes occasion to intimate to her, that he was the Messiah, by telling her, that he was “the resurrection and the life;” i. e. that the life, which mankind should receive at the general resurrection, was by and through him. This was a description of the Messiah, it being a received opinion among the jews, that when the Messiah came, the just should rise, and live with him for ever. And having made this declaration of himself to be the Messiah, he asks Martha, “Believest thou this?” What? Not whose son the Messiah should be; but whether he himself was the Messiah, by whom believers should have eternal life at the last day. And to this she gives this direct and apposite answer: “Yea, Lord, I believe that thou art the Christ, the Son of God, which should come into the world.” The question was only, Whether she was persuaded, that those, who believed in him, should be raised to eternal life; that was in effect, “Whether he was the Messiah?” And to this she answers, Yea, Lord, I believe this of thee: and then she explains what was contained in that faith of hers; even this, that he was the Messiah, that was promised to come, by whom alone men were to receive eternal life.

What the jews also understood by the Son of God, is likewise clear from that passage at the latter end of Luke xxii. They having taken our Saviour, and being very desirous to get a confession from his own mouth, that he was the Messiah, that they might be from thence able to raise a formal and prevalent accusation against him before Pilate; the only thing the council asked him, was, Whether he was the Messiah? v. 67. To which he answers so, in the following words, that he lets them see he understood, that the design of their question was to entrap him, and not to believe in him, whatever he should declare of himself. But yet he tells them, “Hereafter shall the Son of man sit on the right hand of the power of God:” Words that to the jews plainly enough owned him to be the Messiah; but yet such as could not have any force against him with Pilate. He having confessed so much, they hope to draw yet a clearer confession from him. “Then said they all, Art thou then the Son of God? And he said unto them, Ye say that I am. And they said, What need we any further witness? For we ourselves have heard of his own mouth.” Can any one think, that the doctrine of his deity (which is that which the unmasker accuses me for waving) was that which the jews designed to accuse our Saviour of, before Pilate; or that they needed witnesses for? Common sense, as well as the current of the whole history, shows the contrary. No, it was to accuse him, that he owned himself to be the Messiah, and thereby claimed a title to be king of the jews. The Son of God was so known a name amongst the jews, to stand for the Messiah; that having got that from his mouth, they thought they had proof enough for treason against him. This carries with it a clear and easy meaning. But if the Son of God be to be taken, as the unmasker would have it, for a declaration of his deity, I desire him to make common and coherent sense of it.

I shall add one consideration more to show that the Son of God was a form of speech then used among the jews, to signify the Messiah, from the persons that used it, viz. John the Baptist, Nathanael, St. Peter, Martha, the sanhedrim, and the centurion, Matt. xxvii. 54. Here are jews, heathens, friends, enemies, men, women, believers and unbelievers, all indifferently use this phrase of the Son of God, and apply it to Jesus. The question between the unmasker and me, is, Whether it was used by these several persons, as an appellation of the Messiah, or (as the unmasker would have it) in a quite different sense? as such an application of divinity to our Saviour, that he that shall deny that to be the meaning of it in the minds of these speakers, denies the divinity of Jesus Christ. For if they did speak it without that meaning, it is plain it was a phrase known to have another meaning; or else they had talked unintelligible jargon. Now I will ask the unmasker, “Whether he thinks, that the eternal generation, or, as the unmasker calls it, filiation of Jesus the Son of God, was a doctrine that had entered into the thoughts of all the persons above mentioned, even of the Roman centurion, and the soldiers that were with him watching Jesus?” If he says he does, I suppose he thinks so only for this time, and for this occasion: and then it will lie upon him to give the world convincing reasons for his opinion, that they may think so too; or if he does not think so, he must give up his argument, and allow that this phrase, in these places, does not necessarily import the deity of our Saviour, and the doctrine of his eternal generation: and so a man may take it to be an expression standing for the Messiah, without being a socinian, any more than he himself is one.

“There is one place the unmasker tells us, , that confutes all the surmises about the identity of these terms. It is, says he, that famous confession of faith which the Ethiopian eunuch made, when Philip told him, he might be baptized, if he believed. This, without doubt, was said, according to that apprehension, which he had of Christ, from Philip’s instructing him; for he said he preached unto him Jesus, ver. 35. He had acquainted him, that Jesus was the Christ, the anointed of God, and also that he was the Son of God; which includes in it, that he was God. And accordingly, this noble proselyte gives this account of his faith, in order to his being baptized, in order to his being admitted a member of Christ’s church: “I believe that Jesus is the Son of God:” or you may read it according to the Greek, “I believe the Son of God to be Jesus Christ.” Where there are these two distinct propositions:

“1st, That Jesus is the Christ, the Messiah.

“2dly, That he is not only the Messiah, but the Son of God.”

The unmasker is every-where steadily the same subtle arguer. Whether he has proved that the Son of God, in this confession of the eunuch, signifies what he would have, we shall examine by and by. This at least is demonstration, that this passage of his overturns his principles; and reduces his long list of fundamentals to two propositions, the belief whereof is sufficient to make a man a christian. “This noble proselyte, says the unmasker, gives this account of his faith, in order to his being baptized, in order to his being admitted a member of Christ’s church.” And what is that faith, according to the unmasker? he tells you, “there are in it these two distinct propositions, viz. I believe, 1st, That Jesus is the Christ, the Messiah; 2dly, That he is not only the Messiah, but the Son of God.” If this famous confession, containing but these two articles, were enough to his being baptized; if this faith were sufficient to make this noble proselyte a christian; what is become of all those other articles of the unmasker’s system, without the belief whereof, he, in other places, tells us, a man cannot be a christian? If he had here told us, that “Philip had not time nor opportunity,” during his short stay with the eunuch, to explain to him all the unmasker’s system, and make him understand all his fundamentals; he had had reason on his side: and he might have urged it as a reason why Philip taught him no more. But nevertheless he had, by allowing the eunuch’s confession of faith sufficient for his admittance as a member of Christ’s church, given up his other fundamentals, as necessary to be believed to make a man a christian; even that of the Holy Trinity; and he has at last reduced his necessary articles to these two, viz. “That Jesus is the Messiah;” and that “Jesus is the Son of God.” So that, after his ridiculous calling mine a lank faith, I desire him to consider what he will now call his own. Mine is next to none, because, as he says, it is but one article. If that reasoning be good, his is not far from none; it consists but in two articles, which is next to one, and very little more remote from none than one is. If any one had but as much wit as the unmasker, and could be but as smart upon the number two, as he has been upon an unit, here were a brave opportunity for him to lay out his parts; and he might make vehement complaints against one, that has thus “cramped our faith, corrupted men’s minds, depraved the gospel, and abused christianity.” But if it should fall out, as I think it will, that the unmasker’s two articles should prove to be but one; he has saved another that labour, and he stands painted to himself with his own charcoal.

The unmasker would have the Son of God, in the confession of the eunuch, to signify something different from the Messiah: and his reason is, because else it would be an absurd tautology. Ans. There are many exegetical expressions put together in scripture, which, though they signify the same thing, yet are not absurd tautologies. The unmasker here inverts the proposition, and would have it to signify thus: “The Son of God is Jesus the Messiah;” which is a proposition so different from what the apostles proposed, every-where else, that he ought to have given a reason why, when, every-where else, they made the proposition to be, of something affirmed of Jesus of Nazareth, the eunuch should make the affirmation to be of something concerning the Son of God: as if the eunuch knew very well, what the Son of God signified, viz. as the unmasker tells us here, that it included or signified God; and that Philip (who, we read, at Samaria preached τὸν Χριςὸν, the Messiah, i. e. instructed them who the Messiah was) had here taken pains only to instruct him that this God was Jesus the Messiah, and to bring him to assent to that proposition. Whether this be natural to conceive, I leave to the reader.

The tautology, on which the unmasker builds his whole objection, will be quite removed if we take Christ here for a proper name, in which way it is used by the evangelists and apostles in other places, and particularly by St. Luke, in Acts ii. 38, iii. 6, 20, iv. 10, xxiv. 24, &c. In two of these places it cannot, with any good sense, be taken otherwise; for, if it be not in Acts iii. 6, and iv. 10, used as a proper name, we must read those places thus, “Jesus the Messiah of Nazareth.” And I think it plain in those others cited, as well as in several other places of the New Testament, that the word Christ is used as a proper name. We may easily conceive, that long before the Acts were writ, the name of Christ was grown, by a familiar use, to denote the person of our Saviour, as much as Jesus. This is so manifest, that it gave a name to his followers; who, as St. Luke tells us, xi. 26, were called christians; and that, if chronologists mistake not, twenty years before St. Luke writ his history of the apostles: and this so generally, that Agrippa, a jew, uses it, Acts xxvi. 28. And that Christ, as the proper name of our Saviour, was got as far as Rome, before St. Luke writ the Acts, appears out of Suetonius, l. 5; and by that name he is called in Tacitus, Ann. l. 15. It is no wonder then, that St. Luke, in writing this history, should sometimes set it down alone, sometimes joined with that of Jesus, as a proper name: which is much easier to conceive he did here, than that Philip proposed more to the eunuch to be believed to make him a christian, than what, in other places, was proposed for the conversion of others, or than what he himself proposed at Samaria.

His 7th chapter is to prove, that I am a socinian, because I omitted Christ’s satisfaction. That matter having been answered, , where it came properly under consideration, I shall only observe here, that the great stress of his argument lies as it did before, not upon my total omission of it out of my book, but on this, that “I have no such thing in the place where the advantages of Christ’s coming are purposely treated of;” from whence he will have this to be an unavoidable inference, viz. “That I was of opinion, that Christ came not to satisfy for us.” The reason of my omission of it in that place, I told him, was because my book was chiefly designed for deists: and therefore I mentioned only those advantages, which all christians must agree in; and, in omitting of that, complied with the apostle’s rule, Rom. xiv. To this he tells me flatly, that was not the design of my book. Whether the unmasker knows with what design I published it better than myself, must be left to the reader to judge: for as for his veracity in what he knows, or knows not, he has given so many instances of it, that I may safely refer that to any body. One instance more of it may be found in this very chapter, where he says, “I pretend indeed, page 163, that in another place of my book, I mention Christ’s restoring all mankind from the state of death, and restoring them to life: and his laying down his life for another, as our Saviour professes he did. These few words this vindicator has picked up in his book since he wrote it. This is all, through his whole treatise, that he hath dropped concerning that advantage of Christ’s incarnation; i. e. Christ’s satisfaction.” Answ. But that this is not all that I have dropped through my whole treatise, concerning that advantage, may appear by those places above mentioned, , where I say, that the design of Christ’s coming was to be offered up, and speak of the work of redemption; which are expressions taken to imply our Saviour’s satisfaction. But the unmasker thinking I should have quoted them, if there had been any more, besides those mentioned in my vindication, upon that presumption sticks not boldly to affirm, that there were no more; and so goes on with the veracity of an unmasker. If affirming would do it, nothing could be wanting in his cause, that might be for his purpose. Whether he be as good at proving, this consequence (among other propositions, which remain upon him to be proved) will try, viz.

L. THAT IF THE SATISFACTION OF CHRIST BE NOT MENTIONED IN THE PLACE WHERE THE ADVANTAGES OF CHRIST’S COMING ARE PURPOSELY TREATED OF, THEN I AM OF OPINION, THAT CHRIST CAME NOT TO SATISFY FOR US:

Which is all the argument of his 7th chapter.

His last chapter, as his first, begins with a commendation of himself; particularly, it boasts his freedom from bigotism, dogmatizing, censoriousness, and uncharitableness. I think he hath drawn himself so well with his own pen, that I shall need refer the reader only to what he himself has wrote in this controversy, for his character.

In the next paragraph, , he tells me, “I laugh at orthodoxy.” Answ. There is nothing that I think deserves a more serious esteem than right opinion, (as the word signifies,) if taken up with the sense and love of truth. But this way of becoming orthodox has always modesty accompanying it, and a fair acknowledgment of fallibility in ourselves, as well as a supposition of errour in others. On the other side there is nothing more ridiculous, than for any man, or company of men, to assume the title of orthodoxy to their own set of opinions, as if infallibility were annexed to their systems, and those were to be the standing measure of truth to all the world; from whence they erect to themselves a power to censure and condemn others, for differing at all from the tenets they have pitched upon. The consideration of human frailty ought to check this vanity; but since it does not, but that, with a sort of allowance, it shows itself in almost all religious societies, the playing the trick round sufficiently turns it into ridicule. For each society having an equal right to a good opinion of themselves, a man by passing but a river, or a hill, loses that orthodoxy in one company, which puffed him up with such assurance and insolence in another; and is there, with equal justice, himself exposed to the like censures of errour and heresy, which he was so forward to lay on others at home. When it shall appear, that infallibility is intailed upon one set of men of any denomination, or truth confined to any spot of ground, the name and use of orthodoxy, as now it is in fashion every-where, will in that one place be reasonable. Until then, this ridiculous cant will be a foundation too weak to sustain that usurpation that is raised upon it. It is not that I do not think every one should be persuaded of the truth of those opinions he professes. It is that I contend for; and it is that which I fear the great sticklers for orthodoxy often fail in. For we see generally that numbers of them exactly jump in a whole large collection of doctrines, consisting of abundance of particulars; as if their notions were, by one common stamp, printed on their minds, even to the least lineament. This is very hard, if not impossible, to be conceived of those who take up their opinions only from conviction. But, how fully soever I am persuaded of the truth of what I hold, I am in common justice to allow the same sincerity to him that differs from me; and so we are upon equal terms. This persuasion of truth on each side, invests neither of us with a right to censure or condemn the other. I have no more reason to treat him ill for differing from me, than he has to treat me ill for the same cause. Pity him, I may; inform him fairly, I ought; but contemn, malign, revile, or any otherwise prejudice him for not thinking just as I do, that I ought not. My orthodoxy gives me no more authority over him, than his (for every one is orthodox to himself) gives him over me. When the word orthodoxy (which in effect signifies no more but the opinions of my party) is made use of as a pretence to domineer (as ordinarily it is,) it is, and always will be, ridiculous.

He says, “I hate, even with a deadly hatred, all catechisms and confessions, all systems and models.” I do not remember, that I have once mentioned the word catechism, either in my Reasonableness of christianity, or Vindication; but he knows “I hate them deadly,” and I know I do not. And as for systems and models, all that I say of them, in the pages he quotes to prove my hatred of them, is only this, viz. in my Vindication, , 165, “Some had rather you should write booty, and cross your own design of removing men’s prejudices to christianity, than leave out one tittle of what they put into their systems. — Some men will not bear it, that any one should speak of religion, but according to the model that they themselves have made of it.” In neither of which places do I speak against systems or models, but the ill use that some men make of them.

He tells me also in the same place, , that I deride mysteries. But for this he hath quoted neither words nor place: and where he does not do that, I have reason, from the frequent liberties he takes to impute to me what no-where appears in my books, to desire the reader to take what he says not to be true. For did he mean fairly, he might, by quoting my words, put all such matters of fact out of doubt; and not force me, so often as he does, to demand where it is: as I do now here again,

LI. WHERE IT IS THAT I DERIDE MYSTERIES?

His next words, , are very remarkable: they are, “O how he [the vindicator] grins at the spirit of creed-making! , Vindic. The very thoughts of which do so haunt him, so plague and torment him, that he cannot rest until it be conjured down. And here, by the way, seeing I have mentioned his rancour against systematic books and writings, I might represent the misery that is coming upon all booksellers, if this gentleman and his correspondence go on successfully. Here is an effectual plot to undermine Stationers-hall; for all systems and bodies of divinity, philosophy, &c. must be cashiered; whatsoever looks like system must not be bought or sold. This will fall heavy on the gentlemen of St. Paul’s church-yard and other places.” Here the politic unmasker seems to threaten me with the posse of Paul’s church-yard, because my book might lessen their gain in the sale of theological systems. I remember that “Demetrius the shrine-maker, which brought no small gain to the craftsmen, whom he called together, with the workmen of like occupation, and said to this purpose: Sirs, ye know, that by this craft we have our wealth: moreover ye see and hear, that this Paul hath persuaded, and turned away much people, saying, that they be no gods that are made with hands; so that this our craft is in danger to be set at nought. And when they heard these sayings, they were full of wrath, and cried out, saying, Great is Diana of the Ephesians.” Have you, sir, who are so good at speechmaking, as a worthy successor of the silver-smith, regulating your zeal for the truth, and your writing divinity by the profit it will bring, made a speech to this purpose to the craftsmen, and told them, that I say, articles of faith, and creeds, and systems in religion, cannot be made by men’s hands or fancies; but must be just such, and no other, than what God hath given us in the scriptures? And are they ready to cry out to your content, “Great is Diana of the Ephesians?” If you have well warmed them with your oratory, it is to be hoped they will heartily join with you, and bestir themselves, and choose you for their champion, to prevent the misery, you tell them, is coming upon them, in the loss of the sale of systems and bodies of divinity: for, as for philosophy, which you name too, I think you went a little too far; nothing of that kind, as I remember, hath been so much as mentioned. But, however, some sort of orators, when their hands are in, omit nothing, true or false, that may move those they would work upon. Is not this a worthy employment, and becoming a preacher of the gospel, to be a solicitor for Stationers-hall? And make the gain of the gentlemen of Paul’s church-yard, a consideration for or against any book writ concerning religion? This, if it were ever thought on before, nobody but an unmasker, who lays all open, was ever so foolish as to publish. But here you have an account of his zeal: the views of gain are to measure the truths of divinity. Had his zeal, as he pretends in the next paragraph, no other aims, but the “defence of the gospel;” it is probable this controversy would have been managed after another fashion.

Whether what he says in the next, , to excuse his so often pretending to “know my heart and thoughts,” will satisfy the reader, I shall not trouble myself. By his so often doing it again, in his Socinianism unmasked, I see he cannot write without it. And so I leave it to the judgment of the readers, whether he can be allowed to know other men’s thoughts, who, on many occasions, seems not well to know his own. The railing in the remainder of this chapter I shall pass by, as I have done a great deal of the same strain in his book: only to show how well he understands or represents my sense, I shall set down my words, as they are in the pages he quotes, and his inferences from them.

VINDICATION, P. 171.

I know not but it may be true that the anti-trinitarians and racovians understand those places as I do; but it is more than I know, that they do so. I took not my sense of those texts from those writers, but from the scripture itself, giving light to its own meaning, by one place compared with another. What, in this way, appears to me its true meaning, I shall not decline, because I am told, that it is so understood by the racovians, whom I never yet read; nor embrace the contrary, though the generality of divines I more converse with, should declare for it. If the sense wherein I understand those texts be a mistake, I shall be beholden to you, if you will set me right. But they are not popular authorities, or frightful names, whereby I judge of truth or falsehood.

SOCINIANISM UNMASKED, P. 108.

“The professed divines of England, you must know, are but a pitiful sort of folks with this great racovian rabbi. He tells us plainly, that he is not mindful of what the generality of divines declare for, . He labours so concernedly to ingratiate himself with the mob, the multitude (which he so often talks of) that he has no regard to these. The generality of the rabble are more considerable with him than the generality of divines.”

He tells me here of the generality of divines. If he had aid of the church of England, I could have understood him: but he says, “The professed divines of England;” and there being several sorts of divines in England, who, I think, do not every-where agree in their interpretations of scripture; which of them is it I must have regard to, where they differ? If he cannot tell me that, he complains here of me for a fault, which he himself knows not how to mend.

VINDICATION, P. 169.

The list of materials for his creed, (for the articles are not yet formed,) Mr. Edwards closes, , with these words: “These are the matters of faith contained in the epistles; and they are essential and integral parts of the gospel itself.” What! just these, neither more nor less? If you are sure of it, pray let us have them speedily, for the reconciling of differences in the christian church, which has been so cruelly torn about the articles of the christian faith, to the great reproach of christian charity, and scandal of our true religion.

SOCINIANISM UNMASKED, P. 109.

“This author, as demure and grave as he would sometimes seem to be, can scoff at the matters of faith contained in the apostles epistles, .”

Does the vindicator here “scoff at the matters of faith contained in the epistles?” or show the vain pretences of the unmasker: who undertakes to give us, out of the epistles, a collection of fundamentals, without being able to say, whether those he sets down be all or no?

VINDICATION, P. 176.

I hope you do not think, how contemptibly soever you speak of the venerable mob, as you are pleased to dignify them, , that the bulk of mankind, or, in your phrase, the rabble, are not concerned in religion; or ought not to understand it, in order to their salvation. I remember the pharisees treated the common people with contempt; and said, “Have any of the rulers, or of the pharisees, believed in him? But this people, who know not the law, are cursed.” But yet these, who in the censure of the pharisees, were cursed, were some of the poor, or, if you please to have it so, the mob, to whom the gospel was preached by our Saviour, as he tells John’s disciples, Matt. xi. 5.

SOCINIANISM UNMASKED, P. 110.

“To coax the mob, he profanely brings in that place of scripture; Have any of the rulers believed in him?”

Where the profaneness of this is, I do not see; unless some unknown sacredness of the unmasker’s person make it profaneness to show, that he, like the pharisees of old, has a great contempt for the common people, i. e. the far greater part of mankind; as if they and their salvation were below the regard of this elevated rabbi. But this, of profaneness, may be well born from him, since in the next words my mentioning another part of his carriage is no less than irreligion.

VINDICATION, P. 173.

He prefers what I say to him myself, to what is offered to him, from the word of God, and makes me this compliment, that I begin to mend about the close, i. e. when I leave off quoting of scripture, and the dull work was done “of going through the history of the Evangelists and the Acts,” which he computes, , to take up three quarters of my book.

SOCINIANISM UNMASKED, P. 110.

“Ridiculously and irreligiously he pretends,” that I prefer what he saith to me to what is offered to me from the word of God, .

The matter of fact is as I relate it, and so is beyond pretence; and for this I refer the reader to the 105th and 114th pages of his “Thoughts concerning the causes of atheism.” But had I mistaken, I know not how he could have called it irreligiously. Make the worst of it that can be, how comes it to be irreligious? What is there divine in an unmasker, that one cannot pretend (true or false) that he prefers what I say, to what is offered him from the word of God, without doing it irreligiously? Does the very assuming the power to define articles, and determine who are, and who are not christians, by a creed not yet made, erect an unmasker presently into God’s throne, and bestow on him the title of Dominus Deusque noster, whereby offences against him come to be irreligious acts? I have misrepresented his meaning; let it be so: Where is the irreligion of it? Thus it is: the power of making a religion for others (and those that make creeds do that) being once got into any one’s fancy, must at last make all oppositions to those creeds and creed-makers irreligion. Thus we see, in process of time, it did in the church of Rome: but it was in length of time, and by gentle degrees. The unmasker, it seems, cannot stay, is in haste, and at one jump leaps into the chair. He has given us yet but a piece of his creed, and yet that’s enough to set him above the state of human mistakes or frailties; and to mention any such thing in him, is to do irreligiously.

“We may further see,” says the unmasker, , “how counterfeit the vindicator’s gravity is, whilst he condemns frothy and light discourses,” , Vindic. And “yet, in many pages together, most irreverently treats a great part of the apostolical writings, and throws aside the main articles of religion as unnecessary.” Answ. in my Vindic. , you may remember these words: “I require you to publish to the world those passages, which show my contempt of the epistles.” Why do you not (especially having been so called upon to do it) set down those words, wherein “I most irreverently treat a great part of the apostolical writings?” At least, why do you not quote those many pages wherein I do it? This looks a little suspiciously, that you cannot: and the more because you have, in this very page, not been sparing to quote places which you thought to your purpose. I must take leave, therefore, (if it may be done without irreligion) to assure the reader, that this is another of your many mistakes in matters of fact, for which you have not so much as the excuse of inadvertency: for, as he sees, you have been minded of it before. But an unmasker, say what you will to him, will be an unmasker still.

He closes what he has to say to me, in his Socinianism unmasked, as if he were in the pulpit, with an use of exhortation. The false insinuations it is filled with make the conclusion of a piece with the introduction. As he sets out, so he ends, and therein shows wherein he places his strength. A custom of making bold with truth is so seldom curable in a grown man, and the unmasker shows so little sense of shame, where it is charged upon him, beyond a possibility of clearing himself, that nobody is to trouble themselves any farther about that part of his established character. Letting therefore that alone to nature and custom, two sure guides, I shall only intreat him, to prevent his taking railing for argument, (which I fear he too often does,) that upon his entrance, every-where, upon any new argument, he would set it down in syllogism; and when he has done that (that I may know what is to be answered) let him then give vent, as he pleases, to his noble vein of wit and oratory.

The lifting a man’s self up in his own opinion, has had the credit, in former ages, to be thought the lowest degradation that human nature could well sink itself to. Hence, says the wise man, Prov. xxvi. 5, “Answer a fool according to his folly, lest he be wise in his own conceit:” hereby showing, that self-conceitedness is a degree beneath ordinary folly. And therefore he there provides a fence against it, to keep even fools from sinking yet lower, by falling into it. Whether what was not so in Solomon’s days be now, by length of time, in ours, grown into a mark of wisdom and parts, and an evidence of great performances, I shall not inquire. Mr. Edwards, who goes beyond all that ever I yet met with, in the commendation of his own, best knows why he so extols what he has done in this controversy. For fear the praises he has not been sparing of, in his Socinianism unmasked, should not sufficiently trumpet out his worth, or might be forgotten; he, in a new piece, intitled, “the Socinian creed,” proclaims again his mighty deeds, and the victory he has established to himself by them, in these words: “But he and his friends (the one-article men) seem to have made satisfaction, by their profound silence lately, whereby they acknowledge to the world, that they have nothing to say in reply to what I laid to their charge, and fully proved against them, &c.” Socinian creed, . This fresh testimony of no ordinary conceit, which Mr. Edwards hath, of the excellency and strength of his reasoning, in his Socinianism unmasked, I leave with him and his friends, to be considered of at their leisure: and, if they think I have misapplied the term of conceitedness, to so wise, understanding, and every way accomplished a disputant, (if we may believe himself), I will teach them a way how he, or any body else, may fully convince me of it. There remains on his score, marked in this reply of mine, several propositions to be proved by him. If he can find but arguments to prove them, that will bear the setting down in form, and will so publish them, I will allow myself to be mistaken. Nay, which is more, if he, or any body, in the 112 pages of his Socinianism unmasked, can find but ten arguments that will bear the test of syllogism, the true touchstone of right arguing; I will grant, that that treatise deserves all those commendations he has bestowed upon it, though it be made up more of his own panegyric, than a confutation of me.

In his socinian creed, (for a creed-maker he will be; and whether he has been as lucky for the socinians as for the orthodox, I know not,) , he begins with me, and that with the same conquering hand and skill, which can never fail of victory; if a man has but wit enough to know what proposition he is able to confute, and then make that his adversary’s tenet. But the repetitions of his old song concerning one article, the epistles, &c. which occur here again, I shall only set down, that none of these excellent things may be lost, whereby this acute and unanswerable writer has so well deserved his own commendations: viz. “That I say, there is but one single article of the christian truth necessary to be believed and assented to by us, . That I slight the christian principles, curtail the articles of our faith, and ravish christianity itself from him, . And that I turn the epistles of the apostles into waste paper,” .

These and the like slanders I have already given an answer to, in my reply to his former book. Only one new one here I cannot pass over in silence, because of the remarkable profaneness which seems to me to be in it; which, I think, deserves public notice. In my “Reasonableness of christianity,” I have laid together those passages of our Saviour’s life, which seemed to me most eminently to show his wisdom, in that conduct of himself, with that reserve and caution which was necessary to preserve him, and carry him through the appointed time of his ministry. Some have thought I had herein done considerable service to the christian religion, by removing those objections which some were apt to make from our Saviour’s carriage, not rightly understood. This creed-maker tells me, , “That I make our Saviour a coward:” a word not to be applied to the Saviour of the world by a pious or discrete christian, upon any pretence, without great necessity, and sure grounds! If he had set down my words, and quoted the page, (which was the least could have been done to excuse such a phrase,) we should then have seen which of us two this impious and irreligious epithet, given to the holy Jesus, has for its author. In the mean time, I leave it with him, to be accounted for, by his piety, to those, who by his example shall be encouraged to entertain so vile a thought, or use so profane an expression of the Captain of our salvation, who freely gave himself up to death for us.

He also says in the same page, 127, “That I everywhere strike at systems, the design of which is to establish one of my own, or to foster scepticism, by beating down all others.”

For clear reason, or good sense, I do not think our creed-maker ever had his fellow. In the immediately preceding words of the same sentence he charges me with “a great antipathy against systems;” and, before he comes to the end of it, finds out my design to be the “establishing one of my own.” So that this, “my antipathy against systems” makes me in love with one. “My design,” he says, is to establish a system of “my own, or to foster scepticism, in beating down all others.” Let my book, if he pleases, be my system of christianity. Now is it in me any more fostering scepticism to say my system is true, and others not, than it is in the creed-maker to say so of all other systems but his own? For I hope he does not allow any system of christianity to be true, that differs from his, any more than I do.

But I have spoken against all systems. Answ. And always shall, so far as they are set up by particular men, or parties, as the just measure of every man’s faith; wherein every thing that is contained, is required and imposed to be believed to make a man a christian: such an opinion and use of systems I shall always be against, until the creed-maker shall tell me, amongst the variety of them, which alone is to be received and rested in, in the absence of his creed; which is not yet finished, and, I fear, will not, as long as I live. That every man should receive from others, or make to himself such a system of christianity, as he found most comformable to the word of God, according to the best of his understanding, is what I never spoke against: but think it every one’s duty to labour for, and to take all opportunities, as long as he lives, by studying the scriptures every day, to perfect.

But this, I fear, will not go easily down with our author; for then he cannot be a creed-maker for others: a thing he shows himself very forward to be; how able to perform it, we shall see when his creed is made. In the mean time, talking loudly and at random, about fundamentals, without knowing what is so, may stand him in some stead.

This being all that is new, which I think myself concerned in, in this socinian creed, I pass on to his Postscript. In the first page whereof, I find these words: “I found that the manager of the Reasonableness of christianity had prevailed with a gentleman to make a sermon upon my refutation of that treatise, and the vindication of it.” Such a piece of impertinency, as this, might have been born from a fair adversary: but the sample Mr. Edwards has given of himself, in his Socinianism unmasked, persuades me this ought to be bound up with what he says of me in his introduction to that book, in these words: “Among others, they thought and made choice of a gentleman, who, they knew, would be extraordinary useful to them. And he, it is probable, was as forward to be made use of by them, and presently accepted of the office that was assigned him:” and more there to the same purpose. All which I know to be utterly false.

It is a pity that one who relies so intirely upon it, should have no better an invention. The socinians set the author of the “Reasonableness of christianity,” &c. on work to write that book: by which discovery the world being (as Mr. Edwards says) let into the project, that book is confounded, baffled, blown off, and by this skilful artifice there is an end of it. Mr. Bold preaches and publishes a sermon without this irrefragable gentleman’s good leave and liking. What now must be done to discredit it, and keep it from being read? Why Mr. Bold too was set on work, by “the manager of the Reasonableness of christianity,” &c. In your whole storehouse of stratagems, you that are so great a conqueror, have you but this one way to destroy a book, which you set your mightiness against, but to tell the world it was a job of journey-work for somebody you do not like? Some other would have done better in this new case, had your happy invention been ready with it: for you are not so bashful or reserved, but that you may be allowed to be as great a wit as he who professed himself “ready at any time to say a good or a new thing, if he could but think of it.” But in good earnest, sir, if one should ask you, Do you think no books contain truth in them, which were undertaken by the procuration of a bookseller? I desire you to be a little tender in the point, not knowing how far it may reach. Aye, but such booksellers live not at the lower end of Pater-noster-row, but in Paul’s church-yard, and are the managers of other guise-books, than the “Reasonableness of christianity.” And therefore you very rightly subjoin, “Indeed it was a great masterpiece of procuration, and we can’t but think that man must speak truth, and defend it very impartially and substantially, who is thus brought on to undertake the cause.” And so Mr. Bold’s sermon is found to have neither truth nor sense in it, because it was printed by a bookseller at the lower end of Pater-noster-row: for that, I dare say, is all you know of the matter. But that is hint enough for a happy diviner, to be sure of the rest, and with confidence to report that for certain matter of fact, which had never any being but in the fore-casting side of his politic brain.

But whatever were the reasons that moved Mr. B — to preach that sermon, of which I know nothing; this I am sure, it shows only the weakness and malice (I will not say, and ill breeding, for that concerns not one of Mr. Edwards’s pitch) of any one who excepts against it, to take notice of any thing more than what the author has published. Therein alone consists the errour, if there be any; and that alone those meddle with, who write for the sake of truth. But poor cavillers have other purposes, and therefore must use other shifts, and make a bustle about something besides the argument, to prejudice and beguile unwary readers.

The only exception the creed-maker makes to Mr. Bold’s sermon, is the contradiction he imputes to him, in saying: “That there is but one point or article necessary to be believed for the making a man a christian: and that there are many points besides this, which Jesus Christ hath taught and revealed, which every sincere christian is indispensably obliged to endeavour to understand:” and “that there are particular points and articles, which being known to be revealed by Christ, christians must indispensably assent to.” And where, now, is there any thing like a contradiction in this? Let it be granted, for example, that the creed-maker’s set of articles (let their number be what they will, when he has found them all out) are necessary to be believed, for the making a man a christian. Is there any contradiction in it to say, there are many points besides these, which Jesus Christ hath taught and revealed, which every sincere christian is indispensably obliged to endeavour to understand? If this be not so, it is but for any one to be perfect in Mr. Edwards’s creed, and then he may lay by the bible, and from thenceforth he is absolutely dispensed with from studying or understanding any thing more of the scripture.

But Mr. Edwards’s supremacy is not yet so far established, that he will dare to say, that christians are not obliged to endeavour to understand any other points revealed in the scripture, but what are contained in his creed. He cannot yet well discard all the rest of the scripture, because he has yet need of it for the completing of his creed, which is like to secure the bible to us for some time yet. For I will be answerable for it, he will not quickly be able to resolve what texts of the scripture do, and what do not, contain points necessary to be believed. So that I am apt to imagine, that the creed-maker, upon second thoughts, will allow that saying, that there is but one, or there are but twelve, or there are but as many as shall be set down, (when he has resolved which they shall be,) necessary to the making a man a christian; and the saying, there are other points besides, contained in the scripture, which every sincere christian is indispensably obliged to endeavour to understand, and must believe, when he knows them to be revealed by Jesus Christ, are two propositions that may consist together without a contradiction.

Every christian is to partake of that bread, and that cup, which is the communion of the body and blood of Christ. And is not every sincere christian indispensably obliged to endeavour to understand these words of our Saviour’s institution, “This is my body, and this is my blood?” And if, upon his serious endeavour to do it, he understands them in a literal sense, that Christ meant, that that was really his body and blood, and nothing else; must he not necessarily believe that the bread and wine, in the Lord’s supper, is changed really into his body and blood, though he doth not know how? Or, if having his mind set otherwise, he understands the bread and wine to be really the body and blood of Christ, without ceasing to be the true bread and wine: or else, if he understands them, that the body and blood of Christ are verily and indeed given and received, in the sacrament, in a spiritual manner: or, lastly, if he understands our Saviour to mean, by those words, the bread and wine to be only a representation of his body and blood; in which way soever of these four, a christian understands these words of our Saviour to be meant by him, is he not obliged in that sense to believe them to be true, and assent to them? Or can he be a christian, and understand these words to be meant by our Saviour, in one sense, and deny his assent to them as true, in that sense? Would not this be to deny our Saviour’s veracity, and consequently his being the Messiah, sent from God? And yet this is put upon a christian, where he understands the scripture in one sense, and is required to believe it in another. From all which it is evident, that to say there is one, or any number of articles necessary to be known and believed to make a man a christian, and that there are others contained in the scripture, which a man is obliged to endeavour to understand, and obliged also to assent to, as he does understand them, is no contradiction.

To believe Jesus to be the Messiah, and to take him to be his Lord and King, let us suppose to be that only which is necessary to make a man a christian: may it not yet be necessary for him, being a christian, to study the doctrine and law of this his Lord and King, and believe that all that he delivered is true? Is there any contradiction in holding of this? But this creed-maker, to make sure work, and not to fail of a contradiction in Mr. Bold’s words, mis-repeats them, , and quite contrary, both to what they are in the sermon, and what they are, as set down by the creed-maker himself, in the immediately preceding page. Mr. Bold says, “There are other points that Jesus Christ hath taught and revealed, which every sincere christian is indispensably obliged to understand; and which being known to be revealed by Christ, he must indispensably assent to. From which the creed-maker argues thus, , Now, if there be other points, and particular articles, and those many, which a sincere christian is obliged, and that necessarily and indispensably, to understand, believe, and assent to: then this writer hath, in effect, yielded to that proposition I maintained, viz. that the belief of one article is not sufficient to make a man a christian; and consequently he runs counter to the proposition he had laid down.”

Is there no difference, I beseech you, between being “indispensably obliged to endeavour to understand, and being indispensably obliged to understand any point?” It is the first of these Mr. Bold says, and it is the latter of these you argue from, and so conclude nothing against him: nor can you to your purpose. For until Mr. Bold says (which he is far from saying,) that every sincere christian is necessarily and indispensably obliged to understand all those texts of scripture, from whence you should have drawn your necessary articles, (when you have perfected your creed,) in the same sense that you do; you can conclude nothing against what he had said, concerning that one article, or any thing that looks like running counter to it. For it may be enough to constitute a man a christian, and one of Christ’s subjects, to take Jesus to be the Messiah, his appointed King, and yet, without a contradiction, so that it may be his indispensable duty, as a subject of that kingdom, to endeavour to understand all the dictates of his sovereign, and to assent to the truth of them, as far as he understands them.

But that which the good creed-maker aims at, without which all his necessary articles fall, is, that it should be granted him, that every sincere christian was necessarily and indispensably obliged to understand all those parts of divine revelation, from whence he pretends to draw his articles, in their true meaning, i. e. just as he does. But his infallibility is not yet so established, but that there will need some proof of that proposition. And when he has proved, that every sincere christian is necessarily and indispensably obliged to understand those texts in their true meaning; and that his interpretation of them is that true meaning; I shall then ask him, Whether “every sincere christian is not as necessarily and indispensably obliged” to understand other texts of scripture in their true meaning, though they have no place in his system?

For example, To make use of the instance abovementioned, is not every sincere christian necessarily and indispensably obliged to endeavour to understand these words of our Saviour, “This is my body, and this is my blood,” that he may know what he receives in the sacrament? Does he cease to be a christian, who happens not to understand them just as the creed-maker does? Or may not the old gentleman at Rome (who has somewhat the ancienter title to infallibility) make transubstantiation a fundamental article necessary to be believed there, as well as the creed-maker here make his sense of any disputed text of scripture a fundamental article necessary to be believed?

Let us suppose Mr. Bold had said, that instead of one point, the right knowledge of the creed-maker’s one hundred points (when he has resolved on them) doth constitute and make a person a christian; yet there are many other points Jesus Christ hath taught and revealed, which every sincere christian is indispensably obliged to endeavour to understand, and to make a due use of; for this, I think, the creed-maker will not deny. From whence, in the creed-maker’s words, I will thus argue: “Now if there be other points, and particular articles, and those many, which a sincere christian is obliged, and that necessarily and indispensably, to understand, and believe, and assent to; then this writer doth, in effect, yield to that proposition which I maintained, viz. That the belief of those one hundred articles is not sufficient to make a man a christian:” for this is that which I maintain, that upon this ground the belief of the articles, which he has set down in his list, are not sufficient to make a man a christian; and that upon Mr. Bold’s reason, which the creed-maker insists on against one article, viz. because there are many other points Jesus Christ hath taught and revealed, which every sincere christian is as necessarily and indispensably obliged to endeavour to understand, and make a due use of.

But this creed-maker is cautious, beyond any of his predecessors: He will not be so caught by his own argument; and therefore is very shy to give you the precise articles that every sincere christian is necessarily and indispensably obliged to understand and give his assent to. Something he is sure there is, that he is indispensably obliged to understand and assent to, to make him a christian; but what that is he cannot yet tell. So that whether he be a christian or no, he does not know; and what other people will think of him, from his treating of the serious things of christianity, in so trifling and scandalous a way, must be left to them.

In the next paragraph, , the creed-maker tells us, Mr. Bold goes on to confute himself, in saying, “A true christian must assent unto this, that Christ Jesus is God.” But this is just such another confutation of himself as the before-mentioned, i. e. as much as a falsehood, substituted by another man, can be a confutation of a man’s self, who has spoken truth all of a-piece. For the creed-maker, according to his sure way of baffling his opponents, so as to leave them nothing to answer, hath here, as he did before, changed Mr. Bold’s words, which in the 35th page, quoted by the creed-maker, stand thus: “When a true christian understands, that Christ Jesus hath taught, that he is God, he must assent unto it:” which is true, and conformable to what he had said before, that every sincere christian must endeavour to understand the points taught and revealed by Jesus Christ; which being known to be revealed by him, he must assent unto.

The like piece of honesty the creed-maker shows in the next paragraph, , where he charges Mr. Bold with saying, “That a true christian is as much obliged to believe, that the Holy Spirit is God, as to believe that Jesus is the Christ,” . In which place, Mr. Bold’s words are: “When a true christian understands, that Christ Jesus hath given this account of the Holy Spirit, viz. that he is God; he is as much obliged to believe it, as he is to believe, that Jesus is the Christ:” which is an incontestable truth, but such an one as the creed-maker himself saw would do him no service; and therefore he mangles it, and leaves out half to serve his turn. But he that should give a testimony in the slight affairs of men, and their temporal concerns, before a court of judicature, as the creed-maker does here, and almost every-where, in the great affairs of religion, and the everlasting concern of souls, before all mankind, would lose his ears for it. What, therefore, this worthy gentleman alleges out of Mr. Bold, as a contradiction to himself, being only the creed-maker’s contradiction to truth, and clear matter of fact, needs no other answer.

The rest of what he calls “Reflections on Mr. Bold’s sermon” being nothing but either rude and misbecoming language of him; or pitiful childish application to him, to change his persuasion at the creed-maker’s entreaty, and give up the truth he hath owned, in courtesy to this doughty combatant; shows the ability of the man. Leave off begging the question, and superciliously presuming, that you are in the right; and, instead of that, show by argument: and I dare answer for Mr. Bold you will have him, and I promise you, with him, one convert more. But arguing is not, it seems, this notable disputant’s way. If boasting of himself, and contemning of others, false quotations, and feigned matters of fact, which the reader neither can know, nor is the question concerned in, if he did know, will not do; there is an end of him: he has shown his excellency in scurrilous declamation; and there you have the whole of this unanswerable writer. And for this, I appeal to his own writings in this controversy, if any judicious reader can have the patience to look them over.

In the beginning of his “Reflections on Mr. Bold’s sermon,” he confidently tells the world, “that he had found that the manager of the Reasonableness of christianity had prevailed on Mr. Bold to preach a sermon upon his Reflections,” &c. And adds, “And we cannot but think, that that man must speak the truth, and defend it very impartially and substantially, who is thus brought on to undertake the cause.” And at the latter end he addresses himself to Mr. Bold, as one that is drawn off, to be an under journeyman-worker in socinianism. In his gracious allowance, “Mr. Bold is, seemingly, a man of some relish of religion and piety,” . He is forced also to own him to be a man of sobriety and temper, . A very good rise, to give him out to the world, in the very next words, as a man of a profligate conscience: for so he must be, who can be drawn off to preach, or write for socinianism, when he thinks it a most dangerous errour; who can “dissemble with himself, and choke his inward persuasions,” (as the creed-maker insinuates that Mr. Bold does, in the same address to him, ,) and write contrary to his light. Had the creed-maker had reason to think in earnest, that Mr. Bold was going off to socinianism, he might have reasoned with him fairly, as with a man running into a dangerous errour; or if he had certainly known, that he was by any by-ends prevailed on to undertake a cause contrary to his conscience, he might have some reason to tell the world, as he does, , “That we cannot think he should speak truth, who is thus brought to undertake the cause.” If he does not certainly know, that “Mr. Bold was thus brought to undertake the cause,” he could not have shown a more villanous and unchristian mind, than in publishing such a character of a minister of the gospel, and a worthy man, upon no other grounds, but because it might be subservient to his ends. He is engaged in a controversy, that by argument he cannot maintain; nor knew any other way, from the beginning, to attack the book he pretends to write against, but by crying out socinianism; a name he knows in great disgrace with all other sects of christians, and therefore sufficient to deter all those who approve and condemn books by hearsay, without examining their truth themselves, from perusing a treatise, to which he could affix that imputation. Mr. Bold’s name, (who is publicly known to be no socinian) he foresees, will wipe off that false imputation, with a great many of those who are led by names more than things. This seems exceedingly to trouble him, and he labours might and main, to get Mr. Bold to quit a book as socinian, which Mr. Bold knows is not socinian, because he has read and considered it.

But though our creed-maker be mightily concerned, that Mr. B — d should not appear in the defence of it; yet this concern cannot raise him one jot above that honesty, skill, and good breeding, which appears towards others. He manages this matter with Mr. B — d, as he has done the rest of the controversy; just in the same strain of invention, civility, wit, and good sense. He tells him, besides what I have above set down, “That he is drawn off to debase himself, and the post, i. e. the ministry he is in, . That he hath said very ill things, to the lessening and impairing, yea, to the defaming of that knowledge and belief of our Saviour, and of the articles of christianity, which are necessarily required of us, . That the devout and pious,” (whereby he means himself: for one, and none, is his own beloved wit and argument,) “observing that Mr. Bold is come to the necessity of but one article of faith, they expect that he may in time hold that none is necessary, . That if he writes again in the same strain, he will write rather like a Turkish spy, than a christian preacher; and that he is a backslider, and sailing to Racovia with a side wind:” than which, what can there be more scurrilous, or more malicious? And yet at the same time that he outrages him thus, beyond not only what christian charity, but common civility, would allow in an ingenuous adversary, he makes some awkward attempts to sooth him with some ill-timed commendations; and would have his undervaluing Mr. Bold’s animadversions pass for a compliment to him; because he, for that reason, pretends not to believe so crude and shallow a thing (as he is pleased to call it) to be his. A notable contrivance to gain the greater liberty of railing at him under another name, when Mr. B — d’s, it seems, is too well known to serve him so well to that purpose. Besides, it is of good use to fill up three or four pages of his Reflections; a great convenience to a writer, who knows all the ways of baffling his opponents, but argument; and who always makes a great deal of stir about matters foreign to his subject; which, whether they are granted or denied, make nothing at all to the truth of the question on either side. For what is it to the shallowness or depth of the animadversions, who writ them? Or to the truth or falsehood of Mr. B — d’s defence of the “Reasonableness of christianity,” whether a layman, or a churchman, a socinian, or one of the church of England, answered the creed-maker as well as he? Yet this is urged as a matter of great weight; but yet, in reality, it amounts to no more but this, that a man of any denomination, who wishes well to the peace of christianity, and has observed the horrible effects the christian religion has felt from the impositions of men, in matters of faith, may have reason to defend a book, wherein the simplicity of the gospel, and the doctrine proposed by our Saviour and his apostles, for the conversion of unbelievers, is made out, though there be not one word of the distinguishing tenets of his sect in it. But that all those, who, under any name, are for imposing their own orthodoxy, as necessary to be believed, and persecuting those who dissent from them, should be all against it, is not perhaps very strange.

One thing more I must observe of the creed-maker on this occasion: in his socinian creed, chap. vi. the author of the “Reasonableness of christianity,” &c. and his book, must be judged of, by the characters and writings of those who entertain or commend his notions. “A professed unitarian has defended it;” therefore he is a socinian. The author of A letter to the deists speaks well of it; therefore he is a deist. Another, as an abetter of the Reasonableness of christianity, he mentions, , whose letters I have never seen: and his opinions too are, I suppose, set down there as belonging to me. Whatever is bad in the tenets or writings of these men, infects me. But the mischief is, Mr. Bold’s orthodoxy will do me no good: but because he has defended my book against Mr. Edwards, all my faults are become his, and he has a mighty load of accusations laid upon him. Thus contrary causes serve so good a natured, so charitable, and candid a writer as the creed-maker, to the same purpose of censure and railing. But I shall desire him to figure to himself the loveliness of that creature, which turns every thing into venom. What others are, or hold, who have expressed favourable thoughts of my book, I think myself not concerned in. What opinions others have published, make those in my book neither true nor false; and he that, for the sake of truth, would confute the errours in it, should show their falsehood and weakness, as they are: but they who write for other ends than truth, are always busy with other matters; and where they can do nothing by reason and argument, hope to prevail with some by borrowed prejudices and party.

Taking therefore the Animadversions, as well as the sermon, to be his, whose name they bear, I shall leave to Mr. B — d himself to take what notice he thinks fit of the little sense, as well as great impudence, of putting his name in print to what is not his, or taking it away from what he hath set it to, whether it belongs to his bookseller or answerer. Only I cannot pass by the palpable falsifying of Mr. B — d’s words, in the beginning of his epistle to the reader, without mention. Mr. B — d’s words are: “whereby I came to be furnished with a truer and more just notion of the main design of that treatise.” And the good creed-maker sets them down thus: “The main design of my own treatise or sermon:” a sure way for such a champion for truth to secure to himself the laurel or the whetstone!

This irresistible disputant, (who silences all that come in his way, so that those that would cannot answer him) to make good the mighty encomiums he has given himself, ought (one would think) to clear all as he goes, and leave nothing by the way unanswered, for fear he should fall into the number of those poor baffled wretches, whom he with so much scorn reproaches, that they would answer, if they could.

Mr. B — d begins his Animadversions with this remark, that our creed-maker had said, That “I give it over and over again in these formal words, viz. That nothing is required to be believed by any christian man but this, That Jesus is the Messiah.” To which Mr. B — d replies, , in these words: “Though I have read over the Reasonableness of christianity, &c. with some attention, I have not observed those formal words in any part of that book, nor any words that are capable of that construction; provided they be considered with the relation they have to, and the manifest dependence they have on, what goes before, or what follows after them.”

But to this Mr. Edwards answers not.

Whether it was because he would not, or because he could not, let the reader judge. But this is down upon his score already, and it is expected he should answer to it, or else confess that he cannot. And that there may be a fair decision of this dispute, I expect the same usage from him, that he should set down any proposition of his I have not answered to, and call on me for an answer, if I can; and if I cannot, I promise him to own it in print.

The creed-maker had said, “That it is most evident to any thinking and considerate person, that I purposely omit the epistolary writings of the apostles because they are fraught with other fundamental doctrines, besides that which I mention.”

To this Mr. B — d answers, , That if by “fundamental articles, Mr. Edwards means here, all the propositions delivered in the epistles, concerning just those particular heads, he [Mr. Edwards] had here mentioned; it lies upon him to prove, that Jesus Christ hath made it necessary, that every person must have an explicit knowledge and belief of all those before he can be a christian.”

But to this Mr. Edwards answers not.

And yet, without an answer to it, all his talk about fundamentals, and those which he pretended to set down in that place, under the name of fundamentals, will signify nothing in the present case; wherein, by fundamentals, were meant such propositions which every person must necessarily have an explicit knowledge and belief of, before he can be a christian.

Mr. B — d, in the same place, , 7, very truly and pertinently adds, “That it did not pertain to [my] undertaking to inquire what doctrines, either in the Epistles, or the Evangelists and the Acts, were of greatest moment to be understood by them who are christians; but what was necessary to be known and believed to a person’s being a christian. For there are many important doctrines, both in the Gospels, and in the Acts, besides this, ‘That Jesus is the Messiah.’ But how many soever the doctrines be, which are taught in the epistles, if there be no doctrine besides this, ‘That Jesus is the Messiah,’ taught there as necessary to be believed to make a man a christian; all the doctrines taught there will not make any thing against what this author has asserted, nor against the method he hath observed; especially, considering we have an account, in the Acts of the apostles, of what those persons, by whom the epistles were writ, did teach, as necessary to be believed to people’s being christians.”

This, and what Mr. B — d subjoins, “That it was not my design to give an abstract of any of the inspired books,” is so true, and has so clear reason in it, that any, but this writer, would have thought himself concerned to have answered something to it.

But to this Mr. Edwards answers not.

It not being, it seems, a creed-maker’s business to convince men’s understanding by reason; but to impose on their belief by authority; or, where that is wanting, by falsehood and bawling. And to such Mr. Bold observes well, , “That if I had given the like account of the epistles, that would have been as little satisfactory as what I have done already, to those who are resolved not to distinguish ‘betwixt what is necessary to be believed to make a man a christian, and those articles which are to be believed by those who are christians,’ as they can attain to know that Christ hath taught them.”

This distinction the creed-maker, no-where that I remember, takes any notice of: unless it be , where he has something relating hereunto, which we shall consider, when we come to that place. I shall now go on to show what Mr. Bold has said, to which he answers not.

Mr. Bold farther tells him, , that if he will prove any thing in opposition to the Reasonableness of christianity, &c. it must be this: “That Jesus Christ and his apostles have taught, that the belief of some one article, or certain number of articles distinct from this, ‘That Jesus is the Messiah,’ either as exclusive of, or in conjunction with, the belief of this article, doth constitute and make a person a christian: but that the belief of this, that Jesus is the Messiah alone, doth not make a man a christian.”

But to this Mr. Edwards irrefragably answers nothing.

Mr. Bold also, , charges him with his falsely accusing me in these words: “He pretends to contend for one single article, with the exclusion of all the rest, for this reason; because all men ought to understand their religion.” And again, where he says, I am at this, viz. “That we must not have any point of doctrine in our religion, that the mob doth not, at the very first naming of it, perfectly understand and agree to:” Mr. Bold has quoted my express words to the contrary.

But to this this unanswerable gentleman answers nothing.

But if he be such a mighty disputant, that nothing can stand in his way; I shall expect his direct answer to it among those other propositions which I have set down to his score, and I require him to prove, if he can.

The creed-maker spends above four pages of his Reflections, in a great stir who is the author of those animadversions he is reflecting on. To which I tell him, it matters not to a lover of truth, or a confuter of errours, who was the author; but what they contain. He who makes such a deal to do about that which is nothing to the question, shows he has but little mind to the argument; that his hopes are more in the recommendation of names, and prejudice of parties, than in the strength of his reasons, and the goodness of his cause. A lover of truth follows that, whoever be for or against it; and can suffer himself to pass by no argument of his adversary, without taking notice of it, either in allowing its force, or giving it a fair answer. Were the creedmaker capable of giving such an evidence as this of his love of truth, he would not have passed over the twenty first pages of Mr. Bold’s Animadversions in silence. The falsehoods that are therein charged upon him, would have required an answer of him, if he could have given any; and I tell him, he must give an answer, or confess the falsehoods.

In his 255th page, he comes to take notice of these words of Mr. Bold, in the 21st page of his Animadversions, viz. “That a convert to christianity, or a christian, must necessarily believe as many articles as he shall attain to know, that Christ Jesus hath taught.” Which, says the creed-maker, wholly invalidates what he had said before, in these words,” viz. “That Jesus Christ and his apostles did not teach any thing as necessary to be believed to make a man a christian, but only this one proposition, That Jesus of Nazareth was the Messiah.” The reason he gives to show that the former of these propositions (in Mr. Bold) invalidates the latter, and that the animadverter contradicts himself, stands thus: “For, says he, if a christian must give assent to all the articles taught by our Saviour in the gospel, and that necessarily; then all those propositions reckoned up in my late discourse, being taught by Christ, or his apostles, are necessary to be believed.” Ans. And what, I beseech you, becomes of the rest of the propositions taught by Christ, or his apostles, which you have not reckoned up in your late discourse? Are not they necessary to be believed, “if a christian must give an assent to all the articles taught by our Saviour and his apostles?”

Sir, if you will argue right from that antecedent, it must stand thus: “If a christian must give an assent to all the articles taught by our Saviour and his apostles, and that necessarily;” then all the propositions in the New Testament, taught by Christ, or his apostles, are necessary to be believed. This consequence I grant to be true, and necessarily to follow from that antecedent, and pray make your best of it: but withal remember, that it puts an utter end to your select number of fundamentals, and makes all the truths delivered in the New Testament necessary to be explicitly believed by every christian.

But, sir, I must take notice to you, that if it be uncertain, whether he that writ the Animadversions, be the same person that preached the sermon, yet it is very visible, that it is the very same person that reflects on both; because he here again uses the same trick, in answering in the Animadversions the same thing that had been said in the sermon, viz. by pretending to argue from words as Mr. Bold’s, when Mr. Bold has said no such thing. The proposition you argue from here is this: “If a christian must give his assent to all the articles taught by our Saviour, and that necessarily.” But Mr. Bold says no such thing. His words, as set down by yourself, are: “A christian must necessarily believe as many articles as he shall attain to know that Christ Jesus hath taught.” And is there no difference between “all that Christ Jesus hath taught,” and “as many as any one shall attain to know that Christ Jesus hath taught?” There is so great a difference between these two, that one can scarce think even such a creed-maker could mistake it. For one of them admits all those to be christians, who, taking Jesus for the Messiah, their Lord and King, sincerely apply themselves to understand and obey his doctrine and law, and to believe all that they understand to be taught by him: the other shuts out, if not all mankind, yet nine hundred ninety-nine of a thousand, of those who profess themselves christians, from being really so. For he speaks within compass, who says there is not one of a thousand, if there be any one man at all, who explicitly knows and believes all that our Saviour and his apostles taught, i. e. all that is delivered in the New Testament, in the true sense that it is there intended. For if giving assent to it, in any sense, will serve the turn, our creed-maker can have no exception against socinians, papists, lutherans, or any other, who, acknowledging the scripture to be the word of God, do yet oppose his system.

But the creed-maker goes on, , and endeavours to prove that what is necessary to be believed by every christian, is necessary to be believed to make a man a christian, in these words: “But he will say, the belief of those propositions makes not a man a christian. Then, I say, they are not necessary and indispensable; for what is absolutely necessary in christianity, is absolutely requisite to make a man a christian.”

Ignorance, or something worse, makes our creed-maker always speak doubtfully or obscurely, whenever he pretends to argue; for here “absolutely necessary in christianity,” either signifies nothing, but absolutely necessary to make a man a christian; and then it is proving the same proposition, by the same proposition: or else has a very obscure and doubtful signification. For, if I ask him, Whether it be absolutely necessary in christianity, to obey every one of our Saviour’s commands, What will he answer me? If he answers, No; I ask him, Which of our Saviour’s commands is it not, in christianity, absolutely necessary to obey? If he answers, Yes; then I tell him, by this rule, there are no christians: because there is no one that does in all things obey all our Saviour’s commands, and therein fails to perform what is absolutely necessary in christianity; and so, by his rule, is no christian. If he answers, Sincere endeavour to obey, is all that is absolutely necessary; I reply, And so sincere endeavour to understand, is all that is absolutely necessary: neither perfect obedience, nor perfect understanding, is absolutely necessary in christianity.

But his proposition, being put in terms clear, and not loose and fallacious, should stand thus, viz. “What is absolutely necessary to every christian, is absolutely requisite to make a man a christian.” But then I deny, that he can infer from Mr. Bold’s words, that those propositions (i. e. which he has set down as fundamental, or necessary to be believed) are absolutely necessary to be believed by every christian. For that indispensable necessity Mr. Bold speaks of, is not absolute, but conditional. His words are, “A christian must believe as many articles, as he shall attain to know that Jesus Christ hath taught.” So that he places the indispensable necessity of believing, upon the condition of attaining to know that Christ taught so. An endeavour to know what Jesus Christ taught, Mr. B — d says truly, is absolutely necessary to every one who is a christian: and to believe what he has attained to know that Jesus Christ taught, that also, he says, is absolutely necessary to every christian. But all this granted, (as true it is,) it still remains (and eternally will remain) to be proved from this, (which is all that Mr. Bold says,) that something else is absolutely required to make a man a christian, besides the unfeigned taking Jesus to be the Messiah, his King and Lord; and accordingly, a sincere resolution to obey and believe all that he commanded and taught.

The gaoler, Acts xvi. 30, in answer to his question, “What he should do to be saved?” was answered, “That he should believe in the Lord Jesus Christ.” And the text says, that the gaoler “took them the same hour of the night and washed their stripes, and was baptized, he and all his, straightway.” Now, I will ask our creed-maker, whether St. Paul, in speaking to him the word of the Lord, proposed and explained to him all those propositions, and fundamental heads of doctrine, which our creed-maker has set down as necessary to be believed to make a man a christian? Let it be considered the gaoler was a heathen, and one that seems to have no more sense of religion or humanity, than those of that calling use to have: for he had let them alone under the pain of their stripes, without any remedy, or so much as the ease of washing them, from the day before, until after his conversion; which was not until after midnight. And can any one think, that between his asking what he should do to be saved, and his being baptized, which, the text says, was the same hour, and straightway; there was time enough for St. Paul and Silas, to explain to him all the creed-maker’s articles, and make such a man as that, and all his house, understand the creed-maker’s whole system; especially, since we hear nothing of it in the conversion of these, or any others, who were brought into the faith, in the whole history of the preaching of our Saviour and the apostles? Now let me ask the creed-maker, whether the gaoler was not a christian, when he was baptized; and whether, if he had then immediately died, he had not been saved, without the belief of any one article more, than what Paul and Silas had then taught him? Whence it follows, that what was then proposed to him to be believed, (which appears to be nothing, but that Jesus was the Messiah,) was all that was absolutely necessary to be believed to make him a christian: though this hinders not, but that afterwards it might be necessary for him, indispensably necessary, to believe other articles, when he attained to the knowledge that Christ had taught them. And the reason of it is plain: because the knowing that Christ hath taught any thing, and the not receiving it for true (which is believing it,) is inconsistent with the believing him to be the Messiah, sent from God to enlighten and save the world. Every word of divine revelation is absolutely and indispensably necessary to be believed by every christian, as soon as he comes to know it to be taught by our Saviour, or his apostles, or to be of divine revelation. But yet this is far enough from making it absolutely necessary to every christian, to know every text in the scripture, much less to understand every text in the scripture; and least of all, to understand it as the creed-maker is pleased to put his sense upon it.

This the good creed-maker either will not, or cannot understand; but gives us a list of articles culled out of the scripture by his own authority, and tells us, those are absolutely necessary to be believed by every one, to make him a christian. For what is of absolute necessity in christianity, as those, he says, are, he tells us, is absolutely requisite to make a man a christian. But when he is asked, Whether these are all the articles of absolute necessity to be believed to make a man a christian? this worthy divine, that takes upon himself to be a successor of the apostles, cannot tell. And yet, having taken upon himself also to be a creed-maker, he must suffer himself to be called upon for it again and again, until he tells us what is of absolute necessity to be believed to make a man a christian, or confess that he cannot.

In the mean time, I take the liberty to say, that every proposition delivered in the New Testament by our Saviour, or his apostles, and so received by any christian as of divine revelation, is of as absolute necessity to be assented to by him, in the sense he understands it to be taught by them, as any one of those propositions enumerated by the creed-maker: and if he thinks otherwise I shall desire him to prove it. The reason whereof is this, that in divine revelation, the ground of faith being the only authority of the proposer: where that is the same, there is no difference in the obligation or measure of believing. Whatever the Messiah, that came from God, taught, is equally to be believed by every one who receives him as the Messiah, as soon as he understands what it was he taught. There is no such thing as garbling his doctrine, and making one part of it more necessary to be believed than another, when it is understood. His saying is, and must be, of unquestionable authority to all that receive him as their heavenly King; and carries with it an equal obligation of assent to all that he says as true. But since nobody can explicitly assent to any proposition of our Saviour’s as true, but in the sense he understands our Saviour to have spoken it in; the same authority of the Messiah, his King, obliges every one absolutely and indispensably to believe every part of the New Testament in that sense he understands it: for else he rejects the authority of the deliverer, if he refuses his assent to it in that sense which he is persuaded it was delivered in. But the taking him for the Messiah, his King and Lord, laying upon every one who is his subject, an obligation to endeavour to know his will in all things; every true christian is under an absolute and indispensable necessity, by being his subject, to study the scriptures with an unprejudiced mind, according to that measure of time, opportunity, and helps, which he has; that in these sacred writings, he may find what his Lord and Master hath by himself, or by the mouths of his apostles, required of him, either to be believed or done.

The creed-maker, in the following page, 256, hath these words: “It is worth the reader’s observing, that notwithstanding I had in twelve pages together (viz. from the eighth to the twentieth) proved, that several propositions are necessary to be believed by us, in order to our being christians; yet this sham-animadverter attends not to any one of the particulars which I had mentioned, nor offers any thing against them; but only, in a lumping way, dooms them all in those magisterial words: “I do not see any proof he produces,” . This is his wonderful way of confuting me, by pretending that he cannot see any proof in what I allege: and all the world must be led by his eyes.”

Answ. “It is worth the reader’s observing,” that the creed-maker does not reply to what Mr. Bold has said to him, as we have already seen, and shall see more as we go on; and therefore he has little reason to complain of him, for not having answered enough. Mr. Bold did well to leave that which was an insignificant lump, so as it was, together; for it is no wonderful thing not to see any proof, where there is no proof. There is indeed, in those pages the creed-maker mentions, much confidence, much assertion, a great many questions asked, and a great deal said after his fashion: but for a proof, I deny there is any one. And if what I have said in another place already, does not convince him of it, I challenge him, with all his eyes, and those of the world to boot, to find out, in those twelve renowned pages, one proof. Let him set down the proposition, and his proof of its being absolutely and indispensably necessary to be believed to make a man a christian; and I too will join with him in his testimonial of himself, that he is irrefragable. But I must tell him before-hand, talking a great deal loosely will not do it.

Mr. Bold and I say we cannot see any proof in those twelve pages: the way to make us see, or to convince the world that we are blind, is to single out one proof out of that wood of words there, which you seem to take for arguments, and set it down in a syllogism, which is the fair trial of a proof or no proof. You have, indeed, a syllogism in the 23d page; but that is not in those twelve pages you mention. Besides, I have showed in another place, what that proves; to which I refer you.

In answer to the creed-maker’s question, about his other fundamentals found in the epistles: “Why did the apostles write these doctrines? Was it not, that those they writ to, might give their assent to them?” Mr. Bold. , replies: “But then it may be asked again, Were not those persons christians to whom the apostles writ these doctrines, and whom they required to assent to them? Yes, verily. And if so, What was it that made them christians before their assent to these doctrines was required? If it were any thing besides their believing Jesus to be the Messiah, it ought to be instanced in, and made out.”

But to this Mr. Edwards answers not.

The next thing in controversy between Mr. Bold and the creed-maker, (for I follow Mr. B — d’s order,) is about a matter of fact, viz. Whether the creed-maker has proved, “that Jesus Christ and his apostles have taught, that no man can be a christian, or shall be saved, unless he has an explicit knowledge of all those things, which have an immediate respect to the occasion, author, way, means, and issue of our salvation, and which are necessary for the knowing the true nature and design of it?” This, Mr. Bold, , tells him, “he has not done.” To this the creedmaker replies, .

“And yet the reader may satisfy himself, that this is the very thing that I had been proving just before, and, indeed, all along in the foregoing chapter.” Answ. There have been those who have been seven years proving a thing, which at last they could not do; and I give you seven years to prove this proposition, which you should there have proved; and I must add to your score here, viz.

LII. THAT JESUS CHRIST, OR HIS APOSTLES, HAVE TAUGHT, THAT NO MAN CAN BE A CHRISTIAN, OR CAN BE SAVED, UNLESS HE HATH AN EXPLICIT KNOWLEDGE OF ALL THESE THINGS WHICH HAVE AN IMMEDIATE RESPECT TO THE OCCASION, AUTHOR, WAY, MEANS, AND ISSUE OF OUR SALVATION, AND WHICH ARE NECESSARY FOR OUR KNOWING THE TRUE NATURE AND DESIGN OF IT.

Nor must the poor excuse, of saying, it was not necessary “to add any farther medium, and proceed to another syllogism, because you had secured that proposition before;” go for payment. If you had secured it, as you say, it had been quite as easy, and much for your credit, to have produced the proof whereby you had secured it, than to say you had done it; and thereupon to reproach Mr. Bold with heedlessness; and to tell the world, that “he cares not what he saith.” The rule of fair dispute is, indispensably to prove, where any thing is denied. To evade this is shuffling: and he that, instead of it, answers with ill language, in my country, is called a foulmouthed wrangler.

To the creed-maker’s exception to my demand, about the actual belief of all his fundamentals in his new creed, Mr. Bold asks, , “Whether a man can believe particular propositions, and not actually believe them?”

But to this Mr. Edwards answers not.

Mr. Bold, , farther acknowledges the creed-maker’s fundamental propositions to “be in the bible; and that they are for this purpose there, that they might be believed:” and so, he saith, “is every other proposition which is taught in our bibles.” But asks, How will it thence follow, that no man can be a christian, until he particularly know, and actually assent to every proposition in our bibles?”

But to this Mr. Edwards answers not.

From to 30, Mr. Bold shows, that the creed-maker’s reply concerning my not gathering of fundamentals out of the epistles is nothing to the purpose: and this he demonstratively proves.

And to this Mr. Edwards answers not.

The creed-maker had falsely said, That “I bring no tidings of an evangelical faith;” and thence very readily and charitably infers: “Which gives us to understand, that he verily believes there is no such christian faith.” To this Mr. Bold thus softly replies, , “I think Mr. Edwards is much mistaken, both in his assertion and inference:” and to show that he could not so infer, adds: “If the author of the Reasonableness of christianity, &c. had not brought any tidings of such a faith, I think it could not be thence justly inferred, that he verily believes there is no such christian faith: because his inquiry and search was not concerning christian faith, considered subjectively but objectively; what the articles be, which must be believed to make a man a christian; and not, with what sort of faith these articles are to be believed.”

To this the creed-maker answers indeed: but it is something as much worse than nothing, as falsehood is worse than silence. His words are, , “It may be questioned, from what he [the animadverter] hath the confidence to say, , viz. There is no inquiry in the Reasonableness of christianity, concerning faith subjectively considered, but only objectively,” &c. And thus having set down Mr. B — d’s words, otherwise than they are; for Mr. Bold does not say, there is no inquiry, i. e. no mention, (for so the creed-maker explains inquiries here. For to convince Mr. Bold that there is an inquiry, i. e. mention, of subjective faith, he alleges, that subjective faith is spoken of in the 296th and 297th pages of my book.) But Mr. Bold says not, that faith, considered subjectively, is not spoken of any-where in the Reasonableness of christianity, &c. but “that the author’s inquiry and search (i. e. the author’s search, or design of his search) was not concerning christian faith considered subjectively.” And thus the creed-maker, imposing on his reader, by perverting Mr. Bold’s sense, from what was the intention of my inquiry and search, to what I had said in it, he goes on, after his scurrilous fashion, to insult, in these words which follow: “I say it may be guessed from this, what a liberty this writer takes, to assert what he pleases.” Answ. “To assert what one pleases,” without truth and without certainty, is the worst character can be given a writer; and with falsehood to charge it another, is no mean slander and injury to a man’s neighbour. And yet to these shameful arts must he be driven, who finding his strength of managing a cause to lie only in fiction and falsehood, has no other but the dull Billingsgate way of covering it, by endeavouring to divert the reader’s observation and censure from himself, by a confident repeated imputation of that to his adversary, which he himself is so frequent in the commission of. And of this the instances I have given, are a sufficient proof; in which I have been at the pains to set down the words on both sides, and the pages where they are to be found, for the reader’s full satisfaction.

The cause in debate between us is of great weight, and concerns every christian. That any evidence in the proposal, or defence of it, can be sufficient to conquer all men’s prejudices, is vanity to imagine. But this, I think, I may justly demand of every reader, that since there are great and visible falsehoods on one side or the other, (for the accusations of this kind are positive and frequent,) he would examine on which side they are: and upon that I will venture the cause in my reader’s judgment, who will but be at the pains of turning to the pages marked out to him; and as for him that will not do that, I care not much what he says.

The creed-maker’s following words, , have the natural mark of their author. They are these: “How can this animadverter come off with peremptorily declaring, that subjective faith is not inquired into, in the treatise of the Reasonableness of christianity, &c. when in another place, , and 36, he avers, That christian faith and christianity, considered subjectively, are the same?” Answ. In which words there are two manifest untruths: the one is, “That Mr. Bold peremptorily declares, that subjective faith is not inquired into, i. e. spoken of, in the Reasonableness of christianity,” &c. Whereas Mr. Bold says in that place, , “If he, [i. e. the author,] had not said one word concerning faith subjectively considered.” The creed-maker’s other untruth is his saying, “That the animadverter avers, , 36, that christian faith and christianity, considered subjectively, are the same.” Whereas it is evident, that Mr. Bold, arguing against these words of the creed-maker (“The belief of Jesus being the Messiah, was one of the first and leading acts of christian faith,”) speaks in that place of an act of faith, as these words of his demonstrate: “Now, I apprehend that christian faith and christianity, considered subjectively, (and an act of christian faith, I think, cannot be understood in any other sense,) are the very same.” I must therefore desire him to set down the words wherein the animadverter peremptorily declares,

LIII. THAT SUBJECTIVE FAITH IS NOT INQUIRED INTO, OR SPOKEN OF, IN THE TREATISE OF THE REASONABLENESS OF CHRISTIANITY, &C.

And next, to produce the words wherein the animadverter avers,

LIV. THAT CHRISTIAN FAITH AND CHRISTIANITY, CONSIDERED SUBJECTIVELY, ARE THE SAME.

To the creed-maker’s saying, “That the author of the Reasonableness of christianity, &c. brings us no tidings of evangelical faith belonging to christianity,” Mr. Bold replies: That I have done it in all those pages where I speak of taking and accepting Jesus to be our King and Ruler; and particularly he sets down my words out of pages 119, &c.

But to this Mr. Edwards answers not.

The creed-maker says, , of his Socinianism unmasked, that the author of the Reasonableness of christianity “tells men again and again, that a christian man, or member of Christ, needs not know or believe any more than that one individual point.” To which Mr. Bold thus replies, , “If any man will show me those words in any part of the Reasonableness, &c. I shall suspect I was not awake all the time I was reading that book: and I am as certain as one awake can be, that there are several passages in that book directly contrary to these words. And there are some expressions in the Vindication of the Reasonableness, &c. one would think, if Mr. Edwards had observed them, they would have prevented that mistake.”

But to this Mr. Edwards answers not.

Mr. Bold, , takes notice, that the creed-maker had not put the query, or objection, right, which, he says, “Some, and not without some show of ground, may be apt to start; and therefore Mr. Bold puts the query right, viz. ‘Why did Jesus Christ and his apostles require assent to, and belief of, this one article alone, viz. That Jesus is the Messiah, to constitute and make a man a christian, or true member of Christ, (as it is abundantly evident they did, from the Reasonableness of christianity,) if the belief of more articles is absolutely necessary to make and constitute a man a christian?’”

But to this Mr. Edwards answers not.

And therefore I put the objection, or query, to him again in Mr. Bold’s words, and expect an answer to it, viz.

LV. WHY DID JESUS CHRIST, AND HIS APOSTLES, REQUIRE ASSENT TO, AND BELIEF OF, THIS ONE ARTICLE ALONE, VIZ. THAT JESUS IS THE MESSIAH, TO MAKE A MAN A CHRISTIAN, (AS IT IS ABUNDANTLY EVIDENT THEY DID, FROM ALL THEIR PREACHING, RECORDED THROUGHOUT ALL THE WHOLE HISTORY OF THE EVANGELISTS AND THE ACTS,) IF THE BELIEF OF MORE ARTICLES BE ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY TO MAKE A MAN A CHRISTIAN?

The creed-maker having made believing Jesus to be the Messiah, only one of the first and leading acts of christian faith; Mr. Bold, , rightly tells him, That “christian faith must be the belief of something or other: and if it be the belief of any thing besides this, that Jesus is the Christ, or Messiah, that other thing should be specified; and it should be made appear, that the belief that Jesus is the Messiah, without the belief of that other proposition, is not christian faith.”

But to this Mr. Edwards answers not.

Mr. B — d, in the four following pages, 36 — 39, has excellently explained the difference between that faith which constitutes a man a christian, and that faith whereby one that is a christian, believes the doctrines taught by our Saviour; and the ground of that difference: and therein has fully overturned this proposition, “That believing Jesus to be the Messiah, is but a step, or the first step to christianity.”

But to this Mr. Edwards answers not.

To the creed-maker’s supposing that other matters of faith were proposed with this, that Jesus is the Messiah; Mr. Bold replies, That this should be proved, viz. that other articles were proposed, as requisite to be believed to make men christians. And, , he gives a reason why he is of another mind, viz. “Because there is nothing but this recorded, which was insisted on for that purpose.”

But to this Mr. Edwards answers not.

Mr. Bold, , shows that Rom. x. 9, which the creed-maker brought against it, confirms the assertion of the author of the Reasonableness, &c. concerning the faith that makes a man a christian.

But to this Mr. Edwards answers not.

The creed-maker says, , “This is the main answer to the objection, (or query above proposed,) viz. That Christianity was erected by degrees.” This Mr. Bold, , proves to be nothing to the purpose, by this reason, viz. “Because what makes one man a christian, or ever did make any man a christian, will at any time, to the end of the world, make another man a christian:” and asks, “Will not that make a christian now, which made the apostles themselves christians?”

But to this Mr. Edwards answers not.

In answer to his sixth chapter, Mr. Bold, , tells him, “It was not my business to discourse of the Trinity, or any other particular doctrines, proposed to be believed by them who are christians; and that it is no fair and just ground to accuse a man, with rejecting the doctrines of the Trinity, and that Jesus is God, because he does not interpret some particular texts to the same purpose others do.”

But to this Mr. Edwards answers not.

Indeed he takes notice of these words of Mr. Bold, in this paragraph, viz. “Hence Mr. Edwards takes occasion to write many pages about these terms [viz. Messiah and Son of God]; but I do not perceive that he pretends to offer any proof, that these were not synonymous terms amongst the jews at that time, which is the point he should have proved, if he designed to invalidate what this author says about that matter.” To this the creed maker replies, , “The animadverter doth not so much as offer one syllable to disprove what I delivered, and closely urged on that head.” Answ. What need any answer to disprove where there is no proof brought that reaches the proposition in question? If there had been any such proof, the producing of it, in short, had been a more convincing argument to the reader, than so much bragging of what has been done. For here are more words spent, (for I have not set them all down,) than would have served to have expressed the proof of this proposition, viz. that the terms above mentioned were not synonymous among the jews, if there had been any proof of it. But having already examined what the creed-maker brags he has closely urged, I shall say no more of it here.

To the creed-maker’s making me a socinian, in his eighth chapter, for not naming Christ’s satisfaction among the advantages and benefits of Christ’s coming into the world; Mr. Bold replies, “1. That it is no proof, because I promised not to name every one of them. And the mention of some is no denial of others.” 2. He replies, That, “satisfaction is not so strictly to be termed an advantage, as the effects and fruits of it are; and that the doctrine of satisfaction instructs us the way how Christ did, by divine appointment, obtain those advantages for us.” And this was an answer that deserved some reply from the creed-maker.

But to this he answers not.

Mr. Bold says right, that this is a doctrine that is of mighty importance for a christian to be well acquainted with. And I will add to it, that it is very hard for a christian, who reads the scripture with attention, and an unprejudiced mind, to deny the satisfaction of Christ: but it being a term not used by the Holy Ghost in the scripture, and very variously explained by those that do use it, and very much stumbled at by those I was there speaking to, who were such, as I there say, “Who will not take a blessing, unless they be instructed what need they had of it, and why it was bestowed upon them;” I left it with the other disputed doctrines of christianity, to be looked into (to see what it was Christ had taught concerning it) by those who were christians, and believed Jesus to be the Saviour promised, and sent from God. And to those who yet doubted that he was so, and made this objection, “What need was there of a Saviour?” I thought it most reasonable to offer such particulars only as were agreed on by all christians, and were capable of no dispute, but must be acknowledged by every body to be needful. This, though the words above quoted out of the Reasonableness of christianity, &c. , show to be my design; yet the creed-maker plainly gives me the lye, and tells me it was not my design. “All the world are faithless, false, treacherous, hypocritical strainers upon their reason and conscience, dissemblers, journeymen, mercenary hirelings, except Mr. Edwards:” I mean all the world that opposes him. And must not one think he is mightily beholden to the excellency and readiness of his own nature, who is no sooner engaged in controversy, but he immediately finds out in his adversaries these arts of equivocation, lying, and effrontery, in managing of it? Reason and learning, and acquired improvements, might else have let him gone on with others, in the dull and ordinary way of fair arguing; wherein, possibly, he might have done no great feats. Must not a rich and fertile soil within, and a prompt genius, wherein a man may readily spy the propensities of base and corrupt nature, be acknowledged to be an excellent qualification for a disputant, to help him to the quick discovery and laying open of the faults of his opponents; which a mind otherwise disposed would not so much as suspect? But Mr. Bold, without this, could not have been so soon found out to be a journeyman, a dissembler, an hired mercenary, and stored with all those good qualities, wherein he hath his full share with me. But why would he then venture upon Mr. Edwards, who is so very quick-sighted in these matters, and knows so well what villainous man is capable of?

I should not here, in this my Vindication, have given the reader so much of Mr. Bold’s reasoning, which, though clear and strong, yet has more beauty and force, as it stands in the whole piece in his book; nor should I have so often repeated this remark upon each passage, viz. “To this Mr. Edwards answers not;” had it not been the shortest and properest comment could be made on that triumphant paragraph of his, which begins in the 128th page of his Socinian creed; wherein, among a great deal of no small strutting, are these words: “By their profound silence they acknowledge they have nothing to reply.” He that desires to see more of the same noble strain, may have recourse to that eminent place. Besides, it was fit the reader should have this one taste more of the creed-maker’s genius, who passing by in silence all these clear and apposite replies of Mr. Bold, loudly complains of him, , “That where he [Mr. Bold] finds something that he dares not object against, he shifts it off.” And again, , “That he does not make any offer at reason; there is not the least shadow of an argument — As if he were only hired to say something against me, [the creed-maker,] though not at all to the purpose: and truly, any man may discern a mercenary stroke all along;” with a great deal more to the same purpose. For such language as this, mixed with scurrility, neither fit to be spoken by, nor of, a minister of the gospel, make up the remainder of his postscript. But to prevent this for the future; I demand of him, that if in either of his treatises, there be any thing against what I have said, in my Reasonableness of christianity, which he thinks not fully answered, he will set down the proposition in direct words, and note the page of his book where it is to be found: and I promise him to answer it. For as for his railing, and other stuff besides the matter, I shall hereafter no more trouble myself to take notice of it. And so much for Mr. Edwards.

THERE is another gentleman, and of another sort of make, parts, and breeding, who, (as it seems, ashamed of Mr. Edwards’s way of handling controversies in religion) has had something to say of my “Reasonableness of christianity,” &c. and so has made it necessary for me to say a word to him, before I let those papers go out of my hand. It is the author of “The Occasional Paper,” numb. 1. The second, third, and fourth pages of that paper, gave me great hopes to meet with a man, who would examine all the mistakes which came abroad in print, with that temper and indifferency, that might set an exact pattern for controversy, to those who would approve themselves to be sincere contenders for truth and knowledge, and nothing else, in the disputes they engaged in. Making him allowance for the mistakes that self-indulgence is apt to impose upon human frailty, I am apt to believe he thought his performance had been such: but I crave leave to observe, that good and candid men are often misled, from a fair unbiassed pursuit of truth, by an over-great zeal for something, that they, upon wrong grounds, take to be so; and that it is not so easy to be a fair and unprejudiced champion for truth, as some, who profess it, think it to be. To acquaint him with the occasion of this remark, I must desire him to read and consider his nineteenth page; and then to tell me,

Whether he knows, that the doctrine proposed in the “Reasonableness of christianity, &c.” was borrowed, as he says, from Hobbes’s Leviathan? For I tell him, I borrowed it only from the writers of the four Gospels and the Acts; and did not know those words, he quoted out of the Leviathan, were there, or any thing like them. Nor do I know yet, any farther than as I believe them to be there, from his quotation.

Whether affirming, as he does positively, this, which he could not know to be true, and is in itself perfectly false, were meant to increase or lessen the credit of the author of the “Reasonableness of christianity,” &c. in the opinion of the world? Or is consonant with his own rule, , “of putting candid constructions on what adversaries say?” Or with what follows, in these words? “The more divine the cause is, still the greater should be the caution. The very discoursing about Almighty God, or our holy religion, should compose our passions, and inspire us with candour and love. It is very indecent to handle such subjects, in a manner that betrays rancour and spite. These are fiends that ought to vanish, and should never mix, either with a search after truth, or the defence of religion.”

Whether the propositions which he has, out of my book, inserted into his nineteenth page, and says, “are consonant to the words of the Leviathan,” were those of all my books, which were likeliest to give the reader a true and fair notion of the doctrine contained in it? If they were not, I must desire him to remember and beware of his fiends. Not but that he will find those propositions there to be true. But that neither he nor others may mistake my book, this is that, in short which it says:

That there is a faith that makes men christians.

That this faith is the believing “Jesus of Nazareth to be the Messiah.”

That the believing Jesus to be the Messiah, includes in it a receiving him for our Lord and King, promised and sent from God: and so lays upon all his subjects an absolute and indispensable necessity of assenting to all that they can attain the knowledge that he taught; and of a sincere obedience to all that he commanded.

This, whether it be the doctrine of the Leviathan, I know not. This appears to me out of the New Testament, from whence (as I told him in the preface) I took it, to be the doctrine of our Saviour and his apostles; and I would not willingly be mistaken in it. If therefore there be any other faith besides this, absolutely requisite to make a man a christian, I shall here again desire this gentleman to inform me what it is, i. e. to set down all those propositions which are so indispensably to be believed, (for it is of simple believing I perceive the controversy runs,) that no man can be a believer, i. e. a christian, without an actual knowledge of, and an explicit assent to them. If he shall do this with that candour and fairness he declares to be necessary in such matters, I shall own myself obliged to him: for I am in earnest, and I would not be mistaken in it.

If he shall decline it, I, and the world too, must conclude, that upon a review of my doctrine, he is convinced of the truth of it, and is satisfied, that I am in the right. For it is impossible to think, that a man of that fairness and candour, which he solemnly prefaces his discourse with, should continue to condemn the account I have given of the faith which I am persuaded makes a christian; and yet he himself will not tell me (when I earnestly demand it of him, as desirous to be rid of my errour, if it be one) what is that more, which is absolutely required to be believed by every one, before he can be a believer, i. e. what is indispensably necessary to be known, and explicitly believed to make a man a christian.

Another thing which I must desire this author to examine, by those his own rules, is, what he says of me, , where he makes me to have a prejudice against the ministry of the gospel, and their office, from what I have said in my Reasonableness, &c. , 136, concerning the priests of the world, in our Saviour’s time: which he calls bitter reflections.

If he will tell me what is so bitter, in any one of those passages which he has set down, that is not true, or ought not to be said there, and give me the reason why he is offended at it; I promise him to make what reparation he shall think fit, to the memory of those priests whom he, with so much good nature, patronizes, near seventeen hundred years after they had been out of the world; and is so tenderly concerned for their reputation, that he excepts against that, as said against them, which was not. For one of the three places he sets down, was not spoken of priests. But his making my mentioning the faults of the priests of old, in our Saviour’s time, to be an “exposing the office of the ministers of the gospel now, and a vilifying those who are employed in it;” I must desire him to examine, by his own rules of love and candour; and to tell me, “Whether I have not reason, here again, to mind him of his fiends, and to advise him to beware of them?” And to show him how I think I have, I crave leave to ask him these questions:

Whether I do not all along plainly, and in express words, speak of the priests of the world, preceding, and in our Saviour’s time? Nor can my argument bear any other sense.

Whether all I have said of them be not true?

Whether the representing truly the carriage of the jewish, and more especially of the heathen priests, in our Saviour’s time, as my argument required, can expose the office of the ministers of the gospel now? Or ought to have such an interpretation put upon it?

Whether what he says of the “air and language I use, reaching farther,” carry any thing else in it, but a declaration, that he thinks some men’s carriage now, had some affinity with what I have truly said, of the priests of the world, before christianity; and that therefore the faults of those should have been let alone, or touched more gently, for fear some should think these now concerned it?

Whether, in truth, this be not to accuse them, with a design to draw the envy of it on me? Whether out of good will to them, or to me, or both, let him look. This I am sure, I have spoken of none but the priests before christianity, both jewish and heathen. And for those of the jews, what our Saviour has pronounced of them, justifies my reflections from being bitter; and that the idolatrous heathen priests were better than they, I believe our author will not say: and if he were preaching against them, as opposing the ministers of the gospel, I suppose he will give as ill a character of them. But if any one extends my words farther, than to those they were spoke of, I ask whether that agrees with his rules of love and candour?

I shall impatiently expect from this author of the occasional paper, an answer to these questions; and hope to find them such as becomes that temper, and love of truth, which he professes. I long to meet with a man, who, laying aside party, and interest, and prejudice, appears in controversy so as to make good the character of a champion of truth for truth’s sake; a character not so hard to be known whom it belongs to, as to be deserved. Whoever is truly such an one, his opposition to me will be an obligation. For he that proposes to himself the convincing me of an errour, only for truth’s sake, cannot, I know, mix any rancour, or spite, or ill-will, with it. He will keep himself at a distance from those fiends, and be as ready to hear, as offer reason. And two so disposed can hardly miss truth between them, in a fair inquiry after it; at least they will not lose good-breeding, and especially charity, a virtue much more necessary than the attaining of the knowledge of obscure truths, that are not easy to be found; and probably, therefore, not necessary to be known.

The unbiassed design of the writer, purely to defend and propagate truth, seems to me to be that alone which legitimates controversies. I am sure it plainly distinguishes such from all others, in their success and usefulness. If a man, as a sincere friend to the person, and to the truth, labours to bring another out of errour, there can be nothing more beautiful, nor more beneficial. If party, passion, or vanity direct his pen, and have a hand in the controversy; there can be nothing more unbecoming, more prejudicial, nor more odious. What thoughts I shall have of a man that shall, as a christian, go about to inform me what is necessary to be believed to make a man a christian, I have declared, in the preface to my “Reasonableness of christianity,” &c. nor do I find myself yet altered. He that, in print, finds fault with my imperfect discovery of that, wherein the faith, which makes a man a christian, consists, and will not tell me what more is required, will do well to satisfy the world what they ought to think of him.

A PARAPHRASE AND NOTES ON THE EPISTLES OF ST. PAUL TO THE GALATIANS, 1 AND 2 CORINTHIANS, ROMANS, EPHESIANS

CONTENTS

A PARAPHRASE AND NOTES ON THE EPISTLES OF ST. PAUL TO THE GALATIANS, CORINTHIANS, ROMANS, EPHESIANS.

THE PREFACE.

A PARAPHRASE AND NOTES ON THE EPISTLE OF ST. PAUL TO THE GALATIANS.

THE EPISTLE OF ST. PAUL TO THE GALATIANS; WRIT FROM EPHESUS, THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 57, OF NERO III.

A PARAPHRASE AND NOTES ON THE FIRST EPISTLE OF ST. PAUL TO THE CORINTHIANS.

THE FIRST EPISTLE OF ST. PAUL TO THE CORINTHIANS; WRIT IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 57, OF NERO III.

A PARAPHRASE AND NOTES ON THE SECOND EPISTLE OF ST. PAUL TO THE CORINTHIANS.

A PARAPHRASE AND NOTES ON THE EPISTLE OF ST. PAUL TO THE ROMANS.

A PARAPHRASE AND NOTES ON THE EPISTLE OF ST. PAUL TO THE EPHESIANS.

A PARAPHRASE AND NOTES ON THE EPISTLES OF ST. PAUL TO THE GALATIANS, CORINTHIANS, ROMANS, EPHESIANS.

TO WHICH IS PREFIXED AN ESSAY FOR THE UNDERSTANDING OF ST. PAUL’S EPISTLES, BY CONSULTING ST. PAUL HIMSELF.

THE PREFACE.

To go about to explain any of St. Paul’s epistles, after so great a train of expositors and commentators, might seem an attempt of vanity, censurable for its needlessness, did not the daily and approved examples of pious and learned men justify it. This may be some excuse for me to the public, if ever these following papers should chance to come abroad: but to myself, for whose use this work was undertaken, I need make no apology. Though I had been conversant in these epistles, as well as in other parts of sacred scripture, yet I found that I understood them not; I mean the doctrinal and discursive parts of them: though the practical directions, which are usually dropped in the latter part of each epistle, appeared to me very plain, intelligible, and instructive.

I did not, when I reflected on it, very much wonder, that this part of sacred scripture had difficulties in it: many causes of obscurity did readily occur to me. The nature of epistolary writings in general, disposes the writer to pass by the mentioning of many things, as well known to him, to whom his letter is addressed, which are necessary to be laid open to a stranger, to make him comprehend what is said: and it not seldom falls out, that a well-penned letter, which is very easy and intelligible to the receiver, is very obscure to a stranger, who hardly knows what to make of it. The matters that St. Paul writ about, were certainly things well known to those he writ to, and which they had some peculiar concern in; which made them easily apprehend his meaning, and see the tendency and force of his discourse. But we having now, at this distance, no information of the occasion of his writing, little or no knowledge of the temper and circumstances those he writ to were in, but what is to be gathered out of the epistles themselves; it is not strange, that many things in them lie concealed to us, which, no doubt, they who were concerned in the letter, understood at first sight. Add to this, that in many places it is manifest he answers letters sent, and questions proposed to him, which, if we had, would much better clear those passages that relate to them, than all the learned notes of critics and commentators, who in after times fill us with their conjectures; for very often, as to the matter in hand, they are nothing else.

The language wherein these epistles are writ, is another, and that no small occasion of their obscurity to us now: the words are Greek; a language dead many ages since: a language of a very witty, volatile people, seekers after novelty, and abounding with variety of notions and sects, to which they applied the terms of their common tongue, with great liberty and variety: and yet this makes but one small part of the difficulty in the language of these epistles; there is a peculiarity in it, that much more obscures and perplexes the meaning of these writings, than what can be occasioned by the looseness and variety of the Greek tongue. The terms are Greek, but the idiom, or turn of the phrases, may be truly said to be Hebrew or Syriack. The custom and familiarity of which tongues do sometimes so far influence the expressions in these epistles, that one may observe the force of the Hebrew conjugations, particularly that of Hiphil, given to Greek verbs, in a way unknown to the Grecians themselves. Nor is this all; the subject treated of in these epistles is so wholly new, and the doctrines contained in them so perfectly remote from the notions that mankind were acquainted with, that most of the important terms in it have quite another signification from what they have in other discourses. So that putting all together, we may truly say, that the New Testament is a book written in a language peculiar to itself.

To these causes of obscurity, common to St. Paul, with most of the other penmen of the several books of the New Testament, we may add those that are peculiarly his, and owing to his style and temper. He was, as it is visible, a man of quick thought, and warm temper, mighty well versed in the writings of the Old Testament, and full of the doctrine of the New. All this put together, suggested matter to him in abundance, on those subjects which came in his way: so that one may consider him, when he was writing, as beset with a croud of thoughts, all striving for utterance. In this posture of mind it was almost impossible for him to keep that slow pace, and observe minutely that order and method of ranging all he said, from which results an easy and obvious perspicuity. To this plenty and vehemence of his, may be imputed those many large parentheses, which a careful reader may observe in his epistles. Upon this account also it is, that he often breaks off in the middle of an argument, to let in some new thought suggested by his own words; which having pursued and explained, as far as conduced to his present purpose, he re-assumes again the thread of his discourse, and goes on with it, without taking any notice, that he returns again to what he had been before saying; though sometimes it be so far off, that it may well have slipt out of his mind, and requires a very attentive reader to observe, and so bring the disjointed members together, as to make up the connexion, and see how the scattered parts of the discourse hang together in a coherent, well-agreeing sense, that makes it all of a piece.

Besides the disturbance in perusing St. Paul’s epistles, from the plenty and vivacity of his thoughts, which may obscure his method, and often hide his sense from an unwary, or over-hasty reader; the frequent changing of the personage he speaks in, renders the sense very uncertain, and is apt to mislead one that has not some clue to guide him; sometimes by the pronoun I, he means himself; sometimes any christian; sometimes a Jew, and sometimes any man, &c. If speaking of himself, in the first person singular, has so various meanings; his use of the first person plural is with a far greater latitude, sometimes designing himself alone, sometimes those with himself, whom he makes partners to the epistles; sometimes with himself, comprehending the other apostles, or preachers of the gospel, or christians: nay, sometimes he in that way speaks of the converted Jews, other times of the converted Gentiles, and sometimes of others, in a more or less extended sense, every one of which varies the meaning of the place, and makes it to be differently understood. I have forborne to trouble the reader with examples of them here. If his own observation hath not already furnished him with them, the following paraphrase and notes, I suppose, will satisfy him in the point.

In the current also of his discourse, he sometimes drops in the objections of others, and his answers to them, without any change in the scheme of his language, that might give notice of any other speaking, besides himself. This requires great attention to observe; and yet, if it be neglected or overlooked, will make the reader very much mistake and misunderstand his meaning, and render the sense very perplexed.

These are intrinsic difficulties arising from the text itself, whereof there might be a great many other named, as the uncertainty, sometimes, who are the persons he speaks to, or the opinions, or practices, which he has in his eye, sometimes in alluding to them, sometimes in his exhortations and reproofs. But, those above-mentioned being the chief, it may suffice to have opened our eyes a little upon them, which, well examined, may contribute towards our discovery of the rest.

To these we may subjoin two external causes, that have made no small increase of the native and original difficulties, that keep us from an easy and assured discovery of St. Paul’s sense, in many parts of his epistles: and those are,

First, The dividing of them into chapters, and verses, as we have done; whereby they are so chopped and minced, and, as they are now printed, stand so broken and divided, that not only the common people take the verses usually for distinct aphorisms; but even men of more advanced knowledge, in reading them, lose very much of the strength and force of the coherence, and the light that depends on it. Our minds are so weak and narrow, that they have need of all the helps and assistances that can be procured, to lay before them undisturbedly the thread and coherence of any discourse; by which alone they are truly improved, and led into the genuine sense of the author. When the eye is constantly disturbed in loose sentences, that by their standing and separation appear as so many distinct fragments: the mind will have much ado to take in, and carry on in its memory, an uniform discourse of dependent reasonings; especially having from the cradle been used to wrong impressions concerning them, and constantly accustomed to hear them quoted as distinct sentences, without any limitation or explication of their precise meaning, from the place they stand in, and the relation they bear to what goes before, or follows. These divisions also have given occasion to the reading these epistles by parcels, and in scraps, which has farther confirmed the evil arising from such partitions. And I doubt not but every one will confess it to be a very unlikely way, to come to the understanding of any other letters, to read them piece-meal, a bit to-day, and another scrap to-morrow, and so on by broken intervals: especially if the pause and cessation should be made, as the chapters the apostle’s epistles are divided into, do end sometimes in the middle of a discourse, and sometimes in the middle of a sentence. It cannot therefore but be wondered, that that should be permitted to be done to holy writ, which would visibly disturb the sense, and hinder the understanding of any other book whatsoever. If Tully’s epistles were so printed, and so used, I ask, Whether they would not be much harder to be understood, less easy, and less pleasant to be read, by much, than now they are?

How plain soever this abuse is, and what prejudice soever it does to the understanding of the sacred scripture, yet if a bible was printed as it should be, and as the several parts of it were writ, in continued discourses, where the argument is continued, I doubt not but the several parties would complain of it, as an innovation, and a dangerous change in the publishing those holy books. And indeed, those who are for maintaining their opinions, and the systems of parties, by sound of words, with a neglect of the true sense of scripture, would have reason to make and foment the outcry. They would most of them be immediately disarmed of their great magazine of artillery, wherewith they defend themselves and fall upon others. If the holy scriptures were but laid before the eyes of christians, in its connexion and consistency, it would not then be so easy to snatch out a few words, as if they were separate from the rest, to serve a purpose, to which they do not at all belong, and with which they have nothing to do. But, as the matter now stands, he that has a mind to it, may at a cheap rate be a notable champion for the truth, that is, for the doctrines of the sect, that chance or interest has cast him into. He need but be furnished with verses of sacred scripture, containing words and expressions that are but flexible, (as all general obscure and doubtful ones are) and his system, that has appropriated them to the orthodoxy of his church, makes them immediately strong and irrefragable arguments for his opinion. This is the benefit of loose sentences, and scripture crumbled into verses, which quickly turn into independent aphorisms. But if the quotation in the verse produced were considered as a part of a continued coherent discourse, and so its sense were limited by the tenour of the context, most of these forward and warm disputants would be quite stripped of those, which they doubt not now to call spiritual weapons; and they would have often nothing to say, that would not show their weakness, and manifestly fly in their faces. I crave leave to set down a saying of the learned and judicious Mr. Selden: “In interpreting the scripture, says he, many do as if a man should see one have ten pounds, which he reckoned by 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, meaning four was but four units, and five five units, &c. and that he had in all but ten pounds: the other that sees him, takes not the figures together as he doth, but picks here and there; and thereupon reports that he had five pounds in one bag, and six pounds in another bag, and nine pounds in another bag, &c. when as, in truth, he has but ten pounds in all. So we pick out a text here and there, to make it serve our turn; whereas if we take it altogether, and consider what went before, and what followed after, we should find it meant no such thing.”

I have heard sober christians very much admire, why ordinary illiterate people, who were professors, that showed a concern for religion, seemed much more conversant in St. Paul’s epistles, than in the plainer, and (as it seemed to them) much more intelligible parts of the New Testament; they confessed, that, though they read St. Paul’s epistles with their best attention, yet they generally found them too hard to be mastered, and they laboured in vain so far to reach the apostle’s meaning, all along in the train of what he said, as to read them with that satisfaction that arises from a feeling, that we understand and fully comprehend the force and reasoning of an author; and therefore they could not imagine what those saw in them whose eyes they thought not much better than their own. But the case was plain, these sober inquisitive readers had a mind to see nothing in St. Paul’s epistles, but just what he meant; whereas those others, of a quicker and gayer sight, could see in them what they pleased. Nothing is more acceptable to fancy, than pliant terms, and expressions that are not obstinate; in such it can find its account with delight, and with them be illuminated, orthodox, infallible at pleasure, and in its own way. But where the sense of the author goes visibly in its own train, and the words, receiving a determined sense from their companions and adjacents, will not consent to give countenance and colour to what is agreed to be right, and must be supported at any rate, there men of established orthodoxy do not so well find their satisfaction. And perhaps, if it were well examined, it would be no very extravagant paradox to say, that there are fewer that bring their opinions to the sacred scripture, to be tried by that infallible rule, than bring the sacred scripture to their opinions, to bend it to them, to make it, as they can, a cover and guard to them. And to this purpose, its being divided into verses, and brought, as much as may be, into loose and general aphorisms, makes it most useful and serviceable. And in this lies the other great cause of obscurity and perplexedness, which has been cast upon St. Paul’s epistles from without.

St. Paul’s epistles, as they stand translated in our English Bibles, are now, by long and constant use, become a part of the English language, and common phraseology, especially in matters of religion: this every one uses familiarly, and thinks he understands; but it must be observed, that if he has a distinct meaning, when he uses those words and phrases, and knows himself, what he intends by them, it is always according to the sense of his own system, and the articles, or interpretations, of the society he is engaged in. So that all this knowledge and understanding, which he has in the use of these passages of sacred scripture, reaches no farther than this, that he knows (and that is very well) what he himself says, but thereby knows nothing at all what St. Paul said in them. The apostle writ not by that man’s system, and so his meaning cannot be known by it. This being the ordinary way of understanding the epistles, and every sect being perfectly orthodox in his own judgment; what a great and invincible darkness must this cast upon St. Paul’s meaning, to all those of that way, in all those places where his thoughts and sense run counter to what any party has espoused for orthodox; as it must, unavoidably, to all but one of the different systems, in all those passages that any way relate to the points in controversy between them?

This is a mischief, which however frequent, and almost natural, reaches so far, that it would justly make all those who depend upon them wholly diffident of commentators, and let them see how little help was to be expected from them, in relying on them for the true sense of the sacred scripture, did they not take care to help to cozen themselves, by choosing to use, and pin their faith on, such expositors as explain the sacred scripture, in favour of those opinions, that they beforehand have voted orthodox, and bring to the sacred scripture, not for trial but confirmation. No-body can think that any text of St. Paul’s epistles has two contrary meanings; and yet so it must have, to two different men, who taking two commentators of different sects, for their respective guides into the sense of any one of the epistles, shall build upon their respective expositions. We need go no further for a proof of it, than the notes of the two celebrated commentators on the New Testament, Dr. Hammond and Beza, both men of parts and learning, and both thought, by their followers, men mighty in the sacred scriptures. So that here we see the hopes of great benefit and light, from expositors and commentators, is in a great part abated; and those, who have most need of their help, can receive but little from them, and can have very little assurance of reaching the apostle’s sense, by what they find in them, whilst matters remain in the same state they are in at present. For those who find they need help, and would borrow light from expositors, either consult only those who have the good luck to be thought sound and orthodox, avoiding those of different sentiments from themselves, in the great and approved points of their systems, as dangerous and not fit to be meddled with; or else with indifferency look into the notes of all commentators promiscuously. The first of these take pains only to confirm themselves in the opinion and tenets they have already, which, whether it be the way to get the true meaning of what St. Paul delivered, is easy to determine. The others, with much more fairness to themselves, though with reaping little more advantage, (unless they have something else to guide them into the apostle’s meaning, than the comments themselves) seek help on all hands, and refuse not to be taught by any one, who offers to enlighten them in any of the dark passages. But here, though they avoid the mischief, which the others fall into, of being confined in their sense, and seeing nothing but that in St. Paul’s writings, be it right or wrong; yet they run into as great on the other side, and instead of being confirmed in the meaning, that they thought they saw in the text, are distracted with an hundred, suggested by those they advised with; and so, instead of that one sense of the scripture, which they carried with them to their commentators, return from them with none at all.

This, indeed, seems to make the case desperate: for if the comments and expositions of pious and learned men cannot be depended on, whither shall we go for help? To which I answer, I would not be mistaken, as if I thought the labours of the learned in this case wholly lost and fruitless. There is great use and benefit to be made of them, when we have once got a rule, to know which of their expositions, in the great variety there is of them, explains the words and phrases according to the apostle’s meaning. Until then it is evident, from what is above said, they serve for the most part to no other use, but either to make us find our own sense, and not his, in St. Paul’s words; or else to find in them no settled sense at all.

Here it will be asked, “How shall we come by this rule you mention? Where is that touchstone to be had, that will show us, whether the meaning we ourselves put, or take as put by others, upon St. Paul’s words, in his epistles, be truly his meaning or no?” I will not say the way which I propose, and have in the following paraphrase followed, will make us infallible in our interpretations of the apostle’s text: but this I will own, that till I took this way, St. Paul’s epistles, to me, in the ordinary way of reading and studying them, were very obscure parts of scripture, that left me almost everywhere at a loss; and I was at a great uncertainty, in which of the contrary senses, that were to be found in his commentators, he was to be taken. Whether what I have done has made it any clearer, and more visible, now, I must leave others to judge. This I beg leave to say for myself, that if some very sober, judicious christians, no strangers to the sacred scriptures, nay, learned divines of the church of England, had not professed, that by the perusal of these following papers, they understood the epistles much better than they did before, and had not, with repeated instances, pressed me to publish them, I should not have consented they should have gone beyond my own private use, for which they were at first designed, and where they made me not repent my pains.

If any one be so far pleased with my endeavours, as to think it worth while to be informed, what was the clue I guided myself by, through all the dark passages of these epistles, I shall minutely tell him the steps by which I was brought into this way, that he may judge whether I proceed rationally, upon right grounds, or no; if so be any thing, in so mean an example as mine, may be worth his notice.

After I had found by long experience, that the reading of the text and comments in the ordinary way, proved not so successful as I wished, to the end proposed, I began to suspect, that in reading a chapter as was usual, and thereupon sometimes consulting expositors upon some hard places of it, which at that time most affected me, as relating to points then under consideration in my own mind, or in debate amongst others, was not a right method to get into the true sense of these epistles. I saw plainly, after I began once to reflect on it, that if any one now should write me a letter, as long as St. Paul’s to the Romans, concerning such a matter as that is, in a style as foreign, and expressions as dubious, as his seem to be, if I should divide it into fifteen or sixteen chapters, and read of them one to-day, and another to-morrow, &c. it was ten to one, I should never come to a full and clear comprehension of it. The way to understand the mind of him that writ it, every one would agree, was to read the whole letter through, from one end to the other, all at once, to see what was the main subject and tendency of it: or if it had several views and purposes in it, not dependent one of another, nor in a subordination to one chief aim and end, to discover what those different matters were, and where the author concluded one, and began another; and if there were any necessity of dividing the epistle into parts, to make these the boundaries of them.

In prosecution of this thought, I concluded it necessary, for the understanding of any one of St. Paul’s epistles, to read it all through at one sitting; and to observe, as well as I could, the drift and design of his writing it. If the first reading gave me some light, the second gave me more; and so I persisted on, reading constantly the whole epistle over at once, till I came to have a good general view of the apostle’s main purpose in writing the epistle, the chief branches of his discourse wherein he prosecuted it, the arguments he used, and the disposition of the whole.

This, I confess, is not to be obtained by one or two hasty readings; it must be repeated again and again, with a close attention to the tenour of the discourse, and a perfect neglect of the divisions into chapters and verses. On the contrary, the safest way is to suppose, that the epistle has but one business and one aim, until, by a frequent perusal of it, you are forced to see there are distinct independent matters in it, which will forwardly enough show themselves.

It requires so much more pains, judgment, and application, to find the coherence of obscure and abstruse writings, and makes them so much the more unfit to serve prejudice and pre-occupation, when found; that it is not to be wondered, that St. Paul’s epistles have, with many, passed rather for disjointed, loose, pious discourses, full of warmth and zeal and overflows of light, rather than for calm, strong, coherent reasonings, that carried a thread of argument and consistency all through them.

But this muttering of lazy or ill-disposed readers hindered me not from persisting in the course I had begun: I continued to read the same epistle over and over, and over again, until I came to discover as appeared to me, what was the drift and aim of it, and by what steps and arguments St. Paul prosecuted his purpose. I remembered that St. Paul was miraculously called to the ministry of the gospel, and declared to be a chosen vessel; that he had the whole doctrine of the gospel from God, by immediate revelation; and was appointed to be the apostle of the Gentiles, for the propagating of it in the heathen world. This was enough to persuade me, that he was not a man of loose and shattered parts, incapable to argue, and unfit to convince those he had to deal with. God knows how to choose fit instruments for the business he employs them in. A large stock of jewish learning he had taken in, at the feet of Gamaliel; and for his information in christian knowledge, and the mysteries and depths of the dispensation of grace by Jesus Christ, God himself had condescended to be his instructor and teacher. The light of the gospel he had received from the Fountain and Father of light himself, who, I concluded, had not furnished him in this extraordinary manner, if all this plentiful stock of learning and illumination had been in danger to have been lost, or proved useless, in a jumbled and confused head; nor have laid up such a store of admirable and useful knowledge in a man, who, for want of method and order, clearness of conception, or pertinency in discourse, could not draw it out into use with the greatest advantages of force and coherence. That he knew how to prosecute this purpose with strength of argument, and close reasoning, without incoherent sallies, or the intermixing of things foreign to his business, was evident to me, from several speeches of his, recorded in the Acts: and it was hard to think, that a man that could talk with so much consistency, and clearness of conviction, should not be able to write without confusion, inextricable obscurity, and perpetual rambling. The force, order, and perspicuity of those discourses, could not be denied to be very visible. How, then, came it, that the like was thought much wanting in his epistles? And of this there appeared to me this plain reason: the particularities of the history, in which these speeches are inserted, show St. Paul’s end in speaking; which, being seen, casts a light on the whole, and shows the pertinency of all that he says. But his epistles not being so circumstantiated; there being no concurring history, that plainly declares the disposition St. Paul was in; what the actions, expectations, or demands of those to whom he writ, required him to speak to, we are nowhere told. All this, and a great deal more, necessary to guide us into the true meaning of the epistles, is to be had only from the epistles themselves, and to be gathered from thence with stubborn attention, and more than common application.

This being the only safe guide (under the Spirit of God, that dictated these sacred writings) that can be relied on, I hope I may be excused, if I venture to say, that the utmost ought to be done to observe and trace out St. Paul’s reasonings; to follow the thread of his discourse in each of his epistles; to show how it goes on, still directed with the same view, and pertinently drawing the several incidents towards the same point. To understand him right, his inferences should be strictly observed; and it should be carefully examined, from what they are drawn, and what they tend to. He is certainly a coherent, argumentative, pertinent writer; and care, I think, should be taken, in expounding of him, to show that he is so. But though I say, he has weighty aims in his epistles, which he steadily keeps in his eye, and drives at, in all he says; yet I do not say, that he puts his discourses into an artificial method, or leads his reader into a distinction of his arguments, or gives them notice of new matter, by rhetorical or studied transitions. He has no ornaments borrowed from the Greek eloquence; no notions of their philosophy mixed with his doctrine, to set it off. The enticing words of man’s wisdom, whereby he means all the studied rules of the Grecian schools, which made them such masters in the art of speaking, he, as he says himself, 1 Cor. ii. 4, wholly neglected. The reason whereof he gives in the next verse, and in other places. But though politeness of language, delicacy of style, fineness of expression, laboured periods, artificial transitions, and a very methodical ranging of the parts, with such other embellishments as make a discourse enter the mind smoothly, and strike the fancy at first hearing, have little or no place in his style; yet coherence of discourse, and a direct tendency of all the parts of it to the argument in hand, are most eminently to be found in him. This I take to be his character, and doubt not but it will be found to be so upon diligent examination. And in this, if it be so, we have a clue, if we will take the pains to find it, that will conduct us with surety, through those seemingly dark places, and imagined intricacies, in which christians have wandered so far one from another, as to find quite contrary senses.

Whether a superficial reading, accompanied with the common opinion of his invincible obscurity, has kept off some from seeking in him, the coherence of a discourse, tending with close, strong reasoning to a point; or a seemingly more honourable opinion of one that had been rapped up into the third heaven, as if from a man so warmed and illuminated as he had been, nothing could be expected but flashes of light, and raptures of zeal, hindered others to look for a train of reasoning, proceeding on regular and cogent argumentation, from a man raised above the ordinary pitch of humanity, to a higher and brighter way of illumination; or else, whether others were loth to beat their heads about the tenour and coherence in St. Paul’s discourses; which, if found out, possibly might set them at a manifest and irreconcileable difference with their systems: it is certain that, whatever hath been the cause, this way of getting the true sense of St. Paul’s epistles, seems not to have been much made use of, or at least so thoroughly pursued, as I am apt to think it deserves.

For, granting that he was full-stored with the knowledge of the things he treated of; for he had light from heaven, it was God himself furnished him, and he could not want: allowing also that he had ability to make use of the knowledge had been given him, for the end for which it was given him, viz. the information, conviction, and conversion of others; and accordingly, that he knew how to direct his discourse to the point in hand; we cannot widely mistake the parts of his discourse employed about it, when we have any where found out the point he drives at: wherever we have got a view of his design, and the aim he proposed to himself in writing, we may be sure, that such or such an interpretation does not give us his genuine sense, it being nothing at all to his present purpose. Nay, among various meanings given a text, it fails not to direct us to the best, and very often to assure us of the true. For it is no presumption, when one sees a man arguing from this or that proposition, if he be a sober man, master of reason, or common-sense, and takes any care of what he says, to pronounce with confidence, in several cases, that he could not talk thus or thus.

I do not yet so magnify this method of studying St. Paul’s epistles, as well as other parts of sacred scripture, as to think it will perfectly clear every hard place, and leave no doubt unresolved. I know, expressions now out of use, opinions of those times not heard of in our days, allusions to customs lost to us, and various circumstances and particularities of the parties, which we cannot come at, &c. must needs continue several passages in the dark, now to us, at this distance, which shone with full light to those they were directed to. But for all that, the studying of St. Paul’s epistles, in the way I have proposed, will, I humbly conceive, carry us a great length in the right understanding of them, and make us rejoice in the light we receive from those most useful parts of divine revelation, by furnishing us with visible grounds, that we are not mistaken, whilst the consistency of the discourse, and the pertinency of it to the design he is upon, vouches it worthy of our great apostle. At least I hope it may be my excuse, for having endeavoured to make St. Paul an interpreter to me of his own epistles.

To this may be added another help, which St. Paul himself affords us, towards the attaining the true meaning contained in his epistles. He that reads him with the attention I propose, will easily observe, that as he was full of the doctrine of the gospel; so it lay all clear and in order, open to his view. When he gave his thoughts utterance upon any point, the matter flowed like a torrent; but it is plain, it was a matter he was perfectly master of: he fully possessed the entire revelation he had received from God; had thoroughly digested it; all the parts were formed together in his mind, into one well-contracted harmonious body. So that he was no way at an uncertainty, nor ever, in the least, at a loss concerning any branch of it. One may see his thoughts were all of a piece in all his epistles, his notions were at all times uniform, and constantly the same, though his expressions very various. In them he seems to take great liberty. This at least is certain, that no one seems less tied up to a form of words. If then, having, by the method before proposed, got into the sense of the several epistles, we will but compare what he says, in the places where he treats of the same subject, we can hardly be mistaken in his sense, nor doubt what it was that he believed and taught, concerning those points of the christian religion. I know it is not unusual to find a multitude of texts heaped up, for the maintaining of an espoused proposition; but in a sense often so remote from their true meaning, that one can hardly avoid thinking, that those who so used them, either sought not, or valued not the sense; and were satisfied with the sound, where they could but get that to favour them. But a verbal concordance leads not always to texts of the same meaning; trusting too much thereto will furnish us but with slight proofs in many cases, and any one may observe, how apt that is to jumble together passages of scripture, not relating to the same matter, and thereby to disturb and unsettle the true meaning of holy scripture. I have therefore said, that we should compare together places of scripture treating of the same point. Thus, indeed, one part of the sacred text could not fail to give light unto another. And since the providence of God hath so ordered it, that St. Paul has writ a great number of epistles; which, though upon different occasions, and to several purposes, yet all confined within the business of his apostleship, and so contain nothing but points of christian instruction, amongst which he seldom fails to drop in, and often to enlarge on, the great and distinguishing doctrines of our holy religion; which, if quitting our own infallibility in that analogy of faith, which we have made to ourselves, or have implicitly adopted from some other, we would carefully lay together, and diligently compare and study, I am apt to think, would give us St. Paul’s system in a clear and indisputable sense; which every one must acknowledge to be a better standard to interpret his meaning by, in any obscure and doubtful parts of his epistles, if any such should still remain, than the system, confession, or articles of any church, or society of christians, yet known; which, however pretended to be founded on scripture, are visibly the contrivances of men, fallible both in their opinions and interpretations; and, as is visible in most of them, made with partial views, and adapted to what the occasions of that time, and the present circumstances they were then in, were thought to require, for the support or justification of themselves. Their philosophy, also, has its part in misleading men from the true sense of the sacred scripture. He that shall attentively read the christian writers, after the age of the apostles, will easily find how much the philosophy, they were tinctured with, influenced them in their understanding of the books of the old and new testament. In the ages wherein Platonism prevailed, the converts to christianity of that school, on all occasions, interpreted holy writ, according to the notions they had imbibed from that philosophy. Aristotle’s doctrine had the same effect in its turn, and when it degenerated into the peripateticism of the schools, that, too, brought its notions and distinctions into divinity, and affixed them to the terms of the sacred scripture. And we may see still how, at this day, every one’s philosophy regulates every one’s interpretation of the word of God. Those who are possessed with the doctrine of aerial and æthereal vehicles, have thence borrowed an interpretation of the four first verses of 2 Cor. v. without having any ground to think, that St. Paul had the least notion of any such vehicle. It is plain, that the teaching of men philosophy, was no part of the design of divine revelation; but that the expressions of scripture are commonly suited, in those matters, to the vulgar apprehensions and conceptions of the place and people, where they were delivered. And, as to the doctrine therein directly taught by the apostles, that tends wholly to the setting up the kingdom of Jesus Christ in this world, and the salvation of men’s souls: and in this it is plain their expressions were conformed to the ideas and notions which they had received from revelation, or were consequent from it. We shall, therefore, in vain go about to interpret their words by the notions of our philosophy, and the doctrines of men delivered in our schools. This is to explain the apostles’ meaning, by what they never thought of, whilst they were writing; which is not the way to find their sense, in what they delivered, but our own, and to take up, from their writings, not what they left there for us, but what we bring along with us in ourselves. He that would understand St. Paul right, must understand his terms, in the sense he uses them, and not as they are appropriated by each man’s particular philosophy to conceptions that never entered the mind of the apostle. For example, he that shall bring the philosophy now taught and received, to the explaining of spirit, soul, and body, mentioned 1 Thess. v. 23, will, I fear, hardly reach St. Paul’s sense, or represent to himself the notions St. Paul then had in his mind. That is what we should aim at, in reading him, or any other author; and until we, from his words, paint his very ideas and thoughts in our minds, we do not understand him.

In the divisions I have made, I have endeavoured, the best I could, to govern myself by the diversity of matter. But in a writer like St. Paul, it is not so easy always to find precisely, where one subject ends, and another begins. He is full of the matter he treats, and writes with warmth, which usually neglects method, and those partitions and pauses, which men, educated in the schools of rhetoricians, usually observe. Those arts of writings, St. Paul, as well out of design as temper, wholly laid by: the subject he had in hand, and the grounds upon which it stood firm, and by which he enforced it, were what alone he minded; and without solemnly winding up one argument, and intimating any way, that he began another, let his thoughts, which were fully possessed of the matter, run in one continued train, wherein the parts of his discourse were wove, one into another: so that it is seldom that the scheme of his discourse makes any gap; and therefore, without breaking in upon the connexion of his language, it is hardly possible to separate his discourse, and give a distinct view of his several arguments, in distinct sections.

I am far from pretending infallibility, in the sense I have any where given in my paraphrase, or notes: that would be to erect myself into an apostle; a presumption of the highest nature in any one, that cannot confirm what he says by miracles. I have, for my own information, sought the true meaning, as far as my poor abilities would reach. And I have unbiassedly embraced, what, upon a fair inquiry, appeared so to me. This I thought my duty and interest, in a matter of so great concernment to me. If I must believe for myself, it is unavoidable, that I must understand for myself. For if I blindly, and with an implicit faith, take the pope’s interpretation of the sacred scripture, without examining whether it be Christ’s meaning; it is the pope I believe in, and not in Christ; it is his authority I rest upon; it is what he says, I embrace: for what it is Christ says, I neither know nor concern myself. It is the same thing, when I set up any other man in Christ’s place, and make him the authentic interpreter of sacred scripture to myself. He may possibly understand the sacred scripture as right as any man: but I shall do well to examine myself, whether that, which I do not know, nay, which (in the way I take) I can never know, can justify me, in making myself his disciple, instead of Jesus Christ’s, who of right is alone, and ought to be, my only Lord and Master: and it will be no less sacrilege in me, to substitute to myself any other in his room, to be a prophet to me, than to be my king, or priest.

The same reasons that put me upon doing what I have in these papers done, will exempt me from all suspicion of imposing my interpretation on others. The reasons that led me into the meaning, which prevailed on my mind, are set down with it: as far as they carry light and conviction to any other man’s understanding, so far, I hope, my labour may be of some use to him; beyond the evidence it carries with it, I advise him not to follow mine, nor any man’s interpretation. We are all men, liable to errours, and infected with them; but have this sure way to preserve ourselves, every one, from danger by them, if, laying aside sloth, carelessness, prejudice, party, and a reverence of men, we betake ourselves, in earnest, to the study of the way to salvation, in those holy writings, wherein God has revealed it from heaven, and proposed it to the world, seeking our religion, where we are sure it is in truth to be found, comparing spiritual things with spiritual things.

A PARAPHRASE AND NOTES ON THE EPISTLE OF ST. PAUL TO THE GALATIANS.

THE PUBLISHER TO THE READER.

There is nothing, certainly, of greater encouragement to the peace of the church in general, nor to the direction and edification of all christians in particular, than a right understanding of the holy scripture. This consideration has set so many learned and pious men amongst us, of late years, upon expositions, paraphrases, and notes on the sacred writings, that the author of these hopes the fashion may excuse him from endeavouring to add his mite; believing, that after all that has been done by those great labourers in the harvest, there may be some gleanings left, whereof he presumes he has an instance, chap. iii. ver. 20, and some other places of this epistle to the Galatians, which he looks upon not to be the hardest of St. Paul’s. If he has given a light to any obscure passage, he shall think his pains well employed; if there be nothing else worth notice in him, accept of his good intention.

THE EPISTLE OF ST. PAUL TO THE GALATIANS; WRIT FROM EPHESUS, THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 57, OF NERO III.

SYNOPSIS.

The subject and design of this epistle of St. Paul is much the same with that of his epistle to the Romans, but treated in somewhat a different manner. The business of it is to dehort and hinder the Galatians from bringing themselves under the bondage of the Mosaical law.

St. Paul himself had planted the churches of Galatia, and therefore referring (as he does, chap. i. 8, 9,) to what he had before taught them, does not, in this epistle lay down at large to them the doctrine of the gospel, as he does in that to the Romans, who having been converted to the christian faith by others, he did not know how far they were instructed in all those particulars, which, on the occasion whereon he writ to them, it might be necessary for them to understand: and therefore, writing to the Romans, he sets before them a large and comprehensive view of the chief heads of the christian religion.

He also deals more roundly with his disciples the Galatians than, we may observe, he does with the Romans, to whom he, being a stranger, writes not in so familiar a style, nor in his reproofs and exhortations uses so much the tone of a master, as he does to the Galatians.

St. Paul had converted the Galatians to the faith, and erected several churches among them in the year of our Lord 51; between which, and the year 57, wherein this epistle was writ, the disorders following were got into those churches:

First, Some zealots for the jewish constitution had very near persuaded them out of their christian liberty, and made them willing to submit to circumcision, and all the ritual observances of the jewish church, as necessary under the gospel, chap. i. 7; iii. 3; iv. 9, 10, 21; v. 1, 2, 6, 9, 10.

Secondly, Their dissensions and disputes in this matter had raised great animosities amongst them, to the disturbance of their peace, and the setting them at strife with one another, chap. v. 6, 13 — 15.

The reforming them in these two points, seems to be the main business of this epistle, wherein he endeavours to establish them in a resolution to stand firm in the freedom of the gospel, which exempts them from the bondage of the Mosaical law: and labours to reduce them to a sincere love and affection one to another; which he concludes with an exhortation to liberality, and general beneficence, especially to their teachers, chap. vi. 6, 10. These being the matters he had in his mind to write to them about, he seems here as if he had done. But, upon mentioning ver. 11, what a long letter he had writ to them with his own hand, the former argument concerning circumcision, which filled and warmed his mind, broke out again into what we find, ver. 12 — 17, of the sixth chapter.

SECT. I.

CHAPTER I. 1 — 5.
INTRODUCTION.

CONTENTS.

The general view of this epistle plainly shows St. Paul’s chief design in it to be, to keep the Galatians from hearkening to those judaizing seducers, who had almost persuaded them to be circumcised. These perverters of the gospel of Christ, as St. Paul himself calls them, ver. 7, had, as may be gathered from ver. 8, and 10, and from chap. v. 11, and other passages of this epistle, made the Galatians believe, that St. Paul himself was for circumcision. Until St. Paul himself had set them right in this matter, and convinced them of the falsehood of this aspersion, it was in vain for him, by other arguments, to attempt the re-establishing the Galatians in the christian liberty, and in that truth which he had preached to them. The removing therefore of this calumny, was his first endeavour: and to that purpose, this introduction, different from what we find in any other of his epistles, is marvellously well adapted. He declares, here at the entrance, very expressly and emphatically, that he was not sent by men on their errands; nay, that Christ, in sending him, did not so much as convey his apostolic power to him by the ministry, or intervention of any man; but that his commission and instructions were all entirely from God, and Christ himself, by immediate revelation. This, of itself, was an argument sufficient to induce them to believe, 1. That what he taught them, when he first preached the gospel to them, was the truth, and that they ought to stick firm to that. 2. That he changed not his doctrine, whatever might be reported of him. He was Christ’s chosen officer, and had no dependence on men’s opinions, nor regard to their authority or favour, in what he preached; and therefore it was not likely he should preach one thing at one time, and another thing at another.

Thus this preface is very proper in this place, to introduce what he is going to say concerning himself, and adds force to his discourse, and the account he gives of himself in the next section.

TEXT.

1 Paul an apostle (not of men, neither by man, but by Jesus Christ, and God the Father, who raised him from the dead.)

2 And all the brethren, which are with me, unto the churches of Galatia.

3 Grace be to you, and peace, from God the Father, and from our Lord Jesus Christ.

4 Who gave himself for our sins, that he might deliver us from this present evil world, according to the will of God and our Father.

5 To whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen.

PARAPHRASE.

1 Paul (an apostle not of men, to serve their ends, or carry on their designs, nor receiving his call, or commission, by the intervention of any man, to whom he might be thought to owe any respect or deference upon that account: but immediately from Jesus Christ, and from God the Father, who raised him up from the2 dead); And all the brethren that are with me, unto3 the churches of Galatia: Favour be to you, and peace from God the Father, and from our Lord Jesus Christ, 4 Who gave himself for our sins, that he might take us out of this present evil world, according to the5 will and good pleasure of God and our Father, To whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen.

SECT. II.

CHAPTER I. 6. — II. 21.

CONTENTS.

We have observed, that St. Paul’s first endeavour in this epistle, was to satisfy the Galatians, that the report spread of him, that he preached circumcision, was false. Until this obstruction, that lay in his way was removed, it was to no purpose for him to go about to dissuade them from circumcision, though that be what he principally aims, in this epistle. To show them, that he promoted not circumcision, he calls their hearkening to those who persuaded them to be circumcised, their being removed from him; and those that so persuaded them, “perverters of the gospel of Christ,” ver. 6, 7. He farther assures them, that the gospel which he preached every-where was that, and that only, which he had received by immediate revelation from Christ, and no contrivance of man, nor did he vary it to please men: that would not consist with his being a servant of Christ, ver. 10. And he expresses such a firm adherence to what he had received from Christ, and had preached to them, that he pronounces an anathema upon himself, ver. 8, 9, or any other man, or angel that should preach any thing else to them. To make out this to have been all along his conduct, he gives an account of himself for many years backwards, even from the time before his conversion. Wherein he shows, that from a zealous persecuting jew he was made a christian, and an apostle, by immediate revelation; and that, having no communication with the apostles, or with the churches of Judea, or any man, for some years, he had nothing to preach, but what he had received by immediate revelation. Nay, when, fourteen years after, he went up to Jerusalem, it was by revelation; and when he there communicated the gospel, which he preached among the gentiles, Peter, James, and John, approved of it, without adding any thing, but admitted him, as their fellow-apostle. So that, in all this, he was guided by nothing but divine revelation, which he inflexibly stuck to so far, that he openly opposed St. Peter for his judaizing at Antioch. All which account of himself tends clearly to show, that St. Paul made not the least step towards complying with the jews, in favour of the law, nor did, out of regard to man, deviate from the doctrine he had received by revelation from God.

All the parts of this section, and the narrative contained in it, manifestly concenter in this, as will more fully appear, as we go through them, and take a closer view of them; which will show us, that the whole is so skilfully managed, and the parts so gently slid into, that it is a strong, but not seemingly laboured justification of himself, from the imputation of preaching up circumcision.

TEXT.

6 I marvel that ye are so soon removed from him, that called you into the grace of Christ, unto another gospel:

7 Which is not another; but there be some that trouble you, and would pervert the gospel of Christ.

8 But though we, or an angel from heaven, preach any other gospel unto you, than that which we have preached unto you, let him be accursed.

9 As we said before, so say I now again, if any man preach any other gospel unto you than that ye have received, let him be accursed.

10 For do I now persuade men, or God? Or do I seek to please men? For, if I yet pleased men I should not be the servant of Christ.

11 But I certify to you, brethren, that the gospel which was preached of me, is not after man.

12 For I neither received it of man, neither was I taught it, but by the revelation of Jesus Christ.

13 For ye have heard of my conversation in time past, in the Jews religion, how that beyond measure I persecuted the Church of God, and wasted it.

14 And profited in the jews religion above many my equals in mine own nation, being more exceedingly zealous of the traditions of my fathers.

15 But when it pleased God, who separated me from my mother’s womb, and called me by his grace,

16 To reveal his son in me, that I might preach him among the heathen: immediately I conferred not with flesh and blood:

17 Neither went I up to Jerusalem, to them which were apostles before me, but I went into Arabia, and returned again unto Damascus.

18 Then after three years, I went up to Jerusalem, to see Peter, and abode with him fifteen days.

19 But other of the apostles saw I none, save James the Lord’s brother.

20 Now the things which I write unto you, behold, before God, I lye not.

21 Afterwards I came into the regions of Syria and Cilicia:

22 And was unknown by face unto the churches of Judea, which were in Christ.

23 But they had heard only, that he, which persecuted us in times past, now preacheth the faith which once he destroyed.

24 And they glorified God in me.

PARAPHRASE.

6 I cannot but wonder that you are soon removed from me, (who called you into the covenant of grace, which is in Christ) unto another sort of gospel; 7 Which is not owing to any thing else, but only this, that ye are troubled by a certain sort of men, who would overturn the gospel of Christ by making circumcision, and the keeping of the law, necessary8 under the gospel. But if even I myself, or an angel from heaven, should preach any thing to you for gospel, different from the gospel I have preached unto9 you, let him be accursed. I say it again to you, if any one, under pretence of the gospel, preach any other thing to you, than what ye have received10 from me, let him be accursed. For can it be doubted of me, after having done and suffered so much for the gospel of Christ, whether I do now, at this time of day, make my court to men, or seek the favour of God? If I had hitherto made it my business to please men, I should not have been the servant of Christ, nor taken up the profession of the11 gospel. But I certify you, brethren, that the gospel, which has been every where preached by me, is not such as is pliant to human interest, or can be accommodated12 to the pleasing of men (For I neither received it from man, nor was I taught it by any one, as his scholar;) but it is the pure and ummixed immediate13 revelation of Jesus Christ to me. To satisfy you of this, my behaviour whilst I was of the jewish religion is so well known, that I need not tell you, how excessive violent I was in persecuting the church14 of God, and destroying it all I could; And that being carried on by an extraordinary zeal for the traditions of my forefathers, I out-stripped many15 students of my own age and nation, in judaism. But when it pleased God (who separated me from my mother’s womb, and by his especial favour called me to be a christian, and a preacher of the gospel,)16 To reveal his son to me, that I might preach him among the gentiles, I thereupon applied not myself17 to any man, for advice what to do. Neither went I up to Jerusalem to those who were apostles before me, to see whether they approved my doctrine, or to have farther instructions from them: but I went immediately unto Arabia, and from 18 thence returned again to Damascus. Then after three years, I went up to Jerusalem, to see Peter,19 and abode with him fifteen days. But other of the apostles saw I none, but James, the brother of our20 Lord. These things, that I write to you, I call God to witness, are all true; there is no falsehood in21 them. Afterwards I came into the regions of Syria22 and Cilicia. But with the churches of Christ in Judea, I had had no communication: they had not23 so much as seen my face; Only they had heard, that I, who formerly persecuted the churches of Christ, did now preach the gospel, which I once24 endeavoured to suppress and extirpate. And they glorified God upon my account.

CHAPTER II.

TEXT.

1 Then fourteen years after, I went up again to Jerusalem, with Barnabas, and took Titus with me also.

2 And I went up by revelation, and communicated unto them that gospel, which I preach among the gentiles, but privately to them which were of reputation, lest by any means I should run or had run in vain.

3 But neither Titus, who was with me, being a greek, was compelled to be circumcised:

4 And that, because of false brethren, unawares brought in, who came in privily to spy out our liberty, which we have in Christ Jesus, that they might bring us into bondage.

5 To whom we gave place by subjection, no not for an hour; that the truth of the gospel might continue with you.

6 But of these, who seemed to be somewhat (whatsoever they were, it maketh no matter to me; God accepteth no man’s person;) for they, who seemed to be somewhat, in conference added nothing to me.

7 But contrariwise, when they saw that the gospel of the uncircumcision was committed unto me, as the gospel of the circumcision was unto Peter;

8 (For he that wrought effectually in Peter, to the apostleship of the circumcision, the same was mighty in me towards the Gentiles)

9 And when James, Cephas, and John, who seemed to be pillars, perceived the grace that was given unto me, they gave to me and Barnabas the right hands of fellowship; that we should go unto the heathen, and they unto the circumcision.

10 Only they would that we should remember the poor; the same which I also was forward to do.

11 But when Peter was come to Antioch, I withstood him to the face, because he was to be blamed.

12 For, before that certain came from James, he did eat with the gentiles: but, when they were come, he withdrew and separated himself, fearing them which were of the circumcision.

13 And the other jews dissembled likewise with him; insomuch that Barnabas also was carried away with their dissimulation.

14 But when I saw that they walked not uprightly, according to the truth of the gospel, I said unto Peter before them all: If thou, being a jew, livest after the manner of gentiles, and not as do the jews, why compellest thou the gentiles to live as do the jews?

15 We who are jews by nature, and not sinners of the gentiles,

16 Knowing that a man is not justified by the works of the law, but by the faith of Jesus Christ, even we have believed in Jesus Christ, that we might be justified by the faith of Christ, and not by the works of the law: for by the works of the law shall no flesh be justified.

17 But if, while we seek to be justified by Christ, we ourselves also are found sinners, is therefore Christ the minister of sin? God forbid.

18 For if I build again the things which I destroyed, I make myself a transgressor.

19 For I, through the law, am dead to the law, that I might live unto God.

20 I am crucified with Christ; nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me: and the life which I now live in the flesh, I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me.

21 I do not frustrate the grace of God; for if righteousness come by the law, then Christ is dead in vain.

PARAPHRASE.

1 Then fourteen years after, I went up again to Jerusalem, with Barnabas, and took Titus also with me.2 And I went up by revelation, and there laid before them the gospel which I preached to the gentiles, but privately to those who were of note and reputation amongst them; lest the pains that I have already taken, or should take in the gospel, should be in vain.3 But though I communicated the gospel which I preached to the gentiles, to the eminent men of the church at Jerusalem, yet neither Titus who was with4 me, being a greek, was forced to be circumcised: Nor did I yield any thing, one moment, by way of subjection to the law, to those false brethren, who, by an unwary admittance, were slily crept in, to spy out our liberty from the law, which we have under the gospel: that they might bring us into bondage to5 the law. But I stood my ground against it, that the6 truth of the gospel might remain among you. But as for those, who were really men of eminency and value, what they were heretofore, it matters not at all to me: God accepts not the person of any man, but communicates the gospel to whom he pleases, as he has done to me by revelation, without their help; for, in their conference with me, they added nothing to me, they taught me nothing new, nor that Christ had not taught me before, nor had they any thing to7 object against what I preached to the gentiles. But on the contrary, James, Peter, and John, who were of reputation, and justly esteemed to be pillars, perceiving that the gospel which was to be preached to the gentiles, was committed to me; as that which was to be preached to the Jews was committed to8 Peter; (For he that had wrought powerfully in Peter, to his executing the office of an apostle to the Jews, had also wrought powerfully in me, in my application9 and apostleship, to the gentiles;) And, knowing the favour that was bestowed on me, gave me and Barnabas the right hand of fellowship, that we should preach the gospel to the gentiles, and they 10 to the children of Israel. All that they proposed, was, that we should remember to make collections among the gentiles, for the poor christians of Judea, which11 was a thing that of myself I was forward to do. But when Peter came to Antioch, I openly opposed him12 to his face: for, indeed, he was to be blamed. For he conversed there familiarly with the gentiles, and eat with them, until some jews came thither from James: then he withdrew, and separated from the gentiles, for fear of those who were of the circumcision:13 And the rest of the jews joined also with him in this hypocrisy, insomuch that Barnabas himself was carried away with the stream, and dissembled as14 they did. But when I saw they conformed not their conduct to the truth of the gospel, I said unto Peter before them all: If thou, being a Jew, takest the liberty sometimes to live after the manner of the gentiles, not keeping to those rules which the jews observe, why dost thou constrain the gentiles to conform themselves to the rites and manner of living of the jews?15 We, who are by nature jews, born under the instruction and guidance of the law, God’s peculiar people, and not of the unclean and profligate race of16 the gentiles, abandoned to sin and death, Knowing that a man cannot be justified by the deeds of the law, but solely by faith in Jesus Christ, even we have put ourselves upon believing on him, and embraced the profession of the gospel, for the attainment of justification by faith in Christ, and not by the works17 of the law: But if we seek to be justified in Christ, even we ourselves also are found unjustified sinners (for such are all those who are under the law, which admits of no remission or justification:) is Christ, therefore, the minister of sin? Is the dispensation by him, a dispensation of sin, and not of righteousness? Did he come into the world, that those who believe in him, should still remain sinners, i. e. under the guilt of their sins, without the benefit of justification?18 By no means. And yet certain it is, if I, who quitted the law, to put myself under the gospel, put myself again under the law, I make myself a transgressor; I re-assume again the guilt of all my transgressions; which, by the terms of that covenant19 of works, I cannot be justified from. For by the tenour of the law itself, I, by faith in Christ, am discharged from the law, that I might be appropriated to God, and live acceptably to him in his kingdom, which he has now set up under his Son.20 I, a member of Christ’s body, am crucified with him, but though I am thereby dead to the law, I nevertheless live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me, i. e. the life which I now live in the flesh, is upon no other principle, nor under any other law, but that of faith in the Son of God, who loved me, and gave21 himself for me. And in so doing, I avoid frustrating the grace of God, I accept of the grace and forgiveness of God, as it is offered through faith in Christ, in the gospel: but if I subject myself to the law as still in force under the gospel, I do in effect frustrate grace. For if righteousness be to be had by the law, then Christ died to no purpose, there was no need of it.

SECT. III.

CHAPTER III. 1 — 5.

CONTENTS.

By the account St. Paul has given of himself in the foregoing section, the galatians being furnished with evidence, sufficient to clear him, in their minds, from the report of his preaching circumcision, he comes now, the way being thus opened, directly to oppose their being circumcised, and subjecting themselves to the law. The first argument he uses, is, that they received the Holy Ghost, and the gifts of miracles, by the gospel, and not by the law.

TEXT.

1 O foolish galatians, who hath bewitched you, that you should not obey the truth, before whose eyes Jesus Christ hath been evidently set forth, crucified among you?

2 This only would I learn of you: Received ye the spirit by the works of the law, or by the hearing of faith?

3 Are ye so foolish? Having begun in the Spirit, are ye now made perfect by the flesh?

4 Have ye suffered so many things in vain? if it be yet in vain.

5 He, therefore, that ministereth to you the Spirit, and worketh miracles among you, doth he it by the works of the law, or by the hearing of faith?

PARAPHRASE.

1 O ye foolish galatians, who hath cast a mist before your eyes, that you should not keep to the truth of the gospel, you to whom the sufferings and death of Christ upon the cross, hath been by me so lively represented, as if it had been actually done in your sight?2 This is one thing I desire to know of you: Did you receive the miraculous gifts of the Spirit, by the works3 of the law, or by the gospel preached to you? Have you so little understanding, that, having begun in the reception of the spiritual doctrine of the gospel, you hope to be advanced to higher degrees of perfection,4 and to be completed by the law? Have you suffered so many things in vain, if at least you will render it in vain, by falling off from the profession of the pure and uncorrupted doctrine of the gospel, and apostatizing5 to judaism? The gifts of the Holy Ghost, that have been conferred upon you, have they not been conferred on you as Christians, professing faith in Jesus Christ, and not as observers of the law? And hath not he, who hath conveyed these gifts to you, and done miracles amongst you, done it as a preacher and professor of the gospel, the jews, who stick in the law of Moses, being not able, by virtue of that, to do any such thing?

SECT. IV.

CHAPTER III. 6 — 17.

CONTENTS.

His next argument against circumcision, and subjection to the law, is, that the children of Abraham, intitled to the inheritance and blessing promised to Abraham and his seed, are so by faith, and not by being under the law, which brings a curse upon those who are under it.

TEXT.

6 Even as Abraham believed God, and it was accounted to him for righteousness:

7 Know ye, therefore, that they which are of faith, the same are the children of Abraham.

8 And the scripture, foreseeing that God would justify the heathen through faith, preached before the gospel unto Abraham, saying, “In thee shall all nations be blessed.”

9 So then they which be of faith, are blessed with faithful Abraham.

10 For as many as are of the works of the law, are under the curse; for it is written, “Cursed is every one that continueth not in all things, which are written in the book of the law, to do them.”

11 But that no man is justified by the law in the sight of God, it is evident: for the “just shall live by faith.”

12 And the law is not of faith: but, “The man that doth them, shall live in them.”

13 Christ hath redeemed us from the curse of the law, being made a curse for us; for it is written, “Cursed is every one that hangeth on a tree.”

14 That the blessing of Abraham might come on the gentiles through Jesus Christ; that we might receive the promise of the Spirit through faith.

15 Brethren, I speak after the manner of men; though it be but a man’s covenant, yet if it be confirmed, no man disannulleth, or addeth thereto.

16 Now to Abraham and his seed were the promises made. He saith not, “and to seeds,” as of many; but as of one, “and to thy seed,” which is Christ.

17 And this I say, that the covenant that was confirmed before of God in Christ, the law, which was four hundred and thirty years after, cannot disannul, that it should make the promise of none effect.

PARAPHRASE.

6 But to proceed: As Abraham believed in God, and7 it was accounted to him for righteousness; So know ye, that those who are of faith, i. e. who rely upon God, and his promises of grace, and not upon their own performances, they are the children of Abraham, who shall inherit; and this is plain in the scripture.8 For it being in the purpose of God, to justify the gentiles by faith, he gave Abraham a fore-knowledge of the gospel in these words: “In thee all the9 nations of the earth shall be blessed.” So that they who are of faith, are blessed with Abraham,10 who believed. But as many as are of the works of the law, are under the curse: for it is written, “Cursed is every one, who remaineth not in all things, which are written in the book of the law, 11 to do them.” But that no man is justified by the law, in the sight of God, is evident; “for the just12 shall live by faith.” But the law says not so, the law gives not life to those who believe: but the rule of the law is, “He that doth them,13 shall live in them.” Christ hath redeemed us from the curse of the law, being made a curse for us; for it is written, “Cursed is every one14 that hangeth on a tree:” That the blessing, promised to Abraham, might come on the gentiles, through Jesus Christ; that we who are Christians might, believing, receive the Spirit that was promised¶.15 Brethren, this is a known and allowed rule in human affairs, that a promise, or compact, though it be barely a man’s covenant, yet if it be once ratified, so it must stand, nobody can render it void,16 or make any alteration in it. Now to Abraham and his seed were the promises made. God doth not say, “and to seeds,” as if he spoke of more seeds than one, that were intitled to the promise upon different accounts; but only of one sort of men, who, upon one sole account, were that seed of Abraham, which was alone meant and concerned in the promise; so that “unto thy seed,” designed Christ, and his mystical body, i. e. those, that become17 members of him by faith. This, therefore, I say, that the law, which was not till 430 years after, cannot disannul the covenant that was long before made, and ratified to Christ by God, so as to set aside the promise. For if the right to the inheritance be from the works of the law, it is plain that it is not founded in the promise of Abraham, as certainly it is. For the inheritance was a donation and free gift of God, settled on Abraham and his seed, by promise.

SECT. V.

CHAPTER III. 18 — 25.

CONTENTS.

In answer to this objection, “To what, then, serveth the law?” He shows, that the law was not contrary to the promise: but since all men were guilty of transgression, ver. 22, the law was added, to show the Israelites the fruit and inevitable consequence of their sin, and thereby the necessity of betaking themselves to Christ: but as soon as men have received Christ, they have attained the end of the law, and so are no longer under it. This is a farther argument against circumcision.

TEXT.

18 For if the inheritance be of the law, it is no more of promise: but God gave it to Abraham by promise.

19 Wherefore, then, serveth the law? It was added because of transgressions, until the seed should come to whom the promise was made; and it was ordained by angels, in the hand of a mediator.

20 Now a mediator is not a mediator of one; but God is one.

21 Is the law, then, against the promises of God? God forbid! for if there had been a law given, which could have given life, verily righteousness should have been by the law.

22 But the scripture hath concluded all under sin, that the promise, by faith of Jesus Christ, might be given to them that believe.

23 But before faith came, we were kept under the law, shut up unto the faith, which should afterwards be revealed.

24 Wherefore the law was our schoolmaster, to bring us unto Christ, that we might be justified by faith.

25 But, after that faith is come, we are no longer under a schoolmaster.

PARAPHRASE.

18 If the blessing and inheritance be settled on Abraham and believers, as a free gift by promise, and19 was not to be obtained by the deeds of the law; To what purpose then was the law? It was added, because the Israelites, the posterity of Abraham, were transgressors, as well as other men, to show them their sins, and the punishment and death they incurred by them, until Christ should come, who was the seed, into whom both jews and gentiles, ingrafted by believing, become the people of God, and children of Abraham, that seed to which the promise was made. And the law was ordained by angels, in the hand of a mediator, whereby it is manifest, that the law could not disannul the promise;20 Because a mediator is a mediator between two parties concerned, but God is but one of those21 concerned in the promise. If, then, the promised inheritance come not to the seed of Abraham, by the law, is the law opposite, by the curse it denounces against transgressors, to the promises that God made of the blessing to Abraham? No, by no means! For if there had been a law given, which could have put us in a state of life, certainly22 righteousness should have been by law. But we find the quite contrary by the scripture, which makes no distinction betwixt jew and gentile, in this respect, but has shut up together all mankind, jews and gentiles, under sin and guilt, that the blessing which was promised, to that which is Abraham’s true and intended seed, by faith in Christ,23 might be given to those who believe. But, before Christ, and the doctrine of justification by faith¶ in him, came, we jews were shut up as a company of prisoners together, under the custody and inflexible rigour of the law, unto the coming of the Messiah, when the doctrine of justification by faith 24 in him should be revealed. So that the law, by its severity, served as a schoolmaster to bring us to 25 Christ, that we might be justified by faith. But Christ being come, and with him the doctrine of justification by faith, we are set free from this schoolmaster, there is no longer any need of him.

SECT. VI.

CHAPTER III. 26 — 29.

CONTENTS.

As a further argument to dissuade them from circumcision, he tells the galatians, that by faith in Christ, all, whether jews or gentiles, are made the children of God; and so they stood in no need of circumcision.

TEXT.

26 For ye are all the children of God, by faith in Christ Jesus.

27 For as many of you, as have been baptized into Christ, have put on Christ.

28 There is neither jew nor greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in Christ Jesus.

29 And if ye be Christ’s, then are ye Abraham’s seed, and heirs according to the promise.

PARAPHRASE.

26 For ye are all the children of God, by faith in27 Christ Jesus. For as many of you, as have been28 baptized in Christ, have put on Christ. There is no distinction of jew or gentile, or bond or free, of male or female. For ye are all one body, making29 up one person in Christ Jesus. And if ye are all one in Christ Jesus, ye are the true ones, seed of Abraham, and heirs according to the propose.

SECT. VII.

CHAPTER IV. 1 — 11.

CONTENTS.

In the first part of this section he further shows, that the law was not against the promise, in that the child is not disinherited, by being under tutors. But the chief design of this section is to show, that though both jews and gentiles were intended to be the children of God, and heirs of the promise by faith in Christ, yet they both of them were left in bondage, the jews to the law, ver. 3, and the gentiles to false gods, ver 8, until Christ in due time came to redeem them both; and, therefore, it was folly in the galatians, being redeemed from one bondage, to go backwards, and put themselves again in a state of bondage, though under a new master.

TEXT.

1 Now I say, that the heir, as long as he is a child, differeth nothing from a servant, though he be lord of all;

2 But he is under tutors and governors, until the time appointed of the father.

3 Even so we, when we were children, were in bondage under the elements of the world:

4 But when the fulness of the time was come, God sent forth his son made of a woman, made under the law;

5 To redeem them that were under the law, that we might receive the adoption of sons.

6 And, because ye are sons, God has sent forth the Spirit of his son into your hearts, crying, Abba, Father.

7 Wherefore thou art no more a servant, but a son; and if a son, then an heir of God, through Christ.

8 Howbeit, then, when ye knew not God, ye did service unto them, which by nature are no gods.

9 But now, after that ye have known God, or rather are known of God, how turn ye again to the weak and beggarly elements, whereunto ye desire again to be in bondage?

10 Ye observe days, and months, and times, and years.

11 I am afraid of you, lest I have bestowed upon you labour in vain.

PARAPHRASE.

1 Now I say, that the heir, as long as he is a child, differeth nothing from a bondman, though he be2 lord of all; But is under tutors and guardians, until3 the time prefixed by his father. So we jews, whilst we were children, were in bondage under the law.4 But when the time appointed for the coming of the Messias was accomplished, God sent forth his Son,5 made of a woman, and subjected to the law; That he might redeem those who were under the law, and set them free from it, that we, who believe, might be put out of the state of bondmen, into that of sons.6 Into which state of sons, it is evident that you, galatians, who were heretofore gentiles, are put; forasmuch as God hath sent forth his Spirit into your 7 hearts, which enables you to cry Abba, Father. So that thou art no longer a bondman, but a son: and if a son, then an heir of God, or of the promise of8 God, though Christ. But then, i. e. before ye were made the sons of God, by faith in Christ, now under the gospel, ye, not knowing God, were in bondage to9 those, who were in truth no gods. But now, that ye know God, yea rather, that ye are known and taken into favour by him, how can it be that you, who have been put out of a state of bondage, into the freedom of sons, should go backwards, and be willing to put yourselves under the weak and beggarly elements10 of the world into a state of bondage again? Ye observe days, and months, and times, and years, in11 compliance with the Mosaical institution. I begin to be afraid of you, and to be in doubt, whether all the pains I have taken about you, to set you at liberty, in the freedom of the gospel, will not prove lost labour.

SECT. VIII.

CHAPTER IV. 12 — 20.

CONTENTS.

He presses them with the remembrance of the great kindness they had for him, when he was amongst them; and assures them that they have no reason to be alienated from him, though that be it, which the judaizing seducers aim at.

TEXT.

12 Brethren, I beseech you, be as I am; for I am as ye are: ye have not injured me at all.

13 Ye know how, through infirmity of the flesh, I preached the gospel unto you at the first.

14 And my temptation, which was in my flesh, ye despised not, nor rejected; but received me, as an angel of God, even as Christ Jesus.

15 Where then is the blessedness you spake of; for I bear you record, that if it had been possible, ye would have plucked out your own eyes, and given them to me.

16 And I therefore become your enemy, because I tell you the truth?

17 They zealously affect you, but not well; yea, they would exclude you, that you might affect them.

18 But it is good to be zealously affected always in a good thing, and not only when I am present with you.

19 My little children, of whom I travail in birth again, until Christ be formed in you.

20 I desire to be present with you now, and to change my voice; for I stand in doubt of you.

PARAPHRASE.

12 I beseech you, brethren, let you and I be as if we were all one. Think yourselves to be very me; as I, in my own mind, put no difference at all between you and myself; you have done me no manner of13 injury: On the contrary, ye know, that through infirmity of the flesh, I heretofore preached the gospel14 to you. And yet ye despised me not, for the trial I underwent in the flesh, you treated me not with contempt and scorn: but you received me, as an15 angel of God, yea, as Jesus Christ himself. What benedictions did you then pour out upon me? For I bear you witness, had it been practicable, you would have pulled out your very eyes, and given them16 me. But is it so, that I am become your enemy17 in continuing to tell you the truth? They, who would make you of that mind, show a warmth of affection to you; but it is not well: for their business is to exclude me, that they may get into your affection.18 It is good to be well and warmly affected towards a good man, at all times, and not barely19 when I am present with you, My little children, for whom I have again the pains of a woman in childbirth, until Christ be formed in you, i. e. till the true doctrine of christianity be settled in your20 minds. But I would willingly be this very moment with you, and change my discourse, as I should find occasion; for I am at a stand about you, and know not what to think of you.

SECT. IX.

CHAPTER IV. 21. — V. 1.

CONTENTS.

He exhorts them to stand fast in the liberty, with which Christ hath made them free, showing those, who are so zealous for the law, that, if they mind what they read in the law, they will there find, that the children of the promise, or of the new Jerusalem, were to be free; but the children after the flesh, of the earthly Jerusalem, were to be in bondage, and to be cast out, and not to have the inheritance.

TEXT.

21 Tell me, ye that desire to be under the law, do ye not hear the law?

22 For it is written, that Abraham had two sons; the one by a bond-maid, the other by a free-woman.

23 But he, who was of the bond-woman, was born after the flesh: but he of the free-woman was by promise.

24 Which things are an allegory; for these are the two covenants; the one from the Mount Sinai, which gendereth to bondage, which is Agar.

25 For this Agar is Mount Sinai in Arabia, and answereth to Jerusalem, which now is, and is in bondage with her children.

26 But Jerusalem which is above, is free, which is the mother of us all.

27 For it is written, Rejoice, thou barren, that bearest not; break forth and cry, that thou travailest not: for the desolate hath many more children than she which hath an husband.

28 Now we, brethren, as Isaac was, are the children of promise.

29 But as, then, he that was born after the flesh, persecuted him that was born after the spirit, even so it is now.

30 Nevertheless, what saith the scripture? Cast out the bond-woman and her son: for the son of the bond-woman shall not be heir with the son of the free woman.

31 So then, brethren, we are not children of the bond-woman, but of the free.

V. 1.Stand fast, therefore, in the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free, and be not entangled again with the yoke of bondage.

PARAPHRASE.

21 Tell me, you that would so fain be under the law, do you not acquaint yourselves with what is in the law, either by reading it, or having it read in your assemblies?22 For it is there written, Abraham had two sons, one by a bond-maid the other by a free woman.23 But he that was of the bond-woman, was born according to the flesh, in the ordinary course of nature; but he that was of the free woman, Abraham had by virtue of the promise, after he and his wife were past24 the hopes of another child. These things have an allegorical meaning: for the two women are the two covenants, the one of them delivered from mount Sinai, and is represented by Agar, who produces her25 issue into bondage. (For Agar is mount Sinai in Arabia, and answers to Jerusalem, that now is, and26 is in bondage with her children.) But the heavenly Jerusalem, which is above, and answers to Sarah, the mother of the promised seed, is free, the mother27 of us all, both jews and gentiles, who believe. For it was of her, that it is written, “Rejoice, thou barren, that bearest not; break out into loud acclamations of joy, thou that hast not the travails of child-birth; for more are the children of the28 desolate, than of her that hath an husband.” And it is we, my brethren, who, as Isaac was, are the29 children of promise. But as, then, Ishmael, who was born in the ordinary course of nature, persecuted Isaac, who was born by an extraordinary power, from heaven, working miraculously; so is it30 now. But what saith the scripture? “Cast out the bond-woman and her son: for the son of the bond-woman shall not share the inheritance with31 the son of the free-woman.” So then, brethren, we, who believe in Christ, are not the children of the bond-woman,V. 1. but of the free. Stand fast, therefore, in the liberty, wherewith Christ hath made you free, and do not put on again a yoke of bondage, by putting yourselves under the law.

SECT. X.

CHAPTER V. 2 — 13.

CONTENTS.

It is evident from ver. 11, that, the better to prevail, with the galatians to be circumcised, it had been reported, that St. Paul himself preached up circumcision. St. Paul, without taking express notice of this calumny, chap. i. 6, and ii. 21, gives an account of his past life, in a large train of particulars, which all concur to make such a character of him, as renders it very incredible, that he should ever declare for the circumcision of the gentile converts, or for their submission to the law. Having thus prepared the minds of the galatians to give him a fair hearing, as a fair man ζηλȣ͂σθαι ἐν ϰαλῷ, he goes on to argue against their subjecting themselves to the law. And having established their freedom from the law, by many strong arguments, he comes here at last openly to take notice of the report which had been raised of him, [that he preached circumcision] and directly confutes it.

By positively denouncing to them himself, very solemnly; that they, who suffer themselves to be circumcised, put themselves into a perfect legal state, out of the covenant of grace, and could receive no benefit by Jesus Christ, ver. 2 — 4.

By assuring them, that he, and those that followed him, expected justification only by faith, ver. 5, 6.

By telling them, that he had put them in the right way, and that this new persuasion came not from him, that converted them to christianity, ver. 7, 8.

By insinuating to them, that they should agree to pass judgment on him, that troubled them with this doctrine, ver. 9, 10.

By his being persecuted, for opposing the circumcision of the christians. For this was the great offence, which stuck with the jews, even after their conversion, ver. 11.

By wishing those cut off, that trouble them with this doctrine, ver. 12.

This will, I doubt not, by whoever weighs it, be found a very skilful management of the argumentative part of this epistle, which ends here. For, though he begins with sapping the foundation, on which the judaizing seducers seemed to have laid their main stress, viz. the report of his preaching circumcision; yet he reserves the direct and open confutation of it to the end, and so leaves it with them, that it may have the more forcible and lasting impression on their minds.

TEXT.

2 Behold; I, Paul, say unto you, that if ye be circumcised, Christ shall profit you nothing.

3 For I testify, again, to every man that is circumcised, that he is a debtor to do the whole law.

4 Christ is become of no effect unto you; whosoever of you are justified by the law, ye are fallen from grace.

5 For we, through the Spirit, wait for the hope of righteousness by faith.

6 For in Jesus Christ, neither circumcision availeth any thing, nor uncircumcision; but faith, which worketh by love.

7 Ye did run well: who did hinder you, that ye should not obey the truth?

8 This persuasion cometh not of him that calleth you.

9 A little leaven leaveneth the whole lump.

10 I have confidence in you, through the Lord, that you will be none otherwise minded: but he that troubleth you, shall bear his judgment, whosoever he be.

11 And I, brethren, if I yet preach circumcision, why do I yet suffer persecution? then is the offence of the cross ceased.

12 I would they were even cut off, which trouble you.

13 For, brethren, ye have been called unto liberty.

PARAPHRASE.

2 Take notice that I, Paul, who am falsely reported to preach up circumcision in other places, say unto you, that if you are circumcised, Christ shall be of no advantage3 to you. For I repeat here again, what I have always preached, and solemnly testify to every one, who yields to be circumcised, in compliance with those who say, That now, under the gospel, he cannot be saved without it, that he is under an obligation to the whole law, and bound to observe and perform4 every tittle of it. Christ is of no use to you, who seek justification by the law: whosoever do so, be ye what ye will, ye are fallen from the covenant of5 grace. But I, and those, who with me are true christians, we, who follow the truth of the gospel, and the doctrine of the Spirit of God, have no other6 hope of justification, but by faith in Christ. For in the state of the gospel, under Jesus, the Messiah, it is neither circumcision nor uncircumcision, that is of any moment; all that is available is faith alone,7 working by love. When you first entered into the profession of the gospel, you were in a good way, and went on well: who has put a stop to you, and hindereth you, that you keep no longer to the8 truth of the christian doctrine? This persuasion, that it is necessary for you to be circumcised, cometh not from him, by whose preaching you were called9 to the profession of the gospel. Remember that a little leaven leaveneth the whole lump; the influence of one man entertained among you, may10 mislead you all. I have confidence in you, that, by the help of the Lord, you will be all of this same mind with me; and consequently he that troubles you, shall fall under the censure he deserves for it,11 whoever he be. But as for me, brethren, if I, at last, am become a preacher of circumcision, why am I yet persecuted? If it be so, that the gentile converts are to be circumcised, and so subjected to the law, the great offence of the gospel, in relying solely on a crucified Saviour for salvation, is removed.12 But I am of another mind, and wish that they may be cut off, who trouble you about this13 matter, and they shall be cut off. For, brethren, ye have been called by me unto liberty.

SECT. XI.

CHAPTER V. 13 — 26.

CONTENTS.

From the mention of liberty, which he tells them they are called to, under the gospel, he takes a rise to caution them in the use of it, and so exhorts them to a spiritual, or true christian life, showing the difference and contrariety between that and a carnal life, or a life after the flesh.

TEXT.

Only use not liberty for an occasion to the flesh, but by love serve one another.

14 For all the law is fulfilled in one word: even in this; thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.

15 But if ye bite and devour one another, take heed that ye be not consumed one of another.

16 This I say then, Walk in the spirit, and ye shall not fulfil the lust of the flesh.

17 For the flesh lusteth against the spirit, and the spirit against the flesh: and these are contrary the one to the other; so that ye cannot do the things that ye would.

18 But if ye be led by the spirit, ye are not under the law.

19 Now the works of the flesh are manifest, which are these: adultery, fornication, uncleanness, lasciviousness,

20 Idolatry, witchcraft, hatred, variance, emulations, wrath, strife, seditions, heresies,

21 Envyings, murders, drunkenness, revellings, and such-like: of the which I tell you before, as I have also told you in time past, that they, which do such things, shall not inherit the kingdom of God.

22 But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith,

23 Meekness, temperance: against such there is no law.

24 And they that are Christ’s, have crucified the flesh, with the affections and lusts.

25 If we live in the Spirit, let us also walk in the Spirit.

26 Let us not be desirous of vain-glory, provoking one another, envying one another.

PARAPHRASE.

Though the gospel, to which you are called, be a state of liberty from the bondage of the law, yet pray take great care you do not mistake that liberty, nor think it affords you an opportunity, in the abuse of it, to satisfy the lust of the flesh, but serve one14 another in love. For the whole law, concerning our duty to others, is fulfilled in observing this one precept; “Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.”15 But, if you bite and tear one another, take heed that you be not destroyed and consumed16 by one another. This I say to you, conduct yourselves by the light that is in your minds, and do not give yourselves up to the lusts of the flesh, to17 obey them, in what they put upon you. For the inclinations and desires of the flesh, are contrary to those of the spirit: and the dictates and inclinations of the spirit are contrary to those of the flesh; so that, under these contrary impulses, you do not do18 the things that you purpose to yourselves. But if you give yourselves up to the conduct of the gospel,19 by faith in Christ, ye are not under the law. Now the works of the flesh, as is manifest, are these: adultery, fornication, uncleanness, lasciviousness,20 Idolatry, witchcraft, enmities, quarrels, emulations,21 animosities, strife, seditions, sects, Envyings, murders, drunkenness, revellings, and such-like: concerning which I forewarn you now, as heretofore I have done, that they, who do such things, shall not inherit22 the kingdom of God. But, on the other side, the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, long-suffering, sweetness of disposition, beneficence, faithfulness,23 Meekness, temperance: against these and24 the like there is no law. Now they who belong to Christ, and are his members, have crucified the 25 flesh, with the affections and lusts thereof. If our life then (our flesh having been crucified) be, as we profess, by the Spirit, whereby we are alive from that state of sin, we were dead in before, let us regulate our lives and actions by the light and dictates26 of the Spirit. Let us not be led, by an itch of vain-glory, to provoke one another, or to envy one another.

SECT. XII.

CHAPTER VI. 1 — 5.

CONTENTS.

He here exhorts the stronger to gentleness and meekness towards the weak.

TEXT.

1 Brethren, if a man be overtaken in a fault, ye which are spiritual, restore such an one in the spirit of meekness; considering thyself, lest thou also be tempted.

2 Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.

3 For if a man think himself to be something, when he is nothing, he deceiveth himself.

4 But let every man prove his own work, and then shall he have rejoicing in himself alone, and not in another.

5 For every man shall bear his own burden.

PARAPHRASE.

1 Brethren, if a man, by frailty or surprise, fall into a fault, do you, who are eminent in the church for knowledge, practice, and gifts, raise him up again, and set him right, with gentleness and meekness, considering that you yourselves are not out of the reach2 of temptations. Bear with one another’s infirmities, and help to support each other under your burdens,3 and so fulfil the law of Christ. For if any one be conceited of himself, as if he were something, a man of weight, fit to prescribe to others, when indeed he is4 not, he deceiveth himself. But let him take care that what he himself doth be right, and such as will bear the test, and then he will have matter of glorying5 in himself, and not in another. For every one shall be accountable only for his own actions.

SECT. XIII.

CHAPTER VI. 6 — 10.

CONTENTS.

St. Paul having laid some restraint upon the authority and forwardness of the teachers, and leading men amongst them, who were, as it seems, more ready to impose on the galatians what they should not, than to help them forward in the practice of gospel-obedience; he here takes care of them, in respect of their maintenance, and exhorts the galatians to liberality towards them, and, in general, towards all men, especially christians.

TEXT.

6 Let him, that is taught in the word, communicate unto him that teacheth in all good things.

7 Be not deceived; God is not mocked; for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.

8 For he that soweth to his flesh, shall of the flesh reap corruption; but he that soweth to the Spirit, shall of the Spirit reap life everlasting.

9 And let us not be weary in well-doing; for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.

10 As we have, therefore, opportunity, let us do good unto all men, especially unto them who are of the household of faith.

PARAPHRASE.

6 Let him, that is taught the doctrine of the gospel, freely communicate the good things of this world to7 him that teaches him. Be not deceived, God will not be mocked; for, as a man soweth, so also shall8 he reap. He, that lays out the stock of good things he has, only for the satisfaction of his own bodily necessities, conveniences, or pleasures, shall, at the harvest, find the fruit and product of such husbandry to be corruption and perishing. But he, that lays out his worldly substance, according to the rules dictated by the Spirit of God in the gospel, shall, of9 the Spirit, reap life everlasting. In doing thus, what is good and right, let us not wax weary; for in due season, when the time of harvest comes, we shall reap, if we continue on to do good, and flag not.10 Therefore, as we have opportunities, let us do good unto all men, especially to those who profess faith in Jesus Christ, i. e. the christian religion.

SECT. XIV.

CHAPTER VI. 11 — 18.

CONTENTS.

One may see what lay upon St. Paul’s mind, in writing to the galatians, by what he inculcates to them here, even after he had finished his letter. The like we have in the last chapter to the romans. He here winds up all with admonitions to the galatians, of a different end and aim they had, to get the galatians circumcised, from what he had in preaching the gospel.

TEXT.

11 You see how large a letter I have written unto you, with mine own hand,

12 As many as desire to make a fair show in the flesh, they constrain you to be circumcised; only lest they should suffer persecution for the cross of Christ.

13 For neither they themselves, who are circumcised, keep the law; but desire to have you circumcised, that they may glory in your flesh.

14 But God forbid that I should glory, save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by whom the world is crucified unto me, and I unto the world.

15 For, in Christ Jesus, neither circumcision availeth any thing, nor uncircumcision, but a new creature.

16 And as many as walk according to this rule, peace be on them, and mercy, and upon the Israel of God.

17 From henceforth let no man trouble me; for I bear in my body the marks of the Lord Jesus.

18 Brethren, the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit. Amen.

Unto the galatians, written from Rome.

PARAPHRASE.

11 You see how long a letter I have writ to you with12 my own hand. They, who are willing to carry it so fairly in the ritual part of the law, and to make ostentation of their compliance therein, constrain you to be circumcised, only to avoid persecution, for owning their dependence for salvation solely on a crucified Messiah, and not on the observance of the law.13 For even they themselves, who are circumcised, do not keep the law. But they will have you to be circumcised, that this mark in your flesh may afford them matter of glorying, and of recommending themselves14 to the good opinion of the jews. But as for me, whatever may be said of me, God forbid that I should glory in any thing, but in having Jesus Christ, who was crucified, for my sole Lord and Master, whom I am to obey and depend on; which I so entirely do, without regard to any thing else, that I am wholly dead to the world, and the world dead to me, and it has no more influence on me, than15 if it were not. For, as to the obtaining a share in the kingdom of Jesus Christ, and the privileges and advantages of it, neither circumcision nor uncircumcision, such outward differences in the flesh, avail any thing, but the new creation, wherein by a thorough change a man is disposed to righteousness, and16 true holiness, in good works. And on all those, who walk by this rule, viz. that it is the new creation alone, and not circumcision, that availeth under the gospel, peace and mercy shall be on them, they being that Israel, which are truly the people of God.17 From henceforth, let no man give me trouble by questions, or doubt whether I preach circumcision or no. It is true, I am circumcised. But yet the marks I now bear in my body, are the marks of Jesus Christ, that I am his. The marks of the stripes, which I have received from the jews, and which I still bear in my body for preaching Jesus Christ, are18 an evidence that I am not for circumcision. “Brethren, the favour of our Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit.” Amen.

A PARAPHRASE AND NOTES ON THE FIRST EPISTLE OF ST. PAUL TO THE CORINTHIANS.

THE FIRST EPISTLE OF ST. PAUL TO THE CORINTHIANS; WRIT IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 57, OF NERO III.

SYNOPSIS.

Saint Paul’s first coming to Corinth was anno Christi 52, where he first applied himself to the synagogue, Acts xviii. 4. But finding them obstinate in their opposition to the gospel, he turned to the gentiles, ver. 6, out of whom this church at Corinth seems chiefly to be gathered, as appears, Acts xviii. and 1 Cor. xii. 2.

His stay here was about two years, as appears from Acts xviii. 11, 18, compared: in which time it may be concluded he made many converts; for he was not idle there, nor did he use to stay long in a place, where he was not encouraged by the success of his ministry. Besides what his so long abode in this one city, and his indefatigable labour every where, might induce one to presume, of the number of converts he made in that city; the scripture itself, Acts xviii. 10, gives sufficient evidence of a numerous church gathered there.

Corinth itself was a rich merchant-town, the inhabitants greeks, a people of quick parts, and inquisitive, 1 Cor. i. 22, but naturally vain and conceited of themselves.

These things considered may help us, in some measure, the better to understand St. Paul’s epistles to this church, which seems to be in greater disorder, than any other of the churches which he writ to.

This epistle was writ to the corinthians, anno Christi 57, between two and three years after St. Paul had left them. In this interval, there was got in amongst them a new instructor, a jew by nation, who had raised a faction against St. Paul. With this party, whereof he was the leader, this false apostle had gained great authority, so that they admired and gloried in him, with an apparent disesteem and diminishing of St. Paul.

Why I suppose the opposition to be made to St. Paul, in this church, by one party, under one leader, I shall give the reasons, that make it probable to me, as they come in my way, going through these two epistles; which I shall leave to the reader to judge, without positively determining on either side; and therefore shall, as it happens, speak of these opposers of St. Paul, sometimes in the singular, and sometimes in the plural number.

This at least is evident, that the main design of St. Paul, in this epistle, is to support his own authority, dignity, and credit, with that part of the church which stuck to him; to vindicate himself from the aspersions and calumnies of the opposite party; to lessen the credit of the chief and leading men in it, by intimating their miscarriages, and showing their no cause of glorying, or being gloried in: that so withdrawing their party from the admiration and esteem of those their leaders, he might break the faction; and putting an end to the division, might re-unite them with the uncorrupted part of the church, that they might all unanimously submit to the authority of his divine mission, and with one accord receive and keep the doctrine and directions he had delivered to them.

This is the whole subject from chap. i. 10, to the end of chap. vi. In the remaining part of this epistle, he answers some questions they had proposed to him, and resolves some doubts; not without a mixture, on all occasions, of reflections on his opposers, and of other things, that might tend to the breaking of their faction.

SECT. I.

CHAPTER I. 1 — 9.

TEXT.

1 Paul, called to be an apostle of Jesus Christ through the will of God, and Sosthenes our brother:

2 Unto the church of God, which is at Corinth, to them that are sanctified in Christ Jesus, called to be saints, with all that in every place call upon the name of Jesus Christ, our Lord, both theirs and ours.

3 Grace be unto you, and peace from God our Father, and from the Lord Jesus Christ.

4 I thank my God always, on your behalf, for the grace of God, which is given you, by Jesus Christ;

5 That, in every thing, ye are enriched by him, in all utterance, and in all knowledge:

6 Even as the testimony of Christ was confirmed in you.

7 So that ye come behind in no gift, waiting for the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ:

8 Who also shall confirm you unto the end, that ye may be blameless in the day of our Lord Jesus Christ.

9 God is faithful, by whom ye were called unto the fellowship of his Son, Jesus Christ, our Lord.

PARAPHRASE.

1 Paul an apostle of Jesus Christ, called to be so by the will of God, and Sosthenes our brother in the2 christian faith; To the church of God, which is at Corinth, to them that are separated from the rest of the world, by faith in Jesus Christ, called to be saints, with all, that are every-where called by the name3 of Jesus Christ, their Lord, and ours. Favour and peace be unto you, from God our Father, and from 4 the Lord Jesus Christ. I thank God always, on your behalf, for the favour of God, which is bestowed on5 you, through Jesus Christ; So that, by him, you are enriched with all knowledge and utterance, and6 all extraordinary gift: As at first, by those miraculous gifts, the gospel of Christ was confirmed7 among you. So that in no spiritual gift are any of you short, or deficient, waiting for the8 coming of our Lord Jesus Christ; Who shall also confirm you unto the end, that in the day of the Lord9 Jesus Christ, there may be no charge against you. For God, who has called you unto the fellowship of his Son Jesus Christ, our Lord, may be relied on for what is to be done on his side.

SECT. II.

CHAPTER I. 10. — VI. 20.

CONTENTS.

There were great disorders in the church of Corinth, caused chiefly by a faction raised there, against St. Paul: the partisans of the faction mightily cried up, and gloried in their leaders, who did all they could to disparage St. Paul, and lessen him in the esteem of the corinthians. St. Paul makes it is business, in this section, to take off the corinthians from siding with, and glorying in, this pretended apostle, whose followers and scholars they professed themselves to be; and to reduce them into one body, as the scholars of Christ, united in a belief of the gospel, which he had preached to them, and in an obedience to it, without any such distinction of masters, or leaders, from whom they denominated themselves. He also, here and there, intermixes a justification of himself, against the aspersions which were cast upon him, by his opposers. How much St. Paul was set against their leaders, may be seen, 2 Cor. xi. 13 — 15.

The arguments used by St. Paul, to break the opposite faction, and put an end to all divisions amongst them, being various, we shall take notice of them, under their several heads, as they come in the order of this discourse.

SECT. II. N. 1.

CHAPTER I. 10 — 16.

CONTENTS.

Saint Paul’s first argument is, That, in christianity, they all had but one master, viz. Christ; and therefore were not to fall into parties, denominated from distinct teachers, as they did in their schools of philosophy.

TEXT.

10 Now I beseech you, brethren, by the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that ye all speak the same thing, and that there be no divisions among you; but that ye be perfectly joined together, in the same mind, and in the same judgment.

11 For it hath been declared unto me, of you, my brethren, by them which are of the house of Chloe, that there are contentions among you.

12 Now, this I say, that every one of you saith, “I am of Paul, and I of Apollos, and I of Cephas, and I of Christ.”

13 Is Christ divided? was Paul crucified for you? or were ye baptized in the name of Paul?

14 I thank God that I baptized none of you, but Crispas and Gaius:

15 Lest any should say, that I had baptized in my own name.

16 And I baptized also the houshold of Stephanus: besides, I know not whether I baptized any other.

PARAPHRASE.

10 Now I beseech you, brethren, by the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that ye hold the same doctrine, and that there be no divisions among you; but that ye be framed together into one intire body, with one11 mind, and one affection. For I understand, my brethren, by some of the house of Chloe, that there12 are quarrels and dissentions amongst you; So that ye are fallen into parties, ranking yourselves under different leaders or masters, one saying, “I am of Paul;” another, “I of Apollos, I of Cephas, I of13 Christ.” Is Christ, who is our only Head and Master, divided? Was Paul crucified for you? Or14 were you baptized into the name of Paul? I thank God I baptized none of you, but Crispus and Gaius;15 Lest any one should say, I had baptized into my16 own name. I baptized also the household of Stephanas; farther, I know not whether I baptized any other.

SECT. II. N. 2.

CHAPTER 1. 17 — 31.

CONTENTS.

The next argument of St. Paul, to stop their followers from glorying in these false apostles, is, that neither any advantage of extraction, nor skill in the learning of the jews, nor in the philosophy and eloquence of the greeks, was that, for which God chose men to be preachers of the gospel. Those, whom he made choice of, for overturning the mighty and the learned, were mean, plain, illiterate men.

TEXT.

17 For Christ sent me not to baptize, but to preach the gospel: not with wisdom of words, lest the cross of Christ should be made of none effect.

18 For the preaching of the cross is to them that perish foolishness: but unto us, which are saved, it is the power of God.

19 For it is written, I will destroy the wisdom of the wise, and will bring to nothing the understanding of the prudent.

20 Where is the wise? where is the scribe? where is the disputer of this world? hath not God made foolish the wisdom of this world?

21 For after that, in the wisdom of God, the world, by wisdom, knew not God, it pleased God, by the foolishness of preaching, to save them that believe.

22 For the jews require a sign, and the greeks seek after wisdom:

23 But we preach Christ crucified, unto the jews a stumbling block, and unto the greeks foolishness.

24 But unto them which are called, both jews and greeks, Christ, the power of God, and the wisdom of God:

25 Because the foolishness of God is wiser than men; and the weakness of God is stronger than men.

26 For ye see your calling, brethren, how that not many wise men after the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble, are called.

27 But God hath chosen the foolish things of the world, to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world, to confound the things which are mighty:

28 And base things of the world, and things which are despised, hath God chosen, yea, and things which are not, to bring to nought things that are:

29 That no flesh should glory in his presence.

30 But of him are ye, in Christ Jesus, who, of God, is made unto us wisdom, and righteousness, and sanctification, and redemption:

31 That, according as it is written, “He that glorieth, let him glory in the Lord.”

PARAPHRASE.

17 For Christ sent me not to baptize, but to preach the gospel; not with learned and eloquent harangues, lest thereby the virtue and efficacy of Christ’s sufferings and death should be overlooked and neglected, if the stress of our persuasion should be laid on the learning18 and quaintness of our preaching. For the plain insisting on the death of a crucified Saviour is, by those, who perish, received as a foolish, contemptible thing; though to us, who are saved, it be the power19 of God, Conformable to what is prophecied by Isaiah: “I will destroy the wisdom of the wise, and I will bring to nothing the understanding of the20 prudent.” Where is the philosopher, skilled in the wisdom of the greek? Where the scribes, studied in the learning of the jews? Where the professor of human arts and sciences? Hath not God rendered all the learning and wisdom of this world foolish, and useless for the discovery of the truths of21 the gospel? For since the world, by their natural parts, and improvements in what, with them, passed for wisdom, acknowledged not the one, only, true God, though he had manifested himself to them, in the wise contrivance and admirable frame of the visible works of the creation; it pleased God, by the plain, and (as the world esteems it) foolish doctrine of the gospel, to save those who receive and believe22 it. Since both the jews demand extraordinary signs and miracles, and the greeks seek wisdom:23 But I have nothing else to preach to them, but Christ crucified, a doctrine offensive to the hopes and expectations of the jews; and foolish to the acute men24 of learning, the greeks: But yet it is to these, both jews and greeks, (when they are converted) Christ, the power of God, and Christ, the wisdom of God:25 Because that, which seems foolishness in those, who came from God, surpasses the wisdom of man; and that, which seems weakness in those sent by God,26 surpasses the power of men. For reflect upon your selves, brethren, and you may observe, that there are not many of the wise and learned men, not many men of power, or of birth, among you, that27 are called. But God hath chosen the foolish men, in the account of the world, to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak men of the world,28 to confound the mighty: The mean men of the world, and contemptible, has God chosen, and those that are of no account, are nothing, to displace 29 those that are: That so there might be no room, or pretence, for any one to glory in his presence.30 Natural, human abilities, parts or wisdom, could never have reached this way to happiness: it is to his wisdom alone, that ye owe the contrivance of it; to his revealing of it, that ye owe the knowledge of it; and it is from him alone, that you are in Christ Jesus, whom God has made to us, Christians, wisdom, and righteousness, and sanctification, and redemption, which is all the dignity and preeminence, all that is of any value, amongst us Christians:31 That as it is written, He that glorieth, should glory only in the Lord.

SECT. II. N. 3.

CHAPTER II. 1 — 5.

CONTENTS.

Farther to keep them from glorying in their leaders, he tells them, that as the preachers of the gospel, of God’s choosing, were mean and illiterate men, so the gospel was not to be propagated, nor men to be established in the faith, by human learning and eloquence, but by the evidence it had, from the revelation contained in the old Testament, and from the power of God accompanying and confirming it with miracles.

TEXT.

1 And I, brethren, when I came to you, came not with excellency of speech, or of wisdom, declaring unto you the testimony of God.

2 For I determined not to know any thing among you, save Jesus Christ, and him crucified.

3 And I was with you in weakness, and in fear, and in much trembling.

4 And my speech, and my preaching, was not with enticing words of man’s wisdom, but in demonstration of the Spirit, and of power:

5 That your faith should not stand in the wisdom of men, but in the power of God.

PARAPHRASE.

1 And I, brethren, when I came and preached the gospel to you, I did not endeavour to set it off with any ornaments of rhetoric, or the mixture of human learning, or philosophy; but plainly declared it to you, as a doctrine coming from God, revealed and attested 2 by him. For I resolved to own, or show, no other knowledge among you, but the knowledge, or doctrine3 of Jesus Christ, and of him crucified. All my carriage among you had nothing in it, but the appearance of weakness and humility, and fear of offending4 you. Neither did I in my discourses, or preaching, make use of any human art of persuasion, to inveigle you. But the doctrine of the gospel, which I proposed, I confirmed and inforced by what the Spirit had revealed and demonstrated of it, in the Old Testament, and by the power of God, accompanying5 it with miraculous operations: That your faith might have its foundation, not in the wisdom and endowments of men, but in the power of God.

SECT. II. N. 4.

CHAPTER II. 6 — 16.

CONTENTS.

The next argument the apostle uses to show them, that they had no reason to glory in their teachers, is, that the knowledge of the gospel was not attainable by our natural parts, however they were improved by arts and philosophy, but was wholly owing to revelation.

TEXT.

6 Howbeit we speak wisdom amongst them that are perfect: yet not the wisdom of this world, nor of the princes of this world, that come to nought.

7 But we speak the wisdom of God in a mystery, even the hidden wisdom, which God ordained, before the world, unto our glory.

8 Which none of the princes of this world knew; for had they known it, they would not have crucified the Lord of glory.

9 But, as it is written, “Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him.”

10 But God hath revealed them unto us, by his Spirit; for the Spirit searcheth all things: yea, the deep things of God.

11 For what man knoweth the things of a man, save the spirit of a man, which is in him? even so, the things of God knoweth no man, but the Spirit of God.

12 Now we have received, not the spirit of the world, but the Spirit which is of God; that we might know the things, that are freely given to us of God.

13 Which things also we speak, not in the words, which man’s wisdom teacheth, but which the Holy Ghost teacheth; comparing spiritual things with spiritual.

14 But the natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God: for they are foolishness unto him; neither can he know them; because they are spiritually discerned.

15 But he, that is spiritual, judgeth all things, yet he himself is judged of no man.

16 For who hath known the mind of the Lord, that he may instruct him? but we have the mind of Christ.

PARAPHRASE.

6 Howbeit, that which we preach is wisdom, and known to be so, among those who are thoroughly instructed in the christian religion, and take it upon its true principles: but not the wisdom of this world, nor of the princes, or great men of this world, who will7 quickly be brought to nought. But we speak the wisdom of God, contained in the mysterious and the obscure prophecies of the Old Testament, which has been therein concealed and hid: though it be what God predetermined, in his own purpose, before the jewish constitution, to the glory of 8 us, who understand, receive, and preach it: Which none of the rulers among the jews understood; for, if they had, they would not have crucified the Lord Christ, who has in his hands the disposing of all9 true glory. But they knew it not, as it is written, “Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor have the things, that God hath prepared for them that love him, entered into the heart or thoughts of10 man.” But these things, which are not discoverable by man’s natural faculties and powers, God hath revealed to us, by his Spirit, which searcheth out all things, even the deep counsels of God, which are beyond the reach of our abilities to discover. 11 For, as no man knoweth what is in the mind of another man, but only the spirit of the man himself that is in him: so, much less doth any man know, or can discover, the thoughts and counsels of12 God, but only the Spirit of God. But we have received, not the spirit of the world, but the Spirit, which is of God, that we might know what things are in the purpose of God, out of his free bounty13 to bestow upon us. Which things we not only know, but declare also; not in the language and learning, taught by human eloquence and philosophy, but in the language and expressions, which the Holy Ghost teacheth, in the revelations contained in the holy scriptures, comparing one14 part of the revelation with another. But a man, who hath no other help but his own natural faculties, how much soever improved by human arts and sciences, cannot receive the truths of the gospel, which are made known by another principle only, viz. the Spirit of God revealing them; and therefore seem foolish and absurd to such a man: nor can he, by the bare use of his natural faculties, and the principles of human reason, ever come to the knowledge of them; because it is, by the studying of divine revelation alone, that we can attain the15 knowledge of them. But he that lays his foundation in divine revelation, can judge what is, and what is not, the doctrine of the gospel, and of salvation; he can judge who is, and who is not, a good minister and preacher of the word of God: but others, who are bare animal men, that go not beyond the discoveries made by the natural faculties of human understanding, without the help and study of revelation, cannot judge of such an one, whether16 he preacheth right and well, or not. For who, by the bare use of his natural parts, can come to know the mind of the Lord, in the design of the gospel, so as to be able to instruct him [the spiritual man] in it? But I who, renouncing all human learning and knowledge in the case, take all, that I preach, from divine revelation alone, I am sure, that therein I have the mind of Christ; and therefore, there is no reason why any of you should prefer other teachers to me; glory in them who oppose and villify me; and count it an honour to go for their scholars, and be of their party.

SECT. II. N. 5.

CHAPTER III. I — IV. 20.

CONTENTS.

The next matter of boasting, which the faction made use of, to give the pre-eminence and preference to their leader, above St. Paul, seems to have been this, that their new teacher had led them farther, and given them a deeper insight into the mysteries of the gospel, than St. Paul had done. To take away their glorying on this account, St. Paul tells them, that they were carnal, and not capable of those more advanced truths, or any thing, beyond the first principles of christianity, which he had taught them; and, though another had come and watered what he had planted, yet neither planter, nor waterer, could assume to himself any glory from thence, because it was God alone, that gave the increase. But, whatever new doctrines they might pretend to receive, from their magnified, new apostle, yet no man could lay any other foundation, in a christian church, but what he St. Paul, had laid, viz. that “Jesus is the Christ;” and, therefore, there was no reason to glory in their teachers: because, upon this foundation, they, possibly, might build false, or unsound doctrines, for which they should receive no thanks from God; though, continuing in the faith, they might be saved. Some of the particular hay and stubble, which this leader brought into the church at Corinth, he seems particularly to point at, chap. iii. 16, 17, viz. their defiling the church, by retaining, and, as it may be supposed, patronizing the fornicator, who should have been turned out, chap. v. 7 — 13. He further adds, that these extolled heads of their party were, at best, but men; and none of the church ought to glory in men; for even Paul, and Apollos, and Peter, and all the other preachers of the gospel, were for the use and benefit, and glory of the church, as the church was for the glory of Christ.

Moreover, he shows them, that they ought not to be puffed up, upon the account of these their new teachers, to the undervaluing of him, though it should be true, that they had learned more from them, than from himself, for these reasons:

Because all the preachers of the gospel are but stewards of the mysteries of God; and whether they have been faithful in their stewardship, cannot be now known: and, therefore, they ought not to be some of them magnified and extolled, and others depressed and blamed, by their hearers here, until Christ their Lord come; and then he, knowing how they have behaved themselves in their ministry, will give them their due praises. Besides, these stewards have nothing, but what they have received; and, therefore, no glory belongs to them for it.

Because, if these leaders were (as was pretended) apostles, glory, and honour, and outward affluence here, was not their portion, the apostles being destined to want, contempt, and persecution.

They ought not to be honoured, followed, and gloried in, as apostles, because they had not the power of miracles, which he intended shortly to come, and show they had not.

TEXT.

1 And I, brethren, could not speak unto you as unto spiritual, but as unto carnal, even as unto babes in Christ.

2 I have fed you with milk, and not with meat: for hitherto ye were not able to bear it, neither yet now are ye able.

3 For ye are yet carnal: for whereas there is among you envying, and strife, and divisions, are ye not carnal, and walk as men?

4 For while one saith, I am of Paul, and another, I am of Apollos, are ye not carnal?

5 Who then is Paul, and who is Apollos, but ministers, by whom ye believed, even as the Lord gave to every man?

6 I have planted, Apollos watered; but God gave the increase.

7 So then, neither is he that planteth any thing, neither he that watereth; but God, that giveth the increase.

8 Now he that planteth, and he that watereth, are one; and every man shall receive his own reward, according to his own labour.

9 For we are labourers together with God: ye are God’s husbandry, ye are God’s building.

10 According to the grace of God, which is given unto me, as a wise master-builder, I have laid the foundation, and another buildeth thereon. But let every man take heed how he buildeth thereupon.

11 For other foundation can no man lay, than that is laid, which is Jesus Christ.

12 Now, if any man build upon this foundation gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, stubble;

13 Every man’s work shall be made manifest. For the day shall declare it, because it shall be revealed by fire; and the fire shall try every man’s work, of what sort it is.

14 If any man’s work abide, which he hath built thereupon, he shall receive a reward.

15 If any man’s work shall be burnt, he shall suffer loss: but he himself shall be saved; yet so, as by fire.

16 Know ye not that ye are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwelleth in you?

17 If any man defile the temple of God, him shall God destroy: for the temple of God is holy, which temple ye are.

18 Let no man deceive himself: if any man among you seemeth to be wise in this world, let him become a fool, that he may be wise.

19 For the wisdom of this world is foolishness with God: for it is written, He taketh the wise in their own craftiness.

20 And again, The Lord knoweth the thoughts of the wise, that they are vain.

21 Therefore let no man glory in men: for all things are yours:

22 Whether Paul, or Apollos, or Cephas, or the world, or life, or death, or things present, or things to come: all are yours:

23 And ye are Christ’s: and Christ is God’s.

IV. 1Let a man so account of us, as of the ministers of Christ, and stewards of the mysteries of God.

2 Moreover, it is required in stewards, that a man be found faithful.

3 But with me it is a very small thing, that I should be judged of you, or of man’s judgment: yea, I judge not mine ownself.

4 For I know nothing by myself, yet am I not hereby justified; but he that judgeth me is the Lord.

5 Therefore judge nothing before the time, until the Lord come, who both will bring to light the hidden things of darkness, and will make manifest the counsels of the hearts: and then shall every man have praise of God.

6 And these things, brethren, I have in a figure transferred to myself, and to Apollos, for your sakes; that ye might learn in us, not to think of men above that which is written, that no one of you be puffed up, for one against another.

7 For who maketh thee to differ from another? and what hast thou that thou didst not receive? Now, if thou didst receive it, why dost thou glory, as if thou hadst not received it?

8 Now ye are full, now ye are rich, ye have reigned as kings without us: and I would to God ye did reign, that we also might reign with you.

9 For I think that God hath set forth us the apostles last, as it were, appointed to death. For we are made a spectacle unto the world, and to angels, and to men.

10 We are fools for Christ’s sake, but ye are wise in Christ: we are weak, but ye are strong: ye are honourable, but we are despised.

11 Even unto this present hour, we both hunger and thirst, and are naked, and are buffeted, and have no certain dwelling-place.

12 And labour, working with our own hands: being reviled, we bless; being persecuted, we suffer it:

13 Being defamed, we intreat: we are made as the filth of the world, and are the off-scouring of all things unto this day.

14 I write not these things to shame you; but, as my beloved sons, I warn you.

15 For, though you have ten thousand instructors in Christ, yet have ye not many fathers: for, in Christ Jesus, I have begotten you, through the gospel.

16 Wherefore I beseech you, be ye followers of me.

17 For this cause have I sent unto you Timotheus, who is my beloved son, and faithful in the Lord, who shall bring you into remembrance of my ways, which be in Christ, as I teach every where in every church.

18 Now some are puffed up, as though I would not come to you.

19 But I will come to you shortly, if the Lord will, and will know, not the speech of them which are puffed up, but the power.

20 For the kingdom of God is not in word, but in power.

PARAPHRASE.

1 And I, brethren, found you so given up to pride and vain-glory, in affectation of learning and philosophical knowledge, that I could not speak to you as spiritual, i. e. as to men not wholly depending on philosophy, and the discoveries of natural reason; as to men, who had resigned themselves up, in matters of religion, to revelation, and the knowledge which comes only from the Spirit of God; but as to carnal, even as to babes, who yet retained a great many childish and wrong notions about it: this hindered me, that I could not go so far, as I desired, in the mysteries of the christian religion; but was fain to content myself with instructing you in the first principles, and more2 obvious and easy doctrines of it. I could not apply myself to you, as to spiritual men, that could compare spiritual things with spiritual, one part of scripture with another, and thereby understand the truths revealed by the Spirit of God, discerning true from false doctrines, good and useful, from evil and vain opinions. A further discovery of the truths and mysteries of christianity, depending wholly on revelation, you were not able to bear, then; nor are you yet able3 to bear; Because you are carnal, full of envyings, and strife, and factions, upon the account of your knowledge, and the orthodoxy of your particular4 parties. For, whilst you say, one, “I am of Paul;” and another, “I am of Apollos,” are ye not carnal, and manage yourselves in the conduct, both of your minds and actions, according to barely human principles, and not, as spiritual men, acknowledge all that information, and all those gifts, wherewith the ministers of Jesus Christ are furnished, from the propagation of the gospel, to come wholly from the Spirit of God. What, then, are any of the preachers of the gospel, that you should glory in them, and divide into parties, under their5 names? Who, for example, is Paul, or who Apollos? What are they else, but bare ministers, by whose ministry, according to those several abilities and gifts, which God has besowed upon each of them, ye have received the gospel? They are only servants, employed to bring unto you a religion, derived entirely from divine revelation, wherein human abilities, or wisdom, had nothing to do. The preachers of it are only instruments, by whom this doctrine is conveyed to you, which, whether you look on it in its original, it is not a thing of human invention or discovery; or whether you look upon the gifts of the teachers who instruct you in it, all is entirely from God alone, and affords you not the least ground to attribute any thing to your6 teachers. For example I planted it amongst you, and Apollos watered it: but nothing can from thence be ascribed to either of us: there is no reason for your calling yourselves, some of Paul, and others of Apollos.7 For neither the planter, nor the waterer, have any power to make it take root, and grow in your hearts; they are as nothing, in that respect; the growth and8 success is owing to God alone. The planter and the waterer, on this account, are all one, neither of them to be magnified, or preferred, before the other; they are but instruments, concurring to the same end, and therefore ought not to be distinguished, and set in opposition one to another, or cried up, as more deserving9 one than another. We, the preachers of the gospel, are but labourers, employed by God, about that which is his work, and from him shall receive reward hereafter, every one according to his own labour; and not from men here, who are liable to make a wrong estimate of the labours of their teachers, preferring those, who do not labour together with God, who do not carry on the design, or work of God, in the gospel, or perhaps do not carry it on, equally with others, who are undervalued by them.10 Ye who are the church of God, are God’s building, in which I, according to the skill and knowledge which God, of his free bounty, has been pleased to give me, and therefore ought not to be to me, or any other, matter of glorying, as a skilful architect, have laid a sure foundation, which is Jesus, the Messiah,11 the sole and only foundation of christianity. Besides which, no man can lay any other. But, though no man, who pretends to be a preacher of the gospel, can build upon any other foundation, yet you ought not to cry up your new instructor (who has come and built upon the foundation, that I laid) for the doctrines, he builds thereon, as if there were no other minister12 of the gospel but he. For it is possible a man may build, upon that true foundation, wood, hay, and stubble, things that will not bear the test, when13 the trial by fire, at the last day, shall come. At that day, every man’s work shall be tried and discovered,14 of what sort it is. If what he hath taught be sound and good, and will stand the trial, as silver and gold, and precious stones abide in the fire, he15 shall be rewarded for his labour in the gospel. But, if he hath introduced false and unsound doctrines into christianity, he shall be like a man, whose building, being of wood, hay, and stubble, is consumed by the fire, all his pains in building is lost, and his works destroyed and gone, though he himself should escape16 and be saved. I told you, that ye are God’s building; yea, more than that, ye are the temple of17 God, in which his Spirit dwelleth. If any man, by corrupt doctrine or discipline, defileth the temple of God, he shall not be saved with loss, as by fire; but him will God destroy: for the temple of God is18 holy, which temple ye are. Let no man deceive himself, by his success in carrying his point: if any one seemeth to himself, or others, wise, in worldly wisdom, so as to pride himself in his parts and dexterity, in compassing his ends; let him renounce all his natural and acquired parts, all his knowledge and ability, that he may become truly wise, in embracing and owning no other knowledge, but the simplicity19 of the gospel. For all other wisdom, all the wisdom of the world, is foolishness with God: for it is written, “He taketh the wise in their own craftiness.”20 And again, “The Lord knoweth the thoughts of21 the wise, that they are vain.” Therefore, let none of you glory in any of your teachers; for they are22 but men. For all your teachers, whether Paul, or Apollos, or Peter, even the apostles themselves, nay, all the world, and even the world to come, all things are yours, for your sake and use:

23 As you are Christ’s, subjects of his kingdom, for his glory; and Christ, and his kingdom, for the glory of God. Therefore, if all your teachers, and so many other greater things, are for you, and for your sakes, you can have no reason to make it a glory to you, that you belong to this, or that, particular teacher amongst you: your true glory is, that you are Christ’s, and Christ and all his are God’s; and not, that you are this, or that man’s scholar or follower.

1 As for me I pretend not to set up a school amongst you, and as a master to have my scholars denominated from me; no, let no man have higher thoughts of me, than as a minister of Christ, employed as his steward, to dispense the truths and doctrines of the gospel, which are the mysteries which God wrapped up, in types and obscure predictions, where they have lain hid, till by us, his apostles, he now reveals them.2 Now that, which is principally required and regarded in a steward, is, that he be faithful in dispensing3 what is committed to his charge. But as for me, I value it not, if I am censured by some of you, or by any man, as not being a faithful steward: nay, as to4 this, I pass no judgment on myself. For though I can truly say, that I know nothing by myself, yet am I not hereby justified to you: but the Lord, whose steward I am, at the last day will pronounce sentence on my behaviour in my stewardship, and5 then you will know what to think of me. Then judge not either me, or others, before the time, until the Lord come, who will bring to light the dark and secret counsels of men’s hearts, in preaching the gospel: and then shall every one have that praise, that estimate set upon him, by God himself, which he truly deserves. But praise ought not to be given them, before the time, by their hearers, who are ignorant,6 fallible men. On this occasion, I have named Apollos and myself, as the magnified and opposed heads of distinct factions amongst you; not that we are so, but out of respect to you, that I might offend nobody, by naming them; and that you might learn by us, of whom I have written, that we are but planters, waterers, and stewards, not to think of the ministers of the gospel, above what I have written to you of them, that you be not puffed up, each party, in the vain-glory of their own extolled leader, to the crying down and contempt of any other, who is well esteemed7 of by others. For what maketh one to differ from another? or what gifts of the Spirit, what knowledge of the gospel has any leader amongst you, which he received not, as intrusted to him of God, and not acquired by his own abilities? And if he received it as a steward, why does he glory in that, which is not8 his own? However, you are mightily satisfied with your present state; you now are full, you now are rich, and abound in every thing you desire; you have not need of me, but have reigned like princes without me; and I wish truly you did reign, that I might come and share in the protection and prosperity you enjoy,9 now you are in your kingdom. For I being made an apostle last of all, it seems to me as if I were brought last upon the stage, to be, in my sufferings and death, a spectacle to the world, and to angels,10 and to men. I am a fool for Christ’s sake, but you manage your christian concerns with wisdom. I am weak, and in a suffering condition; you are strong and flourishing; you are honourable, but I am despised.11 Even to this present hour, I both hunger and thirst, and want clothes, and am buffeted,12 wandering without house or home; And maintain myself with the labour of my hands. Being reviled,13 I bless: being persecuted, I suffer patiently: Being defamed, I intreat: I am made as the filth of the world, and the off-scouring of all things unto this14 day. I write not these things to shame you; but as a father to warn you, my children, that ye be not the devoted zealous partisans and followers of such, whose carriage is not like this; under whom, however you may flatter yourselves, in truth, you do not reign: but, on the contrary, ye are domineered over, and fleeced by them. I warn you, I say, as15 your father: For how many teachers soever you may have, you can have but one father; it was I, that begot you in Christ, i. e. I converted you to16 christianity. Wherefore I beseech you, be ye followers17 of me. To this purpose I have sent my beloved son Timothy to you, who may be relied upon: he shall put you in mind, and inform you, how I behave myself every-where in the ministry of18 the gospel. Some, indeed, are puffed up, and make19 their boasts, as if I would not come to you. But I intend, God willing, to come shortly; and then will make trial, not of the rhetoric, or talking of those boasters, but of what miraculous power of the Holy20 Ghost is in them. For the doctrine and prevalency of the gospel, the propagation and support of Christ’s kingdom, by the conversion and establishment of believers, does not consist in talking, nor in the fluency of a glib tongue, and a fine discourse, but in the miraculous operations of the Holy Ghost.

SECT. II. N. 6.

CHAPTER IV. 21. — VI. 20.

CONTENTS.

Another means, which St. Paul makes use of, to bring off the corinthians from their false apostle, and to stop their veneration of him, and their glorying in him, is by representing to them the fault and disorder, which was committed in that church, by not judging and expelling the fornicator; which neglect, as may be guessed, was owing to that faction.

Because it is natural for a faction to support and protect an offender, that is of their side.

From the great fear St. Paul was in, whether they would obey him, in censuring the offender, as appears by the second epistle; which he could not fear, but from the opposite faction; they, who had preserved their respect to him, being sure to follow his orders.

From what he says, ch. iv. 16, after he had told them, ver. 6, of that chapter, that they should not be puffed up, for any other, against him, (for so the whole scope of his discourse here imports,) he beseeches them to be his followers, i. e. leaving their other guides, to follow him, in punishing the offender. For that we may conclude, from his immediately insisting on it so earnestly, he had in his view, when he beseeches them to be followers of him, and consequently that they might join with him, and take him for their leader, ch. v. 3, 4, he makes himself, by his spirit, as his proxy, the president of their assembly, to be convened for the punishing that criminal.

It may further be suspected, from what St. Paul says, ch. vi. 1, that the opposite party, to stop the church-censure, pretended that this was a matter to be judged by the civil magistrate: nay, possibly, from what is said, ver. 6, of that chapter, it may be gathered, that they had got it brought before the heathen judge; or at least from ver. 12, that they pleaded, that what he had done was lawful, and might be justified before the magistrate. For the judging spoken of, chap. vi. must be understood to relate to the same matter it does, chap. v. it being a continuation of the same discourse and argument: as is easy to be observed by any one, who will read it without regarding the divisions into chapters and verses, whereby ordinary people (not to say others) are often disturbed in reading the holy scripture, and hindered from observing the true sense and coherence of it. The whole 6th chapter is spent in prosecuting the business of the fornicator, begun in the 5th. That this is so, is evident from the latter end, as well as beginning of the 6th chapter. And therefore, what St. Paul says of lawful, chap. vi. 12, may, without any violence, be supposed to be said, in answer to some, who might have alleged in favour of the fornicator, that what he had done was lawful, and might be justified by the laws of the country, which he was under: why else should St. Paul subjoin so many arguments (wherewith he concludes this 6th chapter, and this subject) to prove the fornication, in question, to be by the law of the gospel, a great sin, and consequently fit for a christian church to censure, in one of its members, however it might pass for lawful, in the esteem, and by the laws of gentiles?

There is one objection, which, at first sight, seems to be a strong argument against this supposition; that the fornication, here spoken of, was held lawful by the gentiles of Corinth, and that, possibly, this very case had been brought before the magistrate there, and not condemned. The objection seems to lie in these words, ch. v. 1, “There is fornication heard of amongst you, and such fornication, as is not heard of amongst the gentiles, that one should have his father’s wife.” But yet I conceive the words, duly considered, have nothing in them contrary to my supposition.

To clear this, I take the liberty to say, it cannot be thought that this man had his father’s wife; whilst, by the laws of the place, she actually was his father’s wife; for then it had been μοιχεία and adultery, and so the apostle would have called it, which was a crime in Greece; nor could it be tolerated in any civil society, that one man should have the use of a woman, whilst she was another man’s wife, i. e. another man’s right and possession.

The case, therefore, here seems to be this; the woman had parted from her husband; which it is plain, from chap. vii. 10, 11, 13, at Corinth, women could do. For if, by the law of that country, a woman could not divorce herself from her husband, the apostle had there, in vain, bid her not leave her husband.

But, however known and allowed a practice it might be, amongst the corinthians, for a woman to part from her husband; yet this was the first time it was ever known that her husband’s own son should marry her. This is that, which the apostle takes notice of in these words, “Such a fornication, as is not named amongst the gentiles.” Such a fornication this was, so little known in practice amongst them, that it was not so much as heard, named, or spoken of, by any of them. But, whether they held it unlawful, that a woman, so separated, should marry her husband’s son, when she was looked upon to be at liberty from her former husband, and free to marry whom she pleased; that the apostle says not. This, indeed, he declares, that, by the law of Christ, a woman’s leaving her husband, and marrying another, is unlawful, ch. vii. 11, and this woman’s marrying her husband’s son, he declares, ch. v. 1, (the place before us,) to be fornication, a peculiar sort of fornication, whatever the corinthians, or their law, might determine in the case: and, therefore, a christian church might and ought to have censured it, within themselves, it being an offence against the rule of the gospel; which is the law of their society: and they might, and should, have expelled this fornicator, out of their society, for not submitting to the laws of it; notwithstanding that the civil laws of the country, and the judgment of the heathen magistrate, might acquit him. Suitably hereunto, it is very remarkable, that the arguments, that St. Paul uses, in the close of this discourse, chap. vi. 13 — 20, to prove fornication unlawful, are all drawn solely from the christian institution, ver. 9. That our bodies are made for the Lord, ver. 13. That our bodies are members of Christ, ver. 15. That our bodies are the temples of the Holy Ghost, ver. 19. That we are not our own, but bought with a price, ver. 20. All which arguments concern christians only; and there is not, in all this discourse against fornication, one word to declare it to be unlawful, by the law of nature, to mankind in general. That was altogether needless, and beside the apostle’s purpose here, where he was teaching and exhorting christians what they were to do, as christians, within their own society, by the law of Christ, which was to be their rule, and was sufficient to oblige them, whatever other laws the rest of mankind observed, or were under. Those he professes, ch. v. 12, 13, not to meddle with, nor to judge: for, having no authority amongst them, he leaves them to the judgment of God, under whose government they are.

These considerations afford ground to conjecture, that the faction, which opposed St. Paul, had hindered the church of Corinth from censuring the fornicator, and that St. Paul showing them their miscarriage herein, aims thereby to lessen the credit of their leader, by whose influence they were drawn into it. For, as soon as they had unanimously shown their obedience to St. Paul, in this matter, we see his severity ceases, and he is all softness and gentleness to the offender, 2 Cor. ii. 5 — 8. And he tells them in express words, ver. 9, that his end, in writing to them of it, was to try their obedience: to which let me add, that this supposition, though it had not all the evidence for it, which it has, yet being suited to St. Paul’s principal design in this epistle, and helping us the better to understand these two chapters, may deserve to be mentioned.

TEXT.

21 What will ye? shall I come unto you, with a rod, or in love, and in the spirit of meekness?

V. 1It is reported commonly, that there is fornication among you, and such fornication, as is not so much as named amongst the gentiles, that one should have his father’s wife.

2 And ye are puffed up, and have not rather mourned, that he that hath done this deed, might be taken away from among you.

3 For I verily, as absent in body, but present in spirit, have judged already, as though I were present, concerning him, that hath so done this deed.

4 In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, when ye are gathered together, and my spirit, with the power of our Lord Jesus Christ,

5 To deliver such an one unto satan, for the destruction of the flesh, that the spirit may be saved in the day of the Lord Jesus.

6 Your glorying is not good: know ye not that a little leaven leaveneth the whole lump?

7 Purge out, therefore, the old leaven, that ye may be a new lump, as ye are unleavened. For even Christ, our passover, is sacrificed for us.

8 Therefore, let us keep the feast, not with old leaven, neither with the leaven of malice and wickedness; but with the unleavened bread of sincerity and truth.

9 I wrote unto you, in an epistle, not to company with fornicators.

10 Yet not altogether with the fornicators of this world, or with the covetous, or extortioners, or with idolaters: for then must ye needs go out of the world.

11 But now I have written unto you, not to keep company, if any man that is called a brother, be a fornicator, or covetous, or an idolater, or a railer, or a drunkard, or an extortioner, with such an one, no not to eat.

12 For what have I to do to judge them also that are without? do not ye judge them that are within?

13 But them that are without God judgeth. Therefore put away from among yourselves that wicked person.

VI. 1Dare any of you, having a matter against another, go to law before the unjust, and not before the saints?

2 Do ye not know that the saints shall judge the world? and, if the world shall be judged by you, ye are unworthy to judge the smallest matters?

3 Know ye not that we shall judge angels? how much more things that pertain to this life?

4 If then ye have judgments of things pertaining to this life, set them to judge, who are least esteemed in the church.

5 I speak to your shame. Is it so, that there is not a wise man amongst you? no, not one, that shall be able to judge between his brethren?

6 But brother goeth to law with brother, and that before the unbelievers.

7 Now, therefore, there is utterly a fault among you, because ye go to law one with another: why do ye not rather take wrong? why do ye not rather suffer yourselves to be defrauded?

8 Nay, you do wrong and defraud, and that your brethren.

9 Know ye not, that the unrighteous shall not inherit the kingdom of God? Be not deceived: neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor effeminate, nor abusers of themselves with mankind,

10 Nor thieves, nor covetous, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor extortioners, shall inherit the kingdom of God.

11 And such were some of you: but ye are washed, but ye are sanctified, but ye are justified in the name of the Lord Jesus, and by the Spirit of our God.

12 All things are lawful unto me; but all things are not expedient: all things are lawful for me; but I will not be brought under the power of any.

13 Meats for the belly, and the belly for meats: but God shall destroy both it and them. Now the body is not for fornication, but for the Lord; and the Lord for the body.

14 And God hath both raised up the Lord, and will also raise up us, by his own power.

15 Know ye not, that your bodies are the members of Christ? Shall I then take the members of Christ, and make them the members of an harlot? God forbid.

16 What, know ye not, that he, which is joined to an harlot, is one body? For two (saith he) shall be one flesh.

17 But he, that is joined unto the Lord, is one spirit.

18 Flee fornication. Every sin that a man doth, is without the body: but he that committeth fornication, sinneth against his own body.

19 What! know ye not, that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost, which is in you, which ye have of God, and ye are not your own?

20 For ye are bought with a price; therefore, glorify God in your body, and in your spirit, which are God’s.

PARAPHRASE.

21 I purposed to come unto you: But what would ye have me do? Shall I come to you, with a rod, to chastise you? Or with kindness, and a peaceable disposition1 of mind? In short, it is commonly reported, that there is fornication among you, and such fornication, as is not known ordinarily among the2 heathen, that one should have his father’s wife. And yet ye remain puffed up, though it would better have become you to have been dejected, for this scandalous fact amongst you; and in a mournful sense of of it, to have removed the offender out of the church.3 For I truly, though absent in body, yet as present in spirit, have thus already judged, as if I were personally with you, him that committed this fact;4 When in the name of the Lord Jesus, ye are assembled, and my spirit, i. e. my vote, as if I were present, making one, by the power of the Lord Jesus5 Christ, Deliver the offender up to satan, that, being put thus into the hands and power of the devil, his body may be afflicted, and brought down, that his soul may be saved, when the Lord Jesus comes to judge6 the world. Your glorying, as you do, in a leader, who drew you into this scandalous indulgence in this case, is a fault in you: ye that are knowing, know you not that a little leaven leaveneth the whole lump?7 Therefore, laying by that deference and veneration ye had for those leaders you gloried in, turn out from among you that fornicator, that the church may receive no taint from him, that you may be a pure, new lump, or society, free from such a dangerous mixture, which may corrupt you. For Christ, our passover, is8 slain for us. Therefore let us, in commemoration of his death, and our deliverance by him, be a holy 9 eople to him. I wrote to you before, that you10 should not keep company with fornicators. You are not to understand by it, as if I meant, that you are to avoid all unconverted heathens, that are fornicators, or covetous, or rapacious, or idolaters, for,11 then, you must go out of the world. But that which I now write unto you, is, that you should not keep company, no, nor eat, with a christian by profession, who is lascivious, covetous, idolatrous, a12 railer, drunkard, or rapacious. For what have I to do to judge those, who are out of the church? Have ye not a power to judge those, who are members of13 your church? But, as for those who are out of the church, leave them to God; to judge them belongs to him. Therefore do ye what is your part, remove that wicked one, the fornicator, out of the church.1 Dare any of you, having a controversy with another, bring it before an heathen judge, to be tried, and not 2 let it be decided by christians? Know ye not that christians shall judge the world? And if the world shall be judged by you, are ye unworthy to judge3 ordinary small matters? Know ye not, that we, christians, have power over evil spirits? how much more over the little things relating to this animal4 life? If, then, ye have at any time controversies amongst you, concerning things pertaining to this life, let the parties contending choose arbitrators in5 the church, i. e. out of church-members. Is there not among you, I speak it to your shame, who stand so much upon your wisdom, one wise man, whom ye can think able enough to refer your controversies to?6 But one christian goeth to law with another, and that before the unbelievers, in the heathen courts 7 of justice. Nay, verily, it is a failure and defect in you, that you so far contest matters of right, one with another, as to bring them to trial, or judgment:8 why do ye not rather suffer loss and wrong? But it is plain, by the man’s having his father’s wife, that ye are guilty of doing wrong, one to another, and stick not to do injustice, even to your christian9 brethren. Know ye not, that the transgressors of the law of Christ shall not inherit the kingdom of of God? Deceive not yourselves, neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor effeminate, nor10 abusers of themselves with mankind, Nor thieves, nor covetous, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor extortioners,11 shall inherit the kingdom of God. And such were some of you: but your past sins are washed away, and forgiven you, upon your receiving of the gospel by baptism: but ye are sanctified, i. e. ye are members of Christ’s church, which consists of saints, and have made some advances in the reformation of your lives by the doctrine of Christ, confirmed to you by the extraordinary operations of12 the Holy Ghost. But supposing fornication were in itself as lawful, as eating promiscuously all sorts of meat, that are made for the belly, on purpose to be eaten: yet I would not so far indulge either custom, or my appetite, as to bring my body, thereby,13 into any disadvantageous state of subjection. As in eating and drinking, though meat be made purposely for the belly, and the belly for the meat; yet, because it may not be expedient for me, I will not, in so evidently a lawful thing as that, go to the utmost bounds of my liberty; though there be no danger, that I should thereby bring any lasting damage upon my belly, since God will speedily put an end both to belly and food. But the case of the body in reference to women, is far different from that of the belly, in reference to meat. For the body is not made to be joined to a woman, much less to be joined to an harlot in fornication, as the belly is made for meat, and then to be put an end to, when that use ceases. But the body is for a much nobler purpose, and shall subsist, when the belly and food shall be destroyed. The body is for our Lord Christ, to be a member of him, as our Lord Christ has taken a body, that he might partake of our14 nature, and be our head. So that, as God has already raised him up, and given him all power, so he will raise us up likewise, who are his members, to the partaking in the nature of his glorious body,15 and the power he is vested with in it. Know ye not, ye who are so knowing, that our bodies are the members of Christ? Will ye, then, take the members of Christ, and make them the members of16 an harlot? What! know ye not, that he who is joined to an harlot is one body with her? For two, 17 saith God, shall be united into one flesh. But he, who is joined to the Lord, is one with him, by that one Spirit, that unites the members to the head, which is a nearer and stricter union, whereby what indignity is done to the one, equally affects the other.18 Flee fornication: all other sins, that a man commits, debase only the soul; but are in that respect, as if they were done out of the body; the body is not debased, suffers no loss of its dignity by them: but he, who committeth fornication, sinneth against the end, for which his body was made, degrading his body from the dignity and honour it was designed to; making that the member of an harlot, which19 was made to be a member of Christ. What! know ye not, that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost, that is in you, which body you have from God, and so it is not your own, to bestow on harlots?20 Besides, ye are bought with a price, viz. the precious blood of Christ; and therefore, are not at your own disposal: but are bound to glorify God with both body and soul. For both body and soul are from him, and are God’s.

SECT. III.

CHAPTER VII. 1 — 40.

CONTENTS.

The chief business of the foregoing chapters, we have seen to be the lessening the false apostle’s credit, and the extinguishing that faction. What follows is in answer to some questions they had proposed to St. Paul. This section contains conjugal matters, wherein he dissuades from marriage those, who have the gift of continence. But, marriage being appointed as a remedy against fornication, those, who cannot forbear, should marry, and render to each other due benevolence. Next, he teaches that converts ought not to forsake their unconverted mates, insomuch as christianity changes nothing in men’s civil estate, but leaves them under the same obligations they were tied by before. And, last of all, he gives directions about marrying, or not marrying, their daughters.

TEXT.

1 Now concerning the things, whereof ye wrote unto me: it is good for a man not to touch a woman.

2 Nevertheless, to avoid fornication, let every man have his own wife, and let every woman have her own husband.

3 Let the husband render unto the wife due benevolence: and likewise, also, the wife unto the husband.

4 The wife hath not power of her own body, but the husband: and likewise, also, the husband hath not power of his own body, but the wife.

5 Defraud you not one the other, except it be with consent, for a time, that ye may give yourselves to fasting and prayer: and come together again, that Satan tempt you not for your incontinency.

6 But I speak this by permission, and not of commandment.

7 For I would that all men were, even as I myself: but every man hath his proper gift of God, one after this manner, and another after that.

8 I say, therefore, to the unmarried and widows, It is good for them, if they abide, even as I.

9 But if they cannot contain, let them marry: for it is better to marry than to burn.

10 And unto the married I command; yet not I, but the Lord; let not the wife depart from her husband:

11 But, and if she depart, let her remain unmarried, or be reconciled to her husband: and let not the husband put away his wife.

12 But to the rest speak I, not the Lord, If any brother hath a wife, that believeth not, and she be pleased to dwell with him, let him not put her away.

13 And the woman, which hath an husband, that believeth not, and if he be pleased to dwell with-her, let her not leave him.

14 For the unbelieving husband is sanctified by the wife, and the unbelieving wife is sanctified by the husband: else were your children unclean; but now are they holy.

15 But if the unbelieving depart, let him depart. A brother or a sister is not under bondage in such cases: but God hath called us to peace.

16 For what knowest thou, O wife, whether thou shalt save thy husband? or how knowest thou, O man, whether thou shalt save thy wife?

17 But, as God hath distributed to every man, as the Lord hath called every one, so let him walk: and so ordain I, in all churches.

18 Is any man called, being circumcised? let him not become uncircumcised: is any called, in uncircumcision? let him not become circumcised.

19 Circumcision is nothing, and uncircumcision is nothing, but the keeping of the commandments of God.

20 Let every man abide in the same calling, wherein he was called.

21 Art thou called, being a servant? Care not for it; but, if thou mayest be made free, use it rather.

22 For he that is called in the Lord, being a servant, is the Lord’s free-man: likewise also he, that is called being free, is Christ’s servant.

23 Ye are bought with a price; be not ye the servants of men.

24 Brethren, let every man, wherein he is called, therein abide with God.

25 Now, concerning virgins, I have no commandment of the Lord, yet I give my judgment, as one that hath obtained mercy of the Lord to be faithful.

26 I suppose, therefore, that this is good for the present distress; I say, that it is good for a man so to be.

27 Art thou bound unto a wife? Seek not to be loosed. Art thou loosed from a wife? Seek not a wife.

28 But and if thou marry, thou hast not sinned; and if a virgin marry, she hath not sinned; nevertheless, such shall have trouble in the flesh; but I spare you.

29 But this I say, brethren, the time is short. It remaineth, that both they that have wives, be as though they had none;

30 And they that weep, as though they wept not; and they that rejoice, as though they rejoiced not; and they that buy, as though they possessed not.

31 And they that use this world, as not abusing it: for the fashion of this world passeth away.

32 But I would have you without carefulness. He, that is unmarried, careth for the things that belong to the Lord, how he may please the Lord:

33 But he that is married, careth for the things that are of the world, how he may please his wife.

34 There is difference also between a wife and a virgin: the unmarried woman careth for the things of the Lord, that she may be holy, both in body and in spirit: but she that is married, careth for the things of the world, how she may please her husband.

35 And this I speak for your own profit, not that I may cast a snare upon you, but for that which is comely, and that you may attend upon the Lord without distraction.

36 But if any man think he behaveth himself uncomely towards his virgin, if she pass the flower of her age, and need so require, let him do what he will: he sinneth not: let them marry.

37 Nevertheless, he that standeth stedfast in his heart, having no necessity, but hath power over his own will, and hath so decreed in his heart, that he will keep his virgin, doth well.

38 So then, he that giveth her in marriage, doth well: but he that giveth her not in marriage, doth better.

39 The wife is bound by the law, as long as her husband liveth: but, if her husband be dead, she is at liberty to be married to whom she will; only in the Lord.

40 But she is happier, if she so abide, after my judgment: and I think also that I have the Spirit of God.

PARAPHRASE.

1 Concerning those things that ye have writ to me about, I answer, it is most convenient not to have to2 do with a woman. But because every one cannot forbear, therefore, they that cannot contain should, both men and women, each have their own peculiar husband3 and wife, to avoid fornication. And those that are married, for the same reason, are to regulate themselves by the disposition and exigency of their respective mates; and, therefore, let the husband render to the wife that benevolence, which is her due; and so, likewise, the wife to the husband, “vice4 versâ.” For the wife has not the power or dominion over her own body, to refuse the husband, when he desires; but this power and right to her body is in the husband. And, on the other side, the husband has not the power and dominion over his own body, to refuse his wife, when she shows an inclination; but this power and right to his body, when she has occasion,5 is in the wife. Do not, in this matter, be wanting, one to another, unless it be by mutual consent, for a short time, that you may wholly attend to acts of devotion, when ye fast, upon some solemn occasion: and when this time of solemn devotion is over, return to your former freedom, and conjugal society, lest the devil taking advantage of your inability to contain, should tempt you to a violation of6 your marriage-bed. As to marrying in general, I wish that you were all unmarried, as I am; but this I say7 to you, by way of advice, not of command. Every one has from God his own proper gift, some one way, and some another, whereby he must govern himself. 8 To the unmarried and widows, I say it as my opinion, that it is best for them to remain unmarried, as I am.9 But if they have not the gift of continency, let them marry, for the inconveniences of marriage are to be10 preferred to the flames of lust. But to the married, I say not by way of counsel from myself, but of command from the Lord, that a woman should not11 leave her husband: But, if she has separated herself from him, let her return, and be reconciled to him again; or, at least, let her remain unmarried: and12 let not the husband put away his wife. But, as to others, it is my advice, not a commandment from the Lord, That, if a christian man hath an heathen wife, that is content to live with him, let him not break company with her, and dissolve the marriage.13 And, if a christian woman hath an heathen husband, that is content to live with her, let her not break14 company with him, and dissolve the marriage. You need have no scruple concerning this matter, for the heathen husband or wife, in respect of conjugal duty, can be no more refused, than if they were christian. For in this case, the unbelieving husband is sanctified, or made a christian, as to his issue, in his wife, and the wife sanctified in her husband. If it were not so, the children of such parents would be unclean, i. e. in the state of heathens, but now are they holy, i. e. born members15 of the christian church. But if the unbelieving party will separate, let them separate. A christian man, or woman, is not enslaved in such a case: only it is to be remembered, that it is incumbent on us, whom God, in the gospel, has called to be christians, to live peaceably with all men, as much as in us lieth; and, therefore, the christian husband, or wife, is not to make a breach in the family, by leaving the unbelieving party, who is content to stay.16 For what knowest thou, O woman, but thou mayest be the means of converting, and so saving thy unbelieving husband, if thou continuest peaceably as a loving wife, with him? or what knowest thou, O man, but, after the same manner, thou mayest save17 thy wife? On this occasion, let me give you this general rule: whatever condition God has allotted to any of you, let him continue and go on contentedly in the same state, wherein he was called; not looking on himself as set free from it by his conversion to christianity. And this is no more, than18 what I order in all the churches. For example, Was any one converted to christianity, being circumcised? Let him not become uncircumcised: was19 any one called, being uncircumcised? Let him not be circumcised. Circumsion or uncircumcision are nothing in the sight of God, but that which he has20 a regard to, is in obedience to his commands. Christianity gives not any one any new privilege to change the state, or put off the obligations of civil life,21 which he was in before. Wert thou called, being a slave? Think thyself not the less a christian, for being a slave; but yet prefer freedom to slavery, if22 thou canst obtain it. For he that is converted to christianity, being a bond-man, is Christ’s freedman. And he that is converted, being a free-man, is Christ’s bondman, under his command and dominion.23 Ye are bought with a price, and so belong to Christ; be not, if you can avoid it, slaves to any24 body. In whatsoever state a man is called, in the same he is to remain, notwithstanding any privileges of the gospel, which gives him no dispensation, or exemption, from any obligation he was in before,25 to the laws of his country. Now concering virgins I have no express command from Christ to give you: but I tell you my opinion, as one whom the Lord has been graciously pleased to make credible, and26 so you may trust and rely on, in this matter. I tell you, therefore, that I judge a single life to be convenient, because of the present straits of the church;27 and that it is best for a man to be unmarried. Art thou in the bonds of wedlock? Seek not to be loosed:28 art thou loosed from a wife? Seek not a wife. But if thou marriest, thou sinnest not; or, if a virgin marry, she sins not: but those that are married, shall have worldly troubles; but I spare you by not representing to you how little enjoyment christians are like to have from a married life, in the present state of things, and so I leave you the liberty of marrying.29 But give me leave to tell you, that the time for enjoying husbands and wives is but short. But be that as it will, this is certain, that those who have wives, should be, as if they had them not, and not set their30 hearts upon them: And they that weep, as if they wept not; and they that rejoice, as if they rejoiced not; and they that buy, as if they possessed not: all these things should be done with resignation and a 31 christian indifferency. And those who use this world, should use it without an over-relish of it, without giving themselves up to the enjoyment of it. For the scene of things is always changing in this world,32 and nothing can be relied on in it. All the reason why I dissuade you from marriage is, that I would have you free from anxious cares. He that is unmarried, has time and liberty to mind things of33 religion, how he may please the Lord: But he that is married, is taken up with the cares of the world,34 how he may please his wife. The like difference there is, between a married woman and a maid; she that is unmarried, has opportunity to mind the things of religion, that she may be holy in mind and body; but the married woman is taken up with the cares35 of the world, how to please her husband. This I say to you, for your particular advantage, not to lay any constraint upon you, but to put you in a way, wherein you may most suitably, and as best becomes christianity, apply yourselves to the study and duties36 of the gospel, without distraction. But, if any one thinks that he carries not himself as becomes him, to his virgin, if he lets her pass the flower of her age unmarried, and need so requires, let him do, as he37 thinks fit; he sins not, if he marry her. But whoever is settled in a firm resolution of mind, and finds himself under no necessity of marrying, and is master of his own will, or is at his own disposal, and has so determined in his thoughts, that he will keep his virginity, he chooses the better 38 side. So then he that marrieth, doth well; but he39 that marrieth not, doth better. It is unlawful for a woman to leave her husband, as long as he lives: but, when he is dead, she is at liberty to marry, or not to marry, as she pleases, and to whom she pleases; which virgins cannot do, being under the disposal of their parents; only she must take care to40 marry, as a christian, fearing God. But, in my opinion, she is happier, if she remain a widow; and permit me to say, that whatever any among you may think, or say, of me, “I have the Spirit of God, so that I may be relied on in this my advice, that I do not mislead you.”

SECT. IV.

CHAPTER VIII. 1 — 13.

CONTENTS.

This section is concerning the eating things offered to idols; wherein one may guess, by St. Paul’s answer, that they had writ to him, that they knew their christian liberty herein, that they knew that an idol was nothing; and, therefore, that they did well to show their knowledge of the nullity of the heathen gods, and their disregard of them, by eating promiscuously, and without scruple, things offered to them. Upon which, the design of the apostle here seems to be, to take down their opinion of their knowledge, by showing them, that, notwithstanding all the knowledge they presumed on, and were puffed up with, yet the eating of those sacrifices did not recommend them to God; vid. ver. 8, and that they might sin in their want of charity, by offending their weak brother. This seems plainly, from ver. 1 — 3, and 11, 12, to be the design of the apostle’s answer here, and not to resolve the case, of eating things offered to idols, in its full latitude. For then he would have prosecuted it more at large here, and not have deferred the doing of it to chap. x. where, under another head, he treats of it more particularly.

TEXT.

1 Now as touching things offered unto idols, we know that we all have knowledge. Knowledge puffeth up, but charity edifieth.

2 (And if any man think, that he knoweth any thing, he knoweth nothing yet, as he ought to know.

3 But if any man love God, the same is known of him.

4 As concerning, therefore, the eating of those things, that are offered, in sacrifice unto idols, we know that an idol is nothing in the world, and that there is none other God but one.

5 For though there be that are called gods, whether in heaven, or in earth, as there be gods many, and lords many.

6 But to us there is but one God, the Father, of whom are all things, and we in him; and one Lord Jesus Christ, by whom are all things, and we by him.)

7 Howbeit there is not in every man that knowledge; for some, with conscience of the idol, unto this hour, eat it as a thing offered unto an idol; and their conscience, being weak, is defiled.

8 But meat commendeth us not to God: for neither, if we eat, are we the better; neither, if we eat not, are we the worse.

9 But take heed, lest, by any means, this liberty of yours become a stumbling-block to them that are weak.

10 For, if any man see thee, which hast knowledge, sit at meat in the idol’s temple, shall not the conscience of him, which is weak, be emboldened to eat those things, which are offered to idols?

11 And, through thy knowledge, shall the weak brother perish, for whom Christ died?

12 But, when ye sin so against the brethren, and wound their weak conscience, ye sin against Christ.

13 Wherefore, if meat make my brother to offend, I will eat no flesh, while the world standeth, lest I make my brother to offend.

PARAPHRASE.

1 As for things offered up unto idols, it must not be questioned, but that every one of you, who stand so much upon your knowledge, know that the imaginary gods, to whom the gentiles sacrifice, are not in reality gods, but mere fictions; but, with this, pray remember, that such a knowledge, or opinion of their knowledge, swells men with pride and vanity. But charity it is, that improves and advances men in christianity.2 (But, if any one be conceited of his own knowledge, as if christianity were a science for speculation and dispute, he knows nothing yet of christianity, as he3 ought to know it. But if any one love God, and consequently his neighbour for God’s sake, such an one is made to know, or has got true knowledge4 from God himself. To the question, then, of eating things offered to idols, I know, as well as you, that an idol, i.e. that the fictitious gods, whose images are in the heathen temples, are no real beings in the world:5 and there is in truth no other but one God. For though there be many imaginary nominal gods, both in heaven and earth, as are indeed all their many 6 gods, and many lords, which are merely titular; Yet to us christians, there is but one God, the Father and the Author of all things, to whom alone we address all our worship and service; and but one Lord, viz. Jesus Christ, by whom all things come from God to us, and by whom we have access to the Father.)7 For notwithstanding all the great pretences to knowledge, that are amongst you, every one doth not know, that the gods of the heathens are but imaginations of the fancy, mere nothing. Some, to this day, conscious to themselves, that they think those idols to be real deities, eat things sacrifiecd to them, as sacrificed to real deities; whereby doing that which they, in their consciences, not yet sufficiently enlightened,8 think to be unlawful, are guilty of sin. Food, of what kind soever, makes not God regard us. For neither, if in knowledge, and full persuasion, that an idol is nothing, we eat things offered to idols, do we thereby add any thing to christianity: or if, not being so well informed, we are scrupulous, and forbear, are9 we the worse christians, or are lessened by it. But this you knowing men ought to take especial care of: that the power of freedom you have to eat, be not made such an use of, as to become a stumbling-block to weaker christians, who are not convinced of that 10 liberty. For if such an one should see thee, who hast this knowledge of thy liberty, sit feasting in an idol-temple, shall not his weak conscience, not thoroughly instructed in the matter of idols, be drawn in by thy example to eat what is offered to idols, though he, in his conscience, doubt of its lawfulness?11 And thus thy weak brother, for whom Christ died, is destroyed by thy knowledge, wherewith thou12 justifiest thy eating. But when you sin thus against your brethren, and wound their weak consciences,13 you sin against Christ. Wherefore, if meat make my brother offend, I will never more eat flesh, to avoid making my brother offend.

SECT. V.

CHAPTER IX. 1 — 27.

CONTENTS.

St. Paul had preached the gospel at Corinth, about two years; in all which time, he had taken nothing of them, 2 Cor. xi. 7 — 9. This, by some of the opposite faction, and particularly, as we may suppose, by their leader, was made use of, to call in question his apostleship, 2 Cor. xi. 5, 6. For why, if he were an apostle, should he not use the power of an apostle, to demand maintenance, where he preached? In this section, St. Paul vindicates his apostleship; and, in answer to these enquirers, gives the reason why, though he had a right to maintenance, yet he preached gratis to the corinthians. My answer, says he, to these inquisitors, is, that though, as being an apostle, I know that I have a right to maintenance, as well as Peter, or any other of the apostles, who all have a right, as is evident from reason, and from scripture; yet I never have, nor shall make use of my privilege amongst you, for fear that, if it cost you any thing, that should hinder the effect of my preaching: I would neglect nothing, that might promote the gospel. For I do not content myself with doing barely what is my duty; for, by my extraordinary call and commission, it is now incumbent on me to preach the gospel; but I endeavour to excel in my ministry, and not to execute my commission covertly, and just enough to serve the turn. For if those, who, in the agonistic games, aiming at victory, to obtain only a corruptible crown, deny themselves in eating and drinking, and other pleasures, how much more does the eternal crown of glory deserve that we should do our utmost to obtain it? To be as careful, in not indulging our bodies, in denying our pleasures, in doing every thing we could, in order to get it, as if there were but one that should have it? Wonder not therefore, if I, having this in view, neglect my body, and those outward conveniencies, that I, as an apostle sent to preach the gospel, might claim and make use of: wonder not that I prefer the propagating of the gospel, and making of converts, to all care and regard of myself. This seems the design of the apostle, and will give light to the following discourse, which we shall now take, in the order St. Paul writ it.

TEXT.

1 Am I not an apostle? Am I not free? Have I not seen Jesus Christ, our Lord? Are not you my work in the Lord?

2 If I be not an apostle unto others, yet doubtless I am to you: for the seal of mine apostleship are ye in the Lord.

3 Mine answer to them that do examine me, is this:

4 Have we not power to eat and to drink?

5 Have we not power to lead about a sister, a wife, as well as other apostles, and as the brethren of the Lord, and Cephas?

6 Or I only, and Barnabas, have not we power to forbear working?

7 Who goeth a warfare, any time, at his own charges? who planteth a vineyard, and eateth not of the fruit thereof? or who feedeth the flock, and eateth not of the milk of the flock?

8 Say I these things, as a man? or saith not the law the same also?

9 For it is written, in the law of Moses, “Thou shalt not muzzle the mouth of the ox that treadeth out the corn.” Doth God take care for oxen?

10 Or saith he it altogether for our sakes? For our sakes, no doubt, this is written: that he that plougheth, should plough in hope; and that he, that thresheth in hope, should be partaker of his hope.

11 If we have sown unto you spiritual things, is it a great thing, if we shall reap your carnal things?

12 If others be partakers of this power over you, are not we rather? Nevertheless, we have not used this power; but suffer all things, lest we should hinder the gospel of Christ.

13 Do ye not know, that they which minister about holy things, live of the things of the temple? And they, which wait at the altar, are partakers with the altar?

14 Even so, hath the Lord ordained, that they, which preach the gospel, should live of the gospel.

15 But I have used none of these things: neither have I written these things, that it should be so done unto me. For it were better for me to die, than that any man should make my glorying void.

16 For, though I preach the gospel, I have nothing to glory of; for necessity is laid upon me; yea, woe is unto me, if I preach not the gospel.

17 For, if I do this thing willingly, I have a reward: but if against my will, a dispensation of the gospel is committed unto me.

18 What is my reward then? Verily, that, when I preach the gospel, I may make the gospel of Christ without charge, that I abuse not my power in the gospel.

19 For though I be free from all men, yet have I made myself servant unto all, that I might gain the more.

20 And unto the jews, I became as a jew, that I might gain the jews; to them that are under the law, as under the law, that I might gain them, that are under the law;

21 To them, that are without law, as without law, (being not without law to God, but under the law to Christ) that I might gain them, that are without law.

22 To the weak became I as weak, that I might gain the weak: I am made all things to all men, that I might, by all means, save some.

23 And this I do for the gospel’s sake, that I might be partaker thereof with you.

24 Know ye not, that they, which run in a race, run all, but one receiveth the prize? So run, that ye may obtain.

25 And every man that striveth for the mastery, is temperate in all things: now they do it to obtain a corruptible crown; but we an incorruptible.

26 I therefore so run, not as uncertainly: so fight I, not as one that beateth the air.

27 But I keep under my body, and bring it into subjection; lest that, by any means, when I have preached to others, I myself should be a cast-away.

PARAPHRASE.

1 Am I not an apostle? And am I not at liberty, as much as any other of the apostles, to make use of the privilege due to that office? Have I not had the favour to see Jesus Christ, our Lord, after an extraordinary manner? And are not you yourselves, whom I have converted, an evidence of the success of my2 employment in the gospel? If others should question my being an apostle, you at least cannot doubt of it: your conversion to christianity is, as it were, a seal set to it, to make good the truth of my apostleship.3 This, then, is my answer to those, who set up an inquisition4 upon me: Have not I a right to meat and5 drink, where I preach? Have not I, and Barnabas, a power to take along with us, in our travelling to propagate the gospel, a christian woman, to provide our conveniencies, and be serviceable to us, as well as Peter, and the brethren of the Lord, and the rest of6 the apostles? Or is it I only, and Barnabas, who are excluded from the privilege of being maintained without7 working? Who goes to the war any where, and serves as a soldier, at his own charges? Who planteth a vineyard, and eateth not of the fruit thereof? Who feedeth a flock, and eateth not of the milk?8 This is allowed to be reason, that those, who are so employed, should be maintained by their employments; and so likewise a preacher of the gospel. But I say not this, barely upon the principles of human reason; revelation teaches the same thing,9 in the law of Moses: Where it is said, “Thou shalt muzzle not the mouth of the ox, that treadeth out the corn.” Doth God take care to provide so particularly10 for oxen, by a law? No, certainly; it is said particularly for our sakes, and not for oxen: that he, who sows, may sow in hope of enjoying the fruits of his labour at harvest; and may then thresh11 out, and eat the corn he hoped for. If we have sowed to you spiritual things, in preaching the gospel to you, is it unreasonable, that we should expect a little meat and drink from you, a little share of12 your carnal things? If any partake of this power over you, why not we much rather? But I made no use of it; but bear with any thing, that I may avoid13 all hindrance to the progress of the gospel. Do ye not know, that they, who in the temple serve about holy things, live upon those holy things? And they, who wait at the altar, are partakers with the altar?14 So has the Lord ordained, that they, who preach the15 gospel, should live of the gospel. But though, as an apostle, and preacher of the gospel, I have, as you see, a right to maintenance, yet I have not taken it: neither have I written this to demand it. For I had rather perish for want, than be deprived of what I glory in, viz. preaching the gospel freely.16 For if I preach the gospel, I do barely my duty, but have nothing to glory in: for I am under an obligation and command to preach, and wo be to17 me, if I preach not the gospel. Which if I do willingly, I shall have a reward: if unwillingly, the dispensation is nevertheless intrusted to me, and ye18 ought to hear me as an apostle. How, therefore, do I make it turn to account to myself? Even thus: if I preach the gospel of Christ of free cost, so that I exact not the maintenance I have a right19 to, by the gospel. For being under no obligation to any man, I yet subject myself to every one, to the end that I may make the more converts to Christ.20 To the jews, and those under the law of Moses, I became as a jew, and one under that law, that I21 might gain the jews, and those under the law; To those without the law of Moses, I applied myself, as one not under that law, (not, indeed, as if I were under no law to God, but as obeying and following the law of Christ) that I might gain those, who22 were without the law. To the weak I became as weak, that I might gain the weak: I became all things to all men, that I might leave no lawful thing untried, whereby I might save people of all sorts.23 And this I do for the gospel’s sake, that I myself24 may share in the benefits of the gospel. Know ye not that they, who run a race, run not lazily, but with their utmost force? They all endeavour to be first, because there is but one that gets the prize. It is not enough for you to run, but so to run, that ye may obtain: which they cannot do, who running only, because they are bid, do not run with all their25 might. They, who propose to themselves the getting the garland in your games, readily submit themselves to severe rules of exercise and abstinence: and yet theirs is but a fading, transitory crown; that, which we propose to ourselves, is everlasting; and therefore deserves, that we should endure greater26 hardships for it. I therefore so run, as not to leave it to uncertainty. I do what I do, not as one who27 fences for exercise, or ostentation; But I really and in earnest keep under my body, and intirely enslave it to the service of the gospel, without allowing any thing to the exigencies of this animal life, which may be the least hindrance to the propagation of the gospel; lest that I, who preach to bring others into the kingdom of heaven, should be disapproved of, and rejected myself.

SECT. VI. N. I.

CHAPTER X. 1 — 22.

CONTENTS.

It seems, by what he here says, as if the corinthians had told St. Paul, that the temptations and constraints they were under, of going to their heathen neighbours feasts upon their sacrifices, were so many, and so great, that there was no avoiding it: and, therefore, they thought they might go to them without any offence to God, or danger to themselves; since they were the people of God, purged from sin by baptism, and fenced against it, by partaking of the body and blood of Christ, in the Lord’s supper. To which St. Paul answers, that, notwithstanding their baptism, and partaking of that spiritual meat and drink, yet they, as well as the jews of old did, might sin, and draw on themselves destruction from the hand of God: that eating of things, that were known, and owned, to be offered to idols, was partaking in the idolatrous worship; and therefore, they were to prefer even the danger of persecution before such a compliance; for God would find a way for them to escape.

TEXT.

1 Moreover, brethren, I would not, that ye should be ignorant, how that all our fathers were under the cloud, and all passed through the sea;

2 And were all baptized, unto Moses, in the cloud, and in the sea;

3 And did all eat the same spiritual meat;

4 And did all drink the same spiritual drink: (for they drank of that spiritual rock, that followed them: and that rock was Christ.)

5 But with many of them God was not well pleased: for they were overthrown in the wilderness.

6 Now these things were our examples, to the intent we should not lust after evil things, as they also lusted.

7 Neither be ye idolaters, as were some of them; as it is written, The people sat down to eat and drink, and rose up to play.

8 Neither let us commit fornication, as some of them committed; and fell in one day three and twenty thousand.

9 Neither let us tempt Christ, as some of them also tempted, and were destroyed of serpents.

10 Neither murmur ye, as some of them also murmured, and were destroyed of the destroyer.

11 Now all these things happened unto them for ensamples: and they are written for our admonition, upon whom the ends of the world are come.

12 Wherefore, let him that thinketh he standeth, take heed lest he fall.

13 There hath no temptation taken you, but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will, with the temptation, also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.

14 Wherefore, my dearly beloved, flee from idolatry.

15 I speak as to wise men: judge ye what I say.

16 The cup of blessing, which we bless, is it not the communion of the blood of Christ? The bread, which we break, is it not the communion of the body of Christ?

17 For we, being many, are one bread, and one body; for we are all partakers of that one bread.

18 Behold Israel after the flesh: are not they, which eat of the sacrifices, partakers of the altar?

19 What say I then? that the idol is any thing, or that which is offered in sacrifice to idols, is any thing?

20 But I say, that the things which the gentiles sacrifice, they sacrifice to devils, and not to God: and I would not that ye should have fellowship with devils.

21 Ye cannot drink the cup of the Lord, and the cup of devils: ye cannot be partakers of the Lord’s table, and of the table of devils.

22 Do we provoke the Lord to jealousy? Are we stronger than he?

PARAPHRASE.

1 I would not have you ignorant, brethren, that all our fathers, the whole congregation of the children of Israel, at their coming out of Egypt, were, all to a man, under the cloud, and all passed through the sea;2 And were all, by this baptism, in the cloud, and passing through the water, initiated into the mosaical institution and government, by these two miracles of3 the cloud and the sea. And they all eat the same meat, which had a typical and spiritual signification;4 And they all drank the same spiritual, typical drink, which came out of the rock, and followed them, which rock typified Christ: all which were typical representations of Christ, as well as the bread and wine, which we eat and drink in the Lord’s supper, are typical5 representations of him. But yet, though every one of the children of Israel, that came out of Egypt, were thus solemnly separated from the rest of the profane, idolatrous world, and were made God’s peculiar people, sanctified and holy, every one of them to himself, and members of his church: nay, though they did all partake of the same meat, and the same drink, which did typically represent Christ, yet they were not thereby privileged from sin: but great numbers of them provoked God, and were destroyed in the6 wilderness for their disobedience. Now these things were set as patterns to us, that we, warned by these examples, should not set our minds a-longing, as they did, after meats, that would be safer let alone.7 Neither be ye idolaters, as were some of them; as it is written, “The people sat down to eat and drink,8 and rose up to play.” Neither let us commit fornication, as some of them committed, and fell in one9 day three and twenty thousand. Neither let us provoke Christ, as some of them provoked, and were destroyed 10 of serpents. Neither murmur ye, as some of them murmured, and were destroyed of the destroyer.11 Now all these things happened to the jews for examples, and are written for our admonition,12 upon whom the ends of the ages are come. Wherefore, taught by these examples, let him that thinks himself safe, by being in the church, and partaking of the christian sacraments, take heed lest he fall into sin, and so destruction from God overtake him.13 Hitherto, the temptations you have met with, have been but light and ordinary; if you should come to be pressed harder, God, who is faithful, and never forsakes those, who forsake not him, will not suffer you to be tempted above your strength; but will either enable you to bear the persecution, or14 open you a way out of it. Therefore, my beloved, take care to keep off from idolatry, and be not drawn to any approaches near it, by any temptation,15 or persecution whatsoever. You are satisfied that you want not knowledge: and therefore, as to knowing men, I appeal to you, and make you judges of what I am going to say in the case.16 They, who drink of the cup of blessing, which we bless in the Lord’s supper, do they not thereby partake of the benefits, purchased by Christ’s blood, shed for them upon the cross, which they here symbolically drink? And they, who eat of the bread broken there, do they not partake in the sacrifice of the body of Christ, and profess to be members17 of him? For, by eating of that bread, we, though many in number, are all united, and make but one body, as many grains of corn are united into one18 loaf. See how it is among the jews, who are outwardly, according to the flesh, by circumcision, the people of God. Among them, they, who eat of the sacrifice, are partakers of God’s table, the altar, have fellowship with him, and share in the benefit of the sacrifice, as if it were offered for them. 19 Do not mistake me, as if I hereby said, that the idols of the gentiles are gods in reality; or that the things, offered to them, change their nature, and are any thing really different from what they were before,20 so as to affect us, in our use of them. No: but this I say, that the things which the gentiles sacrifice, they sacrifice to devils, and not to God; and I would not that you should have fellowship, and be in league with devils, as they, who by eating of the things offered to them enter into covenant, alliance,21 and friendship with them. You cannot eat and drink with God, as friends at his table, in the eucharist, and entertain familiarity and friendship with devils, by eating with them, and partaking of the sacrifices offered to them: you cannot be christians and idolaters too: nor, if you should endeavour to join these inconsistent rites, will it avail you any thing. For your partaking in the sacraments of the christian church, will no more exempt you from the anger of God, and punishment due to your idolatry, than the eating of the spiritual food, and drinking of the spiritual rock, kept the baptized Israelites, who offended God by their idolatry, or other sins,22 from being destroyed in the wilderness. Dare you, then, being espoused to Christ, provoke the Lord to jealousy, by idolatry, which is spiritual whoredom? Are you stronger than he, and able to resist him, when he lets loose his fury against you?

SECT. VI. N. 2.

CHAPTER X. 23. — XI. 1.

CONTENTS.

We have, here, another of his arguments against things offered to idols, wherein he shows the danger that might be in it, from the scandal it might give: supposing it a thing lawful in itself. He had formerly treated of this subject, ch. viii. so far as to let them see, that there was no good, nor virtue in eating things offered to idols, notwithstanding they knew that idols were nothing, and they might think, that their free eating, without scruple, showed that they knew their freedom in the gospel, that they knew, that idols were in reality nothing; and, therefore, they slighted and disregarded them, and their worship, as nothing; but that there might be evil in eating, by the offence it might give to weak christians, who had not that knowledge. He here takes up the argument of scandal again, and extends it to jews and gentiles; vid. ver. 32, and shows, that it is not enough to justify them, in any action, that the thing, they do, is in itself lawful, unless they seek it in the glory of God, and the good of others.

TEXT.

23 All things are lawful for me, but all things are not expedient: all things are lawful for me, but all things edify not.

24 Let no man seek his own: but every man another’s wealth.

25 Whatsoever is sold in the shambles, that eat, asking no question for conscience sake.

26 For the earth is the Lord’s, and the fulness thereof.

27 If any of them, that believe not, bid you to a feast, and ye be disposed to go; whatsoever is set before you, eat, asking no question for conscience sake.

28 But if any man say unto you, “This is offered in sacrifice unto idols,” eat not, for his sake that showed it, and for conscience sake. For the earth is the Lord’s, and the fulness thereof.

29 Conscience, I say, not thine own, but of the others: for why is my liberty judged of another man’s conscience?

30 For, if I, by grace, be a partaker, why am I evil spoken of, for that, for which I give thanks?

31 Whether, therefore, ye eat or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God.

32 Give none offence, neither to the jews, nor to the gentiles, nor to the church of God:

33 Even as I please all men in all things, not seeking mine own profit, but the profit of many, that they may be saved.

XI. 1Be ye followers of me, even as I also am of Christ.

PARAPHRASE.

23 Farther, supposing it lawful to eat things offered to idols, yet all things that are lawful, are not expedient: things that, in themselves, are lawful for me, may not tend to the edification of others, and so24 may be fit to be forborn. No one must seek barely his own private, particular interest alone, but let every one seek the good of others also.25 Eat whatever is sold in the shambles, without any inquiry, or scruple, whether it had been offered to26 any idol, or no. For the earth, and all therein, are the good creatures of the true God, given by him27 to men, for their use. If an heathen invite you to an entertainment, and you go, eat whatever is set before you, without making any question or scruple about it, whether it had been offered in sacrifice,28 or no. But if any one say to you, “This was offered in sacrifice to an idol,” eat it not, for his sake that mentioned it, and for conscience sake.29 Conscience, I say, not thine own, (for thou knowest thy liberty, and that an idol is nothing) but the conscience of the other. For why should I use my liberty so, that another man should in conscience30 think I offended? And if I, with thanksgiving, partake of what is lawful for me to eat, why do I order the matter so, that I am ill-spoken of, for31 that which I bless God for? Whether, therefore, ye eat or drink, or whatever ye do, let your care and32 aim be the glory of God. Give no offence to the jews, by giving them occasion to think, that christians are permitted to worship heathen idols; nor to the gentiles, by giving them occasion to think, that you allow their idolatry, by partaking of their sacrifices: nor to weak members of the church of God, by drawing them, by your examples, to eat of things offered to idols, of the lawfulness whereof they are33 not fully satisfied. As I myself do, who abridge myself of many conveniencies of life, to comply with the different judgments of men, and gain the good opinion of others, that I may be instrumental to theXI. 1 salvation of as many as is possible. Imitate herein my example, as I do that of our Lord Christ, who neglected himself for the salvation of others.

SECT. VII.

CHAPTER XI. 2 — 16.

CONTENTS.

St. Paul commends them for observing the orders he had left with them, and uses arguments to justify the rule he had given them, that women should not pray, or prophesy, in their assemblies, uncovered; which, it seems, there was some contention about, and they had writ to him to be resolved in it.

TEXT.

2 Now I praise you, brethren, that you remember me, in all things, and keep the ordinances, as I delivered them to you.

3 But I would have you know, that the head of every man is Christ; and the head of the woman is the man; and the head of Christ is God.

4 Every man praying, or prophesying, having his head covered, dishonoureth his head.

5 But every woman, that prayeth, or prophesieth, with her head uncovered, dishonoureth her head: for that is even all one, as if she were shaven:

6 For if the woman be not covered, let her also be shorn: but if it be a shame for a woman to be shorn, or shaven, let her be covered.

7 For a man, indeed, ought not to cover his head, forasmuch as he is the image and glory of God: but the woman is the glory of the man.

8 For the man is not of the woman: but the woman of the man.

9 Neither was the man created for the woman: but the woman for the man.

10 For this cause ought the woman to have power on her head, because of the angels.

11 Nevertheless, neither is the man without the woman, neither the woman without the man, in the Lord.

12 For, as the woman is of the man, even so is the man also by the woman: but all things of God.

13 Judge in yourselves; is it comely, that a woman pray unto God uncovered?

14 Doth not even nature itself teach you, that if a man have long hair, it is a shame unto him?

15 But if a woman have long hair, it is a glory to her; for her hair is given her for a covering.

16 But if any man seem to be contentious, we have no such custom, neither the churches of God.

PARAPHRASE.

2 I commend you, brethren, for remembering all my orders, and for retaining those rules I delivered to you,3 when I was with you. But for your better understanding what concerns women, in your assemblies, you are to take notice, that Christ is the head to which every man is subjected, and the man is the head, to which every woman is subjected; and that the head,4 or superiour, to Christ himself, is God. Every man, that prayeth, or prophesieth, i. e. by the gift of the Spirit of God, speaketh in the church for the edifying, exhorting, and comforting of the congregation, having his head covered, dishonoureth Christ, his head, by appearing in a garb not becoming the authority and dominion, which God, through Christ, has given him over all the things of this world; the covering of the5 head being a mark of subjection. But, on the contrary, a woman praying, or prophesying in the church, with her head uncovered, dishonoureth the man, who is her head, by appearing in a garb, that disowns her subjection to him. For to appear bare-headed in public, is all one as to have her hair cut off, which is the garb and dress of the other sex, and6 not of a woman. If, therefore, it be unsuitable to the female sex to have their hair shorn, or shaved off, 7 let her, for the same reason, be covered. A man, indeed, ought not to be veiled; because he is the image and representative of God, in his dominion over the rest of the world, which is one part of the glory8 of God: But the woman, who was made out of the man, made for him, and in subjection to him, is matter9 of glory to the man. But the man, not being made out of the woman, not for her, but the woman10 made out of, and for the man, She ought, for this reason, to have a veil on her head, in token of her11 subjection, because of the angels. Nevertheless, the sexes have not a being, one without the other; neither the man without the woman, nor the woman12 without the man, the Lord so ordering it. For, as the first woman was made out of the man, so the race of men, ever since, is continued and propagated by the female sex: but they, and all other things,13 had their being and original from God. Be you yourselves judges, whether it be decent for a woman to make a prayer to God, in the church, uncovered?14 Does not even nature, that has made, and would have the distinction of sexes preserved, teach you, that if a man wear his hair long, and dressed up after the manner of women, it is misbecoming and15 dishonourable to him? But to a woman, if she be curious about her hair, in having it long, and dressing herself with it, it is a grace and commendation;16 since her hair is given her for a covering. But, if any show himself to be a lover of contention, we, the apostles, have no such custom, nor any of the churches of God.

SECT. VIII.

CHAPTER XI. 17 — 34.

CONTENTS.

One may observe from several passages in this epistle, that several judaical customs were crept into the corinthian church. This church being of St. Paul’s own planting, who spent two years at Corinth, in forming it; it is evident these abuses had their rise from some other teachers, who came to them after his leaving them, which was about five years before his writing this epistle. These disorders therefore may with reason be ascribed to the head of the faction, that opposed St. Paul, who, as has been remarked, was a jew, and probably judaized. And that, it is like, was the foundation of the great opposition between him and St. Paul, and the reason why St. Paul labours so earnestly to destroy his credit among the corinthians: this sort of men being very busy, very troublesome, and very dangerous to the gospel, as may be seen in other of St. Paul’s epistles, particularly that to the galatians.

The celebrating the passover amongst the Jews was plainly the eating of a meal distinguished from other ordinary meals, by several peculiar ceremonies. Two of these ceremonies were eating of bread solemnly broken, and drinking a cup of wine, called the cup of blessing. These two our Saviour transferred into the christian church, to be used in their assemblies, for a commemoration of his death and sufferings. In celebrating this institution of our Saviour, the judaizing corinthians followed the jewish custom of eating their passover; they eat the Lord’s supper as a part of their meal, bringing their provisions into the assembly, where they eat divided into distinct companies, some feasting to excess, whilst others, ill provided, were in want. This eating thus in the public assembly, and mixing the Lord’s supper with their ordinary meal, as a part of it, with other disorders and indecencies accompanying it, is the matter of this section. These innovations, he tells them here, he as much blames, as, in the beginning of this chapter, he commends them for keeping to his directions in some other things.

TEXT.

17 Now in this, that I declare unto you, I praise you not, that ye come together, not for the better, but for the worse.

18 For first of all, when ye come together in the church, I hear that there be divisions among you; and I partly believe it.

19 For there must be also heresies among you, that they, which are approved, may be made manifest among you.

20 When ye come together, therefore, into one place, this is not to eat the Lord’s supper.

21 For, in eating, every one taketh before other, his own supper: and one is hungry, and another is drunken.

22 What! have ye not houses to eat and drink in? Or despise ye the church of God? And shame them that have not? What shall I say to you? Shall I praise you in this? I praise you not.

23 For I have received of the Lord, that, which also I delivered unto you, that the Lord Jesus, the same night, in which he was betrayed, took bread:

24 And when he had given thanks, he brake it, and said, “Take, eat; this is my body, which is broken for you: this do in remembrance of me.”

25 After the same manner also, he took the cup, when he had supped, saying, “This cup is the new testament in my blood: this do ye, as oft as ye drink it, in remembrance of me.”

26 For as often as ye eat this bread, and drink this cup, ye do show the Lord’s death till he come.

27 Wherefore, whosoever shall eat this bread, and drink this cup of the Lord unworthily, shall be guilty of the body and blood of the Lord.

28 But let a man examine himself, and so let him eat of that bread, and drink of that cup.

29 For he that eateth and drinketh unworthily, eateth and drinketh damnation to himself, not discerning the Lord’s body.

30 For this cause, many are weak and sickly among you, and many sleep.

31 For if we would judge ourselves, we should not be judged.

32 But when we are judged, we are chastened of the Lord, that we should not be condemned with the world.

33 Wherefore, my brethren, when ye come together to eat, tarry one for another.

34 And if any man hunger, let him eat at home; that ye come not together unto condemnation. And the rest will I set in order, when I come.

PARAPHRASE.

17 Though what I said to you, concerning women’s behaviour in the church, was not without commendation of you; yet this, that I am now going to speak to you of, is without praising you, because you so order your meetings in your assemblies, that18 they are not to your advantage, but harm. For first I hear, that, when you come together in the church, you fall into parties, and I partly believe19 it; Because there must be divisions and factions amongst you, that those who stand firm upon trial,20 may be made manifest among you. You come together, it is true, in one place, and there you eat; but yet this makes it not to be the eating of the21 Lord’s supper. For, in eating, you eat not together, but every one takes his own supper one before another.22 Have ye not houses to eat and drink in, at home, for satisfying your hunger and thirst? Or have ye a contempt for the church of God, and take a pleasure to put those out of countenance, who have not wherewithal to feast there, as you do? What is it I said to you, that I praise you for retaining what I delivered to you? On this occasion,23 indeed, I praise you not for it. For what I received, concerning this institution, from the Lord himself, that I delivered unto you, when I was with you; and it was this, viz. That the Lord Jesus, in the24 night, wherein he was betrayed, took bread: And, having given thanks, brake it, and said, “Take, eat; this is my body which is broken for you: this do25 in remembrance of me.” So, likewise, he took the cup also when he had supped, saying, “This cup is the new testament in my blood: this do ye, as often as ye do it, in remembrance of me.”26 So that the eating of this bread, and the drinking of this cup of the Lord’s supper, is not to satisfy hunger and thirst, but to show forth the27 Lord’s death, till he comes. Insomuch that he, who eats this bread, and drinks this cup of the Lord, in an unworthy manner, not suitable to that end, shall be guilty of a misuse of the body and blood28 of the Lord. By this institution, therefore, of Christ, let a man examine himself; and, according to that, let him eat of this bread, and drink of29 this cup. For he, who eats and drinks after an unworthy manner, without a due respect had to the Lord’s body, in a discriminating and purely sacramental use of the bread and wine, that represent it, draws punishment on himself by so doing.30 And hence it is, that many among you are weak and sick, and a good number are gone to their31 graves. But if we would discriminate ourselves, i. e. by our discriminating use of the Lord’s supper, we 32 should not be judged, i. e. punished by God. But, being punished by the Lord, we are corrected, that we may not be condemned hereafter, with the unbelieving33 world. Wherefore, my brethren, when you have a meeting for celebrating the Lord’s supper, stay for one another, that you may eat it all together, as partakers, all in common, of the Lord’s34 table, without division, or distinction. But if any one be hungry, let him eat at home to satisfy his hunger, that so the disorder in these meetings may not draw on you the punishment above mentioned. What else remains to be rectified in this matter, I will set in order when I come.

SECT. IX.

CHAPTER XII. 1. — XIV. 40.

CONTENTS.

The corinthians seem to have inquired of St. Paul, “What order of precedency and preference men were to have, in their assemblies, in regard of their spiritual gifts?” Nay, if we may guess by his answer, the question they seem more particularly to have proposed, was, “Whether those, who had the gift of tongues, ought not to take place, and speak first, and be first heard in their meetings?” Concerning this, there seems to have been some strife, maligning, and disorder among them, as may be collected from ch. xii. 21 — 25, and xiii. 4, 5, and xiv. 40.

To this St. Paul answers in these three chapters, as followeth

That they had all been heathen idolaters, and so being deniers of Christ, were in that state none of them spiritual: but that now, being christians, and owning Jesus to be the Lord (which could not be done without the Spirit of God), they were all πνευματιϰοὶ, spiritual, and so there was no reason for one to undervalue another, as if he were not spiritual, as well as himself, chap. xii. 1 — 3.

That though there be diversity of gifts, yet they are all by the same Spirit, from the same Lord, and the same God, working them all in every one, according to his good pleasure. So that, in this respect also, there is no difference or precedency; no occasion for any one’s being puffed up, or affecting priority, upon account of his gifts, chap. xii. 4 — 11.

That the diversity of gifts is for the use and benefit of the church, which is Christ’s body, wherein the members (as in the natural body) of meaner functions are as much parts, and as necessary in their use to the good of the whole, and therefore to be honoured, as much as any other. The union they have, as members in the same body, makes them all equally share in one another’s good and evil, gives them a mutual esteem and concern one for another, and leaves no room for contests or divisions amongst them, about their gifts, or the honour and place due to them, upon that account, chap. xii. 12 — 31.

That though gifts have their excellency and use, and those, who have them, may be zealous in the use of them; yet the true and sure way for a man to get an excellency and preference above others, is the enlarging himself in charity, and excelling in that, without which a christian, with all his spiritual gifts, is nothing, chap. xiii. 1 — 13.

In the comparison of spiritual gifts, he gives those the precedency, which edify most; and, in particular, prefers prophesying to tongues, chap. xiv. 1 — 40.

SECT. IX. N. 1.

CHAPTER XII. 1 — 3.

TEXT.

1 Now concerning spiritual gifts, brethren, I would not have you ignorant.

2 Ye know that ye were Gentiles, carried away unto these dumb idols, even as ye were led.

3 Wherefore I give you to understand, that no man, speaking by the Spirit of God, calleth Jesus accursed; and that no man can say, that Jesus is the Lord, but by the Holy Ghost.

PARAPHRASE.

1 As to spiritual men, or men assisted and acted by the Spirit, I shall inform you; for I would not have2 you be ignorant. You yourselves know, that you were heathens, engaged in the worship of stocks and stones, dumb, senseless idols, by those, who were then3 your leaders. Whereupon let me tell you, that no one, who opposes Jesus Christ, or his religion, has the Spirit of God. And whoever is brought to own Jesus to be the Messiah, the Lord, does it by the Holy Ghost. And therefore, upon account of having the Spirit, you can none of you lay any claim to superiority; or have any pretence to slight any of your brethren, as not having the Spirit of God, as well as you. For all, that own our Lord Jesus Christ, and believe in him, do it by the Spirit of God, i. e. can do it upon no other ground, but revelation, coming from the Spirit of God.

SECT. IX. N. 2.

CHAPTER XII. 4 — 11.

CONTENTS.

Another consideration, which St. Paul offers, against any contention for superiority, or pretence to precedency, upon account of any spiritual gift, is, that those distinct gifts are all of one and the same Spirit, by the same Lord; wrought in every one, by God alone, and all for the profit of the church.

TEXT.

4 Now there are diversities of gifts, but the same Spirit.

5 And there are differences of administrations, but the same Lord.

6 And there are diversities of operations, but it is the same God which worketh all in all.

7 But the manifestation of the Spirit is given to every man, to profit withal.

8 For to one is given, by the Spirit, the word of wisdom; to another, the word of knowledge by the same Spirit:

9 To another, faith by the same Spirit; to another, the gifts of healing, by the same Spirit;

10 To another, the working of miracles; to another, prophecy; to another, discerning of spirits; to another, divers kinds of tongues; to another, the interpretation of tongues.

11 But all these worketh that one and the self-same Spirit, dividing to every man severally, as he will.

PARAPHRASE.

4 Be not mistaken, by the diversity of gifts; for, though there be diversity of gifts among christians, yet there is no diversity of spirits, they all come from one and5 the same Spirit. Though there be diversities of offices in the church, yet all the officers have but one6 Lord. And though there be various influxes, whereby christians are enabled to do extraordinary things, yet it is the same God, that works all these extraordinary7 gifts, in every one that has them. But the way, or gift, wherein every one, who has the Spirit, is to show it, is given him, not for his private advantage, or honour, but for the good and advantage of8 the church. For instance; to one is given, by the spirit, the word of wisdom, or the revelation of the gospel of Jesus Christ, in the full latitude of it: such as was given to the apostles: to another, by the same spirit, the knowledge¶ of the true sense and true meaning of the holy scriptures of the Old Testament, for the explaining and confirmation of the gospel:9 To another, by the same Spirit, is given an undoubting persuasion, and stedfast confidence, of performing what he is going about; to another, the gift of10 curing diseases, by the same Spirit; To another, the working of miracles; to another, prophecy; to another, the discerning by what spirit men did any extraordinary operation; to another, diversity of languages; to another, the interpretation of languages.11 All which gifts are wrought in believers, by one and the same Spirit, distributing to every one, in particular, as he thinks fit.

SECT. IX. N. 3.

CHAPTER XII. 12 — 31.

CONTENTS.

From the necessarily different functions in the body, and the strict union, nevertheless, of the members, adapted to those different functions, in a mutual sympathy and concern one for another; St. Paul here farther shows, that there ought not to be any strife, or division, amongst them, about precedency and preference, upon account of their distinct gifts.

TEXT.

12 For, as the body is one, and hath many members, and all the members of that one body, being many, are one body: so also is Christ.

13 For, by one Spirit, are we all baptized into one body, whether we be jews or gentiles, whether we be bond or free; and have been all made to drink into one Spirit.

14 For the body is not one member, but many.

15 If the foot shall say, “Because I am not the hand, I am not of the body:” is it therefore not of the body?

16 And if the ear shall say, “Because I am not the eye, I am not of the body:” is it therefore not of the body?

17 If the whole body were an eye, where were the hearing? If the whole were hearing, where were the smelling?

18 But now hath God set the members, every one of them, in the body, as it hath pleased him.

19 And if they were all one member, where were the body?

20 But now are they many members, yet but one body.

21 And the eye cannot say unto the hand, “I have no need of thee:” nor, again, the head to the feet, “I have no need of you.”

22 Nay, much more those members of the body, which seem to be more feeble, are necessary.

23 And those members of the body, which we think to be less honourable, upon these we bestow more abundant honour, and our uncomely parts have more abundant comeliness.

24 For our comely parts have no need: but God hath tempered the body together, having given more abundant honour to that part which lacked:

25 That there should be no schism in the body; but that the members should have the same care one for another.

26 And whether one member suffer, all the members suffer with it: or one member be honoured, all the members rejoice with it.

27 Now, ye are the body of Christ, and members in particular.

28 And God hath set some in the church, first apostles, secondarily prophets, thirdly teachers, after that miracles, then gifts of healings, helps, governments, diversities of tongues.

29 Are all apostles? Are all prophets? Are all teachers? Are all workers of miracles?

30 Have all the gifts of healing? Do all speak with tongues? Do all interpret?

31 But covet earnestly the best gifts: and yet show I unto you a more excellent way.

PARAPHRASE.

12 For as the body, being but one, hath many members, and all the members of the body, though many, yet make but one body; so is Christ, in respect13 of his mystical body, the church. For by one Spirit we are all baptized into one church, and are thereby made one body, without any pre-eminence to the jew above the gentile, to the free above the bond-man: and the blood of Christ, which we all partake of, in the Lord’s supper, makes us all have one life, one spirit, as the same blood, diffused through the whole body, communicates the 14 same life and spirit to all the members. For the body is not one sole member, but consists of many members, all vitally united in one common sympathy15 and usefulness. If any one have not that function, or16 dignity, in the church, which he desires, He must not, therefore, declare that he is not of the church, he does not thereby cease to be a member of the17 church. There is as much need of several and distinct gifts and functions in the church, as there is of different senses and members in the body; and the meanest and least honourable would be missed, if it were wanting, and the whole body would18 suffer by it. Accordingly, God hath fitted several persons, as it were so many distinct members, to several offices and functions in the church, by proper and peculiar gifts and abilities, which he has bestowed on them, according to his good pleasure.19 But if all were but one member, what would become of the body? There would be no such thing as an human body; no more could the church be edified, and framed into a growing lasting society, if the gifts20 of the Spirit were all reduced to one. But now, by the various gifts of the Spirit, bestowed on its several members, it is as a well organized body, wherein the most eminent member cannot despise the meanest.21 The eye cannot say to the hand, “I have no need of thee;” nor the head to the feet, “I have 22 no need of you.” It is so far from being so, that the parts of the body, that seem in themselves weak,23 are nevertheless of absolute necessity. And those parts which are thought least honourable we take care always to cover with the more respect; and our least graceful parts have thereby a more studied and adventitious24 comeliness. For our comely parts have no need of any borrowed helps, or ornaments: but God hath so contrived the symmetry of the body, that he hath added honour to those parts, that might seem25 naturally to want it: That there might be no disunion, no schism in the body; but that the members should all have the same care and concern one for26 another; And all equally partake and share in the harm, or honour, that is done to any of them in particular.27 Now, in like manner, you are, by your particular gifts, each of you, in his peculiar station and aptitude, members of the body of Christ, which is28 the church: Wherein God hath set, first some apostles, secondly prophets, thirdly teachers, next workers of miracles, then those, who have the gift of healing, helpers, governors, and such as are able to speak 29 diversity of tongues. Are all apostles? Are all prophets? Are all teachers? Are all workers of30 miracles? Have all the gift of healing? Do all speak diversity of tongues? Are all interpreters of31 tongues? But ye contest one with another, whose particular gift is best, and most preferable; but I will show you a more excellent way, viz. mutual good-will, affection and charity.

SECT. IX. N. 4.

CHAPTER XIII. 1 — 13.

CONTENTS.

St. Paul having told the corinthians, in the last words of the preceding chapter, that he would show them a more excellent way, than the emulous producing of their gifts in the assembly, he, in this chapter tells them, that this more excellent way is charity, which he at large explains, and shows the excellency of.

TEXT.

1 Though I speak with the tongues of men, and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.

2 And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have no charity, I am nothing.

3 And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.

4 Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up;

5 Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil;

6 Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth:

7 Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.

8 Charity never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away.

9 For we know in part, and we prophesy in part.

10 But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away.

11 When I was a child, I spake as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things.

12 For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know, even as also I am known.

13 And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three: but the greatest of these is charity.

PARAPHRASE.

1 If I speak all the languages of men and angels, and yet have not charity, to make use of them entirely for the good and benefit of others, I am no better than a sounding brass, or noisy cymbal, which fills the ears of others, without any advantage to itself,2 by the sound it makes. And if I have the gift of prophecy, and see, in the law and the prophets, all the mysteries contained in them, and comprehend all the knowledge they teach; and if I have faith to the highest degree, and power of miracles, so as to be able to remove mountains, and have not charity,3 I am nothing: I am of no value. And if I bestow all I have, in relief of the poor, and give myself to be burnt, and have not charity, it profits me nothing.4 Charity is long-suffering, is gentle and benign, without5 emulation, insolence, or being puffed up; Is not ambitious, nor at all self-interested, is not sharp upon6 others failings, or inclined to ill interpretations: Charity rejoices with others, when they do well; and, when any thing is amiss, is troubled, and covers their failings:7 Charity believes well, hopes well of every one,8 and patiently bears with every thing: Charity will never cease, as a thing out of use; but the gifts of prophecy, and tongues, and the knowledge whereby men look into, and explain the meaning of the scriptures, the time will be, when they will be laid aside,9 as no longer of any use. For the knowledge we have now in this state, and the explication we give of scripture, 10 is short, partial, and defective. But when, hereafter, we shall be got into the state of accomplishment and perfection, wherein we are to remain in the other world, there will no longer be any need of these imperfecter ways of information, whereby11 we arrive at but a partial knowledge here. Thus, when I was in the imperfect state of childhood, I talked, I understood, I reasoned after the imperfect manner of a child: but, when I came to the state and perfection of manhood, I laid aside those childish12 ways. Now we see but by reflection, the dim, and as it were, enigmatical representation of things: but then we shall see things directly, and as they are in themselves, as a man sees another, when they are face to face. Now I have but a superficial, partial knowledge of things; but then I shall have an intuitive, comprehensive knowledge of them, as I myself am known, and lie open to the view of superiour, seraphic beings, not by the obscure and imperfect13 way of deductions and reasoning. But then, even in that state, faith, hope, and charity, will remain: but the greatest of the three is charity.

SECT. IX. N. 5.

CHAPTER XIV. 1 — 40.

CONTENTS.

St. Paul, in this chapter, concludes his answer to the corinthians, concerning spiritual men, and their gifts; and having told them, that those were most preferable, that tended most to edification; and particularly shown, that prophecy was to be preferred to tongues; he gives them directions for the decent, orderly, and profitable exercise of their gifts, in their assemblies.

TEXT.

1 Follow after charity, and desire spiritual gifts, but rather that ye may prophesy.

2 For he, that speaketh in an unknown tongue, speaketh not unto men, but unto God: for no man understandeth him; howbeit, in the Spirit, he speaketh mysteries.

3 But he, that prophesieth, speaketh unto men, to edification, and exhortation, and comfort.

4 He that speaketh in an unknown tongue edifieth himself: but he, that prophesieth, edifieth the church.

5 I would that ye all spake with tongues, but rather that ye prophesied: for greater is he that prophesieth, than he that speaketh with tongues, except he interpret, that the church may receive edifying.

6 Now, brethren, if I come unto you, speaking with tongues, what shall I profit you, except I shall speak to you, either by revelation, or by knowledge, or by prophesying, or by doctrine?

7 And even things without life, giving sound, whether pipe or harp, except they give a distinction in the sounds, how shall it be known what is piped, or harped?

8 For if the trumpet give an uncertain sound, who shall prepare himself to the battle?

9 So likewise you, except ye utter by the tongue words easy to be understood, how shall it be known what is spoken? For ye shall speak into the air.

10 There are, it may be, so many kinds of voices in the world, and none of them is without signification.

11 Therefore, if I know not the meaning of the voice, I shall be unto him that speaketh a barbarian; and he that speaketh shall be a barbarian unto me.

12 Even so ye, forasmuch as ye are zealous of spiritual gifts, seek that ye may excel to the edifying of the church.

13 Wherefore, let him, that speaketh in an unknown tongue, pray that he may interpret.

14 For if I pray in an unknown tongue, my spirit prayeth, but my understanding is unfruitful.

15 What is it then? I will pray with the Spirit, and I will pray with the understanding also: I will sing with the Spirit, and I will sing with the understanding also.

16 Else, when thou shalt bless with the Spirit, how shall he that occupieth the room of the unlearned, say Amen, at thy giving of thanks; seeing he understandeth not what thou sayest?

17 For thou verily givest thanks well, but the other is not edified.

18 I thank my God, I speak with tongues more than you all:

19 Yet in the church I had rather speak five words with my understanding, that by my voice I might teach others also, than ten thousand words in an unknown tongue.

20 Brethren, be not children in understanding: howbeit, in malice be ye children, but in understanding be men.

21 In the law it is written, “With men of other tongues, and other lips, will I speak unto this people: and yet, for all that, will they not hear me, saith the Lord.”

22 Wherefore tongues are for a sign, not to them that believe, but to them that believe not: but prophesying serveth not for them that believe not, but for them which believe.

23 If, therefore, the whole church be come together into one place, and all speak with tongues, and there come in those, that are unlearned, or unbelievers, will they not say, that ye are mad?

24 But if all prophesy, and there come in one that believeth not, or one unlearned, he is convinced of all, he is judged of all.

25 And thus are the secrets of his heart made manifest! and so, falling down on his face, he will worship God, and report that God is in you of a truth.

26 How is it then, brethren? When ye come together, every one of you hath a psalm, hath a doctrine, hath a tongue, hath a revelation, hath an interpretation. Let all things be done to edifying.

27 If any man speak in an unknown tongue, let it be by two, or at the most by three, and that by course; and let one interpret.

28 But if there be no interpreter, let him keep silence in the church; and let him speak to himself and to God.

29 Let the prophets speak, two or three, and let the other judge.

30 If any thing be revealed to another, that sitteth by, let the first hold his peace.

31 For ye may all prophesy, one by one, that all may learn, that all may be comforted.

32 And the spirits of the prophets are subject to the prophets.

33 For God is not the author of confusion, but of peace, as in all churches of the saints.

34 Let your women keep silence in the churches: for it is not permitted unto them to speak; but they are commanded to be under obedience, as also saith the law.

35 And if they will learn any thing, let them ask their husbands at home: for it is a shame for women to speak in the church.

36 What! came the word of God out from you? Or came it unto you only?

37 If any man think himself to be a prophet, or spiritual, let him acknowledge, that the things, that I write unto you, are the commandments of the Lord.

38 But if any man be ignorant, let him be ignorant.

39 Wherefore, brethren, covet to prophesy, and forbid not to speak with tongues.

40 Let all things be done decently, and in order.

PARAPHRASE.

1 Let your endeavours, let your pursuit, therefore, be after charity; not that you should neglect the use2 of your spiritual gifts, especially the gift of prophecy: 2 For he, that speaks in an unknown tongue, speaks to God alone, but not to men: for nobody understands him; the things he utters, by the Spirit, in an unknown tongue, are mysteries, things not3 understood, by those who hear them. But he, that prophesieth, speaks to men, who are exhorted and comforted thereby, and helped forwards in religion4 and piety. He that speaks in an unknown tongue, edifies himself alone; but he that prophesieth, edifieth 5 the church. I wish that ye had all the gift of tongues, but rather that ye all prophesied; for greater is he that prophesieth, than he that speaks with tongues, unless he interprets what he delivers in an unknown tongue, that the church may be edified by it.6 For example, should I apply myself to you in a tongue you knew not, what good should I do you, unless I interpreted to you what I said, that you might understand the revelation, or knowledge, or prophecy,7 or doctrine contained in it? Even inanimate instruments of sound, as pipe or harp, are not made use of, to make an insignificant noise; but distinct notes, expressing mirth, or mourning, or the like, are played upon them, whereby the tune 8 and composure are understood. And if the trumpet sound not some point of war, that is understood, the9 soldier is not thereby instructed what to do. So likewise ye, unless with the tongue, which you use, utter words of a clear and known signification to your hearers, you talk to the wind; for your auditors10 understand nothing that you say. There is a great number of significant languages in the world, I11 know not how many, every nation has its own. If then I understand not another’s language, and the force of his words, I am to him, when he speaks, a barbarian; and whatever he says, is all gibberish to me; and so is it with you; ye are barbarians one to another, as far as ye speak to one another in unknown12 tongues. But since there is emulation amongst you, concerning spiritual gifts, seek to abound in the exercise of those which tend most to the edification13 of the church. Wherefore, let him that speaks an unknown tongue, pray that he may interpret what14 he says. For if I pray in the congregation in an unknown tongue, my spirit, it is true, accompanies my words, which I understand, and so my spirit prays; but my meaning is unprofitable to others 15 who understand not my words. What, then, is to be done in the case? Why, I will, when moved to it by the Spirit, pray in an unknown tongue, but so that my meaning may be understood by others i. e. I will not do it but when there is somebody by, to interpret. And so will I do also in singing; I will sing by the Spirit, in an unknown tongue; but I will take care that the meaning of what I sing shall16 be understood by the assistants. And thus ye shall all do, in all like cases. For if thou, by the impulse of the Spirit, givest thanks to God, in an unknown tongue, which all understand not, how shall the hearer, who, in this respect, is unlearned, and, being ignorant in that tongue, knows not what thou sayest, how shall he say Amen? How shall he join 17 in the thanks, which he understands not? Thou, indeed, givest thanks well; but the other is18 not at all edified by it. I thank God, I speak with19 tongues more than you all: But I had rather speak in the church five words that are understood, that I might instruct others also, than, in an unknown tongue, ten thousand, that others understand not.20 My brethren, be not, in understanding, children, who are apt to be taken with the novelty, or strangeness of things: in temper and disposition, be as children, void of malice; but, in matters of understanding, be ye perfect men, and use your understandings.21 Be not so zealous for the use of unknown tongues in the church; they are not so proper there: it is written in the law, “With men of other tongues, and other lips, will I speak unto this people: and yet, for all that, will they22 not hear me, saith the Lord.” So that, you see, the speaking of strange tongues miraculously, is not for those, who are already converted, but for a sign to those, who are unbelievers: but prophecy is for believers, and not for unbelievers; and therefore,23 fitter for your assemblies. If, therefore, when the church is all come together, you should all speak in unknown tongues, and men unlearned, or unbelievers should come in, would they not say,24 “that you are mad?” But if ye all prophesy, and an unbeliever, or an ignorant man, come in, the discourse he hears from you reaching his25 conscience, And the secret thoughts of his heart, he is convinced, and wrought upon; and so, falling down, worships God, and declares that God is certainly26 amongst you. What then is to be done, brethren? When you come together, every one is ready, one with a psalm, another with a doctrine, another with a strange tongue, another with a revelation, another with an interpretation. Let all things be 27 done to edification. Even though any one speak in an unknown tongue, which is a gift that seems least intended for edification; let but two or three at most, at any one meeting, speak in an unknown tongue; and that separately, one after another; and28 let there be but one interpreter. But if there be no-body present, that can interpret, let not any one use his gift of tongues in the congregation; but let him, silently, within himself, speak to himself, and to29 God. Of those, who have the gift of prophecy, let but two or three speak at the same meeting, and let30 the others examine and discuss it. But if, during their debate, the meaning of it be revealed to one that sits by, let him, that was discoursing of it before,31 give off. For ye may all prophesy, one after another, that all may in their turns be hearers, and 32 receive exhortation and instruction. For the gifts of the Holy Ghost are not like the possession of the heathen priests, who are not masters of the Spirit that possesses them. But christians, however filled with the Holy Ghost, are masters of their own actions, can speak, or hold their peace, as they see occasion, and are not hurried away by any compulsion.33 It is, therefore, no reason for you to speak, more than one at once, or to interrupt one another, because you find yourselves inspired and moved by the Spirit of God. For God is not the author of confusion and disorder, but of quietness and peace. And this is what is observed in all the churches of34 God. As to your women, let them keep silence in your assemblies; for it is not permitted them to discourse there, or pretend to teach; that does no way suit their state of subjection, appointed them in the law.35 But, if they have a mind to have any thing explained to them, that passes in the church, let them, for their information, ask their husbands at home, for it is a shame for women to discourse and debate with36 men publicly, in the congregation. What! do you pretend to give laws to the church of God, or to a right to do what you please amongst yourselves, as if the gospel began at Corinth, and issuing from you was communicated to the rest of the world; or, as if it were communicated to you alone,37 of all the world? If any man amongst you think, that he hath the gift of prophecies, and would pass for a man knowing in the revealed will of God, let him acknowledge, that these rules, which I have here given, are the commandments of the Lord.38 But if any man be ignorant that they are so, I have no more to say to him; I leave him to his ignorance.39 To conclude, brethren, let prophecy have the preference in the exercise of it; but yet forbid40 not the speaking unknown tongues. But whether a man prophesies, or speaks with tongues, whatever spiritual gift he exercises in your assemblies, let it be done without any indecorum, or disorder.

SECT. X.

CHAPTER XV. 1 — 58.

CONTENTS.

After St. Paul (who had taught them another doctrine) had left Corinth, some among them denied the resurrection of the dead. This he confutes by Christ’s resurrection, which the number of witnesses, yet remaining, that had seen him, put past question, besides the constant inculcating of it, by all the apostles, every-where. From the resurrection of Christ, thus established, he infers the resurrection of the dead; shows the order they shall rise in, and what sort of bodies they shall have.

TEXT.

1 Moreover, brethren, I declare unto you the gospel which I preached unto you, which also you have received, and wherein ye stand;

2 By which also ye are saved, if ye keep in memory what I preached unto you, unless ye have believed in vain.

3 For I delivered unto you, first of all, that which I also received, how that Christ died for our sins, according to the scriptures:

4 And that he was buried, and that he rose again the third day, according to the scriptures:

5 And that he was seen of Cephas, then of the twelve:

6 After that, he was seen of above five hundred brethren at once; of whom the greater part remained unto this present, but some are fallen asleep:

7 After that, he was seen of James: then, of all the apostles.

8 And, last of all, he was seen of me also, as of one born out of due time.

9 For I am the least of the apostles, that am not meet to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God.

10 But by the grace of God I am what I am: and his grace, which was bestowed upon me, was not in vain; but I laboured more abundantly than they all: yet not I, but the grace of God which was with me.

11 Therefore, whether it were I or they, so we preach, and so ye believed.

12 Now, if Christ be preached, that he rose from the dead, how say some among you, that there is no resurrection of the dead?

13 But if there be no resurrection of the dead, then is Christ not risen.

14 And, if Christ be not risen, then is our preaching vain, and your faith is also vain.

15 Yea, and we are found false witnesses of God; because we have testified of God, that he raised up Christ: whom he raised not up, if so be that the dead rise not.

16 For if the dead rise not, then is not Christ raised.

17 And if Christ be not raised, your faith is vain; ye are yet in your sins.

18 Then they also, which are fallen asleep in Christ, are perished.

19 If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable.

20 But, now, is Christ risen from the dead, and become the first-fruits of them that slept.

21 For since by man came death, by man came also the resurrection of the dead.

22 For, as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive.

23 But every man in his own order: Christ the first-fruits, afterwards they that are Christ’s, at his coming.

24 Then cometh the end, when he shall have delivered up the kingdom to God, even the Father; when he shall have put down all rule, and all authority, and power.

25 For he must reign, till he hath put all enemies under his feet.

26 The last enemy, that shall be destroyed, is death.

27 For he hath put all things under his feet. But when he saith, “All things are put under him,” it is manifest that he is excepted, which did put all things under him.

28 And, when all things shall be subdued unto him, then shall the Son also himself be subject unto him, that put all things under him, that God may be all in all.

29 Else what shall they do which are baptized for the dead, if the dead rise not at all? Why are they, then, baptized for the dead?

30 And why stand we in jeopardy every hour?

31 I protest, by your rejoicing, which I have in Christ Jesus our Lord, I die daily.

32 If, after the manner of men, I have fought with beasts at Ephesus, what advantageth it me, if the dead rise not? Let us eat, and drink; for to-morrow we die.

33 Be not deceived: evil communications corrupt good manners.

34 Awake to righteousness, and sin not; for some have not the knowledge of God: I speak this to your shame.

35 But some man will say, “How are the dead raised up? And with what body do they come?”

36 Thou fool! that, which thou sowest, is not quickened, except it die.

37 And that which thou sowest, thou sowest not that body that shall be, but bare grain, it may chance of wheat, or of some other grain.

38 But God giveth it a body, as it hath pleased him, and to every seed his own body.

39 All flesh is not the same flesh: but there is one kind of flesh of men, another flesh of beasts, another of fishes, and another of birds.

40 There are also celestial bodies, and bodies terrestrial: but the glory of the celestial is one, and the glory of the terrestrial is another.

41 There is one glory of the sun, and another glory of the moon, and another glory of the stars; for one star differeth from another star in glory.

42 So also is the resurrection of the dead. It is sown in corruption, it is raised in incorruption;

43 It is sown in dishonour, it is raised in glory: it is sown in weakness, it is raised in power.

44 It is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body. There is a natural body, and there is a spiritual body.

45 And so it is written, The first man, Adam, was made a living soul, the last Adam was made a quickening spirit.

46 Howbeit, that was not first which is spiritual, but that which is natural; and afterward, that which is spiritual.

47 The first man is of the earth, earthy: the second man is the Lord from heaven.

48 As is the earthy, such are they also that are earthy: and as is the heavenly, such are they also that are heavenly.

49 And, as we have borne the image of the earthy, we shall also bear the image of the heavenly.

50 Now this I say, brethren, that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God; neither doth corruption inherit incorruption.

51 Behold, I show you a mystery; we shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed,

52 In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump, (for the trumpet shall sound;) and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed.

53 For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality.

54 So when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, “Death is swallowed up in victory.”

55 O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?

56 The sting of death is sin; and the strength of sin is the law.

57 But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory, through our Lord Jesus Christ.

58 Therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye stedfast, unmoveable, always abounding in the work of the Lord; forasmuch as ye know that your labour is not in vain in the Lord.

PARAPHRASE.

1 In what I am now going to say to you, brethren, I make known to you no other gospel, than what I formerly preached to you, and you received, and have hitherto professed, and by which alone you are to be2 saved. This you will find to be so, if you retain in your memories what it was that I preached to you, which you certainly do, unless you have taken up the christian name and profession to no purpose.3 For I delivered to you, and particularly insisted on this, which I had received, viz. that Christ died for our sins, according to the scriptures:4 And that he was buried, and that he was raised again, the third day, according to the scriptures: 5 And that he was seen by Peter; afterwards by the6 twelve apostles: And after that, by above five hundred christians at once; of whom the greatest part remain alive to this day, but some of them are deceased:7 Afterwards he was seen by James; and after8 that, by all the apostles: Last of all, he was seen9 by me also, as by one born before my time. For I am the least of the apostles, not worthy the name of an apostle; because I persecuted the church of10 God. But, by the free bounty of God, I am what it hath pleased him to make me: and this favour, which he hath bestowed on me, hath not been altogether fruitless; for I have laboured in preaching of the gospel, more than all the other apostles: which yet I do not ascribe to any thing of myself, but to11 the favour of God, which accompanied me. But whether I, or the other apostles, preached, this was that which we preached, and this was the faith ye were baptized into, viz. that Christ died, and rose 12 again the third day. If, therefore, this be so, if this be that, which has been preached to you, viz. that Christ has been raised from the dead; how comes it that some amongst you say, as they do, that there13 is no resurrection of the dead? And if there be no resurrection of the dead, then even Christ himself is14 not risen: And if Christ be not risen, our preaching is idle talk, and your believing it is to no purpose.15 And we, who pretend to be witnesses for God, and his truth, shall be found lyars, bearing witness against God, and his truth, affirming, that he raised Christ, whom in truth he did not raise, if it be so, that the16 dead are not raised. For if the dead shall not be17 raised, neither is Christ raised. And if Christ be not risen, your faith is to no purpose; your sins are not forgiven, but you are still liable to the punishment18 due to them. And they also, who died in the 19 belief of the gospel, are perished and lost. If the advantages we expect from Christ, are confined to this life, and we have no hope of any benefit from him, in another life hereafter, we christians are the20 most miserable of all men. But, in truth, Christ is actually risen from the dead, and become the first-fruits21 of those who were dead. For, since by man came death, by man came also the resurrection of22 the dead, or restoration to life. For, as the death that all men suffer, is owing to Adam, so the life, that all shall be restored to again, is procured them23 by Christ. But they shall return to life again not all at once, but in their proper order: Christ, the first-fruits, is already risen; next after him shall rise those, who are his people, his church, and this24 shall be at his second coming. After that shall be the day of judgment, which shall bring to a conclusion and finish the whole dispensation to the race and posterity of Adam, in this world: when Christ shall have delivered up the kingdom to God, the Father; which he shall not do, till he hath destroyed all empire, power, and authority, that25 shall be in the world besides. For he must reign, till he has totally subdued and brought all his enemies26 into subjection to his kingdom. The last enemy,27 that shall be destroyed, is death. For God hath subjected all things to Christ: but when it is said, “All things are subjected,” it is plain that he is to be excepted, who did subject all things to him.28 But when all things shall be actually reduced under subjection to him, then, even the Son himself, i. e. Christ and his whole kingdom, he and all his subjects and members, shall be subjected to him, that gave him this kingdom, and universal dominion, that God may immediately govern and influence all.29 Else, what shall they do, who are baptized for the30 dead? And, why do we venture our lives continually?31 As to myself, I am exposed, vilified, treated so, that I die daily. And for this I call to witness your glorying against me, in which I really glory, as coming on me for our Lord Jesus Christ’s sake.32 And particularly, to what purpose did I suffer myself to be exposed to wild beasts at Ephesus, if the dead rise not? If there be no resurrection, it is wiser a great deal to preserve ourselves, as long as we can, in a free enjoyment of all the pleasures of this life; for when death comes, as it shortly will,33 there is an end of us for ever. Take heed that you be not misled by such discourses: for evil communication34 is apt to corrupt even good minds. Awake from such dreams, as it is fit you should, and give not yourselves up sinfully to the enjoyments of this life. For there are some atheistical people among35 you: this I say to make you ashamed. But possibly it will be asked, “How comes it to pass, that dead men are raised, and with what kind of bodies do they come? Shall they have, at the resurrection, 36 “such bodies as they have now?” Thou fool! does not daily experience teach thee, that the seed, which thou sowest, corrupts and dies, before it37 springs up and lives again! That, which thou sowest, is the bare grain, of wheat, or barley, or the like; but the body, which it has, when it rises up, is different38 from the seed that is sown. For it is not the seed that rises up again, but a quite different body, such as God has thought fit to give it, viz. a plant, of a particular shape and size, which God has appointed39 to each sort of seed. And so, likewise, it is in animals; there are different kinds of flesh: for the flesh of men is of one kind: the flesh of cattle is of another kind; that of fish is different from them both; and the flesh of birds is of a peculiar sort, different40 from them all. To look yet farther into the difference of bodies, there be both heavenly and earthly bodies; but the beauty and excellency of the heavenly bodies is of one kind, and that of earthly41 bodies of another. The sun, moon, and stars, have each of them their particular beauty and brightness, and one star differs from another in42 glory. And so shall the resurrection of the dead  be: that, which is sown in this world, and comes to die, is a poor, weak, contemptible, corruptible43 thing: When it is raised again, it shall be powerful,44 glorious, and incorruptible. The body, we have here, surpasses not the animal nature. At the resurrection, it shall be spiritual. There are both45 animal and spiritual bodies. And so it is written, “The first man Adam was made a living soul,” i. e. made of an animal constitution, endowed with an animal life; the second Adam was made of a spiritual constitution, with a power to give life46 to others. Howbeit, the spiritual was not first, but the animal; and afterwards the spiritual. 47 The first man was of the earth, made up of dust, or earthy particles: the second man is the Lord from48 heaven. Those who have no higher an extraction, than barely from the earthy man, they, like him, have barely an animal life and constitution: but those, who are regenerate, and born of the heavenly seed, are, as49 he that is heavenly, spiritual and immortal. And as in the animal, corruptible, mortal state, we were born in, we have been like him, that was earthy; so also shall we, who, at the resurrection, partake of a spiritual life from Christ, be made like him, the Lord from heaven, heavenly, i. e. live, as the spirits in heaven do, without the need of food, or nourishment, to support it, and without infirmities, decay and50 death, enjoying a fixed, stable, unfleeting life. This I say to you, brethren, to satisfy those that ask, “with what bodies the dead shall come?” that we shall not at the resurrection have such bodies as we have now: for flesh and blood cannot enter into the kingdom, which the saints shall inherit in heaven; nor are such fleeting, corruptible things as our present bodies are, fitted to that state of immutable incorruptibility.51 To which let me add, what has not been hitherto discovered, viz. that we shall not all52 die, but we shall all be changed, In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the sounding of the last trumpet; for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall rise: and as many of us, believers, as are then53 alive, shall be changed. For this corruptible frame and constitution of ours, must put on incorruption,54 and from mortal become immortal. And, when we are got into that state of incorruptibility and immortality, then shall be fulfilled what was foretold in these words, “Death is swallowed up of victory;” i. e. death is perfectly subdued and exterminated, by a complete victory over it, so that 55 there shall be no death any more. Where, O death, is now that power, whereby thou deprivest men of life? What is become of the dominion of the grave, whereby they were detained prisoners there?56 That, which gives death the power of men is sin,57 and it is the law, by which sin has this power. But thanks be to God, who gives us deliverance and victory over death, the punishment of sin, by the law, through our Lord Jesus Christ, who has delivered58 us from the rigour of the law. Wherefore, my beloved brethren, continue stedfast and unmoveable in the christian faith, always abounding in your obedience to the precepts of Christ, and in those duties which are required of us, by our Lord and Saviour, knowing that your labour will not be lost. Whatsoever you shall do, or suffer for him, will be abundantly rewarded, by eternal life.

SECT. XI.

CHAPTER XVI. 1 — 4.

CONTENTS.

He gives directions concerning their contribution to the poor christians at Jerusalem.

TEXT.

1 Now concerning the collection for the saints, as I have given order to the churches of Galatia, even so do ye.

2 Upon the first day of the week, let every one of you lay by him in store, as God hath prospered him, that there be no gatherings when I come.

3 And when I come, whomsoever you shall approve by your letters, them will I send to bring your liberality unto Jerusalem.

4 And if it be meet that I go also, they shall go with me.

PARAPHRASE.

1 As to the collection for the converts to christianity, who are at Jerusalem, I would have you do, as I2 have directed the churches of Galatia. Let every one of you, according as he thrives in his calling, lay aside some part of his gain by itself, which, the first day of the week, let him put into the common treasury of the church, that there may be no need of3 any gathering, when I come. And when I come, those, whom you shall approve of, will I send with letters to Jerusalem, to carry thither your benevolence.4 Which if it deserves, that I also should go, they shall go along with me.

SECT. XII.

CHAPTER XVI. 5 — 12.

CONTENTS.

He gives them an account of his own, Timothy’s, and Apollos’s intention of coming to them.

TEXT.

5 Now I will come unto you, when I shall pass through Macedonia (for I do pass through Macedonia:)

6 And it may be, that I will abide, yea, and winter with you, that ye may bring me on my journey, whithersoever I go.

7 For I will not see you now, by the way; but I trust to tarry awhile with you, if the Lord permit.

8 But I will tarry at Ephesus until Pentecost.

9 For a great door, and effectual is opened unto me, and there are many adversaries.

10 Now if Timotheus come, see that he may be with you without fear: for he worketh the work of the Lord, as I also do.

11 Let no man, therefore, despise him; but conduct him forth in peace, that he may come unto me: for I look for him with the brethren.

12 As touching our brother Apollos, I greatly desired him to come unto you, with the brethren: but his will was not at all to come at this time; but he will come, when he shall have convenient time.

PARAPHRASE.

5 I will come unto you, when I have been in Macedonia;6 for I intend to take that in my way: And perhaps I shall make some stay, nay, winter with you, that you may bring me going on my way,7 whithersoever I go. For I do not intend just to call in upon you, as I pass by; but I hope to spend8 some time with you, if the Lord permit. But I shall stay at Ephesus till Pentecost, i. e. Whitsuntide.9 For now I have a very fair and promising opportunity given me of propagating the gospel, though10 there be many opposers. If Timothy come to you, pray take care, that he be easy, and without fear amongst you: for he promotes the work of the11 Lord, in preaching the gospel, even as I do. Let no-body, therefore, despise him; but treat him kindly, and bring him going, that he may come unto me: for I expect him with the brethren. 12 As to brother Apollos, I have earnestly endeavoured to prevail with him to come to you with the brethren: but he has no mind to it at all, at present. He will come, however, when there shall be a fit occasion.

SECT. XIII.

CHAPTER XVI. 13. — 24.

CONTENTS.

The conclusion, wherein St. Paul, according to his custom, leaves with them some, which he thinks most necessary, exhortations, and sends particular greetings.

TEXT.

13 Watch ye, stand fast in the faith, quit you like men, be strong.

14 Let all your things be done with charity.

15 I beseech you, brethren, (ye know the house of Stephanas, that it is the first-fruits of Achaia, and that they have addicted themselves to the ministry of the saints)

16 That ye submit yourselves unto such, and to every one that helpeth with us, and laboureth.

17 I am glad of the coming of Stephanas, and Fortunatus, and Achaicus: for that, which was lacking on your part, they have supplied.

18 For they have refreshed my spirit and yours: therefore, acknowledge ye them that are such.

19 The churches of Asia salute you. Aquila and Priscilla salute you much in the Lord, with the church that is in their house.

20 All the brethren greet you. Greet you one another with an holy kiss.

21 The salutation of me, Paul, with mine own hand.

22 If any man love not the Lord Jesus Christ, let him be anathema, maranatha.

23 The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you.

24 My love be with you all in Christ Jesus. Amen.

PARAPHRASE.

13 Be upon your guard, stand firm in the faith, behave yourselves like men, with courage and resolution:14 And whatever is done amongst you, either in public assemblies, or elsewhere, let it all be done with 15 affection, and good-will, one to another. You know the house of Stephanas, that they were the first converts of Achaia, and have all along made it16 their business to minister to the saints: To such, I beseech you to submit yourselves: let such as, with17 us, labour to promote the gospel, be your leaders. I am glad, that Stephanas, Fortunatus, and Achaicus came to me; because they have supplied what was18 deficient on your side. For, by the account they have given me of you, they have quieted my mind, and yours too: therefore have a regard to such19 men as these. The churches of Asia salute you, and so do Aquila and Priscilla, with much christian20 affection; with the church that is in their house. All the brethren here salute you: salute one another21 with an holy kiss. That, which followeth, is the22 salutation of me, Paul, with my own hand. If any one be an enemy to the Lord Jesus Christ, and his gospel, let him be accursed, or devoted to destruction. The Lord cometh to execute vengeance23 on him. The favour of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you. My love be with you all in Christ24 Jesus. Amen.

A PARAPHRASE AND NOTES ON THE SECOND EPISTLE OF ST. PAUL TO THE CORINTHIANS.

THE SECOND EPISTLE OF ST. PAUL TO THE CORINTHIANS; WRITTEN FROM ROME IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 57, OF NERO III.

SYNOPSIS.

Saint Paul having writ his first epistle to the corinthians, to try, as he says himself, chap. ii. 9, what power he had still with that church, wherein there was a great faction against him, which he was attempting to break, was in pain, till he found what success it had; chap. ii. 12, 13, and vii. 5. But when he had, by Titus, received an account of their repentance, upon his former letter, of their submission to his orders, and of their good disposition of mind towards him, he takes courage, speaks of himself more freely, and justifies himself more boldly; as may be seen, chap. i. 12, and ii. 14, and vi. 10, and x. 1, and xiii. 10. And, as to his opposers, he deals more roundly and sharply with them, than he had done in his former epistle; as appears from chap. ii. 17, and iv. 2 — 5, and v. 12, and vi. 11 — 16, and xi. 11, and xii. 15.

The observation of these particulars may possibly be of use to give us some light, for the better understanding of his second epistle, especially if we add, that the main business of this, as of his former epistle, is to take off the people from the new leader they had got, who was St. Paul’s opposer; and wholly to put an end to the faction and disorder, which that false apostle had caused in the church of Corinth. He also, in this epistle, stirs them up again to a liberal contribution to the poor saints at Jerusalem.

This epistle was writ in the same year, not long after the former.

SECT. I.

CHAPTER I. 1, 2.
INTRODUCTION.

TEXT.

1 Paul an apostle of Jesus Christ, by the will of God, and Timothy, our brother, unto the church of God, which is at Corinth, with all the saints, which are in all Achaia:

2 Grace be to you, and peace, from God our Father, and from the Lord Jesus Christ.

PARAPHRASE.

1 Paul, an apostle of Jesus Christ, by the will of God, and Timothy, our brother, to the church of God, which is in Corinth, with all the christians, that2 are in all Achaia: Favour and peace be to you, from God our Father, and from the Lord Jesus Christ.

SECT. II.

CHAPTER I. 3 — VII. 16.

CONTENTS.

This first part of this second epistle, of St. Paul to the corinthians, is spent in justifying himself, against several imputations, from the opposite faction; and setting himself right, in the opinion of the corinthians. The particulars whereof we shall take notice of, in the following numbers.

SECT. II. N. 1.

CHAPTER I. — 3 — 14.

CONTENTS.

He begins with justifying his former letter to them, which had afflicted them, (vid. chap. vii. 7, 8,) by telling them, that he thanks God for his deliverance out of his afflictions, because it enables him to comfort them, by the example, both of his affliction and deliverance; acknowledging the obligation he had to them, and others, for their prayers and thanks for his deliverance, which, he presumes, they could not but put up for him, since his conscience bears him witness (which was his comfort) that, in his carriage to all men, and to them more especially, he had been direct and sincere, without any self, or carnal interest; and that what he writ to them had no other design but what lay open, and they read in his words, and did also acknowledge; and he doubted not, but they should always acknowledge; part of them acknowledging also, that he was the man they gloried in, as they shall be his glory in the day of the Lord. From what St. Paul says, in this section, (which, if read with attention, will appear to be writ with a turn of great insinuation) it may be gathered, that the opposite faction endeavoured to evade the force of the former epistle, by suggesting, that, whatever he might pretend, St. Paul was a cunning, artificial, self-interested man, and had some hidden design in it, which accusation appears in other parts of this epistle: as chap. iv. 2, 5.

TEXT.

3 Blessed be God, even the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies, and the God of all comfort;

4 Who comforteth us, in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort them, which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God.

5 For as the sufferings of Christ abound in us, so our consolation also aboundeth by Christ.

6 And, whether we be afflicted, it is for your consolation and salvation, which is effectual, in the enduring of the same sufferings, which we also suffer: or, whether we be comforted, it is for your consolation and salvation.

7 And our hope of you is stedfast, knowing that, as you are partakers of the sufferings, so shall ye be also of the consolation.

8 For we would not, brethren, have you ignorant of our trouble, which came to us in Asia, that we were pressed out of measure, above strength; insomuch that we despaired even of life.

9 But we had the sentence of death in ourselves, that we should not trust in ourselves, but in God, which raised the dead:

10 Who delivered us from so great a death, and doth deliver; in whom we trust, that he will yet deliver us:

11 You also helping together by prayer for us: that, for the gift bestowed upon us, by the means of many persons, thanks may be given by many on our behalf.

12 For our rejoicing is this, the testimony of our conscience, that in simplicity, and godly sincerity, not with fleshly wisdom, but by the grace of God, we have had our conversation in the world, and more abundantly to you-wards.

13 For we write none other things unto you, than what you read, or acknowledge, and I trust you shall acknowledge even to the end.

14 As also you have acknowledged us in part, that we are your rejoicing, even as ye also are ours, in the day of the Lord Jesus.

PARAPHRASE.

3 Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies, and God of all consolation;4 Who comforteth me, in all my tribulations, that I may be able to comfort them, who are in any trouble,5 by the comfort, which I receive from him. Because, as I have suffered abundantly for Christ, so through Christ, I have been abundantly comforted; and both6 these, for your advantage. For my affliction is for your consolation and relief, which is effected by a patient enduring those sufferings whereof you see an example in me. And again, when I am comforted, it is for your consolation and relief, who may expect the like, from the same compassionate7 God and Father. Upon which ground, I have firm hopes, as concerning you; being assured, that as you have had your share of sufferings, so ye shall, likewise,8 have of consolation. For I would not have you ignorant, brethren, of the load of afflictions in Asia that were beyond measure heavy upon me, and beyond my strength: so that I could see no way9 of escaping with life. But I had the sentence of death in myself, that I might not trust in myself, but in God, who can restore to life even those who10 are actually dead: Who delivered me from so imminent a danger of death, who doth deliver, and in11 whom I trust, he will yet deliver me: You also joining the assistance of your prayers for me; so that thanks may be returned by many, for the deliverance procured me, by the prayers of many persons.12 For I cannot doubt of the prayers and concern of you, and many others for me; since my glorying in this, viz. the testimony of my own conscience, that, in plainness of heart, and sincerity before God, not in fleshly wisdom, but by the favour of God directing me, I have behaved myself towards all men, but more particularly towards you.13 For I have no design, no meaning, in what I write to you, but what lies open, and is legible, in what you read: and you yourselves cannot but acknowledge it to be so; and I hope you shall always acknowledge14 it to the end. As part of you have already acknowledged that I am your glory; as you will be mine, at the day of judgment, when, being my scholars and converts, ye shall be saved.

SECT. II. N. 2.

CHAPTER I. 15. — II. 17.

CONTENTS.

The next thing St. Paul justifies is, his not coming to them. St. Paul had promised to call on the corinthians, in his way to Macedonia; but failed. This his opposers would have to be from levity in him; or a mind, that regulated itself wholly by carnal interest; vid. ver. 17. To which he answers, that God himself, having confirmed him amongst them, by the unction and earnest of his Spirit, in the ministry of the gospel of his Son, whom he, Paul, had preached to them steadily the same, without any the least variation, or unsaying any thing, he had at any time delivered; they could have no ground to suspect him to be an unstable, uncertain man, that would play fast and loose with them, and could not be depended on, in what he said to them. This is what he says, ch. i. 15 — 22.

In the next place, he, with a solemn asseveration, professes, that it was to spare them, that he came not to them. This he explains, ch. i. 23, and ii. 2, 3.

He gives another reason, chap. ii. 12, 13, why he went on to Macedonia, without coming to Corinth, as he had purposed; and that was the uncertainty he was in, by the not coming of Titus, what temper they were in, at Corinth. Having mentioned his journey to Macedonia, he takes notice of the success, which God gave to him there, and every where, declaring of what consequence his preaching was, both to the salvation, and condemnation, of those, who received, or rejected it; professing again his sincerity and disinterestedness, not without a severe reflection on their false apostle. All which we find in the following verses, viz. ch. ii. 14 — 17, and is all very suitable, and pursuant to his design in this epistle, which was to establish his authority and credit amongst the corinthians.

TEXT.

15 And, in this confidence, I was minded to come unto you before, that you might have a second benefit;

16 And to pass by you into Macedonia, and to come again, out of Macedonia, unto you; and, of you, to be brought on my way towards Judea.

17 When I, therefore, was thus minded, did I use lightness? Or the things that I purpose, do I purpose according to the flesh, that with me there should be yea, yea, and nay, nay?

18 But, as God is true, our word toward you was not yea and nay.

19 For the Son of God, Jesus Christ, who was preached among you, by us, even by me, and Silvanus, and Timotheus, was not yea and nay; but in him was yea.

20 For all the promises of God in him are yea, and in him amen, unto the glory of God, by us.

21 Now he, which establisheth us with you, in Christ, and hath anointed us, is God:

22 Who hath also sealed us, and given the earnest of the Spirit, in our hearts.

23 Moreover, I call God for a record upon my soul, that to spare you, I came not as yet unto Corinth.

24 Not for that we have dominion over your faith, but are helpers of your joy; for, by faith, ye stand.

II. 1But I determined this with myself, that I would not come again to you in heaviness.

2 For if I make you sorry, who is he, then, that maketh me glad, but the same which is made sorry by me?

3 And I wrote this same unto you, lest, when I came, I should have sorrow from them, of whom I ought to rejoice; having confidence in you all, that my joy is the joy of you all.

4 For, out of much affliction and anguish of heart, I wrote unto you with many tears; not that you should be grieved, but that ye might know the love, which I have more abundantly unto you.

5 But, if any have caused grief, he hath not grieved me, but in part; that I may not overcharge you all.

6 Sufficient to such a man is this punishment, which was inflicted of many.

7 So that, contrariwise, ye ought rather to forgive him, and comfort him; lest perhaps such an one should be swallowed up with over-much sorrow.

8 Wherefore, I beseech you, that ye would confirm your love towards him.

9 For to this end, also, did I write, that I might know the proof of you, whether ye be obedient in all things.

10 To whom ye forgive any thing, I forgive also: for, if I forgive any thing, to whom I forgave it, for your sakes forgave I it, in the person of Christ.

11 Lest Satan should get an advantage of us: for we are not ignorant of his devices.

12 Furthermore, when I came to Troas, to preach Christ’s gospel, and a door was opened unto me of the Lord,

13 I had no rest in my spirit, because I found not Titus, my brother: but, taking my leave of them, I went from thence, into Macedonia.

14 Now thanks be unto God, which always causeth us to triumph in Christ, and maketh manifest the savour of his knowledge, by us, in every place.

15 For we are, unto God, a sweet savour of Christ, in them that are saved, and in them that perish.

16 To the one, we are the savour of death unto death; and to the other, the savour of life unto life; and who is sufficient for these things?

17 For we are not as many, which corrupt the word of God: but as of sincerity, but as of God, in the sight of God, speak we in Christ.

PARAPHRASE.

15 Having this persuasion, (viz.) of your love and esteem of me, I purposed to come unto you ere this, that you16 might have a second gratification; And to take you in my way to Macedonia, and from thence return to you again, and, by you, be brought on in17 my way to Judea. If this fell not out so, as I purposed, am I, therefore, to be condemned of fickleness? Or am I to be thought an uncertain man, that talks forwards and backwards, one that has no regard to his word, any farther than may suit his18 carnal interest? But God is my witness, that what you have heard from me, has not been uncertain,19 deceitful, or variable. For Jesus Christ, the Son of God, who was preached among you, by me, and Silvanus, and Timotheus, was not sometimes one thing and sometimes another; but has been shown to be uniformly one and the same, in the counsel,20 or revelation of God. (For the promises of God do all consent, and stand firm, in him) to the glory of21 God, by my preaching. Now it is God, who establishes me with you, for the preaching of the gospel,22 who has anointed, And also sealed me, and given me the earnest of his Spirit, in my heart. 23 Moreover, I call God to witness, and may I die if it is not so, that it was to spare you, that I came not24 yet to Corinth. Not that I pretend to such a dominion over your faith, as to require you to believe what I have taught you, without coming to you, when I am expected there, to maintain and make it good; for it is by that faith you stand: but I forbore to come, as one concerned to preserve and help forward your joy, which I am tender of, and therefore declined coming to you, whilst I thought you in an estate, that would require severity from me, thatII. 1. would trouble you. I purposed in myself, it is true, to come to you again, but I resolved too, it should 2 be, without bringing sorrow with me. For if I grieve you, who is there, when I am with you, to comfort me, but those very persons, whom I have discomposed3 with grief? And this very thing, which made you sad, I writ to you, not coming myself; on purpose that, when I came, I might not have sorrow from those, from whom I ought to receive comfort: having this belief and confidence in you all, that you, all of you, make my joy and satisfaction so much your own, that you would remove all cause of disturbance,4 before I came. For I writ unto you with great sadness of heart and many tears; not with an intention to grieve you, but that you might know the overflow5 of tenderness and affection, which I have for you. But if the fornicator has been the cause of grief, I do not say, he has been so to me, but in some degree to you 6 all; that I may not lay a load on him. The correction he hath received from the majority of you, is7 sufficient in the case. So that, on the contrary, it is fit rather that you forgive and comfort him, lest he should be swallowed up, by an excess of sorrow.8 Wherefore, I beseech you to confirm your love to9 him, which I doubt not of. For this, also, was one end of my writing to you, viz. To have a trial of you, and to know whether you are ready to obey me in10 all things. To whom you forgive any thing, I also forgive. For if I have forgiven any thing, I have forgiven it to him for your sakes, by the authority,11 and in the name of Christ; That we may not be over-reached by Satan: for we are not ignorant of his wiles. 12 Furthermore, being arrived at Troas, because Titus, whom I expected from Corinth, with news of you, was not come, I was very uneasy there; insomuch that I made not use of the opportunity, which was put into my hands by the Lord, of preaching the13 gospel of Christ, for which I came thither. I hastily left those of Troas, and departed thence to Macedonia.14 But thanks be to God, in that he always makes me triumph every-where, through Christ, who gives me success in preaching the gospel, and15 spreads the knowledge of Christ by me. For my ministry, and labour in the gospel, is a service, or sweet-smelling sacrifice to God, through Christ, both in regard of those that are saved, and those that perish.16 To the one my preaching is of ill savour, unacceptable and offensive, by their rejecting whereof they draw death on themselves; and to the other, being as a sweet savour, acceptable, they thereby receive eternal life. And who is sufficient for these things? And yet, as I said, my service in the gospel is well-pleasing17 to God. For I am not, as several are, who are hucksters of the word of God, preaching it for gain; but I preach the gospel of Jesus Christ, in sincerity. I speak, as from God himself, and I deliver it, as in the presence of God.

SECT. II. N. 3.

CHAPTER III. 1. — VII. 16.

CONTENTS.

His speaking well of himself (as he did sometimes in his first epistle, and, with much more freedom, in this, which, as it seems, had been objected to him, amongst the corinthians) his plainness of speech, and his sincerity in preaching the gospel, are the things, which he chiefly justifies, in this section, many ways. We shall observe his arguments, as they come in the order of St. Paul’s discourse, in which are mingled, with great insinuation, many expressions of an overflowing kindness to the corinthians, not without some exhortations to them.

TEXT.

1 Do we begin, again, to commend ourselves? or need we as some others, epistles of commendation, to you, or letters of commendation, from you?

2 Ye are our epistle, written in our hearts, known and read of all men:

3 Forasmuch as ye are manifestly declared to be the epistle of Christ, ministered by us, written, not with ink, but with the Spirit of the living God; not in tables of stone, but in fleshly tables of the heart.

4 And such trust have we, through Christ to Godward.

5 Not that we are sufficient of ourselves, to think any thing, as of ourselves; but our sufficiency is of God:

6 Who also hath made us able ministers of the New Testament, not of the letter, but of the spirit; for the letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life.

7 But if the ministration of death written and ingraven in stones, was glorious, so that the children of Israel could not stedfastly behold the face of Moses, for the glory of his countenance, which glory was to be done away;

8 How shall not the ministration of the Spirit be rather glorious?

9 For if the ministration of condemnation be glory, much more doth the ministration of righteousness exceed in glory.

10 For even that, which was made glorious, had no glory, in this respect, by reason of the glory that excelleth.

11 For, if that which is done away was glorious, much more that, which remaineth, is glorious.

12 Seeing then, that we have such hope, we use great plainness of speech.

13 And not as Moses, which put a veil over his face, that the children of Israel could not stedfastly look to the end of that which is abolished.

14 But their minds were blinded; for until this day remaineth the same veil untaken away, in the reading of the Old Testament; which veil is done away in Christ.

15 But even unto this day, when Moses is read, the veil is upon their heart.

16 Nevertheless, when it shall turn to the Lord, the veil shall be taken away.

17 Now the Lord is that Spirit: and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty.

18 But we all, with open face, beholding, as in a glass, the glory of the Lord, are changed into the same image, from glory to glory, even as by the Spirit of the Lord.

IV. 1.Therefore, seeing we have this ministry, as we have received mercy, we faint not:

2 But have renounced the hidden things of dishonesty, not walking in craftiness, nor handling the word of God deceitfully; but, by manifestation of the truth, commending ourselves to every man’s conscience, in the sight of God.

3 But, if our gospel be hid, it is hid to them that are lost:

4 In whom the god of this world hath blinded the minds of them which believe not, lest the light of the glorious gospel of Christ, who is the image of God, should shine unto them.

5 For we preach not ourselves, but Christ Jesus the Lord; and ourselves your servants for Jesus’ sake.

6 For God, who commanded the light to shine out of darkness, hath shined in our hearts, to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God, in the face of Jesus Christ.

7 But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellency of the power may be of God, and not of us.

8 We are troubled, on every side, yet not distressed; we are perplexed, but not in despair;

9 Persecuted, but not forsaken; cast down, but not destroyed;

10 Always bearing about in the body the dying of the Lord Jesus, that the life also of Jesus might be made manifest in our body.

11 For we, which live, are alway delivered unto death for Jesus sake, that the life also of Jesus might be made manifest in our mortal flesh.

12 So then death worketh in us; but life in you.

13 We having the same Spirit of faith according as it is written, “I believed, and therefore have I spoken:” we also believe, and therefore speak;

14 Knowing that he, which raised up the Lord Jesus, shall raise up us also, by Jesus, and shall present us with you.

15 For all things are for your sakes, that the abundant grace might, through the thanksgiving of many, redound to the glory of God.

16 For which cause we faint not; but, though our outward man perish, yet the inward man is renewed day by day.

17 For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.

18 While we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen, are temporal, but the things which are not seen, are eternal.

V. 1For we know, that if our earthly house of this tabernacle were dissolved, we have a building of God, an house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.

2 For in this we groan earnestly, desiring to be cloathed upon, with our house, which is from heaven:

3 If so be, that being cloathed we shall not be found naked.

4 For we, that are in this tabernacle, do groan, being burdened: not for that we would be unclothed, but clothed upon, that mortality might be swallowed up of life.

5 Now he, that hath wrought us for the self-same thing, is God; who also hath given unto us the earnest of the Spirit.

6 Therefore, we are always confident, knowing that whilst we are at home in the body we are absent from the Lord:

7 (For we walk by faith, not by sight.)

8 We are confident, I say, and willing rather to be absent from the body, and to be present with the Lord.

9 Wherefore we labour, that, whether present or absent, we may be accepted of him.

10 For we must all appear before the judgment-seat of Christ, that every one may receive the things done in his body, according to that he hath done, whether it be good or bad.

11 Knowing, therefore, the terrour of the Lord, we persuade men; but we are made manifest unto God, and I trust, also, are made manifest in your consciences.

12 For we commend not ourselves again unto you, but give you occasion to glory on our behalf, that you may have somewhat to answer them, which glory in appearance, and not in heart.

13 For, whether we be beside ourselves, it is to God: or, whether we be sober, it is for your cause.

14 For the love of Christ constraineth us, because we thus judge, that, if one died for all, then were all dead:

15 And that he died for all, that they, which live, should not henceforth live unto themselves, but unto him, which died for them, and rose again.

16 Wherefore, henceforth, know we no man after the flesh: yea, though we have known Christ after the flesh, yet now henceforth know we him no more.

17 Therefore, if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are past away, behold, all things are become new.

18 And all things are of God, who hath reconciled us to himself by Jesus Christ, and hath given to us the ministry of reconciliation;

19 To wit, that God was in Christ, reconciling the world unto himself, not imputing their trespasses unto them; and hath committed unto us the word of reconciliation.

20 Now then we are ambassadors for Christ, as though God did beseech you by us: we pray you, in Christ’s stead, be ye reconciled to God.

21 For he hath made him to be sin for us, who knew no sin; that we might be made the righteousness of God in him.

VI. 1.We then as workers together with him, beseech you also, that ye receive not the grace of God in vain:

2 (For he saith, “I have heard thee in a time accepted, and in the day of salvation have I succoured thee:” behold, now is the accepted time; behold, now is the day of salvation!)

3 Giving no offence, in any thing, that the ministry be not blamed:

4 But, in all things, approving ourselves, as the ministers of God, in much patience, in afflictions, in necessities, in distresses,

5 In stripes, in imprisonments, in tumults, in labours, in watchings, in fastings.

6 By pureness, by knowledge, by long-suffering, by kindness, by the Holy Ghost, by love, unfeigned.

7 By the word of truth, by the power of God, by the armour of righteousness, on the right hand, and on the left.

8 By honour and dishonour, by evil report and good report: as deceivers, and yet true;

9 As unknown, and yet well known; as dying, and behold we live; as chastened, and not killed;

10 As sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, and yet possessing all things.

11 O ye corinthians, our mouth is open unto you, our heart is enlarged.

12 Ye are not straitened in us, but ye are straitened in your own bowels.

13 Now, for a recompence in the same, (I speak as unto my children) be ye also enlarged.

14 Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers: for what fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness? And what communion hath light with darkness?

15 And what concord hath Christ with Belial? Or what part hath he that believeth with an infidel?

16 And what agreement hath the temple of God with idols? For ye are the temple of the living God; as God hath said, “I will dwell in them, and walk in them; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people.”

17 Wherefore, “Come out from among them, and be ye separate, saith the Lord, and touch not the unclean thing; and I will receive you.

18 “And will be a Father unto you, and ye shall be my sons and daughters,” saith the Lord Almighty.

VII. 1Having therefore these promises, (dearly beloved) let us cleanse ourselves from all filthiness of the flesh and spirit, perfecting holiness in the fear of God.

2 Receive us: we have wronged no man, we have corrupted no man, we have defrauded no man.

3 I speak not this to condemn you: for I have said before, that you are in our hearts, to die and live with you.

4 Great is my boldness of speech toward you, great is my glorying of you: I am filled with comfort, I am exceeding joyful, in all our tribulation.

5 For, when we were come into Macedonia, our flesh had no rest, but we were troubled on every side; without were fightings, within were fears.

6 Nevertheless, God, that comforteth those that are cast down, comforted us, by the coming of Titus:

7 And not by his coming only, but by the consolation, wherewith he was comforted in you, when he told us your earnest desire, your mourning, your fervent mind toward me; so that I rejoiced the more.

8 For, though I made you sorry with a letter, I do not repent; though I did repent; for I perceive that the same epistle made you sorry, though it were but for a season.

9 Now I rejoice, not that ye were made sorry, but that ye sorrowed to repentance: for ye were made sorry, after a godly manner, that ye might receive damage by us in nothing.

10 For godly sorrow worketh repentance to salvation, not to be repented of: but the sorrow of the world worketh death.

11 For, behold, this self-same thing that ye sorrowed, after a godly sort, what carefulness it wrought in you: yea, what clearing of yourselves; yea, what indignation; yea, what fear; yea, what vehement desire; yea, what zeal; yea, what revenge! in all things ye have approved yourselves to be clear in this matter.

12 Wherefore, though I wrote unto you, I did it not for his cause, that had done the wrong, nor for his cause, that suffered wrong, but that our care for you, in the sight of God, might appear unto you.

13 Therefore, we were comforted in your comfort: yea, and exceedingly the more joyed we, for the joy of Titus, because his spirit was refreshed by you all.

14 For if I have boasted any thing to him of you, I am not ashamed; but as we spake all things to you in truth, even so our boasting, which I made before Titus, is found a truth.

15 And his inward affection is more abundant toward you, whilst he remembereth the obedience of you all, how with fear and trembling you received him.

16 I rejoice, therefore, that I have confidence in you, in all things.

PARAPHRASE.

1 Do I begin again to commend myself; or need I, as2 some, commendatory letters to, or from you? You are my commendatory epistle, written in my heart,3 known and read by all men. I need no other commendatory letter, but that you being manifested to be the commendatory epistle of Christ, written on my behalf; not with ink, but with the Spirit of the living God; not on tables of stone, but of the heart, whereof I was the amanuensis; i. e. your conversation4 was the effect of my ministry. And this so great confidence have I, through Christ, in God. 5 Not as if I were sufficient of myself to reckon upon any thing, as of myself; but my sufficiency, my ability,6 to perform any thing, is wholly from God: Who has fitted and enabled me to be a minister of the New Testament, not of the letter, but of the spirit; for7 the letter kills, but the spirit gives life. But, if the ministry of the law written in stone, which condemns to death, were so glorious to Moses, that his face shone so, that the children of Israel could not steadily behold the brightness of it, which was but temporary,8 and was quickly to vanish; How can it be otherwise, but that the ministry of the Spirit which giveth life should confer more glory and lustre on the ministers9 of the gospel? For, if the ministration of condemnation were glory, the ministry of justification, in the gospel, doth certainly much more exceed in10 glory. Though even the glory, that Moses’s ministration had, was no glory, in comparison of the far more11 excelling glory of the gospel-ministry. Farther, if that which is temporary, and to be done away, were delivered with glory, how much rather is that, which remains, without being done away, to appear12 in glory? Wherefore, having such hope, we13 use great freedom and plainness of speech. And not as Moses, who put a veil over his face, do we veil the light; so that the obscurity of what we deliver should hinder the children of Israel from seeing, in the law, which was to be done away, Christ,14 who was the end of the law. But their not seeing it, is from the blindness of their own minds: for, unto this day, the same veil remains upon their understandings, in reading of the Old Testament; which veil is done away in Christ; i. e. Christ, now he is come, so exactly answers all the types, prefigurations, and predictions of him, in the Old Testament, that presently, upon turning our eyes upon him, he visibly appears to be the person designed, and all the obscurity of those passages concerning him, which before were not understood, is taken15 away, and ceases. Nevertheless, even until now, when the writings of Moses are read, the veil remains upon their hearts, they see not the spiritual and16 evangelical truths contained in them. But, when their heart shall turn to the Lord, and, laying by prejudice and aversion, shall be willing to receive the truth, the veil shall be taken away, and they shall plainly see him to be the person spoken of, and intended. 17 But the Lord is the Spirit, whereof we are ministers; and they, who have this Spirit, they have liberty, so that they speak openly and freely.18 But we, all the faithful ministers of the New Testament, not veiled, but with open countenances, as mirrours, reflecting the glory of the Lord, are changed into his very image, by a continued succession of glory, as it were, streaming upon us from the Lord, who is the Spirit, who gives us thisIV. 1. clearness and freedom. Seeing, therefore, I am intrusted with such a ministry, as this, according as I have received great mercy, being extraordinarily and miraculously called, when I was a persecutor, I do not fail, nor flag: I do not behave myself unworthily in it, nor misbecoming the honour2 and dignity of such an employment: But, having renounced all unworthy and indirect designs, which will not bear the light, free from craft, and from playing any deceitful tricks, in my preaching the word of God; I recommend myself to every one’s conscience, only by making plain the truth which I deliver, as3 in the presence of God. But if the gospel, which I preach, be obscure and hidden, it is so, only to those4 who are lost: In whom, being unbelievers, the God of this world has blinded their minds, so that the glorious brightness of the light of the gospel of Christ, who is the image of God, cannot enlighten them.5 For I seek not my own glory, or secular advantage, in preaching, but only the propagating of the gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ; professing myself your servant6 for Jesus’ sake. For God, who made light to shine out of darkness, hath enlightened also my dark heart, who before saw not the end of the law, that I might communicate the knowledge and light of the glory of God, which shines in the face of Jesus 7 Christ. But yet we, to whom this treasure of knowledge, the gospel of Jesus Christ, is committed, to be propagated in the world, are but frail men: that so the exceeding great power, that accompanies it, may8 appear to be from God and not from us. I am pressed on every side, but do not shrink; I am perplexed,9 but yet not so as to despond; Persecuted, but yet not left to sink under it; thrown down, but10 not slain; Carrying about every-where, in my body, the mortification, i. e. a representation of the sufferings of the Lord Jesus, that also the life of Jesus, risen from the dead, may be made manifest by the energy, that accompanies my preaching in this frail11 body. For, as long as I live, I shall be exposed to the danger of death, for the sake of Jesus, that the life of Jesus, risen from the dead, may be made manifest by my preaching, and sufferings, in this mortal12 flesh of mine. So that the preaching of the gospel procures sufferings and danger of death to me; but to you it procures life, i. e. the energy of the Spirit of Christ, whereby he lives in, and gives life to those13 who believe in him. Nevertheless, though suffering and death accompany the preaching of the gospel; yet, having the same Spirit of faith that David had, when he said, “I believe, therefore have I14 spoken,” I also, believing, therefore speak; Knowing that he, who raised up the Lord Jesus, shall raise me up also, by Jesus, and present me, with you,15 to God. For I do, and suffer, all things, for your sakes, that the exuberant favour of God may abound, by the thanksgiving of a greater number, to the glory of God; i. e. I endeavour, by my sufferings and preaching, to make as many converts as I can, that so the more partaking of the mercy and favour of God, of which there is a plentiful and inexhaustible store, the more may give thanks unto him, it being more for the glory of God, that a greater16 number should give thanks and pray to him. For which reason I faint not, I flag not; but though my bodily strength decay, yet the vigour of my mind17 is daily renewed. For the more my sufferings are here in propagating the gospel, which at worst are but transient and light, the more will they procure me an exceedingly far greater addition of that glory18 in heaven, which is solid and eternal; I having no regard to the visible things of this world, but to the invisible things of the other: for the things, that are seen, are temporal; but those, that are not seen, eternal.V. 1 For I know, that if this my body, which is but as a tent for my sojourning here upon earth, for a short time, were dissolved, I shall have another, of a divine original, which shall not, like buildings made with men’s hands, be subject to decay, but shall be2 eternal in the heavens. For in this tabernacle, I groan earnestly, desiring, without putting off this mortal, earthly body, by death, to have that celestial3 body superinduced; If so be the coming of Christ shall overtake me, in this life, before I put off4 this body. For we, that are in the body, groan under the pressures and inconveniencies, that attend us in it; which yet we are not, therefore, willing to put off, but had rather, without dying, have it changed into a celestial, immortal body, that so this mortal state may be put an end to, by an immediate entrance5 into an immortal life. Now it is God, who prepares and fits us for this immortal state, who also6 gives us the Spirit as a pledge of it. Wherefore, being always undaunted, and knowing, that whilst I dwell, or sojourn, in this body, I am absent from my7 proper home, which is with the Lord, (For I regulate my conduct, not by the enjoyment of the visible things of this world, but by my hope and expectation of the8 invisible things of the world to come) I, with boldness, preach the gospel, preferring, in my choice, the quitting this habitation to get home to the Lord.9 Wherefore, I make this my only aim, whether staying here in this body, or departing out of it, so to10 acquit myself, as to be acceptable to him. For we must all appear before the judgment-seat of Christ, that every one may receive according to what he has done in the body, whether it be good,11 or bad. Knowing, therefore, this terrible judgment of the Lord, I preach the gospel, persuading men to be christians. And with what integrity I discharge that duty, is manifest to God, and I trust, you also are convinced of it, in your consciences.12 And this I say, not that I commend myself again: but that I may give you an occasion not to be ashamed of me, but to glory on my behalf, having wherewithal to reply to those, who make a show of glorying in outward appearance, without doing so13 inwardly in their hearts. For if I am besides myself, in speaking, as I do of myself, it is between God and me; he must judge: men are not concerned in it, nor hurt by it. Or, if I do it soberly, and upon good ground; if what I profess of myself be in reality true, it is for your sake and advantage.14 For it is the love of Christ constraineth me, judging as I do, that, if Christ died for all, then15 all were dead: And that, if he died for all, his intention was, that they who by him have attained to a state of life, should not any longer live to themselves alone, seeking only their own private advantage; but should employ their lives in promoting the gospel and kingdom of Christ, who for them died,16 and rose again: So that, from henceforth, I have no regard to any one, according to the flesh, i. e. for being circumcised, or a jew. For, if I myself have gloried in this, that Christ himself was circumcised, as I am, and was of my blood and nation, I do so17 now no more any longer. So that if any one be in Christ, it is, as if he were in a new creation, wherein all former, mundane relations, considerations, and interests, are ceased, and at an end; all things in18 that state are new to him: And he owes his very being in it, and the advantages he therein enjoys, not, in the least measure, to his birth, extraction, or any legal observances, or privileges, but wholly19 and solely to God alone; Reconciling the world to himself by Jesus Christ, and not imputing their trespasses to them. And therefore I, whom God hath reconciled to himself, and to whom he hath given the ministry, and committed the word of his reconciliation;20 As an ambassador for Christ, as though God did by me beseech you, I pray you in Christ’s21 stead, be ye reconciled to God. For God hath made him subject to sufferings and death, the punishment and consequence of sin, as if he had been a sinner, though he were guilty of no sin; that we, in and by him, might be made righteous, by a righteousnessVI. 1 imputed to us by God. I therefore, working together with him, beseech you also, that you receive not the favour of God, in the gospel,2 preached to you, in vain. (For he saith, “I have heard thee in a time accepted, and in the day of salvation have I succoured thee:” behold, now is the accepted time; behold, now is the day of salvation!)3 Giving no offence to any one, in any thing, that the4 ministry be not blamed: But, in every thing, approving myself, as becomes the minister of God, by much5 patience, in afflictions, in necessities, in straits, In stripes, in imprisonments, in being tossed up and6 down, in labours, in watchings, in fastings; By a life undefiled; by knowledge; by long-sufferings; by the7 gifts of the Holy Ghost; by love unfeigned; By preaching the gospel of truth sincerely; by the power of God, assisting my ministry; by uprightness of mind, wherewith I am armed at all points, both to do8 and to suffer; By honour and disgrace; by good and9 bad report: as a deceiver, and yet faithful; As an obscure, unknown man, but yet known and owned; as one often in danger of death, and yet, behold, I10 live; as chastened, but yet not killed; As sorrowful, but yet always rejoicing; as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, and yet possessing11 all things. O ye corinthians, my mouth is opened to you, my heart is enlarged to you; my affection, my tenderness, my compliance for you is not strait,12 or narrow. It is your own narrowness makes you13 uneasy. Let me speak to you, as a father to his children; in return, do you, likewise, enlarge your14 affections and deference to me. Be ye not associated with unbelievers, having nothing to do with them in their vices, or worship: for what fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness? What15 communion hath light with darkness? What concord hath Christ with Belial? Or what part16 hath a believer with an unbeliever? What agreement hath the temple of God with idols? For ye are the temple of the living God; as God hath said, “I will dwell in them, among them will I walk; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people.”17 Wherefore, “Come out from among them, and be separate, saith the Lord, and touch not the18 unclean thing, and I will receive you to me; And I will be a Father, and ye shall be my sons andVII. 1 daughters,” saith the Lord Almighty. Having therefore, these promises, (dearly beloved) let us cleanse ourselves from the defilement of all sorts of sins, whether of body or mind, endeavouring after2 perfect holiness, in the fear of God. Receive me, as one to be hearkened to, as one to be followed, as one that hath done nothing to forfeit your esteem. I have wronged no man: I have corrupted no man:3 I have defrauded no man. I say not this to reflect on your carriage towards me: for I have already assured you, that I have so great an affection4 for you, that I could live and die with you. But, in the transport of my joy, I use great liberty of speech towards you. But let it not be thought to be of ill-will, for I boast much of you: I am filled with comfort, and my joy abounds exceedingly in all my5 afflictions. For when I came to Macedonia, I had no respite from continual trouble, that beset me on every side. From without, I met with strife and opposition, in preaching the gospel: and within, I was filled with fear, upon your account; lest the false apostle, continuing his credit and faction amongst you, should pervert you from the simplicity of the6 gospel. But God, who comforteth those who are cast down, comforted me, by the coming of Titus.7 Not barely by his presence, but by the comfort I received from you, by him, when he acquainted me with your great desire of conforming yourselves to my orders; your trouble for any neglects, you have been guilty of, towards me; the great warmth of your affection and concern for me; so that I rejoiced8 the more, for my past fears; Having writ to you a letter, which I repented of, but now do not repent of, perceiving, that, though that letter grieved you,9 it made you sad but for a short time: But now I rejoice, not that you were made sorry, but that you were made sorry to repentance. For this proved a beneficial sorrow, acceptable to God, that, in nothing, you might have cause to complain, that you were10 damaged by me. For godly sorrow worketh repentance to salvation, not to be repented of: but sorrow arising from worldly interest, worketh death.11 In the present case, mark it, that godly sorrow, which you had, what carefulness it wrought in you, to conform yourselves to my orders; yea, what clearing yourselves from your former miscarriages; yea, what indignation against those who led you into them; yea, what fear to offend me; yea, what vehement desire of satisfying me; yea, what zeal for me; yea, what revenge against yourselves, for having been so misled! You have shown yourselves to be set right, and be, as you should be, in every12 thing, by this carriage of yours. If, therefore, I wrote unto you, concerning the fornicator, it was not for his sake, that had done, nor his that had suffered the wrong; but principally, that my care and concern for you might be made known to you,13 as in the presence of God. Therefore, I was comforted in your comfort: but much more exceedingly rejoiced I, in the joy of Titus; because his mind was set at ease, by the good disposition he found you all14 in towards me. So that I am not ashamed of having boasted of you to him. For all that I have said to you, is truth; so, what I said to Titus, in your commendation, he has found to be true; 15 Whereby his affection to you is abundantly increased, he carrying in his mind the universal obedience of you all, unanimously to me, and the manner of your receiving him with fear and trembling.16 I rejoice, therefore, that I have confidence in you in all things.

SECT. III.

CHAPTER VIII. 1. — IX. 15.

CONTENTS.

The apostle having employed the seven foregoing chapters, in his own justification, in the close whereof he expresses the great satisfaction he had, in their being all united again, in their affection, and obedience to him; he, in the two next chapters, exhorts them, especially by the example of the churches of Macedonia, to a liberal contribution to the poor christians in Judea.

TEXT.

1 Moreover, brethren, we do you to wit of the grace of God, bestowed on the churches of Macedonia.

2 How that, in a great trial of affliction, the abundance of their joy, and their deep poverty, abounded unto the riches of their liberality.

3 For to their power, (I bear record) yea, and beyond their power, they were willing of themselves;

4 Praying us, with much intreaty, that we would receive the gift, and take upon us the fellowship of the ministering to the saints.

5 And this they did, not as we hoped; but first gave their own selves to the Lord, and unto us by the will of God.

6 Insomuch that we desired Titus, that, as he had begun, so he would also finish in you the same grace also.

7 Therefore, as ye abound in every thing, in faith, in utterance, and knowledge, and in all diligence, and in your love to us; see that you abound in this grace also.

8 I speak not by commandment, but by occasion of the forwardness of others, and to prove the sincerity of your love.

9 For ye know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet, for your sakes, he became poor, that ye, through his poverty, might be rich.

10 And herein I give my advice: for this is expedient for you, who have begun before, not only to do, but also to be forward a year ago.

11 Now, therefore, perform the doing of it; that, as there was a readiness to will, so there may be a performance also, out of that which you have.

12 For, if there be first a willing mind, it is accepted according to that a man hath, and not according to that he hath not.

13 For I mean not, that other men may be eased, and you burdened:

14 But, by an equality, that now, at this time, your abundance may be a supply for their want; that their abundance also may be a supply for your want, that there may be equality;

15 As it is written, “He that hath gathered much, had nothing over; and he that had gathered little, had no lack.”

16 But thanks be to God, which put the same earnest care into the heart of Titus, for you.

17 For, indeed, he accepted the exhortation; but being more forward, of his own accord, he went unto you.

18 And we have sent with him the brother, whose praise is in the gospel, throughout all the churches:

19 (And not that only, but who was also chosen of the churches to travel with us, with this grace, which is administered by us to the glory of the same Lord, and declaration of your ready mind)

20 Avoiding this, that no man should blame us in this abundance, which is administered by us:

21 Providing for honest things, not only in the sight of the Lord, but also in the sight of men.

22 And we have sent with them our brother, whom we have oftentimes proved diligent in many things; but now much more diligent, upon the great confidence which I have in you.

23 Whether any do inquire of Titus, he is my partner, and fellow-helper concerning you: or our brethren be inquired of, they are the messengers of the churches, and the glory of Christ.

24 Wherefore show ye to them, and before the churches, the proof of your love, and of our boasting on your behalf.

IX. 1.For, as touching the ministering to the saints, it is superfluous for me to write to you.

2 For I know the forwardness of your mind, for which I boast of you to them of Macedonia, that Achaia was ready a year ago, and your zeal hath provoked very many.

3 Yet have I sent the brethren, lest our boasting of you should be in vain, in this behalf; that, as I said, ye may be ready:

4 Lest haply, if they of Macedonia come with me, and find you unprepared, we (that we say not you) should be ashamed in this same confident boasting.

5 Therefore, I thought it necessary to exhort the brethren, that they would go before unto you, and make up before-hand your bounty, whereof ye had notice before, that the same might be ready as a matter of bounty, and not as of covetousness.

6 But this I say, He, which soweth sparingly, shall reap also sparingly: and he, which soweth bountifully, shall reap also bountifully.

7 Every man, according as he purposeth in his heart, so let him give; not grudgingly, or of necessity: for God loveth a chearful giver.

8 And God is able to make all grace abound towards you; that ye, always having all-sufficiency, in all things, may abound to every good work:

9 (As it is written, “He hath dispersed abroad; he hath given to the poor: his righteousness remaineth for ever.”

10 Now he that ministereth seed to the sower, both minister bread for your food, and multiply your seed sown, and increase the fruits of your righteousness:)

11 Being enriched in every thing to all bountifulness, which causeth, through us, thanksgiving to God.

12 For the administration of this service, not only supplieth the want of the saints, but is abundant also, by many thanksgivings unto God.

13 (Whilst, by the experiment of this ministration, they glorify God, for your professed subjection unto the gospel of Christ, and for your liberal distribution unto them, and unto all men;)

14 And, by their prayer for you, which long after you, for the exceeding grace of God in you.

15 Thanks be unto God for his unspeakable gift.

PARAPHRASE.

1 Moreover, brethren, I make known to you the gift, which, by the grace of God, is given in the churches 2 of Macedonia: viz. That amidst the afflictions they have been much tried with, they have, with exceeding chearfulness and joy, made their very low estate of poverty yield a rich contribution of liberality:3 Being forward of themselves (as I must bear them witness) to the utmost of their power; nay, and beyond4 their power: Earnestly intreating me to receive their contribution, and be a partner with others, in the charge of conveying and distributing it to the5 saints. And in this they out-did my expectation, who could not hope for so large a collection from them. But they gave themselves first to the Lord, and to me, to dispose of what they had, according as the good6 pleasure of God should direct. Insomuch that I was moved to persuade Titus, that, as he had begun, so he would also see this charitable contribution carried7 on among you, till it was perfected: That, as you excel in every thing, abounding in faith, in well-speaking, in knowledge, in every good quality, and in your affection to me; ye might abound in this act of8 charitable liberality also. This I say to you, not as a command from God, but on occasion of the great liberality of the churches of Macedonia, and to show the world a proof of the genuine, noble temper of your9 love. For ye know the munificence of our Lord Jesus Christ, who, being rich, made himself poor for your sakes, that you, by his poverty, might become10 rich. I give you my opinion in the case, because it becomes you so to do, as having begun not only to do something in it, but to show a willingness to it,11 above a year ago. Now, therefore, apply yourselves to the doing of it in earnest; so that, as you undertook it readily, you would as readily perform it, out12 of what you have: For every man’s charity is accepted by God, according to the largeness and willingness of his heart, in giving, and not according13 to the narrowness of his fortune. For my meaning is not, that you should be burthened to ease others:14 But that, at this time, your abundance should make up, what they, through want, come short in; that, on another occasion, their abundance may supply15 your deficiency, that there may be an equality: As it is written, “He that had much, had nothing16 over, and he that had little, had no lack.” But thanks be to God, who put into the heart of Titus the17 same concern for you, Who not only yielded to my exhortation: but, being more than ordinary concerned for you, of his own accord went unto you:18 With whom I have sent the brother, who has praise through all the churches, for his labour in the 19 gospel: (And not that only, but who was also chosen of the churches, to accompany me, in the carrying this collection, which service I undertook for the glory of our Lord, and for your encouragement to20 a liberal contribution:) To prevent any aspersion might be cast on me, by any one, on occasion of my meddling with the management of so great a sum;21 And to take care, by having such men joined with me, in the same trust, that my integrity and credit should be preserved, not only in the sight of the22 Lord, but also in the sight of men. With them I have sent our brother, of whom I have had frequent experience, in sundry affairs, to be a forward, active man; but now much more earnestly intent, by reason of the strong pursuasion he has, of your contributing23 liberally. Now, whether I speak of Titus, he is my partner, and one, who, with me, promotes your interest; or the two other brethren sent with him, they are the messengers of the churches of Macedonia, by whom their collection is sent, and are24 promoters of the glory of Christ. Give, therefore, to them, and, by them, to those churches, a demonstration of your love, and a justification of my boastingIX. 1 of you. For, as touching the relief of the poor christians in Jerusalem, it is needless for me to write2 to you. For I know the forwardness of your minds, which I boasted of on your behalf, to the macedonians, that Achaia was ready a year ago, and your zeal in3 this matter hath been a spur to many others. Yet I have sent these brethren, that my boasting of you may not appear to be vain and groundless, in this part; but that you may, as I said, have your collection4 ready: Lest, if perchance the macedonians should come with me, and find it not ready, I (not to say, you) should be ashamed in this matter, whereof I5 have boasted. I thought it, therefore, necessary to put the brethren upon going before unto you, to prepare things, by a timely notice before-hand, that your contribution may be ready, as a free benevolence of yours, and not as a niggardly gift, extorted from6 you. This I say, “He who soweth sparingly, shall reap also sparingly; and he who soweth plentifully,7 shall also reap plentifully.” So give, as you find yourselves disposed, every one, in his own heart, not grudgingly, as if it were wrung from you; for8 God loves a chearful giver. For God is able to make every charitable gift of yours redound to your advantage; that, you having in every thing, always, a fulness of plenty, ye may abound in every9 good work: (As it is written, “He hath scattered, he hath given to the poor, and his liberality remaineth10 for ever.” Now he, that supplies seed to the sower, and bread for food, supply and multiply your stock of seed, and increase the fruit of11 your liberality:) Enriched in every thing to all beneficence, which, by me, as instrumental in it,12 procureth thanksgiving to God. For the performance of this service doth not only bring supply to the wants of the saints, but reacheth farther, even13 to God himself, by many thanksgivings (Whilst they, having such a proof of you, in this your supply, glorify God for your professed subjection to the gospel of Christ, and for your liberality, in communicating14 to them, and to all men;) And to the procuring their prayers for you, they having a great inclination towards you, because of that gracious gift of God bestowed on them, by your liberality.15 Thanks be to God for this his unspeakable gift.

SECT. IV.

CHAPTER X. 1. — XIII. 10.

CONTENTS.

St. Paul having finished his exhortation to liberality, in their collection for the christians at Jerusalem, he here resumes his former argument, and prosecutes the main purpose of this epistle, which was totally to reduce and put a final end to the adverse faction, (which seems not yet to be entirely extinct,) by bringing the corinthians wholly off from the false apostle they had adhered to: and to re-establish himself and his authority in the minds of all the members of that church. And this he does, by the steps contained in the following numbers.

SECT. IV. N. 1.

CHAPTER X. 1 — 6.

CONTENTS.

He declares the extraordinary power he hath in preaching the gospel, and to punish his opposers amongst them.

TEXT.

1 Now I Paul, myself, beseech you, by the meekness and gentleness of Christ, who in presence am base among you, but being absent am bold toward you.

2 But I beseech you, that I may not be bold, when I am present, with that confidence wherewith I think to be bold against some, which think of us, as if we walked according to the flesh.

3 For though we walk in the flesh, we do not war after the flesh:

4 (For the weapons of our warfare are not carnal, but mighty through God, to the pulling down of strong holds:)

5 Casting down imaginations, and every high thing, that exalteth itself against the knowledge of God; and bringing into captivity every thought to the obedience of Christ:

6 And having in a readiness to revenge all disobedience, when your obedience is fulfilled.

PARAPHRASE.

1 Now I, the same Paul, who am (as it is said amongst you) base and mean, when present with you, but bold towards you, when absent, beseech you, by the2 meekness and gentleness of Christ; I beseech you, I say, that I may not, when present among you, be bold, after that manner I have resolved to be bold towards some, who account that, in my conduct and ministry, I regulate myself wholly by carnal considerations.3 For, though I live in the flesh, yet I do not carry on the work of the gospel (which is a warfare)4 according to the flesh: (For the weapons of my warfare are not fleshly, but such, as God hath made mighty, to the pulling down of strong holds, i. e.5 whatever is made use of in opposition:) Beating down human reasonings, and all the towering and most elevated superstructures raised thereon, by the wit of men, against the knowledge of God, as held forth in the gospel; captivating all their notions, and bringing6 them into subjection to Christ: And having by me, in a readiness, power wherewithal to punish and chastise all disobedience, when you, who have been misled by your false apostle, withdrawing yourselves from him, shall return to a perfect obedience.

SECT. IV. N. 2.

CHAPTER X. 7 — 18.

CONTENTS.

St. Paul examines the false apostle’s pretensions, and compares his own with his performances.

TEXT.

7 Do ye look on things after the outward appearance? If any man trust to himself, that he is Christ’s, let him of himself think this again, that, as he is Christ’s, even so are we Christ’s.

8 For though I should boast somewhat more of our authority, (which the Lord hath given us for edification, and not for your destruction,) I should not be ashamed.

9 That I may not seem, as if I would terrify you by letters.

10 “For his letters,” say they, “are weighty and powerful, but his bodily presence is weak, and his speech contemptible.”

11 Let such an one think this, that such as we are in word by letters when we are absent, such will we be also in deed, when we are present.

12 For we dare not make ourselves of the number, or compare ourselves with some, that commend themselves: but they, measuring themselves by themselves, and comparing themselves amongst themselves, are not wise.

13 But we will not boast of things without our measure, but according to the measure of the rule, which God hath distributed to us, a measure to reach even unto you.

14 For we stretch not ourselves beyond our measure, as though we reached not unto you: for we are come as far as to you also, in preaching the gospel of Christ:

15 Not boasting of things without our measure, that is, of other men’s labours: but having hope, when your faith is increased, that we shall be enlarged by you, according to our rule, abundantly:

16 To preach the gospel in the regions beyond you, and not to boast, in another man’s line, of things made ready to our hand.

17 But he, that glorieth, let him glory in the Lord.

18 For not he, that commendeth himself, is approved, but whom the Lord commendeth.

PARAPHRASE.

7 Do ye judge of men, by the outward appearance of things? Is it by such measures you take an estimate of me and my adversaries? If he has confidence in himself, that he is Christ’s, i. e. assumes to himself the authority of one employed and commissioned by Christ, let him, on the other side, count thus with himself, that, as he is Christ’s, so8 I also am Christ’s. Nay, if I should boastingly say something more, of the authority and power, which the Lord has given me for your edification, and not for your destruction, I should not be put9 to shame: But that I may not seem to terrify10 you by letters, as is objected to me by some, Who say that my letters are weighty and powerful, but my bodily presence weak, and my discourse contemptible.11 Let him, that says so, reckon upon this, that such as I am in word, by letters, when I am absent, such shall I be also in deed, when present.12 For I dare not be so bold, as to rank or compare myself with some, who vaunt themselves: but they measuring themselves within themselves, and comparing themselves with themselves, do not understand.13 But I, for my part, will not boast of myself in what has not been measured out, or allotted to me; i. e. I will not go out of my own province, to seek matter of commendation; but proceeding orderly, in the province, which God hath measured out, and allotted to me, I have reached even unto you; i. e. I preached the gospel in every14 country, as I went, till I came as far as you. For I do not extend myself farther than I should, as if I had skipped over other countries in my way, without proceeding gradually to you; no, for I have reached even unto you, in preaching of the gospel in15 all countries, as I passed along: Not extending my boasting, beyond my own bounds, into provinces not allotted to me, nor vaunting myself of any thing, I have done, in another’s labour, i. e. in a church planted by another man’s pains: but having hope, that, your faith increasing, my province will16 be enlarged by you yet farther: So that I may preach the gospel to the yet unconverted countries beyond you, and not take glory to myself, from another man’s province, where all things are made17 ready to my hand. But he that will glory, let him glory, or seek praise, from that which is committed to him by the Lord, or in that which is acceptable18 to the Lord. For not he, who commends himself, does thereby give a proof of his authority, or mission; but he, whom the Lord commends by the gifts of the Holy Ghost.

SECT. IV. N. 3.

CHAPTER XI. 1 — 6.

CONTENTS.

He shows that their pretended apostle, bringing to them no other Saviour or gospel, nor conferring greater power of miracles, than he [St. Paul] had done, was not to be preferred before him.

TEXT.

1 Would to God ye could bear with me a little, in my folly; and, indeed, bear with me.

2 For I am jealous over you with godly jealousy: for I have espoused you to one husband, that I may present you as a chaste virgin to Christ.

3 But I fear lest, by any means, as the serpent beguiled Eve, through his subtilty, so your minds should be corrupted from the simplicity that is in Christ.

4 For if he, that cometh, preacheth another Jesus, whom we have not preached; or if ye receive another Spirit, which ye have not received; or another gospel, which ye have not accepted, ye might well bear with him.

5 For, I suppose, I was not a whit behind the very chiefest apostles.

6 But, though I be rude in speech, yet not in knowledge; but we have been thoroughly made manifest, among you, in all things.

PARAPHRASE.

1 Would you could bear me a little, in my folly;2 and, indeed, to bear with me. For I am jealous over you, with a jealousy, that is for God: for I have fitted and prepared you for one alone, to be your husband, viz. that I might deliver you up a pure3 virgin, to Christ. But, I fear, lest, some way or other, as the serpent beguiled Eve by his cunning; so your minds should be debauched from that singleness4 which is due to Christ. For if this intruder, who has been a leader amongst you, can preach to you another Saviour, whom I have not preached; or if you receive from him other, or greater gifts of the Spirit, than those you received from me; or another gospel than what you accepted from me; you might well bear with him, and allow his pretensions of being5 a new and greater apostle. For, as to the apostles of Christ, I suppose I am not a whit behind the6 chiefest of them. For though I am but a mean speaker, yet I am not without knowledge; but in every thing have been made manifest unto you, i. e. to be an apostle.

SECT. IV. N. 4.

CHAPTER XI. 7 — 15.

CONTENTS.

He justifies himself to them, in his having taken nothing of them. There had been great talk about this, and objections raised against St. Paul thereupon; vid. 1 Cor. ix. 1 — 3. As if, by this, he had discovered himself not to be an apostle: to which he there answers, and here toucheth it again, and answers another objection, which it seems was made, viz. that he refused to receive maintenance from them out of unkindness to them.

TEXT.

7 Have I committed an offence, in abasing myself, that you might be exalted, because I have preached to you the gospel of God freely?

8 I robbed other churches, taking wages of them, to do you service.

9 And, when I was present with you, and wanted, I was chargeable to no man; for that, which was lacking to me, the brethren which came from Macedonia, supplied: and in all things I have kept myself from being burdensome unto you, and so will I keep myself.

10 As the truth of Christ is in me, no man shall stop me of this boasting, in the regions of Achaia.

11 Wherefore? because I love you not? God knoweth.

12 But what I do, that I will do, that I may cut off occasion from them, which desire occasion, that, wherein they glory, they may be found even as we.

13 For such are false apostles, deceitful workers, transforming themselves into the apostles of Christ.

14 And no marvel; for Satan himself is transformed into an angel of light.

15 Therefore it is no great thing, if his ministers also be transformed, as the ministers of righteousness: whose end shall be according to their works.

PARAPHRASE.

7 Have I committed an offence in abasing myself, to work with my hands, neglecting my right of maintenance, due to me, as an apostle, that you might be exalted in christianity, because I preached the gospel8 of God to you gratis? I robbed other churches, taking9 wages of them, to do you service. And, being with you and in want, I was chargeable to not a man of you: for the brethren, who came from Macedonia, supplied me with what I needed: and, in all things, I have kept myself from being burdensome10 to you, and so I will continue to do. The truth and sincerity I owe to Christ is, in what I say to you, viz. This boasting of mine shall not in the11 regions of Achaia be stopped in me. Why so? Is it, because I love you not? For that God can be12 my witness, he knoweth. But what I do, and shall do, is, that I may cut off all occasion from those, who, if I took any thing of you, would be glad of that occasion to boast, that in it they had me for a pattern, and did nothing but what even I myself13 had done. For these are false apostles, deceitful labourers in the gospel, having put on the counterfeit14 shape and outside of apostles of Christ: And no marvel; for Satan himself is sometimes transformed15 into an angel of light. Therefore it is not strange, if so be his ministers are disguised so, as to appear ministers of the gospel: whose end shall be according to their works.

SECT. IV. N. 5.

CHAPTER XI. 16 — 33.

CONTENTS.

He goes on, in his justification, reflecting upon the carriage of the false apostle towards the corinthians, ver. 16 — 21. He compares himself with the false apostle, in what he boasts of, as being a Hebrew, ver. 21, 22, or minister of Christ, ver. 23, and here St. Paul enlarges upon his labours and sufferings.

TEXT.

16 I say again, Let no man think me a fool; if otherwise, yet as a fool receive me, that I may boast myself a little.

17 That which I speak, I speak it not after the Lord, but, as it were foolishly, in this confidence of boasting.

18 Seeing that many glory after the flesh, I will glory also.

19 For ye suffer fools gladly, seeing ye yourselves are wise.

20 For ye suffer, if a man bring you into bondage, if a man devour you, if a man take of you, if a man exalt himself, if a man smite you on the face.

21 I speak, as concerning reproach, as though we had been weak: howbeit, whereinsoever any are bold, (I speak foolishly) I am bold also.

22 Are they Hebrews? So am I. Are they Israelites? So am I. Are they the seed of Abraham? So am I.

23 Are they ministers of Christ? (I speak as a fool) I am more: in labours more abundant, in stripes above measure, in prisons more frequent, in deaths oft.

24 Of the jews five times received I forty stripes save one.

25 Thrice was I beaten with rods, once was I stoned, thrice I suffered shipwreck; a night and a day I have been in the deep:

26 In journeyings often, in perils of waters, in perils of robbers, in perils by mine own countrymen, in perils by the heathen, in perils in the city, in perils in the wilderness, in perils in the sea, in perils among false brethren;

27 In weariness and painfulness, in watchings often, in hunger and thirst, in fastings often, in cold and nakedness.

28 Besides those things that are without, that which cometh upon me daily, the care of all the churches.

29 Who is weak, and I am not weak; who is offended, and I burn not?

30 If I must needs glory, I will glory of the things which concern mine infirmities.

31 The God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, which is blessed for evermore, knoweth that I lye not.

32 In Damascus, the governor under Aretas the king kept the city of the damascenes, with a garrison, desirous to apprehend me:

33 And, through a window, in a basket, was I let down by the wall, and escaped his hands.

PARAPHRASE.

16 I say again, Let no man think me a fool, that I speak so much of myself: or, at least, if it be a folly in me, bear with me as a fool, that I too, as well as17 others, may boast myself a little. That, which I say on this occasion, is not by command from Christ, but, as it were, foolishly, in this matter of boasting.18 Since many glory in their circumcision, or extraction,19 I will glory also. For ye bear with fools20 easily, being yourselves wise. For you bear with it, if a man bring you into bondage, i. e. domineer over you, and use you like his bondmen; if he make a prey of you; if he take, or extort presents, or a salary, from you; if he be elevated, and high, amongst you; if he smite you on the face, i. e. treat you contumeliously.21 I speak, according to the reproach has been cast upon me, as if I were weak, i. e. destitute of what might support me in dignity and authority, equal to this false apostle, as if I had not as fair pretences22 to power and profit amongst you, as he. Is he an hebrew, i. e. by language an hebrew? So am I. Is he an israelite, truly of the jewish nation, and bred up in that religion? So am I. Is he of the seed of Abraham, really descended from him? And not a proselyte, of a foreign extraction? So am I.23 Is he a minister of Jesus Christ? (I speak in my foolish way of boasting) I am more so: in toilsome labours I surpass him: in stripes I am exceedingly beyond him: in prisons I have been oftener; and 24 in the very jaws of death, more than once: Of the jews I have, five times, received forty stripes save25 one. Thrice was I whipped with rods: once was I stoned: thrice shipwrecked: I have passed a night26 and a day in the sea: In journeyings often: in perils by water; in perils by robbers; in perils by mine own countrymen; in perils from the heathen; in perils in the city; in perils in the country; in perils27 at sea; in perils among false brethren; In toil and trouble, and sleepless nights, often; in hunger and thirst; in fastings, often; in cold and nakedness.28 Besides these troubles from without the disturbance that comes daily upon me, from my concern for all29 the churches. Who is a weak christian, in danger, through frailty or ignorance, to be misled, whose weakness I do not feel and suffer in, as if it were my own? Who is actually misled, for whom my zeal and concern do not make me uneasy, as if I had a fire30 in me? If I must be compelled to glory, I will glory of those things which are of my weak and suffering31 side. The God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who is blessed for ever, knoweth that I lye32 not. In Damascus, the governor, under Aretas the king, who kept the town with a garrison, being desirous33 to apprehend me; I was, through a window, let down in a basket, and escaped his hands.

SECT. IV. N. 6.

CHAPTER XII. 1 — 11.

CONTENTS.

He makes good his apostleship, by the extraordinary visions and revelations, which he had received.

TEXT.

1 It is not expedient for me, doubtless, to glory: I will come to visions and revelations of the Lord.

2 I knew a man in Christ, above fourteen years ago, (whether in the body, I cannot tell; or whether out of the body, I cannot tell; God knoweth,) such an one caught up to the third heaven.

3 And I knew such a man, (whether in the body, or out of the body, I cannot tell: God knoweth)

4 How that he was caught up into paradise, and heard unspeakable words, which it is not lawful for a man to utter.

5 Of such an one will I glory: yet of myself I will not glory, but in mine infirmities.

6 For, though I would desire to glory, I shall not be a fool; for I will say the truth: but now I forbear, lest any man should think of me above that which he seeth me to be, or that he heareth of me.

7 And, lest I should be exalted above measure, through the abundance of the revelations, there was given to me a thorn in the flesh, the messenger of Satan to buffet me, lest I should be exalted above measure.

8 For this thing I besought the Lord thrice, that it might depart from me.

9 And he said unto me, “My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.” Most gladly, therefore, will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.

10 Therefore, I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ’s sake: for when I am weak, then am I strong.

11 I am become a fool in glorying: ye have compelled me; for I ought to have been commended of you; for in nothing am I behind the very chiefest apostles, though I be nothing.

PARAPHRASE.

1 If I must be forced to glory for your sakes; (for me it is not expedient) I will come to visions and revelations 2 of the Lord. I knew a man, by the power of Christ, above fourteen years ago, caught up into the third heaven, whether the intire man, body and all, or out of the body in an ecstacy, I know not; God knows.3 And I knew such an one, whether in the body, or out4 of the body, I know not, God knows, That he was caught up into paradise, and there heard what is not in5 the power of man to utter. Of such an one, I will glory; but myself I will not mention, with any boasting, unless in things that carry the marks of weakness,6 and show my sufferings. But if I should have a mind to glory in other things, I might do it, without being a fool; for I would speak nothing but what is true, having matter in abundance, but I forbear, lest any one should think of me beyond what he sees me, or7 hears commonly reported of me. And that I might not be exalted above measure, by reason of the abundance of revelations that I had, there was given me a thorn in the flesh, the messenger of Satan to buffet 8 me, that I might not be over-much elevated. Concerning this thing, I besought the Lord thrice, that9 it might depart from me. And he said, My favour is sufficient for thee: for my power exerts itself, and its sufficiency is seen the more perfectly, the weaker thou thyself art. I, therefore, most willingly choose to glory, rather in things that show my weakness, than in my abundance of glorious revelations, that the power of Christ may the more visibly be10 seen to dwell in me. Wherefore, I have satisfaction in weaknesses, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses, for Christ’s sake. For when I, looked upon in my outward state, appear weak, then by the power of Christ, which dwelleth in me,11 I am found to be strong. I am become foolish in glorying thus: but it is you, who have forced me to it. For I ought to have been commended by you; since in nothing came I behind the chiefest of the apostles, though in myself I am nothing.

SECT. IV. N. 7.

CHAPTER XII. 12, 13.

CONTENTS.

He continues to justify himself to be an apostle, by the miracles he did, and the supernatural gifts he bestowed amongst the corinthians.

TEXT.

12 Truly the signs of an apostle were wrought among you, in all patience, in signs and wonders and mighty deeds.

13 For what is it wherein ye were inferiour to other churches, except it be that I myself was not burdensome to you? Forgive me this wrong.

PARAPHRASE.

12 Truly the signs whereby an apostle might be known, were wrought among you, by me, in all patience and submission, under the difficulties I there met with, in miraculous, wonderful and mighty works,13 performed by me. For what is there, which you were any way shortened in, and had not equally with other churches, except it be that I myself was not burdensome to you? Forgive me this injury.

SECT. IV. N. 8.

CHAPTER XII. 14 — 21.

CONTENTS.

He farther justifies himself, to the corinthians, by his past disinterestedness, and his continued kind intentions to them.

TEXT.

14 Behold, the third time, I am ready to come to you; and will not be burdensome to you: for I seek not yours, but you: for the children ought not to lay up for the parents, but the parents for the children.

15 And I will very gladly spend, and be spent, for you, though, the more abundantly I love you, the less I be loved.

16 “But be it so, I did not burden you: nevertheless being crafty, I caught you with guile.”

17 Did I make a gain of you, by any of them, whom I sent unto you?

18 I desired Titus, and with him I sent a brother; did Titus make a gain of you? Walked we not in the same spirit? Walked we not in the same steps?

19 Again, think you that we excuse ourselves unto you? We speak before God, in Christ; but we do all things, dearly beloved, for your edifying.

20 For I fear, lest, when I come, I shall not find you such as I would, and that I shall be found unto you, such as ye would not: lest there be debates, envyings, wraths, strifes, backbitings, whisperings, swellings, tumults:

21 And lest, when I come again, my God will humble me among you, and that I shall bewail many, which have sinned already, and have not repented of the uncleanness, and fornication, and lasciviousness, which they have committed.

PARAPHRASE.

14 Behold, this is the third time I am ready to come unto you; but I will not be burdensome to you; for I seek not what is yours, but you: for it is not expected, nor usual, that children should lay up for15 their parents, but parents for their children. I will gladly lay out whatever is in my possession, or power; nay, even wear out and hazard myself for your souls, though it should so fall out that the more I love you, the less I should be beloved by16 you. “Be it so, as some suggest, that I was not burdensome to you; but it was in truth out of cunning, with a design to catch you, with that trick, drawing from you, by others, what I refused17 in person.” In answer to which, I ask, Did I, by any of those, I sent unto you, make a18 gain of you? I desired Titus to go to you, and with him I sent a brother: did Titus make a gain of you? Did not they behave themselves with the same temper, that I did, amongst you? Did we not walk in the same steps? i. e. neither they, nor19 I, received any thing from you. Again, do not, upon my mentioning my sending of Titus to you, think that I apologize for my not coming myself: I speak, as in the presence of God, and as a christian, there is no such thing: in all my whole carriage towards you, beloved, all that has been done, has been done only for your edification. No, there is no need of an apology for my not coming to you20 sooner: For I fear, when I do come, I shall not find you such as I would, and that you will find me such as you would not: I am afraid, that among you there are disputes, envyings, animosities, strifes, backbitings, whisperings, swellings of mind, disturbances: 21 And that my God, when I come to you again, will humble me amongst you, and I shall bewail many, who have formerly sinned, and have not yet repented of the uncleanness, fornication, and lasciviousness, whereof they are guilty.

SECT. IV. N. 9.

CHAPTER XIII. 1 — 10.

CONTENTS.

He re-assumes what he was going to say, ch. xii. 14, and tells them, how he intends to deal with them, when he comes to them: and assures them, that, however they question it, he shall be able, by miracles, to give proof of his authority and commission from Christ.

TEXT.

1 This is the third time I am coming to you: in the mouth of two or three witnesses shall every word be established.

2 I told you before, and foretel you, as if I were present the second time; and, being absent, now I write to them, which heretofore have sinned, and to all other, that, if I come again, I will not spare:

3 Since ye seek a proof of Christ speaking in me, which to you-ward is not weak, but is mighty in you.

4 For though he was crucified through weakness, yet he liveth by the power of God: for we also are weak in him, but we shall live, with him, by the power of God towards you.

5 Examine yourselves, whether ye be in the faith; prove your own selves: know ye not your own selves, how that Jesus Christ is in you, except ye be reprobates?

6 But I trust that ye shall know, that we are not reprobates.

7 Now I pray to God, that ye do no evil; not that we should appear approved, but that ye should do that which is honest, though we be as reprobates.

8 For we can do nothing against the truth, but for the truth.

9 For we are glad, when we are weak, and ye are strong: and this also we wish, even your perfection.

10 Therefore I write these things, being absent; lest, being present, I should use sharpness, according to the power, which the Lord hath given me, to edification, and not to destruction.

PARAPHRASE.

1 This is now, the third time, I am coming to you; and, when I come, I shall not spare you, having proceeded, according to our Saviour’s rule, and endeavoured by fair means, first to reclaim you, before I2 come to the last extremity. And of this my former epistle, wherein I applied myself to you, and this, wherein I now, as if I were present wiih you, foretel those, who have formerly sinned, and all the rest, to whom, being now absent, I write, that when I come, I will not spare you. I say, these two letters are my witnesses, according to our Saviour’s rule, which says, “In the mouth of two or three witnesses every word3 shall be established:” Since you demand a proof of my mission, and of what I deliver, that it is dictated by Christ speaking in me, who must be acknowledged not to be weak to you-ward, but has given sufficient 4 marks of his power amongst you. For, though his crucifixion and death were with appearance of weakness; yet he liveth with the manifestation of the power of God, appearing in my punishing you.5 You examine me, whether I can, by any miraculous operation, give a proof, that Christ is in me. Pray, examine yourselves, whether you be in the faith; make a trial upon yourselves, whether you yourselves are not somewhat destitute of proofs. Or, are you so little acquainted with yourselves, as not6 to know, whether Christ be in you? But, if you do not know yourselves, whether you can give proofs or no, yet I hope, you shall know, that I am not unable7 to give proof of Christ in me. But I pray to God that you may do no evil, wishing not for an opportunity to show my proofs: but that you, doing what is right, I may be, as if I had no proofs, no supernatural 8 power. For though I have the power of punishing supernaturally, I cannot show this power upon any of you, unless it be that you are offenders, and your9 punishment be for the advantage of the gospel. I am, therefore, glad, when I am weak, and can inflict no punishment upon you; and you are so strong, i. e. clear of faults, that ye cannot be touched. For all the power I have is only for promoting the truth of the gospel; whoever are faithful and obedient to that, I can do nothing to; I cannot make examples of them, by all the extraordinary power I have, if I would: nay, this also I wish, even your perfection.10 These things, therefore, I write to you, being absent, that when I come, I may not use severity, according to the power which the Lord hath given me, for edification, not for destruction.

SECT. V.

CHAPTER XIII. 11 — 14.

CONCLUSION.

TEXT.

11 Finally, brethren, farewell; be perfect, be of good comfort, be of one mind, live in peace; and the God of love and peace shall be with you.

12 Greet one another with an holy kiss.

13 All the saints salute you.

14 The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Ghost, be with you all. Amen.

PARAPHRASE.

11 Finally, brethren, farewell: bring yourselves into one well-united, firm, unjarring society; be of good comfort; be of one mind; live in peace, and12 the God of love and peace shall be with you. Salute13 one another with an holy kiss: All the saints salute14 you. The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Ghost, be with you all. Amen.

A PARAPHRASE AND NOTES ON THE EPISTLE OF ST. PAUL TO THE ROMANS.

THE EPISTLE OF ST. PAUL TO THE ROMANS; WRIT IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 57, OF NERO III.

SYNOPSIS.

Before we take into consideration the epistle to the Romans in particular, it may not be amiss to premise, that the miraculous birth, life, death, resurrection, and ascension of our Lord Jesus Christ, were all events, that came to pass within the confines of Judea; and that the ancient writings of the jewish nation, allowed by the christians to be of divine original, were appealed to, as witnessing the truth of his mission and doctrine; whereby it was manifest, that the jews were the depositaries of the proofs of the christian religion. This could not choose but give the jews, who were owned to be the people of God, even in the days of our Saviour, a great authority among the convert gentiles, who knew nothing of the Messiah, they were to believe in, but what they derived from that nation, out of which he and his doctrine sprung. Nor did the jews fail to make use of this advantage, several ways to the disturbance of the gentiles, that embraced christianity. The jews, even those of them that received the gospel, were for the most part, so devoted to the law of Moses and their ancient rites, that they could by no means, bring themselves to think, that they were to be laid aside. They were, every-where, stiff and zealous for them, and contended that they were necessary to be observed, even by christians, by all that pretended to be the people of God, and hoped to be accepted by him. This gave no small trouble to the newly-converted gentiles, and was a great prejudice to the gospel, and therefore we find it complained of, in more places than one; vid. Acts xv. 1; 2 Cor. xi. 3; Gal. ii. 4, and v. 1, 10, 12; Phil. iii. 2; Col. ii. 4, 8, 16; Tit. i. 10, 11, 14, &c. This remark may serve to give light, not only to this epistle to the romans, but to several other of St. Paul’s epistles, written to the churches of converted gentiles.

As to this epistle to the romans, the apostle’s principal aim in it seems to be, to persuade them to a steady perseverance in the profession of christianity, by convincing them, that God is the God of the gentiles, as well as of the jews; and that now, under the gospel, there is no difference between jew and gentile. This he does several ways:

By showing, that, though the gentiles were very sinful, yet the jews, who had the law, kept it not, and so could not, upon account of their having the law (which being broken aggravated their faults, and made them as far from righteous, as the gentiles themselves) have a title to exclude the gentiles, from being the people of God, under the gospel.

That Abraham was a father of all that believe, as well uncircumcised, as circumcised; so that those, that walk in the steps of the faith of Abraham, though uncircumcised, are the seed, to which the promise is made, and shall receive the blessing.

That it was the purpose of God, from the beginning, to take the gentiles to be his people under the Messias, in the place of the jews, who had been so, till that time, but were then nationally rejected, because they nationally rejected the Messias, whom he sent to them to be their King and Deliverer, but was received by but a very small number of them, which remnant was received into the kingdom of Christ, and so continued to be his people, with the converted gentiles, who all together made now the church and people of God.

That the jewish nation had no reason to complain of any unrighteousness in God, or hardship from him, in their being cast off, for their unbelief, since they had been warned of it, and they might find it threatened in their ancient prophets. Besides, the raising or depressing of any nation is the prerogative of God’s sovereignty. Preservation in the land, that God has given them, being not the right of any one race of men, above another. And God might, when he thought fit, reject the nation of the jews, by the same sovereignty, whereby he at first chose the posterity of Jacob to be his people, passing by other nations, even such as descended from Abraham and Isaac: but yet he tells them, that at last they shall be restored again.

Besides the assurance he labours to give the romans, that they are, by faith in Jesus Christ, the people of God, without circumcision, or other observances of the jews, whatever they may say, (which is the main drift of this epistle,) it is farther remarkable, that this epistle being writ to a church of gentiles, in the metropolis of the roman empire, but not planted by St. Paul himself; he, as apostle of the gentiles, out of care that they should rightly understand the gospel, has woven into his discourse the chief doctrines of it, and given them a comprehensive view of God’s dealing with mankind, from first to last, in reference to eternal life. The principal heads whereof are these:

That, by Adam’s transgression, sin entered into the world, and death by sin, and so death reigned over all men, from Adam to Moses.

That, by Moses, God gave the children of Israel (who were his people, i. e. owned him for their God, and kept themselves free from the idolatry and revolt of the heathen world) a law, which if they obeyed they should have life thereby, i. e. attain to immortal life, which had been lost by Adam’s transgression.

That though this law, which was righteous, just, and good, were ordained to life, yet, not being able to give strength to perform what it could not but require, it failed, by reason of the weakness of human nature, to help men to life. So that, though the israelites had statutes, which if a man did, he should live in them; yet they all transgressed, and attained not to righteousness and life, by the deeds of the law.

That, therefore, there was no way to life left to those under the law, but by the righteousness of faith in Jesus Christ, by which faith alone they were that seed of Abraham, to whom the blessing was promised.

This was the state of the israelites.

As to the gentile world, he tells them,

That, though God made himself known to them, by legible characters of his being and power, visible in the works of the creation; yet they glorified him not, nor were thankful to him; they did not own nor worship the one, only, true, invisible God, the creator of all things, but revolted from him, to gods set up by themselves, in their own vain imaginations, and worshipped stocks and stones, the corruptible images of corruptible things.

That, they having thus cast off their allegiance to him, their proper Lord, and revolted to other gods, God, therefore cast them off, and gave them up to vile affections, and to the conduct of their own darkened hearts, which led them into all sorts of vices.

That both jews and gentiles, being thus all under sin, and coming short of the glory of God; God, by sending his Son Jesus Christ, shows himself to be the God both of the jews and gentiles; since he justifieth the circumcision by faith, and the uncircumcision through faith, so that all, that believe, are freely justified by his grace.

That though justification unto eternal life be only by grace, through faith in Jesus Christ; yet we are, to the utmost of our power, sincerely to endeavour after righteousness, and from our hearts obey the precepts of the gospel, whereby we become the servants of God; for his servants we are whom we obey, whether of sin unto death, or obedience unto righteousness.

These are but some of the more general and comprehensive heads of the christian doctrine, to be found in this epistle. The design of a synopsis will not permit me to descend more minutely to particulars. But this let me say, that he, that would have an enlarged view of true christianity, will do well to study this epistle.

Several exhortations, suited to the state that the christians of Rome were then in, make up the latter part of the epistle.

This epistle was writ from Corinth, the year of our Lord, according to the common account, 57, the third year of Nero, a little after the second epistle to the corinthians.

SECT. I.

CHAPTER I. 1 — 15.

CONTENTS.

INTRODUCTION,
WITH HIS PROFESSION OF A DESIRE TO SEE THEM.

TEXT.

1 Paul, a servant of Jesus Christ, called to be an apostle, separated unto the gospel of God,

2 (Which he had promised afore, by his prophets, in the holy scriptures)

3 Concerning his son Jesus Christ our Lord, (which was made of the seed of David, according to the flesh;

4 And declared to be the son of God with power, according to the spirit of holiness, by the resurrection from the dead:

5 By whom we have received grace and apostleship, for obedience to the faith among all nations for his name;

6 Among whom are ye also the called of Jesus Christ.)

7 To all that be in Rome, beloved of God, called to be saints: grace to you, and peace from God our Father, and the Lord Jesus Christ.

8 First, I thank my God, through Jesus Christ, for you all, that your faith is spoken of, throughout the whole world.

9 For God is my witness, whom I serve with my spirit, in the gospel of his Son, that without ceasing I make mention of you always in my prayers;

10 Making request (if by any means, now at length, I might have a prosperous journey, by the will of God) to come unto you.

11 For I long to see you, that I may impart unto you some spiritual gift, to the end you may be established;

12 That is, that I may be comforted together with you, by the mutual faith both of you and me.

13 Now I would not have you ignorant, brethren, that oftentimes I purposed to come unto you (but was let hitherto) that I might have some fruit among you also, even as among other gentiles.

14 I am debtor both to the greeks and to the barbarians, both to the wise and to the unwise.

15 So, as much as in me is, I am ready to preach the gospel to you that are at Rome also.

PARAPHRASE.

1 Paul, a servant of Jesus Christ, called to be an apostle, separated to the preaching of the gospel of2 God (Which he had heretofore promised, by his prophets,3 in the holy scriptures) Concerning his son Jesus Christ our Lord, (who according to the flesh, i. e. as to the body, which he took in the womb of the blessed virgin, his mother, was of the posterity4 and lineage of David; According to the spirit of holiness, i. e. as to that more pure and spiritual part, which in him over-ruled all, and kept even his frail flesh holy and spotless from the least taint of sin, and was of another extraction, with most mighty power declared to be the son of God, by his resurrection5 from the dead; By whom I have received favour, and the office of an apostle, for the bringing of the gentiles, every where, to the obedience of faith,6 which I preach in his name; Of which number, i. e. gentiles, that I am sent to preach to, are ye who7 are already called¶, and become christians.) To all the beloved of God¶, and called to be saints, who are in Rome, favour and peace be to you from God8 our Father, and the Lord Jesus Christ. In the first place, I thank my God, through Jesus Christ for you all, that your faith is spoken of throughout the whole9 world. For God is my witness, whom I serve with the whole bent of my mind, in preaching the gospel of his son, that without ceasing I constantly make10 mention of you in my prayers. Requesting (if it be God’s will, that I may now at length, if possible,11 have a good opportunity) to come unto you. For I long to see you, that I may communicate to you some spiritual gift, for your establishment in the12 faith; That is, that, when I am among you, I may be comforted together with you, both with your 13 faith and my own. This I think fit you should know, brethren, that I often purposed to come unto you, that I may have some fruit of my ministry,14 among you also, even as among other gentiles. I owe, what service I can do, to the gentiles of all kinds, whether greeks or barbarians, to both the more knowing and civilized, and the uncultivated15 and ignorant: So that, as much as in me lies, I am ready to preach the gospel to you also, who are at Rome.

SECT. II.

CHAPTER I. 16. — II. 29.

CONTENTS.

St. Paul, in this section, shows, that the jews exclude themselves from being the people of God, under the gospel, by the same reason that they would have the gentiles excluded.

It cannot be sufficiently admired how skilfully, to avoid offending those of his own nation, St. Paul here enters into an argument, so unpleasing to the jews, as this of persuading them, that the gentiles had as good a title to be taken in, to be the people of God, under the Messias, as they themselves, which is the main design of this epistle.

In this latter part of the first chapter, he gives a description of the gentile world in very black colours, but very adroitly interweaves such an apology for them, in respect of the jews, as was sufficient to beat that assuming nation out of all their pretences to a right to continue to be alone the people of God, with an exclusion of the gentiles. This may be seen, if one carefully attends to the particulars, that he mentions, relating to the jews and gentiles; and observes how, what he says of the jews, in the second chapter, answers to what he had charged on the gentiles, in the first. For there is a secret comparison of them, one with another, runs through these two chapters, which, as soon as it comes to be minded, gives such a light and lustre to St. Paul’s discourse, that one cannot but admire the skilful turn of it: and look on it as the most soft, the most beautiful, and most pressing argumentation, that one shall any where meet with, altogether: since it leaves the jews nothing to say for themselves, why they should have the privilege continued to them, under the gospel, of being alone the people of God. All the things they stood upon, and boasted in, giving them no preference, in this respect, to the gentiles; nor any ground to judge them to be incapable, or unworthy to be their fellow-subjects, in the kingdom of the Messias. This is what he says, speaking of them nationally. But as to every one’s personal concerns in a future state, he assures them, both jews and gentiles, that the unrighteous of both nations, whether admitted, or not, into the visible communion of the people of God, are liable to condemnation. Those, who have sinned without law, shall perish without law; and those, who have sinned in the law, shall be judged, i. e. condemned by the law.

Perhaps some readers will not think it superfluous, if I give a short draught of St. Paul’s management of himself here for allaying the sourness of the jews, against the gentiles, and their offence at the gospel, for allowing any of them place among the people of God, under the Messias.

After he had declared that the gospel is the power of God unto salvation, to those who believe; to the jew first, and also to the gentile; and that the way of this salvation is revealed to be, by the righteousness of God, which is by faith; he tells them, that the wrath of God is also now revealed against all atheism, polytheism, idolatry, and vice whatsoever, of men holding the truth in unrighteousness, because they might come to the knowledge of the true God, by the visible works of the creation; so that the gentiles were without excuse, for turning from the true God to idolatry, and the worship of false gods, whereby their hearts were darkened; so that they were without God in the world. Wherefore, God gave them up to vile affections, and all manner of vices, in which state, though, by the light of nature, they know what was right, yet understanding not that such things were worthy of death, they not only do them themselves, but abstaining from censure, live fairly and in fellowship with those that do them. Whereupon he tells the jews, that they are more inexcusable than the heathen, in that they judge, abhor, and have in aversion, the gentiles, for what they themselves do with greater provocation. Their censure and judgment in the case is unjust and wrong: but the judgment of God is always right and just, which will certainly overtake those who judge others, for the same things they do themselves; and do not consider, that God’s forbearance to them ought to bring them to repentance. For God will render to every one according to his deeds; to those that in meekness and patience continue in well-doing, everlasting life; but to those who are censorious, proud and contentious, and will not obey the gospel, condemnation and wrath, at the day of judgment, whether they be jews or gentiles: for God puts no difference between them. Thou, that art a jew, boastest that God is thy God; that he has enlightened thee by the law that he himself gave thee from heaven, and hath, by that immediate revelation, taught thee what things are excellent and tend to life, and what are evil and have death annexed to them. If, therefore, thou transgressest, dost not thou more dishonour God and provoke him, than a poor heathen, that knows not God, nor that the things he doth, deserve death, which is their reward? Shall not he, if, by the light of nature, he do what is conormable to the revealed law of God, judge thee, who hast received that law from God, by revelation, and breakest it? Shall not this, rather than circumcision, make him an israelite? For he is not a jew, i. e. one of God’s people, who is one outwardly, by circumcision of the flesh; but he that is one inwardly, by the circumcision of the flesh; but he that is one inwardly, by the circumcision of the heart.

TEXT.

16 For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ; for it is the power of God unto salvation, to every one that believeth, to the jew first, and also to the greek.

17 For therein is the righteousness of God revealed from faith to faith: as it is written, The just shall live by faith.

18 For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven, against all ungodliness, and unrighteousness of men, who hold the truth in unrighteousness.

19 Because that, which may be known of God, is manifest in them; for God hath showed it unto them.

20 For the invisible things of him, from the creation of the world, are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even his eternal power and godhead; so that they are without excuse.

21 Because that, when they knew God, they glorified him not as God, neither were thankful, but became vain in their imaginations, and their foolish heart was darkened.

22 Professing themselves to be wise, they became fools:

23 And changed the glory of the uncorruptible God into an image, made like to corruptible man, and to birds, and four-footed beasts, and creeping things.

24 Wherefore God also gave them up to uncleanness, through the lusts of their own hearts, to dishonour their own bodies between themselves:

25 Who changed the truth of God into a lye, and worshipped and served the creature more than the Creator, who is blessed for ever. Amen.

26 For this cause God gave them up unto vile affections: for even their women did change the natural use into that which is against nature:

27 And likewise also the men, leaving the natural use of the woman, burned in their lust, one toward another, men with men, working that which is unseemly, and receiving in themselves that recompence of their errour, which was meet.

28 And, even as they did not like to retain God in their knowledge, God gave them over to a reprobate mind, to do those things which are not convenient:

29 Being filled with all unrighteousness, fornication, wickedness, covetousness, maliciousness; full of envy, murder, debate, deceit, malignity, whisperers,

30 Backbiters, haters of God, despiteful, proud, boasters, inventors of evil things, disobedient to parents,

31 Without understanding, covenant-breakers, without natural affection, implacable, unmerciful;

32 Who knowing the judgment of God (that they which commit such things are worthy of death) not only do the same, but have pleasure in them that do them.

II. 1Therefore thou art inexcusable, O man, whosoever thou art that judgest: for wherein thou judgest another, thou condemnest thyself; for thou, that judgest, dost the same thing.

2 But we are sure that the judgment of God is according to truth, against them which commit such things.

3 And thinkest thou this, O man, that judgest them which do such things, and dost the same, that thou shalt escape the judgment of God?

4 Or despisest thou the riches of his goodness, and forbearance, and long-suffering; not knowing that the goodness of God leadeth thee to repentance?

5 But, after thy hardness and impenitent heart, treasurest up unto thyself wrath, against the day of wrath, and revelation of the righteous judgment of God;

6 Who will render to every man according to his deeds:

7 To them who by patient continuance in well-doing, seek for glory, and honour, and immortality; eternal life:

8 But unto them that are contentious, and do not obey the truth, but obey unrighteousness; indignation and wrath;

9 Tribulation and anguish, upon every soul of man that doth evil, of the jew first, and also of the gentile.

10 But glory, honour, and peace, to every man that worketh good, to the jew first, and also to the gentile.

11 For there is no respect of persons with God.

12 For, as many as have sinned without law, shall also perish without law; and as many as have sinned in the law, shall be judged by the law;

13 (For not the hearers of the law are just before God, but the doers of the law shall be justified.

14 For when the gentiles, which have not the law, do by nature the things contained in the law, these, having not the law, are a law unto themselves.

15 Which show the work of the law written in their hearts, their conscience also bearing witness, and their thoughts, the mean while, accusing, or else excusing one another)

16 In the day, when God shall judge the secrets of men, by Jesus Christ, according to my gospel.

17 Behold, thou art called a jew, and restest in the law, and makest thy boast of God:

18 And knowest his will, and approvest the things that are more excellent, being instructed out of the law.

19 And art confident that thou thyself art a guide of the blind, a light of them which are in darkness,

20 An instructor of the foolish, a teacher of babes, which hast the form of knowledge, and of the truth in the law.

21 Thou, therefore, which teachest another, teachest thou not thyself? thou that preachest a man should not steal, dost thou steal?

22 Thou, that sayest a man should not commit adultery, dost thou commit adultery? thou, that abhorrest idols, dost thou commit sacrilege?

23 Thou, that makest thy boast of the law, through breaking the law, dishonourest thou God?

24 For the name of God is blasphemed among the gentiles, through you, as it is written.

25 For circumcision verily profiteth, if thou keep the law: but if thou be a breaker of the law, thy circumcision is made uncircumcision.

26 Therefore, if the uncircumcision keep the righteousness of the law, shall not his uncircumcision be counted for circumcision?

27 And shall not uncircumcision, which is by nature, if it fulfil the law, judge thee, who by the letter and circumcision dost transgress the law?

28 For he is not a jew, which is one outwardly; neither is that circumcision, which is outward in the flesh:

29 But he is a jew, which is one inwardly; and circumcision is that of the heart, in the spirit, and not in the letter, whose praise is not of men, but of God.

PARAPHRASE.

16 For I am not ashamed to preach the gospel of Christ, even at Rome itself, that mistress of the world: for, whatever it may be thought of there, by that vain and haughty people, it is that, wherein God exerts himself, and shows his power, for the salvation of those who believe, of the jews in the17 first place, and also of the gentiles. For therein is the righteousness, which is of the free grace of God, through Jesus Christ, revealed to be wholly by faith, as it is written, The just shall live by 18 faith. And it is no more than need, that the gospel, wherein the righteousness of God, by faith in Jesus Christ, is revealed, should be preached to you gentiles, since the wrath of God is now revealed from heaven, by Jesus Christ, against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, who live not19 up to the light that God has given them. Because God, in a clear manifestation of himself amongst them, has laid before them, ever since the creation of the world, his divine nature and eternal20 power; So that what is to be known, of his invisible being, might be clearly discovered and understood, from the visible beauty, order, and operations, observable in the constitution and parts of the universe, by all those, that would cast their regards, and apply their minds that way: insomuch that21 they are utterly without excuse: For that, when the Deity was so plainly discovered to them, yet they glorified him not, as was suitable to the excellency of his divine nature: nor did they, with due thankfulness, acknowledge him as the author of their being, and the giver of all the good they enjoyed: but, following the vain fancies of their own vain minds, set up to themselves fictitious no-gods, and22 their foolish understandings were darkened. Assuming to themselves the opinion and name of23 being wise, they became fools; And, quitting the incomprehensible majesty and glory of the eternal, incorruptible Deity, set up to themselves the images of corruptible men, birds, beasts, and insects, as fit24 objects of their adoration and worship. Wherefore, they having forsaken God, he also left them to the lusts of their own hearts, and that uncleanness their darkened hearts led them into, to dishonour25 their bodies among themselves: Who so much debased themselves, as to change the true God, who made them, for a lye of their own making, worshipping and serving the creature, and things even of a lower rank than themselves, more than the Creator, who is God over all, blessed for evermore. Amen.26 (For this cause God gave them up to shameful and infamous lusts and passions, for even their women did change their natural use, into that which is27 against nature: And likewise, their men, leaving also the natural use of the women, burned in their lusts one towards another, men with men practising that which is shameful, and receiving in themselves a fit reward of their errour, i. e. idolatry.) 28 And., as they did not search out God, whom they had in the world, so as to have him with a due acknowledgment of him, God gave them up to an unsearching and unjudicious mind, to do things29 incongruous, and not meet to be done; Being filled with all manner of iniquity, fornication, wickedness, covetousness, malice, full of envy, contention,30 deceit, malignity even to murder, Backbiters, haters of God, insulters of men, proud, boasters, inventors of new arts of debauchery, disobedient to parents, 31 Without understanding, covenant-breakers, without32 natural affection, implacable, unmerciful: Who, though they acknowledge the rule of right prescribed them by God, and discovered by the light of nature, did not yet understand that those, who did such things, were worthy of death, do not only do them themselves, but live well together, without any mark of disesteem, or censure, with them that do them.II. 1 Therefore, thou art inexcusable, O man, whosoever thou art, that judgest or censurest another: for wherein thou judgest another, thou condemnest thyself: for thou, that judgest, art alike guilty, in doing2 the same things. But this we are sure of, that the judgment, that God passes upon any offenders, is according3 to truth, right and just. Canst thou, who dost those things which thou condemnest in another, think that thou shalt escape the condemning sentence4 of God? Or slightest thou the riches of his goodness, forbearance, and long-suffering, not knowing, nor considering, that the goodness of God ought to lead thee5 to repentance? But layest up to thyself wrath and punishment, which thou wilt meet with, at the day of judgment, and that just retribution, which shall be awarded thee by God, in proportion to thy impenitency,6 and the hardness of thy heart; Who will retribute to every one according to his works, viz.7 Eternal life to all those who by patience and gentleness in well-doing seek glory and honour, and a8 state of immortality: But to them who are contentious and forward, and will not obey the truth, but subject themselves to unrighteousness;9 indignation and wrath; Tribulation and anguish shall be poured out upon every soul of man that worketh evil, of the jew first, and also of the gentile.10 But glory, honour, and peace, shall be bestowed on every man, that worketh good, on the jew first, 11 and also on the gentile. For with God there is no12 respect of persons. For all, that have sinned without having the positive law of God, which was given the israelites, shall perish without the law; and all, who have sinned, being under the law, shall be13 judged by the law, (For the bare hearers of the law are not thereby just, or righteous, in the sight of God, but the doers of the law; they, who exactly perform14 all that is commanded in it, shall be justified. For, when the gentiles, who have no positive law given them by God, do, by the direction of the light of nature, observe, or keep to the moral rectitude, contained in the positive law, given by God to the israelites, they being without any positive law given them, have nevertheless a law within themselves.15 And show the rule of the law written in their hearts, their consciences also bearing witness to that law, they amongst themselves, in the reasoning of their own minds, accusing, or excusing one16 another) At the day of judgment, when, as I make known in my preaching the gospel, God shall17 judge all the actions of men, by Jesus Christ. Behold, thou art named a jew; and thou, with satisfaction, restest in the privilege of having the law, as a mark of God’s peculiar favour, whom thou gloriest in, as being thy God, and thou one of his people; a people, who alone know and worship the 18 true God; And thou knowest his will, and hast the touch-stone of things excellent, having been educated19 in the law, And takest upon thee as one, who art a guide to the blind, a light to the ignorant20 gentiles, who are in darkness, An instructor of the foolish, a teacher of babes, having an exact draught, and a complete system of knowledge and21 truth in the law. Thou, therefore, who art a master in this knowledge, and teachest others, teachest thou not thyself? Thou, that preachest that a man should22 not steal, dost thou steal? Thou, that declarest adultery to be unlawful, dost thou commit it? Thou, that abhorrest idols, dost thou commit sacrilege?23 Thou, who gloriest in the law, dost thou, by breaking of the law, dishonour God? For the name of God is blasphemed amongst the gentiles, by reason25 of your miscarriages, as it is written, Circumcision indeed, and thy being a jew, profiteth, if thou keep the law: but, if thou be a transgressor of the law, thy circumcision is made uncircumcision;26 thou art no way better than an heathen. If, therefore, an uncircumcised gentile keep the moral rectitudes of the law, shall he not be reckoned  and accounted of, as if he were circumcised, and every27 way a jew? And shall not a gentile, who, in his natural state of uncircumcision, fulfils the law, condemn thee, who, notwithstanding the advantage of having the law and circumcision, art a transgressor28 of the law? For he is not a jew, who is one in outward appearance and conformity, nor is that the circumcision, which renders a man acceptable to29 God, which is outwardly in the flesh. But he is a jew, and one of the people of God, who is one in an inward conformity to the law: and that is the circumcision which avails a man, which is of the heart, according to the spiritual sense of the law, which is the purging our hearts from iniquity, by faith in Jesus Christ, and not in an external observance of the letter, by which a man cannot attain life; such true israelites as these, though they are judged, condemned, and rejected by men of the jewish nation, are nevertheless honoured and accepted by God.

SECT.

CHAPTER III. 1 — 31.

CONTENTS.

In this third chapter, St. Paul goes on to show, that the national privileges the jews had over the gentiles, in being the people of God, gave them no peculiar right, or better title to the kingdom of the Messias, than what the gentiles had. Because they, as well as the gentiles, all sinned, and, not being able to attain righteousness by the deeds of the law, more than the gentiles, justification was to be had, only by the free grace of God, through faith in Jesus Christ; so that, upon their believing, God, who is the God not of the jews alone, but also of the gentiles, accepted the gentiles, as well as the jews; and now admits all, who profess faith in Jesus Christ, to be equally his people.

To clear his way to this, he begins, with removing an objection of the jews, ready to say: “if it be so, as ye have told us in the foregoing section, that it is the circumcision of the heart alone that availeth, what advantage have the jews, who keep to the circumcision of the flesh, and the other observances of the law, by being the people of God?” To which he answers, that the jews had many advantages above the gentiles; but yet that, in respect of their acceptance with God under the gospel, they had none at all. He declares that both jews and gentiles are sinners, both equally uncapable of being justified by their own performances: that God was equally the God, both of jews and gentiles, and out of his free grace justified those, and only those, who believed, whether jews, or gentiles.

TEXT.

1 What advantage then hath the jew? or what profit is there of circumcision?

2 Much every way: chiefly, because that unto them were committed the oracles of God.

3 For what if some did not believe? shall their unbelief make the faith of God without effect?

4 God forbid! yea, let God be true, but every man a liar; as it is written, That thou mightest be justified in thy sayings, and mightest overcome when thou art judged.

5 But if our unrighteousness commend the righteousness of God, what shall we say? Is God unrighteous, who taketh vengeance? (I speak as a man)

6 God forbid! for then, how shall God judge the world?

7 For, if the truth of God hath more abounded, through my lye, unto his glory; why yet am I also judged as a sinner?

8 And not rather (as we be slanderously reported, and as some affirm that we say) “Let us do evil, that good may come?” whose damnation is just.

9 What then? are we better than they? No, in no wise: for we have before proved both jews and gentiles, that they are all under sin:

10 As it is written, There is none righteous, no not one:

11 There is none that understandeth, there is none that seeketh after God.

12 They are all gone out of the way, they are together become unprofitable, there is none that doeth good, no not one.

13 Their throat is an open sepulchre; with their tongues they have used deceit; the poison of asps is under their lips;

14 Whose mouth is full of cursing and bitterness.

15 Their feet are swift to shed blood.

16 Destruction and misery are in their ways:

17 And the way of peace have they not known.

18 There is no fear of God before their eyes.

19 Now we know that what things soever the law saith, it saith to them who are under the law; that every mouth may be stopped, and all the world may become guilty before God.

20 Therefore by the deeds of the law there shall no flesh be justified in his sight: for by the law is the knowledge of sin.

21 But now the righteousness of God, without the law, is manifested, being witnessed by the law and the prophets;

22 Even the righteousness of God, which is by faith of Jesus Christ, unto all, and upon all them that believe; for there is no difference:

23 For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God;

24 Being justified freely by his grace, through the redemption that is in Jesus Christ:

25 Whom God hath set forth to be a propitiation, through faith in his blood, to declare his righteousness for the remission of sins that are past, through the forbearance of God.

To declare, I say, at this time his righteousness; that he might be just, and the justifier of him which believeth in Jesus.

27 Where is boasting then? it is excluded. By what law? of works? nay: but by the law of faith.

28 Therefore we conclude, that a man is justified by faith, without the deeds of the law.

29 Is he the God of the jews only? Is he not also of the gentiles? yes, of the gentiles also.

30 Seeing it is one God, which shall justify the circumcision by faith, and uncircumcision through faith.

31 Do we then make void the law through faith? God forbid: yea we establish the law.

PARAPHRASE.

1 If it be thus, that circumcision, by a failure of obedience to the law, becomes uncircumcision; and that the gentiles, who keep the righteousness, or moral part of the law, shall judge the jews, that transgress the law, what advantage have the jews? or what2 profit is there of circumcision? I answer, Much every way; chiefly, that God, particularly present amongst them, revealed his mind and will, and engaged himself in promises to them, by Moses and other his prophets, which oracles they had, and kept amongst them, whilst the rest of mankind had no such communication with the Deity, had no revelation of his purposes of mercy to mankind, but were3 as it were, without God in the world. For, though some of the jews, who had the promises of the Messias, did not believe in him, when he came, and so did not receive the righteousness, which is by faith in Jesus Christ: yet their unbelief cannot render the faithfulness and truth of God of no effect, who had promised to be a God to Abraham and his seed after4 him, and bless them to all generations. No, by no means, God forbid that any one should entertain such a thought: yea, let God be acknowledged to be true, and every man a liar, as it is written, That thou mightest be justified in thy sayings,5 and mightest overcome when thou art judged. But you will say farther, if it be so, that our sinfulness commendeth the righteousness of God, shown in keeping his word given to our forefathers, what shall I say, is it not injustice in God to punish us for it, and cast us off? (I must be understood to say this, in the person of a carnal man, pleading for himself)6 God forbid! For if God be unrighteous, how7 shall he judge the world? For, if the truth and veracity of God hath the more appeared to his glory, by reason of my lye, i. e. my sin, why yet am I condemned8 for a sinner, and punished for it? Why rather should not this be thought a right consequence, and a just excuse? Let us do evil that good may come of it, that glory may come to God by it. This some maliciously and slanderously report us christians to say, for which they deserve, and will from God receive, punishment, as they deserve.9 Are we jews, then, in any whit a better condition than the gentiles? Not at all. For I have already brought a charge of guilt and sin, both against jews and gentiles, and urged that there is not one of them clear, which I shall prove now against you10 jews; For it is written, There is none righteous, no11 not one: There is none that understandeth, there12 is none that seeketh after God. They are all gone out of the way, they are together become unprofitable, there is none that doth good, no, not one.13 Their throat is an open sepulchre; with their tongues they have used deceit; the poison of asps14 is under their lips; Whose mouth is full of cursing15 and bitterness. Their feet are swift to shed blood:16 17 Destruction and misery are in their ways: And the18 way of peace have they not known. There is no19 fear of God before their eyes. This is all said in the sacred book of our law; and what is said there, we know is said to the jews, who are under the law, that the mouth of every jew, that would justify himself, might be stopped, and all the world, jews as well as gentiles, may be forced to acknowledge20 themselves guilty before God. From whence it is evident, that by his own performances, in obedience a law, no man can attain to an exact conformity to the rule of right, so as to be righteous in the sight of God. For by law, which is the publishing the rule with a penalty, we are not delivered from the power of sin, nor can it help men to righteousness, but by law we come experimentally to know sin, in the force and power of it, since we find it prevail upon us, notwithstanding the punishment of21 death is, by the law, annexed to it. But the righteousness of God, that righteousness which he intended, and will accept, and is a righteousness not within the rule and rigour of law, is now made manifest, and confirmed by the testimony of the law and the prophets, which bear witness of this truth, that Jesus is the Messias, and that it is according 22 to his purpose and promise, That the righteousness of God, by faith in Jesus the Messias, is extended to, and bestowed on all who believe in him,23 (for there is no difference between them. They have all, both jews and gentiles, sinned, and fail of attaining that glory which God hath appointed24 for the righteous,) Being made righteous gratis, by the favour of God, through the redemption25 which is by Jesus Christ; Whom God hath set forth to be the propitiatory, or mercy-seat in his own blood, for the manifestation of his [God’s] righteousness, by passing over their transgressions, formerly committed, which he hath borne with hitherto, so as to withhold his hand from casting off the nation of the jews, as their past sins deserved.26 For the manifesting of his righteousness at this time, that he might be just, in keeping his promise, and be the justifier of every one, not who is of the jewish nation, or extraction, but of the faith27 in Jesus Christ. What reason, then, have you jews to glory, and set yourselves so much above the gentiles, in judging them, as you do? None at all: boasting is totally excluded. By what law? By the28 law of works? No, but by the law of faith. I conclude therefore, that a man is justified by faith,29 and not by the works of the law. Is God the God of the jews only, and not of the gentiles also?30 Yea, certainly of the gentiles also. Since the time is come that God is no longer one to the jews, and another to the gentiles, but he is now become one and the same God to them all, and will justify the jews by faith, and the gentiles also through faith, who, by the law of Moses, were heretofore shut out31 from being the people of God. Do we then make the law insignificant, or useless, by our doctrine of faith? By no means: but, on the contrary, we establish and confirm the law.

SECT. IV.

CHAPTER IV. 1 — 25.

CONTENTS.

St. Paul having, in the foregoing section, cut off all glorying from the jews upon the account of their having the law, and shown, that that gave them no manner of title or pretence to be the people of God, more than the gentiles under the Messias, and so they had no reason to judge, or exclude the gentiles, as they did; he comes here to prove that their lineal extraction from their father Abraham gave them no better a pretence of glorying, or of setting themselves upon that account above the gentiles, now, in the time of the gospel.

Because Abraham himself was justified by faith, and so had not whereof to glory; for as much as he that receiveth righteousness, as a boon, has no reason to glory: but he that attains it by works.

Because neither they, who had circumcision derived down to them, as the posterity of Abraham, nor they who had the law; but they only, who had faith, were the seed of Abraham, to whom the promise was made. And therefore the blessing of justification was intended for the gentiles, and bestowed on them as well as on the jews, and upon the same ground.

TEXT.

1 What shall we say then, that Abraham our father, as pertaining to the flesh, hath found?

2 For, if Abraham were justified by works, he hath whereof to glory, but not before God.

3 For what saith the scripture? Abraham believed God, and it was counted unto him for righteousness.

4 Now to him that worketh, is the reward not reckoned of grace, but of debt.

5 But to him that worketh not, but believeth on him, that justifieth the ungodly, his faith is counted for righteousness.

6 Even as David also describeth the blessedness of the man, unto whom God imputeth righteousness without works.

7 Saying, Blessed are they, whose iniquities are forgiven, and whose sins are covered.

8 Blessed is the man, to whom the Lord will not impute sin.

9 Cometh this blessedness, then, upon the circumcision only, or upon the uncircumcision also? for we say, that faith was reckoned to Abraham for righteousness.

10 How was it, then, reckoned? when he was in circumcision, or in uncircumcision? not in circumcision, but in uncircumcision.

11 And he received a sign of circumcision, a seal of righteousness of the faith, which he had, being yet uncircumcised: that he might be the father of all them that believe, though they be not circumcised; that righteousness might be imputed unto them also:

12 And the father of circumcision to them, who are not of the circumcision only, but also walk in the steps of that faith of our father Abraham, which he had being yet uncircumcised.

13 For the promise that he should be the heir of the world, was not to Abraham, or to his seed, through the law, but through the righteousness of faith.

14 For if they, which are of the law, be heirs, faith is made void, and the promise made of none effect.

15 Because the law worketh wrath: for where no law is, there is no transgression.

16 Therefore it is of faith, that it might be by grace; to the end the promise might be sure to all the seed, not to that only, which is of the law, but to that also, which is of the faith of Abraham, who is the father of us all.

17 (As it is written, “I have made thee a father of many nations”) before him whom he believed, even God, who quickeneth the dead, and calleth those things, which be not, as though they were;

18 Who, against hope, believed in hope, that he might become the father of many nations, according to that which was spoken, “So shall thy seed be.”

19 And being not weak in faith, he considered not his own body now dead, when he was about an hundred years old, neither yet the deadness of Sarah’s womb.

20 He staggered not at the promise of God, through unbelief; but was strong in faith, giving glory to God:

21 And being fully persuaded, that what he had promised, he was able also to perform.

22 And, therefore, it was imputed to him for righteousness.

23 Now it was not written for his sake alone, that it was imputed to him;

24 But for us also, to whom it shall be imputed, if we believe on him that raised up Jesus our Lord from the dead,

25 Who was delivered for our offences, and was raised again for our justification.

PARAPHRASE.

1 What then shall we say of Abraham our father, according to the flesh, what has he obtained? has2 not he found matter of glorying? Yes; if he were justified by works, he had matter of glorying, he might then have gloried over the rest of the gentile world, in having God for his God, and he and his family being God’s people; but he had no subject of3 glorying before God. As it is evident from sacred scripture, which telleth us, that Abraham believed God, and it was counted to him for righteousness.4 Now there had been no need of any such counting, any such allowance, if he had attained righteousness by works of obedience, exactly conformable, and coming up, to the rule of righteousness. For what reward a man has made himself a title to, by the performances, that he receives as a debt that is due, 5 and not as a gift of favour. But to him, that by his works attains not righteousness, but only believeth on God, who justifieth him, being ungodly, to him justification is a favour of grace: because his believing is accounted to him for righteousness, or6 perfect obedience. Even as David speaks of the blessedness of the man to whom God reckoneth7 righteousness without works, Saying, “Blessed are they whose iniquities are forgiven, and whose sins8 are covered. Blessed is the man to whom the9 Lord will not reckon sin.” Is this blessedness then upon the circumcised only, or upon the uncircumcised also? for we say that faith was reckoned to10 Abraham for righteousness. When, therefore, was it reckoned to him? when he was in circumcision, or in uncircumcision? not in circumcision,11 but in uncircumcision. For he received the sign of circumcision, a seal of the righteousness of the faith, which he had, being yet uncircumcised, that he might be the father of all those who believed, being uncircumcised, that righteousness might be12 reckoned to them also; And the father of the circumcised, that righteousness might be reckoned, not to those who were barely of the circumcision, but to such of the circumcision as did also walk in the steps of the faith of our father Abraham,13 which he had, being uncircumcised. For the promise, that he should be possessor of the world, was not that Abraham, and those of his seed, who were under the law, should, by virtue of their having and owning the law, be possessed of it; but by the righteousness of faith, whereby those who were, without the law, scattered all over the world, beyond the borders of Canaan, became his posterity, and had him for their father, and inherited the14 blessing of justification by faith. For, if they only who had the law of Moses given them, were heirs of Abraham, faith is made void and useless, it receiving no benefit of the promise, which was made to the heirs of Abraham’s faith, and so the promise15 becomes of no effect. Because the law procures them not justification, but renders them liable to the wrath and punishment of God, who, by the law, has made known to them what is sin, and what punishment he has annexed to it. For there is no incurring wrath, or punishment, where there is no16 law that says any thing of it: Therefore the inheritance is of faith, that it might be merely of favour, to the end that the promise might be sure to all the seed of Abraham; not to that part of it only, which has faith, being under the law; but to that part also, who without the law, inherit the faith of Abraham, who is the father of us all who believe,17 whether jews or gentiles, (As it is written, “I have made thee a father of many nations.”) I say the father of us all (in the account of God, whom he believed, and who accordingly quickened the dead, i. e. Abraham and Sarah, whose bodies were dead: and called things that are not, as if they were;)18 Who without any hope, which the natural course of things could afford, did in hope believe, that he should become the father of many nations, according to what God had spoken, by God’s showing him the stars of heaven, saying, So shall thy seed be.19 And being firm and unshaken in his faith, he regarded not his own body, now dead, he being about an hundred years old; nor the deadness of Sarah’s20 womb; He staggered not at the promise of God, through unbelief, but was strong in faith, thereby21 giving glory to God; By the full persuasion he had, that God was able to perform what he had promised:22 And therefore it was accounted to him for23 righteousness. Now this, of its being reckoned to24 him, was not written for his sake alone, But for ours also, to whom faith also will be reckoned for righteousness, viz. to as many as believe in him, who25 raised Jesus our Lord from the dead, Who was delivered to death for our offences, and was raised again for our justification.

SECT. V.

CHAPTER V. 1 — 11

CONTENTS.

St. Paul, in the foregoing chapters, has examined the glorying of the jews, and their valuing themselves so highly above the gentiles, and shown the vanity of their boasting in circumcision and the law, since neither they, nor their father Abraham, were justified, or found acceptance with God, by circumcision, or the deeds of the law: and therefore they had no reason so as they did to press circumcision and the law on the gentiles, or exclude those who had them not, from being the people of God, and unfit for their communion, in and under the gospel. In this section, he comes to show what the convert gentiles, by faith, without circumcision, or the law, had to glory in, viz. the hope of glory, ver. 2, their sufferings for the gospel, ver. 3. And God as their God, ver. 11. In these three it is easy to observe the thread and coherence of St. Paul’s discourse here, the intermediate verses, (according to that abounding with matter and overflowing of thought, he was filled with) being taken up with an accidental train of considerations, to show the reason they had to glory in tribulations.

TEXT.

1 Therefore being justified by faith, we have peace with God, through our Lord Jesus Christ.

2 By whom also we have access, by faith, into this grace, wherein we stand, and rejoice in hope of the glory of God.

3 And not only so, but we glory in tribulations also, knowing that tribulation worketh patience;

4 And patience, experience; and experience, hope;

5 And hope maketh not ashamed, because the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts, by the Holy Ghost, which is given unto us.

6 For, when we were yet without strength, in due time Christ died for the ungodly.

7 For scarcely for a righteous man will one die: yet peradventure, for a good man some would even dare to die.

8 But God commendeth his love towards us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.

9 Much more then, being now justified by his blood, we shall be saved from wrath through him.

10 For if, when we were enemies, we were reconciled to God, by the death of his son; much more being reconciled, we shall be saved by his life.

11 And not only so, but we also joy in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, by whom we have now received the atonement.

PARAPHRASE.

1 Therefore, being justified by faith, we have peace2 with God, through our Lord Jesus Christ, By whom we have had admittance, through faith, into that favour, in which we have stood, and glory in the hope3 of the glory, which God has in store for us. And not only so, but we glory in tribulation also, knowing4 that tribulation worketh patience; And patience giveth us a proof of ourselves, which furnishes us with5 hope; And our hope maketh not ashamed, will not deceive us, because the sense of the love of God is poured out into our hearts by the Holy Ghost, which is6 given unto us (a). For, when the gentiles were yet without strength (b), void of all help, or ability to deliver ourselves, Christ, in the time that God had appointed and foretold, died for us, who lived without the acknowledgment and worship of the7 true God (b). Scarce is it to be found that any one will die for a just man, if peradventure one should8 dare to die for a good man; But God recommends, and herein shows the greatness of his love towards us, in that, whilst we gentiles were a mass of9 profligate sinners, Christ died for us. Much  more, therefore, now being justified by his death, shall we through him be delivered from condemnation10 at the day of judgment. For if, when we were enemies, we were reconciled to God, by the death of his son, much more, being reconciled, shall we be11 saved by his life. And not only do we glory in tribulation, but also in God, through our Lord Jesus Christ, by whom now we have received reconciliation.

SECT. VI.

CHAPTER V. 12. — VII. 25.

CONTENTS.

The apostle here goes on with his design, of showing that the gentiles, under the gospel, have as good a title to the favour of God, as the jews; there being no other way for either jew or gentile, to find acceptance with God, but by faith in Jesus Christ. In the foregoing section he reckoned up several subjects of glorying, which the convert gentiles had without the law, and concludes them with this chief and principal matter of glorying, even God himself, whom, now that they were, by Jesus Christ their Lord, reconciled to him, they could glory in as their God.

To give them a more full and satisfactory comprehension of this, he leads them back to the times before the giving of the law, and the very being of the jewish nation; and lays before them, in short, the whole scene of God’s œconomy, and his dealing with mankind, from the beginning, in reference to life and death.

He teaches them, that by Adam’s lapse all men were brought into a state of death, and by Christ’s death all are restored to life. By Christ also, as many as believe are instated in eternal life.

That the law, when it came, laid the israelites faster under death, by enlarging the offence, which had death annexed to it. For, by the law, every transgression that any one under the law committed, had death for its punishment, notwithstanding which, by Christ, those under the law, who believe, receive life.

That, though the gentiles, who believe, come not under the rigour of the law, yet the covenant of grace, which they are under, requires that they should not be servants and vassals to sin, to obey it in the lusts of it, but sincerely endeavour after righteousness, the end whereof would be everlasting life.

That the jews also, who receive the gospel, are delivered from the law; not that the law is sin; but because, though the law forbid the obeying of sin, as well as the gospel; yet not enabling them to resist their sinful lusts, but making each compliance with any sinful lust deadly, it settles upon them the dominion of sin, by death, from which they are delivered by the grace of God alone, which frees them from the condemnation of the law, for every actual transgression, and requires no more, but that they should, with the whole bent of their mind, serve the law of God, and not their carnal lusts. In all which cases the salvation of the gentiles is wholly by grace, without their being at all under the law. And the salvation of the jews is wholly by grace also, without any aid, or help from the law: from which also, by Christ, they are delivered.

Thus lies the thread of St. Paul’s argument, wherein we may see how he pursues his design, of satisfying of gentile converts at Rome, that they were not required to submit to the law of Moses; and of fortifying them against the jews, who troubled them about it.

For the more distinct and easy apprehension of St. Paul’s discoursing on these four heads, I shall divide this section into the four following numbers, taking them up, as they lie in the order of the text.

SECT. VI. N. I.

CHAPTER V. 12 — 19.

CONTENTS.

Here he instructs them in the state of mankind in general, before the law, and before the separation that was made thereby of the israelites from all the other nations of the earth. And here he shows, that Adam, transgressing the law, which forbad him the eating of the tree of knowledge, upon pain of death, forfeited immortality, and becoming thereby mortal, all his posterity, descending from the loins of a mortal man, were mortal too, and all died, though none of them broke that law, but Adam himself: but, by Christ, they are all restored to life again. And, God justifying those who believe in Christ, they are restored to their primitive state of righteousness and immortality; so that the gentiles, being the descendants of Adam, as well as the jews, stand as fair for all the advantages, that accrue to the posterity of Adam, by Christ, as the jews themselves, it being all wholly and solely from grace.

TEXT.

12 Wherefore, as by one man sin entered into the world, and death by sin: and so death passed upon all men, for that all have sinned.

13 For until the law sin was in the world: but sin is not imputed when there is no law.

14 Nevertheless, death reigned from Adam to Moses, even over them that had not sinned, after the similitude of Adam’s transgression, who is the figure of him that was to come.

15 But not as the offence, so also is the free gift. For if, through the offence of one, many be dead, much more the grace of God, and the gift by grace, which is by one man, Jesus Christ, hath abounded unto many.

16 And not as it was by one that sinned, so is the gift: for the judgment was by one, to condemnation; but the free gift is of many offences, unto justification.

17 For if by one man’s offence death reigned by one; much more they which receive abundance of grace, and of the gift of righteousness, shall reign in life by one, Jesus Christ.

18 Therefore as, by the offence of one, judgment came upon all men to condemnation: even so by the righteousness of one, the free gift came upon all men, unto justification of life.

19 For, as by one man’s disobedience, many were made sinners: so, by the obedience of one, shall many be made righteous.

PARAPHRASE.

12 Wherefore, to give you a state of the whole matter, from the beginning you must know, that, as by the act of one man, Adam, the father of us all, sin entered into the world, and death, which was the punishment annexed to the offence of eating the forbidden fruit, entered by that sin, for that all13 Adam’s posterity thereby became mortal. It is true, indeed, sin was universally committed in the world by all men, all the time before the positive law of God delivered by Moses: but it is as true that there is no certain, determined punishment affixed14 to sin, without a positive law declaring it. Nevertheless, we see that, in all that space of time, which was before the positive law of God by Moses, men from the beginning of the world, died, all as well as their father Adam; though none of them, but he alone, had eaten of the forbidden fruit; and thereby, as he had committed that sin, to which sin alone the punishment of death was annexed, by the positive sanction of God, denounced to Adam, who was the figure and type of Christ, who was to15 come. But yet though he were the type of Christ, yet the gift, or benefit, received by Christ, is not exactly conformed and confined to the dimensions of the damage, received by Adam’s fall. For if, by the lapse of one man, the multitude, i. e. all men died, much more did the favour of God; and the free gift by the bounty or good-will which is in Jesus Christ, exceed to the multitude, i. e. to all men. 16 Furthermore, neither is the gift, as was the lapse, by one sin. For the judgment or sentence was for one offence, to condemnation: but the gift of favour reaches, notwithstanding many sins, to 17 justification of life. For if, by one lapse, death reigned, by reason of one offence, much more shall they who receiving the surplusage of favour, and of the gift of righteousness, reign in life by one, even18 Jesus Christ. Therefore as, by one offence, (viz.) Adam’s eating the forbidden fruit, all men fell under the condemnation of death: so, by one act of righteousness, viz. Christ’s obedience to death upon the19 cross, all men are restored to life. For as, by one man’s disobedience, many were brought into a state of mortality, which is the state of sinners; so, by the obedience of one, shall many be made righteous, i. e. be restored to life again, as if they were not sinners.

SECT. VI. N. 2.

CHAPTER V. 20, 21.

CONTENTS.

St. Paul, pursuing his design in this epistle, of satisfying the gentiles, that there was no need of their submitting to the law, in order to their partaking of the benefits of the gospel, having, in the foregoing eight verses taught them, that Adam’s one sin had brought death upon them all, from which they were all restored by Christ’s death, with addition of eternal bliss and glory, to all those who believe in him; all which being the effect of God’s free grace and favour, to those who were never under the law, excludes the law from having any part in it, and so fully makes out the title of the gentiles to God’s favour, through Jesus Christ, under the gospel, without the intervention of the law. Here, for the farther satisfaction of the gentile converts, he shows them, in these two verses, that the nation of the hebrews, who had the law, were not delivered from the state of death by it, but rather plunged deeper under it, by the law, and so stood more in need of favour, and indeed had a greater abundance of grace afforded them, for their recovery to life by Jesus Christ, than the gentiles themselves. Thus the jews themselves, not being saved by the law, but by an excess of grace, this is a farther proof of the point St. Paul was upon, viz. that the gentiles had no need of the law, for the obtaining of life, under the gospel.

TEXT.

20 Moreover, the law entered, that the offence might abound: but where sin abounded, grace did much more abound;

21 That, as sin hath reigned unto death, even so might grace reign through righteousness unto eternal life, by Jesus Christ, our Lord.

PARAPHRASE.

20 This was the state of all mankind, before the law, they all died for the one παράπτωμα, lapse, or offence, of one man which was the only irregularity, that had death annexed to it: but the law entered, and took place over a small part of mankind, that this παράπτωμα, lapse, or offence, to which death was annexed, might abound, i. e. the multiplied transgressions of many men, viz. all that were under the law of Moses, might have death annexed to them, by the positive sanction of that law, whereby the offence, to which death was annexed, did abound, i. e. sins that had death for their punishment, were increased. But, by the goodness of God, where sin, with death annexed to it, did abound, grace21 did much more abound. That as sin had reigned, or showed its mastery, in the death of the israelites, who were under the law; so grace, in its turn, might reign, or show its mastery, by justifying them, from all those many sins, which they had committed, each whereof, by the law, brought death with it; and so bestowing on them the righteousness of faith, instate them in eternal life, through Jesus Christ our Lord.

SECT. VI. N. 3.

CHAPTER VI. 1 — 23.

CONTENTS.

St. Paul having, in the foregoing chapter, very much magnified free grace, by showing that all men, having lost their lives by Adam’s sin, were, by grace, through Christ, restored to life again; and also, as many of them as believed in Christ, were re-established in immortality by grace; and that even the jews, who, by their own trespasses against the law, had forfeited their lives, over and over again, were also, by grace, restored to life, grace super-abounding, where sin abounded; he here obviates a wrong inference, which might be apt to mislead the convert gentiles, viz. “therefore, let us continue in sin, that grace may abound.” The contrary whereof he shows their very taking upon them the profession of christianity required of them, by the very initiating ceremony of baptism, wherein they were typically buried with Christ, to teach them that they, as he did, ought to die to sin; and, as he rose to live to God, they should rise to a new life of obedience to God, and be no more slaves to sin, in an obedience and resignation of themselves to its commands. For, if their obedience were to sin, they were vassals of sin, and would certainly receive the wages of that master, which was nothing but death: but, if they obeyed righteousness, i. e. sincerely endeavoured after righteousness, though they did not attain it, sin should not have dominion over them, by death, i. e. should not bring death upon them. Because they were not under the law, which condemned them to death for every transgression; but under grace, which, by faith in Jesus Christ, justified them to eternal life, from their many transgressions. And thus he shows the gentiles not only the no necessity, but the advantage of their not being under the law.

TEXT.

1 What shall we say then? shall we continue in sin, that grace may abound?

2 God forbid: how shall we that are dead to sin, live any longer therein?

3 Know ye not, that so many of us as were baptized into Jesus Christ, were baptized into his death?

4 Therefore we are buried with him by baptism, into death; that, like as Christ was raised up from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life.

5 For, if we have been planted together in the likeness of his death, we shall be also in the likeness of his resurrection:

6 Knowing this, that our old man is crucified with him, that the body of sin might be destroyed, that henceforth we should not serve sin.

7 For he that is dead, is freed from sin.

8 Now if we be dead with Christ, we believe that we shall also live with him.

9 Knowing that Christ, being raised from the dead, dieth no more; death hath no more dominion over him.

10 For in that he died, he died unto sin once: but in that he liveth, he liveth unto God.

11 Likewise, reckon ye also yourselves to be dead indeed unto sin; but alive unto God, through Jesus Christ our Lord.

12 Let not sin, therefore, reign in your mortal body, that ye should obey it, in the lusts thereof.

13 Neither yield ye your members, as instruments of unrighteousness unto sin: but yield yourselves unto God, as those that are alive from the dead; and your members, as instruments of righteousness, unto God.

14 For sin shall not have dominion over you: for ye are not under the law, but under grace.

15 What then? shall we sin, because we are not under the law, but under grace? God forbid!

16 Know ye not, that, to whom ye yield yourselves servants to obey, his servants ye are, to whom ye obey; whether of sin unto death, or of obedience unto righteousness.

17 But God be thanked, that ye were the servants of sin: but ye have obeyed from the heart that form of doctrine, which was delivered you.

18 Being then made free from sin, ye became the servants of righteousness.

19 I speak after the manner of men, because of the infirmity of your flesh: for as ye have yielded your members servants to uncleanness, and to iniquity unto iniquity; even so now yield your members servants to righteousness, unto holiness.

20 For, when ye were the servants of sin, ye were free from righteousness.

21 What fruit had ye then, in those things, whereof ye are now ashamed? for the end of those things is death.

22 But now being made free from sin, and become servants to God, ye have your fruit unto holiness, and the end everlasting life.

23 For the wages of sin is death: but the gift of God is eternal life, through Jesus Christ our Lord.

PARAPHRASE.

1 What shall we say then? Shall we continue in sin,2 that grace may abound? God forbid: how can it be that we, who, by our embracing christianity, have renounced our former sinful courses, and have professed a death to sin, should live any longer in it? 3 For this I hope you are not ignorant of, that we christians, who by baptism were admitted into the kingdom and church of Christ, were baptized into a4 similitude of his death: We did own some kind of death, by being buried under water, which, being buried with him, i. e. in conformity to his burial, as a confession of our being dead, was to signify, that as Christ was raised up from the dead, into a glorious life with his Father, even so we, being raised from our typical death and burial in baptism, should lead a new sort of life, wholly different from our former, in some approaches towards that heavenly life that5 Christ is risen to. For, if we have been ingrafted into him, in the similitude of his death, we shall be also in a conformity to the life, which he is entered6 into, by his resurrection: Knowing this, that we are to live so, as if our old man, our wicked and corrupt fleshly self which we were before, were crucified with him, that the prevalency of our carnal sinful propensities, which are from our bodies, might be destroyed, that henceforth we should not serve sin, 7 as vassals to it. For he, that is dead, is set free from the vassalage of sin, as a slave is from the vassalage8 of his master. Now, if we understand by our being buried in baptism, that we died with Christ, we cannot but think and believe, that9 we should live a life conformable to his; Knowing that Christ, being raised from the dead, returns no more to a mortal life, death hath no more dominion10 over him, he is no more subject to death. For in that he died, he died unto sin, i. e. upon the account of sin, once for all: but his life, now after his resurrection, is a life wholly appropriated to God, with which sin, or death, shall never have any more to do, or come in reach of.11 In like manner, do you also make your reckoning, account yourselves dead to sin, freed from that master; so as not to suffer yourselves, any more, to be commanded, or employed by it, as if it were still your master; but alive to God, i. e. that it is your business now to live wholly for his service, and to12 his glory, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Permit not, therefore, sin to reign over you, by your mortal bodies, which you will do, if you obey13 your carnal lusts: Neither deliver up your members to sin, to be employed by sin, as instruments of iniquity, but deliver up yourselves unto God, as those who have got to a new life from among the dead, and choosing him for your Lord and Master, yield your members to him, as instruments of14 righteousness. For if you do so, sin shall not have dominion over you, you shall not be as its slaves, in its power, to be by it delivered over to death. For you are not under the law, in the legal state; but you are under grace, in the gospel-state of the15 covenant of grace. What then, shall we sin, because we are not under the law, but under the covenant16 of grace? God forbid! Know ye not that, to whom you subject yourselves as vassals, to be at his beck, his vassals you are whom you thus obey, whether it be of sin, which vassalage ends in death; or of Christ, in obeying the gospel, to the obtaining of17 righteousness and life. But God be thanked, that you who were the vassals of sin, have sincerely, and from your heart, obeyed, so as to receive the form, or be cast into the mould of that doctrine, under whose direction or regulation you were put, that18 you might conform yourselves to it. Being therefore set free from the vassalage of sin, you became19 the servants or vassals of righteousness. (I make use of this metaphor, of the passing of slaves from one master to another, well known to you romans, the better to let my meaning into your understandings, that are yet weak in these matters, being more accustomed to fleshly than spiritual things.) For as you yielded your natural faculties obedient, slavish instruments to uncleanness, to be wholly employed in all manner of iniquity; so now ye ought to yield up your natural faculties to a perfect20 and ready obedience to righteousness. For, when you were the vassals of sin, you were not at all subject to, nor paid any obedience to righteousness: therefore, by a parity of reason, now righteousness is your master, you ought to pay no obedience to 21 sin. What fruit, or benefit, had you then in those things, in that course of things, whereof you are now ashamed? For the end of those things, which22 are done in obedience to sin, is death. But now, being set free from sin, being no longer vassals to that master, but having God now for your lord and master, to whom you are become subjects or vassals, your course of life tends to holiness, and will end in23 everlasting life. For the wages that sin pays, is death: but that which God’s servants receive, from his bounty, is the gift of eternal life, through Jesus Christ our Lord.

SECT. VI. N. 4.

CHAPTER VII. 1 — 25.

CONTENTS.

St. Paul, in the foregoing chapter, addressing himself to the convert gentiles, shows them, that, not being under the law, they were obliged only to keep themselves free from the vassalage of sin, by a sincere endeavour after righteousness, forasmuch as God gave eternal life to all those who, being under grace, i. e. being converted to christianity, did so.

In this chapter, addressing himself to those of his own nation in the roman church, he tells them, that, the death of Christ having put an end to the obligation of the law, they were at their liberty to quit the observances of the law, and were guilty of no disloyalty, in putting themselves under the gospel. And here St. Paul shows the deficiency of the law, which rendered it necessary to be laid aside, by the coming and reception of the gospel. Not that it allowed any sin, but, on the contrary, forbad even concupiscence, which was not known to be sin, without the law. Nor was it the law that brought death upon those who were under it, but sin, that herein it might show the extreme malignant influence it had, upon our weak fleshly natures, in that it could prevail on us to transgress the law, (which we could not but acknowledge to be holy, just and good) though death was the declared penalty of every transgression: but herein lay the deficiency of the law, as spiritual and opposite to sin as it was, that it could not master and root it out, but sin remained and dwelt in men, as before, and by the strength of their carnal appetites, which were not subdued by the law, carried them to transgressions, that they approved not. Nor did it avail them to disapprove, or struggle, since, though the bent of their minds were the other way, yet their endeavours after obedience delivered them not from that death, which their bodies, or carnal appetites, running them into transgressions, brought upon them. That deliverance was to be had from grace, by which those who, putting themselves from under the law into the gospel-state, were accepted, if with the bent of their minds they sincerely endeavoured to serve and obey the law of God, though sometimes, through the frailty of their flesh, they fell into sin.

This is a farther demonstration to the converted gentiles of Rome, that they are under no obligation of submitting themselves to the law, in order to be the people of God, or partake of the advantages of the gospel, since it was necessary, even to the jews themselves, to quit the terms of the law, that they might be delivered from death, by the gospel. And thus we see how steadily and skilfully he pursues his design, and with what evidence and strength he fortifies the gentile converts, against all attempts of the jews, who went about to bring them under the observances of the law of Moses.

TEXT.

1 Know ye not, brethren, (for I speak to them that know the law) how that the law hath dominion over a man, as long as he liveth.

2 For the woman, which hath an husband, is bound by the law to her husband, so long as he liveth: but if the husband be dead, she is loosed from the law of her husband.

3 So then, if while her husband liveth, she be married to another man, she shall be called an adulteress: but, if her husband be dead, she is free from that law; so that she is no adulteress, though she be married to another man.

4 Wherefore, my brethren, ye also are become dead to the law, by the body of Christ; that ye should be married to another, even to him, who is raised from the dead, that we should bring forth fruit unto God.

5 For when we were in the flesh, the motions of sins, which were by the law, did work in our members, to bring forth fruit unto death.

6 But now we are delivered from the law, that being dead, wherein we were held; that we should serve in newness of spirit, and not in the oldness of the letter.

7 What shall we say then? is the law sin? God forbid. Nay, I had not known sin, but by the law: for I had not known lust, except the law had said, Thou shalt not covet.

8 But sin, taking occasion by the commandment, wrought in me all manner of concupiscence. For without the law sin was dead.

9 For I was alive without the law, once: but when the commandment came, sin revived, and I died.

10 And the commandment, which was ordained to life, I found to be unto death.

11 For sin, taking occasion by the commandment, deceived me, and by it slew me.

12 Wherefore the law is holy; and the commandment holy, and just, and good.

13 Was then that, which is good, made death unto me? God forbid! but sin, that it might appear sin, working death in me, by that which is good; that sin, by the commandment, might become exceeding sinful.

14 For we know that the law is spiritual; but I am carnal, sold under sin.

15 For that which I do, I allow not; for what I would, that do I not; but what I hate, that I do.

16 If then I do that which I would not, I consent unto the law, that it is good.

17 Now then it is no more I that do it, but sin that dwelleth in me.

18 For I know that in me (that is, in my flesh) dwelleth no good thing: for to will is present with me, but how to perform that which is good, I find not.

19 For the good, that I would, I do not: but the evil, which I would not, that I do.

20 Now if I do that I would not, it is no more I, that do it; but sin, that dwelleth in me.

21 I find then a law, that, when I would do good, evil is present with me.

22 For I delight in the law of God, after the inward man.

23 But I see another law in my members, warring against the law of my mind, and bringing me into captivity to the law of sin, which is in my members.

24 O wretched man that I am, who shall deliver me from the body of this death?

25 I thank God, through Jesus Christ our Lord. So then, with the mind, I myself serve the law of God; but with the flesh, the law of sin.

PARAPHRASE.

1 I have let those of you, who were formerly gentiles, see, that they are not under the law, but under grace: I now apply myself to you, my brethren, of my own nation, who know the law. You cannot be ignorant that the authority of the law reaches, or concerns a2 man, so long as he liveth, and no longer. For a woman who hath an husband, is bound by the law to her living husband; but if her husband dieth, she is loosed from the law, which made her her husband’s, because the authority of the law, whereby he had a right to her, ceased in respect of him, as soon as he died.3 Wherefore she shall be called an adulteress, if while her husband liveth, she become another man’s. But if her husband dies, the right he had to her by the law ceasing, she is freed from the law, so that she is not an adulteress, though she become another man’s.4 So that even ye, my brethren, by the body of Christ, are become dead to the law, whereby the dominion of the law over you has ceased, that you should subject yourselves to the dominion of Christ, in the gospel, which you may do with as much freedom from blame, or the imputation of disloyalty, as a woman whose husband is dead, may, without the imputation of adultery, marry another man. And this making yourselves another’s, even Christ’s, who is risen from the dead, is, that we 5 should bring forth fruit unto God. For when we were after so fleshly a manner, under the law, as not to comprehend the spiritual meaning of it, that directed us to Christ, the spiritual end of the law, our sinful lust, that remained in us under the law, or in the state under the law, wrought in our members, i. e. set our members and faculties on work, in6 doing that, whose end was death. But now the law, under which we were heretofore held in subjection, being dead, we are set free from the dominion of the law, that we should perform our obedience, as under the new and spiritual covenant of the gospel, wherein there is a remission of frailties, and not as still under the old rigour of the letter of the law, which condemns every one, who does not perform exact obedience 7 to every tittle. What shall we then think, that the law, because it is set aside, was unrighteous, or gave any allowance, or contributed any thing to sin? By no means: for the law, on the contrary, tied men stricter up from sin, forbidding concupiscence, which they did not know to be sin, but by the law. For I had not known concupiscence to be sin, unless the law8 had said, Thou shalt not covet. Nevertheless sin, taking opportunity, during the law, or whilst I was under the commandment, wrought in me all manner of concupiscence: for without the law, sin is9 dead, not able to hurt me; And there was a time once, when I being without the law, was in a state of life; but the commandment coming, sin got life and strength again, and I found myself a dead man; 10 And that very law, which was given me for the attaining of life, was found to produce death to11 me. For my mortal enemy, sin, taking the opportunity of my being under the law, slew me by the law, which it inveigled me to disobey, i. e. the frailty and vicious inclinations of nature remaining in me under the law, as they were before, able still to bring me into transgressions, each whereof was mortal, sin had, by my being under the law, a sure12 opportunity of bringing death upon me. So that the law is holy, just, and good, such as the eternal, immutable rule of right and good required it to be. 13 Was then the law, that in itself was good, made death to me? No, by no means: but it was sin, that by the law was made death unto me, to the end that the power of sin might appear, by its being able to bring death upon me, by that very law, that was intended for my good, that so, by the commandment, the power of sin and corruption in me might14 be shown to be exceeding great; For we know that the law is spiritual, requiring actions quite opposite to our carnal affections. But I am so carnal, as to be enslaved to them, and forced against my will to do the drudgery of sin, as if I were a slave, that had been sold into the hands of that my domineering15 enemy. For what I do, is not of my own contrivance; for that which I have a mind to, I do not;16 and what I have an aversion to, that I do. If then my transgressing the law be what I, in my mind, am against, it is plain, the consent of my mind goes17 with the law that it is good. If so, then it is not I, a willing agent of my own free purpose, that do what is contrary to the law, but as a poor slave in captivity, not able to follow my own understanding and choice, forced by the prevalency of my own sinful affections, and sin that remains still in me notwithstanding18 the law. For I know, by woeful experience, that in me, viz. in my flesh, that part, which is the seat of carnal appetites, there inhabits no good. For, in the judgment and purpose of my mind, I am readily carried into a conformity and obedience to the law: but, the strength of my carnal affections not being abated by the law, I am not able to execute what I judge to be right, and19 intend to perform. For the good, that is my purpose and aim, that I do not: but the evil, that is contrary to my intention, that in my practice takes place, i. e. I purpose and aim at universal obedience,20 but cannot in fact attain it. Now if I do that, which is against the full bent and intention of me myself, it is, as I said before, not I, my true self, who do it, but the true author of it is my old enemy, sin, which still remains and dwells in me, and I would fain get21 rid of. I find it, therefore, as by a law settled in me, that when my intentions aim at good, evil is ready at22 hand, to make my actions wrong and faulty. For that which my inward man is delighted with, that, which with satisfaction my mind would make its rule, is23 the law of God. But I see in my members another principle of action, equivalent to a law, directly waging war against that law, which my mind would follow, leading me captive into an unwilling subjection to the constant inclination and impulse of my carnal appetite, which, as steadily as if it were a24 law, carries me to sin. O miserable man that I am, who shall deliver me from this body of death?25 The grace of God, through Jesus Christ our Lord. To comfort myself, therefore, as that state requires, for my deliverance from death, I myself, with full purpose and sincere endeavours of mind, give up myself to obey the law of God; though my carnal inclinations are enslaved, and have a constant tendency to sin. This is all I can do, and this is all, I being under grace, that is required of me, and through Christ will be accepted.

SECT. VII.

CHAPTER VIII. 1 — 39.

CONTENTS.

St. Paul having, chap. vi. shown that the gentiles, who were not under the law, were saved only by grace, which required that they should not indulge themselves in sin, but steadily and sincerely endeavour after perfect obedience: having also, ch. vii. shown, that the jews who were under the law, were also saved by grace only, because the law could not enable them wholly to avoid sin, which, by the law, was in every the least slip made death; he in this chapter shows, that both jews and gentiles, who are under grace, i. e. converts to christianity, are free from condemnation, if they perform what is required of them; and thereupon he sets forth the terms of the covenant of grace, and presses their observance, viz. not to live after the flesh, but after the spirit, mortifying the deeds of the body; forasmuch as those, that do so, are the sons of God. This being laid down, he makes use of it to arm them with patience against afflictions, assuring them, that, whilst they remain in this state, nothing can separate them from the love of God, nor shut them out from the inheritance of eternal life with Christ, in glory, to which all the sufferings of this life bear not any the least proportion.

TEXT.

1 There is therefore now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh, but after the spirit.

2 For the law of the spirit of life, in Christ Jesus, hath made me free from the law of sin and death.

For what the law could not do, in that it was weak through the flesh, God, sending his own son, in the likeness of sinful flesh, and for sin condemned sin in the flesh:

4 That the righteousness of the law might be fulfilled in us, who walk not after the flesh, but after the spirit.

5 For they, that are after the flesh, do mind the things of the flesh: but they that are after the spirit, the things of the spirit.

6 For to be carnally minded, is death; but to be spiritually minded, is life and peace:

7 Because the carnal mind is enmity against God: for it is not subject to the law of God, neither indeed can be.

8 So then they that are in the flesh, cannot please God.

9 But ye are not in the flesh, but in the spirit, if so be that the spirit of God dwell in you. Now if any man have not the spirit of Christ, he is none of his.

10 And if Christ be in you, the body is dead, because of sin, but the spirit is life, because of righteousness.

11 But if the spirit of him that raised up Jesus from the dead, dwell in you: he that raised up Christ from the dead, shall also quicken your mortal bodies by his spirit that dwelleth in you.

12 Therefore, brethren, we are debtors, not to the flesh to live after the flesh.

13 For, if ye live after the flesh, ye shall die: but if ye, through the spirit, do mortify the deeds of the body, ye shall live.

14 For as many as are led by the spirit of God, they are the sons of God.

15 For ye have not received the spirit of bondage again to fear; but ye have received the spirit of adoption, whereby we cry, Abba, Father.

16 The spirit itself beareth witness with our spirit, that we are the children of God.

17 And if children, then heirs; heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ: if so be that we suffer with him, that we may be also glorified together.

18 For I reckon, that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.

19 For the earnest expectation of the creature waiteth for the manifestation of the sons of God.

20 For the creature was made subject to vanity, not willingly, but by reason of him who hath subjected the same in hope:

21 Because the creature itself also shall be delivered from the bondage of corruption, into the glorious liberty of the children of God.

22 For we know that the whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain together, until now.

23 And not only they, but ourselves also, which have the first-fruits of the spirit, even we ourselves groan within ourselves, waiting for the adoption, to wit, the redemption of our body.

24 For we are saved by hope: but hope that is seen, is not hope: for what a man seeth, why doth he yet hope for?

25 But if we hope for that we see not, then do we with patience wait for it.

26 Likewise the spirit also helpeth our infirmities: for we know not what we should pray for, as we ought: but the spirit itself maketh intercession for us, with groanings, which cannot be uttered.

27 And he that searcheth the hearts knoweth what is the mind of the spirit, because he maketh intercession for the saints, according to the will of God.

28 And we know that all things work together for good, to them that love God, to them, who are the called according to his purpose.

29 For whom he did fore-know, he also did predestinate to be conformed to the image of his son, that he might be the first-born among many brethren.

30 Moreover, whom he did predestinate, them he also called: and whom he called, them he also justified: and whom he justified, them he also glorified.

31 What shall we then say to these things? If God be for us, who can be against us?

32 He that spared not his own son, but delivered him up for us all, how shall he not with him also freely give us all things?

33 Who shall lay any thing to the charge of God’s elect? It is God that justifieth:

34 Who is he that condemneth? It is Christ that died, yea rather that is risen again, who is even at the right hand of God, who also maketh intercession for us.

35 Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?

36 (As it is written, For thy sake we are killed all the day long; we are accounted as sheep for the slaughter).

37 Nay in all these things we are more than conquerors, through him that loved us.

38 For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come,

39 Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

PARAPHRASE.

1 There is, therefore, now, no condemnation to, i. e. no sentence of death shall pass upon, those who are christians, if so be they obey not the sinful lusts of the flesh, but follow, with sincerity of heart,2 the dictates of the spirit, in the gospel. For the grace of God, which is effectual to life, has set me free from the law in my members, which cannot now produce sin in me, unto death¶. 3 For this (viz. the delivering us from sin) being beyond the power of the law, which was too weak to master the propensities of the flesh, God, sending his son in flesh, that in all things, except sin, was like unto our frail, sinful flesh, and sending him also to be an offering for sin, he put to death, or extinguished, or suppressed sin in the flesh, i. e. sending his son into the world, with the body, wherein the flesh could4 never prevail, to the producing of any one sin; To the end that, under this example of the flesh, wherein sin was perfectly mastered and excluded from any life, the moral rectitude of the law might be conformed to by us, who, abandoning the lusts of the flesh, follow the guidance of the spirit, in the law of our minds, and make it our business to live, not after5 the flesh, but after the spirit. For as for those who  are still under the direction of the flesh, and its sinful appetites, who are under obedience to the law in their members, they have the thoughts and bent of their minds set upon the things of the flesh, to obey it in the lusts of it: but they, who are under the spiritual law of their minds, the thoughts and bent of their hearts is to follow the dictates of the spirit, in that6 law. For to have our minds set upon the satisfaction of the lusts of the flesh, in a slavish obedience to them, does certainly produce and bring death upon us; but our setting ourselves, seriously and sincerely, to obey the dictates and direction of the spirit, produces life and peace, which are not to be had in the contrary,7 carnal state: Because to be carnally minded is direct enmity and opposition against God, for such a temper of mind, given up to the lusts of the flesh, is in no subjection to the law of God, nor indeed can be, it 8 having a quite contrary tendency. So then they that are in the flesh, i. e. under the fleshly dispensation of the law, without regarding Christ,9 the spirit of it, in it cannot please God. But ye are not in that state, of having all your expectation from the law, and the benefits, that are to be obtained barely by that; but are in the spiritual state of the law, i. e. the gospel, which is the end of the law, and to which the law leads you. And so, having received the gospel, you have therewith received the spirit of God: for, as many as receive Christ, he gives power to become the  sons of God: and to10 those that are his sons, God gives his spirit. And if Christ be in you, by his spirit, the body is dead as to all activity to sin, sin no longer reigns in it, but your sinful, carnal lusts are mortified. But the spirit of your mind liveth, i. e. is enlivened, in order to righteousness, or living righteously.11 But, if the spirit of God, who had power able to raise Jesus Christ from the dead, dwell in you, as certainly it does, he, that raised Christ from the dead, is certainly able, and will, by his spirit that dwells in you, enliven even your mortal bodies,  that sin shall not have the sole power and rule there, but your members may be made living12 instruments of righteousness. Therefore, brethren, we are not under any obligation to the flesh, to obey13 the lusts of it. For, if ye live after the flesh, that mortal part shall lead you to death irrecoverable; but if by the spirit, whereby Christ totally suppressed and hindered sin from having any life in his flesh, you mortify the deeds of the body, ye shall have14 eternal life. For, as many as are led by the spirit of God, they are the sons of God, of an immortal race, and consequently like their Father immortal.15 For ye have not received the spirit of bondage again, to fear; but ye have received the spirit of God, (which is given to those who, having received adoption, are sons) whereby we are all enabled16 to call God our Father¶. The spirit of God himself beareth witness  with our spirits that we are17 the children of God, And if children, then heirs of God, joint-heirs with Christ, if so be we suffer with him, that we may also be glorified with him.18 For I count that the sufferings of this transitory life bear no proportion to that glorious state, that shall be hereafter revealed, and set before the eyes19 of the whole world, at our admittance into it. For the whole race of mankind, in an earnest expectation of this inconceivable, glorious immortality that20 shall be bestowed on the sons of God (For mankind, created in a better state, was made subject to the vanity of this calamitous fleeting life, not of its own choice, but by the guile of the devil¶, who brought mankind into this mortal state) waiteth in 21 hope, That even they also shall be delivered from this subjection to corruption, and shall be brought into that glorious freedom from death, which is the22 proper inheritance of the children of God. For we know that mankind, all of them, groan together, and unto this day are in pain, as a woman in labour, to be delivered out of the uneasiness of this mortal23 state. And not only they, but even those, who have the first fruits of the spirit, and therein the earnest of eternal life, we ourselves groan within ourselves, waiting for the fruit of our adoption, which is, that, as we are by adoption made sons and co-heirs with Jesus Christ, so we may have bodies like unto his24 most glorious body, spiritual and immortal. But we must wait with patience, for we have hitherto been saved but in hope and expectation: but hope is of things not in present possession, or enjoyment. For what a man hath, and seeth in his own hands, he no25 longer hopes for. But if we hope for what is out of sight, and yet to come, then do we with26 patience wait for it. Such, therefore, are our groans, which the spirit, in aid to our infirmity, makes use of. For we know not what prayers to make as we ought, but the spirit itself layeth for us our requests before God, in groans that cannot be expressed27 in words. And God, the searcher of hearts, who understandeth this language of the spirit, knoweth what the spirit would have, because the spirit is wont to make intercession for the28 saints, acceptably to God. Bear, therefore, your sufferings with patience and constancy, for we certainly know that all things work together for good, to those that love God, who are the called, according29 to his purpose of calling the gentiles. In which purpose the gentiles, whom he fore-knew, as he did the jews, with an intention of his kindness, and of making them his people, he pre-ordained to be conformable to the image of his son, that he might be the first-born, the chief amongst many30 brethren. Moreover, whom he did thus preordain to be his people, them he also called, by sending preachers of the gospel to them: and whom he called, if they obeyed the truth, those he also justified, by counting their faith for righteousness: and whom he justified, them he also glorified, viz. in31 his purpose. What shall we say, then, to these things? If God be for us, as, by what he has already done for us, it appears he is, who can be32 against us? He that spared not his own son, but delivered him up to death for us all, gentiles as well as jews, how shall he not with him also give us all33 things? Who shall be the prosecutor of those, whom God hath chosen? Shall God, who justifieth34 them? Who, as judge, shall condemn them? Christ, that died for us, yea rather that is risen again for our justification, and is at the right hand of God,35 making intercession for us? Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril,36 or sword? For this is our lot, as it is written, For thy sake we are killed all the day long, we are accounted37 as sheep for the slaughter. Nay, in all these things, we are already more than conquerors, by the grace and assistance of him that loved us.38 For I am stedfastly persuaded, that neither the terrours of death, nor the allurements of life, nor angels, nor the princes and powers of this world;39 nor things present; nor any thing future; Nor the height of prosperity; nor the depth of misery; nor any thing else whatsoever; shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

SECT. VIII.

CHAPTER IX. 1. — X. 21.

CONTENTS.

There was nothing more grating and offensive to the jews, than the thoughts of having the gentiles joined with them, and partaking equally in the privileges and advantages of the kingdom of the Messiah: and, which was yet worse, to be told that those aliens should be admitted, and they, who presumed themselves children of that kingdom, to be shut out. St. Paul, who had insisted much on this doctrine, in all the foregoing chapters of this epistle, to show that he had not done it out of any aversion, or unkindness, to his nation and brethren, the jews, does here express his great affection to them, and declares an extreme concern for their salvation. But withal he shows, that whatever privileges they had received from God, above other nations, whatever expectation the promises, made to their forefathers, might raise in them, they had yet no just reason of complaining of God’s dealing with them, now under the gospel, since it was according to his promise to Abraham, and his frequent declarations in sacred scripture. Nor was it any injustice to the jewish nation, if God now acted by the same sovereign power, wherewith he preferred Jacob (the younger brother, without any merit of his) and his posterity, to be his people, before Esau and his posterity, whom he rejected. The earth is all his; nor have the nations, that possess it, any title of their own, but what he gives them, to the countries they inhabit, nor the good things they enjoy; and he may dispossess, or exterminate them, when he pleaseth. And as he destroyed the egyptians, for the glory of his name, in the deliverance of the israelites; so he may, according to his good pleasure, raise or depress, take into favour, or reject, the several nations of this world. And particularly, as to the nation of the jews, all, but a small remnant, were rejected, and the gentiles taken in, in their room, to be the people and church of God; because they were a gainsaying and disobedient people, that would not receive the Messiah, whom he had promised, and, in the appointed time, sent to them. He that will, with moderate attention and indifferency of mind, read this ninth chapter, will see that what is said, of God’s exercising of an absolute power, according to the good pleasure of his will, relates only to nations, or bodies politick, of men, incorporated in civil societies, which feel the effects of it only in the prosperity, or calamity, they meet with, in this world, but extends not to their eternal state, in another world, considered as particular persons, wherein they stand each man by himself, upon his own bottom, and shall so answer separately, at the day of judgment. They may be punished here, with their fellow-citizens, as part of a sinful nation, and that be but temporal chastisement for their good, and yet be advanced to eternal life and bliss, in the world to come.

TEXT.

1 I say the truth in Christ, I lye not, my conscience also bearing me witness in the Holy Ghost,

2 That I have great heaviness and continual sorrow at my heart.

3 For I could wish, that myself were accursed from Christ, for my brethren, my kinsmen according to the flesh:

4 Who are israelites; to whom pertaineth the adoption, and the glory, and the covenants, and the giving of the law, and the service of God, and the promises;

5 Whose are the fathers, and of whom, as concerning the flesh, Christ came, who is over all, God blessed for ever. Amen.

6 Not as though the word of God hath taken none effect. For they are not all Israel, which are of Israel.

7 Neither because they are the seed of Abraham, are they all children: but in Isaac shall thy seed be called.

8 That is, they which are the children of the flesh, these are not the children of God: but the children of the promise are counted for the seed.

9 For this is the word of promise, At this time will I come, and Sarah shall have a son.

10 And not only this, but when Rebecca also had conceived by one, even by our father Isaac,

11 (For the children being not yet born, neither having done any good, or evil, that the purpose of God, according to election, might stand, not of works, but of him that calleth)

12 It was said unto her, The elder shall serve the younger.

13 As it is written, Jacob have I loved, but Esau have I hated.

14 What shall we say then? Is there unrighteousness with God? God forbid.

15 For he saith to Moses, I will have mercy on whom I will have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I will have compassion.

16 So then it is not of him that willeth, nor of him that runneth, but of God that showeth mercy.

17 For the scripture saith unto Pharaoh, Even for this same purpose have I raised thee up, that I might show my power in thee, and that my name might be declared throughout all the earth.

18 Therefore, hath he mercy on whom he will have mercy, and whom he will, he hardeneth.

19 Thou wilt say then unto me, Why do he yet find fault? For who hath resisted his will?

20 Nay but, O man, who art thou that repliest against God? shall the thing formed, say to him that formed it, Why hast thou made me thus?

21 Hath not the potter power over the clay, of the same lump to make one vessel unto honour, and another unto dishonour?

22 What, if God, willing to show his wrath, and to make his power known, endured with much long-suffering the vessels of wrath, fitted to destruction:

23 And that he might make known the riches of his glory, on the vessels of mercy, which he had afore prepared unto glory?

24 Even us, whom he hath called, not of the jews only, but also of the gentiles.

25 As he saith also in Osee, I will call them my people, which were not my people; and her beloved, which was not beloved.

26 And it shall come to pass, that in the place where it was said unto them, Ye are not my people; there shall they be called the children of the living God.

27 Esaias also crieth concerning Israel, Though the number of the children of Israel be as the sand of the sea, a remnant shall be saved.

28 For he will finish the work, and cut it short in righteousness: because a short work will the Lord make upon the earth.

29 And as Esaias said before, Except the Lord of Sabbaoth had left us a seed, we had been as Sodome, and been made like unto Gomorrah.

30 What shall we say then? That the gentiles, which followed not after righteousness have attained to righteousness, even the righteousness which is of faith.

31 But Israel, which followed after the law of righteousness, hath not attained to the law of righteousness.

32 Wherefore? Because they sought it, not by faith, but (as it were) by the works of the law: for they stumbled at that stumbling-stone.

33 As it is written, Behold I lay in Sion a stumbling-stone, and rock of offence: and whosoever believeth on him, shall not be ashamed.

X. 1Brethren, my heart’s desire and prayer to God for Israel is, that they might be saved.

2 For I bear them record, that they have a zeal of God, but not according to knowledge.

3 For they, being ignorant of God’s righteousness, and going about to establish their own righteousness, have not submitted themselves unto the righteousness of God.

4 For Christ is the end of the law, for righteousness, to every one that believeth.

5 For Moses describeth the righteousness, which is of the law, That the man, which doth these things, shall live by them.

6 But the righteousness which is of faith, speaketh on this wise, Say not in thine heart, Who shall ascend into heaven? (that is, to bring Christ down from above)

7 Or who shall descend into the deep? (that is, to bring up Christ again, from the dead)

8 But what saith it? The word is nigh thee, even in thy mouth, and in thy heart: that is, the word of faith which we preach,

9 That, if thou shalt confess, with thy mouth, the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart, that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved.

10 For with the heart man believeth unto righteousness, and with the mouth confession is made unto salvation.

11 For the scripture saith, Whosoever believeth on him shall not be ashamed.

12 For there is no difference between the jew and the greek: for the same Lord over all is rich unto all that call upon him.

13 For whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord, shall be saved.

14 How then shall they call on him, in whom they have not believed? and how shall they believe in him, of whom they have not heard? and how shall they hear without a preacher?

15 And how shall they preach, except they be sent? as it is written, How beautiful are the feet of them that preach the gospel of peace, and bring glad tidings of good things?

16 But they have not all obeyed the gospel. For Esaias saith, Lord, who hath believed our report?

17 So then, faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the word of God.

18 But I say, Have they not heard? Yes, verily, their sound went into all the earth, and their words unto the ends of the world.

19 But I say, Did not Israel know? First Moses saith, I will provoke you to jealousy by them that are no people, and by a foolish nation I will anger you.

20 But Esaias is very bold, and saith, I was found of them that sought me not; I was made manifest unto them that asked not after me.

21 But to Israel he saith, All day long have I stretched forth my hands unto a disobedient and gainsaying people.

PARAPHRASE.

1 I as a christian speak truth, and my conscience, guided and enlightened by the Holy Ghost, bears me2 witness, that I lye not, In my profession of great3 heaviness and continual sorrow of heart; I could even wish that the destruction and extermination, to which my brethren the jews are devoted by Christ, might, if it could save them from ruin, be executed on me, in the stead of those my kinsmen after the4 flesh; Who are israelites, a nation dignified with these privileges, which were peculiar to them; adoption, whereby they were in a particular manner the sons of God; the glory of the divine presence amongst them; covenants, made between them and the great God of heaven and the earth; the moral law, a constitution of civil government, and a form of divine worship prescribed by God himself; and all5 the promises of the Old Testament; Had the patriarchs, to whom the promises were made, for their fore-fathers; and of them, as to his fleshly extraction, Christ is come, he who is over all, God be6 blessed for ever, Amen. I commiserate my nation for not receiving the promised Messiah, now he is come; and I speak of the great prerogatives, they had from God, above other nations; but I say not this, as if it were possible, that the promise of God should fail of performance, and not have its effect¶. But it is to be observed, for a right understanding of the promise, that the sole descendants of Jacob, or Israel, do not make up the whole nation of Israel , or the people of God, comprehended 7 in the promise; Nor are they, who are the race of Abraham, all children, but only his posterity by Isaac, as it is said, “In Isaac shall thy seed be8 “called.” That is, the children of the flesh, descended out of Abraham’s loins, are not thereby the children of God, and to be esteemed his people: but the children of the promise, as Isaac was, are9 alone to be accounted his seed. For thus runs the word of promise, “At this time I will come, and10 Sarah shall have a son.” Nor was this the only limitation of the seed of Abraham, to whom the promise belonged; but also, when Rebecca had conceived by that one of Abraham’s issue, to whom the promise was made, viz. our father Isaac, and there11 were twins in her womb, of that one father, Before the children were born, or had done any good, or evil, to show that his making any stock, or race, of men his peculiar people, depended solely on his own purpose and good pleasure, in choosing and calling them, and not on any works or deserts of theirs, he, acting here in the case of Jacob and Esau, according12 to the predetermination of his own choice, It was declared unto her, that there were two nations in her womb, and that the descendants of the elder13 brother should serve those of the younger, As it is written, “Jacob have I loved, so as to make his posterity my chosen people; and Esau I put so much behind him, as to lay his mountains and14 his heritage waste.” What shall we say then, is there any injustice with God, in choosing one people to himself before another, according to his good15 pleasure? By no means. My brethren, the jews themselves cannot charge any such thing on what I say; since they have it from Moses himself, that God declared to him, that he would be gracious, to whom he would be gracious; and show mercy, on16 whom he would show mercy. So then, neither the purpose of Isaac, who designed it for Esau, and willed him to prepare himself for it; nor the endeavours of Esau, who ran a hunting for venison to come and receive it, could place on him the blessing; but the favour of being made, in his posterity, a great and prosperous nation, the peculiar people of God, preferred to that which should descend from his brother, was bestowed on Jacob, by the mere17 bounty and good pleasure of God himself. The like hath Moses left us upon record, of God’s dealing with Pharaoh and his subjects, the people of Egypt, to whom God saith, “Even for this same purpose have I raised thee up, that I might show my power in thee, and that my name might be 18 renowned through all the earth.” Therefore, that his name and power may be made known, and taken notice of, in the world, he is kind and bountiful to one nation, and lets another go on obstinately, in their opposition to him, that his taking them off, by some signal calamity and ruin, brought on them by the visible hand of his providence, may be seen, and acknowledged to be an effect of their standing out against him, as in the case of Pharaoh: for this end he is bountiful, to whom he will be bountiful; and whom he will, he permits to make such an use of his forbearance towards them, as to persist obdurate in their provocation of him, and draw on themselves19 exemplary destruction. To this, some may be ready to say, why then does he find fault? For who, at any time, hath been able to resist his20 will? Say you so, indeed? But who art thou, O man, that repliest thus to God? shall the nations, that are made great or little, shall kingdoms, that are raised or depressed, say to him, in whose hands they are, to dispose of them as he pleases, “Why21 hast thou made us thus?” Hath not the potter power over the clay, of the same lump, to make this22 a vessel of honour, and that of dishonour? But what hast thou to say, O man of Judea, if God, willing to show his wrath, and have his power taken notice of, in the execution of it, did, with much long-suffering, bear with the sinful nation of the jews, even when they were proper objects of that wrath, fit to have it poured out upon them, in their destruction;23 That he might make known the riches of his glory, on those whom, being objects of his24 mercy, he had before prepared to glory? Even us christians, whom he hath also called, not only of25 the jews, but also of the gentiles; As he hath declared in Osee; “I will call them my people, who were not my people; and her beloved, who was26 not beloved. And it shall come to pass, that in the place, where it was said unto them, Ye are not my people; there shall they be called the children 27 “of the living God.” Isaiah crieth also, concerning Israel, “Though the number of the children of Israel be as the sand of the sea, yet it is but a remnant28 that shall be saved. For the Lord, finishing and contracting the account in righteousness, shall make a29 short, or small remainder in the earth.” And, as Isaiah said before, “Unless the Lord of hosts had left us a seed, we had been as Sodom, and been made like unto Gomorrah;” we had utterly30 been extirpated. What then remains to be said, but this? That the gentiles who sought not after righteousness, have obtained the righteousness, which is by faith, and thereby are become the people of31 God; But the children of Israel, who followed the law, which contained the rule of righteousness, have not attained to that law, whereby righteousness is to be attained, i. e. have not received the gospel, 32 and so are not the people of God. How came they to miss it? Because they sought not to attain it by faith; but as if it were to be obtained by the works of the law. A crucified Messiah was a stumblingblock to them; and at that they stumbled, As it33 is written, “Behold, I lay in Sion a stumbling-stone, and a rock of offence: and whosoever believeth in him shall not be ashamed.”

X. 1Brethren, my hearty desire and prayer to God for2 Israel is, that they may be saved. For I bear them witness that they are zealous, and as they think for God and his law; but their zeal is not guided by3 true knowledge; For they, being ignorant of the righteousness that is of God, viz. That righteousness which he graciously bestows and accepts of; and going about to establish a righteousness of their own, which they seek for, in their own performances; have not brought themselves to submit to the law of the gospel, wherein the righteousness of God,4 i. e. righteousness by faith is offered. For the end of the law was to bring men to Christ, that, by believing in him, every one, that did so, might be justified5 by faith; For Moses describeth the righteousness, that was to be had by the law, thus: “That the man, which doth the things required in the law, shall6 have life thereby.” But the righteousness, which is of faith, speaketh after this manner: “Say not in thine heart, Who shall ascend into heaven;” that is, to bring down the Messiah from thence, whom we7 expect personally here on earth to deliver us? “Or who shall descend into the deep?” i. e. to bring up Christ again from the dead, to be our Saviour? you mistake the deliverance, you expect by the Messiah, there needs not the fetching him from the other8 world, to be present with you: The deliverance, by him, is a deliverance from sin, that you may be made righteous by faith in him, and that speaks thus: “The word is nigh thee, even in thy mouth, and in thy heart;” that is, the word of faith, or the doctrine9 of the gospel, which we preach, viz. If thou shalt confess with “thy mouth,” i. e. openly own Jesus the Lord, i. e. Jesus to be the Messiah, thy Lord, and shalt believe in thy heart, that God hath raised him from the dead, otherwise he cannot be believed to be the Messiah; thou shalt be saved.10 It was not for nothing that Moses, in the place above-cited, mentioned both heart and mouth; there is use of both in the case. For with the heart man believeth unto righteousness, and with the11 mouth confession is made unto salvation. For the scripture saith, “Whosoever believe on him, shall not be ashamed:” shall not repent his having believed,12 and owning it. The scripture saith, Whosoever, for in this case there is no distinction of jew and gentile. For it is he, the same who is Lord of them all, and is abundantly bountiful to all that call13 upon him. For whosoever shall call upon his14 name, shall be saved. But how shall they call upon him, on whom they have not believed? And how shall they believe on him, of whom they have not heard? And how shall they hear, without a15 preacher? And how shall they preach, except they be sent? As it is written, “How beautiful are the feet of them that preach the gospel of peace, and bring glad tidings of good things?”16 But, though there be messengers sent from God, to preach the gospel; yet it is not to be expected, that all should receive and obey it. For Isaiah hath foretold that they should not, saying, “Lord, who17 hath believed our report?” That which we may learn from thence is, that faith cometh by hearing, and hearing from the word of God, i. e. the revelation of the gospel, in the writings of the sacred scriptures, communicated by those, whom God sends as preachers thereof, to those who are ignorant of it; and there is no need, that Christ should be brought down from heaven, to be personally with 18 you, to be your Saviour. It is enough, that both jews and gentiles have heard of him, by messengers, whose voice is gone out into the whole earth, and words unto the ends of the world, far beyond the19 bounds of Judea. But I ask, Did not Israel know this, that the gentiles were to be taken in, and made the people of God? First Moses tells it them, from God, who says, “I will provoke you to jealousy, by them who are no people; and by a20 foolish nation I will anger you.” But Isaiah declares it yet much plainer, in these words: “I was found of them that sought me not; I was made21 manifest to them that asked not after me.” And to Israel, to show their refusal, he saith: “All day long have I stretched forth my hands unto a disobedient and gainsaying people.”

SECT. IX.

CHAPTER XI. 1 — 36.

CONTENTS.

The apostle, in this chapter, goes on to show the future state of the jews and gentiles, in respect of christianity; viz. that, though the nation of the jews were, for their unbelief, rejected, and the gentiles taken, in their room, to be the people of God; yet there were a few of the jews, that believed in Christ, and so a small remnant of them continued to be God’s people, being incorporated, with the converted gentiles, into the christian church. But they shall, the whole nation of them, when the fulness of the gentiles is come in, be converted to the gospel, and again be restored to be the people of God.

The apostle takes occasion also, from God’s having rejected the jews, to warn the gentile converts, that they take heed: since, if God cast off his ancient people, the jews, for their unbelief, the gentiles could not expect to be preserved, if they apostatized from the faith, and kept not firm in their obedience to the gospel.

TEXT.

1 I say then, Hath God cast away his people? God forbid! For I also am an Israelite, of the seed of Abraham, of the tribe of Benjamin.

2 God hath not cast away his people, which he foreknew. Wot ye not what the scripture saith, of Elias? how he maketh intercession to God against Israel, saying,

3 Lord, they have killed thy prophets, and digged down thine altars; and I am left alone, and they seek my life.

4 But what saith the answer of God unto him? I have reserved to myself seven thousand men, who have not bowed the knee to the image of Baal.

5 Even so, then, at this present time also, there is a remnant, according to the election of grace.

6 And if by grace, then is it no more of works: otherwise grace is no more grace. But if it be of works, then is it no more grace: otherwise work is no more work.

7 What then? Israel hath not obtained that, which he seeketh for; but the election hath obtained it, and the rest were blinded:

8 According as it is written, God hath given them the spirit of slumber, eyes that they should not see, and ears that they should not hear, unto this day.

9 And David saith, Let their table be made a snare, and a trap, and a stumbling-block, and a recompence unto them:

10 Let their eyes be darkened that they may not see, and bow down their back alway.

11 I say then, have they stumbled that they should fall? God forbid: but rather through their fall salvation is come unto the gentiles for to provoke them to jealousy.

12 Now if the fall of them be the riches of the world, and the diminishing of them the riches of the gentiles: how much more their fulness?

13 For I speak to you gentiles, in as much as I am the apostle of the gentiles, I magnify mine office:

14 If, by any means, I may provoke to emulation them, which are my flesh, and might save some of them.

15 For, if the casting away of them be the reconciling of the world, what shall the receiving of them be, but life from the dead?

16 For if the first fruit be holy, the lump is also holy: and if the root be holy, so are the branches.

17 And if some of the branches be broken off, and thou, being a wild olive-tree, were graffed in amongst them, and with them partakest of the root and fatness of the olive-tree;

18 Boast not against the branches: but if thou boast, thou bearest not the root, but the root thee.

19 Thou wilt say then, The branches were broken off, that I might be graffed in.

20 Well; because of unbelief they were broken off, and thou standest by faith. Be not high-minded, but fear.

21 For, if God spared not the natural branches, take heed lest he also spare not thee.

22 Behold, therefore, the goodness and severity of God: on them which fell, severity; but towards thee, goodness, if thou continue in his goodness: otherwise thou also shalt be cut off.

23 And they also, if they abide not still in unbelief, shall be graffed in: for God is able to graff them in again.

24 For, if thou wert cut out of the olive-tree, which is wild by nature, and wert graffed, contrary to nature, into a good olive-tree; how much more shall these, which be the natural branches, be graffed into their own olive-tree?

25 For I would not, brethren, that ye should be ignorant of this mystery, (lest ye should be wise in your own conceits) that blindness in part is happened to Israel, until the fulness of the gentiles be come in.

26 And so all Israel shall be saved: as it is written, There shall come out of Sion the deliverer, and shall turn away ungodliness from Jacob.

27 For this is my covenant unto them, when I shall take away their sins.

28 As concerning the gospel, they are enemies for your sakes: but as touching the election, they are beloved for the fathers’ sakes.

29 For the gifts and calling of God are without repentance.

30 For as ye, in times past, have not believed God, yet have now obtained mercy, through their unbelief:

31 Even so have these also now not believed, that, through your mercy, they also may obtain mercy.

32 For God hath concluded them all in unbelief, that he might have mercy upon all.

33 O the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! how unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways past finding out!

34 For who hath known the mind of the Lord, or who hath been his counsellor?

35 Or who hath first given to him, and it shall be recompensed unto him again?

36 For of him, and through him, and to him, are all things: to whom be glory for ever. Amen.

PARAPHRASE.

1 I say then, “Has God wholly cast away his people, the jews, from being his people?” By no means, for I myself am an Israelite, of the seed of Abraham,2 of the tribe of Benjamin. God hath not utterly cast off his people, whom he formerly owned, with so peculiar a respect. Know ye not what the scripture saith, concerning Elijah? How he complained to3 the God of Israel, in these words: “Lord, they have killed thy prophets, and have digged down thine altars, and of all that worshipped thee, I4 alone am left, and they seek my life also.” But what saith the answer of God to him? “I have reserved to myself seven thousand men, who have not bowed the knee to Baal,” i.e. have not been5 guilty of idolatry. Even so at this time also, there is a remnant reserved and segregated, by the favour6 and free choice of God. Which reservation of a remnant, if it be by grace and favour, it is not of works, for then grace would not be grace. But if it were of works, then is it not grace. For then work would not be work, i. e. work gives a right, grace bestows the favour, where there is no right to it; so that what is conferred by the one, cannot be ascribed7 to the other. How is it then? Even thus, Israel, or the nation of the jews, obtained not what it seeks, but the election, or that part, which was to remain God’s elect, chosen people, obtained it, but8 the rest of them were blinded: According as it is written, “God hath given them the spirit of slumber; eyes that they should not see, and ears that9 they should not hear, unto this day.” And David saith, “Let their table be made a snare and a trap, and a stumbling-block, and a recompence unto10 them: Let their eyes be darkened, that they may not see, and bow down their back alway.”11 What then do I say, that they have so stumbled, as to be fallen past recovery? By no means: but this I say, that by their fall, by their rejection for refusing the gospel, the privilege of becoming the people of God, by receiving the doctrine of salvation, is come to the gentiles, to provoke the jews to12 jealousy. Now, if the fall of the jews hath been to the enriching of the rest of the world, and their damage an advantage to the gentiles, by letting them into the church, how much more shall their completion be so, when their whole nation shall13 be restored? This I say to you gentiles, forasmuch as being apostle of the gentiles, I magnify14 mine office: If, by any means, I may provoke to emulation the jews, who are my own flesh and blood, and bring some of them into the way of15 salvation. For, if the casting them off be a means of reconciling the world, what shall their restoration be, when they are taken again into favour, but as it were life from the dead, which is to16 all mankind of all nations? For if the first fruits be holy and accepted, the whole product of the year is holy, and will be accepted. And if Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, from whom the jewish nation had their original, were holy, the branches also, that17 sprang from this root, are holy. If then some of the natural branches were broken off: if some of the natural jews, of the stock of Israel, were broken off and rejected, and thou a heathen, of the wild gentile race, wert taken in, and ingrafted into the church of God, in their room; and there partakest of the blessings,18 promised to Abraham and his seed; Be not so conceited of thyself, as to show any disrespect to the jews. If any such vanity possesses thee, remember that the privilege thou hast, in being a christian, is derived to thee from the promise made to Abraham, and his seed, but nothing accrues to Abraham, or his 19 race, by any thing derived from thee. Thou wilt perhaps say, “The jews were rejected to make way20 for me.” Well, let it be so; but remember that it was because of unbelief, that they were broken off, and that it is by faith alone, that thou hast obtained, and must keep thy present station. This ought to be a warning to thee, not to have any haughty conceit21 of thyself, but with modesty to fear. For if God spared not the seed of Abraham, but cast off even the children of Israel, for their unbelief he will certainly not spare thee, if thou art guilty of the like22 miscarriage. Mind, therefore, the benignity and rigour of God; rigour to them that stumbled at the gospel and fell, but benignity to thee, if thou continue within the sphere of his benignity, i. e. in the faith, by which thou partakest of the privilege of being one of his people; otherwise even thou also23 shalt be cut off. And the jews also, if they continue not in unbelief, shall be again grafted into the stock of Abraham, and be re-established the people of God. For, however they are now scattered, and under subjection to strangers, God is able to collect them again into one body, make them his people, and set them24 in a flourishing condition, in their own land. For if you, who are heathens by birth, and not of the promised seed, were, when you had neither claim, nor inclination to it, brought into the church, and made the people of God; how much more shall those, who are the posterity and descendants of him to whom the promise was made, be restored to the state,25 which the promise vested in that family? For to prevent your being conceited of yourselves, my brethren, let me make known to you, which has yet been undiscovered to the world, viz. That the blindness, which has fallen upon part of Israel, shall remain upon them, but till the time be come, wherein the whole gentile world shall enter into the church,26 and make profession of christianity. And so all Israel shall be converted to the christian faith, and the whole nation become the people of God: as it is written, “There shall come out of Sion the deliverer, and shall turn away ungodliness from Jacob.27 For this is my covenant to them, when I28 shall take away their sins.” They are, indeed, at present, strangers to the gospel, and so are in the state of enemies; but this is for your sakes: their fall and loss is your enriching, you having obtained admittance, through their being cast out: but yet they, being within the election, that God made, of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and their posterity, to be his people, are still his beloved people, for Abraham, Isaac, and29 Jacob’s sake, from whom they are descended. For the favours, that God showed those their fathers, in calling them and their posterity to be his people, he doth not repent of; but his promise, that they30 shall be his people, shall stand good. For as you, the gentiles, formerly stood out, and were not the people of God, but yet have now obtained mercy, so as to be taken in, through the standing out of the31 jews, who submit not to the gospel: Even so they, now, have stood out, by reason of your being in mercy admitted, that they also, through the mercy you have received, may again hereafter be admitted.32 For God hath put up together, in a state of revolt from their allegiance to him, as it were in one fold, all men, both jews and gentiles, that, through his mercy, they might all, both jews and gentiles, come to be his people, i. e. he hath suffered both jews and gentiles, in their turns, not to be his people, that he might bring the whole body both of jews and gentiles,33 to be his people. O the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways not to be34 traced! For who hath known the mind of the Lord;35 or who hath sat in counsel with him? Or who hath been before-hand with him, in bestowing any thing upon him, that God may repay it to him again?36 The thought of any such thing is absurd. For from him all things have their being and original; by him they are all ordered and disposed of, and, for him and his glory, they are all made and regulated, to whom be glory for ever. Amen.

SECT. X.

CHAPTER XII. 1 — 21.

CONTENTS.

St. Paul, in the end of the foregoing chapter, with a very solemn epiphonema, closes that admirable, evangelical discourse, to the church at Rome, which had taken up the eleven foregoing chapters. It was addressed to the two sorts of converts, viz. gentiles and jews, into which, as into two distinct bodies, he all along, through this epistle, divides all mankind, and considers them, as so divided, into two separate corporations.

As to the gentiles, he endeavours to satisfy them, that though they, for their apostacy from God to idolatry, and the worship of false gods, had been abandoned by God, and lived in sin and blindness, without God in the world, strangers from the knowledge and acknowledgment of him; yet that the mercy of God, through Jesus Christ, was extended to them, whereby there was a way now open to them, to become the people of God. For since no man could be saved, by his own righteousness, no not the jews themselves, by the deeds of the law; the only way to salvation, both for jews and gentiles, was by faith in Jesus Christ. Nor had the jews any other way, now, to continue themselves the people of God, than by receiving the gospel; which way was opened also to the gentiles, and they as freely admitted into the kingdom of God, now erected under Jesus Christ, as the jews, and upon the sole terms of believing. So that there was no need at all for the gentiles to be circumcised, to become jews, that they might be partakers of the benefits of the gospel.

As to the jews, the apostle’s other great aim, in the foregoing discourse, is to remove the offence the jews took at the gospel, because the gentiles were received into the church, as the people of God, and were allowed to be subjects of the kingdom of the Messiah. To bring them to a better temper, he shows them, from the sacred scripture, that they could not be saved by the deeds of the law, and therefore the doctrine of righteousness, by faith, ought not to be so strange a thing to them. And, as to their being, for their unbelief, rejected from being the people of God, and the gentiles taken in their room, he shows plainly, that this was foretold them in the Old Testament; and that herein God did them no injustice. He was sovereign over all mankind, and might choose whom he would, to be his people, with the same freedom that he chose the posterity of Abraham, among all the nations of the earth, and of that race chose the descendants of Jacob, before those of his elder brother Esau, and that, before they had a being, or were capable of doing good or evil. In all which discourse of his it is plain, the election spoken of has for its object only nations, or collective bodies politic, in this world, and not particular persons, in reference to their eternal state in the world to come.

Having thus finished the principal design of his writing, he here, in this, as is usual with him in all his epistles, concludes with practical and moral exhortations, whereof there are several in this chapter, which we shall take in their order.

TEXT.

1 I Beseech you, therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service.

2 And be not conformed to this world; but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect will of God.

3 For I say, through the grace given unto me, to every man that is among you, not to think of himself more highly than he ought to think; but to think soberly, according as God hath dealt to every man the measure of faith.

4 For, as we have many members in one body, and all members have not the same office;

5 So we, being many, are one body in Christ, and every one members one of another.

6 Having then gifts, differing according to the grace that is given to us, whether prophecy, let us prophesy according to the proportion of faith.

7 Or ministry, let us wait on our ministering; or he that teacheth, on teaching;

8 Or he that exhorteth, on exhortation: he that giveth, let him do it with simplicity: he that ruleth, with diligence; he that showeth mercy, with chearfulness.

9 Let love be without dissimulation. Abhor that which is evil, cleave to that which is good.

10 Be kindly affectioned one to another with brotherly love; in honour preferring one another.

11 Not slothful in business: fervent in spirit; serving the Lord.

12 Rejoicing in hope: patient in tribulation; continuing instant in prayer:

13 Distributing to the necessity of saints; given to hospitality.

14 Bless them which persecute you: bless and curse not.

15 Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep.

16 Be of the same mind one towards another. Mind not high things, but condescend to men of low estate. Be not wise in your own conceits.

17 Recompense to no man evil for evil. Provide things honest in the sight of all men.

18 If it be possible, as much as lieth in you, live peaceably with all men.

19 Dearly beloved, avenge not yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath; for it is written, Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.

20 Therefore, if thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink, for, in so doing, thou shalt heap coals of fire on his head.

21 Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good.

PARAPHRASE.

1 It being so then, that you are become the people of God, in the room of the jews, do not ye fail to offer him that sacrifice, that it is reasonable for you to do, I mean your bodies, not to be slain, but the lusts thereof being mortified, and the body cleansed from the spots and blemishes of sin, will be an acceptable offering to him, and such a way of worship, as becomes a rational creature, which therefore I beseech you, by the mercies of God to you, who has made you his2 people to present to him. And be not conformed to the fashion of this world: but be ye transformed, in the renewing of your minds; that you may, upon examination, find out what is the good, the acceptable and perfect will of God, which now, under the gospel, has shown itself to be in purity and holiness of life: the ritual observances, which he once instituted, not being that, his good, acceptable, and perfect will, which he always intended, they were made only the types and preparatory way to this more perfect 3 state under the gospel. For by virtue of that commission, to be the apostle of the gentiles, which, by the favour of God, is bestowed on me, I bid every one of you, not to think of himself more highly than he ought to think, but to have sober and modest thoughts of himself, according to that measure of spiritual gifts, which God has bestowed upon him.4 For, as there are many members in one and the same body, but all the members are not appointed to the5 same work; So we, who are many, make all but one body in Christ, and are all fellow members one6 of another. But having, according to the respective favour that is bestowed upon us, every one of us different gifts; whether it be prophecy, let us prophesy, according to the proportion of faith; or gift of interpretation, which is given us, i. e. as far forth as we are enabled by revelation and an extraordinary illumination to understand and expound7 it, and no farther: Or, if it be ministry, let us wait on our ministering; he that is a teacher, let him8 take care to teach. He, whose gift is exhortation, let him be diligent in exhorting: he that giveth, let him do it liberally, and without the mixture of any self-interest: he that presideth, let him do it with diligence: he that showeth mercy, let him do9 it with chearfulness. Let love be without dissimulation. Abhor that which is evil, stick to that10 which is good. Be kindly affectioned one towards another, with brotherly love: in honour preferring11 one another. Not slothful in business; but active and vigorous in mind, directing all the service of12 Christ and the gospel, Rejoicing in the hope you have of heaven and happiness; patient in tribulation;13 frequent and instant in prayer: Forward to help christians in want, according to their necessities;14 given to hospitality. Bless them who persecute15 you: bless and curse not. Rejoice with them16 that rejoice, and weep with them that weep. Be of the same mind one towards another. Do not mind only high things; but suit yourselves to the mean condition and low concerns of persons beneath you.17 Be not wise in your own conceits. Render to no man evil for evil; but take care that your carriage 18 be such as may be approved by all men. If it be possible, as much as lieth in you, live peaceably with19 all men. Dearly beloved, do not avenge yourselves, but rather leave that to God. For it is written, “Vengeance is mine, and I will repay it, saith the20 Lord.” Therefore, if thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink; if this prevail on him, thou subduest an enemy, and gainest a friend; if he persists still in his enmity, in so doing, thou heapest coals of fire on his head, i. e. exposest him21 to the wrath of God, who will be thy avenger. Be not overcome and prevailed on, by the evil thou receivest, to retaliate; but endeavour to master the malice of an enemy in injuring thee, by a return of kindness and good offices to him.

SECT. XI.

CHAPTER XIII. 1 — 7.

CONTENTS.

This section contains the duty of christians to the civil magistrate: for the understanding this right, we must consider these two things:

That these rules are given to christians, that were members of a heathen commonwealth, to show them that, by being made christians and subjects of Christ’s kingdom, they were not, by the freedom of the gospel, exempt from any ties of duty, or subjection, which by the laws of their country, they were in, and ought to observe, to the government and magistrates of it, though heathens, any more than any of their heathen subjects. But, on the other side, these rules did not tie them up, any more than any of their fellow-citizens, who were not christians, from any of those due rights, which, by the law of nature, or the constitutions of their country, belonged to them. Whatsoever any other of their fellow-subjects, being in a like station with them, might do without sinning, that they were not abridged of, but might do still, being christians. The rule here being the same with that given by St. Paul, 1 Cor. vii. 17, “As God has called every one, so let him walk.” The rules of civil right and wrong, that he is to walk by, are to him the same they were before.

That St. Paul, in this direction to the romans, does not so much describe the magistrates that then were in Rome, as tells whence they, and all magistrates, everywhere, have their authority; and for what end they have it, and should use it. And this he does, as becomes his prudence, to avoid bringing any imputation on christians, from heathen magistrates, especially those insolent and vicious ones of Rome, who could not brook any thing to be told them as their duty, and so might be apt to interpret such plain truths, laid down in a dogmatical way, into sauciness, sedition, or treason, a scandal cautiously to be kept off from the christian doctrine! nor does he, in what he says, in the least flatter the roman emperor, let it be either Claudius, as some think, or Nero, as others, who then was in possession of that empire. For he here speaks of the higher powers, i. e. the supreme, civil power, which is, in every commonwealth, derived from God, and is of the same extent everywhere, i. e. is absolute and unlimited by any thing, but the end for which God gave it, viz. the good of the people, sincerely pursued, according to the best of the skill of those who share that power, and so not to be resisted. But, how men come by a rightful title to this power, or who has that title, he is wholly silent, and says nothing of it. To have meddled with that, would have been to decide of civil rights, contrary to the design and business of the gospel, and the example of our Saviour, who refused meddling in such cases with this decisive question, “Who made me a judge, or divider, over you?” Luke xii. 14.

TEXT.

1 Let every soul be subject unto the higher powers. For there is no power, but of God: the powers that be are ordained of God.

2 Whosoever, therefore, resisteth the power, resisteth the ordinance of God: and they that resist, shall receive to themselves damnation.

3 For rulers are not a terrour to good works, but to the evil. Wilt thou then not be afraid of the power? do that which is good, and thou shalt have praise of the same.

4 For he is the minister of God to thee for good. But if thou do that which is evil, be afraid: for he beareth not the sword in vain: for he is the minister of God, a revenger to execute wrath upon him that doth evil.

5 Wherefore ye must needs be subject, not only for wrath, but also for conscience sake.

6 For, for this cause, pay you tribute also; for they are God’s ministers, attending continually upon this very thing.

7 Render therefore to all their dues: tribute to whom tribute is due, custom to whom custom, fear to whom fear, honour to whom honour.

PARAPHRASE.

1 Let every one of you, none excepted, be subject to the over-ruling powers of the government he lives in. 2 There is no power but what is from God: The powers that are in being, are ordained by God: so that he, who resisteth the power, resisteth the ordinance of God; and they that resist, will be punished by those3 powers that they resist. What should you be afraid of? Rulers are no terrour to those that do well, but to those that do ill. Wilt thou then not live in dread of the civil power? Do that which is good and right, and then praise only is thy due from the magistrate.4 For he is the officer and minister of God, appointed only for thy good. But, if thou doest amiss, then thou hast reason to be afraid. For he bears not the sword in vain. For he is the minister of God, and executioner of wrath and punishment upon him that5 doth ill. This being the end of government, and the business of the magistrate, to cherish the good, and punish ill men, it is necessary for you to submit to government, not only in apprehension of the punishment, which disobedience will draw on you, but out of conscience, as a duty required of you by God.6 This is the reason why also you pay tribute, which is due to the magistrates, because they employ their care, time and pains, for the publick weal, in punishing and restraining the wicked and vicious; and in countenancing and supporting the virtuous7 and good. Render therefore to all their dues: tribute to whom tribute is due, custom to whom custom, fear to whom fear, and honour to whom honour.

SECT. XII.

CHAPTER XIII. 8 — 14.

CONTENTS.

He exhorts them to love, which is, in effect, the fulfilling of the whole law.

TEXT.

8 Owe no man any thing, but to love one another: for he, that loveth another, hath fulfilled the law.

9 For this, Thou shalt not commit adultery, thou shalt not kill, thou shalt not steal, thou shalt not bear false witness, thou shalt not covet; and, if there be any other commandment, it is briefly comprehended in this saying, namely, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.

10 Love worketh no ill to his neighbour: therefore, love is the fulfilling of the law.

11 And that, knowing the time, that now it is high time to awake out of sleep; for now is our salvation nearer than when we believed.

12 The night is far spent, the day is at hand: let us, therefore, cast off the works of darkness, and let us put on the armour of light.

13 Let us walk honestly, as in the day; not in rioting and drunkenness, not in chambering and wantonness, not in strife and envying.

14 But put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make not provision for the flesh, to fulfil the lusts thereof.

PARAPHRASE.

8 Owe nothing to any body, but affection and good will, mutually to one another: for he, that loves others sincerely, as he does himself, has fulfilled the law.9 For this precept, Thou shalt not commit adultery, thou shalt not kill, thou shalt not steal, thou shalt not bear false witness, thou shalt not covet; and whatever other command there be, concerning social duties, it in short is comprehended in this, “Thou10 shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.” Love permits us to do no harm to our neighbour, and therefore is the fulfilling of the whole law of the second 11 table. And all this do, considering that it is now high time that we rouse ourselves up, shake off sleep, and betake ourselves, with vigilancy and vigour, to the duties of a christian life. For the time of your removal, out of this place of exercise and probationership, is nearer than when you first entered12 into the profession of christianity. The night, the dark state of this world, wherein the good and the bad can scarce be distinguished, is far spent. The day, that will show every one in his own dress and colours, is at hand. Let us, therefore, put away the works, that we should be ashamed of, but in the dark; and let us put on the dress and ornaments, that we should be willing to appear in, in the light.13 Let our behaviour be decent, and our carriage such, as fears not the light, nor the eyes of men; not in disorderly feastings and drunkenness; nor in dalliance and wantonness: nor in strife and envy.14 But walk in newness of life, in obedience to the precepts of the gospel, as becomes those who are baptized into the faith of Christ, and let not the great employment of your thoughts and cares be wholly in making provision for the body, that you may have wherewithal to satisfy your carnal lusts.

SECT. XIII.

CHAPTER XIV. 1. — XV. 13.

CONTENTS.

St. Paul instructs both the strong and the weak in their mutual duties one to another, in respect of things indifferent, teaching them, that the strong should not use their liberty, where it might offend a weak brother: nor the weak censure the strong, for using their liberty.

TEXT.

1 Him that is weak in the faith receive you, but not to doubtful disputations.

2 For one believeth that he may eat all things: another, who is weak, eateth herbs.

3 Let not him, that eateth, despise him that eateth not: and let not him, which eateth not, judge him that eateth: for God hath received him.

4 Who art thou, that judgest another man’s servant? to his own master he standeth or falleth: yea, he shall be holden up; for God is able to make him stand.

5 One man esteemeth one day above another: another esteemeth every day alike. Let every man be fully persuaded in his own mind.

6 He that regardeth the day, regardeth it unto the Lord; and he that regardeth not the day, to the Lord he doth not regard it. He that eateth, eateth to the Lord, for he giveth God thanks; and he that eateth not, to the Lord he eateth not, and giveth God thanks.

7 For none of us liveth to himself, and no man dieth to himself.

8 For whether we live, we live unto the Lord; and whether we die, we die unto the Lord: whether we live, therefore, or die, we are the Lord’s.

9 For to this end Christ both died, and rose, and revived, that he might be Lord both of the dead and living.

10 But why dost thou judge thy brother? or why dost thou set at nought thy brother? for we shall all stand before the judgment seat of Christ.

11 For it is written, As I live, saith the Lord, every knee shall bow to me, and every tongue shall confess to God.

12 So then every one of us shall give account of himself to God.

13 Let us not, therefore, judge one another any more: but judge this rather, that no man put a stumbling-block, or an occasion to fall, in his brother’s way.

14 I know, and am persuaded by the Lord Jesus, that there is nothing unclean of itself: but to him that esteemeth any thing to be unclean, to him it is unclean.

15 But if thy brother be grieved with thy meat, now walkest thou not charitably. Destroy not him with thy meat, for whom Christ did.

16 Let not then your good be evil spoken of.

17 For the kingdom of God is not meat and drink, but righteousness, and peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost.

18 For he that in these things serveth Christ, is acceptable to God, and approved of men.

19 Let us, therefore, follow after the things which make for peace, and things wherewith one may edify another.

20 For meat destroy not the work of God. All things indeed are pure; but it is evil for that man who eateth with offence.

21 It is good neither to eat flesh, nor to drink wine, nor any thing whereby thy brother stumbleth, or is offended, or is made weak.

22 Hast thou faith? have it to thyself before God. Happy is he that condemneth not himself, in that thing which he alloweth.

23 And he that doubteth, is damned if he eat, because he eateth not of faith: for whatsoever is not of faith, is sin.

XV. 1.We then that are strong, ought to bear the infirmities of the weak, and not to please ourselves.

2 Let every one of us please his neighbour for his good to edification.

3 For even Christ pleased not himself; but as it is written, The reproaches of them that reproached thee, fell on me.

4 For whatsoever things were written, aforetime, were written for our learning, that we, through patience and comfort of the scriptures, might have hope.

5 Now the God of patience and consolation, grant you to be likeminded one towards another, according to Christ Jesus:

6 That ye may, with one mind and one mouth, glorify God, even the father of our Lord Jesus Christ.

7 Wherefore, receive ye one another, as Christ also received us, to the glory of God.

8 Now I say that Jesus Christ was a minister of the circumcision for the truth of God, to confirm the promises made unto the fathers:

9 And that the gentiles might glorify God, for his mercy; as it is written, For this cause I will confess to thee among the gentiles, and sing unto thy name.

10 And again he saith, Rejoice, ye gentiles, with his people.

11 And again, Praise the Lord, all ye gentiles, and laud him, all ye people.

12 And again Esaias saith, There shall be a root of Jesse, and he that shall rise to reign over the gentiles, in him shall the gentiles trust.

13 Now the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, that ye may abound in hope, through the power of the Holy Ghost.

PARAPHRASE.

1 Him, that is weak in the faith, i. e. not fully persuaded of his christian liberty, in the use of some indifferent thing, receive you into your friendship and conversation, without any coldness, or distinction, but do not engage him in disputes and controversies2 about it. For such variety is there in men’s persuasions, about their christian liberty, that one believeth that he may, without restraint, eat all things; another is so scrupulous, that he eateth nothing but3 herbs. Let not him, that is persuaded of his liberty, and eateth, despise him that, through scruple, eateth not: and let not him, that is more doubtful, and eateth not, judge, or censure, him that eateth, for God hath received him into his church and family:4 And who art thou, that takest upon thee to judge the domestic of another, whether he be of his family, or no? It is his own master alone, who is to judge, whether he be, or shall continue, his domestic, or no: what hast thou to do, to meddle in the case? But trouble not thyself, he shall stand and stay in the family. For God is able to confirm and establish him5 there. One man judgeth one day to be set apart to God, more than another: another man judgeth every day to be God’s alike. Let every one take care to be satisfied in his own mind, touching the6 matter. But let him not censure another in what he doth. He that observeth a day, observeth it as the Lord’s servant, in obedience to him: and he that observeth it not, passes by that observance, as the Lord’s servant, in obedience also to the Lord. He that eateth what another out of scruple forbears, eateth it as the Lord’s servant: for he giveth God thanks. And he that, out of scruple, forbeareth to eat, does it also as the Lord’s servant: for he giveth God thanks, even for that which he doth,7 and thinks he may not eat. For no one of us christians liveth, as if he were his own man, perfectly at his own disposal: and no one of us dies8 so. For, whether we live, our life is appropriated to the Lord: or, whether we die, to him we die, as his servants. For whether we live, or die, we are his, in his family, his domestics, appropriated to him. 9 For to this end Christ died, and rose, and lived again, that he might be Lord and proprietor of us, both10 dead and living. What hast thou then to do, to judge thy brother, who is none of thy servant, but thy equal? Or how darest thou to think contemptibly of him? For we shall, thou, and he, and all of us, be brought before the judgment-seat of Christ, and there we shall answer, every one for himself, to11 our Lord and master. For it is written, “As I live, saith the Lord, every knee shall bow to me, and12 every tongue shall confess to God.” So then every one of us shall give an account of himself to13 God. Let us not, therefore, take upon us to judge one another; but rather come to this judgment, or determination of mind, that no man put a tsumbling-block, or an occasion of falling, in his brother’s 14 way. I know and am fully assured by the Lord Jesus, that there is nothing unclean or unlawful to be eaten, of itself. But to him, that accounts any15 thing to be unclean, to him it is unclean. But if thy brother be grieved with thy meat, thy carriage is uncharitable to him. Destroy not him with thy16 meat, for whom Christ died. Let not then your liberty, which is a good you enjoy, under the gospel,17 be evil spoken of. For the privileges and advantages of the kingdom of God do not consist in the enjoyment of greater variety of meats and drinks, but in uprightness of life, peace of all kinds, and joy in the gifts and benefits of the Holy Ghost,18 under the gospel. For he that, in these things, pays his allegiance and service to Jesus Christ, as a dutiful subject of his kingdom, is acceptable to God,19 and approved of men. The things, therefore, that we set our hearts upon, to pursue and promote, let them be such as tend to peace and good-will, and 20 the mutual edification of one another. Do not, for a little meat, destroy a man, that is the work of God, and no ordinary piece of workmanship. It is true, all sort of wholesome food is pure, and defileth not a man’s conscience; but yet it is evil to him, who21 eateth any thing so as to offend his brother. It is better to forbear flesh, and wine, and any thing, rather than in the use of thy liberty, in any indifferent things, to do that, whereby thy brother22 stumbleth, or is offended, or is made weak. Thou art fully persuaded of the lawfulness of eating the meat which thou eatest: it is well. Happy is he, that is not self-condemned, in the thing that he practises. But have a care to keep this faith or persuasion, to thyself; let it be between God and thy own conscience: raise no dispute about it; neither make23 ostentation of it, by thy practice before others. But he that is in doubt, and balanceth, is self-condemned, if he eat; because he doth it, without a full persuasion of the lawfulness of it. For whatever a man doth, which he is not fully persuaded in his own XV. 1. mind to be lawful, is sin. We, then, that are strong, ought to bear the infirmities of the weak, and not to indulge our own appetites, or inclinations, in such an use of indifferent things, as may offend the2 weak. But let every one of us please his neighbour, comply with his infirmities for his good, and to edification.3 For even Christ, our Lord, pleased not himself: but as it is written, “The reproaches of them4 that reproached thee, are fallen upon me.” For whatsoever was heretofore written, i. e. in the Old Testament, was written for our learning, that we through patience, and the comfort which the scriptures give5 us, might have hope. Now God, who is the giver of patience and consolation, make you to be at unity one with another, according to the will of Christ Jesus;6 That you may, with one mind and one mouth, glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.7 Wherefore, admit and receive one another into fellowship and familiarity, without shyness, or distance, upon occasion of differences about things indifferent,8 even as Christ received us jews to glorify God, (For I must tell you, ye converted romans, that Christ was sent to the jews, and employed all his ministry on those of the circumcision) for his truth, in making good his promise made to the fathers, i. e. Abraham,9 Isaac, and Jacob; And received you, the gentiles, to glorify God for his mercy to you, as it is written, “For this cause I will confess to thee among the gentiles, and sing unto thy name.”10 And again, he saith, “Rejoice, ye gentiles, with11 his people.” And again, “Praise the Lord, all ye12 gentiles, and laud him, all ye nations.” And again, Isaiah saith, “There shall be a root of Jesse, and he that shall rise to reign over the gentiles,13 in him shall the gentiles trust.” Now the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, that ye may abound in hope, through the power of the Holy Ghost.

SECT. XIV.

CHAPTER XV. 14 — 33.

CONTENTS.

In the remaining part of this chapter, St. Paul makes a very kind and skilful apology to them, for this epistle: expresses an earnest desire of coming to them: touches upon the reasons, that hitherto had hindered him: desires their prayers for his deliverance from the jews, in his journey to Jerusalem, whither he was going; and promises that, from thence, he will make them a visit in his way to Spain.

TEXT.

14 And I myself also am persuaded of you, my brethren, that ye also are full of goodness, filled with all knowledge, able also to admonish one another.

15 Nevertheless, brethren, I have written the more boldly unto you, in some sort, as putting you in mind, because of the grace, that is given to me of God.

16 That I should be the minister of Jesus Christ to the gentiles, ministering the gospel of God, that the offering up of the gentiles might be acceptable, being sanctified by the Holy Ghost.

17 I have therefore whereof I may glory, through Jesus Christ, in those things which pertain unto God.

18 For I will not dare to speak of any of those things which Christ hath not wrought by me, to make the gentiles obedient, by word and deed.

19 Through mighty signs and wonders, by the power of the spirit of God; so that from Jerusalem, and round about unto Illyricum, I have fully preached the gospel of Christ.

20 Yea, so have I strived to preach the gospel, not where Christ was named, lest I should build upon another man’s foundation.

21 But as it is written, To whom he was not spoken of, they shall see: and they that have not heard, shall understand.

22 For which cause also I have been much hindered from coming to you.

23 But now, having no more place in these parts, and having a great desire, these many years, to come unto you,

24 Whensoever I take my journey into Spain, I will come to you: for I trust to see you in my journey, and to be brought on my way thither-ward by you, if first I be somewhat filled with your company.

25 But now I go unto Jerusalem, to minister unto the saints.

26 For it hath pleased them of Macedonia, and Achaia, to make a certain contribution for the poor saints, which are at Jerusalem.

27 It hath pleased them verily, and their debtors they are. For, if the gentiles have been made partakers of their spiritual things, their duty is also to minister unto them in carnal things.

28 When, therefore, I have performed this, and have sealed to them this fruit, I will come, by you, into Spain.

29 And I am sure that, when I come unto you, I shall come in the fulness of the gospel of Christ.

30 Now I beseech you, brethren, for the Lord Jesus Christ’s sake, and for the love of the spirit, that ye strive, together with me, in your prayers to God for me.

31 That I may be delivered from them that do not believe, in Judea; and that my service, which I have for Jerusalem, may be accepted of the saints;

32 That I may come unto you with joy, by the will of God, and may with you be refreshed.

33 Now the God of peace be with you all. Amen.

PARAPHRASE.

14 As to my own thoughts concerning you, my brethren, I am persuaded that you also, as well as others, are full of goodness, abounding in all knowledge, and15 able to instruct one another. Nevertheless, brethren, I have written to you, in some things, pretty freely, as your remembrancer, which I have been emboldened to do, by the commission, which God has been16 graciously pleased to bestow on me, Whom he hath made to be the minister of Jesus Christ to the gentiles, in the gospel of God, in which holy ministration I officiate, that the gentiles may be made an acceptable offering to God, sanctified by the pouring 17 out of the Holy Ghost upon them. I have, therefore, matter of glorying, through Jesus Christ,18 as to those things that pertain to God. For I shall not venture to trouble you with any concerning myself, but only what Christ hath wrought by me, for the bringing of the gentiles to christianity, both19 in profession and practice. Through mighty signs and wonders by the power of the Holy Ghost, so that, from Jerusalem and the neighbouring countries, all along, quite to Illyricum, I have effectually20 preached the gospel of Christ; But so as studiously to avoid the carrying of it to those places, where it was already planted, and where the people were already christians, lest I should build upon another21 man’s foundation. But as it is written, “To whom he was not spoken of, they shall see: and they,22 that have not heard, shall understand.” This has 23 often hindered me from coming to you: But now, having in these parts no place, where Christ hath not been heard of, to preach the gospel in; and having had, for these many years, a desire to come to24 you; I will, when I take my journey to Spain, take you in my way: for I hope, then, to see you, and to be brought on my way thither-ward by you, when I have, for some time, enjoyed your company, and pretty well satisfied my longing, on that account.25 But, at present, I am setting out for Jerusalem,26 going to minister to the saints there. For it hath pleased those of Macedonia and Achaia to make a contribution for the poor, among the saints at Jerusalem.27 It hath pleased them to do so, and they are, indeed, their debtors. For, if the gentiles have been made partakers of their spiritual things, they are bound, on their side, to minister to them, for the28 support of this temporal life. When, therefore, I have dispatched this business, and put this fruit of my labours into their hands, I will come to you in29 my way to Spain. And I know that, when I come unto you, I shall bring with me to your full satisfaction, concerning the blessedness, which you receive 30 by the gospel of Christ. Now I beseech you, brethren, by our Lord Jesus Christ, and by the love which comes from the spirit of God, to join31 with me in earnest prayers to God for me, That I may be delivered from the unbelievers in Judea; and that the service I am doing the saints there,32 may be acceptable to them: That, if it be the will of God, I may come to you with joy, and may be33 refreshed together with you. Now the God of peace be with you all. Amen.

SECT. XV.

CHAPTER XVI. 1 — 27.

CONTENTS.

The foregoing epistle furnishes us with reasons to conclude, that the divisions and offences, that were in the roman church, were between the jewish and gentile converts, whilst the one, over-zealous for the rituals of the law, endeavoured to impose circumcision and other mosaical rites, as necessary to be observed, by all that professed christianity; and the other, without due regard to the weakness of the jews, showed a too open neglect of those their observances, which were of so great account with them. St. Paul was so sensible, how much the churches of Christ suffered, on this occasion, and so careful to prevent this, which was a disturbance almost every where (as may be seen in the history of the Acts, and collected out of the epistles) that, after he had finished his discourse to them, (which we may observe solemnly closed, in the end of the foregoing chapter) he here, in the middle of his salutations, cannot forbear to caution them against the authors and fomenters of these divisions, and that very pathetically, ver. 17 — 20. All the rest of this chapter is spent, almost wholly, in salutations. Only the four last verses contain a conclusion, after St. Paul’s manner.

TEXT.

1 I commend unto you Phœbe our sister, which is a servant of the church which is at Kenchrea:

2 That ye receive her in the Lord, as becometh saints, and that ye assist her, in whatsoever business she hath need of you: for she hath been a succourer of many, and myself also.

3 Greet Priscilla and Aquila, my helpers in Christ Jesus:

4 (Who have, for my life, laid down their own necks: unto whom not only I give thanks, but also all the churches of the gentiles.)

5 Likewise greet the church that is in their house, Salute my well-beloved Epænetus, who is the first fruits of Achaia unto Christ.

6 Greet Mary, who bestowed much labour on us.

7 Salute Andronicus and Junia, my kinsmen and fellow-prisoners, who are of note among the apostles, who also were in Christ before me.

8 Greet Amplias, my beloved in the Lord.

9 Salute Urbane, our helper in Christ, and Stachys, my beloved.

10 Salute Apelles, approved in Christ. Salute them, which are of Aristobulus’ houshold.

11 Salute Herodian, my kinsman. Greet them that be of the houshold of Narcissus, which are in the Lord.

12 Salute Tryphena and Tryphosa, who labour in the Lord. Salute the beloved Persis, which laboured much in the Lord.

13 Salute Rufus, chosen in the Lord, and his mother and mine.

14 Salute Asyncritus, Phlegon, Hermas, Patrobas, Hermes, and the brethren which are with them.

15 Salute Philologus and Julia, Nereus and his sister, and Olympas, and all the saints which are with them.

16 Salute one another with an holy kiss. The churches of Christ salute you.

17 Now I beseech you, brethren, mark them which cause divisions and offences contrary to the doctrine which ye have learned; and avoid them.

18 For they, that are such, serve not our Lord Jesus Christ, but their own belly; and, by good words and fair speeches, deceive the hearts of the simple.

19 For your obedience is come abroad unto all men. I am glad, therefore, on your behalf: but yet I would have you wise unto that which is good; and simple concerning evil.

20 And the God of peace shall bruise Satan under your feet shortly. The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you. Amen.

21 Timotheus, my work-fellow, and Lucius, and Jason, and Sosipater, my kinsmen, salute you.

22 I Tertius, who wrote this epistle, salute you in the Lord.

23 Gaius mine host, and of the whole church saluteth you. Erastus, the chamberlain of the city, saluteth you, and Quartus, a brother.

24 The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you all. Amen.

25 Now to him, that is of power to stablish you, according to my gospel, and the preaching of Jesus Christ, (according to the revelation of the mystery, which was kept secret, since the world began;

26 But now is made manifest, and, by the scriptures of the prophets, according to the commandment of the everlasting God, made known to all nations, for the obedience of faith.)

27 To God, only wise, be glory, through Jesus Christ, for ever. Amen.

PARAPHRASE.

1 I commend to you Phœbe, our sister, who is a servant2 of the church, which is at Kenchrea, That you receive her, for Christ’s sake, as becomes christians, and that you assist her, in whatever business she has need of you, for she has assisted many, and3 me in particular. Salute Priscilla and Aquila, my4 fellow-labourers in the gospel, (Who have, for my life, exposed their own to danger, unto whom not only I give thanks, but also all the churches of the5 gentiles.) Greet also the church that is in their house. Salute my well-beloved Epænetus, who is6 the first-fruits of Achaia unto Christ. Greet Mary,7 who took a great deal of pains for our sakes. Salute Andronicus and Junia, my kinsfolk and fellow-prisoners, who are of note among the apostles, who8 also were christians before me. Greet Amplias, my9 beloved in the Lord. Salute Urbane, our helper in10 Christ, and Stachys, my beloved. Salute Apelles approved in Christ. Salute those who are of the11 houshold of Aristobulus. Salute Herodian, my kinsman. Salute all those of the houshold of Narcissus,12 who have embraced the gospel. Salute Tryphena and Tryphosa, who take pains in the gospel. Salute the beloved Persis, who laboured much in the13 Lord. Salute Rufus, chosen, or selected to be a14 disciple of the Lord; and his mother and mine. Salute Asyncritus, Phlegon, Hermas, Patrobas, Hermes,15 and the brethren who are with them. Salute Philologus, and Julia, Nereus and his sister, and Olympas,16 and all the saints who are with them. Salute one another with an holy kiss. The churches of Christ salute you.17 Now I beseech you, brethren, mark those who cause divisions and offences, contrary to the doctrine, which18 you have learned, and avoid them. For they serve not our Lord Jesus Christ, but their own bellies, and by good words and fair speeches, insinuating themselves,19 deceive well-meaning, simple men. Your conversion and ready compliance with the doctrine of the gospel, when it was brought to you, is known in the world, and generally talked of: I am glad, for your sakes, that you so forwardly obeyed the gospel. But give me leave to advise you to be wise and cautious in preserving yourselves steady in what is wise and good; but employ no thought, or skill, how to circumvent, or injure another: be in this regard20 very plain and simple. For God, who is the giver and lover of peace, will soon rid you of these ministers of Satan, the disturbers of your peace, who make divisions amongst you. The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you. Amen.

21 Timothy, my work-fellow, and Lucius and Jason,22 and Sosipater, my kinsmen, salute you. I Tertius, who wrote this epistle, salute you in the Lord.23 Gaius mine host, and of the whole church, saluteth you. Erastus, the chamberlain of the city, saluteth24 you; and Quartus, a brother. The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you all. Amen.

25 Now, to him that is able to settle and establish you in an adherence to my gospel, and to that which I deliver, concerning Jesus Christ, in my preaching, conformable to the revelation of the mystery,26 which lay unexplained in the secular times; But now is laid open, and, by the writings of the prophets, made known (according to the commandment of the everlasting God) to the gentiles of all nations, for the bringing them in, to the obedience of the law27 of faith. To the only wise God be glory, through Jesus Christ, for ever. Amen.

A PARAPHRASE AND NOTES ON THE EPISTLE OF ST. PAUL TO THE EPHESIANS.

THE EPISTLE OF ST. PAUL TO THE EPHESIANS; WRIT IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 63, OF NERO IX.

SYNOPSIS.

Our Saviour had, so openly and expressly, declared, to his disciples, the destruction of the temple, that they could, by no means, doubt of it; nor of this consequence of it, viz. that the ἔθη, customs or rites of the mosaical law, as they are called, Acts vi. 14, and xxi. 21, were to cease with it. And this St. Stephen, by what is laid to his charge, Acts vi. 13, 14, seems to have taught. And upon this ground it might very well be, that the apostles and church of Jerusalem required no more of the convert gentiles, than the observance of such things as were sufficient to satisfy the jews, that they were not still heathens and idolaters. But, as for the rest of the mosaical rites, they required not the convert gentiles (to whom the mosaical law was not given) to observe them. This being a very natural and obvious consequence, which they could not but see, that if by the destruction of the temple and worship of the jews, those rites were speedily to be taken away, they were not observances necessary to the people of God, and of perpetual obligation. Thus far, it is plain, the other apostles were instructed, and satisfied of the freedom of the gentile converts from complying with the ritual law. But, whether it was revealed to them, with the same clearness as it was to St. Paul, that the jews too, as well as the gentiles, who were converted to the christian faith, were discharged from their former obligation to the ritual law of Moses, and freed from those observances, may be doubted: because, as we see, they had not at all instructed their converts of the circumcision, of their being set at liberty from that yoke; which, it is very likely, they would not have forborn to have done, if they had been convinced of it themselves. For, in all that discourse concerning this question, Acts xv. 1 — 21, there is not one syllable said, of the jews being discharged, by faith in the Messiah, from the observance of any of the mosaical rites. Nor does it appear, that the apostles of the circumcision ever taught their disciples, or suggested to them, any such thing, which one can scarce imagine, they could have neglected, if it had been revealed to them, and so given them in charge. It is certain, their converts had never been taught any such thing. For St. James himself acquaints us, Acts xxi. 20, that the “many thousands, that believed, were all zealous of the law.” And what his own opinion of those rites, was, may be seen, ver. 24, where he calls keeping this part of the law, “walking orderly:” and he is concerned to have St. Paul thought a strict observer thereof. All which could not have been, if it had been revealed to him, as positively and expressly as it was to St. Paul, that all believers, in the Messiah, jews as well as gentiles, were absolved from the law of Moses, and were under no obligation to observe those ceremonies any longer, they being now no longer necessary to the people of God, in this his new kingdom, erected under the Messiah; nor indeed was it necessary, that this particular point should have been, from the beginning, revealed to the other apostles, who were sufficiently instructed for their mission, and the conversion of their brethren, the jews, by the Holy Ghost bringing to their minds (as was promised) all that our Saviour had said unto them, in his life-time here, amongst them, in the true sense of it. But the sending them to the jews with this message, that the law was abolished, was to cross the very design of sending them; it was to bespeak an aversion to their doctrine; and to stop the ears of the jews, and turn their hearts from them. But St. Paul, receiving his whole knowledge of the gospel, immediately from heaven, by revelation, seems to have this particular instruction added, to fit him for the mission he was chosen to, and make him an effectual messenger of the gospel, by furnishing him presently with this necessary truth, concerning the cessation of the law, the knowledge whereof could not but come in time to the other apostles, when it should be seasonable. Whether this be not so, I leave it to be considered.

This, at least, is certain, that St. Paul alone, more than all the rest of the apostles, was taken notice of to have preached, that the coming of Christ put an end to the law, and that, in the kingdom of God, erected under the Messiah, the observation of the law was neither required, nor availed aught; faith in Christ was the only condition of admittance, both for jew and gentile, all, who believed, being now equally the people of God, whether circumcised, or uncircumcised. This was that, which the jews, zealous of the law, which they took to be the irrevocable, unalterable charter of the people of God, and the standing rule of his kingdom, could by no means bear. And therefore, provoked by this report of St. Paul, the jews, both converts as well as others, looked upon him as a dangerous innovator, and an enemy to the true religion, and, as such, seized on him in the temple, Acts xxi. upon occasion whereof it was, that he was a prisoner at Rome, when he writ this epistle, where he seems to be concerned, lest now, he, that was the apostle of the gentiles, from whom alone the doctrine of their exemption from the law had its rise and support, was in bonds, upon that very account, it might give an opportunity to those judaizing professors of christianity, who contended that the gentiles, unless they were circumcised after the manner of Moses, could not be saved, to unsettle the minds, and shake the faith of those, whom he had converted. This being the controversy, from whence rose the great trouble and danger that, in the time of our apostle, disturbed the churches collected from among the gentiles. That, which chiefly disquieted the minds, and shook the faith of those, who from heathenism were converted to christianity, was this doctrine, that, except the converts from paganism were circumcised, and thereby subjected themselves to the law and the jewish rites, they could have no benefit by the gospel, as may be seen all through the Acts, and in almost all St. Paul’s epistles. Wherefore, when he heard that the ephesians stood firm in the faith, whereby he means their confidence of their title to the privileges and benefits of the gospel, without submission to the law (for the introducing the legal observances into the kingdom of the Messiah, he declared to be a subversion of the gospel, and contrary to the great and glorious design of that kingdom) he thanks God for them, and, setting forth the gracious and glorious design of God towards them, prays that they may be enlightened, so as to be able to see the mighty things done for them, and the immense advantages they receive by it. In all which he displays the glorious state of that kingdom, not in the ordinary way of argumentation and formal reasoning; which had no place in an epistle, writ as this is, all as it were in a rapture, and in a style far above the plain, didactical way; he pretends not to teach them any thing, but couches all, that he would drop into their minds, in thanksgivings and prayers, which affording a greater liberty and flight to his thoughts, he gives utterance to them, in noble and sublime expressions, suitable to the unsearchable wisdom and goodness of God, shown to the world in the work of redemption. This, though perhaps at first sight, it may render his meaning a little obscure, and his expressions the harder to be understood, yet, by the assistance of the two following epistles, which were both writ, whilst he was in the same circumstances, upon the same occasion, and to the same purpose, the sense and doctrine of the apostle here may be so clearly seen, and so perfectly comprehended, that there can hardly be a doubt left about it, to any one, who will examine them diligently and carefully compare them together. The epistle to the colossians seems to be writ the very same time, in the same run and warmth of thoughts, so that the very same expressions, yet fresh in his mind, are repeated in many places; the form, phrase, matter, and all the parts quite through, of these two epistles do so perfectly correspond, that one cannot be mistaken, in thinking one of them very fit to give light to the other. And that to the philippians, writ also by St. Paul, during his bonds at Rome, when attentively looked into, will be found to have the same aim with the other two; so that, in these three epistles taken together, one may see the great design of the gospel laid down, as far surpassing the law, both in glory, greatness, comprehension, grace, and bounty, and therefore they were opposers, not promoters of the true doctrine of the gospel, and the kingdom of God under the Messiah, who would confine it to the narrow and beggarly elements of this world, as St. Paul calls the positive ordinances of the mosaical institution. To confirm the gentile churches, whom he had converted, in this faith which he had instructed them in, and keep them from submitting to the mosaical rites, in the kingdom of Christ, by giving them a nobler and more glorious view of the gospel, is the design of this and the two following epistles. For the better understanding these epistles, it might be worth while to show their harmony all through, but this synopsis is not a place for it; the following paraphrase and notes will give an opportunity to point out several passages wherein their agreement will appear.

The latter end of this epistle, according to St. Paul’s usual method, contains practical directions and exhortations.

He that desires to inform himself in what is left upon record, in sacred scripture, concerning the church of the ephesians, which was the metropolis of Asia, strictly so called, may read the 19th and 20th of the Acts.

SECT. I.

CHAPTER I. 1, 2.

CONTENTS.

These two verses contain St. Paul’s inscription, or introduction of this epistle; what there is in it remarkable for its difference, from what is to be found in his other epistles, we shall take notice of in the notes.

TEXT.

1 Paul, an apostle of Jesus Christ, by the will of God, to the saints which are at Ephesus, and to the faithful in Christ Jesus:

2 Grace be to you, and peace from God our Father, and from the Lord Jesus Christ.

PARAPHRASE.

1 Paul, an apostle of Jesus Christ, by the declared will and special appointment of God, to the professors of the gospel, who are in Ephesus; converts, who2 stand firm in the faith of Christ Jesus; Favour and peace be to you from God our Father, and the Lord Jesus Christ.

SECT. II.

CHAPTER I. 3 — 14.

CONTENTS.

In this section St. Paul thanks God for his grace and bounty to the gentiles, wherein he so sets forth both God’s gracious purpose of bringing the gentiles into his kingdom under the Messiah, and his actual bestowing on them blessings of all kinds, in Jesus Christ, for a complete re-instating them in that his heavenly kingdom, that there could be nothing stronger suggested to make the ephesians, and other gentile converts, not to think any more of the law, and that much inferiour kingdom of his, established upon the mosaical institution, and adapted to a little canton of the earth, and a small tribe of men; as now necessary to be retained under this more spiritual institution, and celestial kingdom, erected under Jesus Christ, intended to comprehend men of all nations, and extend itself to the utmost bounds of the earth, for the greater honour of God, or, as St. Paul speaks, “to the praise of the glory of God.”

TEXT.

3 Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who hath blessed us with all spiritual blessings, in heavenly places, in Christ:

4 According as he hath chosen us in him, before the foundation of the world, that we should be holy, and without blame before him in love:

5 Having predestinated us unto the adoption of children, by Jesus Christ, to himself, according to the good pleasure of his will.

6 To the praise of the glory of his grace, wherein he hath made us accepted in the beloved.

7 In whom we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins according to the riches of his grace;

8 Wherein he hath abounded towards us in all wisdom and prudence,

9 Having made known unto us the mystery of his will, according to his good pleasure, which he hath purposed in himself:

10 That, in the dispensation of the fulness of times, he might gather together in one all things, in Christ, both which are in heaven, and which are on earth, even in him:

11 In whom also we have obtained an inheritance, being predestinated according to the purpose of him, who worketh all things, after the counsel of his own will:

12 That we should be to the praise of his glory, who first trusted in Christ.

13 In whom ye also trusted, after that ye heard the word of truth, the gospel of your salvation: in whom also after that ye believed, ye were sealed with that holy Spirit of promise.

14 Which is the earnest of our inheritance, until the redemption of the purchased possession, unto the praise of his glory.

PARAPHRASE.

3 Blessed and magnified be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has, in and by Jesus Christ, furnished us gentiles with all sorts of blessings, that  may fit us to be partakers of his heavenly kingdom,4 without need of any assistance from the law, According as he chose us gentiles, upon Christ’s account alone, before the law was, even before the foundation of the world, to be his people under Jesus the Messiah, and to live unblameable lives before him, in all love and affection, to all the saints, or believers, 5 of what nation soever; Having predetermined to take us gentiles, by Jesus Christ, to be his sons and people, according to the good pleasure of his6 will. To the end that the gentiles too might praise him for his grace and mercy to them, and all mankind magnify his glory for his abundant goodness to them, by receiving them freely into the kingdom of the Messiah, to be his people again, in a state of peace with him, barely for the sake of him, that is his 7 beloved: In whom we have redemption by his blood, viz. the forgiveness of transgressions, according to the8 greatness of his grace and favour, Which he has overflowed in towards us, in bestowing on us so full a knowledge and comprehension of the extent and design of the gospel, and prudence to comply with it,9 as it becomes you; In that he hath made known to you the good pleasure of his will and purpose, which was a mystery, that he hath purposed 10 in himself. Until the coming of the due time of that dispensation, wherein he hath predetermined to reduce all things again, both in heaven and11 earth, under one head in Christ; In whom we became his possession and the lot of his inheritance, being predetermined thereunto, according to the purpose of him, who never fails to bring to pass12 what he hath purposed within himself: That we of the gentiles, who first through Christ entertained hope, might bring praise and glory to God. 13 And ye, ephesians, are also, in Jesus Christ, become God’s people and inheritance, having heard the word of truth, the good tidings of your salvation, and, having believed in him, have been sealed by the14 Holy Ghost; Which was promised, and is the pledge and evidence of being the people of God, his inheritance given out for the redemption of the purchased possession, that ye might also bring praise and glory to God.

SECT. III.

CHAPTER I. 15. — II. 10.

CONTENTS.

Having in the foregoing section thanked God for the great favours and mercies which, from the beginning, he had purposed for the gentiles, under the Messiah, in such a description of that design of the Almighty, as was fit to raise their thoughts above the law, and, as St. Paul calls them, beggarly elements of the jewish constitution, which was nothing in comparison of the great and glorious design of the gospel, taking notice of their standing firm in the faith he had taught them, and thanking God for it: he here, in this, prays God, that he would enlighten the minds of the ephesian converts, to see fully the great things, that were actually done for them, and the glorious estate, they were in, under the gospel, of which, in this section, he gives such a draught, as in every part of it shows, that in the kingdom of Christ they are set far above the mosaical rites, and enjoy the spiritual and incomprehensible benefits of it, not by the tenure of a few outward ceremonies: but by their faith, alone, in Jesus Christ, to whom they are united, and of whom they are members, who is exalted to the top of all dignity, dominion, and power, and they with him, their head.

TEXT.

15 Wherefore I also, after I heard of your faith in the Lord Jesus, and love unto all the saints,

16 Cease not to give thanks for you, making mention of you in my prayers;

17 That the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the father of glory, may give unto you the spirit of wisdom and revelation, in the knewledge of him:

18 The eyes of your understanding being enlightened; that ye may know what is the hope of his calling, and what the riches of the glory of his inheritance in the saints,

19 And what is the exceeding greatness of his power to us-ward who believe, according to the working of his mighty power;

20 Which he wrought in Christ, when he raised him from the dead, and set him at his own right hand, in the heavenly places,

21 Far above all principality, and power, and might, and dominion, and every name that is named, not only in this world, but also in that which is to come.

22 And hath put all things under his feet, and gave him to be the head over all things to the church.

23 Which is his body, the fulness of him that filleth all in all.

II. 1And you hath he quickened who were dead in trespasses and sins,

2 Wherein, in time past, ye walked, according to the course of this world, according to the prince of the power of the air, the spirit that now worketh in the children of disobedience.

3 Among whom also we all had our conversation in times past, in the lusts of our flesh, fulfilling the desires of the flesh, and of the mind; and were by nature the children of wrath, even as others.

4 But God, who is rich in mercy, for his great love wherewith he loved us,

5 Even when ye were dead in sins, hath quickened us together with Christ, (by grace ye are saved)

6 And hath raised us up together, and made us sit together in heavenly places, in Christ Jesus.

7 That, in the ages to come, he might show the exceeding riches of his grace, in his kindness towards us, through Christ Jesus.

8 For by grace are ye saved, through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God:

9 Not of works, lest any man should boast:

10 For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, which God hath before ordained, that we should walk in them.

PARAPHRASE.

15 Wherefore, I also, here, in my confinement, having heard of the continuance of your faith in Christ Jesus,  16 and your love to all the saints, Cease not to give thanks for you, making mention of you in my prayers;17 That the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the father of glory would endow your spirits, with wisdom and revelation, whereby you may know18 him; And enlighten the eyes of your understandings, that you may see what hope his calling you to be christians carries with it, and what an abundant glory it is to the saints to become his people, and19 the lot of his inheritance; And what an exceeding great power he has employed upon us who believe:20 A power corresponding to that mighty power, which he exerted in the raising Christ from the dead, and in setting him next to himself, over all things, relating21 to his heavenly kingdom; Far above all principality, and power, and might, and dominion, and any other, either man or an angel, of greater dignity or excellency, that we may come to be acquainted with, or hear the names of, either in this22 world, or the world to come: And hath put all things in subjection to him; and him, invested with a power over all things, he hath constituted head of23 the church, Which is his body, which is completed by him alone, from whom comes all, that gives any thing of excellency and perfection to any of the members of the church: where to be a jew, or a greek, circumcised, or uncircumcised, a barbarian, or a scythian, a slave, or a freeman, matters not; but to be united to him, to partake of his influence and spirit, is all in all.

II. 1And you, being also dead in trespasses and sins, 2 In which you gentiles, before you were converted to the gospel, walked, according to the state and constitution of this world, conforming yourselves to the will and pleasure of the prince of the power of the air, the spirit that now yet possesses3 and works in the children of disobedience. Of which number even we all having formerly been, lived in the lusts of our flesh, fulfilling the desires 4 thereof, and of our blinded perverted mind. But God, who is rich in mercy, through his great love,5 wherewith he loved us, Even us, gentiles, who were dead in trespasses, hath he quickened, together6 with Christ, (by grace ye are saved) And hath raised us up together with Christ, and made us partakers, in and with Jesus Christ, of the glory and power of his heavenly kingdom, which God has put into his 7 hands, and put under his rule: That, in the ages to come, he might show the exceeding riches of his grace, in his kindness towards us, through Christ8 Jesus. For by God’s free grace it is, that ye are, through faith in Christ, saved and brought into the  kingdom of God, and made his people, not by any thing you did yourselves to deserve it; it is the free gift of God, who might, if he had so pleased, with 9 justice have left you in that forlorn state. That no man might have any pretence of boasting of himself,10 or his own works, or merit. So that, in this new state in the kingdom of God, we are (and ought to look upon ourselves, as not deriving any thing from ourselves, but as) the mere workmanship of God, created in Christ Jesus, to the end we should do good works, for which he had prepared and fitted us, to live in them.

SECT. IV.

CHAPTER II. 11 — 22.

CONTENTS.

From this doctrine of his, in the foregoing section, that God of his free grace, according to his purpose from the beginning, had quickened and raised the convert gentiles, together with Christ, and seated them with Christ, in his heavenly kingdom; St. Paul here, in this section, draws this inference, to keep them from judaizing, that, though they (as was the state of the heathen word) were heretofore, by being uncircumcised, shut out from the kingdom of God, strangers from the covenants of promise, without hope, and without God in the world; yet they were, by Christ, who had taken away the ceremonial law, that wall of partition, that kept them in that state of distance and opposition, now received, without any subjecting them to the law of Moses, to be the people of God, and had the same admittance into the kingdom of God, with the jews themselves, with whom they were now created into one new man, or body of men, so that they were no longer to look on themselves, any more, as aliens, or remoter from the kingdom of God, than the jews themselves.

TEXT.

11 Wherefore, remember that ye being, in time past, gentiles in the flesh, who are called uncircumcision, by that which is called the circumcision in the flesh, made by hands;

12 That, at that time, ye were without Christ, being aliens from the commonwealth of Israel, and strangers from the covenants of promise, having no hope, and without God in the world:

13 But now in Christ Jesus, ye, who sometimes were far off, are made nigh, by the blood of Christ.

14 For he is our peace, who hath made both one, and hath broken down the middle wall of partition between us;

15 Having abolished, in his flesh, the enmity, even the law of commandments,  contained in ordinances, for to make in himself, of twain, one new man, so making peace;

16 And that he might reconcile both unto God, in one body, by the cross, having slain the enmity thereby:

17 And came and preached peace to you, which were afar off, and to them that were nigh.

18 For, through him, we both have access, by one Spirit, unto the Father.

19 Now, therefore, ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellow-citizens with the saints, and the household of God;

20 And are built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ himself being the chief corner-stone.

21 In whom all the building, fitly framed together, groweth unto an holy temple in the Lord:

22 In whom you, also, are builded together, for an habitation of God, through the Spirit.

PARAPHRASE.

11 Wherefore remember, that ye, who were heretofore gentiles, distinguished and separated from the jews, who are circumcised by a circumcision made with hands, in their flesh, by your not being circumcised in your flesh, 12 Were, at that time, without all knowledge of the Messiah, or any expectation of deliverance, or salvation, by him; aliens from the commonwealth of Israel, and strangers to the covenants of promise, not having any hope of any such thing, and living in the world without having the true God for your13 God, or your being his people. But now you, that were formerly remote and at a distance, are, by Jesus14 Christ, brought near by his death. For it is he, that reconcileth us¶ to the jews, and hath brought us and them, who were before at an irreconcileable distance, into unity one with another, by removing the middle wall of partition , that kept us at a distance,15 Having taken away the cause of enmity, or distance, between us, by abolishing that part  of the law, which consisted in positive commands and ordinances, that so he might make, or frame the two, viz. jews and gentiles, into one new society, or body of God’s people, in a new constitution, under himself, so making peace 16 between them; And might reconcile them both to God, being thus united into one body, in him, by the cross, whereby he destroyed that enmity, or incompatibility, that was between them, by nailing to his cross the law of ordinances, that kept them at a17 distance: And, being come, preached the good tidings of peace to you gentiles that were far off from the kingdom of heaven, and to the jews, that were18 near, and in the very precincts of it. For it is by him, that we, both jews and gentiles, have access19 to the Father, by one and the same Spirit. Therefore ye, ephesians, though heretofore gentiles, now believers in Christ, you are no more strangers and foreigners, but without any more a-do fellow-citizens of the saints, and domestics of God’s own family:20 Built upon the foundation laid by the apostles and prophets, whereof Jesus Christ is the corner-stone:21 In whom all the building, fitly framed together,22 groweth unto an holy temple in the Lord: In which even the gentiles, also are built up, together with the believing jews, for an habitation of God, through the Spirit.

SECT. V.

CHAPTER III. 1 — 21.

CONTENTS.

This section gives a great light to those foregoing, and more clearly opens the design of this epistle: for here St. Paul, in plain words, tells them it is for preaching this doctrine, that was a mystery till now, being hid from former ages, viz. that the gentiles should be coheirs, with the believing jews, and, making one body, or people, with them, should be equally partakers of the promises, under the Messiah, of which mystery he, by particular favour and appointment, was ordained the preacher. Whereupon he exhorts them not to be dismayed, or flinch, in the least, from the belief, or profession of this truth, upon his being persecuted and in bonds upon that account. For his suffering for it, who was the preacher and propagator of it, was so far from being a just discouragement to them, for standing firmly in the belief of it, that it ought to be to them a glory, and a confirmation of this eminent truth of the gospel, which he peculiarly taught: and thereupon he tells them, he makes it his prayer to God, that they might be strengthened herein, and be able to comprehend the largeness of the love of God in Christ, not confined to the jewish nation and constitution, as the jews conceited; but far surpassing the thoughts of those who, presuming themselves knowing, would confine it to such only, who were members of the jewish church, and observers of their ceremonies.

TEXT.

1 For this cause, I Paul, the prisoner of Jesus Christ, for you gentiles:

2 If ye have heard of the dispensation of the grace of God, which is given me to you-ward;

3 How that, by revelation, he made known unto me the mystery, (as I wrote afore in few words.

4 Whereby, when ye read, ye may understand my knowledge in the mystery of Christ)

5 Which in other ages was not made known unto the sons of men, as it is now revealed unto his holy apostles and prophets, by the Spirit;

6 That the gentiles should be fellow-heirs, and of the same body, and partakers of his promise, in Christ, by the gospel:

7 Whereof I was made a minister, according to the gift of the grace of God, given unto me, by the effectual working of his power.

8 Unto me, who am less than the least of all saints, is this grace given, that I should preach, among the gentiles, the unsearchable riches of Christ;

9 And to make all men see, what is the fellowship of the mystery, which, from the beginning of the world, hath been hid in God, who created all things by Jesus Christ:

10 To the intent that now unto the principalities and powers, in heavenly places, might be known by the church, the manifold wisdom of God,

11 According to the eternal purpose, which he purposed, in Christ Jesus our Lord:

12 In whom we have boldness and access with confidence, by the faith of him.

13 Wherefore, I desire that ye faint not at my tribulations for you, which is your glory.

14 For this cause, I bow my knees unto the father of our Lord Jesus Christ,

15 Of whom the whole family in heaven and earth is named.

16 That he would grant you, according to the riches of his glory, to be strengthened with might, by his spirit, in the inner man;

17 That Christ may dwell in your hearts by faith; that ye, being rooted and grounded in love,

18 May be able to comprehend with all saints, what is the breadth, and length, and depth, and height;

19 And to know the love of Christ, which passeth knowledge, that ye might be filled with all the fulness of God.

20 Now unto him that is able to do exceeding abundantly, above all that we ask or think, according to the power that worketh in us.

21 Unto him be glory in the church by Christ Jesus throughout all ages, world without end. Amen.

PARAPHRASE.

1 For my preaching of this, I Paul am a prisoner, upon account of the gospel of Jesus Christ, for the sake and service of you gentiles: Which you cannot doubt of, since ye have heard of the dispensation of the grace of God, which was given to me,3 in reference to you gentiles: How that, by special revelation, he made known unto me, in particular, the mystery, (as I hinted to you above, viz. 4 chap. i. 9. By the bare reading whereof ye may be assured of my knowledge in this formerly concealed5 and unknown part of the gospel of Christ:) Which in former ages was not made known to the sons of men, as it is now revealed to his holy apostles and6 prophets, by the Spirit, viz. That the gentiles should be fellow heirs, be united into one body, and partake of his promise in Christ, jointly with the jews, in7 the time of the gospel; Of which doctrine I, in particular, was made the minister, according to the free and gracious gift of God, given unto me, by the effectual working of his power, in his so wonderful8 converting the gentiles by my preaching; Unto me, I say, who am less than the least of all saints, is this favour given, that I should preach among the9 gentiles the unsearchable riches of Christ: And make all men perceive, how this mystery comes now to be communicated to the world, which has been concealed from all past ages, lying hid in the secret purpose of God, who frames and manages this whole new creation, by Jesus Christ: 10 To the intent that now, under the gospel, the manifold wisdom of God, in the ordering and management of his heavenly kingdom, might be made known to principalities and powers by the church  11 According to that pre-disposition of the ages, or several dispensations, which he made in Christ Jesus12 our Lord; By whom we have boldness and access to God the father, with confidence, by faith in13 him. Wherefore my desire is, that ye be not dismayed by my present affliction, which I suffer for your sake, and is in truth a glory to you, that ought to raise your hearts, and strengthen your resolutions.14 Upon this account, I bend my knees, in15 prayer to the father of our Lord Jesus Christ, From whom the whole family, or lineage, both in heaven and earth have their denomination, viz. Jesus Christ, that is already in heaven, and believers that are still on earth, have all God for their father, are all the16 sons of God. That he would grant you, according to the great glory he designed to you, gentiles, who should receive the gospel under the Messiah, to be strengthened with might, by his spirit, in the inward17 man; That Christ may dwell in your hearts by faith; that you, being settled and established in the sense of the love of God to you, in Jesus Christ,18 May be able, together with all christians, to comprehend the length, and breadth, and height, and depth, of this mystery, of God’s purpose of calling and taking in the gentiles, to be his people, in the19 kingdom of his Son: And to understand the exceeding love of God, in bringing us to the knowledge of Christ: that you may be filled with that knowledge, and all other gifts, with God’s plenty, or to that degree of fulness, which is suitable to his purpose of munificence and bounty towards you.20 Now to him that worketh in us, by a power, whereby he is able to do, exceedingly beyond all21 that we can ask or think; Unto him be glory in the church by Christ Jesus, throughout all ages, world without end. Amen.

SECT. VI.

CHAPTER IV. 1 — 16.

CONTENTS.

St. Paul having concluded the special part of his epistle, with the foregoing chapter, he comes in this, as his manner is, to practical exhortations. He begins with unity, love, and concord, which he presses upon them, upon a consideration that he makes use of, in more of his epistles than one, i. e. their being all members of one and the same body, whereof Christ is the head.

TEXT.

1 I therefore, the prisoner of the Lord, beseech you, that ye walk worthy of the vocation, wherewith ye are called.

2 With all lowliness and meekness, with long-suffering, forbearing one another in love;

3 Endeavouring to keep the unity of the spirit, in the bond of peace.

4 There is one body, and one spirit, even as ye are called in one hope of your calling;

5 One Lord, one faith, one baptism.

6 One God and father of all, who is above all, and through all, and in you all.

7 But unto every one of us is given grace, according to the measure of the gift of Christ.

8 Wherefore he saith, when he ascended up on high, he led captivity captive, and gave gifts unto men.

9 (Now that he ascended, what is it, but that he also descended first, into the lower parts of the earth?

10 He that descended, is the same also, that ascended up, far above all heavens, that he might fill all things.)

11 And he gave some, apostles: and some, prophets: and some, evangelists: and some, pastors and teachers;

12 For the perfecting of the saints, for the work of the ministry, for the edifying of the body of Christ:

13 Till we all come in the unity of the faith, and of the knowledge of the Son of God, unto a perfect man, unto the measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ:

14 That we henceforth be no more children, tossed to and fro, and carried about by every wind of doctrine, by the sleight of men, and cunning craftiness, whereby they lie in wait to deceive:

15 But speaking the truth in love, may grow up into him, in all things, which is the head, even Christ:

16 From whom the whole body, fitly joined together, and compacted by that which every joint supplieth, according to the effectual working, in the measure of every part, maketh increase of the body unto the edifying of itself in love.

PARAPHRASE.

1 I therefore, who am in bonds, upon account of the gospel, beseech you to walk worthy of the calling2 wherewith ye are called, With lowliness and meekness, with long-suffering, bearing with one3 another in love; Taking care to preserve the unity4 of the spirit, in the bond of peace; Considering yourselves as being one body, enlivened and acted by one spirit, as also was your calling, in one5 hope: There is one Lord, one faith, one baptism,6 One God and father of you all, who is above all, in the midst amongst you all, and in every one of you.7 And to every one of us is made a free donation, according to that proportion of gifts, which Christ8 has allotted to every one. Wherefore the Psalmist saith, “When he ascended up on high, he led9 captivity captive, and gave gifts unto men.” (Now that he ascended, what is it, but that he descended10 first, into the lower parts of the earth? He, that descended, is the same also, that ascended above all heavens, that there, receiving the fulness of power,11 he might be able to fill all his members.) And therefore, he alone, framing the constitution of his new government, by his own power, and according to such a model, and such rules as he thought best, making some apostles, others evangelists, and others12 pastors and teachers; Putting thus together, in a fit order and frame, the several members of his new collected people, that each, in its proper place and function, might contribute to the whole, and help to13 build up the body of Christ: Till all cementing together, in one faith, and knowledge of the Son of God, to the full state of a grown man, according to the measure of that stature, which is to make up the14 fulness of Christ: That we should be no longer children, tossed to and fro, and carried about with every wind of doctrine, by men versed in the sleights of cheating, and their cunning artifices, laid in train15 to deceive: But being steady in true and unfeigned love, should grow up into a firm union, in all things,16 with Christ, who is the head: From whom the whole body, fitly framed together, and compacted by that which every joint supplies, according to the proper force and function of each particular part, makes an increase of the whole body, building itself up in love, or a mutual concern of the parts.

SECT. VII.

CHAPTER IV. 17 — 24.

CONTENTS.

In this section, the apostle exhorts them wholly to forsake their former conversation, which they had passed their lives in, whilst they were gentiles, and to take up that, which became them, and was proper to them, now they were christians. Here we may see the heathen and christian state and conversation described, and set in opposition one to the other.

TEXT.

17 This I say, therefore, and testify in the Lord, that ye henceforth walk, not as other gentiles walk, in the vanity of their mind,

18 Having the understanding darkened, being alienated from the life of God, through the ignorance that is in them, because of the blindness of their heart:

19 Who being past feeling, have given themselves over unto lasciviousness, to work all uncleanness with greediness.

20 But ye have not so learned Christ;

21 If so be, that ye have heard him, and have been taught by him, as the truth is in Jesus;

22 That ye put off, concerning the former conversation, the old man, which is corrupt, according to the deceitful lusts:

23 And be renewed in the spirit of your mind;

24 And that ye put on the new man, which, after God, is created in righteousness and true holiness.

PARAPHRASE.

17 This I say, therefore, and testify to you, from the Lord, that ye henceforth walk not as the unconverted gentiles walk, in the vanity of their minds.18 Having their understandings darkened, being alienated from that rule and course of life, which they own and observe, who are the professed subjects and servants of the true God, through the ignorance that is in them, because of the blindness of their hearts;19 Who, being past feeling, have given themselves over to lasciviousness, to the committing of all uncleanness, even beyond the bounds of natural desires.20 But you that have been instructed in the religion of 21 Christ, have learned other things; If you have been scholars of his school, and have been taught the22 truth, as it is in the gospel of Jesus Christ: That you change your former conversation, abandoning those deceitful lusts, wherewith you were entirely23 corrupted: And that, being renewed in the spirit of24 the mind, You become new men, framed and fashioned according to the will of God, in righteousness and true holiness.

SECT. VIII.

CHAPTER IV. 25. — V. 2.

CONTENTS.

After the general exhortation, in the close of the foregoing section, to the ephesians, to renounce the old course of life they led, when they were heathens, and to become perfectly new men, conformed to the holy rules of the gospel, St. Paul descends to particulars, and here, in this section, presses several particulars of those great social virtues, justice and charity, &c.

TEXT.

25 Wherefore, putting away lying, speak every man truth with his neighbour: for we are members one of another.

26 Be ye angry and sin not: let not the sun go down upon your wrath:

27 Neither give place to the devil.

28 Let him that stole, steal no more: but rather let him labour, working with his hands the thing which is good, that he may have to give to him that needeth.

29 Let no corrupt communication proceed out of your mouth, but that which is good, to the use of edifying; that it may minister grace unto the hearers.

30 And grieve not the Holy Spirit of God; whereby ye are sealed unto the day of redemption.

31 Let all bitterness, and wrath, and anger, and clamour, and evil-speaking, be put away from you, with all malice.

32 And be ye kind one to another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.

V. 1Be ye therefore followers of God, as dear children;

2 And walk in love; as Christ also hath loved us, and hath given himself for us, an offering and a sacrifice to God, for a sweet-smelling savour.

PARAPHRASE.

25 Wherefore, putting away lying, let every man speak truth to his neighbour; for we are members one of26 another. If you meet with provocations, that move you to anger, take care that you indulge it not so far, as to make it sinful: defer not its cure, till sleep calm the mind, but endeavour to recover yourself forthwith, and bring yourself into temper;27 Lest you give an opportunity to the devil, to produce28 some mischief, by your disorder. Let him that hath stole, steal no more, but rather let him labour in some honest calling that he may have even wherewithal29 to relieve others, that need it. Let not any filthy language, or a misbecoming word, come out of your mouths, but let your discourse be pertinent on the occasion, and tending to edification, and such as may have a becoming gracefulness in the ears of30 the hearers. And grieve not the Holy Spirit of God, whereby ye are sealed to the day of temptation. Let all bitterness, and wrath, and anger, and clamour, and evil-speaking, be put away from32 you, with all malice. And be ye kind one to another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another, even asV. 1 God, for Christ’s sake, hath forgiven you. Therefore, as becomes children, that are beloved and cherished by God, propose him as an example to yourselves,2 to be imitated; And let love conduct and influence your whole conversation, as Christ also hath loved us, and hath given himself for us, an offering and an acceptable sacrifice to God.

SECT. IX.

CHAPTER V. 3 — 20.

CONTENTS.

The next sort of sins he dehorts them from are those of intemperance, especially those of uncleanness, which were so familiar and so unrestrained among the heathens.

TEXT.

3 But fornication, and all uncleanness, or covetousness, let it not once be named amongst you, as becometh saints:

4 Neither filthiness, nor foolish talking, nor jesting, which are not convenient: but rather giving of thanks.

5 For this ye know, that no whoremonger, nor unclean person, nor covetous man, who is an idolater, have any inheritance in the kingdom of Christ, and of God.

6 Let no man deceive you with vain words: for, because of these things, cometh the wrath of God upon the children of disobedience.

7 Be not ye, therefore, partakers with them.

8 For ye were sometimes darkness, but now are ye light in the Lord: walk as children of light.

9 (For the fruit of the Spirit is in all goodness, and righteousness, and truth)

10 Proving what is acceptable unto the Lord.

11 And have no fellowship with the unfruitful works of darkness, but rather reprove them.

12 For it is a shame even to speak of those things which are done of them in secret.

13 But all things, that are reproved, are made manifest by the light: for whatsoever doth make manifest, is light.

14 Wherefore he saith, Awake thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee light.

15 See, then, that ye walk circumspectly; not as fools, but as wise;

16 Redeeming the time; because the days are evil.

17 Wherefore be ye not unwise, but understanding what the will of the Lord is.

18 And be not drunk with wine, wherein is excess; but be filled with the Spirit.

19 Speaking to yourselves in psalms, and hymns, and spiritual songs, singing and making melody in your heart to the Lord,

20 Giving thanks always for all things, unto God and the Father, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.

PARAPHRASE.

3 But fornication and all uncleanness, or exorbitant desires in venereal matters, let it not be once named 4 amongst you, as becometh saints: Neither filthiness, nor foolish talking, nor pleasantry of discourse of this kind, which are none of them convenient, but rather5 giving of thanks. For this you are thoroughly instructed in, and acquainted with, that no fornicator, nor unclean person, nor lewd, lascivious libertine, in such matters, who is in truth an idolater, shall have6 any part in the kingdom of Christ, and of God. Let no man deceive you with vain, empty talk; these things in themselves are highly offensive to God, and are that which he will bring the heathen world (who will not come in, and submit to the law of Christ)7 to judgment for. Be ye not, therefore, partakers8 with them. For ye were heretofore, in your gentile state, perfectly in the dark, but now, by believing in Christ, and receiving the gospel, light and knowledge is given to you, walk as those who are9 in a state of light (For the fruit of the Spirit is in10 all goodness, righteousness, and truth) Practising that which, upon examination, you find acceptable11 to the Lord. And do not partake in the fruitless works of darkness; do not go on in the practice of those shameful actions, as if they were indifferent,12 but rather reprove them. For the things, that the gentile idolaters¶ do in secret, are so filthy and abominable, that it is a shame so much as to name13 them. This you now see, which is an evidence of your being enlightened; for all things, that are discovered to be amiss, are made manifest by the light.14 Wherefore he saith, Awake thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee light; for whatsoever shows them to be such, is15 light. Since, then, you are in the light, make use of your eyes to walk exactly in the right way, not as fools, rambling at adventures, but as wise, in a16 steady, right-chosen course, Securing yourselves by your prudent carriage, from the inconveniencies of those difficult times, which threaten them with17 danger. Wherefore, be ye not unwise, but understanding18 what the will of the Lord is. And be not drunken with wine, wherein there is excess; seek not diversion in the noisy and intemperate jollity of drinking; but, when you are disposed to a chearful entertainment of one another, let it be with the gifts of the Holy Spirit, that you are filled with,19 Singing hymns, and psalms, and spiritual songs among yourselves; this makes real and solid mirth in the heart, and is melody well pleasing to God20 himself; Giving thanks always, for all things, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, to God and the Father.

SECT. X.

CHAPTER V. 21. — VI. 9.

CONTENTS.

In this section he gives rules concerning the duties arising from the several relations men stand in one to another, in society; those which he particularly insists on, are these three, husbands and wives, parents and children, masters and servants.

TEXT.

21 Submitting yourselves one to another, in the fear of God.

22 Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as unto the Lord.

23 For the husband is the head of the wife, even as Christ is the head of the church: and he is the Saviour of the body.

24 Therefore, as the church is subject unto Christ, so let the wives be to their own husbands in every thing.

25 Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church, and gave himself for it:

26 That he might sanctify and cleanse it, with the washing of water, by the word,

27 That he might present it to himself a glorious church, not having spot, or wrinkle, or any such thing; but that it should be holy, and without blemish.

28 So ought men to love their wives, as their own bodies: he that loveth his wife, loveth himself.

29 For no man ever yet hated his own flesh; but nourisheth and cherisheth it, even as the Lord the church:

30 For we are members of his body, of his flesh, and of his bones.

31 For this cause shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall be joined unto his wife, and they two shall be one flesh.

32 This is a great mystery: but I speak concerning Christ and the church.

33 Nevertheless, let every one of you, in particular, so love his wife, even as himself; and the wife see that she reverence her husband.

VI. 1Children, obey your parents in the Lord: for this is right.

2 Honour thy father and mother, (which is the first commandment with promise)

3 That it may be well with thee, and thou mayest live long on the earth.

4 And ye, fathers, provoke not your children to wrath: but bring them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.

5 Servants, be obedient to them that are your masters, according to the flesh, with fear and trembling, in singleness of your heart, as unto Christ:

6 Not with eye-service, as men-pleasers; but as the servants of Christ, doing the will of God from the heart;

7 With good-will doing service, as to the Lord, and not to men:

8 Knowing that whatsoever good thing any man doth, the same shall he receive of the Lord, whether he be bond or free.

9 And ye masters, do the same things unto them, forbearing threatning: knowing that your Master also is in heaven, neither is there respect of persons with him.

PARAPHRASE.

21 Submit yourselves one to another, in the fear of22 God. As for example, wives, submit yourselves to your own husbands, or, as being members of the23 church, you submit yourselves to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife, as Christ himself is the head of the church, and it is he, the head, that preserves that his body; so stands it between24 man and wife. Therefore, as the church is subject to Christ, so let wives be to their husbands, in every 25 thing. And, you husbands, do you, on your side, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the26 church, and gave himself to death for it; That he might sanctify and fit it to himself, purifying it by the washing of baptism, joined with the preaching27 and reception of the gospel; That so he himself might present it to himself an honourable spouse, without the least spot of uncleanness, or misbecoming feature, or any thing amiss; but that it might be holy, and without all manner of blemish.28 So ought men to love their wives, as their own29 bodies; he that loveth his wife, loveth himself. For no man ever hated his own flesh, but nourisheth and cherisheth it, even as the Lord Christ doth the30 church: For we are members of his body, of his 31 flesh, and of his bones. For this cause shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall be joined unto his wife, and they two shall be one flesh.32 These words contain a very mystical sense in them,33 I mean in reference to Christ and the church. But laying that aside, their literal sense lays hold on you, and therefore do you husbands, every one of you in particular, so love his wife, as his own self, VI. 1 and let the wife reverence her husband. Children, obey your parents, performing it as required thereunto by our Lord Jesus Christ; for this is right2 and conformable to that command, Honour thy father and mother, (which is the first command with3 promise) That it may be well with thee, and thou4 mayest be long-lived upon the earth. And on the other side, ye fathers, do not, by the austerity of your carriage, despise and discontent your children, but bring them up, under such a method of discipline, and give them such instruction, as is suitable to the5 gospel. Ye that are bondmen, be obedient to those who are your masters, according to the constitution of human affairs, with great respect and subjection, and with that sincerity of heart which should be6 used to Christ himself: Not with service only in those outward actions, that come under their observation; aiming at no more but the pleasing of men; but, as the servants of Christ, doing what7 God requires of you, from your very hearts; In this with good-will paying your duty to the Lord, and8 not unto men: Knowing that whatsoever good thing any one doth to another, he shall be considered and rewarded for it by God, whether he be bond or free. 9 And ye masters, have the like regard and readiness to do good to your bond-slaves, forbearing the roughness even of unnecessary menaces, knowing that even you yourselves have a Master in heaven above, who will call you, as well as them, to an impartial account for your carriage one to another, for he is no respecter of persons.

SECT. XI.

CHAPTER VI. 10 — 20.

CONTENTS.

He concludes this epistle, with a general exhortation to them, to stand firm against the temptations of the devil, in the exercise of christian virtues and graces, which he proposes to them, as so many pieces of christian armour fit to arm them cap-a-pee, and preserve them in the conflict.

TEXT.

10 Finally, my brethren, be strong in the Lord, and in the power of his might.

11 Put on the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil.

12 For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.

13 Wherefore, take unto you the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand.

14 Stand therefore, having your loins girt about with truth, and having on the breast-plate of righteousness;

15 And your feet shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace;

16 Above all, taking the shield of faith, wherewith ye shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked.

17 And take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the spirit, which is the word of God:

18 Praying always with all prayer and supplication in the spirit, and watching thereunto, with all perseverance, and supplication, for all saints:

19 And for me, that utterance may be given unto me, that I may open my mouth boldly, to make known the mystery of the gospel:

20 For which I am an ambassador in bonds: that therein I may speak boldly, as I ought to speak.

PARAPHRASE.

10 Finally, my brethren, go on resolutely in the profession of the gospel, in reliance upon that power, and in the exercise of that strength, which is11 ready for your support, in Jesus Christ; Putting on the whole armour of God, that ye may be12 able to resist all the attacks of the devil: For our conflict is not barely with men, but with principalities, and with powers, with the rulers of the darkness, that is in men, in the present constitution of the world, and the spiritual managers of the opposition13 to the kingdom of God. Wherefore, take unto yourselves the whole armour of God, that you may be able to make resistance in the evil day, when you shall be attacked, and, having acquitted yourselves in every thing as you ought, to stand14 and keep your ground: Stand fast, therefore, having your loins girt with truth; and having on the breastplate15 of righteousness; And your feet shod with a readiness to walk in the way of the gospel of peace,16 which you have well studied and considered. Above all taking the shield of faith, wherein you may receive, and so render ineffectual all the fiery darts of17 the wicked one, i. e. the devil. Take also the hopes of salvation for an helmet; and the sword of the18 spirit, which is the word of God: Praying, at all seasons, with all prayer and supplication in the spirit, attending and watching hereunto, with all perseverance, and supplication, for all the saints;19 And for me, in particular, that I may, with freedom and plainness of speech, preach the word, to the manifesting and laying open that part of the gospel, that concerns the calling of the gentiles, which has hitherto, as a mystery, lain concealed, and not been20 at all understood. But I, as an ambassador, am sent to make known to the world, and am now in prison, upon that very account: but let your prayers be, that, in the discharge of this my commission, I may speak plainly and boldly, as an ambassador from God ought to speak.

SECT. XII.

CHAPTER VI. 21 — 24.

EPILOGUS.

TEXT.

21 But that ye also may know my affairs, and how I do, Tychicus, a beloved brother and faithful minister in the Lord, shall make known to you all things.

22 Whom I have sent unto you for the same purpose, that ye might know our affairs, and that he might comfort your hearts.

23 Peace be to the brethren, and love, with faith, from God the Father, and the Lord Jesus Christ.

24 Grace be with all them that love our Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity. Amen.

PARAPHRASE.

21 Tychicus, a beloved brother, and faithful minister of the Lord, in the work of the gospel, shall acquaint you how matters stand with me, and how I do, and give you a particular account how all things stand22 here. I have sent him, on purpose, to you, that you might know the state of our affairs, and that he23 might comfort your hearts. Peace be to the brethren, and love, with faith, from God the Father,24 and the Lord Jesus Christ. Grace be with all those that love our Lord Jesus Christ with sincerity.

SOME THOUGHTS ON THE CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING

Locke’s Of the Conduct of the Understanding is composed as handbook for autodidacts, describing in detail how to think clearly and rationally. It complements Some Thoughts Concerning Education, which concerns how to educate children. The text was first published in 1706, two years after Locke’s death, as part of Peter King’s Posthumous Works of John Locke.

How the treatise originally appeared in print

CONTENTS

Introduction.

Parts.

Reasoning.

Of practice and habits.

Ideas.

Principles.

Mathematics.

Religion.

Ideas.

Prejudice.

Indifferency.

Examine.

Observation.

Bias.

Arguments.

Haste.

Desultory.

Smattering.

Universality.

Reading.

Intermediate principles.

Partiality.

Theology.

Partiality.

Haste.

Anticipation.

Resignation.

Practice.

Words.

Wandering.

Distinction.

Similes.

Assent.

Indifferency.

Section 35.

Question.

Perseverance.

Presumption.

Despondency.

Analogy.

Association.

Fallacies.

Fundamental verities.

Bottoming.

Transferring of thoughts.

Quid tam temerarium tamque indignum sapientis gravitate atque constantia quam aut falsum sentire aut quod not satis explorate perceptum sit et cognitum sine ulla dubitations defendere ?

“What is so reckless and so unworthy of the earnest and unrelenting endeavour of the philosopher than either to hold a false opinion or to maintain unhesitatingly what has been accepted as knowledge without adequate observation and enquiry?”

CICERO, De Natura Deorum, Lib. I.

Introduction.

The last resort a man has recourse to in the conduct of himself is his understanding ; for though we distinguish the faculties of the mind and give the supreme command to the will as to an agent, yet the truth is, the man which is the agent determines himself to this or that voluntary action upon some precedent knowledge or appearance of knowledge in the understanding. No man ever sets himself about anything but upon some view or other which serves him for a reason for what he does ; and whatsoever faculties he employs, the understanding, with such light as it has, well or ill informed, constantly leads ; and by that light, true or false, all his operative powers are directed. The will itself, how absolute and uncontrollable however it may be thought, never fails in its obedience to the dictates of the understanding. Temples have their sacred images, and we see what influence they have always had over a great part of mankind. But in truth the ideas and images in men’s minds are the invisible powers that constantly govern them, and to these they all universally pay a ready submission. It is therefore of the highest concernment that great care should be taken of the understanding to conduct it right in the search of knowledge and in the judgments it makes.

The logic now in use has so long possessed the chair, as the only art taught in the schools for the direction of the mind in the study of the arts and sciences, that it would perhaps be thought an affectation of novelty to suspect that rules that have served the learned world these two or three thousand years and which without any complaint of defects the learned have rested in are not sufficient to guide the understanding. And I should not doubt but this attempt would be censured as vanity or presumption did not the great Lord Verulam’s authority justify it, who, not servilely thinking learning could not be advanced beyond what it was because for many ages it had not been, did not rest in the lazy approbation and applause of what was, because it was, but enlarged his mind to what might be. In his preface to his Novum Organum concerning logic he pronounces thus, Qui summas dialecticae partes tribuerunt ateque inde fidissima scientiis praesidia comparari putarunt, verissime et optime viderunt intellectum humanum sibi permissum merito suspectum esse debere. Verum infirmior omnino est malo medicina ; nec ipsa mali expers. Siquidem dialectica quae recepta est, licet ad civilia et artes quae in sermone et opinione positae sunt rectissime adhibeatur, naturae tamen subtilitatem longo intervallo non attingit ; et prensando quod non capit, ad errores potius stabiliendos et quasi figendos quam ad viam veritati aperiendam valuit. « They, » says he, « who attributed so much to logic perceived very well and truly that it was not safe to trust the understanding to itself without the guard of any rules. But the remedy reached not the evil but became a part of it ; for the logic which took place, though it might do well enough in civil affairs and the arts which consisted in talk and opinion, yet comes very far short of subtlety in the real performances of nature and, catching at what it cannot reach, has served to confirm and establish errors rather than to open a way to truth. » And therefore a little after he says, « That it is absolutely necessary that a better and perfected use and employment of the mind and understanding should be introduced. » Necessario requiritur ut melior et perfectior mentis et intellectus humani usus et adoperatio introducatur.

Parts.

There is, it is visible, great variety in men’s understandings, and their natural constitutions put so wide a difference between some men in this respect that art and industry would never be able to master, and their very natures seem to want a foundation to raise on it that which other men easily attain unto. Amongst men of equal education there is great inequality of parts. And the woods of America, as well as the schools of Athens, produce men of several abilities in the same kind. Though this be so, yet I imagine most men come very short of what they might attain unto in their several degrees by a neglect of their understandings. A few rules of logic are thought sufficient in this case for those who pretend to the highest improvement, whereas I think there are a great many natural defects in the understanding capable of amendment which are overlooked and wholly neglected. And it is easy to perceive that men are guilty of a great many faults in the exercise and improvement of this faculty of the mind which hinder them in their progress and keep them in ignorance and error all their lives. Some of them I shall take notice of and endeavor to point out proper remedies for in the following discourse.

Reasoning.

Besides the want of determined ideas and of sagacity and exercise in finding out and laying in order intermediate ideas, there are three miscarriages that men are guilty of in reference to their reason, whereby this faculty is hindered in them from that service it might do and was designed for. And he that reflects upon the actions and discourses of mankind will find their defects in this kind very frequent and very observable.

(i) The first is of those who seldom reason at all, but do and think according to the example of others, whether parents, neighbors, ministers or who else they are pleased to make choice of to have an implicit faith in for the saving of themselves the pains and trouble of thinking and examining for themselves.

(ii) The second is of those who put passion in the place of reason and, being resolved that shall govern their actions and arguments, neither use their own nor hearken to other people’s reason any further than it suits their humour, interest or party ; and these, one may observe, commonly content themselves with words which have no distinct ideas to them, though in other matters that they come with an unbiased indifference to they want not abilities to talk and hear reason, where they have no secret inclination that hinders them from being tractable to it.

(iii) The third sort is of those who readily and sincerely follow reason but, for want of having that which one may call large, sound, roundabout sense, have not a full view of all that relates to the question and may be of moment to decide it. We are all shortsighted and very often see but one side of a matter ; our views are not extended to all that has a connection with it. From this defect I think no man is free. We see but in part and we know but in part, and therefore it is no wonder we conclude not right from our partial views. This might instruct the proudest esteemer of his own parts how useful it is to talk and consult with others, even such as came short of him in capacity, quickness and penetration ; for since no one sees all and we generally have different prospects of the same thing according to our different, as I may say, positions to it, it is not incongruous to think nor beneath any man to try whether another may not have notions of things which have escaped him and which his reason would make use of if they came into his mind. The faculty of reasoning seldom or never deceives those who trust to it ; its consequences from what it builds on are evident and certain ; but that which it oftenest, if not only, misleads us in is that the principles from which we conclude, the grounds upon which we bottom our reasoning are but a part ; something is left out which should go into the reckoning to make it just and exact. Here we may imagine a vast and almost infinite advantage that angels and separate spirits may have over us, who in their several degrees of elevation above us may be endowed with more comprehensive faculties and some of them perhaps have perfect and exact views of all finite beings that come under their consideration, can, as it were, in the twinkling of an eye collect together all their scattered and almost boundless relations. A mind so furnished, what reason has it to acquiesce in the certainty of its conclusions !

In this we may see the reason why some men of study and thought that reason right and are lovers of truth do make no great advances in their discoveries of it. Error and truth are uncertainly blended in their minds ; their decisions are lame and defective, and they are very often mistaken in their judgments ; the reason whereof is, they converse but with one sort of men, they read but one sort of books, they will not come in the hearing but of one sort of notions ; the truth is, they canton out to themselves a little Goshen in the intellectual world where light shines and, as they conclude, day blesses them ; but the rest of that vast expansion they give up to night and darkness and so avoid coming near it. They have a pretty tragic with known correspondents in some little creek ; within that they confine themselves and are dexterous managers enough of the wares and products of that corner with which they content themselves, but will not venture out into the great ocean of knowledge to surveys the riches that nature has stored other parts with, no less genuine, no less solid, no less useful than what has fallen to their lot in the admired plenty and sufficiency of their own little spot, which to them contains whatsoever is good in the universe. Those who live thus mewed up within their own contracted territories and will not look abroad beyond the boundaries that chance, conceit or laziness has set to their enquiries, but live separate from the notions, discourses and attainments of the rest of mankind, may not amiss be represented by the inhabitants of the Mariana Islands, which, being separate by a large tract of sea from all communion with the habitable parts of the earth, thought themselves the only people of the world. And though the straitness of the conveniences of life amongst them had never reached so far as to the use of fire till the Spaniards, not many years since, in their voyages from Acapulco to Manilla brought it amongst them, yet in the want and ignorance of almost all things they looked upon themselves, even after that the Spaniards had brought amongst them the notice of variety of nations abounding in sciences, arts and conveniences of life of which they knew nothing, they looked upon themselves, I say, as the happiest and wisest people of the universe. But for all that, nobody, I think, will imagine them deep naturalists or solid metaphysicians ; nobody will deem the quickest sighted amongst them to have very enlarged views in ethics or politics ; nor can anyone allow the most capable amongst them to be advanced so far in his understanding as to have any other knowledge but of the few little things of his and the neighboring islands within his commerce, but far enough from that comprehensive enlargement of mind which adorns a soul devoted to truth, assisted with letters and a free consideration of the several views and sentiments of thinking men of all sides. Let not men therefore that would have a sight of what everyone pretends to be desirous to have a sight of, truth in its full extent, narrow and blind their own prospect. Let not men think there is no truth but in the sciences that they study or the books that they read. To prejudge other men’s notions before eve have looked into them is not to show their darkness but to put out our own eyes. « Try all things, hold fast that which is good » is a divine rule coming from the Father of light and truth ; and it is hard to know what other Bay men may come at truth, to lay hold of it, if they do not dig and search for it as for gold and hid treasure ; but he that does so must have much earth and rubbish before he gets the pure metal ; sand and pebbles and dross usually lie blended with it, but the gold is nevertheless gold and will enrich the man that employs his pains to seek and separate it. Neither is there any danger he should be deceived by the mixture. Every man carries about him a touchstone, if he will make use of it, to distinguish substantial gold from superficial glitterings, truth from appearances. And indeed the use and benefit of this touchstone, which is natural reason, is spoiled and lost only by assumed prejudices, overweening presumption and narrowing our minds. The want of exercising it in the full extent of things intelligible is that which weakens and extinguishes this noble faculty in us. Trace it and see whether it be not so. The day laborer in a country village has commonly but a small pittance of knowledge because his ideas and notions have been confined to the narrow bounds of a poor conversation and employment ; the low mechanic of a country town does somewhat outdo him ; porters and cobblers of great cities surpass them. A country gentleman who, leaving Latin and learning in the university, removes thence to his mansion house and associates with neighbors of the same strain, who relish nothing but hunting and a bottle (…) with those alone he spends his time, with those alone he converses and can away with no company whose discourse goes beyond what claret and dissoluteness inspire. Such a patriot, formed in this happy way of improvement, cannot fail, as you see, to give notable decisions upon the bench at quarter sessions and eminent proofs of his skill in politics, when the strength of his purse and party have advanced him to a more conspicuous station. To such a one truly an ordinary coffee-house cleaner of the city is an errant statesman, and as much superior to, as a man conversant about Whitehall and the Court is to an ordinary shopkeeper. To carry this a little further, here is one muffled up in the zeal and infallibility of his own sect and will not touch a book or enter into debate with a person that will question any of those things which to him are sacred. Another surveys our differences in religion with an equitable and fair indifference, and so finds probably that none of them are in everything unexceptionable. These decisions and systems were made by men and carry the mark of fallible on them ; and in those whom he differs from, and till he opened his eyes had a general prejudice against, he meets with more to be said for a great many things than before he was aware of or could have imagined. Which of these two now is most likely to judge right in our religious controversies and to be most stored with truth, the mark all pretend to aim at ? All these men that I have instanced in, thus unequally furnished with truth and advanced in knowledge, I suppose of equal natural parts ; all the odds between them has been the different scope that has been given to their understandings to range in, for the gathering up of information and furnishing their heads with ideas, notions and observations whereon to employ their minds and form their understandings.

It will possibly be objected, Who is sufficient for all this ? I answer, more than can be imagined. Everyone knows what his proper business is and what, according to the character he makes of himself, the world may justly expect of him ; and to answer that, he will find he will have time and opportunity enough to furnish himself, if he will not deprive himself by a narrowness of spirit of those helps that are at hand. I do not say to be a good geographer that a man should visit every mountain, river, promontory and creek ; upon the face of the earth, view the buildings and survey the land everywhere, as if he were going to make a purchase. But yet everyone must allow that he shall know a country better that makes often sallies into it and traverses it up and down than he that, like a mill-horse, goes still round in the same tract or keeps within the narrow bounds of a field or two that delight him. He that will enquire out the best books in every science and inform himself of the most material authors of the several sects of philosophy and religion, will not find it an infinite work to acquaint himself with the sentiments of mankind concerning the most weighty and comprehensive subjects. Let him exercise the freedom of his reason and understanding in such a latitude as this, and his mind will be strengthened, his capacity enlarged, his faculties improved ; and the light which the remote and scattered parts of truth will give to one another still so assist his judgment, that he will seldom be widely out or miss giving proof of a clear head and a comprehensive knowledge. At least, this is the only way I know to give the understanding its due improvement to the full extent of its capacity, and to distinguish the two most different things I know in the world, a logical chicaner from a man of reason. Only, he that would thus give the mind its flight and send abroad his enquiries into all parts after truth must be sure to settle in his head determined ideas of all that he employs his thoughts about, and never fail to judge himself and judge unbiasedly of all that he receives from others either in their writings or discourses. Reverence or prejudice must not be suffered to give beauty or deformity to any of their opinions.

Of practice and habits.

We are born with faculties and powers capable almost of anything, such at least as would carry us further than can be easily imagined ; but it is only the exercise of those powers which gives us ability and skill in anything and leads us towards perfection.

A middle-aged ploughman will scarce ever be brought to the carriage and language of a gentleman, though his body be as well proportioned and his joints as supple and his natural parts not any way inferior. The legs of a dancing-master and the fingers of a musician fall as it were naturally without thought or pains into regular and admirable motions. Bid them change their parts, and they will in vain endeavor to produce like motions in the members not used to them, and it will require length of time and long practice to attain but some degrees of a like ability. What incredible and astonishing actions do we find rope-dancers and tumblers bring their bodies to (…) in almost all manual arts are as wonderful, but I name those which the world takes notice of for such, because on that very account they give money to see them. All these admired motions beyond the reach and almost the conception of unpracticed spectators are nothing but the mere effects of use and industry in men whose bodies have nothing peculiar in them from those of the amazed lookers on.

As it is in the body, so it is in the mind ; practice makes it what it is, and most even of those excellences which are looked on as natural endowments will be found, when examined into more narrowly, to be the product of exercise and to be raised to that pitch only by repeated actions. Some men are remarked for pleasantness in raillery, others for apologues and apposite diverting stories. This is apt to be taken for the effect of pure nature, and that the rather, because it is not got by rules, and those who excel in either of them never purposely set themselves to the study of it as an art to be learnt. But yet it is true that at first some lucky hit, which took with somebody and gained him commendation, encouraged him to try again, inclined his thoughts and endeavours that way, till at last he insensibly got a facility in it without perceiving how, and that is attributed wholly to nature which was much more the effect of use and practice. I do not deny that natural disposition may often give the first rise to it ; but that never carries a man far without use and exercise, and it is practice alone that brings the powers of the mind as well as those of the body to their perfection. Many a good poetic vein is buried under a trade and never produces anything for want of improvement. We see the ways of discourse and reasoning are very different, even concerning the same matter, at Court and in the university. And he that will go but from Westminster Hall to the Exchange will find a different genius and turn in their ways of talking, and yet one cannot think that all whose lot fell in the City were born with different parts from those who were bred at the university or Inns of Court.

To what purpose all this but to show that the difference so observable in men’s understandings and parts does not arise so much from their natural faculties as acquired habits. He would be laughed at that should go about to make a fine dancer out of a country hedger at past fifty ; and he will not have much better success who shall endeavor at that age to make a man reason well or speak handsomely who has never been used to it, though you should lay before him a collection of all the best precepts of logic or orators. Nobody is made anything by hearing of rules or laying them up in his memory ; practice must settle the habit of doing without reflecting on the rule, and you may as well hope to make a good painter or musician extempore by a lecture and instruction in the arts of music and painting as a coherent thinker or strict reasoner be a set of rules showing him wherein right reasoning consists.

This being so, that defects and weaknesses in men’s understandings, as well as other faculties, come from want of a right use of their own minds, I am apt to think the fault is generally mislaid upon nature and there is often a complaint of w ant of parts when the fault lies in want of a due improvement of them. We see men frequently dexterous and sharp enough in making a bargain who, if you reason with them about matters of religion, appear perfectly stupid.

Ideas.

I will not here, in what relates to the right conduct and improvement of the understanding, repeat again the getting clear and determined ideas and the employing our thoughts rather about them than about sounds put for them, nor of settling the signification of words which we use with ourselves in the search of truth or Pith others in discoursing about it. Those hindrances of our understandings in the pursuit of knowledge I have sufficiently enlarged upon in another place , so that nothing more needs here to be said of those matters.

Principles.

There is another fault that stops or misleads men in their knowledge, Which I have also spoken something of but yet is necessary to mention here again, that we may examine it to the bottom and see the root it springs from, and that is a custom of taking up with principles that are not self-evident and very often not so much true. It is not unusual to see men rest their opinions upon foundations that have no more certainty nor solidity than the propositions built on them and embraced for their sake. Such foundations are these and the like, viz. : the founders or leaders of my party are good men and therefore their tenets are true ; it is the opinion of a sect that is erroneous, therefore it is false ; it has been long received in the world, therefore it is true ; or it is new, and therefore false.

These and mans the like, which are by no means the measures of truth and falsehood, the generality of men make the standards by which they accustom their understanding to judge. And thus they falling into a habit of determining of truth and falsehood by such wrong measures, it is no wonder they should embrace error for certainty and be very positive in things they have no ground for.

There is not any who pretends to the least reason but, when any of these his false maxims are brought to the test, must acknowledge them to be fallible and such as he will not allow in those that differ from him ; and yet after he is convinced of this you shall see him go on in the use of them and the very next occasion that offers argue again upon the same grounds. Would one not be ready to think that men are willing to impose upon themselves and mislead their own understanding who conduct them by such wrong measures even after they see they cannot be relied on ? But yet they will not appear so blameable as may be thought at first sight ; for I think there are a great many that argue thus in earnest and do it not to impose on themselves or others. They are persuaded of what they say and think there is weight in it, though in a like case they have been convinced there is none ; but men would be intolerable to themselves and contemptible to others, if they should embrace opinions without any ground and hold what they could give no manner of reason for. True or false, solid or sandy, the mind must have some foundation to rest itself upon, and, as I have remarked in another place, it no sooner entertains any proposition but it presently hastens to some hypothesis to bottom it on ; till then it is unquiet and unsettled. So much do our own very tempers dispose us to a right use of our understandings, if we would follow as we should the inclinations of our nature.

In some matters of concernment, especially those of religion, men are not permitted to be always wavering and uncertain ; they must embrace and profess some tenets or other ; and it would be a shame, nay a contradiction, too heavy for anyone’s mind to lie constantly under, for him to pretend seriously to be persuaded of the truth of any religion and yet not to be able to give any reason of one’s belief or to say anything for his preference of this to any other opinion. And therefore they must make use of some principles or other, and those can be no other than such as they have and can manage ; and to say they are not in earnest persuaded by them and do not rest upon those they make use of. is contrary to experience and to allege that they are not misled when we complain they are.

If this be so, it will be urged, why then do they not rather make use of sure and unquestionable principles rather than rest on such grounds as may deceive them and will, as is visible, serve to support error as well as truth ?

To this I answer, the reason why they do not make use of better and surer principles is because they cannot ; but this inability proceeds not from w ant of natural parts (for those few whose case that is are to be excused) but for want of use and exercise. Few men are from their youth accustomed to strict reasoning and to trace the dependence of any truth in a long train of consequences to its remote principles and to observe its connection ; and he that by frequent practice has not been used to this employment of his understanding, it is no more wonder that he should not, when he is grown into years, be able to bring his mind to it, than that he should not be on a sudden able to grave or design, dance on the ropes, or write a good hand who has never practiced either of them.

Nay, the most of men are so wholly strangers to this, that they do not so much as perceive their leant of it. They dispatch the ordinary business of their callings by rote, as we say, as they have learnt it, and if at any time they miss success, they impute it to anything rather than want of thought or skill ; that they conclude (because they know no better) they have in perfection. Or if there be any subject that interest or fancy has recommended to their thoughts, their reasoning about it is still after their own fashion ; be it better or worse, it serves their turns and is the best they are acquainted with ; and therefore when they are led by it into mistakes and their business succeeds accordingly, they impute it to any cross accident or default of others rather than to their own want of understanding ; that is what nobody discovers or complains of in himself. Whatsoever made his business to miscarry, it leas not want of right thought and judgment in himself ; he sees no such defect in himself, but is satisfied that he carries on his designs well enough by his own reasoning, or at least should have done, had it not been for unlucky traverses not in his power. Thus being content with this short and very imperfect use of his understanding, he never troubles himself to seek out methods of improving his mind, and lives all his life without any notion of close reasoning in a continued connection of a long train of consequences from sure foundations, such as is requisite for the making out and clearing most of the speculative truths most men own to believe and are most concerned in. Not to mention here what I shall have occasion to insist on by and by more fully, viz., that in many cases it is not one series of consequences will serve the turn, but manor different and opposite deductions must be examined and laid together before a man can come to make a right judgment of the point in question. What then can be expected from men that neither see the want of any such kind of reasoning as this nor, if they do, know they how to set about it or could perform it ? You may as well set a countryman who scarce knows the figures and never cast up a sum of three particulars to state a merchant’s long account and find the true balance of it.

What then should be done in the case ? I answer, we should always remember what I said above, that the faculties of our souls are improved and made useful to us just after the same manner as our bodies are. Would you have a man write or paint, dance or fence well, or perform any other manual operation dexterously and with ease, let him have never so much vigor and activity, suppleness and address naturally, yet nobody expects this from him unless he has been used to it and has employed time and pains in fashioning and forming his hand or outward parts to these motions. Just so it is in the mind ; would you have a man reason well, you must use him to it betimes, exercise his mind in observing the connection of ideas and following them in train. Nothing does this better than mathematics, which therefore I think should be taught all those who have the time and opportunity, not so much to make them mathematicians as to make them reasonable creatures ; for though we all call ourselves so, because we are born to it if we please, yet we may truly say nature gives us but the seeds of it ; we are born to be, if is e please, rational creatures, but it is use and exercise only that makes us so, and we are indeed so no further than industry and application has carried us. And therefore in ways of reasoning which men have not been used to, he that will observe the conclusions they take up must be satisfied they are not all rational.

This has been the less taken notice of, because everyone in his private affairs uses some sort of reasoning or other, enough to denominate him reasonable. But the mistake is that he that is found reasonable in one thing is concluded to be so in all, and to think or say otherwise is thought so unjust an affront and so senseless a censure that nobody ventures to do it. It looks like the degradation of a man below the dignity of his nature. It is true, that he that reasons well in any one thing has a mind naturally capable of reasoning well in others, and to the same degree of strength and clearness, and possibly much greater, had his understanding been so employed. But it is as true that he who can reason well today about one sort of matters cannot at all reason today about others, though perhaps a year hence he may. But wherever a man’s rational faculty fails him and will not serve him to reason, there we cannot say he is rational, how capable however he may be by time and exercise to become so.

Try in men of holy and mean education, who have never elevated their thoughts above the spade and the plough nor looked beyond the ordinary drudgery of a day-laborer. Take the thoughts of such an one, used for many years to one tract, out of that narrow compass he has been all his life confined to, you will find him no more capable of reasoning than almost a perfect natural. Some one or two rules on which their conclusions immediately depend you will find in most men have governed all their thoughts ; these, true or false, have been the maxims they have been guided by. Take these from them, and they are perfectly at a loss, their compass and polestar then are gone and their understanding is perfectly at a nonplus ; and therefore they either immediately return to their old maxims again as the foundations of all truth to them, notwithstanding all that can be said to show their weakness, or, if they give them up to their reasons, they with them give up all truth and further enquiry and think there is no such thing as certainty. For if you would enlarge their thoughts and settle them upon more remote and surer principles, they either cannot easily apprehend them, or, if they can, know not what use to make of them ; for long deductions from remote principles is what they have not been used to and cannot manage.

What then, can grown men never be improved or enlarged in their understandings ? I say not so, but this I think I may say, that it will not be done without industry and application, which will require more time and pains than grown men, settled in their course of life, will allow to it, and therefore very seldom is done. And this very capacity of attaining it by use and exercise only brings us back to that which I laid down before, that it is only practice that improves our minds as w ell as bodies, and we must expect nothing from our understandings any further than they are perfected by habits.

The Americans are not all born with worse understandings than the Europeans, though eve see none of them have such reaches in the arts and sciences. And among the children of a poor countryman the lucky chance of education and getting into the world gives one infinitely the superiority in parts over the rest, who, continuing at home, had continued also just of the same size with his brethren.

He that has to do with young scholars, especially in mathematics, may perceive how their minds open by degrees, and how it is exercise alone that opens them. Sometimes they would stick a long time at a part of a demonstration, not for want of will or application, but really for want of perceiving the connection of two ideas that, to one whose understanding is more exercised, is as visible as anything can be. The same would be with a grown man beginning to study mathematics ; the understanding, for want of use, often sticks in very plain way, and he himself that is so puzzled, when he comes to see the connection, wonders what it was he stuck at in a case so plain.

Mathematics.

I have mentioned mathematics as a way to settle in the mind a habit of reasoning closely and in train ; not that I think it necessary that all men should be deep mathematicians, but that having got the way of reasoning, which that study necessarily brings the mind to, they might be able to transfer it to other parts of knowledge as they shall have occasion. For in all sorts of reasoning every single argument should be managed as a mathematical demonstration ; the connection and dependence of ideas should be followed till the mind is brought to the source on which it bottoms and observes the coherence all along, though in proofs of probability one such train is not enough to settle the judgment as in demonstrative knowledge.

Where a truth is made out by one demonstration, there needs no further enquiry ; but in probabilities, where there wants demonstration to establish the truth beyond doubt, there it is not enough to trace one argument to its source and observe its strength and weakness, but all the arguments, after having been so examined on both sides, must be laid in balance one against another, and upon the whole the understanding determine its assent.

This is a way of reasoning the understanding should be accustomed to, which is so different from what the illiterate are used to that even learned men oftentimes seem to have very little or no notion of it. Nor is it to be wondered, since the way of disputing in the schools leads them quite away from it by insisting on one topical argument, by the success of which the truth or falsehood of the question is to be determined and victory adjudged to the opponent or defendant ; which is all one as if one should balance an account by one sum charged and discharged, when there are a hundred others to be taken into consideration.

This therefore it would be well if men’s minds were accustomed to, and that early, that they might not erect their opinions upon one single view, when so many other are requisite to make up the account and must come into the reckoning before a man can form a right judgment. This would enlarge their minds and give a due freedom to their understandings, that they might not be led into error by presumption, laziness or precipitancy ; for I think nobody can approve such a conduct of the understanding as should mislead it from truth, though it be never so much in fashion to make use of it.

To this perhaps it will be objected that to manage the understanding as I propose would require every man to be a scholar and to be furnished with all the materials of knowledge and exercised in all the ways of reasoning. To which I answer that it is a shame for those that have time and the means to attain knowledge to want any helps or assistance for the improvement of their understandings that are to be got, and to such I would be thought here chiefly to speak. Those, methinks, who by the industry and parts of their ancestors have been set free from a constant drudgery to their backs and their bellies, should bestow some of their spare time on their heads and open their minds by some trials and essays in all the sorts and matters of reasoning. I have before mentioned mathematics, wherein algebra gives new helps and views to the understanding. If I propose these, it is not, as I said, to make every man a thorough mathematician or a deep algebraist ; but yet I think the study of them is of infinite use even to grown men. First, by experimentally convincing them that to make anyone reason well it is not enough to have parts wherewith he is satisfied and that serve him well enough in his ordinary course. A man in those studies will see that, however good he may think his understanding, yet in many things, and those very visible, it may fail him. This would take off that presumption that most men have of themselves in this part ; and they would not be so apt to think their minds wanted no helps to enlarge them, that there could be nothing added to the acuteness and penetration of their understandings.

Secondly, the study of mathematics would show them the necessity there is in reasoning to separate all the distinct ideas and see the habitudes that all those concerned in the present enquiry have to one another, and to lay by those which relate not to the proposition in hand and wholly to leave them out of the reckoning. This is that which in other subjects besides quantity is what is absolutely requisite to just reasoning, though in them it is not so easily observed nor so carefully practiced. In those parts of knowledge where it is thought demonstration has nothing to do, men reason as it were in the lump ; and if, upon a summary and confused view or upon a partial consideration, they can raise the appearance of a probability, they usually rest content, especially if it be in a dispute where every little straw is laid hold on and everything that can but be drawn in any Bay to give colour to the argument is advanced with ostentation. But that mind is not in a posture to find the truth that does not distinctly tally all the parts asunder and, omitting what is not at all to the point, draw a conclusion from the result of all the particulars which any way influence it. There is another no less useful habit to be got by an application to mathematical demonstrations, and that is of using the mind to a long train of consequences ; but having mentioned that already I shall not again here repeat it.

As to men whose fortunes and time is narrower, what may suffice them is not of that vast extent as may be imagined, and so comes not within the objection.

Nobody is under an obligation to know everything. Knowledge and science in general is the business only of those who are at ease and leisure. Those who have particular callings ought to understand them ; and it is no unreasonable proposal, nor impossible to be compassed, that they should think and reason right about what is their daily employment. This one cannot think them incapable of without leveling them with the brutes and charging them with a stupidity below the rank of rational creatures.

Religion.

Besides his particular calling for the support of his life, everyone has a concern in a future life which he is bound to look after. This engages his thoughts in religion ; and here it mightily lies upon him to understand and reason right. Men therefore cannot be excused from understanding the words and framing the general notions relating to religion right. The one day of seven, besides other days of rest, allows in the Christian world time enough for this (had they no other idle hours) if they would but make use of these vacancies from their daily labour and apply themselves to an improvement of knowledge with as much diligence as they often do to a great many other things that are useless, and had but those that would enter them according to their several capacities in a right way to this knowledge. The original make of their minds is like that of other men, and they would be found not to want understanding fit to receive the knowledge of religion, if they were a little encouraged and helped in it as they should be. For there are instances of very mean people who have raised their minds to a great sense and understanding of religion. And though these have not been so frequent as could be wished, yet they are enough to clear that condition of life from a necessity of gross ignorance and to show that more might be brought to be rational creatures and Christians (for they can hardly be thought really to be so who, wearing the name, know not so much as the very principles of that religion) if due care were taken of them. For, if I mistake not, the peasantry lately in France (a rank of people under a much heavier pressure of want and poverty than the day-laborers in England) of the reformed religion understood it much better and could say more for it than those of a higher condition among us.

But if it shall be concluded that the meaner sort of people must give themselves up to a brutish stupidity in the things of their nearest concernment, which I see no reason for, this excuses not those of a freer fortune and education, if they neglect their understandings and take no care to employ them as they ought and set them right in the knowledge of those things for which principally they were given them. At least those whose plentiful fortunes allow them the opportunities and helps of improvements are not so few but that it might be hoped great advancements might be made in knowledge of all kinds, especially in that of the greatest concern and largest views, if men would make a right use of their faculties and study their own understandings.

Ideas.

Outward corporeal objects that constantly importune our senses and captivate our appetites fail not to fill our heads with lively and lasting ideas of that kind. Here the mind needs not be set upon getting greater store ; they offer themselves fast enough and are usually entertained in such plenty and lodged so carefully, that the mind wants room or attention for others that it has more use and need of. To fit the understanding therefore for such reasoning as I have been above speaking of, care should be taken to fill it with moral and more abstract ideas ; for these not offering themselves to the senses, but being to be framed to the understanding, people are generally so neglectful of a faculty they are apt to think wants nothing, that I fear most men’s minds are more unfurnished with such ideas than is imagined. They often use the words, and how can they be suspected to want the ideas ? What I have said in the third book of my essay will excuse me from any other answer to this question. But to convince people of what moment it is to their understandings to be furnished with such abstract ideas steady and settled in it, give me leave to ask how anyone shall be able to know whether he be obliged to be just, if he has not established ideas in his mind of obligation and of justice, since knowledge consists in nothing but the perceived agreement or disagreement of those ideas ; and so of all others the like which concern our lives and manners. And if men do find a difficulty to see the agreement or disagreement of two angles which lie before their eyes, unalterable in a diagram, how utterly impossible will it be to perceive it in ideas that have no other sensible objects to represent them to the mind but sounds, with which they have no manner of conformity and therefore had need to be clearly settled in the mind themselves if we would make any clear judgment about them. This, therefore, is one of the first things the mind should be employed about in the right conduct of the understanding, without which it is impossible it should be capable of reasoning right about those matters. But in these and all other ideas care must be taken that they harbor no inconsistencies, and that they have a real existence where real existence is supposed and are not mere chimeras with a supposed existence.

Prejudice.

Everyone is forward to complain of the prejudices that mislead other men or parties, as if he were free and had none of his own. This being objected on all sides, it is agreed that it is a fault and a hindrance to knowledge. What now is the cure ? No other but this, that every man should let alone others’ prejudices and examine his own. Nobody is convinced of his by the accusation of another ; he recriminates by the same rule and is clear. The only way to remove this great cause of ignorance and error out of the world is for everyone impartially to examine himself. If others will not deal fairly faith their own minds, does that make my errors truths, or ought it to make me in love with them and willing to impose on myself ? If others love cataracts on their eyes, should that hinder me from couching of mine as soon as I could ? Everyone declares against blindness, and yet who almost is not fond of that which dims his sight and keeps the clear light out of his mind, which should lead him into truth and knowledge ? False or doubtful positions, relied upon as unquestionable maxims, keep those in the dark from truth who build on them. Such are usually the prejudices imbibed from education, party, reverence, fashion, interest, etc. This is the mote which everyone sees in his brother’s eye, but never regards the beam in his own. For who is there almost that is ever brought fairly to examine his own principles and see whether they are such as will bear the trial ? But yet this should be one of the first things everyone should set about and be scrupulous in, who would rightly conduct his understanding in the search of truth and knowledge.

To those who are willing to get rid of this great hindrance of knowledge (for to such only I write), to those who would shake off this great and dangerous impostor, prejudice, who dresses up falsehood in the likeness of truth and so dexterously hoodwinks men’s minds as to keep them in the dark with a belief that they are more in the light than any that do not see with their eyes, I shall offer this one mark whereby prejudice may be known. He that is strongly of any opinion must suppose (unless he be self-condemned) that his persuasion is built upon good grounds, and that his assent is no greater than what the evidence of the truth he holds forces him to, and that they are arguments, and not inclination or fancy, that make him so confident and positive in his tenets. Now if, after all his profession, he cannot bear any opposition to his opinion, if he cannot so much as give a patient hearing, much less examine and weigh the arguments on the other side, does he not plainly confess it is prejudice governs him and it is not the evidence of truth, but some lazy anticipation, some beloved presumption that he desires to rest undisturbed in ? For if what he holds be as he give out, well fenced with evidence, and he sees it to be true, what need he fear to put it to the proof ? If his opinion be settled upon a firm foundation, if the arguments that support it and have obtained his assent be clear, good and convincing, why should he be shy to have it tried whether they be proof or not ? He whose assent goes beyond his evidence owes this excess of his adherence only to prejudice and does, in effect, own it when he refuses to hear what is offered against it, declaring thereby that it is not evidence he seeks, but the quiet enjoyment of the opinion he is fond of, with a forward condemnation of all that may stand in opposition to it, unheard and unexamined ; which, what is it but prejudice ? Qui aequum statuerit parte inaudita altera, etiamsi aequum statuerit, haud aequus fuerit. He that would acquit himself in this case as a lover of truth, not giving way to any preoccupation or bias that may mislead him, must do two things that are not very common nor very easy.

Indifferency.

First, he must not be in love with any opinion or wish it to be true till he knows it to be so, and then he will not need to wish it. For nothing that is false can deserve our good wishes nor a desire that it should have the place and force of truth ; and yet nothing is more frequent than this. Often are fond of certain tenets upon no other evidence but respect and custom, and think they must maintain them or all is gone, though they have never examined the ground they stand on, nor have ever made them out to themselves or can make them out to others. We should contend earnestly for the truth, but we should first be sure that it is truth, or else we fight against God, who is the God of truth, and do the work of the devil, who is the father and propagator of lies ; and our zeal, though never so warm, will not excuse us ; for this is plainly prejudice.

Examine.

Secondly, he must do that which he will find himself very averse to, as judging the thing unnecessary or himself incapable of doing it. He must try whether his principles be certainly true or not, and how far he may safely rely upon them. This, whether fewer have the heart or the skill to do, I shall not determine ; but this I am sure, this is that which everyone ought to do who professes to love truth and would not impose upon himself (…) which is a surer way to be made a fool of than by being exposed to the sophistry of others. The disposition to put any cheat upon ourselves works constantly and we are pleased with it, but are impatient of being bantered or misled by others. The inability I here speak of is not any natural defect that makes men incapable of examining their own principles. To such, rules of conducting their understandings are useless, and that is the case of very few. The great number is of those whom the ill habit of never exerting their thoughts has disabled ; the powers of their minds are starved by disuse and have lost that reach and strength which nature fitted them to receive from exercise. Those who are in a condition to learn the first rules of plain arithmetic and could be brought to cast up an ordinary sum are capable of this, if they had but accustomed their minds to reasoning ; but they that have wholly neglected the exercise of their understandings in this way will be very far at first from being able to do it and as unfit for it as one unpracticed in figures to cast up a shop-book, and perhaps think it as strange to be set about it. And yet it must nevertheless be confessed to be a wrong use of our understandings to build our tenets (in things where we are concerned to hold the truth) upon principles that may lead us into error. We take our principles at haphazard upon trust and without ever having examined them, and then believe a whole system upon a presumption that they are true and solid. And what is all this but childish, shameful, senseless credulity ?

In these two things, viz., an equal indifference for all truth (I mean the receiving it in the love of it as truth, but not loving it for any other reason before we know it to be true) and in the examination of our principles and not receiving any for such nor building on them till we are fully convinced, as rational creatures, of their solidity, truth and certainty, consists that freedom of the understanding which is necessary to a rational creature and without which it is not truly an understanding. It is conceit, fancy, extravagance, anything rather than understanding, if it must be under the constraint of receiving and holding opinions by the authority of anything but their own, not fancied but perceived, evidence. This was rightly called imposition, and is of all other the worst and most dangerous sort of it. For we impose upon ourselves, which is the strongest imposition of all others, and we impose upon ourselves in that part which ought with the greatest care to be kept free from all imposition. The world is apt to cast great blame on those who have an indifferency for opinions, especially in religion. I fear this is the foundation of great error and worse consequences. To be indifferent which of two opinions is true is the right temper of the mind that preserves it from being imposed on and disposes it to examine with that indifference till it has done its best to find the truth ;and this is the only direct and safe way to it. But to be indifferent whether we embrace falsehood for truth or no is the great road to error. Those who are not indifferent which opinion is true are guilty of this ; they suppose, without examining, that what they hold is true and then think they ought to be zealous for it. Those, it is plain by their warmth and eagerness, are not indifferent for their own opinions, but methinks are very indifferent whether they be true or false, since they cannot endure to have any doubts raised or objections made against them ; and it is visible they never have made any themselves, and so, never having examined them, know not nor are concerned, as they should be, to know whether they be true or false.

These are the common and most general miscarriages which I think men should avoid or rectify in a right conduct of their understandings, and should be particularly taken care of in education. The business whereof in respect of knowledge is not, as I think, to perfect a learner in all or any one of the sciences, but to give his mind that freedom, that disposition and those habits that may enable him to attain any part of knowledge he shall apply himself to or stand in need of in the future course of his life. This and this only is well principling, and not the instilling a reverence and veneration for certain dogmas under the specious title of principles, which are often so remote from that truth and evidence which belongs to principles, that they ought to be rejected as false and erroneous ; and is often the cause to men so educated, when they come abroad into the world and find they cannot maintain the principles so taken up and rested in, to cast off all principles and turn perfect skeptics, regardless of knowledge and virtue.

There are several weaknesses and defects in the understanding, either from the natural temper of the mind or ill habits taken up, which hinder it in its progress to knowledge. Of these there are as many possibly to be found, if the mind were thoroughly studied, as there are diseases of the body, each whereof clogs and disables the understanding to some degree and therefore deserves to be looked after and cured. I shall set down some few to excite men, especially those who make knowledge their business, to look into themselves and observe whether they do not indulge some weakness, allow some miscarriages in the management of their intellectual faculty, which is prejudicial to them in the search for truth.

Observation.

Particular matters of fact are the undoubted foundations on which our civil and natural knowledge is built ; the benefit the understanding makes of them is to draw from them conclusions which may be as standing rules of knowledge and consequently of practice. The mind often makes not that benefit it should of the information it receives from the accounts of civil or natural historians, in being too forward or too slow in making observations on the particular facts recorded in them. There are those who are very assiduous in reading and yet do not much advance their knowledge by it. They are delighted with the stories that are told and perhaps can tell them again, for they make all they read nothing but history to themselves ; but not reflecting on it, not making to themselves observations from what they read, they are very little improved by all that crowd of particulars that either pass through or lodge themselves in their understandings. They dream on in a constant course of reading and cramming themselves ; but, not digesting anything, it produces nothing but a heap of crudities. If their memories retain well, one may say they have the materials of knowledge, but, like those for building, they are of no advantage if there be no other use made of them but to let them lie heaped up together. Opposite to these there are others who lose the improvement they should make of matters of fact by a quite contrary conduct. They are apt to draw general conclusions and raise axioms from every particular they meet with. These make as little true benefit of history as the other, nay, being of forward and active spirits receive more harm by it ; it being of worse consequence to steer one’s thoughts by a wrong rule than to have none at all, error doing to busy men much more harm than ignorance to the slow and sluggish. Between these, those seem to do best who, taking material and useful hints, sometimes from single matters of fact, carry them in their minds to be judged of by what they shall find in history to confirm or reverse these imperfect observations ; which may be established into rules fit to be relied on when they are justified by a sufficient and wary induction of particulars. He that makes no such reflections on what he reads only loads his mind with a rhapsody of tales fit in winter nights for the entertainment of others ; and he that will improve every matter of fact into a maxim will abound in contrary observations that can be of no other use but to perplex and pudder him if he compares them ; or else to misguide him, if he gives himself up to the authority of that which, for its novelty or for some other fancy, best pleases him.

Bias.

Next to these we may place those who suffer their own natural tempers and passions they are possessed with to influence their judgments, especially of men and things that may any way relate to their present circumstances and interest. Truth is all simple, all pure, will bear no mixture of anything else with it. It is rigid and inflexible to any by-interests ; and so should the understanding be, whose use and excellency lies in conforming itself to it. To think of everything just as it is in itself is the proper business of the understanding, though it be not that which men always employ it to. This all men, at first hearing, allow is the right use everyone should make of his understanding. Nobody will be at such an open defiance with common sense as to profess that we should not endeavor to know and think of things as they are in themselves, and yet there is nothing more frequent than to do the contrary ; and men are apt to excuse themselves, and think they have reason to do so, if they have but a pretense that it is for God or a good cause, that is, in effect, for themselves, their own persuasion or party ; for those in their turns the several sects of men, especially in matters of religion, entitle God and a good cause. But God requires not men to wrong or misuse their faculties for him, nor to lie to others or themselves for his sake ; which they purposely do who will not suffer their understandings to have right conceptions of the things proposed to them and designedly restrain themselves from having just thoughts of everything, as far as they are concerned to enquire. And as for a good cause, that needs not such ill helps ; if it be good, truth will support it and it has no need of fallacy or falsehood.

Arguments.

Very much of kin to this is the hunting after arguments to make good one side of a question and wholly to neglect and refuse those which favor the other side. What is this but wilfully to misguide the understanding (and is so far from giving truth its due value that it wholly debases it), [to] espouse opinions that best comport with their porter, profit or credit and then seek arguments to support them ? Truth lighted upon this way is of no more avail to us than error ; for what is so taken up by us may be false as well as true, and he has not done his duty who has thus stumbled upon truth in his way to preferment.

There is another but more innocent way of collecting arguments, very familiar among bookish men, which is to furnish themselves with the arguments they meet with pro and con in the questions they study. This helps them not to judge right nor argue strongly, but only to talk copiously on either side, without being steady and settled in their own judgments ; for such arguments gathered from other men’s thoughts, floating only in the memory, are there ready indeed to supply copious talk with some appearance of reason, but are far from helping us to judge right. Such variety of arguments only distract the understanding that relies on them, unless it has gone further than such a superficial way of examining ; this is to quit truth for appearance, only to serve our vanity. The sure and only way to get true knowledge is to form in our minds clear settled notions of things, with names annexed to those determined ideas. These we are to consider, and with their several relations and habitudes, and not to amuse ourselves with floating names and words of indetermined signification, which we can use in several senses to serve a turn. It is in the perception of the habitudes and respects our ideas have one to another that real knowledge consists ; and when a man once perceives how far they agree or disagree one with another, he will be able to judge of what other people say and will not need to be led by the arguments of others, which are many of them nothing but plausible sophistry. This will teach him to state the question right and see whereon it turns ; and thus he will stand upon his own legs and know by his own understanding. Whereas by collecting and learning arguments by heart he will be but a retainer to others ; and when anyone questions the foundations they are built upon, he will be at a nonplus and be fain to give up his implicit knowledge.

Haste.

Labour for labour sake is against nature. The understanding, as well as all the other faculties, chooses always the shortest way to its end, would presently obtain the knowledge it is about and then set upon some new enquiry. But this whether laziness or haste often misleads it and makes it content itself with improper ways of search and such as will not serve the turn. Sometimes it rests upon testimony, when testimony of right has nothing to do, because it is easier to believe than to be scientifically instructed. Sometimes it contents itself with one argument and rests satisfied with that, as it were a demonstration ; whereas the thing under proof is not capable of demonstration and therefore must be submitted to the trial of probabilities, and all the material arguments pro and con be examined and brought to a balance. In some cases the mind is determined by probable topics in enquiries where demonstration may be had. All these and several others, which laziness, impatience, custom and want of use and attention lead men into, are misapplications of the understanding in the search of truth. In every question the nature and manner of the proof it is capable of should first be considered to make our enquiry such as it should be. This would save a great deal of frequently misemployed pains and lead us sooner to that discovery and possession of truth we are capable of. The multiplying variety of arguments, especially frivolous ones, such as are all that are merely verbal, is not only lost labour, but Numbers the memory to no purpose and serves only to hinder it from seizing and holding of the truth in all those cases which are capable of demonstration. In such a way of proof the truth and certainty is seen and the mind fully possesses itself of it ; when in the other way of assent it only hovers about it, is amused with uncertainties. In this superficial way indeed the mind is capable of more variety of plausible talk, but is not enlarged as it should be in its knowledge. It is to this same haste and impatience of the mind also that a not due tracing of the arguments to their true foundation is owing ; men see a little, presume a great deal, and so jump to the conclusion. This is a short way to fancy and conceit and (if firmly embraced) to opiniatrety, but is certainly the furthest way about to knowledge. For he that will know must, by the connection of the proofs, see the truth and the ground it stands on ; and therefore, if he has for haste skipped over what he should have examined, he must begin and go over all again, or else he will never come to knowledge.

Desultory.

Another fault of as ill consequence as this, which proceeds also from laziness with a mixture of vanity, is the skipping from one sort of knowledge to another. Some men’s tempers are quickly weary of any one thing. Constancy and assiduity is what they cannot bear ; the same study long continued in is as intolerable to them as the appearing long in the same clothes or fashion is to a Court lady.

Smattering.

Others, that they may seem universally knowing, get a little smattering in everything. Both these may fill their heads with superficial notions of things, but are very much out of the way of attaining truth or knowledge.

Universality.

I do not here speak against the taking a taste of every sort of knowledge ; it is certainly very useful and necessary to form the mind, but then it must be done in a different way and to a different end (…) not for talk and vanity to fill the head with shreds of all kinds, that he who is possessed of such a frippery may be able to match the discourses of all he shall meet with, as if nothing could come amiss to him and his head was so well a stored magazine that nothing could be proposed which he was not master of and was readily furnished to entertain anyone on. This is an excellency indeed, and a great one too, to have a real and true knowledge in all or most of the objects of contemplation. But it is what the mind of one and the same man can hardly attain unto ; and the instances are so few of those who have in any measure approached towards it, that I know not whether they are to be proposed as examples in the ordinary conduct of the understanding. For a man to understand fully the business of his particular calling in the commonwealth and of religion, which is his calling as he is a man in the world, is usually enough to take up his whole time ; and there are few that inform themselves in these, which is every man’s proper and peculiar business, so to the bottom as they should do. But though this be so, and there are very few men that extend their thoughts towards universal knowledge, yet I do not doubt but, if the right way were taken and the methods of enquiry were ordered as they should be, men of little business and great leisure might go a great deal further in it than is usually done. To return to the business in hand, the end and use of a little insight in those parts of knowledge which are not a man’s proper business is to accustom our minds to all sorts of ideas and the proper ways of examining their habitudes and relations. This gives the mind a freedom, and the exercising the understanding in the several ways of enquiry and reasoning which the most skillful have made use of teaches the mind sagacity and wariness and a suppleness to apply itself more closely and dexterously to the bents and turns of the matter in all its researches. Besides, this universal taste of all the sciences with an indifferency, before the mind is possessed with any one in particular and grown into love and admiration of what is made its darling, will prevent another evil very commonly to be observed in those who have from the beginning been seasoned only by one part of knowledge. Let a man be given up to the contemplation of one sort of knowledge, and that will become everything. The mind will take such a tincture from a familiarity with that object, that everything else, hole remote however, will be brought under the same view. A metaphysician will bring ploughing and gardening immediately to abstract notions ; the history of nature shall signify nothing to him. An alchemist, on the contrary, shall reduce divinity to the maxims of his laboratory, explain morality by sag sulfur and mercury and allegorize the Scripture itself and the sacred masteries thereof into the philosopher’s stone. And I heard once a man who had a more than ordinary excellency in music seriously accommodate Moses’ seven days of the first week to the notes of music, as if from thence had been taken the measure and method of the creation. It is of no small consequence to keep the mind from such a possession, which I think is best done by giving it a fair and equal view of the whole intellectual world, wherein it may see the order, rank and beauty of the whole, and give a just allowance to the distinct provinces of the several sciences in the due order and usefulness of each of them.

If this be that which old men will not think necessary nor be easily brought to, it is fit at least that it should be practiced in the breeding of the young. The business of education, as I have already observed, is not, as I think, to make them perfect in any one of the sciences, but so to open and dispose their minds as may best make them capable of any, when they shall apply themselves to it. If men are for a long time accustomed only to one sort or method of thoughts, their minds grow stiff in it and do not readily turn to another. It is therefore to give them this freedom that I think they should be made to look into all sorts of knowledge and exercise their understandings in so wide a variety and stock of knowledge. But I do not propose it as a variety and stock of knowledge, but a variety and freedom of thinking, as an increase of the powers and activity of the mind, not as an enlargement of its possessions.

Reading.

This is that which I think great readers are apt to be mistaken in. Those who have read of everything are thought to understand everything too ; but it is not always so. Reading furnishes the mind only with materials of knowledge ; it is thinking makes what we read ours. We are of the ruminating kind, and it is not enough to cram ourselves with a great load of collections ; unless we chew them over again, they will not give us strength and nourishment. There are indeed in some writers risible instances of deep thought, close and acute reasoning and ideas well pursued. The light these would give would be of great use, if their readers would observe and imitate them ; all the rest at best are but particulars fit to be turned into knowledge ; but that can be done only by our own meditation and examining the reach, force and coherence of what is said ; and then, as far as we apprehend and see the connection of ideas, so far it is ours ; without that it is but so much loose matter floating in our brain. The memory may be stored, but the judgment is little better and the stock of knowledge not increased by being able to repeat what others have said or produce the arguments we have found in them. Such a knowledge as this is but knowledge by hearsay, and the ostentation of it is at best but talking by rote, and very often upon weak and wrong principles. For all that is to be found in books is not built upon true foundations nor always rightly deduced from the principles it is pretended to be built on. Such an examen as is requisite to discover that, every reader’s mind is not forward to make, especially in those who have given themselves up to a party and only hunt for what they can scrape together that may favor and support the tenets of it. Such men willfully exclude themselves from truth and from all true benefit to be received by reading. Others of more indifference often want attention and industry. The mind is backward in itself to be at the pains to trace every argument to its original and to see upon what basis it stands and how firmly ; but yet it is this that gives so much the advantage to one man more than another in reading. The mind should by severe rules be tied down to this at first uneasy task ; use and exercise will give it facility, so that those who are accustomed to it, readily, as it were with one cast of the eye, take a view of the argument and presently in most cases see where it bottoms. Those who have got this faculty, one may say, have got the true key of books and the clue to lead them through the maze of variety of opinions and authors to truth and certainty. This young beginners should be entered in and showed the use of, that they might profit by their reading .Those who are strangers to it still be apt to think it too great a clog in the way of men’s studies, and they will suspect they shall make but small progress if, in the books they read, they must stand to examine and unravel every argument and follow it step by step up to its original.

I answer, this is a good objection and ought to weigh with those whose reading is designed for much talk and little knowledge, and I have nothing to say to it. But I am here enquiring into the conduct of the understanding in its progress towards knowledge ; and to those who aim at that, I may say that he, who fair and softly goes steadily forward in a course that points right, will sooner be at his journey’s end, than he that runs after everyone he meets, though he gallop all day full speed.

To which let me add that this way of thinking on and profiting by what we read will be a clog and rub to anyone only in the beginning ; when custom and exercise has made it familiar, it will be dispatched in most occasions without resting or interruption in the course of our reading. The motions and views of a mind exercised that way are wonderfully quick ; and a man used to such sort of reflections sees as much at one glimpse as would require a long discourse to lay before another and make out in an entire and gradual deduction. Besides that, when the first difficulties are over, the delight and sensible advantage it brings mightily encourages and enlivens the mind in reading, which without this is very improperly called study.

Intermediate principles.

As a help to this I think it may be proposed that, for the saving the long progression of the thoughts to remote and first principles in every case, the mind should provide itself several stages, that is to say, intermediate principles, which it might have recourse to in the examining those positions that come in its way. These, though they are not self-evident principles, yet, if they have been made out from them by a wary and unquestionable deduction, may be depended on as certain and infallible truths and serve as unquestionable truths to prove other points depending on them by a nearer and shorter view than remote and general maxims. These may serve as landmarks to show what lies in the direct way of truth or is quite besides it. And thus mathematicians do, who do not in every new problem run it back to the first axioms through all the whole train of intermediate propositions. Certain theorems that they have settled to themselves upon sure demonstration serve to resolve to them multitudes of propositions which depend on them and are as firmly made out from thence as if the mind went afresh over every link of the Whole chain that ties them to first self-evident principles. Only in other sciences great care is to be taken that they establish those intermediate principles with as much caution, exactness and indifferency as mathematicians use in the settling any of their great theorems. When this is not done, but men take up the principles in this or that science upon credit, inclination, interest, etc., in haste without due examination and most unquestionable proof, they lay a trap for themselves and as much as in them lies captivate their understandings to mistake, falsehood and error.

Partiality.

As there is a partiality to opinions, which, as we have already observed, is apt to mislead the understanding, so there is often a partiality to studies, which is prejudicial also to knowledge and improvement. Those sciences which men are particularly versed in they are apt to value and extol, as if that part of knowledge which everyone has acquainted himself with were that alone which was worth the having, and all the rest were idle and empty amusements, comparatively of no use or importance. This is the effect of ignorance and not knowledge, the being vainly puffed up with a flatulency arising from a weak and narrow comprehension. It is not amiss that everyone should relish the science that he has made his peculiar study ; a view of its beauties and a sense of its usefulness carries a man on with the more delight and warmth in the pursuit and improvement of it. But the contempt of all other knowledge, as if it were nothing in comparison of law or physic, of astronomy or chemistry, or perhaps some yet meaner part of knowledge wherein I have got some smattering or am somewhat advanced, is not only the mark of a vain or little mind, but does this prejudice in the conduct of the understanding, that it coops it up within narrow bounds and hinders it from looking abroad into other provinces of the intellectual world, more beautiful possibly, and more fruitful than that which it had till then labored in ; wherein it might find, besides new knowledge, ways or hints whereby it might be enabled the better to cultivate its own.

Theology.

There is indeed one science (as they are now distinguished) incomparably above all the rest, where it is not by corruption narrowed into a trade or faction for mean or ill ends and secular interests ; I mean theology, which, containing the knowledge of God and his creatures, our duty to him and our fellow creatures and a view of our present and future state, is the comprehension of all other knowledge directed to its true end, i.e., the honor and veneration of the Creator and the happiness of mankind. This is that noble study which is every man’s duty and everyone that can be called a rational creature is capable of. The works of nature and the words of revelation display it to mankind in characters so large and visible, that those who are not quite blind may in them read and see the first principles and most necessary parts of it and from thence, as they have time and industry, may be enabled to go on to the more abstruse parts of it and penetrate into those infinite depths filled with the treasures of wisdom and knowledge. This is that science which would truly enlarge men’s minds, were it studied or permitted to be studied everywhere with that freedom, love of truth and charity which it teaches, and were not made, contrary to its nature, the occasion of strife, faction, malignity and narrow impositions. I shall say no more here of this, but that it is undoubtedly a wrong use of my understanding to make it the rule and measure of another man’s, a use which it is neither fit for nor capable of.

Partiality.

This partiality, where it is not permitted an authority to render all other studies insignificant or contemptible, is often indulged so far as to be relied upon and made use of in other parts of knowledge to which it does not at all belong and wherewith it has no manner of affinity. Some men have so used their heads to mathematical figures that, giving a preference to the methods of that science, they introduce lines and diagrams into their studies of divinity or politic[al] enquiries, as if nothing could be known without them ; and others, accustomed to retired speculations, run natural philosophy into metaphysical notions and the abstract generalities of logic ; and how often may one meet with religion and morality treated of in the terms of the laboratory and thought to be improved by the methods and notations of chemistry. But he that will take care of the conduct of his understanding to direct it right to the knowledge of things must avoid those undue mixtures and not, by a fondness for Chat he has found useful and necessary in one, transfer it to another science where it serves only to perplex and confound the understanding. It is a certain truth that res nolunt male administrari ; it is no less certain res nolunt male intelligi. Things themselves are to be considered as they are in themselves, and then they still show us in what way they are to be understood. For to have right conceptions about them we must bring our understandings to the inflexible natures and unalterable relations of things, and not endeavor to bring things to any preconceived notions of our own.

There is another partiality very commonly observable in men of study, no less prejudicial nor ridiculous than the former, and that is a fantastical and wild attributing all knowledge to the ancients alone or to the moderns. This raving upon antiquity in matter of poetry Horace has wittily described and exposed in one of his satyrs. The same sort of madness may be found in reference to all the other sciences. Some will not admit an opinion not authorized by men of old, who were then all giants in knowledge ; nothing is to be put into the treasury of truth or knowledge which has not the stamp of Greece or Rome upon it ; and since their days will scarce allow that men have been able to see, think or write. Others, with a like extravagancy, contemn all that the ancients have left us and, being taken with the modern inventions and discoveries, lay by all that went before, as if whatever is called old must have the decay of time upon it and truth too were liable to mold and rottenness. Men, I think, have been much the same for natural endowments in all times. Fashion, discipline and education have put eminent differences in the ages of several countries and made one generation much differ from another in arts and sciences ; but truth is always the same ; time alters it not, nor is it the better or worse for being of ancient or modern tradition. Many were eminent in former ages of the world for their discovery and delivery of it ; but though the knowledge they have left us be worth our study, yet they exhausted not all its treasure ; they left a great deal for the industry and sagacity of after ages, and so shall we. That was once new to them which anyone now receives with veneration for its antiquity ; nor was it the worse for appearing as a novelty, and that Which is now embraced for its newness will, to posterity, be old but not thereby be less true or less genuine. There is no occasion on this account to oppose the ancients and the moderns to one another or to be squeamish on either side. He that wisely conducts his mind in the pursuit of knowledge will gather what lights and get what helps he can from either of them, from whom they are best to be had, without adoring the errors or rejecting the truths which he may find mingled in them.

Another partiality may be observed, in some to vulgar, in others to heterodox tenets. Some are apt to conclude that what is the common opinion cannot but be true ; so many men’s eyes, they think, cannot but see right ; so many men’s understandings of all sorts cannot be deceived ; and therefore [they] will not venture to look beyond the received notions of the place and age nor have so presumptuous a thought as to be wiser than their neighbors. They are content to go with the crowd, and so go easily, which they think is going right or at least serves them as well. But however Vox populi vox Dei has prevailed as a maxim, yet I do not remember wherever God delivered his oracles by the multitude or nature truths by the herd. On the other side, some fly all common opinions as either false or frivolous. The title of many-headed beast is a sufficient reason to them to conclude that no truths of weight or consequence can be lodged there. Vulgar opinions are suited to vulgar capacities and adapted to the ends of those that govern. He that will know the truth of things must leave the common and beaten tract, which none but weak and servile minds are satisfied to trudge along continually in. Such nice palates relish nothing but strange notions quite out of the way ; whatever is commonly received has the mark of the beast on it, and they think it a lessening to them to hearken to it or receive it ; their mind runs only after paradoxes ; these they seek, these they embrace, these alone they vent, and so, as they think, distinguish themselves from the vulgar. But common or uncommon are not the marks to distinguish truth or falsehood and therefore should not be any bias to us in our enquiries. We should not judge of things by men’s opinions, but of opinions by things. The multitude reason but ill, and therefore may be well suspected, and cannot be relied on, nor should be followed as a sure guide ; but philosophers who have quitted the orthodoxy of the community and the popular doctrines of their countries have fallen into as extravagant and as absurd opinions as ever common reception countenanced. It would be madness to refuse to breathe the common air or quench one’s thirst with water because the rabble use them to these purposes ; and if there are conveniences of life which common use reaches not. it is not reason to reject them because they are not grown into the ordinary fashion of the country and every villager does not know them.

Truth, whether in or out of fashion, is the measure of knowledge and the business of the understanding ; whatsoever is besides that, however authorized by consent or recommended by rarity, is nothing but ignorance or something worse.

Another sort of partiality there is, whereby men impose upon themselves, and by it make their reading little useful to themselves ; I mean the making use of the opinions of writers, and laying stress upon their authorities, wherever they find them to favor their own opinions. There is nothing almost has done more harm to men dedicated to letters than giving the name of study to reading, and making a man of great reading to be the same with a man of great knowledge, or at least to be a title of honor. All that can be recorded in writing are only facts or reasonings. Facts are of three sorts :

1. Merely of natural agents, observable in the ordinary operations of bodies one upon another, whether in the visible course of things left to themselves, or in experiments made by men applying agents and patients to one another after a peculiar and artificial manner. 2. Of voluntary agents, more especially the actions of men in society, which makes civil and moral history. 3. Of opinions.

In these three consists, as it seems to me, that which commonly has the name of learning ; to which perhaps some may add a distinct head of critical writings, which indeed at bottom is nothing but matter of fact and resolves itself into this, that such a man or set of men used such a word or phrase in such a sense, i.e. that they made such sounds the marks of such ideas. Under reasonings I comprehend all the discoveries of general truths made by human reason, whether found by intuition, demonstration or probable deductions. And this is that which is, if not alone knowledge (because the truth or probability of particular propositions may be known too), suet is, as may be supposed, most properly the business of those who pretend to improve their understandings and make themselves knowing by reading.

Books and reading are looked upon to be the great helps of the understanding and instruments of knowledge, as it must be allotted that they are ; and yet I beg leave to question whether these do not prove a hindrance to many and keep several bookish men from attaining to solid and true knowledge. This, I think, I may be permitted to say, that there is no part wherein the understanding needs a more careful and wary conduct than in the use of books ; without which they will prove rather innocent amusements than profitable employments of our time, and bring but small additions to our knowledge.

There is not seldom to be found, even amongst those who aim at knowledge, [those] Echo with an unwearied industry employ their whole time in books, who scarce allow themselves time to eat or sleep, but read and read and read on, but yet make no great advances in real knowledge, though there be no defect in their intellectual faculties, to which their little progress can be imputed. The mistake here is, that it is usually supposed that, by reading, the author’s knowledge is transfused into the reader’s understanding ; and so it is, but not by bare reading, but by reading and understanding what he writ. Thereby I mean, not barely comprehending what is affirmed or denied in each proposition (though that great readers do not always think themselves concerned precisely to do), but to see and follow the train of his reasonings, observe the strength and clearness of their connection and examine upon what they bottom. Without this, a man may read the discourses of a very rational author, writ in a language and in propositions that he very well understands, and yet acquire not one jot of his knowledge ; which consisting only in the perceived, certain, or probable connection of the ideas made use of in his reasonings, the reader’s knowledge is no further increased than he perceives that, so much as he sees of this connection, so much he knows of the truth or probability of that author’s opinions.

All that he relies on without this perception he takes upon trust upon the author’s credit without any knowledge of it at all. This makes me not at all wonder to see some men so abound in citations and build so much upon authorities, it being the sole foundation on which they bottom most of their own tenets : so that in effect they have but a second hand or implicit knowledge, i.e. are in the right if such an one from whom they borrowed it were in the right in that opinion which they took from him, Which indeed is no knowledge at all. Writers of this or former arts may be good witnesses of matters of fact which they deliver, which we may do well to take upon their authority ; but their credit can go no further than this ; it cannot at all affect the truth and falsehood of opinions, which have another sort of trial by reason and proof, which they themselves made use of to make themselves knowing, and so must others too that will partake in their knowledge. Indeed it is an advantage that they have been at the pains to find out the proofs and lay them in that order that may show the truth or probability of their conclusions ; and for this we owe them great acknowledgments for saving us the pains in searching out those proofs which they have collected for us and which possibly, after all our pains, we might not have found nor been able to set them in so good a light as that which they left them us in. Upon this account we are mightily beholding to judicious writers of all ages for those discoveries and discourses they have left behind them for our instruction, if we know how to make a right use of them ; which is not to run them over in a hasty perusal and perhaps lodge their opinions or some remarkable passages in our memories, but to enter into their reasonings, examine their proofs, and then judge of the truth or falsehood, probability or improbability of what they advance, not by any opinion we have entertained of the author, but by the evidence he produces and the conviction he affords us drawn from things themselves. Knowing is seeing, and, if it be so, it is madness to persuade ourselves that we do so be another man’s eyes, let him use never so many words to tell us that what he asserts is very visible. Till we ourselves see it with our own eyes and perceive it by our own understandings, we are as much in the dark and as void of knowledge as before, let us believe any learned author as much as we will.

Euclid and Archimedes are allowed to be knowing and to have demonstrated what they say ; and yet, whosoever shall read over their writings without perceiving the connection of their proofs, and seeing what they shew, though he may understand all their words, yet he is not the more knowing ; he may believe indeed but does not know what they say, and so is not advanced one jot in mathematical knowledge by all his reading of those approved mathematicians.

Haste.

The eagerness and strong bent of the mind after knowledge, if not warily regulated, is often a hindrance to it. It still presses into further discoveries and new objects and catches at the variety of knowledge, and therefore often stays not long enough on what is before it to look into it as it should, for haste to pursue what is yet out of sight. He that rides post through a country may be able from the transient view to tell how in general the parts lie, and may be able to give some loose description of here a mountain and there a plain, here a morass and there a river, woodland in one part and savannas in another. Such superficial ideas and observations as these he may collect in galloping over it. But the more useful observations of the soil, plants, animals and inhabitants with their several sorts and properties must necessarily escape him ; and it is seldom men ever discover the rich mines without some digging. Nature commonly lodges her treasure and jewels in rocky ground. If the matter be knotty and the sense lies deep, the mind must stop and buckle to it and stick upon it with labour and thought and close contemplation, and not leave it till it has mastered the difficulty and got possession of truth. But here care must be taken to avoid the other extreme : a man must not stick at every useless nicety and expect mysteries of science in every trivial question or scruple that he may raise. He that Mill stand to pick up and examine every pebble that comes in his way is as unlikely to return enriched and loaded with jewels as the other that traveled full speed. Truths are not the better nor the Worse for their obviousness or difficulty, but their value is to be measured by their usefulness and tendency. Insignificant observations should not take up any of our minutes, and those that enlarge our view and give light towards further and useful discoveries should not be neglected, though they stop our course and spend some of our time in a fixed attention.

There is another haste that does often and will mislead the mind, if it be left to itself and its own conduct. The understanding is naturally forward, not only to learn its knowledge by variety (which makes it skip over one to get speedily to another part of knowledge), but also eager to enlarge its views by running too fast into general observations and conclusions without a due examination of particulars enough whereon to found those general axioms. This seems to enlarge their stock, but it is of fancies not realities ; such theories built upon narrow foundations stand but weakly, and, if they fall not of themselves, are at least very hardly to be supported against the assaults of opposition. And thus men, being too hasty to erect to themselves general notions and ill grounded theories, find themselves deceived in their stock of knowledge when they come to examine their hastily assumed maxims themselves or to have them attacked by others. General observations drawn from particulars are the jewels of knowledge, comprehending great store in a little room ; but they are therefore to be made with the greater care and caution, lest, if we take counterfeit for true, our loss and shame be the greater when our stock comes to a severe scrutiny. One or two particulars may suggest hints of enquiry, and they do well who take those hints ; but if they turn them into conclusions and make them presently general rules, they are forward indeed, but it is only to impose on themselves by propositions assumed for truths without sufficient warrant. To make such observations is, as has been already remarked, to make the head a magazine of materials which can hardly be called knowledge, or at least it is but like a collection of lumber not reduced to use or order ; and he that makes everything an observation has the same useless plenty and much more falsehood mixed with it. The extremes on both sides are to be avoided, and he will be able to give the best account of his studies who keeps his understanding in the right mean between them.

Anticipation.

Whether it be a love of that which brings the first light and information to their minds and want of vigor and industry to enquire, or else that men content themselves with any appearance of knowledge, right or wrong, which when they have once got they will hold fast, this is visible, that many men give themselves up to the first anticipations of their minds and are very tenacious of the opinions that first possess them. They are often as fond of their first conceptions as of their first born, and will by no means recede from the judgment they have once made or any conjecture or conceit which they have once entertained. This is a fault in the conduct of the understanding, since this firmness or rather stiffness of the mind is not from an adherence to truth but a submission to prejudice. It is an unreasonable homage paid to prepossession, whereby we show a reverence not to (what we pretend to seek) truth, but what by haphazard we chance to light one be it what it will. This is visibly a preposterous use of our faculties and is a downright prostituting of the mind to resign it thus and put it under the power of the first comer. This can never be allowed or ought to be followed as a right way to knowledge, till the understanding (whose business it is to conform itself to what it finds on the objects without) can by its own opiniatrety change that and make the unalterable nature of things comply with its own hasty determinations, which will never be. Whatever we fancy, things keep their course, and their habitudes, correspondences and relations keep the same to one another.

Resignation.

Contrary to these, but by a like dangerous excess on the other side, are those who always resign their judgment to the last man they heard or read. Truth never sinks into these men’s minds nor gives any tincture to them, but, chameleon-like, they take the colour of what is laid before them and as soon lose and resign it to the next that happens to come in their way. The order wherein opinions are proposed or received by us is no rule of their rectitude nor ought to be a cause of their preference. First or last in this case is the effect of chance and not the measure of truth or falsehood. This everyone must confess and therefore should in the pursuit of truth keep his mind free from the influence of any such accidents. A man may as reasonably draw cuts for his tenets, regulate his persuasion by the cast of a die, as take it up for its novelty or retain it because it had his first assent and he was never of another mind. Well weighed reasons are to determine the judgment ; those the mind should be always ready to hearken and submit to and by their testimony and suffrage entertain or reject any tenet indifferently, whether it be a perfect stranger or an old acquaintance.

Practice.

Though the faculties of the mind are improved by exercise, yet they must not be put to a stress beyond their strength. Quid valeant humeri, quid ferre recusent must be made the measure of everyone’s understanding who has a desire not only to perform well but to keep up the vigor of his faculties and not to balk his understanding by what is too hard for it. The mind, by being engaged in a task beyond its strength, like the body strained by lifting at a weight too heavy, has often its force broken and thereby gets an ineptness or an aversion to any vigorous attempt ever after. A sinew cracked seldom recovers its former strength, or at least the tenderness of the sprain remains a good while after and the memory of it longer, and leaves a lasting caution in the man not to put the part quickly again to any robust employment. So it fares in the mind once jaded by an attempt above its power ; it either is disabled for the future or else checks at any vigorous undertaking ever after, at least is very hardly brought to exert its force again on any subject that requires thought and meditation. The understanding should be brought to the difficult and knotty parts of knowledge, that try the strength of thought, and a full bent of the mind by insensible degrees ; and in such a gradual proceeding nothing is too hard for it. Nor let it be objected that such a slow progress will never reach the extent of some sciences. It is not to be imagined how far constancy will carry a man ; however, it is better walking slowly in a rugged way than to break a leg and be a cripple. He that begins with the calf may carry the ox ; but he that will at first go to take up an ox may so disable himself as not be able to lift a calf after that. When the mind by insensible degrees has brought itself to attention and close thinking, it will be able to cope with difficulties and master them without any prejudice to itself, and then it may go on roundly. Every abstruse problem, every intricate question will not baffle, discourage or break it. But though putting the mind unprepared upon an unusual stress that may discourage or damp it for the future ought to be avoided, yet this must not run it, by an over great shyness of difficulties, into a lazy sauntering about ordinary and obvious things that demand no thought or application. This debases and enervates the understanding, makes it weak and unfit for labour. This is a sort of hovering about the surface of things without any insight into them or penetration ; and when the mind has been once habituated to this lazy recumbency and satisfaction on the obvious surface of things, it is in danger to rest satisfied there and go no deeper, since it cannot do it without pains and digging. He that has for some time accustomed himself to take up with what easily offers itself at first view, has reason to fear he shall never reconcile himself to the fatigue of turning and tumbling things in his mind to discover their more retired and more valuable secrets.

It is not strange that methods of learning which scholars have been accustomed to in their beginning and entrance upon the sciences should influence them all their lives and be settled in their minds by an over-ruling reverence, especially if they be such as universal use has established. Learners must at first be believers, and, their master’s rules having once been made axioms to them, it is no wonder they should keep that dignity and by the authority they have once got mislead those who think it sufficient to excuse them if they go out of their way in a well beaten tract.

Words.

I have copiously enough spoken of the abuse of words in another place and therefore shall upon this reflection, that the sciences are full of them, warn those that would conduct their understandings right not to take any term, howsoever authorized by the language of the schools, to stand for any thing till they have an idea of it. A word may be of frequent use and great credit with several authors and be by them made use of as if it stood for some real being ; but Met, if he that reads cannot frame any distinct idea of that being, it is certain[ly] to him a mere empty sound without a meaning, and he learns no more by all that is said of it or attributed to it than if it were affirmed only of that bare empty sound. They who would advance in knowledge and not deceive and swell themselves with a little articulated air should lay dolor this as a fundamental rule, not to take words for things nor suppose that names in boozes signify real entities in nature till they can frame clear and distinct ideas of those entities. It will not perhaps be allowed if I should set down « substantial forms » and « intentional species » as such that may justly be suspected to be of this kind of insignificant terms. But this I am sure, to one that can form no determined ideas of what they stand for they signify nothing at all ; and all that he thinks he knows about them is to him so much knowledge about nothing and amounts at most but to a learned ignorance. It is not without all reason supposed that there are many such empty terms to be found in some learned writers, to which they had recourse to etch out their so stems where their understandings could not furnish them with conceptions from things. But yet I believe the supposing of some realities in nature answering those and the like words have much perplexed some and quite misled others in the study of nature. That which in any discourse signifies « I know not what » should be considered « I know not when. » Where men have any conceptions, they can, if they are never so abstruse or abstracted, explain them and the terms they use for them. For our conceptions being nothing but ideas, which are all made up of simple ones, if they cannot give us the ideas their words stand for, it is plain they have none. To what purpose can it be to hunt after his conceptions who has none or none distinct ? He that knew not what he himself meant by a learned term cannot make us know anything by his use of it, let us beat our heads about it never so long. Whether we are able to comprehend all the operations of nature and the manners of them, it matters not to enquire ; but this is certain, that we can comprehend no more of them than we can distinctly conceive ; and therefore to obtrude terms where Me have no distinct conceptions, as if they did contain or rather conceal something, is but an artifice of learned vanity to cover a defect in a hypothesis or our understandings. Words are not made to conceal, but to declare and show something ; where they are, by those who pretend to instruct, otherwise used, they conceal indeed something ; but that they conceal is nothing but the ignorance, error or sophistry of the talker, for there is, in truth, nothing else under them.

Wandering.

That there is constant succession and flux of ideas in our minds I have observed in the former part of this essay and everyone may take notice of it in himself. This I suppose may deserve some part of our care in the conduct of our understandings ; and I think it may be of great advantage if ate can by use get that power over our minds as to be able to direct that train of ideas, that so, since there Mill new ones perpetually come into our thoughts by a constant succession, we may be able by choice so to direct them, that none may come into view but such as are pertinent to our present enquiry, and in such order as may be most useful to the discovery we are upon ; or at least, if some foreign and unsought ideas will offer themselves, that yet we might be able to reject them and keep them from taking off our minds from its present pursuit and hinder them from running away with our thoughts quite from the subject in hand. This is not, I suspect, so easy to be done as perhaps may be imagined ; and yet, for ought I know, this may be, if not the chief, yet one of the great differences that carry some men in their reasoning so far beyond others, where they seem to be naturally of equal parts. A proper and effectual remedy for this wandering of thoughts I would be glad to find. He that shall propose such a one would do great service to the studious and contemplative part of mankind and perhaps help unthinking men to become thinking. I must acknowledge that hitherto I have discovered no other way to keep our thoughts close to their business but the endeavoring as much as we can and by frequent attention and application getting the habit of attention and application. He that will observe children will find that, even when they endeavor their uttermost, they cannot keep their minds from straggling. The way to cure it, I am satisfied, is not angry chiding or beating for that presently fills their heads with all the ideas that fear, dread, or confusion can offer to them. To bring back gently their wandering thoughts by leading them into the path and going before them in the train they should pursue, without any rebuke or so much as taking notice (where it can be avoided) of their roving, I suppose would sooner reconcile and inure them to attention than all those rougher methods which more distract their thought and, hindering the application they would promote, introduce a contrary habit.

Distinction.

Distinction and division are (if I mistake not the import of the words) very different things, the one being the perception of a difference that nature has placed in things, the other our making a division where there is yet none. At least, if I may be permitted to consider them in this sense, I think I may say of them that one of them is the most necessary and conducive to true knowledge that can be, the other, when too much made use of, serves only to puzzle and confound the understanding. To observe every the least difference that is in things argues a quick and clear sight, and this keeps the understanding steady and right in its way to knowledge. But though it be useful to discern every variety [that] is to be found in nature, yet it is not convenient to consider every difference that is in things and divide them into distinct classes under every such difference. This will run us, if followed, into particulars (for every individual has something that differences it from another), and we shall be able to establish no general truths, or else at least shall be apt to perplex the mind about them. The collection of several things into several classes gives the mind more general and larger Viennese but we must take care to unite them only in that and so far as they do agree, for so far they may be united under the consideration. For entity itself that comprehend rational conceptions. If we would well sleigh and keep in our minds what it is we are considering, that would best instruct us when we should or should not branch into further distinctions, which are to be taken only from a due contemplation of things ; to which there is nothing more opposite than the art of verbal distinctions, made at pleasure in learned and arbitrarily invented terms, to be applied at a venture without comprehending or conceiving any distinct notions, and so altogether fitted to artificial talk or empty noise in dispute without any clearing of difficulties or advance in knowledge. Whatsoever subject we examine and Should get knowledge in lie should, I think, make as general and as large as it trill bear ; nor can there be any danger of this if the idea of it be settled and determined ; for if that be so, we shall easily distinguish it from any other idea, though comprehended under the same name. For it is to fence against the entanglements of equivocal words and the great art of sophistry which lies in them that distinctions have been multiplied and their use thought so necessary. But had every distinct abstract idea a distinct known name, there would be little need of these multiplied scholastic distinctions, though there would be nevertheless as much need still of the mind’s observing the differences that are in things and discriminating them thereby one from another. It is not therefore the right way to knots ledge to hunt after and fill the head with abundance of artificial and scholastic distinctions, wherewith learned men’s writings are often filled ; and we sometimes find That they treat of so divided and subdivided that the mind of the most attentive reader loses the sight of it, as it is more than probable the writer himself did ; for in things crumbled into dust it is in vain to affect or pretend order or expect clearness. To avoid confusion by too few or too many divisions is a great skill in thinking as well as writing, which is but the copying our thoughts ; but what are the boundaries of the mean between the two vicious excesses on both hands, I think is hard to set down in words ; clear and distinct ideas is all that I yet know able to regulate it. But as to verbal distinctions received and applied to common terms, i.e. equivocal words, they are more properly, I think, the business of criticisms and dictionaries than of real knowledge and philosophy, since they for the most part explain the meaning of words and give us their several significations. The dexterous management of terms and being able to « fend » and « prove » with them I know has and does pass in the world for a great part of learning ; but it is learning distinct from knowledge, for knowledge consists only in perceiving the habitudes and relations of ideas one to another, which is done without words ; the intervention of a sound helps nothing to it. And hence we see that there is least use of distinctions where there is most knowledge ; I mean in mathematics, where men have determined ideas with known names to them ; and so, there being no room for equivocations, there is no need of distinctions. In arguing, the opponent uses as comprehensive and equivocal terms as he can, to involve his adversary in the doubtfulness of his expressions ; this is expected, and therefore the answerer on his side makes it his play to distinguish as much as he can and thinks he can never do it too much ; nor can he indeed in that way wherein victory may be had without truth and without knowledge. This seems to me to be the art of disputing. Use your words as cautiously as you can in your arguing on one side, and apply distinctions as much as you can on the other side to every term to nonplus your opponent ; so that in this sort of scholarship, there being no bounds set to distinguishing, some men have thought all acuteness to have lain in it ; and therefore in all they hale read or thought on, their great business has been to amuse themselves with distinctions and multiply to themselves divisions, at least, more than the nature of the thing required. There seems to me, as I said, to be no other rule for this but a due and right consideration of things as they are in themselves. He that has settled in his mind determined ideas with names affixed to them will be able both to discern their differences one from another (which is really distinguishing) and, where the penury of words affords not terms answering every distinct idea, will be able to apply proper distinguishing terms to the comprehensive and equivocal names he is forced to make use of. This is all the need I know of distinguishing terms ; and in such verbal distinctions each term of the distinction, joined to that whose signification it distinguishes, is but a new distinct name for a distinct idea. Where they are so and men have clear and distinct conceptions that answer their verbal distinctions, they are right, and are pertinent as far as they serve to clear anything in the subject under consideration. And this is that which seems to me the proper and only measure of distinctions and divisions ; which he that will conduct his understanding right must not look for in the acuteness of invention nor the authority of writers, but will find only in the consideration of things themselves, whether they are led into it by their own meditations or the information of books.

An aptness to jumble things together wherein can be found any likeness is a fault in the understanding on the other side which will not fail to mislead it and, by thus lumping of things, hinder the mind from distinct and accurate conceptions of them.

Similes.

To which let me here add another near of kin to this, at least in name, and that is letting the mind upon the suggestion of any new notion run immediately after similes to make it the clearer to itself ; which, though it man be a good way and useful in the explaining our thoughts to others, yet it is by no means a right method to settle true notions of anything in ourselves, because similes always fail in some part and come short of that exactness which our conceptions should have to things, if we would think aright. This indeed makes men plausible talkers ; for those are always most acceptable in discourse who have the was to let in their thoughts into other men’s minds with the greatest ease and facility whether those thoughts are well formed and correspond with things matters not ; few men care to be instructed but at an easy rate. They who in their discourse strike the fancy and take the hearers’ conceptions along with them as fast as their words flow, are the applauded talkers and go for the only men of clear thoughts. Nothing contributes so much to this as similes, whereby men think this themselves understand better because they are the better understood. But it is one thing to think right and another thing to know the right way to lay our thoughts before others with advantage and clearness, be they right or wrong. Well chosen similes, metaphors and allegories, with method and order, do this the best of anything, because, being taken from objects already known and familiar to the understanding, they are conceived as fast as spoken ; and the correspondence being concluded, the thing they are brought to explain and elucidate is thought to be understood too. Thus fancy passes for knowledge, and what is prettily said is mistaken for solid. I say not this to decry metaphor, or with design to take away that ornament of speech ; my business here is not with rhetoricians and orators, but with philosophers and lovers of truth ; to whom I would beg leave to give this one rule whereby to try whether, in the application of their thoughts to anything for the improvement of their knowledge, they do in truth comprehend the matter before them really such as it is in itself. The way to discover this is to observe whether, in the laying it before themselves or others, they make use only of borrowed representations and ideas foreign to the thing, which are applied to it by way of accommodation, as bearing some proportion or imagined likeness to the subject under consideration. Figured and metaphorical expressions do well to illustrate more abstruse and unfamiliar ideas which the mind is not yet thoroughly accustomed to ; but then they must be made use of to illustrate ideas that we already have, not to paint to us those which we yet have not. Such borrowed and allusive ideas may follow real and solid truth, to set it off when found, but must by no means be set in its place and taken for it. If all our search has yet reached no further than simile and metaphor, we may assure ourselves we rather fancy than know and are not yet penetrated into the inside and reality of the thing, be it what it will, but content ourselves with what our imaginations, not things themselves, furnish us with.

Assent.

In the whole conduct of the understanding there is nothing of more moment than to know when and where and how far to give assent, and possibly there is nothing harder. It is very easily said, and nobody questions it, that giving and withholding our assent, and the degrees of it, should be regulated by the evidence which things carry with them ; and yet we see men are not the better for this rule ; some firmly embrace doctrines upon slight grounds, some upon no grounds, and some contrary to appearance. Some admit of certainty and are not to be moved in what they hold ; others waver in everything, and there want not those that reject all as uncertain. What then shall a novice, an enquirer, a stranger do in the case ? I answer, use his eyes. There is a correspondence in things, and agreement and disagreement in ideas, discernible in very different degrees, and there are eyes in men to see them if they please, only their eyes may be dimmed or dazzled and the discerning sight in them impaired or lost. Interest and passion dazzle ; the custom of arguing on any side even against our persuasions, dims the understanding and makes it by degrees lose the faculty of discerning clearly between truth and falsehood, and so of adhering to the right side. It is not safe to play with error and dress it up to ourselves or others in the shape of truth. The mind by degrees loses its natural relish of real solid truth, is reconciled insensibly to anything that can but be dressed up into any faint appearance of it ; and if the fancy be allowed the place of judgement at first in sport, it afterwards comes by use to usurp it, and what is recommended by this flatterer (that studies but to please) is received for good. There are so many ways of fallacy, such arts of giving colors, appearances and resemblance’s by this court-dresser, the fancy, that he who is not wary to admit nothing but truth itself, very careful not to make his mind subservient to anything else, cannot but be caught. He that has a mind to believe has half assented already ; and he that by often arguing against his own sense imposes falsehoods on others is not far from believing himself. This takes away the great distance there is betwixt truth and falsehood ; it brings them almost together and makes it no great odds, in things that approach so near, which you take ; and when things are brought to that pass, passion or interest, etc., easily and without being perceived determine which shall be the right.

Indifferency.

I have said above that we should keep a perfect indifference for all opinions, not wish any of them true or try to make them appear so, but, being indifferent, receive and embrace them according as evidence and that alone gives the attestation of truth. They that do thus, i.e. keep their minds indifferent to opinions, to be determined only by evidence, will always find the understanding has perception enough to distinguish between evidence or no evidence, betwixt plain and doubtful ; and if they neither give nor refuse their assent but by that measure, they will be safe in the opinions they have. Which being perhaps but few, this caution will have also this good in it, that it still put them upon considering and teach them the necessity of examining more than they do ; without which the mind is but a receptacle of inconsistencies, not the storehouse of truths. They that do not keep up this indifference in themselves for all but truth, not supposed, but evidenced in themselves, put colored spectacles before their eyes and look on things through false glasses, and then think themselves excused in following the false appearances which they themselves put upon them. I do not expect that by this way the assent should in everyone be proportioned to the grounds and clearness wherewith every truth is capable to be made out, or that men should be perfectly kept from error ; that is more than human nature can by any means be advanced to ; I aim at no such unattainable privilege ; I am only speaking of what they should do who would deal fairly with their own minds and make a right use of their faculties in the pursuit of truth ; we fail them a great deal more than they fail us. It is mismanagement more than want of abilities that men have reason to complain of and which they actually do complain of in those that differ from them. He that by an indifferency for all but truth suffers not his assent to go faster than his evidence, nor beyond it, will learn to examine and examine fairly instead of presuming, and nobody will be at a loss or in danger for want of embracing those truths which are necessary in his station and circumstances. In any other way but this all the world are born to orthodoxy ; they imbibe at first the allowed opinions of their country and parts, and so, never questioning their truth, not one of a hundred ever examines. They are applauded for presuming they are in the right. He that considers is a foe to orthodoxy, because possibly he may deviate from some of the received doctrines there. And thus men without any industry or acquisition of their own inherit local truths (for it is not the same everywhere) and are inured to assent without evidence. This influences further than is thought ; for what one of a hundred of the zealous bigots in all parties ever examined the tenets he is so stiff in or ever thought it his business or duty so to do ? It is suspected of like warmness to suppose it necessary and a tendency to apostasy to go about it. And if a man can bring his mind once to be positive and fierce for positions whose evidence he has never once examined, and that in matters of greatest concernment to him, What shall keep him from this short and easy way of being in the right in cases of less moment ? Thus we are taught to clothe our minds as we do our bodies after the fashion in vogue, and it is accounted fantasticalness or something worse not to do so. This custom (which who dares oppose ?) makes the short-sighted bigots and the warier skeptics, as far as it prevails. And those that break from it are in danger of heresy ; for, taking the Whole world, how much of it does truth and orthodoxy possess together ? Though it is by the last alone (which has the good luck to be everywhere) that error and heresy are judged of ; for argument and evidence signify nothing in the case and excuse nowhere, but are sure to be borne down in all societies by the infallible orthodoxy of the place. Whether this be the way to truth and right assent, let the opinions that take place and prescribe in the several habitable parts of the earth declare. I never saw any reason yet why truth might not be trusted to its own evidence ; I am sure, if that be not able to support it, there is no fence against error, and then truth and falsehood are but names that stand for the same things. Evidence, therefore, is that by which alone every man is (and should be) taught to regulate his assent, who is then and then only in the right way when he follows it.

Men deficient in knowledge are usually in one of these three states : either wholly ignorant ; or as doubting of some proposition they have either embraced formerly or at present are inclined to ; or, lastly, they do with assurance hold and profess without ever having examined and being convinced by well-grounded arguments.

The first of these are in the best state of the three, by having their minds yet in their perfect freedom and indifferency, the likelier to pursue truth the better, having no bias yet clapped on to mislead them.

Section 35.

For ignorance with an indifference for truth is nearer to it than opinion with ungrounded inclination, which is the great source of error ; and they are more in danger to go out of the way who are marching under the conduct of a guide that it is a hundred to one will mislead them, than he that has not yet taken a step and is likelier to be prevailed on to enquire after the right way. The last of the three sorts are in the worst condition of all ; for if a man can be persuaded and fully assured of anything for a truth without having examined, what is there that he may not embrace for truth ? And if he has given himself up to believe a lie, what means is there left to recover one who can be assured without examining ? To the other two this I crave leave to say that, as he that is ignorant is in the best state of the trio, so he should pursue truth in a method suitable to that state, i.e. by enquiring directly into the nature of the thing itself without minding the opinions of others or troubling himself with their questions or disputes about it, but to see what he himself can, sincerely searching after truth, find out. He that proceeds upon others’ principles in his enquiry into any sciences, though he be resolved to examine them and judge of them freely, does yet at least put himself on that side and post himself in a party which he will not quit till he be beaten out ; by which the mind is insensibly engaged to make what defense it can, and so is unawares biased. I do not say but a man should embrace some opinion when he has examined, else he examines to no purpose ; but the surest and safest way is to have no opinion at all till he has examined, and that without any the least regard to the opinions or systems of other men about it. For example, were it my business to understand physic, would not the safer and readier way be to consult nature herself and inform myself in the history of diseases and their cures, than, espousing the principles of the dogmatists, methodists or chemists, engage in all the disputes concerning either of those systems and suppose it true till I have tried what they can say to beat me out of it ? Or supposing that Hippocrates or any other book infallibly contains the whole art of physic, would not the direct way be to study, read and consider that book, weigh and compare the parts of it to find the truth, rather than espouse the doctrines of any party, who, though they acknowledge his authority, have already interpreted and withdrawn all his text to their own sense (…) the tincture whereof when I have imbibed, I am more in danger to misunderstand his true meaning than if I had come to him with a mind unprepossessed by doctors and commentators of my sect, whose reasonings, interpretation and language, which I have been used to, will of course make all chime that way and make another, and perhaps the genuine, meaning of the author seem harsh, strained and uncouth to me. For words, having naturally none of their own, carry that signification to the hearer that he is used to put upon them, whatever be the sense of him that uses them. This, I think, is visibly so ; and if it be, he that begins to have any doubt of any of his tenets, which he received without examination, ought as much he can to put himself wholly into this state of ignorance in reference to that question and, throwing wholly by all his former notions and the opinions of others, examine with a perfect indifference the question in its source without any inclination to either side or any regard to his or others’ unexamined opinions. This I own is no easy thing to do ; but I am not enquiring the easy way to opinion, but the right way to truth, which they must follow who will deal fairly with their own understandings and their own souls.

Question.

The indifference that I here propose will also enable them to state the question right which they are in doubt about, without which they can never come to a fair and clear decision of it.

Perseverance.

Another fruit from this indifferency and the considering things in themselves abstract from our own opinions and other men’s notions and discourses on them will be that each man will pursue his thoughts in that method which will be most agreeable to the nature of the thing and to his apprehension of what it suggests to him ; in which he ought to proceed with regularity and constancy until he come to a well-grounded resolution wherein he may acquiesce. If it be objected that this will require every man to be a scholar and quit all his other business and betake himself wholly to study, I answer, I propose no more to anyone than he has time for. Some men’s state and condition requires no great extent of knowledge ; the necessary provision for life swallows the greatest part of their time. But one man’s want of leisure is no excuse for the oscitancy and ignorance of those who have time to spare ; and everyone has enough to get as much knowledge as is required and expected of him, and he that does not that is in love with ignorance and is accountable for it.

Presumption.

The variety of distempers in men’s minds is as great as of those in their bodies ; some are epidemic, few escape them, and everyone too, if he would look into himself, would find some defect of his particular genius. There is scarce anyone without some idiosyncrasy that he suffers by. This man presumes upon his parts that they will not fail him at time of need, and so thinks it superfluous labour to make any provision beforehand. His understanding is to him like Fortunatus’s purse, which is always to furnish him without ever putting anything into it beforehand ; and so he sits still satisfied without endeavoring to store his understanding with knowledge. It is the spontaneous product of the country, and what need of labour in tillage ? Such men may spread their native riches before the ignorant ; but they were best not come to stress and trial with the skillful. We are born ignorant of everything. The superficies of things that surround them make impressions on the negligent, but nobody penetrates into the inside without labour, attention and industry. Stones and timber grow of themselves, but yet there is no uniform pile with symmetry and convenience to lodge in without toil and pains. God has made the intellectual world harmonious and beautiful without us ; but it will never come into our heads all at once ; we must bring it home piecemeal and there set it up by our own industry, or else we shall have nothing but darkness and a chaos within, whatever order and light there be in things without us.

Despondency.

On the other side there are others that depress their own minds, despond at the first difficulty, and conclude that the getting an insight in any of the sciences or making any progress in knowledge further than serves their ordinary business is above their capacities. These sit still, because they think they have not legs to go, as the others I last mentioned do, because they think they have wings to fly and can soar on high when they please. To these latter one may for answer apply the proverb, « Use legs and have legs. » Nobody knows what strength of parts he has till he has tried them. And of the understanding one may most truly say that its force is greater generally than it thinks till it is put to it. Viresque acquirit eundo.

And therefore the proper remedy here is but to set the mind to work and apply the thoughts rigorously to the business ; for it holds in the struggles of the mind as in those of war, Dum putant se vincere vicere. A persuasion that we shall overcome any difficulties that we meet with in the sciences seldom fails to carry us through them. Nobody knows the strength of his mind and the force of steady and regular application till he has tried. This is certain, he that sets out upon weak legs will not only go further but grow stronger too than one who, with a vigorous constitution and firm limbs, only sits still.

Something of kin to this men may observe in themselves when the mind frights itself (as it often does) with anything reflected on in gross and transiently viewed confusedly and at a distance. Things thus offered to the mind carry the show of nothing but difficulty in them and are thought to be wrapped up in impenetrable obscurity. But the truth is, these are nothing but spectres that the understanding raises to itself to flatter its own laziness. It sees nothing distinctly in things remote and in a huddle, and therefore concludes too faintly that there is nothing more clear to be discovered in them. It is but to approach nearer, and that mist of our own raising that enveloped them will remove ; and those that in that mist appeared hideous giants not to be grappled with will be found to be of the ordinary and natural size and shape. Things that in a remote and confused view seem very obscure must be approached by gentle and regular steps, and what is most visible, easy and obvious in them first considered. Reduce them into their distinct parts, and then in their due order bring all that should be known concerning every one of those parts into plain and simple questions ; and then what was thought obscure, perplexed and too hard for our weak parts will lay itself open to the understanding in a fair view and let the mind into that which before it was awed with and kept at a distance from as wholly mysterious. I appeal to my reader’s experience whether this has never happened to him, especially when, busy on one thing, he has occasionally reflected on another. I ask him whether he has never thus been scared with a sudden opinion of mighty difficulties, which yet have vanished when he has seriously and methodically applied himself to the consideration of this seeming terrible subject ; and there has been no other matter of astonishment left, but that he amused himself faith so discouraging a prospect of his own raising about a matter which in the handling was found to have nothing in it more strange nor intricate than several other things which he had long since and with ease mastered. This experience should teach us how to deal with such bugbears another time, which should rather serve to excite our vigor than enervate our industry. The surest way for a learner in this as in all other cases is not to advance be jumps and large strides ; let that which he sets himself to learn next be indeed the next, i.e. as nearly conjoined with what he knows already as is possible ; let it be distinct but not remote from it ; let it be new and what he did not know before, that the understanding must advance ; but let it be as little at once as may be, that its advances may be clear and sure. All the ground that it gets this way it will hold. This distinct gradual growth in knowledge is firm and sure ; it carries its own light faith it in every step of its progression in any easy and orderly train, than which there is nothing of more use to the understanding. And though this perhaps may seem a very slow and lingering way to knowledge, yet I dare confidently affirm that whoever will try it in himself or anyone he will teach shall find the advances greater in this method than they would in the same space of time hale been in any other he could have taken. The greatest part of true knowledge lies in a distinct perception of things in themselves distinct. And some men give more clear light and knowledge as the bare distinct stating of a question than others by tallying of it in gross whole hours together. In this, they who so state a question do no more but separate and disentangle the parts of it one from another and lay them, when so disentangled, in their due order. This often, without any more ado, resolves the doubt and shows the mind where the truth lies. The agreement or disagreement of the ideas in question, When they are once separated and distinctly considered, is in many cases presently perceived and thereby clear and lasting knowledge gained ; whereas things in gross taken up together, and so lying together in confusion, can produce in the mind but a confused, which is in effect no, knowledge ; or at least, when it comes to be examined and made use of, will prove little better than none. I therefore take the liberty to repeat here again what I have said elsewhere, that in learning anything as little should be proposed to the mind at once as is possible ; and, that being understood and fully mastered, to proceed to the next adjoining part yet unknown, [a] simple, unperplexed proposition belonging to the matter in hand and tending to the clearing what is principally designed.

Analogy.

Analogy is of great use to the mind in many cases, especially in natural philosophy, and that part of it chiefly which consists in happy and successful experiments. But here we must take care that we keep ourselves within that wherein the analogy consists. For example, the acid oil of vitriol is found to be good in such a case, therefore the spirit of nitre or vinegar may be used in the like case. If the good effect of it be owing wholly to the acidity of it, the trial may be justified ; but if there be something else besides the acidity in the oil of vitriol, which produces the good we desire in the case, we mistake that for analogy which is not and suffer our understanding to be misguided by a wrong supposition of analogy where there is none.

Association.

Though I have, in the second book of my Essay Concerning Human Understanding, treated of the association of ideas, yet having done it there historically, as giving a view of the understanding in this as well as its several other ways of operating, rather than designing there to enquire into the remedies [that] ought to be applied to it, it will, under this latter consideration, afford other matter of thought to those who have a mind to instruct themselves thoroughly in the right way of conducting their understandings ; and that the rather because this, if I mistake not, is as frequent a cause of mistake and error in us as perhaps anything else that can be named, and is a disease of the mind as hard to be cured as any, it being a very hard thing to convince anyone that things are not so, and naturally so, as they constantly appear to him.

By this one easy and unheeded miscarriage of the understanding sandy and loose foundations become infallible principles and will not suffer themselves to be touched or questioned ; such unnatural connections become by custom as natural to the mind as sun and light. Fire and warmth go together and so seem to carry with them as natural an evidence as self-evident truths themselves. And where then shall one with hopes of success begin the cure ? Many men firmly embrace falsehood for truth, not only because they never thought otherwise, but also because, thus blinded as they have been from the beginning, they never could think otherwise, at least without a vigor of mind able to contest the empire of habit and look into its own principles (…) a freedom which few men have the notion of in themselves and fewer are allowed the practice of by others, it being the great art and business of the teachers and guides in most sects to suppress as much as they can this fundamental duty which every man owes himself and is the first steady step towards right and truth in the whole train of his actions and opinions. This would give one reason to suspect that such teachers are conscious to themselves of the falsehood or weakness of the tenets they profess, since they will not suffer the grounds whereon they are built to be examined ; whereas those who seek truth only and desire to own and propagate nothing else freely expose their principles to the test, are pleased to have them examined, give men leave to reject them if they can ; and if there be anything weak and unsound in them, are willing to have it detected, that they themselves, as well as others, may not lay any stress upon any received proposition beyond what the evidence of its truth Bill warrant and allow.

There is, I know, a great fault among all sorts of people of principling their children and scholars, which at last, when looked into, amounts to no more but making them imbibe their teacher’s notions and tenets by an implicit faith and firmly to adhere to them Whether true or false. What colors may be given to this or of what use it may be when practiced upon the vulgar, destined to labour and given up to the service of their bellies, I will not here enquire. But as to the ingenuous part of mankind, whose condition allows them leisure and letters and enquiry after truth, I can see no other right way of principling them but to take heed as much as may be that in their tender years ideas that have no natural cohesion come not to be united in their heads ; and that this rule be often inculcated to them to be their guide in the whole course of their lives and studies, viz., that they never suffer any ideas to be joined in their understandings in any other or stronger combination than what their own nature and correspondence give them, and that they often examine those that they find linked together in their minds, whether this association of ideas be from the visible agreement that is in the ideas themselves or from the habitual and prevailing custom of the mind joining them thus together in thinking. This is for caution against this evil, before it be thoroughly riveted by custom in the understanding ; but he that would cure it when habit has established it must nicely observe the very quick and almost imperceptible motions of the mind in its habitual actions. What I have said in another place about the change of the ideas of sense into those of judgment may be proof of this. Let anyone not skilled in painting be told, when he sees bottles and tobacco pipes and other things so painted as they are in some places shown, that he does not see protuberances, and you will not convince him but by the touch ; he will not believe that by an instantaneous legerdemain of his own thoughts one idea is substituted for the other. How frequent instances may one meet with of this in the arguings of the learned, who not seldom, in two ideas that they have been accustomed to join in their minds, substitute one for the other ; and, I am apt to think, often without perceiving it themselves. This, whilst they are under the deceit of it, makes them incapable of conviction, and they applaud themselves as zealous champions for truth when indeed they are contending for error. And the confusion of two different ideas, which a customary connection of them in their minds has made to them almost one, fills their head with false views and their reasonings with false consequences.

Fallacies.

Right understanding consists in the discovery and adherence to truth, and that in the perception of the visible or probable agreement or disagreement of ideas as they are affirmed and denied one of another. From whence it is evident that the right use and conduct of the understanding, w hose business is purely truth and nothing else, is that the mind should be kept in a perfect indifference, not inclining to either side any further than evidence settles it by knowledge or the over-balance of probability gives it the turn of assent and belief ; but yet it is very hard to meet with any discourse wherein one may not perceive the author not only maintain (for that is reasonable and fit), but inclined and biased to one side of the question With marks of a desire that should be true. If it be asked me how authors who have such a bias and lean to it may be discovered, I answer, by observing how in their Writings or arguings they are often led by their inclinations to change the ideas of the question, either by changing the terms or by adding and joining others to them, whereby the ideas under consideration are so varied as to be more serviceable to their purpose and to be thereby brought to an easier and nearer agreement or more visible and remoter disagreement one with another. This is plain and direct sophistry ; but I am far from thinking that, wherever it is found, it is made use of with design to deceive and mislead the readers. It is visible that men’s prejudices and inclinations by this way impose often upon themselves ; and their affection for truth, under their prepossession in favor of one side, is the very thing that leads them from it. Inclination suggests and slides into their discourse favorable terms which introduce favorable ideas, till at last by this means that is concluded clear and evident, thus dressed up, which taken in its native state, by making use of none but the precise determined ideas, would find no admittance at all. The putting these glosses on what they affirm, these (as they are thought) handsome, easy and graceful explications of what they are discoursing on, is so much the character of what is called and esteemed writing well, that it is very hard to think that authors will ever be persuaded to leave what serves so well to propagate their opinions and procure themselves credit in the world for a more jejune and dry way of writing, by keeping to the same terms precisely annexed to the same ideas, a sour and blunt stiffness tolerable in mathematicians only, who force their way and make truth prevail by irresistible demonstration. But yet, if authors cannot be prevailed with to quit the looser, though more insinuating, ways of writing, if they will not think fit to keep close to truth and instruction by unvaried terms and plain unsophisticated arguments, yet it concerns readers not to be imposed on by fallacies and the prevailing ways of insinuation. To do this, the surest and most effectual remedy is to fix in the mind the clear and distinct ideas of the question stripped of words ; and so likewise in the train of argumentation, to take up the author’s ideas, neglecting his words, observing how they connect or separate those in the question. He that does this will be able to cast off all that is superfluous ; he will see what is pertinent, what coherent, what is direct to, what slides by the question. This will readily show him all the foreign ideas in the discourse and where they were brought in ; and though they perhaps dazzled the writer, yet he will perceive that they give no light nor strength to his reasonings.

This, though it be the shortest and easiest way of reading books with profit and keeping oneself from being misled by great names or plausible discourses, yet, it being hard and tedious to those who have not accustomed themselves to it, it is not to be expected that everyone (amongst those few who really pursue truth) should this way guard his understanding from being imposed on by the willful or at least undesigned sophistry which creeps into most of the books of argument. They that write against their conviction or that, next to them, are resolved to maintain the tenets of a party they are engaged in cannot be supposed to reject any arms that may help to defend their cause, and therefore such should be read with the greatest caution. And they who write for opinions they are sincerely persuaded of and believe to be true think they may so far allow themselves to indulge their laudable affection to truth as to permit their esteem of it to give it the best colors and set it off with the best expressions and dress they can, thereby to gain it the easiest entrance into the minds of their readers and fix it deepest there.

One of those being the state of mind we may justly suppose most writers to be in, it is fit their readers, who apply to them for instruction, should not lay by that caution which becomes a sincere pursuit of truth, and should make them always watchful against whatever might conceal or misrepresent it. If they have not the skill of representing to themselves the author’s sense by pure ideas separated from sounds and thereby divested of the false lights and deceitful ornaments of speech, this yet they should do : they should keep the precise question steadily in their minds, carry it along with them through the whole discourse, and suffer not the least alteration in the terms either by addition, subtraction or substituting any other. This everyone can do who has a mind to it ; and he that has not a mind to it, it is plain makes his understanding only the warehouse of other men’s lumber, I mean false and unconcluding reasonings, rather than a repository of truth for his own use, which will prove substantial and stand him in stead when he has occasion for it. And whether such a one deals fairly by his own mind and conducts his own understanding right, I leave to his own understanding to judge.

Fundamental verities.

The mind of men being very narrow and so slow in making acquaintance with things and taking in new truths that no one man is capable in a much longer life than ours, to know all truths, it becomes our prudence in our search after knowledge to employ our thoughts about fundamental and material questions, carefully avoiding those that are trifling and not suffering cursed is to be diverted from our main even purpose by those that are merely incidental. How much of many young men’s time is thrown away in purely logical enquiries, I need not mention. This is no better than if a man who was to be a painter should spend all his time in examining the threads of the several cloths he is to paint upon and counting the hairs of each pencil and brush he intends to use in the laying on of his colors. Clay, it is much worse than for a young painter to spend his apprenticeship in such useless niceties ; for he, at the end of all his pains to no purpose, finds that it is not painting nor any help to it, and so is really to no purpose. Whereas men designed for scholars have often their heads so filled and wanned with disputes on logical questions, that they take those airy useless notions for real and substantial knowledge and think their understandings so well furnished with science that they need not look any further into the nature of things or descend to the mechanical drudgery of experiment and enquiry. This is so obvious a mismanagement of the understanding, and that in the professed way to knowledge, that it could not be passed by ; to which might be joined abundance of questions and the way of handling of them in the schools. What faults in particular of this kind every man is or may be guilty of would be infinite to enumerate ; it suffices to have shown that superficial and slight discoveries and observations that contain nothing of moment in themselves, nor serve as clues to lead us into further knowledge, should be lightly passed by and never thought worth our searching after.

There are fundamental truths that lie at the bottom, the basis upon which a great many others rest and in which they have their consistency. These are teeming truths, rich in store with which they furnish the mind, and, like the lights of heaven, are not only beautiful and entertaining in themselves, but give light and evidence to other things that without them could not be seen or known. Such is that admirable discovery of Mr. Newton, that all bodies gravitate to one another, which may be counted as the basis of natural philosophy ; which of what use it is to the understanding of the great frame of our solar system he has to the astonishment of the learned world shown ; and how much further it would guide us in other things, if rightly pursued, is not yet known. Our Saviour’s great rule, that we should love our neighbor as ourselves, is such a fundamental truth for the regulating human society, that, I think, by that alone one might without difficulty determine all the cases and doubts in social morality. These and such as these are the truths we should endeavor to find out and store our minds with. Which leads me to another thing in the conduct of the understanding that is no less necessary, viz. :

Bottoming.

To accustom ourselves in any question proposed to examine and find out upon what it bottoms. Most of the difficulties that come in our way, when well considered and traced, lead us to some proposition which, known to be true, clears the doubt and gives an easy solution of the question ; whilst topical and superficial arguments, of which there is store to be found on both sides, filling the head with variety of thoughts and the mouth with copious discourse serve only to amuse the understanding and entertain company without coming to the bottom of the question, the only place of rest and stability for an inquisitive mind whose tendency is only to truth and knowledge.

For example, if it be demanded whether the Grand Seignior can lawfully take what he will from any of his people, this question cannot be resolved without coming to a certainty whether all men are naturally equal ; for upon that it turns, and that truth, well settled in the understanding and carried in the mind through the various debates concerning the various rights of men in society, will go a great way in putting an end to them and showing on which side the truth is.

Transferring of thoughts.

There is scarce anything more for the improvement of knowledge, for the ease of life and the dispatch of business than for a man to be able to dispose of his own thoughts ; and there is scarce anything harder in the whole conduct of the understanding than to get a full mastery over it. The mind in a waking man has always some object that it applies itself to, which, when we are lazier or unconcerned, we can easily change and at pleasure transfer our thoughts to another, and from thence to a third which has no relation to either of the former. Hence men forwardly conclude and frequently say, nothing is so free as thought ; and it were well it were so ; but the contrary will be found true in several instances ; and there are many cases wherein there is nothing more resty and ungovernable than our thoughts ; they will not be directed is hat objects to pursue nor be taken off from those they have once fixed on, but run away with a man in pursuit of those ideas they have in view, let him do what he can. I will not here mention again what I have above taken notice of, how hard it is to get the mind, narrowed by a custom of thirty or forty years standing to a scant : collection of obvious and common ideas, to enlarge itself to a more copious stock and grow into an acquaintance with those that would afford more abundant matter of useful contemplation ; it is not of this I am here speaking. The inconvenience I would here represent and find a remedy for is the difficulty there is sometimes to transfer our minds from one subject to another in cases where the ideas are equally familiar to us.

Matters that are recommended to our thoughts by any of our passions take possession of our minds with a kind of authority and will not be kept out or dislodged, but, as if the passion that rules were for the time the sheriff of the place and came with all the posse, the understanding is seized and taken with the object it introduces, as if it had a legal right to be alone considered there. There is scarce anybody, I think, of so calm a temper Who has not some time found this tyranny on his understanding and suffered under the inconvenience of it. who is there almost whose mind at some time or another love or anger, fear or grief has not so fastened to some clog, that it could not turn itself to any other object ? I call it a clog, for it hangs upon the mind so as to hinder its vigor and activity in the pursuit of other contemplations, and advances itself little or not [at] all in the knowledge of the thing which it so closely hugs and constantly pores on. Men thus possessed are sometimes as if they care so in the worst sense and was under the power of an enchantment. They see not what passes before their eyes, hear not the audible discourse of the company ; and is hen by any strong application to them they are roused a little, they are like men brought to themselves from some remote region ; whereas in truth they come no further than their secret cabinet within, where they have been wholly taken up with the puppet which is for that time appointed for their entertainment. The shame that such dumps cause to well bred people, when it carries them away from the company where they should bear a part in the conversation, is a sufficient argument that it is a fault in the conduct of our understanding not to have that power over it as to make use of it to those purposes and on those occasions wherein we have need of its assistance. The mind should be always free and ready to turn itself to the variety of objects that occur and allow them as much consideration as shall for that time be thought fit. To be engrossed so by one object as not to be prevailed on to leave it for another that we judge fitter for our contemplation is to make it of no use to us. Did this state of mind remain always so, everyone would without scruple give it the name of perfect madness ; and while it does last, at whatever intervals it returns, such a rotation of thoughts about the same object no more carries us for cards towards the attainment of knowledge than getting upon a mill horse whilst he jogs on in his circular tract would carry a man on a journey.

I grant something must be allowed to legitimate passions and to natural inclinations. Every man, besides occasional affections, has beloved studies, and those the mind will more closely stick to ; but yet it is best that it should be always at liberty and under the free disposal of the man to act how and upon what he directs This we should endeavor to obtain, unless we would be content with such a flaw in our understandings that sometimes we should be as it were without it ; for it is very little better than so in cases where we cannot make use of it to those purposes we would and which stand in present need of it.

But before fit remedies can be thought on for this disease, we must know the several causes of it and thereby regulate the cure, if we will hope to labour with success.

One we have already instanced in, whereof all men that reflect have so general a knowledge and so often an experience in themselves, that nobody doubts of it A prevailing passion so pins down our thoughts to the object and concern of it, that a man passionately in love cannot bring himself to think of his ordinary affairs, nor a kind mother drooping under the loss of a child is not able to bear a part as she was wont in the discourse of the company or conversation of her friends.

But though passion be the most obvious and general, yet it is not the only cause that binds up the understanding and confines it for the time to one object, from which it w ill not be taken off.

Besides this, we may often find that the understanding, when it has a while employed itself upon a subject which either chance or some slight accident offered to it without the interest or recommendation of any passion, works itself into a warmth and by degrees gets into a career, wherein, like a bowl down a hill, it increases its motion by going and will not be stopped or diverted, though, when the heat is over, it sees all this earnest application was about a trifle not worth a thought and all the pains employed about it lost labour.

There is a third sort, if I mistake not, yet lower than this ; it is a sort of childishness, if I may so say, of the understanding, wherein, during the fit, it plays with and dandies some insignificant puppet to no end nor with any design at all, and yet cannot easily be got off from it. Thus some trivial sentence or a scrap of poetry will sometimes get into men’s heads and make such a chiming there, that there is no stilling of it, no peace to be obtained nor attention to anything else, but this impertinent guest will take up the mind and possess the thoughts in spite of all endeavors to get rid of it. Whether everyone has experimented in themselves this troublesome intrusion of some striking ideas which thus importune the understanding and hinder it from being better employed, I know not. But persons of very good parts, and those more than one, I have heard speak and complain of it themselves. The reason I have to make this doubt is from what I have known in a case something of kin to this, though much odder, and that is of a sort of visions that some people have lying quiet but perfectly awake in the dark or with their eyes shut. It is a great variety of faces, most commonly very odd ones, that appear to them in train one after another, so that, having had just the sight of one, it immediately passes away to give place to another that the same instant succeeds and has as quick an exit as its leader ; and so they march on in a constant succession ; nor can any one of them by any endeavor be stopped or retained beyond the instant of its appearance, but is thrust out by its follower, which will have its turn. Concerning this fantastical phenomenon I have talked with several people, whereof some have been perfectly acquainted with it and others have been so wholly strangers to it, that they could hardly be brought to conceive or believe it. I knew a lady of excellent parts who had got past thirty without having ever had the least notice of any such thing. She was so great a stranger to it that, when she heard me and another talking of it, could scarce forbear thinking we bantered her ; but some time after, drinking a large dose of dilute tea (as she was ordered by a physician) going to bed, she told us at next meeting that she had now experimented what our discourse had much ado to persuade her of. She had seen a great variety of faces in a long train succeeding one another, as we had described ; they were all strangers and intruders, such as she had no acquaintance with before nor sought after then, and as they came of themselves they went too ; none of them stayed a moment nor could be detained by all the endeavors she could use, but went on in their solemn procession, just appeared and then vanished. This odd phenomenon seems to have a mechanical cause, and to depend upon the matter and motion of the blood or animal spirits.

When the fancy is bound by passion, I know no way to set the mind free and at liberty to prosecute what thoughts the man would make choice of, but to allay the present passion or counterbalance it with another, which is an art to be got by study and acquaintance with the passions.

Those as ho find themselves apt to be carried away with the spontaneous current of their own thoughts, not excited by any passion or interest, must be very wary and careful in all the instances of it to stop it and never humour their minds in being thus triflingly busy. Men know the value of their corporal liberty and therefore suffer not willingly fetters and chains to be put upon them. To have the mind captivated is, for the time, certainly the greater evil of the two and deserves our utmost care and endeavors to preserve the freedom of our better part. And in this case our pains will not be lost ; striving and struggling will prevail, if we constantly in all such occasions make use of it. We must never indulge these trivial attentions of thought ; as soon as we find the mind makes itself a business of nothing, we should immediately disturb and check it, introduce new and more serious considerations, and not leave till we have beaten it off from the pursuit it was upon. This at first, if we have let the contrary practice grow to a habit, will perhaps be difficult ; but constant endeavors will by degrees prevail and at last make it easy. And when a man is pretty well advanced and can command his mind off at pleasure from incidental and undesigned pursuits, it may not be amiss for him to go on further and make attempts upon meditations of greater moment, that at the last he may have a full power over his own mind, and be so fully master of his own thoughts as to be able to transfer them from one subject to another with the same ease that he can lay by anything he has in his hand and take something else that he has a mind to in the room of it. This liberty of mind is of great use both in business and study, and he that has got it will have no small advantage of ease and dispatch in all that is the chosen and useful employment of his understanding.

The third and last way which I mentioned the mind to be sometimes taken up with (I mean the chiming of some particular words or sentence in the memory and, as it were, making a noise in the head, and the like) seldom happens but w hen the mind is lazy or very loosely and negligently employed. It were better indeed be without such impertinent and useless repetitions ; any obvious idea, when it is roving causelessly at a venture, being of more use and apter to suggest something worth consideration than the insignificant buzz of purely empty sounds. But since the rousing of the mind and setting the understanding on work with some degrees of vigor does for the most part presently set it free from these idle companions, it may not be amiss, whenever we find ourselves troubled with them, to make use of so profitable a remedy that is always at hand.

MISCELLANEOUS WORKS

CONTENTS

A DEFENCE OF MR. LOCKE’S OPINION CONCERNING PERSONAL IDENTITY.

SOME THOUGHTS CONCERNING READING AND STUDY FOR A GENTLEMAN.

ELEMENTS OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY.

CHAPTER I. OF MATTER AND MOTION.

CHAPTER II. OF THE UNIVERSE.

CHAPTER III. OF OUR SOLAR SYSTEM.

CHAPTER IV. OF THE EARTH, CONSIDERED AS A PLANET.

CHAPTER V. OF THE AIR AND ATMOSPHERE.

CHAPTER VI. OF METEORS IN GENERAL.

CHAPTER VII. OF SPRINGS, RIVERS, AND THE SEA.

CHAPTER VIII. OF SEVERAL SORTS OF EARTH, STONES, METALS, MINERALS, AND OTHER FOSSILS.

CHAPTER IX. OF VEGETABLES, OR PLANTS.

CHAPTER X. OF ANIMALS.

CHAPTER XI. OF THE FIVE SENSES.

CHAPTER XII. OF THE UNDERSTANDING OF MAN.

A NEW METHOD OF A COMMON-PLACE-BOOK. TRANSLATED OUT OF THE FRENCH FROM THE SECOND VOLUME OF THE BIBLIOTHEQUE UNIVERSELLE.

OF THE CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. ADVERTISEMENT TO THE READER.

AN EXAMINATION OF P. MALEBRANCHE’S OPINION OF SEEING ALL THINGS IN GOD.

A DISCOURSE OF MIRACLES.

MEMOIRS RELATING TO THE LIFE OF ANTHONY FIRST EARL OF SHAFTESBURY.

THE CHARACTER OF MR. LOCKE.

THE FUNDAMENTAL CONSTITUTIONS OF CAROLINA.

RULES OF PRECEDENCY.

OBSERVATIONS UPON THE GROWTH AND CULTURE OF VINES AND OLIVES:

THE WHOLE HISTORY OF NAVIGATION

HIC SECUNDUS VENTUS NUNC EST, CAPE MODO VERSORIAM.

A CATALOGUE AND CHARACTER OF MOST BOOKS OF VOYAGES AND TRAVELS.

AN ACCOUNT OF THE BOOKS CONTAINED IN THIS COLLECTION.

A DEFENCE OF MR. LOCKE’S OPINION CONCERNING PERSONAL IDENTITY.

The candid author of the late essay upon personal identity cannot justly be offended with any attempt to explain and vindicate Mr. Locke’s hypothesis, if it is carried on in the same spirit, though it should be attended with the overthrow of some of his own favourite notions: since he owns that it is of consequence to form right opinions on this point: which was indeed once deemed an important one, how little soever such may be regarded now-a-days. I shall proceed therefore, without farther apology, to settle the terms of this question, and endeavour to state it so as to bring matters to a short and clear determination.

Now the word person, as is well observed by Mr. Locke (the distinguishing excellence of whose writings consists in sticking close to the point in hand, and striking out all foreign and impertinent considerations) is properly a forensic term, and here to be used in the strict forensic sense, denoting some such quality or modification in man as denominates him a moral agent, or an accountable creature; renders him the proper subject of laws, and a true object of rewards or punishments. When we apply it to any man, we do not treat of him absolutely, and in gross, but under a particular relation or precision: we do not comprehend or concern ourselves about the several inherent properties which accompany him in real existence, which go to the making up the whole complex notion of an active and intelligent being; but arbitrarily abstract one single quality or mode from all the rest, and view him under that distinct precision only which points out the idea abovementioned, exclusive of every other idea that may belong to him in any other view, either as substance, quality or mode. And therefore the consideration of this same quality, or qualification, will not be altered by any others of which he may be possessed; but remains the same whatever he shall consist of besides: whether his soul be a material or immaterial substance, or no substance at all, as may appear from examining the import of these pronouns, I, thou, he, &c. [the grammatical meaning of such words generally pointing out the true origin of our ideas primarily annexed to them] which both in their original sense and common acceptation are purely personal terms, and as such lead to no farther consideration either of soul or body; nay, sometimes are distinguished from both, as in the following line,

Linquebant dulces animas, aut ægra, trahebant Corpora.

An enquiry after the identity of such person will be, whether at different times he is, or how he can be, and know himself to be the same in that respect, or equally subjected to the very same relations and consequent obligations which he was under formerly, and in which he still perceives himself to be involved, whenever he reflects upon himself and them. This we shall find to consist in nothing more, than his becoming sensible at different times of what he had thought or done before: and being as fully convinced that he then thought or did it, as he now is of his present thoughts, acts, or existence.

Beyond this we neither can, nor need go for evidence in any thing; this, we shall soon see, is the clear and only medium through which distant things can be discovered and compared together; which at the same time sufficiently ascertains and establishes their several natures and realities respectively; so far as they relate to ourselves and to each other: or if this should not be esteemed sufficient to that end, we shall find, in the last place, that there is nothing else left for it. This distinct consciousness of our past actions, from whence arise all the ideas of merit and demerit, will most undoubtedly be regarded with the strictest exactness in foro divino; and indeed has its due weight in foro humano, whenever it can be with certainty determined: wherever this appears to be wanting, all judicial proceedings are at an end. How plain soever any criminal act were, the man would now-a-days be acquitted from guilt in the commission of it, and discharged from the penalties annexed to such fact, could it at the same time be as plainly made out, that he was incapable of knowing what he did, or is now under a like incapacity of recollecting it. And it would be held a sufficient reason for such acquittal, that the punishment or persecution of a creature in these circumstances, could not answer the end proposed by society in punishment, viz. the prevention of evil, the only end that I know of, which can justify punishments in any case. The reason then why such a plea has usually so small regard paid to it in courts of justice, is, I apprehend, either the difficulty of having this incapacity proved with the same clearness that the fact itself is established; or the common maxim that one crime, or criminal indisposition, is not admissible in excuse for another; as in cases of drunkenness, violent passion, killing and maiming men by mistake when one is engaged in an unlawful pursuit, &c. Or in some of these cases perhaps men are punished for the murders, &c. not because they possibly may be conscious of them, and yet that consciousness not appear; but that such evils may be more effectually prevented by striking at the remoter cause, i. e. exciting a salutary terrour of those confessedly evil practices and habits, which are often found to terminate in such fatal effects. A kind of injustice is here indeed committed by society, which we have no reason to suppose will be admitted in foro divino, and some worse instances may be seen in our statute books. By the 23 of Hen. 8. a man becoming lunatic after an act of treason shall be liable to be arraigned, tried, and executed. But Hale in his P. C. says, That if a traitor becomes non compos before conviction he shall not be arraigned; if after conviction, he shall not be executed: and Hawkins observes the same concerning those who have committed any capital offences.

In human courts, which cannot always dive into the hearts of men and discover the true springs of action, nor consequently weigh the effects and operations of each in an equal balance: in this state of ignorance and uncertainty, such a notorious indisposition as that of drunkenness, v. g. being generally a great fault in itself, is seldom allowed in extenuation of such others as are committed under its influence; nor indeed does it, I believe, often produce any new, materially different trains of thinking, or totally obliterate the old ones; but where this is really so, the Deity would make just abatement for such defect or disability, as was at the time both unconquerable and unavoidable: nor can we properly impute actions consequent upon any real disorder of the rational faculties, howsoever that disorder might have been contracted; and therefore all animadversions upon them must be in vain: nor is a man punishable for any thing beside the bare act of contracting such disorder, or for the original cause of this disability, how great or durable soever; the dangerous consequences of which he did, or might foresee. As is the case in some other confirmed habits, viz. that of swearing, &c. which often operate mechanically and unperceived, and in which therefore all the moral turpitude (or what is so accounted) arising from them, never can reach beyond the fountain head from whence they are derived, and from which all the effects of them naturally, and even necessarily flow. We must therefore conclude in general, that a person’s guilt is estimated according to his past and present consciousness of the offence, and of his having been the author of it. Nor is it merely his having forgotten the thing, but his having so far lost the notion of it out of his mind, that how frequently soever, or in what forcible manner soever, it may be presented to him again, he lies under an utter incapacity of becoming sensible and satisfied that he was ever privy to it before, which is affirmed to render this thing really none of his, or wholly exculpate him when called to answer for it. Suppose this same consciousness to return, his unaccountableness (call it personality, or what you please) will return along with it: that is, the infliction of evil upon him will now answer some purpose, and therefore he must be considered as now liable to it. Thus some wholly lose the use of their intellectual faculties for a time, and recover them at intervals. In such cases they are considered as punishable by laws, and so declared by juries, in proportion to the probability of their being conscious of the fact. Others lie under a partial deprivation of some one faculty for certain periods, while they continue to enjoy the rest in tolerable perfection. I knew a learned man, who was said to recollect with ease subjects upon which he had written, or any others that had been discussed before the last ten or fifteen years; could reason freely, and readily turn to the authors he had read upon them; but take him into the latter part of his life, and all was blank; when any late incidents were repeated to him, he would only stare at you, nor could he be made sensible of any one modern occurrence, however strongly represented to him. Was this man equally answerable for all transactions within the last period of his life, as for those in the first? Or if he could have been made sensible of the latter part, but had irrecoverably lost the former; could that former part have been in like manner imputed to him? Surely not. And the reason plainly is, because society could find no advantage from considering him as accountable in either case. Which shows personality to be solely a creature of society, an abstract consideration of man, necessary for the mutual benefit of him and his fellows; i. e. a mere forensic term; and to inquire after its criterion or constituent, is to inquire in what circumstances societies or civil combinations of men have in fact agreed to inflict evil upon individuals, in order to prevent evils to the whole body from any irregular member. Daily experience shows, that they always make consciousness of the fact a necessary requisite in such punishment, and that all inquiry relates to the probability of such consciousness. The execution of divine justice must proceed in the same manner. The Deity inflicts evil with a settled view to some end; and no end worthy of him can be answered by inflicting it as a punishment, unless to prevent other evils. Such end may be answered, if the patient is conscious, or can be made conscious of the fact, but not otherwise. And whence then does this difference in any one’s moral capacity arise, but from that plain diversity in his natural one? from his absolute irretrievable want of consciousness in one case, and not in the other? Suppose now that one in the former condition kills a man; that he, or some part of what we call him, was ever so notoriously the instrument, or occasion of that death; yet if he was either then insensible of the fact, or afterwards became so, and so continued: Would he be any more guilty of murder, than if that death had been occasioned by another person? since at that time he was truly such, or at least is so now, notwithstanding that most people might be apt to judge him still the same, from a sameness in outward circumstances (which generally supply the best means men have of judging) from his shape, mien, or appearance; though these often differ widely from the internal constitution, yet are so often mistaken for it; and this accordingly thought and spoke of with little more philosophical propriety, than when we, in the vulgar phrase, describe a man’s condition by saying, We would not be in his coat.

Suppose one then in the situation above-mentioned; could any pains, think you, inflicted on him suit the idea, or answer the ends of punishment, either with regard to himself or others, farther than mere show and delusion? Rewards and punishments are evidently instituted for the benefit of society, for the encouragement of virtue, or suppression of vice, in the object thus rewarded or punished, and in the rest of the community; but what tendency to the above purposes can either of these have, if dispensed to one who is not so far himself as to become conscious of having done any thing to deserve it? What instruction is conveyed to him? What admonition to such others, as are duly acquainted with the whole of the case, and see every circumstance thus grossly misapplied? And as in these cases, laws only can define the circumstances in which a man shall be treated as accountable, they only can create guilt, i. e. guilt also is a forensic term, or a mode of considering any action, which in its essence implies knowledge of a law, offence against that law, and a sense of having offended against it; i. e. an after consciousness of the fact; without which after consciousness, punishment would be of little avail, as it would neither serve to guard the man himself against a like delinquency, nor tend to the warning of others, who by such inflictions would openly perceive that they might chance to suffer pain, without being able to assign a reason for it. — Thus may personality be extended or contracted, and vary in various respects, times, and degrees, and thereby become liable to great confusion, in our applying it to various subjects; yet is the ground and foundation of it fixed; and when once discovered, its consequences are not less so, both before God and man.

Abstract, general ideas (of which this is an eminent one) are alone productive of certain, uniform, and universal knowledge: Thus qualities of a certain kind, when abstracted, or taken apart from nature, and set up for common standards, are so far independent as to become absolute, unmixed, or perfect in themselves, however different they may be found in their respective concretes. Thus goodness, justice, guilt, merit, &c. in general, are ever the same goodness, &c. all the world over, however imperfectly they may appear in any particular subjects, times, and places. In the same manner as a line, or the abstract consideration of length without thickness or breadth; the consideration of surface, i. e. length and breadth without thickness, must be the same, in all intelligent beings of like faculties with us, though the natural substances which suggest them may differ with an endless variety. Let personality answer to a line or surface; let the substances it is predicated of, like the infinite variety of solids in nature, (with their appendages, heat, cold, colour, &c.) in which length and breadth are found, vary as you please, still the abstract ideas of line and surface, and therefore of person, will remain invariable. And thus propositions formed out of these general ideas contain certain truths, that are in one sense external and immutable, as depending on no precarious existences whatever. Being merely what we ourselves make them, they must continue the same while the same number of such ideas continue joined together, and appear the same to every intelligent being that contemplates them. They do not stand in need (I say) of an objective reality, or the existence of any external things in full conformity to them, since we here consider things no farther than as coming up to these original standards, settled in the minds of men; or as capable of being included in such measures as are applied to determine their precise quantity, quality, &c. we are ranking them under a certain species or sort, hence called their essence, which entitles them to the name descriptive of it, as is sufficiently explained by Mr. Locke. They want therefore nothing more to establish their reality, than to be consistently put together, so as may distinguish them from others that are merely chimerical, and qualify them for the admission of any real beings that may occur: Thus, not only the instance of a triangle so frequently used by Mr. Locke, but every theorem in Euclid, may be ranked among the abstract considerations of quantity, apart from all real existence, which seldom comes up to it: As it may be justly questioned whether any triangle or circle, as defined by him, ever existed in nature, i. e. existed so that all the lines of the triangle were right ones, or all the lines drawn from the centre to the circumference equal. These ideas presuppose no one being in particular, they imply nothing more than a proper subject of inquiry (as was said above) or some such creature as is either actually endowed with, or at least susceptible of these specific qualities, or modes, which furnish matter for the whole tribe of abstractions daily made and preserved by such terms as usually serve to denote them; whether appellatives, in order to distinguish men in their several stations and relations, private or public; to describe their character or conduct, office, &c. as parent, patriot, king, &c. or such more general, technical ones, as paternity, patriotism, kingship, &c. the nature, end, and use, of all which abstractions, with their names, are well enough understood, and would not easily be mistaken in affairs of common life, which are happily less liable to such kind of subtile refinements, as have brought metaphysical speculations into that contempt under which they have long laboured. In short, of these same abstractions consist all general terms and theorems of every science; and the truth and certainty contained in them, when applied to morals or theology, is no less determinate than in other sciences; it is equally capable of strict demonstration; as Mr. Locke observes, and equally applicable to full as useful and important purposes: the great general truths, I say, arising out of these general essences, or entities, (as they are sometimes called) are all clear, constant, and invariable in themselves, though the names in which such a collection of ideas should be preserved, are often through the poverty and imperfection of language rendered extremely vague and uncertain in each writer or speaker, and the ideas formed by them in other men’s minds (which are their proper archetypes, and a conformity to which alone makes them right or wrong, truly or untruly applied) thereby become no less frequently confused and indeterminate. Thus, in the case before us, the word person is often used to signify the whole aggregate of a rational being, including both the very imperfect idea, if it be any idea at all, of substance, and its several properties, [as is the common way] or taking all the essential qualities together, [which properly constitute the substance of any thing] with several of their modes. As when speaking of any one, we include soul, body, station, and other circumstances, and accordingly style him a wise, worthy person; a tall, comely, a rich, great one, &c. where person in a lax, popular sense signifies as much as man. In which popular sense Mr. Locke manifestly takes the word, when he says, it “stands for a thinking intelligent being, that has reason and reflection, and can consider itself as itself, the same thinking being, in different times and places.” B. 2. C. 27. § 9. But when the term is used more accurately and philosophically, it stands for one especial property of that thing or being, separated from all the rest that do or may attend it in real existence, and set apart for ranging such beings into distinct classes, (as hinted above) and considering them under distinct relations and connexions, which are no less necessary to be determined in life, and which should therefore have their proper and peculiar demonstration. And thus sameness of person stands to denote, not what constitutes the same rational agent, though it always is predicated of such: but we consider his rationality so far only, as it makes him capable of knowing what he does and suffers, and on what account, and thereby renders him amenable to justice for his behaviour, as above-mentioned.

Whatever ingredients therefore of different kinds go to the composition, what other particulars, whether mental or corporeal, contribute to the formation of this intelligent being, these make no part of our inquiry; which, I beg leave to repeat it again, is not what enters into the natural constitution of a thing, but what renders it so far a moral one, and is the sine quâ non of its being justly chargeable with any of its past actions, here or hereafter: Or, in other words, it does not affect the reality or the permanency of such intelligent beings, but only regulates and retains those beings under such a moral relation, as makes them properly accountable to some superior for their course of action. It is an artificial distinction, yet founded in the nature, but not the whole nature of man, who must have many other essential powers and properties to subsist as man, and even to support this in question; but none other, we say, that can affect, or in any wise alter his condition in the above-named respect, and therefore none that come with propriety into the present consideration.

This is all the mystery of the matter, which has puzzled so many ingenious writers, and been so marvellously mistaken by such as are not sufficiently acquainted with the doctrine of abstractions, or are misled by terms of art, instead of attending to the precise ideas which these ought to convey, and would always convey if they were but carefully and steadily applied; for want of which proper application, men of genius and good sense have fallen into such egregious trifling, as serves only to disturb this beyond most other parts of science, and has filled the above celebrated question with a multitude of quibbles, which Mr. Locke’s clear and copious answers to his several opponents might, one would have hoped, have most effectually prevented; but which are subsisting to this very day, to the no small mortification of all sincere lovers of truth, and admirers of that able defender of it. And I have been the larger on this head of general words and notions, which have so close a connexion with each other, and with the present question, as the subject perhaps is not sufficiently explained by Mr. Locke in any one place of his admirable essay, though it occurs pretty often: and since the several properties or attributes of these same abstract ideas are still so miserably misunderstood, as to have their very existence disputed, probably because he has been pleased to set it forth in a manner somewhat paradoxical. Though this word existence also is a term often misapplied, as if nothing could really exist which was not an object of the senses: Whereas in these, and several other ideas, as has been often observed, their esse is percipi.

Again, We are often misled on the other hand by imagining what things are in themselves (as we usually term it) or in their internal essences; instead of considering them as they appear, and stand related to us; or according to the ideas that are obviously suggested by them; which ideas only should be the objects of our contemplation (since we really perceive nothing else) and ought always to regulate our inquiry into things, as these are the sole foundation of all our knowledge concerning them, of all that can with safety direct, or be of service to us.

But to return to our author. The property then, or quality, or whatever he chooses to call it, which, in his own words, renders men “sensible that they are the same” in some respects, is in Mr. Locke’s sense, in the legal, and in common sense, that which so far makes them such, or brings them into the same relative capacity of being ranked among moral, social creatures, and of being treated accordingly, for several obvious purposes in social life. This consciousness, I say, of being thus far ourselves, is what, in Mr. Locke’s language, makes us so. In this case, as in some other ideal objects, to be, and be perceived, is really the same, and what this author calls the sign, coincides with the thing signified. Whether any intelligent being is at present what he is in every respect, wants no proof; of this he has self-evident intuitive knowledge, and can go no higher. And whether he now is what he was once before, in this single article of personality, can only be determined by his now being sensible of what he then thought and did, which is equally self-evident; and thus again, consciousness at the same time, and by the same means, that it convinces him of this, does likewise constitute him such to all ends and purposes whatsoever.

Well then, having examined a little into the nature, and enumerated some few properties of an abstract idea in general, and shown that this particular one before us can be nothing more, we may find perhaps that however fluctuating and changeful this account may be judged to render personality; how much soever it may fall short of some sublime systems about purely immaterial substances, and perfectly independent principles of thought; yet there is no help for these changes in the seat of personality; since, in the last place, we know of nothing more stable and permanent in our constitution that has the least pretence to settle and support it. All parts of the body are to a certain degree in perpetual flux, nor is any one of them, that we are acquainted with, concerned in the present case more than another. As to the mind, both its cogitative and active powers are suspended (whether they be so or not is a matter of fact, in which experience only, and not subtile argumentations drawn from the nature of an unknown, perhaps imaginary, essence ought to decide) during sound sleep: Nay, every drowsy nod (as Mr. Locke expresses it) must shake their doctrine, who maintain that these powers are incessantly employed. Call then a resuscitation or revival of these powers, when we awake, another beginning of their existence, a new creation; and argue against the possibility of any such interruption or annihilation of them, as long as you please; yet that it is matter of fact, and nightly experience, and capable of as good proof as a negative proposition will admit, is made out sufficiently by the above-named excellent writer. This, if properly attended to, and pursued through its genuine consequences, would go a great way towards unfolding the true nature of the human mind, which many thoughtful men seem yet very little acquainted with, and very much afraid to examine. And while this disposition holds, we can never expect to come at the original core of all those corruptions that have infected this branch of philosophy, and extended themselves to some other parts of science. Nor are the several proofs, or, if you please, probabilities, that I was not thinking all the last night, sufficiently answered by the old excuse that I may forget all such thoughts immediately as soon as ever I awake: for setting aside the great improbability of this happening so very constantly, for so long a time, it must appear to any one who understands what he says, that whosoever, or whatsoever, was thus employed, it could not possibly be I who was all this while busily engaged in such thoughts, since they never bore the least share in my series of consciousness, never were connected with the chain of my waking thoughts, nor therefore could any more belong to me, than if you suppose them (as you might full as well, for argument’s sake, and to salve an hypothesis) to be the working of some secret mechanism, or kept up in the watch that was lying by me. Something like this, I presume, would be the plea, which all the advocates for this lame system would offer in their own defence, were any one so injurious as to charge them with things done or said in their sleep. The same observation may be urged against that absurd, self-repugnant hypothesis of our having been in a pre-existent state: for whatsoever was done there it can be nothing to us, who had never the least notice or conception of it.

To the difficulties so often objected, of this being a “new creation,” and making the same thing have “two beginnings of existence;” — We may observe, that it would indeed be an absurdity to suppose two beginnings of existence, if the identity of a substance, being, or man were inquired into; but when the inquiry is made into the artificial abstract idea of personality, invented for a particular end, to answer which consciousness only is required, beginning and end of existence are quite out of the question, being foreign to any consideration of the subject. — It may be farther observed, that in fact we meet with something of the same kind every morning after a total interruption of thought (and I hope, we may by this time in one sense be allowed to term it so) during sound sleep: nay, if we search the thing narrowly, and may in our turn enter into such minutiæ, thus much will be implied in the successive train of our ideas, even in each hour of the day; that same article of succession including some degree of distance between each of them, and consequently at every successive step there is a new production, which may with equal reason be styled an interruption of thought, or a new exertion of the thinking power. — But enough of these nugæ difficiles. Such changeable, frail creatures then are we through life; yet safe in the hand of that unchangeably just, wise, good, and all-powerful Being, who perfectly understands our frame, and will make due allowances for each defect or disorder incident to it; who at first created us out of nothing, and still preserves us through each shifting scene, be the revolutions in it never so frequent and rapid, and will at length most assuredly conduct us to immortality. Though in every respect we are here “fleeing as it were a shadow, and never continuing in one stay,” and at last suffer a short seeming pause in our existence, which is in scripture termed the “sleep of death:” yet will he again raise us “out of the dust;” restore us to ourselves, and to our friends; revive our consciousness of each past act or habit, that may prove of the least moral import; cause the “secrets of all hearts to be laid open,” and either reward or punish every one according to his works done in the body.

Nor does it imply a plurality of persons in any man at any time given to charge him with various actions or omissions; since he may become guilty of a plurality of crimes, as often as he is induced or enabled to reflect upon them, though these cannot be crowded into his mind altogether, any more than they could have been so committed. Nor therefore need all past actions become at once present to the mind; which is utterly inconsistent with our frame, as it now stands, and perhaps with that of every other created being; nor is there a necessity for any one idea being always actually in view; which is equally so; but only for a capacity of having such brought to mind again, together with a consciousness of their having been there before, (which distinguishes them from entirely new ones), or a possibility of recognizing them upon occasion, at least whenever we are to account for them, as has been frequently observed. So far as any such recognition reaches, such person is the same; when this faculty varies, that must vary also; and he become the same, or not, at different times and in divers respects, as observed likewise; at least his accountableness must vary in proportion, call this personality, or what you think fit. Nor does it properly lie in a power of causing a return of the same idea; but rather in the capacity of receiving it, of re-admitting the same consciousness concerning any past thought, action, or perception. Nor is it merely a present representation of any such act; but a representation of it as our own, which entitles us to it; one person may know or become conscious of the deeds of another, but this is not knowing that he himself was the author of those deeds, which is a contradiction; and to treat him as such upon that account only, would be inverting all rules of right and wrong; and could not therefore be practised by either God or man, since no end could possibly be answered by such treatment, as observed above.

To dwell upon those surprising consequences that might attend the transferring the same consciousness to different beings, or giving the same being very different ones, is merely puzzling and perplexing the point, by introducing such confusions as never really existed, and would not alter the true state of the question, if they did.

Such Fairy tales and Arabian transformations, possible or impossible, can only serve to amuse the fancy, without any solid information to the judgment. These flights of mere imagination Mr. Locke generally avoids, though he was here tempted to indulge a few such, in playing with the wild suppositions of his adversaries, [v. g. a change of souls between Socrates and the mayor of Queenborough, &c.] probably to enliven a dry subject, and render it more palatable to the bulk of his readers.

Nor are those cases of a disordered imagination in lunacy or vapours, where persons are for a time beside themselves, (as we usually term it) and may believe such chimerical alterations to befal them, any more to the purpose.

But it were endless to unravel all futile sophisms and false suppositions, that have been introduced into the present question; I have endeavoured to obviate such as appeared most material, and account for them; and at the same time to inculcate a doctrine, which, though common enough, seemed not enough attended to; yet is fundamentally requisite to a right understanding of this intricate subject. And if that which is laid down above be a true state of the case, all the rest of our author’s plan, [of placing personal identity in a continuation of thought] will drop of course. I trust the reader will make allowance for some repetitions, which were left to render things as plain as possible, and prevent future subterfuges of the like kind; and if the substance of these few hasty observations on the first part of this ingenious writer’s essay, prove in the least degree satisfactory to himself, or have a tendency to enlarge general knowledge, and guard against popular errours, I must rely upon his candour for excusing the manner in which they are thrown out; and shall take the liberty of closing them in the form of a syllogism, which is submitted to his consideration:

Quo posito ponitur personæ identitas, et quo sublato tollitur, id personalem identitatem constituit:

Sed positâ conscientiâ, &c.

Ergo.

APPENDIX.

A friend, well acquainted with the subject of the foregoing sheets, having communicated to me some observations concerning the use of the word Person, which came too late to be inserted in their proper place, I must take the liberty of annexing them, though they occasion some more redundancies and repetitions, in order to throw as much light as is possible on this very obscure and long controverted question.

As Mr. Locke’s definition of the term person, (chap. xxvii. § 9.) may possibly create some difficulty, it will be proper to examine into the sense which should be put upon this word, whenever we inquire after the identity of any man’s person; which may perhaps at once lead us to a just conception of the whole. In the aforementioned section, Mr. Locke says, that person stands for “a thinking intelligent being, that has reason and reflection,” &c. whereas I should imagine, the expression would have been more just, had he said that the word person stands for an attribute, or quality, or character of a thinking intelligent being; in the same sense as Tully uses it, Orat. pro Syll. § 3. “Hanc mihi tu si, propter res meas gestas, imponis in omni vitâ meâ personam, Torquate, vehementer erras. Me natura misericordem, patria severum; crudelem nec patria, nec natura esse voluit: denique istam ipsam personam vehementem et acrem, quam mihi tum tempus et respublica imposuit, jam voluntas et natura ipsa detraxit.” It came at last to be confounded with, and stand for homo gerens personam (Taylor, Civ. L. , 248.) and in this sense Locke has incautiously defined the word. It has attributed also to more intelligent beings than one; as by the jesuits in their declaration prefixed to the third book of Newton, alienam coacti sumus gerere personam. The word person then, according to the received sense in all classical authors, standing for a certain guise, character, quality, i. e. being in fact a mixed mode, or relation, and not a substance; we must next inquire, what particular character or quality it stands for in this place, as the same man may bear many characters and relations at the same, or different times. The answer is, that here it stands for that particular quality or character, under which a man is considered, when he is treated as an intelligent being subject to government and laws, and accountable for his actions: i. e. not the man himself, but an abstract consideration of him, for such and such particular ends: and to inquire after its identity is to inquire, not after the identity of a conscious being, but after the identity of a quality or attribute of such a conscious being. All difficulties that relate to a man’s forgetting some actions, &c. now vanish, when person is considered as a character, and not a substance, or confounded with homo gerens personam: and it amounts to no more than saying a man puts on a mask — continuing to wear it for some time — puts off one mask and takes another, i. e. appears to have consciousness — to recollect past consciousnesses — does not recollect them, &c. The impropriety consists in saying, a man is the same person with him who did such a fact; which is the same as to say, a man is blackness, guilt, &c. i. e. a mixed mode is predicated of a substance; whereas it ought to be, in strict propriety of speech, the person of the man who did such a fact, is the same with the person of him, who now stands before us; or, in plainer terms, the man who now stands before the court is conscious of the former facts, and is therefore the proper object of punishment. It may be observed, that the word personality is really an absurd expression; since person itself stands for the mixed mode or quality; — and personality therefore may be ranked among the old scholastic terms of corporeity, egoity, tableity, &c. or is even yet more harsh: as mixed modes, such as gratitude, murder, and therefore person, cannot be thus re-modified without peculiar absurdity.

SOME THOUGHTS CONCERNING READING AND STUDY FOR A GENTLEMAN.

Reading is for the improvement of the understanding.

The improvement of the understanding is for two ends; first, for our own increase of knowledge; secondly, to enable us to deliver and make out that knowledge to others.

The latter of these, if it be not the chief end of study in a gentleman; yet it is at least equal to the other, since the greatest part of his business and usefulness in the world is by the influence of what he says, or writes to others.

The extent of our knowledge cannot exceed the extent of our ideas. Therefore he, who would be universally knowing, must acquaint himself with the objects of all sciences. But this is not necessary to a gentleman, whose proper calling is the service of his country; and so is most properly concerned in moral and political knowledge; and thus the studies, which more immediately belong to his calling, are those which treat of virtues and vices, of civil society, and the arts of government; and will take in also law and history.

It is enough for a gentleman to be furnished with the ideas belonging to his calling, which he will find in the books that treat of the matters above-mentioned.

But the next step towards the improvement of his understanding, must be, to observe the connexion of these ideas in the propositions, which those books hold forth, and pretend to teach as truths; which till a man can judge, whether they be truths or no, his understanding is but little improved; and he doth but think and talk after the books that he hath read, without having any knowledge thereby. And thus men of much reading are greatly learned, but may be little knowing.

The third and last step therefore, in improving the understanding, is to find out upon what foundation any proposition advanced bottoms; and to observe the connexion of the intermediate ideas, by which it is joined to that foundation, upon which it is erected, or that principle, from which it is derived. This, in short, is right reasoning; and by this way alone true knowledge is to be got by reading and studying.

When a man, by use, hath got this faculty of observing and judging of the reasoning and coherence of what he reads, and how it proves what it pretends to teach; he is then, and not till then, in the right way of improving his understanding, and enlarging his knowledge by reading.

But that, as I have said, being not all that a gentleman should aim at in reading, he should farther take care to improve himself in the art also of speaking, that so he may be able to make the best use of what he knows.

The art of speaking well consists chiefly in two things, viz. perspicuity and right reasoning.

Perspicuity consists in the using of proper terms for the ideas or thoughts, which he would have pass from his own mind into that of another man. It is this, that gives them an easy entrance; and it is with delight, that men hearken to those, whom they easily understand; whereas what is obscurely said, dying, as it is spoken, is usually not only lost, but creates a prejudice in the hearer, as if he that spoke knew not what he said, or was afraid to have it understood.

The way to obtain this, is to read such books as are allowed to be writ with the greatest clearness and propriety, in the language that a man uses. An author excellent in this faculty, as well as several others, is Dr. Tillotson, late archbishop of Canterbury, in all that is published of his. I have chosen rather to propose this pattern, for the attainment of the art of speaking clearly, than those who give rules about it: since we are more apt to learn by example, than by direction. But if any one hath a mind to consult the masters in the art of speaking and writing, he may find in Tully “De Oratore,” and another treatise of his called, Orator; and in Quintilian’s Institutions; and Boileau’s “Traité du Sublime;” instructions concerning this, and the other parts of speaking well.

Besides perspicuity, there must be also right reasoning; without which, perspicuity serves but to expose the speaker. And for the attaining of this, I should propose the constant reading of Chillingworth, who by his example will teach both perspicuity, and the way of right reasoning, better than any book that I know; and therefore will deserve to be read upon that account over and over again; not to say any thing of his argument.

Besides these books in English, Tully, Terence, Virgil, Livy, and Cæsar’s Commentaries, may be read to form one’s mind to a relish of a right way of speaking and writing.

The books I have hitherto mentioned have been in order only to writing and speaking well; not but that they will deserve to be read upon other accounts.

The study of morality, I have above mentioned as that that becomes a gentleman; not barely as a man, but in order to his business as a gentleman. Of this there are books enough writ both by ancient and modern philosophers; but the morality of the gospel doth so exceed them all, that, to give a man a full knowledge of true morality, I shall send him to no other book, but the New Testament. But if he hath a mind to see how far the heathen world carried that science, and whereon they bottomed their ethics, he will be delightfully and profitably entertained in Tully’s Treatises “De Officiis.”

Politics contains two parts, very different the one from the other. The one, containing the original of societies, and the rise and extent of political power; the other, the art of governing men in society.

The first of these hath been so bandied amongst us, for these sixty years backward, that one can hardly miss books of this kind. Those, which I think are most talked of in English, are the first book of Mr. Hooker’s “Ecclesiastical Polity,” and Mr. Algernon Sydney’s “Discourses concerning Government.” The latter of these I never read. Let me here add, “Two Treatises of Government,” printed in 1690; and a Treatise of “Civil Polity,” printed this year. To these one may add, Puffendorf “De Officio Hominis et Civis,” and “De Jure Naturali et Gentium;” which last is the best book of that kind.

As to the other part of politics, which concerns the art of government; that, I think, is best to be learned by experience and history, especially that of a man’s own country. And therefore I think an English gentleman should be well versed in the history of England, taking his rise as far back as there are any records of it; joining with it the laws that were made in the several ages, as he goes along in his history; that he may observe from thence the several turns of state, and how they have been produced. In Mr. Tyrrel’s History of England, he will find all along those several authors which have treated of our affairs, and which he may have recourse to, concerning any point, which either his curiosity or judgment shall lead him to inquire into.

With the history, he may also do well to read the ancient lawyers; such as Bracton, “Fleta,” Heningham, “Mirrour of Justice,” my lord Coke’s “Second Institutes,” and the “Modus tenendi Parliamentum;” and others of that kind which he may find quoted in the late controversies between Mr. Petit, Mr. Tyrrel, Mr. Atwood, &c. with Dr. Brady; as also, I suppose, in Sedler’s Treatise of “Rights of the Kingdom, and Customs of our Ancestors,” whereof the first edition is the best; wherein he will find the ancient constitution of the government of England.

There are two volumes of “State Tracts” printed since the revolution, in which there are many things relating to the government of England.

As for general history, Sir Walter Raleigh and Dr. Howell, are books to be had. He, who hath a mind to launch farther into that ocean, may consult Whear’s “Methodus legendi Historias,” of the last edition; which will direct him to the authors he is to read, and the method wherein he is to read them.

To the reading of history, chronology and geography are absolutely necessary.

In geography, we have two general ones in English, Heylin and Moll; which is the best of them, I know not; having not been much conversant in either of them. But the last, I should think to be of most use; because of the new discoveries that are made every day, tending to the perfection of that science. Though, I believe, that the countries, which Heylin mentions, are better treated of by him, bating what new discoveries since his time have added.

These two books contain geography in general, but whether an English gentleman would think it worth his time to bestow much pains upon that; though without it he cannot well understand a Gazette; it is certain he cannot well be without Camden’s “Britannia,” which is much enlarged in the last English edition. A good collection of maps is also necessary.

To geography, books of travels may be added. In that kind, the collections made by our countrymen, Hackluyt and Purchas, are very good. There is also a very good collection made by Thevenot in folio, in French; and by Ramuzion, in Italian; whether translated into English or no, I know not. There are also several good books of travels of Englishmen published, as Sandys, Roe, Brown, Gage, and Dampier.

There are also several voyages in French, which are very good, as Pyrard, Bergeron, Sagard, Bernier, &c. whether all of them are translated into English, I know not.

There is at present a very good “collection of voyages and travels,” never before in English, and such as are out of print; now printing by Mr. Churchill.

There are besides these a vast number of other travels; a sort of books that have a very good mixture of delight and usefulness. To set them down all, would take up too much time and room. Those I have mentioned are enough to begin with.

As to chronology, I think Helvicus the best for common use; which is not a book to be read, but to lie by, and be consulted upon occasion. He that hath a mind to look farther into chronology, may get Tallent’s “Tables,” and Strauchius’s “Breviarium Temporum,” and may to those add Scaliger “De Emendatione Temporum,” and Petavius, if he hath a mind to engage deeper in that study.

Those, who are accounted to have writ best particular parts of our English history, are Bacon, of Henry VII; and Herbert of Henry VIII. Daniel also is commended; and Burnet’s “History of the Reformation.”

Mariana’s “History of Spain,” and Thuanus’s “History of his own Time,” and Philip de Comines; are of great and deserved reputation.

There are also several French and English memoirs and collections, such as la Rochefoucault, Melvil, Rushworth, &c. which give a great light to those who have a mind to look into what hath past in Europe this last age.

To fit a gentleman for the conduct of himself, whether as a private man, or as interested in the government of his country, nothing can be more necessary than the knowledge of men; which, though it be to be had chiefly from experience, and, next to that, from a judicious reading of history: yet there are books that of purpose treat of human nature, which help to give an insight into it. Such are those treating of the passions, and how they are moved; whereof Aristotle in his second book of Rhetoric hath admirably discoursed, and that in a little compass. I think this Rhetoric is translated into English; if not, it may be had in Greek and Latin together.

La Bruyere’s “Characters” are also an admirable piece of painting; I think it is also translated out of French into English.

Satyrical writings also, such as Juvenal, and Persius, and above all Horace: though they paint the deformities of men, yet they thereby teach us to know them.

There is another use of reading, which is for diversion and delight. Such are poetical writings, especially dramatic, if they be free from prophaneness, obscenity, and what corrupts good manners; for such pitch should not be handled.

Of all the books of fiction, I know none that equals “Cervantes’s History of Don Quixote” in usefulness, pleasantry, and a constant decorum. And indeed no writings can be pleasant, which have not nature at the bottom, and are not drawn after her copy.

There is another sort of books, which I had almost forgot, with which a gentleman’s study ought to be well furnished, viz. dictionaries of all kinds. For the Latin tongue, Littleton, Cooper, Calepin, and Robert Stephens’s “Thesaurus Linguæ Latinæ,” and “Vossii Etymologicum Linguæ Latinæ.” Skinner’s “Lexicon Etymologicum,” is an excellent one of that kind, for the English tongue. Cowell’s “Interpreter” is useful for the law terms. Spelman’s “Glossary” is a very useful and learned book. And Selden’s “Titles of Honour,” a gentleman should not be without. Baudrand hath a very good “Geographical Dictionary.” And there are several historical ones, which are of use; as Lloyd’s, Hoffman’s, Moreri’s. And Bayle’s incomparable dictionary, is something of the same kind. He that hath occasion to look into books written in Latin since the decay of the Roman empire, and the purity of the Latin tongue, cannot be well without Du Cange’s “Glossarium mediæ et infimæ Latinitatis.”

Among the books above set down, I mentioned Vossius’s “Etymologicum Linguæ Latinæ;” all his works are lately printed in Holland in six tomes. They are fit books for a gentleman’s library, containing very learned discourses concerning all the sciences.

ELEMENTS OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY.

CHAPTER I. OF MATTER AND MOTION.

Matter is an extended solid substance; which being comprehended under distinct surfaces, makes so many particular distinct bodies.

Motion is so well known by the sight and touch, that to use words to give a clear idea of it, would be in vain.

Matter, or body, is indifferent to motion, or rest.

There is as much force required to put a body, which is in motion, at rest; as there is to set a body, which is at rest, into motion.

No parcel of matter can give itself either motion or rest, and therefore a body at rest will remain so eternally, except some external cause puts it in motion; and a body in motion will move eternally, unless some external cause stops it.

A body in motion will always move on in a straight line, unless it be turned out of it by some external cause; because a body can no more alter the determination of its motion, than it can begin it, alter or stop its motion itself.

The swiftness of motion is measured by distance of place and length of time wherein it is performed. For instance, if A and B, bodies of equal or different bigness, move each of them an inch in the same time; their motions are equally swift; but if A moves two inches, in the time whilst B is moving one inch; the motion of A is twice as swift as that of B.

The quantity of motion is measured by the swiftness of the motion, and the quantity of the matter moved, taken together. For instance, if A, a body equal to B, moves as swift as B; then it hath an equal quantity of motion. If A hath twice as much matter as B, and moves equally as swift, it hath double the quantity of motion; and so in proportion.

It appears, as far as human observation reaches, to be a settled law of nature, that all bodies have a tendency, attraction, or gravitation towards one another.

The same force, applied to two different bodies, produces always the same quantity of motion in each of them. For instance, let a boat which with its lading is one ton, be tied at a distance to another vessel, which with its lading is twenty-six tons; if the rope that ties them together be pulled, either in the less or bigger of these vessels, the less of the two, in their approach one to another, will move twenty-six feet, while the other moves but one foot.

Wherefore the quantity of matter in the earth being twenty-six times more than in the moon; the motion in the moon towards the earth, by the common force of attraction, by which they are impelled towards one another, will be twenty-six times as fast as in the earth; that is, the moon will move twenty-six miles towards the earth, for every mile the earth moves towards the moon.

Hence it is, that, in this natural tendency of bodies towards one another, that in the lesser is considered as gravitation; and that in the bigger as attraction; because the motion of the lesser body (by reason of its much greater swiftness) is alone taken notice of.

This attraction is the strongest, the nearer the attracting bodies are to each other; and, in different distances of the same bodies, is reciprocally in the duplicate proportion of those distances. For instance, if two bodies at a given distance attract each other with a certain force, at half the distance, they will attract each other with four times that force; at one third of the distance, with nine times that force; and so on.

Two bodies at a distance will put one another into motion by the force of attraction; which is inexplicable by us, though made evident to us by experience, and so to be taken as a principle in natural philosophy.

Supposing then the earth the sole body in the universe, and at rest; if God should create the moon, at the same distance that it is now from the earth; the earth and the moon would presently begin to move one towards another in a straight line by this motion of attraction or gravitation.

If a body, that by the attraction of another would move in a straight line towards it, receives a new motion any ways oblique to the first; it will no longer move in a straight line, according to either of those directions; but in a curve that will partake of both. And this curve will differ, according to the nature and quantity of the forces that concurred to produce it; as, for instance, in many cases it will be such a curve as ends where it began, or recurs into itself; that is, makes up a circle, or an ellipsis or oval very little differing from a circle.

CHAPTER II. OF THE UNIVERSE.

To any one, who looks about him in the world, there are obvious several distinct masses of matter, separate from one another; some whereof have discernible motions. These are the sun, the fixt stars, the comets and the planets, amongst which this earth, which we inhabit, is one. All these are visible to our naked eyes.

Besides these, telescopes have discovered several fixt stars, invisible to the naked eye; and several other bodies moving about some of the planets; all which were invisible and unknown, before the use of perspective glasses were found.

The vast distances between these great bodies, are called intermundane spaces; in which though there may be some fluid matter, yet it is so thin and subtile, and there is so little of that in respect of the great masses that move in those spaces, that it is as much as nothing.

These masses of matter are either luminous, or opake or dark.

Luminous bodies, are such as give light of themselves; and such are the sun and fixt stars.

Dark or opake bodies are such as emit no light of themselves, though they are capable of reflecting of it, when it is cast upon them from other bodies; and such are the planets.

There are some opake bodies, as for instance the comets, which, besides the light that they may have from the sun, seem to shine with a light that is nothing else but an ascension, which they receive from the sun, in their near approaches to it, in their respective revolutions.

The fixt stars are called fixt, because they al wys keep the same distance one from another.

The sun, at the same distance from us that the fixt stars are, would have the appearance of one of the fixt stars.

CHAPTER III. OF OUR SOLAR SYSTEM.

Our solar system consists of the sun, and the planets and comets moving about it.

The planets are bodies, which appear to us like stars; not that they are luminous bodies, that is, have light in themselves; but they shine by reflecting the light of the sun.

They are called planets from a Greek word, which signifies wandering; because they change their places, and do not always keep the same distance with one another, nor with the fixt stars, as the fixt stars do.

The planets are either primary, or secondary.

There are six primary planets, viz. Mercury, Venus, the Earth, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn.

All these move round the sun, which is, as it were, the centre of their motions.

The secondary planets move round about other planets. Besides the moon, which moves about the earth; four moons move about Jupiter, and five about Saturn, which are called their satellites.

The middle distances of the primary planets from the sun are as follows:

The orbits of the planets, and their respective distances from the sun, and from one another, together with the orbit of a comet, may be seen in the figure of the solar system hereunto annexed.

The periodical times of each planet’s revolution about the sun are as follows:

The planets move round about the sun from west to east in the zodiac; or, to speak plainer, are always found amongst some of the stars of those constellations, which make the twelve signs of the zodiac.

The motion of the planets about the sun is not perfectly circular, but rather elliptical.

The reason of their motions in curve lines, is the attraction of the sun, or their gravitations towards the sun, (call it which you please); and an oblique or side-long impulse or motion.

These two motions or tendencies, the one always endeavouring to carry them in a straight line from the circle they move in, and the other endeavouring to draw them in a straight line to the sun, makes that curve line they revolve in.

The motion of the comets about the sun is in a very long slender oval: whereof one of the focuses is the centre of the sun, and the other very much beyond the sphere of Saturn.

The moon moves about the earth, as the earth doth about the sun. So that it hath the centre of its motion in the earth; as the earth hath the centre of its revolution in the sun, about which it moves.

The moon makes its synodical motion about the earth, in 29 days, 12 hours, and about 44 minutes.

It is full moon, when, the earth being between the sun and the moon, we see all the enlightened part of the moon: new moon, when, the moon being between us and the sun, its enlightened part is turned from us; and half moon, when the moon being in the quadratures, as the astronomers call it, we see but half the enlightened part.

An eclipse of the moon is, when the earth, being between the sun and the moon, hinders the light of the sun from falling upon, and being reflected by, the moon. If the light of the sun is kept off from the whole body of the moon, it is a total eclipse; if from a part only, it is a partial one.

An eclipse of the sun is, when the moon, being between the sun and the earth, hinders the light of the sun from coming to us. If the moon hides from us the whole body of the sun, it is a total eclipse; if not, a partial one.

Our solar system is distant from the fixt stars 20,000,000,000 semi-diameters of the earth; or, as Mr. Huygens expresses the distance, in his Cosmotheoros: the fixt stars are so remote from the earth, that, if a cannon-bullet should come from one of the fixt stars with as swift a motion as it hath when it is shot out of the mouth of a cannon, it would be 700,000 years in coming to the earth.

This vast distance so much abates the attraction to those remote bodies, that its operation upon those of our system is not at all sensible, nor would draw away or hinder the return of any of our solar comets; though some of them should go so far from the sun, as not to make the revolution about it in less than 1000 years.

It is more suitable to the wisdom, power, and greatness of God, to think that the fixt stars are all of them suns, with systems of inhabitable planets moving about them, to whose inhabitants he displays the marks of his goodness as well as to us; rather than to imagine that those very remote bodies, so little useful to us, were made only for our sake.

CHAPTER IV. OF THE EARTH, CONSIDERED AS A PLANET.

The earth, by its revolution about the sun in 365 days, 5 hours, 49 minutes, makes that space of time we call a year.

The line, which the centre of the earth describes in its annual revolution about the sun, is called ecliptic.

The annual motion of the earth about the sun, is in the order of the signs of the zodiac; that is, speaking vulgarly, from west to east.

Besides this annual revolution of the earth about the sun in the ecliptic, the earth turns round upon its own axis in 24 hours.

The turning of the earth upon its own axis every 24 hours, whilst it moves round the sun in a year, we may conceive by the running of a bowl on a bowling-green; in which not only the centre of the bowl hath a progressive motion on the green; but the bowl in its going orward from one part of the green to another, turns round about its own axis.

The turning of the earth on its own axis, makes the difference of day and night; it being day in those parts of the earth which are turned towards the sun; and night in those parts which are in the shade, or turned from the sun.

The annual revolution of the earth in the ecliptic, is the cause of the different seasons, and of the several lengths of days and nights, in every part of the world, in the course of the year.

The reason of it, is the earth’s going round its own axis in the ecliptic, but at the same time keeping every where its axis equally inclined to the plane of the ecliptic, and parallel to itself. For the plane of the ecliptic inclining to the plane of the equator, 23 degrees and an half, makes that the earth, moving round in the ecliptic, hath sometimes one of its poles, and sometimes the other nearer the sun.

If the diameter of the sun be to the diameter of the earth, as 48 to 1, as by some it is accounted; then the disk of the sun, speaking “numero rotundo,” is above 2000 times bigger than the disk of the earth; and the globe of the sun is above 100,000 times bigger than the globe of the earth.

The distance of the earth’s orbit from the sun, is above 200,000 semi-diameters of the earth.

If a cannon-bullet should come from the sun, with the same velocity it hath when it is shot out of the mouth of a cannon, it would be 25 years in coming to the earth.

CHAPTER V. OF THE AIR AND ATMOSPHERE.

We have already considered the earth as a planet, or one of the great masses of matter moving about the sun; we shall now consider it as it is made up of its several parts, abstractedly from its diurnal and annual motions.

The exterior part of this our habitable world is the air or atmosphere; a light, thin fluid, or springy body, that encompasses the solid earth on all sides.

The height of the atmosphere, above the surface of the solid earth, is not certainly known; but that it doth reach but to a very small part of the distance betwixt the earth and the moon, may be concluded from the refraction of the rays coming from the sun, moon, and other luminous bodies.

Though considering that the air we are in, being near 1000 times lighter than water; and that the higher it is, the less it is compressed by the superior incumbent air, and so consequently being a springy body the thinner it is; and considering also that a pillar of air of any diameter is equal in weight to a pillar of quicksilver of the same diameter of between 29 and 30 inches height; we may infer that the top of the atmosphere is not very near the surface of the solid earth.

It may be concluded, that the utmost extent of the atmosphere reaches upwards, from the surface of the solid earth that we walk on, to a good distance above us; first, if we consider that a column of air of any given diameter is equiponderant to a column of quicksilver of between 29 and 30 inches height. Now quicksilver being near 14 times heavier than water, if air was as heavy as water, the atmosphere would be about 14 times higher than the column of quicksilver, i. e. about 35 feet.

Secondly, if we consider that air is 1000 times lighter than water, then a pillar of air equal in weight to a pillar of quicksilver of 30 inches high will be 35000 feet; whereby we come to know that the air or atmosphere is 35000 feet, i. e. near seven miles high.

Thirdly, if we consider that the air is a springy body, and that that, which is nearest the earth, is compressed by the weight of all the atmosphere that is above it, and rests perpendicularly upon it; we shall find that the air here, near the surface of the earth, is much denser and thicker than it is in the upper parts. For example, if upon a fleece of wool you lay another; the under one will be a little compressed by the weight of that which lies upon it; and so both of them by a third, and so on; so that, if 10000 were piled one upon another, the under one would by the weight of all the rest be very much compressed, and all the parts of it be brought abundantly closer together, than when there was no other upon it; and the next to that a little less compressed, the third a little less than the second, and so on till it came to the uppermost, which would be in its full expansion, and not compressed at all. Just so it is in the air; the higher you go in it, the less it is compressed, and consequently the less dense it is; and so the upper part being exceedingly thinner than the lower part, which we breathe in (which is that that is 1000 times lighter than water); the top of the atmosphere is probably much higher than the distance above assigned.

That the air near the surface of the earth will mightily expand itself, when the pressure of the incumbent atmosphere is taken off, may be abundantly seen in the experiments made by Mr. Boyle in his pneumatic engine. In his “Physico-mechanical Experiments,” concerning the air, he declares it probable that the atmosphere may be several hundred miles high; which is easy to be admitted, when we consider what he proves in another part of the same treatise, viz. that the air here about the surface of the earth, when the pressure is taken from it, will dilate itself about 152 times.

The atmosphere is the scene of the meteors; and therein is collected the matter of rain, hail, snow, thunder, and lightning; and a great many other things observable in the air.

CHAPTER VI. OF METEORS IN GENERAL.

Besides the springy particles of pure air, the atmosphere is made up of several steams or minute particles of several sorts, rising from the earth and the waters, and floating in the air, which is a fluid body, and though much finer and thinner, may be considered in respect of its fluidity to be like water, and so capable, like other liquors, of having heterogeneous particles floating in it.

The most remarkable of them are, first, the particles of water raised into the atmosphere, chiefly by the heat of the sun, out of the sea and other waters, and the surface of the earth; from whence it falls in dew, rain, hail, and snow.

Out of the vapours rising from moisture, the clouds are principally made.

Clouds do not consist wholly of watery parts; for, besides the aqueous vapours that are raised into the air, there are also sulphureous and saline particles that are raised up, and in the clouds mixed with the aqueous particles, the effects whereof are sometimes very sensible; as particularly in lightning and thunder, when the sulphureous and nitrous particles firing break out with that violence of light and noise, which is observable in thunder, and very much resembles gunpowder.

That there are nitrous particles raised into the air is evident from the nourishment which rain gives to vegetables more than any other water; and also by the collection of nitre or salt-petre in heaps of earth, out of which it has been extracted, if they be exposed to the air, so as to be kept from rain; not to mention other efforts, wherein the nitrous spirit in the air shows itself.

Clouds are the greatest and most considerable of all the meteors, as furnishing matter and plenty to the earth. They consist of very small drops of water, and are elevated a good distance above the surface of the earth; for a cloud is nothing but a mist flying high in the air, as a mist is nothing but a cloud here below.

How vapours are raised into the air in invisible steams by the heat of the sun out of the sea, and moist parts of the earth, is easily understood; and there is a visible instance of it in ordinary distillations. But how these steams are collected into drops, which bring back the water again, is not so easy to determine.

To those that will carefully observe, perhaps it will appear probable, that it is by that, which the chymists call precipitation; to which it answers in all its parts.

The air may be looked on as a clear and pellucid menstruum, in which the insensible particles of dissolved matter float up and down, without being discerned, or troubling the pellucidity of the air; when on a sudden, as if it were by a precipitation, they gather into the very small but visible misty drops that make clouds.

This may be observed some times in a very clear sky; when, there not appearing any cloud, or any thing opake, in the whole horizon, one may see on a sudden clouds gather, and all the hemisphere overcast; which cannot be from the rising of the new aqueous vapours at that time, but from the precipitation of the moisture, that in invisible particles floated in the air, into very small, but very visible drops, which by a like cause being united into greater drops, they become too heavy to be sustained in the air, and so fall down in rain.

Hail seems to be the drops of rain frozen in their falling.

Snow is the small particles of water frozen before they unite into drops.

The regular figures, which branch out in flakes of snow, seem to show that there are some particles of salt mixed with the water, which makes them unite in certain angles.

The rainbow is reckoned one of the most remarkable meteors, though really it be no meteor at all; but the reflection of the sun-beams from the smallest drops of a cloud or mist, which are placed in a certain angle made by the concurrence of two lines, one drawn from the sun, and the other from the eye to these little drops in the cloud, which reflect the sun-beams; so that two people, looking upon a rainbow at the same time, do not see exactly the same rainbow.

CHAPTER VII. OF SPRINGS, RIVERS, AND THE SEA.

Part of the water that falls down from the clouds, runs away upon the surface of the earth into channels, which convey it to the sea; and part of it is imbibed in the spungy shell of the earth, from whence sinking lower by degrees, it falls down into subterranean channels, and so under ground passes into the sea; or else, meeting with beds of rock or clay, it is hindred from sinking lower, and so breaks out in springs, which are most commonly in the sides, or at the bottom of hilly ground.

Springs make little rivulets; those united make brooks; and those coming together make rivers, which empty themselves into the sea.

The sea is a great collection of waters in the deep valleys of the earth. If the earth were all plain, and had not those deep hollows, the earth would be all covered with water; because the water being lighter than the earth, would be above the earth, as the air is above the water.

The most remarkable thing in the sea is that motion of the water called tides. It is a rising and falling of the water of the sea. The cause of this is the attraction of the moon, whereby the part of the water in the great ocean, which is nearest the moon, being most strongly attracted, is raised higher than the rest; and the part opposite to it on the contrary side, being least attracted, is also higher than the rest. And these two opposite rises of the surface of the water in the great ocean, following the motion of the moon from east to west, and striking against the large coasts of the continents that lie in its way; from thence rebounds back again, and so makes floods and ebbs in narrow seas, and rivers remote from the great ocean. Herein we also see the reason of the times of the tides, and why they so constantly follow the course of the moon.

CHAPTER VIII. OF SEVERAL SORTS OF EARTH, STONES, METALS, MINERALS, AND OTHER FOSSILS.

This solid globe we live upon is called the earth, though it contains in it a great variety of bodies, several whereof are not properly earth; which word, taken in a more limited sense, signifies such parts of this globe as are capable, being exposed to the air, to give rooting and nourishment to plants, so that they may stand and grow in it. With such earth as this, the greatest part of the surface of this globe is covered; and it is as it were the store-house, from whence all the living creatures of our world have originally their provisions; for from thence all the plants have their sustenance, and some few animals, and from these all the other animals.

Of earth, taken in this sense, there are several sorts, v. g. common mould, or garden earth, clay of several kinds, sandy soils.

Besides these, there is medicinal earth; as that which is called terra lemnia, bolus armena, and divers others.

After the several earths, we may consider the parts of the surface of this globe, which is barren; and such, for the most, are sand, gravel, chalk, and rocks, which produce nothing, where they have no earth mixt amongst them. Barren sands are of divers kinds, and consist of several little irregular stones without any earth; and of such there are great deserts to be seen in several parts of the world.

Besides these, which are most remarkable on the surface of the earth, there are found deeper, in this globe, many other bodies, which, because we discover by digging into the bowels of the earth, are called by one common name, fossils; under which are comprehended metals, minerals or half metals, stones of divers kinds, and sundry bodies that have the texture between earth and stone.

To begin with those fossils which come nearest the earth; under this head we may reckon the several sorts of oker, chalk, that which they call black-lead, and other bodies of this kind, which are harder than earth, but have not the consistency and hardness of perfect stone.

Next to these may be considered stones of all sorts; whereof there is almost an infinite variety. Some of the most remarkable, either for beauty or use, are these: marble of all kinds, porphyry, granate, free-stone, &c. flints, agates, cornelians, pebbles, under which kind come the precious stones, which are but pebbles of an excessive hardness, and when they are cut and polished, they have an extraordinary lustre. The most noted and esteemed are, diamonds, rubies, amethysts, emeralds, topazes, opals.

Besides these, we must not omit those which, though of not so much beauty, yet are of greater use, viz. loadstones, whetstones of all kinds, limestones, callamine, or lapis calaminaris; and abundance of others.

Besides these, there are found in the earth several sorts of salts, as eating or common salt, vitriol, sal gemma, and others.

The minerals, or semi-metals, that are dug out of the bowels of the earth, are antimony, cinnabar, zink, &c. to which may be added brimstone.

But the bodies of most use, that are sought for out of the depths of the earth, are the metals; which are distinguished from other bodies by their weight, fusibility, and malleableness; of which there are these sorts, gold, silver, copper, tin, lead, and, the most valuable of them all, iron; to which one may join that anomalous body quicksilver, or mercury.

He that desires to be more particularly informed concerning the qualities and properties of these subterraneous bodies, may consult natural historians and chymists.

What lies deeper towards the centre of the earth we know not, but a very little beneath the surface of this globe, and whatever we fetch from under ground, is only what is lodged in the shell of the earth.

All stones, metals, and minerals, are real vegetables; that is, grow organically from proper seeds, as well as plants.

CHAPTER IX. OF VEGETABLES, OR PLANTS.

Next to the earth itself, we may consider those that are maintained on its surface; which, though they are fastened to it, yet are very distinct from it; and those are the whole tribe of vegetables or plants. These may be divided into three sorts, herbs, shrubs, and trees.

Herbs are those plants whose stalks are soft, and have nothing woody in them, as grass, sowthistle, and hemlock. Shrubs and trees have all wood in them; but with this difference, that shrubs grow not to the height of trees, and usually spread into branches near the surface of the earth, whereas trees generally shoot up in one great stem or body, and then, at a good distance from the earth, spread into branches; thus gooseberries, and currants, are shrubs; oaks, and cherries, are trees.

In plants, the most considerable parts are these, the root, the stalk, the leaves, the flower, and the seed. There are very few of them that have not all these parts, though some there are that have no stalk; others that have no leaves; and others that have no flowers. But without seed or root I think there are none.

In vegetables, there are two things chiefly to be considered, their nourishment and propagation.

Their nourishment is thus: the small and tender fibres of the roots, being spread under ground, imbibe, from the moist earth, juice fit for their nourishment; this is conveyed by the stalk up into the branches, and leaves, through little, and, in some plants, imperceptible tubes, and from thence, by the bark, returns again to the root; so that there is in vegetables, as well as animals, a circulation of the vital liquor. By what impulse it is moved, is somewhat hard to discover. It seems to be from the difference of day and night, and other changes in the heat of the air; for the heat dilating, and the cold contracting those little tubes, supposing there be valves in them, it is easy to be conceived how the circulation is performed in plants, where it is not required to be so rapid and quick as in animals.

Nature has provided for the propagation of the species of plants several ways. The first and general is by seed. Besides this, some plants are raised from any part of the root set in the ground; others by new roots that are propagated from the old one, as in tulips; others by offsets; and in others, the branches set in the ground will take root and grow; and last of all, grafting and inoculation, in certain sorts, are known ways of propagation. All these ways of increasing plants make one good part of the skill of gardening; and from the books of gardeners may be best learnt.

CHAPTER X. OF ANIMALS.

There is another sort of creatures belonging to this our earth, rather as inhabitants than parts of it. They differ in this from plants, that they are not fixed to any one place, but have a freedom of motion up and down, and, besides, have sense to guide them in their motions.

Man and brute, divide all the animals of this our globe.

Brutes may be considered as either aerial, terrestrial, aquatic, or amphibious. I call those aerial, which have wings, wherewith they can support themselves in the air. Terrestrial, are those, whose only place of rest is upon the earth. Aquatic, are those, whose constant abode is upon the water. Those are called amphibious, which live freely in the air upon the earth, and yet are observed to live long upon the water, as if they were natural inhabitants of that element; though it be worth the examination to know, whether any of those creatures that live at their ease, and by choice, a good while or at any time upon the earth, can live a long time together perfectly under water.

Aerial animals may be subdivided into birds, and flies.

Fishes, which are the chief part of aquatic animals, may be divided into shell-fishes, scaly fishes, and those that have neither apparent scales nor shells.

And the terrestrial animals may be divided into quadrupeds or beasts, reptiles, which have many feet, and serpents, which have no feet at all.

Insects, which in their several changes belong to several of the before-mentioned divisions, may be considered together as one great tribe of animals. They are called insects, from a separation in the middle of their bodies, whereby they are, as it were, cut into two parts, which are joined together by a small ligature; as we see in wasps, common flies, and the like.

Besides all these, there are some animals that are not perfectly of these kinds, but placed, as it were, in the middle betwixt two of them, by something of both; as bats, which have something of beasts and birds in them.

Some reptiles of the earth, and some of aquatics, want one or more of the senses, which are in perfecter animals; as worms, oysters, cockles, &c.

Animals are nourished by food, taken in at the mouth, digested in the stomach, and thence by fit vessels distributed over the whole body, as is described in books of anatomy.

The greatest part of animals have five senses, viz. seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, and feeling. These, and the way of nourishment of animals, we shall more particularly consider; because they are common to man with beasts.

The way of nourishment of animals, particularly of man, is by food taken in at the mouth, which being chewed there, is broken and mixed with the saliva, and thereby prepared for an easier and better digestion in the stomach.

When the stomach has performed its office upon the food, it protrudes it into the guts, by whose peristaltic motion it is gently conveyed along through the guts, and, as it passes, the chyle, which is the nutritive part, is separated from the excrementitious, by the lacteal veins; and from thence conveyed into the blood, with which it circulates till itself be concocted into blood. The blood, being by the vena cava brought into the right ventricle of the heart, by the contraction of that muscle, is driven through the arteria pulmonaris into the lungs; where the constantly inspired air mixing with it, enlivens it; and from thence being conveyed by the vena pulmonaris into the left ventricle of the heart, the contraction of the heart forces it out, and, by the arteries, distributes it into all parts of the body; from whence it returns by the veins into the right ventricle of the heart, to take the same course again. This is called the circulation of the blood; by which life and heat are communicated to every part of the body.

In the circulation of the blood, a good part of it goes up into the head; and by the brains are separated from it, or made out of it, the animal spirits; which, by the nerves, impart sense and motion to all parts of the body.

The instruments of motion are the muscles; the fibres whereof contracting themselves, move the several parts of the body.

This contraction of the muscles is, in some of them, by the direction of the mind, and in some of them without it; which is the difference between voluntary and involuntary motions, in the body.

CHAPTER XI. OF THE FIVE SENSES.

OF SEEING.

The organ of seeing is the eye; consisting of variety of parts wonderfully contrived, for the admitting and refracting the rays of light; so that those that come from the same point of the object, and fall upon different parts of the pupil, are brought to meet again at the bottom of the eye, whereby the whole object is painted on the retina that is spread there.

That which immediately affects the sight, and produces in us that sensation which we call seeing, is light.

Light may be considered either, first, as it radiates from luminous bodies directly to our eyes; and thus we see luminous bodies themselves, as the sun, or a flame, &c.; or secondly, as it is reflected from other bodies; and thus we see a man, or a picture, by the rays of light reflected from them to our eyes.

Bodies, in respect of light, may be divided into three sorts; first, those that emit rays of light, as the sun and fixt stars; secondly, those that transmit the rays of light, as the air; thirdly, those that reflect the rays of light, as iron, earth, &c. The first are called luminous; the second pellucid; and the third opake.

The rays of light themselves are not seen; but by them the bodies, from which they originally come; as the sun, or a fixt star; or the bodies, from which they are reflected; as a horse, or a tulip. When the moon shines, we do not see the rays which come from the sun to the moon, but by them we see the moon, from whence they are reflected.

If the eye be placed in the medium, through which the rays pass to it, the medium is not seen at all; for instance, we do not see the air through which the rays come to our eyes. But if a pellucid body, through which the light comes, be at a distance from our eye, we see that body, as well as the bodies, from whence the rays come that pass through them to come to our eyes. For instance, we do not only see bodies through a pair of spectacles, but we see the glass itself. The reason whereof is, that pellucid bodies being bodies, the surfaces of which reflect some rays of light from their solid parts; these surfaces, placed at a convenient distance from the eye, may be seen by those reflected rays; as, at the same time, other bodies beyond those pellucid ones may be seen by the transmitted rays.

Opake bodies are of two sorts, specular, or not specular. Specular bodies, or mirrours, are such opake bodies, whose surfaces are polished; whereby they, reflecting the rays in the same order as they come from other bodies, show us their images.

The rays that are reflected from opake bodies, always bring with them to the eye the idea of colour; and this colour is nothing else, in the bodies, but a disposition to reflect to the eye more copiously one sort of rays than another. For particular rays are originally endowed with particular colours; some are red, others blue, others yellow, and others green, &c.

Every ray of light, as it comes from the sun, seems a bundle of all these several sorts of rays; and as some of them are more refrangible than others; that is, are more turned out of their course, in passing from one medium to another; it follows, that after such refraction they will be separated, and their distinct colour observed. Of these, the most refrangible are violet, and the least red; and the intermediate ones, in order, are indigo, blue, green, yellow, and orange. This separation is very entertaining, and will be observed with pleasure in holding a prism in the beams of the sun.

As all these rays differ in refrangibility, so they do in reflexibility; that is, in the property of being more easily reflected from certain bodies, than from others; and hence arise, as hath been said, all the colours of bodies; which are, in a manner, infinite, as an infinite number of compositions and proportions, of the original colours, may be imagined.

The whiteness of the sun’s light is compounded of all the original colours, mixed in a due proportion.

Whiteness, in bodies, is but a disposition to reflect all colours of light, nearly in the proportion they are mixed in the original rays; as, on the contrary, blackness is only a disposition to absorb or stifle, without reflection, most of the rays of every sort that fall on the bodies.

Light is successively propagated with an almost inconceivable swiftness; for it comes from the sun, to this our earth, in about seven or eight minutes of time, which distance is about 80,000,000 English miles.

Besides colour, we are supposed to see figure, but, in truth, that which we perceive when we see figure, as perceivable by sight, is nothing but the termination of colour.

OF HEARING.

Next to seeing, hearing is the most extensive of our senses. The ear is the organ of hearing, whose curious structure is to be learnt from anatomy.

That which is conveyed into the brain by the ear is called sound; though, in truth, till it come to reach and affect the perceptive part, it be nothing but motion.

The motion, which produces in us the perception of sound, is a vibration of the air, caused by an exceeding short, but quick, tremulous motion of the body, from which it is propagated; and therefore we consider and denominate them as bodies sounding.

That sound is the effect of such a short, brisk, vibrating motion of bodies, from which it is propagated, may be known from what is observed and felt in the strings of instruments, and the trembling of bells, as long as we perceive any sound come from them; for as soon as that vibration is stopt, or ceases in them, the perception ceases also.

The propagation of sound is very quick, but not approaching that of light. Sounds move about 1140 English feet in a second of time; and in seven or eight minutes of time, they move about one hundred English miles.

OF SMELLING.

Smelling is another sense, that seems to be wrought on by bodies at a distance; though that which immediately affects the organ, and produces in us the sensation of any smell, are effluvia, or invisible particles, that coming from bodies at a distance, immediately affect the olfactory nerves.

Smelling bodies seem perpetually to send forth effluvia, or steams, without sensibly wasting at all. Thus a grain of musk will send forth odoriferous particles for scores of years together, without its being spent; whereby one would conclude that these particles are very small; and yet it is plain, that they are much grosser than the rays of light, which have a free passage through glass; and grosser also than the magnetic effluvia, which pass freely through all bodies, when those that produce smell will not pass through the thin membranes of a bladder, and many of them scarce ordinary white paper.

There is a great variety of smells, though we have but a few names for them; sweet, stinking, sour, rank, and musty, are almost all the denominations we have for odours; though the smell of a violet, and of musk, both called sweet, are as distinct as any two smells whatsoever.

OF TASTE.

Taste is the next sense to be considered.

The organ of taste is the tongue and palate.

Bodies that emit light, sounds, and smells, are seen, heard, and smelt at a distance; but bodies are not tasted, but by immediate application to the organ; for till our meat touch our tongues, or palates, we taste it not, how near soever it be.

It may be observed of tastes, that though there be a great variety of them, yet, as in smells, they have only some few general names; as sweet, bitter, sour, harsh, rank, and some few others.

OF TOUCH.

The fifth and last of our senses is touch; a sense spread over the whole body, though it be most eminently placed in the ends of the fingers.

By this sense the tangible qualities of bodies are discerned; as hard, soft, smooth, rough, dry, wet, clammy, and the like.

But the most considerable of the qualities, that are perceived by this sense, are heat and cold.

The due temperament of those two opposite qualities, is the great instrument of nature, that she makes use of in most, if not all, her productions.

Heat is a very brisk agitation of the insensible parts of the object, which produces in us that sensation, from whence we denominate the object hot; so what in our sensation is heat, in the object is nothing but motion. This appears by the way whereby heat is produced; for we see that the rubbing of a brass nail upon a board will make it very hot, and the axle-trees of carts and coaches are often hot, and sometimes to a degree, that it sets them on fire, by the rubbing of the nave of the wheel upon it.

On the other side, the utmost degree of cold is the cessation of that motion of the insensible particles, which to our touch is heat.

Bodies are denominated hot and cold in proportion to the present temperament of that part of our body to which they are applied; so that feels hot to one, which seems cold to another; nay, the same body, felt by the two hands of the same man, may at the same time appear hot to the one, and cold to the other: because the motion of the insensible particles of it may be more brisk than that of the particles of the other.

Besides the objects before-mentioned, which are peculiar to each of our senses, as light, and colour of the sight; sound of hearing; odours of smelling; savours of tasting; and tangible qualities of the touch; there are two others that are common to all the senses; and those are pleasure and pain, which they may receive by and with their peculiar objects. Thus, too much light offends the eye; some sounds delight, and others grate the ear; heat in a certain degree is very pleasant, which may be augmented to the greatest torment; and so the rest.

These five senses are common to beasts with men; nay, in some of them, some brutes exceed mankind. But men are endowed with other faculties, which far excel any thing that is to be found in the other animals in this our globe.

Memory also brutes may be supposed to have, as well as men.

CHAPTER XII. OF THE UNDERSTANDING OF MAN.

The understanding of man does so surpass that of brutes, that some are of opinion brutes are mere machines, without any manner of perception at all. But letting this opinion alone, as ill-grounded, we will proceed to the consideration of human understanding, and the distinct operations thereof.

The lowest degree of it consists in perception, which we have before in part taken notice of, in our discourse of the senses. Concerning which it may be convenient farther to observe, that, to conceive a right notion of perception, we must consider the distinct objects of it, which are simple ideas; v. g. such as are those signified by these words, scarlet, blue, sweet, bitter, heat, cold, &c. from the other objects of our senses; to which we may add the internal operations of our minds, as the objects of our own reflection, such as are thinking, willing, &c.

Out of these simple ideas are made, by putting them together, several compounded or complex ideas; as those signified by the words pebble, marygold, horse.

The next thing the understanding doth in its progress to knowledge, is to abstract its ideas, by which abstraction they are made general.

A general idea is an idea in the mind, considered there as separated from time and place; and so capable to represent any particular being that is conformable to it. Knowledge, which is the highest degree of the speculative faculties, consists in the perception of the truth of affirmative, or negative, propositions.

This perception is either immediate, or mediate. Immediate perception of the agreement, or disagreement, of two ideas, is when, by comparing them together in our minds, we see, or, as it were, behold, their agreement, or disagreement. This therefore is called intuitive knowledge. Thus we see that red is not green; that the whole is bigger than a part; and that two and two are equal to four.

The truth of these, and the like propositions, we know by a bare simple intuition of the ideas themselves, without any more ado; and such propositions are called self-evident.

The mediate perception of the agreement, or disagreement, of two ideas, is when, by the intervention of one or more other ideas, their agreement, or disagreement, is shown. This is called demonstration, or rational knowledge. For instance: The inequality of the breadth of two windows, or two rivers, or any two bodies that cannot be put together, may be known by the intervention of the same measure, applied to them both; and so it is in our general ideas, whose agreement or disagreement may be often shown by the intervention of some other ideas, so as to produce demonstrative knowledge; where the ideas in question cannot be brought together, and immediately compared, so as to produce intuitive knowledge.

The understanding doth not know only certain truth; but also judges of probability, which consists in the likely agreement, or disagreement, of ideas.

The assenting to any proposition as probable is called opinion or belief.

We have hitherto considered the great and visible parts of the universe, and those great masses of matter, the stars, planets, and particularly this our earth, together with the inanimate parts, and animate inhabitants of it; it may be now fit to consider what these sensible bodies are made of, and that is of unconceivably small bodies, or atoms, out of whose various combinations bigger moleculæ are made: and so, by a greater and greater composition, bigger bodies; and out of these the whole material world is constituted.

By the figure, bulk, texture, and motion, of these small and insensible corpuscles, all the phænomena of bodies may be explained.

A NEW METHOD OF A COMMON-PLACE-BOOK. TRANSLATED OUT OF THE FRENCH FROM THE SECOND VOLUME OF THE BIBLIOTHEQUE UNIVERSELLE.

2.

Epistola.] A letter from Mr. Locke to Mr. Toignard, containing a new and easymethod of a common-place-book, to which an index of two pages is sufficient.

At length, sir, in obedience to you, I publish my “method of a common-place-book.” I am ashamed that I deferred so long complying with your request; but I esteemed it so mean a thing, as not to deserve publishing, in an age so full of useful inventions, as ours is. You may remember, that I freely communicated it to you, and several others, to whom I imagined it would not be unacceptable: so that it was not to reserve the sole use of it to myself, that I declined publishing it. But the regard I had to the public discouraged me from presenting it with such a trifle. Yet my obligations to you, and the friendship between us, compel me now to follow your advice. Your last letter has perfectly determined me to it, and I am convinced that I ought not to delay publishing it, when you tell me, that an experience of several years has showed its usefulness, and several of your friends, to whom you have communicated it. There is no need I should tell you, how useful it has been to me, after five and twenty years experience, as I told you, eight years since, when I had the honour to wait on you at Paris, and when I might have been instructed by your learned and agreeable discourse. What I aim at now, by this letter, is to testify publicly the esteem and respect I have for you, and to convince you how much I am, sir, your, &c.

3.

Before I enter on my subject, it is fit to acquaint the reader, that this tract is disposed in the same manner that the common-place-book ought to be disposed. It will be understood by reading what follows, what is the meaning of the Latin titles on the top of the backside of each leaf, and at the bottom [a little below the top] of this page.

Ebionitæ.] In eorum evangelio, quod secundum Hebræos dicebatur, historia quæ habetur Matth. xix. 16. et alia quædam, erat interpolata in hunc modum: “Dixit ad eum alter divitum, magister, quid bonum faciens vivam? Dixit ei Dominus, legem & prophetas, fac. Respondit ad eum, feci. Dixit ei: vade, vende omnia quæ possides, & divide pauperibus, & veni, sequere me. Cœpit autem dives scalpere caput suum, & non placuit ei. Et dixit ad eum Dominus: quomodo dicis, legem feci & prophetas? cém scriptum sit in lege, diliges proximum tuum sicut teipsum: & ecce multi fratres tui filii Abrahæ amicti sunt stercore, morientes præ fame, & domus tua plena est bonis multis, & non egreditur omnino aliquid ex eâ ad eos. Et conversus, dixit Simoni, discipulo suo, sedenti apud se: Simon fili Johannæ, facilius est camelum intrare per foramen acus, quam divitem in regnum cœlorum.” Nimirum hæc ideo immutavit Ebion, quia Christum nec Dei filium, nec νομοθέτην sed nudum interpretem legis per Mosem datæ agnoscebat.

4.

In the Gospel of the Ebionites, which they called the Gospel according to the Hebrews, the story, that is in the xixth of St. Matth. and in the 16th and following verses, was changed after this manner: “One of the rich men said to him: Master, what shall I do that I may have life? Jesus said to him: Obey the law and the prophets. He answered, I have done so. Jesus said unto him, Go, sell what thou hast, divide it among the poor, and then come and follow me. Upon which the rich man began to scratch his head, and to dislike the advice of Jesus: and the Lord said unto him, How can you say you have done as the law and the pro- Adversariorum Methodus.] I take a paper book of what size I please. I divide the two first pages that face one another by parallel lines into five and twenty equal parts, every fifth line black, the other red. I then cut them perpendicularly by other lines that I draw from the top to the bottom of the page, as you may see in the table prefixed. I put about the middle of each five spaces one of the twenty letters I design to make use of, and, a little forward in each space, the five vowels, one below another, in their natural order. This is the index to the whole volume, how big soever it may be.

The index being made after this manner, I leave a margin in all the other pages of the book, of about the largeness of an inch, in a volume, in folio, or a little larger; and, in a less volume, smaller in proportion.

If I would put any thing in my Common-Place-Book, I find out a head to which I may refer it. Each head ought to be some important and essential word to the matter in hand, and in that word regard is to be had to the first letter, and the vowel that follows it; for upon these two letters depends all the use of the index.

5.

I omit three letters of the alphabet as of no use to me, viz. K. Y. W. which are supplied by C. I. U. that are equivalent to them. I put the letter Q. that is always followed with an u. in the fifth space of Z. By throwing Q. last in my index, I preserve the regularity of my index, and diminish not in the least its extent; for it seldom happens that there is any head begins with Z. u. I have found none in the five and twenty years I have used this method. If nevertheless it be necessary, nothing hinders but that one may make a reference after Q. u. provided it be done with any kind of distinction; but for more exactness a place may be assigned For Q. u. below the index, as I have formerly done. When I meet with any thing, that I think fit to put into my common-place-book, I first find a proper head. Suppose, for example, that the head be Epistola, I look into the index for the first letter and the following vowel, which in this instance are E. i. if in the space marked E. i. there is any number that directs me to the page designed for words that begin with an E. and whose first vowel, after the initial letter, is I; I must then write under the word Epistola, in that page, what I have to remark. I write the head in large letters, and begin a little way out into the margin, and I continue on the line, in writing what I have to say. I observe constantly this rule, that only the head appears in the margin, and that it be continued on without ever doubling the line in the margin, by which means the heads will be obvious at first sight.

If I find no number in the index, in the space E. i. I look into my book for the first backside of a leaf that is not written in, which, in a book where there is yet nothing but the index, must be . I write then, in my index after E. i. the number 2. and the head Epistola at the top of the margin of the second page, and all that I put under that head, in the same page, as you see I have done in the second page of this method. From that time the class E. i. is wholly in possession of the second and third pages.

V. 6.

They are to be employed only on words that begin with an E, and whose nearest vowel is an I, as Ebionitæ (see the third page) Episcopus, Echinus, Edictum, Efficacia, &c. The reason, why I begin always at the top of the backside of a leaf, and assign to one class two pages, that face one another, rather than an entire leaf, is, because the heads of the class appear Adversariorum Methodus.] all at once, without the trouble of turning over a leaf.

Every time that I would write a new head, I look first in my index for the characteristic letters of the words, and I see, by the number that follows, what the page is that is assigned to the class of that head. If there is no number, I must look for the first backside of a page that is blank. I then set down the number in the index, and design that page, with that of the right side of the following leaf, to this new class. Let it be, for example, the word Adversaria; if I see no number in the space A. e. I seek for the first backside of a leaf, which being at . I set down in the space A. e. the number 4. and in the fourth page the head Adversaria, with all that I write under it, as I have already informed you. From this time the fourth page with the fifth that follows is reserved for the class A. e. that is to say, for the heads that begin with an A, and whose next vowel is an E; as for instance, Aer, Aera, Agesilaus, Acheron, &c.

7.

When the two pages designed for one class are full, I look forwards for the next backside of a leaf, that is blank. If it be that which immediately follows, I write, at the bottom of the margin, in the page that I have filled, the letter V, that is to say, Verte, turn over; as likewise the same at the top of the next page. If the pages, that immediately follow, are already filled by other classes, I write at the bottom of the page last filled, V, and the number of the next empty backside of a page. At the beginning of that page I write down the head, under which I go on, with what I had to put in my common-place-book, as if it had been in the same page. At the top of this new backside of a leaf, I set down the number of the page I filled last. By these numbers which refer to one another, the first whereof is at the bottom of one page, and the second is at the beginning of another, one joins matter that is separated, as if there was nothing between them. For, by this reciprocal reference of numbers, one may turn, as one leaf, all those that are between the two, even as if they were pasted together. You have an example of this in the third and tenth pages.

Every time I put a number at the bottom of a page, I put it also into the index; but when I put only a V, I make no addition in the index; the reason whereof is plain.

If the head is a monosyllable and begins with a vowel, that vowel is at the same time both the first letter of the word, and the characteristic vowel. Therefore I write the words Ars in A a and Os in O o.

You may see by what I have said, that one is to begin to write each class of words, on the backside of a page. It may happen, upon that account, that the backside of all the pages may be full, and yet there may remain several pages on the right hand, which are empty. Now if you have a mind to fill your book, you may assign these right sides, which are wholly blank, to new classes.

If any one imagines that these hundred classes are not sufficient to comprehend all sorts of subjects without confusion, he may follow the same method, and yet augment the number to five hundred, in adding a vowel. But having experienced both the one and the other method, I prefer the first; and usage will convince those, who shall try it, how well it will serve the purpose aimed at; especially if one has a book for each science, upon which one makes collections, or at least two for the two heads, to which one may refer all our knowledge, viz. moral philosophy, and natural.

V. 8.

You may add a third, which may be called the knowledge of signs, which relates to the use Adversariorum Methodus.] of words, and is of much more extent than mere criticism.

As to the language, in which one ought to express the heads, I esteem the Latin tongue most commodious, provided the nominative case be always kept to, for fear lest in words of two syllables, or in monosyllables that begin with the vowel, the change, which happens in oblique cases, should occasion confusion. But it is not of much consequence what language is made use of, provided there be no mixture in the heads, of different languages.

9.

To take notice of a place in an author, from whom I quote something, I make use of this method: before I write any thing, I put the name of the author in my common-place-book, and under that name the title of the treatise, the size of the volume, the time and place of its edition, and (what ought never to be omitted) the number of pages that the whole book contains. For example, I put into the class M. a. “Marshami Canon Chronicus Ægyptiacus, Græcus, & disquisitiones fol.” London 1672, . This number of pages serves me for the future to mark the particular treatise of this author, and the edition I make use of. I have no need to mark the place, otherwise than in setting down the number of the page from whence I have drawn what I have wrote, just above the number of pages contained in the whole volume. You will see an example in Acherusia, where the number 259 is just above the number 626, that is to say, the number of the page, where I take my matter, is just above the number of pages of the whole volume. By this means I not only save myself the trouble of writing Canon Chronicus Ægyptiacus, &c. but am able by the rule of three to find out the same passage in any other edition, by looking for the number of its pages; since the edition I have used, which contains 626, gives me 259. You will not indeed always light on the very page you want, because of the breaches, that are made in different editions of books, and that are not always equal in proportion; but you are never very far from the place you want, and it is better to be able to find a passage, in turning over a few pages, than to be obliged to turn over a whole book to find it, as it happens, when the book has no index, or when the index is not exact.

V. 3. 10.

Acheron.] “Pratum, ficta, mortuorum habitatio, est locus prope Memphin, juxta paludem, quam vocant Acherusiam, &c.” This is a passage out of D. Siculus, the sense whereof is this: the fields, where they feign that the dead inhabit, are only a place near Memphis, near a march called Acherusia, about which is a most delightful country, where one may behold lakes and forests of lotus and calamus. It is with reason, that Orpheus said, the dead inhabit these places, because there the Egyptians celebrate the greatest part, and the most august, of their funeral solemnities. They carry the dead over the Nile, and through the march of Acherusia, and there put them into subterraneous vaults. There are a great many other fables, among the Greeks, touching the state of the dead, which very well agree with what is at this day practised in Egypt. For they call the boat, in which the dead are transported, Baris; and a certain piece of money is given to the ferry-man for a passage, who, in their language, is called Charon. Near this place is a temple of Hecate in the shades, &c. and the gates of Cocytus and Lethe, shut up with bars of brass. There are other gates, which are called the gates of truth, with the statue of justice, before them, which had no head. Marsham. 259/626. Ebionitæ.] “phets direct you? since it is written in the law, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself; and there are many of thy brethren, children of Abraham, who are almost naked, and who are ready to die with hunger, while thy house is full of good things, and yet thou givest them no help nor assistance. And turning himself towards Simon, his disciple, who sat near him; Simon, son of Johanna, said he, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of heaven.” Ebion changed this passage, because he did not believe Jesus Christ to be the son of God, nor a law-giver, but a mere interpreter of the law of Moses. Grotius 333/1060.

11 12.

Hæretici.] “Nostrum igitur fuit, eligere & optare meliora, ut ad vestram correctionem auditum haberemus, non in contentione & æmulatione & persecutionibus, sed mansuetè consolando, benevolè hortando, lenitur disputando, sicut scriptum est, servum autem Domini non oportet litigare, sed mitem esse ad omnes, docibilem, patientem, in modestia corripientem diversa sentientes. Nostrum ergo fuit velle has partes expetere; Dei est volentibus & petentibus donare quod bonum est. Illi in vos sæviant qui nesciunt cum quo labore verum inveniatur, & quam difficile caveantur errores. Illi in vos sæviant, qui nesciunt quam rarum & arduum sit carnalia phantasmata piæ mentis serenitate superare. Ille in vos sæviant, qui nesciunt cum quantâ difficultate sanetur oculus interioris hominis, ut possit intueri solem suum; — Illi in vos sæviant, qui nesciunt quibus suspiriis & gemitibus fiat, ut ex quantulacunque parte possit intelligi Deus. Postremo, illi in vos sæviant, qui nullo tali errore decepti sunt, quali vos deceptos vident. In catholicâ enim ecclesiâ, ut omittam sincerissimam sapientiam, ad cujus cognitionem pauci spirituales in hâc vitâ perveniunt, ut eam ex minimâ quidem parte, qui homines sunt, sed tamen sine dubitatione, cognoscant: cæterum quippe turbam non intelligendi vivacitas, sed credendi simplicitas tutissimam facit.” Augustinus, Tom. vi. col. 116. fol. Basiliæ 1542, contra Epist. Manichæi, quam vocant fundamenti.

13.

“We were of opinion, that other methods were to be made choice of, and that, to recover you from your errours, we ought not to persecute you with injuries and invectives, or any ill treatment, but endeavour to procure your attention by soft words and exhortations, which would shew the tenderness we have for you: according to that passage of holy writ, “the servant of the Lord ought not to love strife and quarrels, but to be gentle, affable, and patient towards all mankind, and to reprove with modesty those who differ from him in opinion.”— “Let them only treat you with rigour, who know not how difficult it is to find out the truth, and avoid errour. Let those treat you with rigour, who are ignorant how rare and painful a work it is calmly to dissipate the carnal phantoms, that disturb even a pious mind. Let those treat you with rigour, who are ignorant of the extreme difficulty that there is to purify the eye of the inward man, to render him capable of seeing the truth, which is the sun, or light of the soul. Let those treat you with rigour, who have never felt the sighs and groans that a soul must have before it can attain any knowledge of the divine Being. To conclude, let those treat you with rigour who never have been seduced into errours, near a-kin to those you are engaged in. I pass over in silence that pure wisdom, which but a few spiritual men attain to in this life; so that though they know but in part, because they are men; yet nevertheless they know what they do know with certainty: for, in the catholic church, it is not penetration of mind, nor profound knowledge, but simplicity of faith, which puts men in a state of safety.

14.

Barbari quippe homines Romanæ, imo potius humanæ eruditionis expertes, qui nihil omnino sciunt, nisi quod à doctoribus suis audiunt: quod audiunt hoc sequuntur, ac sic necesse est eos qui totius literaturæ ac scientiæ ignari, sacramentum divinæ legis doctrina, magis quam lectione, cognoscunt, doctrinam potius retinere, quam legem. Itaque eis traditio magistrorum suorum & doctrina inveterata, quasi lex est, qui hoc sciunt, quod do- Confessio Fidei.] Periculosum nobis admodum atque etiam miserabile est, tot nunc fides existere, quot voluntates: & tot nobis doctrinas esse, quot mores: & tot causas blasphemiarum pullulare, quot vitia sunt: dum aut ita fides scribuntur, ut volumus, aut, ita ut volumus, intelliguntur. Et cum secundum unum Deum & unum Dominum, & unum baptisma, etiam fides una sit, excidimus ab eâ fide, quæ sola est: & dum plures fiant, id esse cœperunt, ne ulla sit; conscii enim nobis invicem sumus, post Nicæni conventûs synodum, nihil aliud quam fidem scribi. Dum in verbis pugna est, dum de novitatibus quæstio est, dum de ambiguis occasio est, dum de autoribus querela est, dum de studiis certamen est, dum in consensu difficultas est, dum alter alteri anathema esse cæpit, prope jam nemo est Christi, &c. Jam vero proximi anni fides, quid jam de immutatione in se habet? Primum, quæ homousion decernit taceri: sequens rursum, quæ houmousion decernit & prædicat. Tertium deinceps, quæ ousiam simpliciter à patribus præsumptam, per indulgentiam excusat. Postremum quartum, quæ non excusat, sed condemnat, &c. De similitudine autem filii Dei ad Deum patrem, quod miserabilis nostri temporis est fides, ne non ex toto, sed tantum ex portione sit similis? Egregii scilicet arbitri cœlestium sacramentorum conquisitores, invisibilium mysteriorum professionibus de fide Dei calumniamur, annuas atque menstruas de Deo fides decernimus, decretis pœnitemus, pœnitentes defendimus, defensos anathematizamus, aut in nostri aliena aut in alienis nostra damnamus, & mordentes invicem, jam absumpti sumus invicem.” Hilarius, , in lib. ad Constantium Augustum. Basil. 1550, fol.

15.

“It is a thing equally deplorable and dangerous that there are at present as many creeds as there are opinions among men, as many doctrines as inclinations; and as many sources of blasphemy, as there are faults among us; because we make creeds arbitrarily, and explain them as arbitrarily. And as there is but one faith; so there is but one only God, one Lord, and one baptism. We renounce this one faith, when we make so many different creeds; and that diversity is the reason why we have no true faith among us. We cannot be ignorant that, since the council of Nice, we have done nothing but make creeds. And while we fight against words, litigate about new questions, dispute about equivocal terms, complain of authors, that every one may make his own party triumph; while we cannot agree, while we anathematise one another, there is hardly one that adheres to Jesus Christ. What change was there not in the creed last year! The first council ordained a silence upon the homousion; the second established it, and would have us speak; the third excuses the fathers of the council, and pretends they took the word ousia simply: the fourth condemns them, instead of excusing them. With respect to the likeness of the Son of God to the Father, which is the faith of our deplorable times, they dispute whether he is like in whole, or in part. These are rare folks to unravel the secrets of heaven. Nevertheless it is for these creeds, about invisible mysteries, that we calumniate one another, and for our belief in God. We make creeds every year, nay every moon we repent of what we have done, we defend those that repent, we anathematise those we defended. So we condemn either the doctrine of others in ourselves, or our own in that of others, and, reciprocally tearing one another to pieces, we have been the cause of each other’s ruin.

V. 13. 16.

Hæretici.] centur. Hæretici ergo sunt, sed non scientes. Denique apud nos sunt hæretici, apud se non sunt. Nam in tantam se catholicusesse judicant, ut nos ipsos titulo hæreticæ appellationis infament. Quod ergo illi nobis sunt & hoc nos illis. Nos eos injuriam divinæ generationi facere certi sumus, quod minorem patre filium dicant. Illi nos injuriosos patri existimant, quia æquales esse credamus. Veritas apud nos est; sed illi apud se esse præsumunt. Honor Dei apud nos est: sed illi hoc arbitrantur, honorem divinitatis esse quod credunt. Inofficiosi sunt, sed illishoc est summum religionis officium. Impii sunt, sed hoc putant esse veram pietatem. Errant ergo, sed bono animo errant, non odio sed affectu Dei, honorare se dominum atque amare credentes. Quamvis non habeant rectam fidem, illi tamen hoc perfectam Dei, æstimant caritatem. Qualiter pro hoc ipso falsæ opinionis errore in die judicii puniendi sunt, nullus scire potest nisi judex. Interim idcirco eis, utreor, patientiam Deuscommodat, quia videt eos, etsi non rectè credere, affectu tamen piæ opinionis errare.” Salvinus. 162/339.

This bishop speaks here of the Arian Goths and Vandals: “They are, (says he,) Barbarians, who have no tincture of the Roman politeness, and who are ignorant of what is very commonly known among other men, and only know what their doctors have taught them, and follow what they have heard them say. Men so ignorant as these find themselves under a necessity of learning the mysteries of the gospel, rather by the instructions that are given them, than by books.”

17.

The tradition of their doctors and the received doctrines are the only rule they follow, because they know nothing but what they have taught them. They are then heretics, but they know it not. They are so in our account, but they believe it not; and think themselves so good catholics, that they treat us as heretics, judging of us as we do of them. We are persuaded that they believe amiss concerning the divine generation, when they maintain the Son is inferior to the Father; and they imagine that we rob the Father of his glory who believe them both to be equal. We have the truth on our side, and they pretend it is on theirs. We give to God his due honour, and they think they honour him better. They fail in their duty, but they imagine they perform perfectly well; and they make true piety to consist in what we call impious. They are in a mistake, but with a great deal of sincerity; and it is so far from being an effect of their hatred, that it is a mark of their love of God, since, by what they do, they imagine they show the greatest respect for the Lord, and zeal for his glory. Therefore, though they have not true faith, they nevertheless look upon that which they have as a perfect love of God. It belongs only to the judge of the universe to know how these men will be punished for their errours at the last day. Yet I believe God will show compassion towards them, because he sees their heart is more right than their belief, and that, if they are mistaken, it is their piety made them err.”

[none] [none]

The placing of certainty, as Mr. Locke does, in the perception of the agreement or disagreement of our ideas, the bishop of Worcester suspects may be of dangerous consequence to that article of faith which he has endeavoured to defend; to which Mr. Locke answers, since your lordship hath not, as I remember, shone, or gone about to show, how this proposition, viz. that certainty consists in the perception of the agreement or disagreement of two ideas, is opposite or inconsistent with that article of faith which your lordship has endeavoured to defend; it is plain, it is but your lordship’s fear, that it may be of dangerous consequence to it, which, as I humbly conceive, is no proof that it is any way inconsistent with that article.

Nobody, I think, can blame your lordship, or any one else, for being concerned for any article of the christian faith; but if that concern (as it may, and as we know it has done) makes any one apprehend danger, where no danger is, are we, therefore, to give up and condemn any proposition, because any one, though of the first rank and magnitude, fears it may be of dangerous consequence to any truth of religion, without showing that it is so? If such fears be the measures whereby to judge of truth and falsehood, the affirming that there are antipodes would be still a heresy: and the doctrine of the motion of the earth must be rejected, as overthrowing the truth of the scripture; for of that dangerous consequence it has been apprehended to be, by many learned and pious divines, out of their great concern for religion. And yet, notwithstanding those great apprehensions of what dangerous consequence it might be, it is now universally received by learned men, as an undoubted truth; and writ for by some, whose belief of the scripture is not at all questioned; and particularly, very lately, by a divine of the church of England, with great strength of reason, in his wonderfully ingenious New Theory of the Earth.

The reason your lordship gives of your fears, that it may be of such dangerous consequence to that article of faith which your lordship endeavours to defend, though it occur in more places than one, is only this, viz. That it is made use of by ill men to do mischief, i. e. to oppose that article of faith which your lordship hath endeavoured to defend. But, my lord, if it be a reason to lay by any thing as bad, because it is, or may be used to an ill purpose, I know not what will be innocent enough to be kept. Arms, which were made for our defence, are sometimes made use of to do mischief; and yet they are not thought of dangerous consequence for all that. Nobody lays by his sword and pistols, or thinks them of such dangerous consequence as to be neglected, or thrown away, because robbers, and the worst of men, sometimes make use of them, to take away honest men’s lives or goods. And the reason is, because they were designed, and will serve to preserve them. And who knows but this may be the present case? If your lordship thinks, that placing of certainty in the perception of the agreement or disagreement of ideas be to be rejected as false, because you apprehend it may be of dangerous consequence to that article of faith: on the other side, perhaps others, with me, may think it a defence against error, and so (as being of good use) to be received and adhered to.

I would not, my lord, be hereby thought to set up my own, or any one’s judgment against your lordship’s. But I have said this only to show, whilst the argument lies for or against the truth of any proposition, barely in an imagination that it may be of consequence to the supporting or overthrowing of any remote truth; it will be impossible, that way, to determine of the truth or falsehood of that proposition. For imagination will be set up against imagination, and the stronger probably will be against your lordship; the strongest imaginations being usually in the weakest heads. The only way, in this case, to put it past doubt, is to show the inconsistency of the two propositions; and then it will be seen, that one overthrows the other; the true, the false one.

Your lordship says, indeed, this is a new method of certainty. I will not say so myself, for fear of deserving a second reproof from your lordship, for being too forward to assume to myself the honour of being an original. But this, I think, gives me occasion, and will excuse me from being thought impertinent, if I ask your lordship whether there be any other, or older method of certainty? and what it is? For if there be no other, nor older than this, either this was always the method of certainty, and so mine is no new one; or else the world is obliged to me for this new one, after having been so long in the want of so necessary a thing as a method of certainty. If there be an older, I am sure your lordship cannot but know it: your condemning mine as new, as well as your thorough insight into antiquity, cannot but satisfy every body that you do. And therefore to set the world right in a thing of that great concernment, and to overthrow mine, and thereby prevent the dangerous consequence there is in my having unreasonably started it, will not, I humbly conceive, misbecome your lordship’s care of that article you have endeavoured to defend, nor the good-will you bear to truth in general. For I will be answerable for myself, that I shall; and I think I may be for all others, that they all will give off the placing of certainty in the perception of the agreement or disagreement of ideas, if your lordship will be pleased to show, that it lies in any thing else.

But truly, not to ascribe to myself an invention of what has been as old as knowledge is in the world, I must own I am not guilty of what your lordship is pleased to call starting new methods of certainty. Knowledge, ever since there has been any in the world, has consisted in one particular action in the mind; and so, I conceive, will continue to do to the end of it. And to start new methods of knowledge, or certainty (for they are to me the same thing) i. e. to find out and propose new methods of attaining knowledge, either with more ease and quickness, or in things yet unknown, is what I think nobody could blame: but this is not that which your lordship here means, by new methods of certainty. Your lordship, I think, means by it, the placing of certainty in something, wherein either it does not consist, or else wherein it was not placed before now; if this be to be called a new method of certainty. As to the latter of these, I shall know whether I am guilty or no, when your lordship will do me the favour to tell me, wherein it was placed before: which your lordship knows I professed myself ignorant of, when I writ my book, and so I am still. But if starting new methods of certainty be the placing of certainty in something wherein it does not consist: whether I have done that or no, I must appeal to the experience of mankind.

There are several actions of men’s minds, that they are conscious to themselves of performing, as willing, believing, knowing, &c. which they have so particular sense of, that they can distinguish them one from another; or else they could not say, when they willed, when they believed, and when they knew any thing. But though these actions were different enough from one another, not to be confounded by those who spoke of them, yet nobody that I had met with, had, in their writings, particularly set down wherein the act of knowing precisely consisted.

To this reflection upon the actions of my own mind the subject of my Essay concerning Human Understanding naturally led me; wherein if I have done any thing new, it has been to describe to others more particularly than had been done before, what it is their minds do when they perform that action which they call knowing; and if, upon examination, they observe I have given a true account of that action of their minds in all the parts of it, I suppose it will be in vain to dispute against what they find and feel in themselves. And if I have not told them right and exactly what they find and feel in themselves, when their minds perform the act of knowing, what I have said will be all in vain; men will not be persuaded against their senses. Knowledge is an internal perception of their minds; and if, when they reflect on it, they find it is not what I have said it is, my groundless conceit will not be hearkened to, but be exploded by every body, and die of itself; and nobody need to be at any pains to drive it out of the world. So impossible is it to find out, or start new methods of certainty, or to have them received, if any one places it in any thing, but in that wherein it really consists: much less can any one be in danger to be misled into error, by any such new, and to every one visibly senseless project. Can it be supposed, that any one could start a new method of seeing, and persuade men thereby, that they do not see what they do see? Is it to be feared that any one can cast such a mist over their eyes, that they should not know when they see, and so be led out of their way by it?

Knowledge, I find in myself, and I conceive in others, consists in the perception of the agreement or disagreement of the immediate objects of the mind in thinking, which I call ideas; but whether it does so in others or no, must be determined by their own experience, reflecting upon the action of their mind in knowing; for that I cannot alter, nor, I think, they themselves. But whether they will call those immediate objects of their minds in thinking ideas or no, is perfectly in their own choice. If they dislike that name, they may call them notions or conceptions, or how they please; it matters not, if they use them so as to avoid obscurity and confusion. If they are constantly used in the same and a known sense, every one has the liberty to please himself in his terms; there lies neither truth, nor error, nor science, in that; though those that take them for things, and not for what they are, bare arbitrary signs of our ideas, make a great deal ado often about them; as if some great matter lay in the use of this or that sound. All that I know, or can imagine of difference about them, is that those words are always best, whose significations are best known in the sense they are used; and so are least apt to bread confusion.

My lord, your lordship hath been pleased to find fault with my use of the new term, ideas, without telling me a better name for the immediate objects of the mind in thinking. Your lordship also has been pleased to find fault with my definition of knowledge, without doing me the favour to give me a better. For it is only about my definition of knowledge that all this stir concerning certainty is made. For, with me, to know and to be certain, is the same thing; what I know, that I am certain of; and what I am certain of, that I know. What reaches to knowledge, I think may be called certainty; and what comes short of certainty, I think cannot be called knowledge; as your lordship could not but observe in the 18th section of cha. of my 4th book, which you have quoted.

My definition of knowledge stands thus: “knowledge seems to me to be nothing but the perception of the connexion and agreement, or disagreement and repugnancy of any of our ideas.” This definition your lordship dislikes, and apprehends it may be of dangerous consequence as to that article of christian faith which your lordship hath endeavoured to defend. For this there is a very easy remedy: it is but for your lordship to set aside this definition of knowledge by giving us a better, and this danger is over. But your lordship chooses rather to have a controversy with my book for having it in it, and to put me upon the defence of it; for which I must acknowledge myself obliged to your lordship for affording me so much of your time, and for allowing me the honour of conversing so much with one so far above me in all respects.

Your lordship says, it may be of dangerous consequence to that article of christian faith which you have endeavoured to defend. Though the laws of disputing allow bare denial as a sufficient answer to sayings, without any offer of a proof: yet, my lord, to show how willing I am to give your lordship all satisfaction, in what you apprehend may be of dangerous consequence in my book, as to that article, I shall not stand still sullenly, and put your lordship upon the difficulty of showing wherein that danger lies; but shall on the other side, endeavour to show your lordship that that definition of mine, whether true or false, right or wrong, can be of no dangerous consequence to that article of faith. The reason which I shall offer for it, is this: because it can be of no consequence to it at all.

That which your lordship is afraid it may be dangerous to, is an article of faith: that which your lordship labours and is concerned for, is the certainty of faith. Now, my lord, I humbly conceive the certainty of faith, if your lordship thinks fit to call it so, has nothing to do with the certainty of knowledge. As to talk of the certainty of faith, seems all one to me, as to talk of the knowledge of believing, a way of speaking not easy to me to understand.

Place knowledge in what you will; start what new methods of certainty you please, that are apt to leave men’s minds more doubtful than before; place certainty on such ground as will leave little or no knowledge in the world: (for these are the arguments your lordship uses against my definition of knowledge) this shakes not at all, nor in the least concerns the assurance of faith; that is quite distinct from it, neither stands nor falls with knowledge.

Faith stands by itself, and upon grounds of its own; nor can be removed from them, and placed on those of knowledge. Their grounds are so far from being the same, or having any thing common, that when it is brought to certainty, faith is destroyed: it is knowledge then, and faith no longer.

With what assurance soever of believing I assent to any article of faith, so that I stedfastly venture my all upon it, it is still but believing. Bring it to certainty, and it ceases to be faith. I believe that Jesus Christ was crucified, dead, and buried, rose again the third day from the dead, and ascended into heaven: let now such methods of knowledge or certainty be started, as leave men’s minds more doubtful than before; let the grounds of knowledge be resolved into what any one pleases, it touches not my faith; the foundation of that stands as sure as before, and cannot be at all shaken by it; and one may as well say, that any thing that weakens the sight, or casts a mist before the eyes, endangers the hearing; as that any thing which alters the nature of knowledge (if that could be done) should be of dangerous consequence to an article of faith.

Whether then I am or am not mistaken, in the placing certainty in the perception of the agreement or disagreement of ideas; whether this account of knowledge be true or false, enlarges or straitens the bounds of it more than it should; faith still stands upon its own basis, which is not at all altered by it; and every article of that has just the same unmoved foundation, and the very same credibility, that it had before. So that, my lord, whatever I have said about certainty, and how much soever I may be out in it, if I am mistaken, your lordship has no reason to apprehend any danger to any article of faith from thence; every one of them stands upon the same bottom it did before, out of the reach of what belongs to knowledge and certainty. And thus much of my way of certainty by ideas; which, I hope, will satisfy your lordship how far it is from being dangerous to any article of the christian faith whatsoever.

In his 2d letter to the bishop of Worcester.

Against that assertion of Mr. Locke, that possibly we shall never be able to know whether any mere material being thinks or no, &c. the bishop of Worcester argues thus: if this be true, then, for all that we can know by our ideas of matter and thinking, matter may have a power of thinking: and, if this hold, then it is impossible to prove a spiritual substance in us from the idea of thinking; for how can we be assured by our ideas, that God hath not given such a power of thinking to matter so disposed as our bodies are? especially since it is said, “That, in respect of our notions, it is not much more remote from our comprehension to conceive that God can, if he pleases, superadd to our idea of matter a faculty of thinking, than that he should superadd to it another substance, with a faculty of thinking.” Whoever asserts this can never prove a spiritual substance in us from a faculty of thinking, because he cannot know, from the idea of matter and thinking, that matter so disposed cannot think: and he cannot be certain, that God hath not framed the matter of our bodies so as to be capable of it.

To which Mr. Locke answers thus: here your lordship argues, that upon my principles it cannot be proved that there is a spiritual substance in us. To which, give me leave, with submission, to say, that I think it may be proved from my principles, and I think I have done it; and the proof in my book stands thus: First, we experiment in ourselves thinking. The idea of this action or mode of thinking is inconsistent with the idea of self-subsistence, and therefore has a necessary connexion with a support or subject of inhesion: the idea of that support is what we call substance; and so from thinking experimented in us, we have a proof of a thinking substance in us, which in my sense is a spirit. Against this your lordship will argue, that, by what I have said of the possibility that God may, if he pleases, superadd to matter a faculty of thinking, it can never be proved that there is a spiritual substance in us, because, upon that supposition, it is possible it may be a material substance that thinks in us. I grant it; but add, that the general idea of substance being the same every where, the modification of thinking, or the power of thinking, joined to it, makes it a spirit, without considering what other modifications it has, as, whether it has the modification of solidity or no. As, on the other side, substance, that has the modification of solidity, is matter, whether it has the modification of thinking, or no. And therefore, if your lordship means by a spiritual, an immaterial substance, I grant I have not proved, nor upon my principles can it be proved, (your lordship meaning, as I think you do, demonstratively proved) that there is an immaterial substance in us that thinks. Though, I presume, from what I have said about this supposition of a system of matter, thinking (which there demonstrates that God is immaterial) will prove it in the highest degree probable, that the thinking substance in us is immaterial. But your lordship thinks not probability enough, and by charging the want of demonstration upon my principle, that the thinking thing in us is immaterial, your lordship seems to conclude it demonstrable from principles of philosophy. The demonstration I should with joy receive from your lordship, or any one. For though all the great ends of morality and religion are well enough secured without it, as I have shown, yet it would be a great advance of our knowledge in nature and philosophy.

To what I have said in my book, to show that all the great ends of religion and morality are secured barely by the immortality of the soul, without a necessary supposition that the soul is immaterial, I crave leave to add, that immortality may and shall be annexed to that, which in its own nature is neither immaterial nor immortal, as the apostle expressly declares in these words, For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality.

Perhaps my using the word spirit for a thinking substance, without excluding materiality out of it, will be thought too great a liberty, and such as deserves censure, because I leave immateriality out of the idea I make it a sign of. I readily own, that words should be sparingly ventured on in a sense wholly new; and nothing but absolute necessity can excuse the boldness of using any term in a sense whereof we can produce no example. But, in the present case, I think I have great authorities to justify me. The soul is agreed, on all hands, to be that in us which thinks. And he that will look into the first book of Cicero’s Tusculan questions, and into the sixth book of Virgil’s Æneid, will find, that these two great men, who of all the Romans best understood philosophy, thought, or at least did not deny the soul to be a subtile matter, which might come under the name of aura, or ignis, or æther, and this soul they both of them called spiritus: in the notion of which it is plain, they included only thought and active motion, without the total exclusion of matter. Whether they thought right in this, I do not say; that is not the question; but whether they spoke properly, when they called an active, thinking, subtile substance, out of which they excluded only gross and palpable matter, spiritus, spirit. I think that nobody will deny, that if any among the Romans can be allowed to speak properly, Tully and Virgil are the two who may most securely be depended on for it: and one of them speaking of the soul, says, Dum spiritus hos reget artus; and the other, Vita continetur corpore et spiritu. Where it is plain by corpus, he means (as generally every where) only gross matter that may be felt and handled, as appears by these words, Si cor, aut sanguis, aut cerebrum est animus: certe, quoniam est corpus, interibit cum reliquo corpore; si anima est, fortè dissipabitur; si ignis, extinguetur, Tusc. Quæst. l. 1. c. 11. Here Cicero opposes corpus to ignis and anima, i.e. aura, or breath. And the foundation of that his distinction of the soul, from that which he calls corpus or body, he gives a little lower in these words, Tanta ejus tenuitas ut fugiat aciem, ib. c. 22. Nor was it the heathen world alone that had this notion of spirit; the most enlightened of all the ancient people of God, Solomon himself, speaks after the same manner, that which befalleth the sons of men, befalleth beasts, even one thing befalleth them; as the one dieth, so dieth the other, yea, they have all one spirit. So I translate the Hebrew word חוך here, for so, I find it translated the very next verse but one; Who knoweth the spirit of man that goeth upward, and the spirit of the beast that goeth down to the earth? In which places it is plain, that Solomon applies the word חוך, and our translators of him the word spirit, to a substance, out of which materiality was not wholly excluded, unless the spirit of a beast that goeth downwards to the earth be immaterial. Nor did the way of speaking in our Saviour’s time vary from this: St. Luke tells us, that when our Saviour, after his resurrection, stood in the midst of them, they were affrighted, and supposed that they had seen πνιῦμα, the Greek word which always answers spirit in English; and so the translators of the Bible render it here, they supposed that they had seen a spirit. But our Saviour says to them, behold my hands and my feet, that it is I myself; handle me and see; for a spirit hath not flesh and bones, as you see me have. Which words of our Saviour put the same distinction between body and spirit, that Cicero did in the place above-cited, viz. That the one was a gross compages that could be felt and handled; and the other such as Virgil describes the ghost or soul of Anchises.

Ter conatus ibi collo dare brachia circum,

Ter frustra comprensa manus effugit imago,

Par levibus ventis volucrique simillima somno.

I would not be thought hereby to say, that spirit never does signify a purely immaterial substance. In that sense the scripture, I take it, speaks, when it says God is a spirit; and in that sense I have used it; and in that sense I have proved from my principles that there is a spiritual substance; and am certain that there is a spiritual immaterial substance: which is, I humbly conceive, a direct answer to your lordship’s question in the beginning of this argument, viz. How we come to be certain that there are spiritual substances, supposing this principle to be true, that the simple ideas by sensation and reflection are the sole matter and foundation of all our reasoning? But this hinders not, but that if God, that infinite, omnipotent, and perfectly immaterial Spirit, should please to give to a system of very subtile matter, sense and motion, it might with propriety of speech be called spirit, though materiality were not excluded out of its complex idea. Your lordship proceeds, It is said indeed elsewhere, that it is repugnant to the idea of senseless matter, that it should put into itself sense, perception, and knowledge. But this doth not reach the present case: which is not what matter can do of itself, but what matter prepared by an omnipotent hand can do. And what certainty can we have that he hath not done it? We can have none from the ideas, for those are given up in this case, and consequently we can have no certainty, upon these principles, whether we have any spiritual substance within us or not.

Your lordship in this paragraph proves, that, from what I say, we can have no certainty whether we have any spiritual substance in us or not. If by spiritual substance your lordship means an immaterial substance in us, as you speak, I grant what your lordship says is true, that it cannot upon these principles be demonstrated. But I must crave leave to say at the same time, that upon these principles it can be proved, to the highest degree of probability. If by spiritual substance your lordship means a thinking substance, I must dissent from your lordship, and say, that we can have a certainty, upon my principles, that there is a spiritual substance in us. In short, my lord, upon my principles, i. e. from the idea of thinking, we can have a certainty that there is a thinking substance in us; from hence we have a certainty that there is an eternal thinking substance. This thinking substance, which has been from eternity, I have proved to be immaterial. This eternal immaterial, thinking substance, has put into us a thinking substance, which, whether it be a material or immaterial substance, cannot be infallibly demonstrated from our ideas: though from them it may be proved, that it is to the highest degree probable that it is immaterial.

Again, the bishop of Worcester undertakes to prove from Mr. Locke’s principles, that we may be certain, “That the first eternal thinking Being, or omnipotent Spirit cannot, if he would, give to certain systems of created sensible matter, put together as he sees fit, some degrees of sense, perception, and thought.”

To which Mr. Locke has made the following answer in his third letter.

Your first argument I take to be this; that according to me, the knowledge we have being by our ideas, and our idea of matter in general being a solid substance, and our idea of body a solid extended figured substance; if I admit matter to be capable of thinking, I confound the idea of matter with the idea of a spirit: to which I answer, No; no more than I confound the idea of matter with the idea of a horse, when I say that matter in general is a solid extended substance; and that a horse is a material animal, or an extended solid substance with sense and spontaneous motion.

The idea of matter is an extended solid substance; wherever there is such a substance, there is matter, and the essence of matter, whatever other qualities, not contained in that essence, it shall please God to superadd to it. For example, God creates an extended solid substance, without the superadding any thing else to it, and so we may consider it at rest: to some parts of it he superadds motion, but it has still the essence of matter: other parts of it he frames into plants, with all the excellencies of vegetation, life, and beauty, which is to be found in a rose or peach tree, &c. above the essense of matter, in general, but it is still but matter: to other parts he adds sense and spontaneous motion, and those other properties that are to be found in an elephant. Hitherto it is not doubted but the power of God may go, and that the properties of a rose, a peach, or an elephant, superadded to matter, change not the properties of matter; but matter is in these things matter still. But if one venture to go one step farther and say, God may give to matter thought, reason, and volition, as well as sense and spontaneous motion, there are men ready presently to limit the power of the omnipotent Creator, and tell us he cannot do it; because it destroys the essence, or changes the essential properties of matter. To make good which assertion, they have no more to say, but that thought and reason are not included in the essence of matter. I grant it; but whatever excellency, not contained in its essence, be superadded to matter, it does not destroy the essence of matter, if it leaves it an extended solid substance: wherever that is, there is the essence of matter: and if every thing of greater perfection superadded to such a substance, destroys the essence of matter, what will become of the essence of matter in a plant or an animal, whose properties far exceed those of a mere extended solid substance?

But it is farther urged, that we cannot conceive how matter can think. I grant it: but to argue from thence, that God therefore cannot give to matter a faculty of thinking, is to say God’s omnipotency is limited to a narrow compass, because man’s understanding is so; and brings down God’s infinite power to the size of our capacities. If God can give no power to any parts of matter, but what men can account for from the essence of matter in general; if all such qualities and properties must destroy the essence, or change the essential properties of matter, which are to our conceptions above it, and we cannot conceive to be the natural consequence of that essence; it is plain, that the essence of matter is destroyed, and its essential properties changed, in most of the sensible parts of this our system. For it is visible, that all the planets have revolutions about certain remote centres, which I would have any one explain, or make conceivable by the bare essence, or natural powers depending on the essence of matter in general, without something added to that essence, which we cannot conceive; for the moving of matter in a crooked line, or the attraction of matter by matter, is all that can be said in the case; either of which it is above our reach to derive from the essence of matter or body in general; though one of these two must unavoidably be allowed to be superadded in this instance to the essence of matter in general. The omnipotent Creator advised not with us in the making of the world, and his ways are not the less excellent, because they are past finding out.

In the next place, the vegetable part of the creation is not doubted to be wholly material; and yet he that will look into it, will observe excellencies and operations in this part of matter, which he will not find contained in the essence of matter in general, nor be able to conceive they can be produced by it. And will he therefore say, that the essence of matter is destroyed in them, because they have properties and operations not contained in the essential properties of matter as matter, nor explicable by the essence of matter in general?

Let us advance one step farther, and we shall in the animal world meet with yet greater perfections and properties, no ways explicable by the essence of matter in general. If the omnipotent Creator had not superadded to the earth, which produced the irrational animals, qualities far surpassing those of the dull dead earth, out of which they were made, life, sense, and spontaneous motion, nobler qualities than were before in it, it had still remained rude senseless matter; and if to the individuals of each species he had not superadded a power of propagation, the species had perished with those individuals: but by these essences or properties of each species, superadded to the matter which they were made of, the essence or properties of matter in general were not destroyed or changed, any more than any thing that was in the individuals before was destroyed or changed by the power of generation, superadded to them by the first benediction of the Almighty.

In all such cases, the superinducement of greater perfections and nobler qualities destroys nothing of the essence or perfections that were there before; unless there can be showed a manifest repugnancy between them: but all the proof offered for that, is only, that we cannot conceive how matter, without such superadded perfections, can produce such effects; which is, in truth, no more than to say, matter in general, or every part of matter, as matter, has them not; but is no reason to prove, that God, if he pleases, cannot superadd them to some parts of matter, unless it can be proved to be a contradiction, that God should give to some parts of matter qualities and perfections, which matter in general has not; though we cannot conceive how matter is invested with them, or how it operates by virtue of those new endowments; nor is it to be wondered that we cannot, whilst we limit all its operations to those qualities it had before, and would explain them by the known properties of matter in general, without any such induced perfections. For, if this be a right rule of reasoning, to deny a thing to be, because we cannot conceive the manner how it comes to be; I shall desire them who use it to stick to this rule, and see what work it will make both in divinity as well as philosophy: and whether they can advance any thing more in favour of scepticism.

For to keep within the present subject of the power of thinking and self-motion, bestowed by omnipotent power in some parts of matter: the objection to this is, I cannot conceive how matter should think. What is the consequence? Ergo, God cannot give it a power to think. Let this stand for a good reason, and then proceed in other cases by the same. You cannot conceive how matter can attract matter at any distance, much less at the distance of 1,000,000 miles; ergo, God cannot give it such a power: you cannot conceive how matter should feel, or move itself, or affect an immaterial being, or be moved by it; ergo, God cannot give it such powers: which is in effect to deny gravity, and the revolution of the planets about the sun; to make brutes mere machines, without sense or spontaneous motion; and to allow man neither sense nor voluntary motion.

Let us apply this rule one degree farther. You cannot conceive how an extended solid substance should think, therefore God cannot make it think: can you conceive how your own soul, or any substance, thinks? You find indeed that you do think, and so do I: but I want to be told how the action of thinking is performed: this, I confess, is beyond my conception: and I would be glad any one, who conceives it, would explain it to me. God, I find, has given me this faculty; and since I cannot but be convinced of his power in this instance, which though I every moment experiment in myself, yet I cannot conceive the manner of; what would it be less than an insolent absurdity, to deny his power in other like cases, only for this reason, because I cannot conceive the manner how?

To explain this matter a little farther: God has created a substance; let it be, for example, a solid extended substance. Is God bound to give it, besides being, a power of action? that, I think, nobody will say: he therefore may leave it in a state of inactivity, and it will be nevertheless a substance; for action is not necessary to the being of any substance that God does create. God has likewise created and made to exist, de novo, an immaterial substance, which will not lose its being of a substance, though God should bestow on it nothing more but this bare being, without giving it any activity at all. Here are now two distinct substances, the one material, the other immaterial, both in a state of perfect inactivity. Now I ask, what power God can give to one of these substances (supposing them to retain the same distinct natures that they had as substances in their state of inactivity) which he cannot give to the other? In that state, it is plain, neither of them thinks; for thinking being an action, it cannot be denied, that God can put an end to any action of any created substance, without annihilating of the substance whereof it is an action; and if it be so, he can also create or give existence to such a substance, without giving that substance any action at all. By the same reason it is plain, that neither of them can move itself: now I would ask, why Omnipotency cannot give to either of these substances, which are equally in a state of perfect inactivity, the same power that it can give to the other? Let it be, for example, that of spontaneous or self-motion, which is a power that it is supposed God can give to an unsolid substance, but denied that he can give to solid substance.

If it be asked, why they limit the omnipotency of God, in reference to the one rather than the other of these substances? all that can be said to it is, that they cannot conceive, how the solid substance should ever be able to move itself. And as little, say I, are they able to conceive, how a created unsolid substance should move itself. But there may be something in an immaterial substance, that you do not know. I grant it; and in a material one too: for example, gravitation of matter towards matter, and in the several proportions observable, inevitably shows, that there is something in matter that we do not understand, unless we can conceive self-motion in matter; or an inexplicable and inconceivable attraction in matter, at immense, almost incomprehensible distances: it must therefore be confessed, that there is something in solid, as well as unsolid substances, that we do not understand. But this we know, that they may each of them have their distinct beings, without any activity superadded to them, unless you will deny, that God can take from any being its power of acting, which it is probable will be thought too presumptuous for any one to do; and I say it is as hard to conceive self-motion in a created immaterial, as in a material being, consider it how you will: and therefore this is no reason to deny Omnipotency to be able to give a power of self-motion to a material substance, if he pleases, as well as to an immaterial; since neither of them can have it from themselves, nor can we conceive how it can be in either of them.

The same is visible in the other operation of thinking: both these substances may be made, and exist without thought; neither of them has, or can have the power of thinking from itself; God may give it to either of them, according to the good pleasure of his omnipotency; and in which ever of them it is, it is equally beyond our capacity to conceive, how either of these substances thinks. But for that reason, to deny that God, who had power enough to give them both a being out of nothing, can by the same omnipotency, give them what other powers and perfections he pleases, has no better foundation than to deny his power of creation, because we cannot conceive how it is performed: and there, at last, this way of reasoning must terminate.

That Omnipotency cannot make a substance to be solid and not solid at the same time, I think with due reverence we may say; but that a solid substance may not have qualities, perfections, and powers, which have no natural or visibly necessary connexion with solidity and extension, is too much for us (who are but of yesterday, and know nothing) to be positive in. If God cannot join things together by connexions inconceivable to us, we must deny even the consistency and being of matter itself; since every particle of it having some bulk, has its parts connected by ways inconceivable to us. So that all the difficulties that are raised against the thinking of matter, from our ignorance, or narrow conceptions, stand not at all in the way of the power of God, if he pleases to ordain it so; nor prove any thing against his having actually endued some parcels of matter, so disposed as he thinks fit, with a faculty of thinking, till it can be shown, that it contains a contradiction to suppose it.

Though to me sensation be comprehended under thinking in general, yet, in the foregoing discourse, I have spoke of sense in brutes, as distinct from thinking; because your lordship, as I remember, speaks of sense in brutes. But here I take liberty to observe, that if your lordship allows brutes to have sensation, it will follow, either that God can and doth give to some parcels of matter a power of perception and thinking; or that all animals have immaterial, and consequently, according to your lordship, immortal souls, as well as men, and to say that fleas and mites, &c. have immortal souls as well as men, will possibly be looked on as going a great way to serve an hypothesis.

I have been pretty large in making this matter plain, that they who are so forward to bestow hard censures or names on the opinions of those who differ from them, may consider whether sometimes they are not more due to their own; and that they may be persuaded a little to temper that heat, which, supposing the truth in their current opinions, gives them (as they think) a right to lay what imputations they please on those who would fairly examine the grounds they stand upon. For talking with a supposition and insinuations, that truth and knowledge, nay, and religion too, stand and fall with their systems, is at best but an imperious way of begging the question, and assuming to themselves, under the pretence of zeal for the cause of God, a title to infallibility. It is very becoming that men’s zeal for truth should go as far as their proofs, but not go for proofs themselves. He that attacks received opinions with anything but fair arguments, may, I own, be justly suspected not to mean well, nor to be led by the love of truth; but the same may be said of him too, who so defends them. An error is not the better for being common, nor truth the worse for having lain neglected; and if it were put to the vote any where in the world, I doubt, as things are managed, whether truth would have the majority, at least, whilst the authority of men, and not the examination of things, must be its measure. The imputation of scepticism, and those broad insinuations to render what I have writ suspected, so frequent, as if that were the great business of all this pains you have been at about me, has made me say thus much, my lord, rather as my sense of the way to establish truth in its full force and beauty, than that I think the world will need to have any thing said to it, to make it distinguish between your lordship’s and my design in writing, which therefore I securely leave to the judgment of the reader, and return to the argument in hand.

What I have above said, I take to be a full answer to all that your lordship would infer from my idea of matter, of liberty, of identity, and from the power of abstracting. You ask, How can my idea of liberty agree with the idea that bodies can operate only by motion and impulse? Ans. By the omnipotency of God, who can make all things agree, that involve not a contradiction. It is true, I say, “That bodies operate by impulse, and nothing else.” And so I thought when I writ it, and can yet conceive no other way of their operation. But I am since convinced by the judicious Mr. Newton’s incomparable book, that it is too bold a presumption to limit God’s power in this point by my narrow conceptions. The gravitation of matter towards matter, by ways unconceivable to me, is not only a demonstration that God can, if he pleases, put into bodies powers, and ways of operation, above what can be derived from our idea of body, or can be explained by what we know of matter, but also an unquestionable, and every where visible instance, that he has done so. And therefore in the next edition of my book, I will take care to have that passage rectified.

As to self-consciousness, your lordship asks, What is there like self-consciousness in matter? Nothing at all in matter as matter. But that God cannot bestow on some parcels of matter a power of thinking, and with it self-consciousness, will never be proved by asking, How is it possible to apprehend that mere body should perceive that it doth perceive? The weakness of our apprehension I grant in the case: I confess as much as you please, that we cannot conceive how a solid, no, nor how an unsolid created substance thinks; but this weakness of our apprehensions reaches not the power of God, whose weakness is stronger than any thing in men.

Your argument from abstraction we have in this question, If it may be in the power of matter to think, how comes it to be so impossible for such organized bodies as the brutes have, to enlarge their ideas by abstraction? Ans. This seems to suppose, that I place thinking within the natural power of matter. If that be your meaning, my lord, I never say, nor suppose, that all matter has naturally in it a faculty of thinking, but the direct contrary. But if you mean that certain parcels of matter, ordered by the Divine power, as seems fit to him, may be made capable of receiving from his omnipotency the faculty of thinking; that, indeed, I say; and that being granted, the answer to your question is easy; since, if Omnipotency can give thought to any solid substance, it is not hard to conceive, that God may give that faculty in a higher or lower degree, as it pleases him, who knows what disposition of the subject is suited to such a particular way or degree of thinking.

Another argument to prove, that God cannot endue any parcel of matter with the faculty of thinking, is taken from those words of mine, where I show, by what connexion of ideas we may come to know, that God is an immaterial substance. They are these, “The idea of an eternal actual knowing being, with the idea of immateriality, by the intervention of the idea of matter, and of its actual division, divisibility, and want of perception,” &c. From whence your lordship thus argues, Here the want of perception is owned to be so essential to matter, that God is therefore concluded to be immaterial. Ans. Perception and knowledge in that one eternal Being, where it has its source, it is visible must be essentially inseparable from it; therefore the actual want of perception in so great a part of the particular parcels of matter, is a demonstration, that the first being, from whom perception and knowledge are inseparable, is not matter: how far this makes the want of perception an essential property of matter, I will not dispute; it suffices that it shows, that perception is not an essential property of matter; and therefore matter cannot be that eternal original being to which perception and knowledge are essential. Matter, I say, naturally is without perception: ergo, says your lordship, want of perception is an essential property of matter, and God does not change the essential properties of things, their nature remaining. From whence you infer, that God cannot bestow on any parcel of matter (the nature of matter remaining) a faculty of thinking. If the rules of logic, since my days, be not changed, I may safely deny this consequence. For an argument that runs thus, God does not; ergo, he cannot, I was taught when I first came to the university, would not hold. For I never said God did; but, “That I see no contradiction in it, that he should, if he pleased, give to some systems of senseless matter a faculty of thinking;” and I know nobody before Des Cartes, that ever pretended to show that there was any contradiction in it. So that at worst, my not being able to see in matter any such incapacity as makes it impossible for Omnipotency to bestow on it a faculty of thinking, makes me opposite only to the Cartesians. For, as far as I have seen or heard, the fathers of the christian church never pretended to demonstrate that matter was incapable to receive a power of sensation, perception, and thinking, from the hand of the omnipotent Creator. Let us therefore, if you please, suppose the form of your argumentation right, and that your lordship means, God cannot: and then, if your argument be good, it proves, that God could not give to Balaam’s ass a power to speak to his master as he did; for the want of rational discourse being natural to that species, it is but for your lordship to call it an essential property, and then God cannot change the essential properties of things, their nature remaining: whereby it is proved, that God cannot, with all his omnipotency, give to an ass a power to speak as Balaam’s did.

You say, my lord, You do not set bounds to God’s omnipotency: for he may, if he please, change a body into an immaterial substance, i. e. take away from a substance the solidity which it had before, and which made it matter, and then give it a faculty of thinking, which it had not before, and which makes it a spirit, the same substance remaining. For if the substance remains not, body is not changed into an immaterial substance, but the solid substance, and all belonging to it, is annihilated, and an immaterial substance created, which is not a change of one thing into another, but the destroying of one, and making another de novo. In this change therefore of a body or material substance into an immaterial, let us observe these distinct considerations.

First, you say, God may, if he pleases, take away from a solid substance solidity, which is that which makes it a material substance or body; and may make it an immaterial substance, i. e. a substance without solidity. But this privation of one quality gives it not another; the bare taking away a lower or less noble quality does not give it an higher or nobler; that must be the gift of God. For the bare privation of one, and a meaner quality, cannot be the position of an higher and better; unless any one will say, that cogitation, or the power of thinking, results from the nature of substance itself: which if it do, then wherever there is substance, there must be cogitation, or a power of thinking. Here then, upon your lordship’s own principles, is an immaterial substance without the faculty of thinking.

In the next place, you will not deny, but God may give to this substance, thus deprived of solidity, a faculty of thinking; for you suppose it made capable of that, by being made immaterial; whereby you allow, that the same numerical substance may be sometimes wholly incogitative, or without a power of thinking, and at other times perfectly cogitative, or endued with a power of thinking.

Further, you will not deny, but God can give it solidity and make it material again. For, I conclude, it will not be denied, that God can make it again what it was before. Now I crave leave to ask your lordship, why God, having given to this substance the faculty of thinking after solidity was taken from it, cannot restore to it solidity again, without out taking away the faculty of thinking? When you have resolved this, my lord, you will have proved it impossible for God’s omnipotence to give a solid substance a faculty of thinking; but till then, not having proved it impossible, and yet denying that God can do it, is to deny that he can do what is in itself possible; which, as I humbly conceive, is visibly to set bounds to God’s omnipotency, though you say here you do not set bounds to God’s omnipotency.

If I should imitate your lordship’s way of writing, I should not omit to bring in Epicurus here, and take notice that this was his way, Deum verbis ponere, re tollere: and then add, that I am certain you do not think he promoted the great ends of religion and morality. For it is with such candid and kind insinuations as these, that you bring in both Hobbes and Spinosa into your discourse here about God’s being able, if he please, to give to some parcels of matter, ordered as he thinks fit, a faculty of thinking: neither of those authors having, as appears by any passages you bring out of them, said any thing to this question, nor having, as it seems, any other business here, but by their names skilfully to give that character to my book, with which you would recommend it to the world.

I pretend not to inquire what measure of zeal, nor for what, guides your lordship’s pen in such a way of writing, as yours has all along been with me: only I cannot but consider, what reputation it would give to the writings of the fathers of the church, if they should think truth required, or religion allowed them to imitate such patterns. But God be thanked, there be those amongst them, who do not admire such ways of managing the cause of truth or religion; they being sensible that if every one, who believes or can pretend he hath truth on his side, is thereby authorized, without proof, to insinuate whatever may serve to prejudice men’s minds against the other side, there will be great ravage made on charity and practice, without any gain to truth or knowledge: and that the liberties frequently taken by disputants to do so, may have been the cause that the world in all ages has received so much harm, and so little advantage from controversies in religion.

These are the arguments which your lordship has brought to confute one saying in my book, by other passages in it; which therefore being all but argumenta ad hominem, if they did prove what they do not, are of no other use, than to gain a victory over me: a thing methinks, so much beneath your lordship, that it does not deserve one of your pages. The question is, whether God can, if he pleases, bestow on any parcel of matter, ordered as he thinks fit, a faculty of perception and thinking. You say, you look upon a mistake herein to be of dangerous consequence, as to the great ends of religion and morality. If this be so, my lord, I think one may well wonder, why your lordship has brought no arguments to establish the truth itself which you look on to be of such dangerous consequence to be mistaken in; but have spent so many pages only in a personal matter, in endeavouring to show, that I had inconsistencies in my book; which if any such thing had been showed, the question would be still as far from being decided, and the danger of mistaking about it as little prevented, as if nothing of all this had been said. If therefore your lordship’s care of the great ends of religion and morality have made you think it necessary to clear this question, the world has reason to conclude there is little to be said against that proposition which is to be found in my book, concerning the possibility, that some parcels of matter might be so ordered by Omnipotence, as to be endued with a faculty of thinking, if God so pleased; since your lordship’s concern for the promoting the great ends of religion and morality, has not enabled you to produce one argument against a proposition that you think of so dangerous consequence to them.

And here I crave leave to observe, that though in your title page you promise to prove, that my notion of ideas is inconsistent with itself, (which if it were, it could hardly be proved to be inconsistent with any thing else) and with the articles of the christian faith; yet your attempts all along have been to prove me, in some passages of my book, inconsistent with myself, without having shown any proposition in my book inconsistent with any article of the christian faith.

I think your lordship has indeed made use of one argument of your own: but it is such an one, that I confess I do not see how it is apt much to promote religion, especially the christian religion, founded on revelation. I shall set down your lordship’s words, that they may be considered: you say, that you are of opinion, that the great ends of religion and morality are best secured by the proofs of the immortality of the soul from its nature and properties; and which you think prove it immaterial. Your lordship does not question whether God can give immortality to a material substance; but you say it takes off very much from the evidence of immortality, if it depend wholly upon God’s giving that, which of its own nature it is not capable of, &c. So likewise you say, If a man cannot be certain, but that matter may think, (as I affirm) then what becomes of the soul’s immateriality (and consequently immortality) from its operations? But for all this, say I, his assurance of faith remains on its own basis. Now you appeal to any man of sense, whether the finding the uncertainty of his own principles, which he went upon, in point of reason, doth not weaken the credibility of these fundamental articles, when they are considered purely as matters of faith? For before, there was a natural credibility in them on account of reason; but by going on wrong grounds of certainty, all that is lost, and instead of being certain, he is more doubtful than ever. And if the evidence of faith fall so much short of that of reason, it must needs have less effect upon men’s minds, when the subserviency of reason is taken away; as it must be when the grounds of certainty by reason are vanished. Is it at all probable, that he who finds his reason deceive him in such fundamental points, shall have his faith stand firm and unmoveable on the account of revelation? For in matters of revelation there must be some antecedent principles supposed, before we can believe any thing on the account of it.

More to the same purpose we have some pages farther, where, from some of my words your lordship says, you cannot but observe, that we have no certainty upon my grounds, that self-consciousness depends upon an individual immaterial substance, and consequently that a material substance may, according to my principles, have self-consciousness in it; at least, that I am not certain of the contrary. Whereupon your lordship bids me consider, whether this doth not a little affect the whole article of the resurrection. What does all this tend to, but to make the world believe that I have lessened the credibility of the immortality of the soul, and the resurrection, by saying, that though it be most highly probable, that the soul is immaterial, yet upon my principles it cannot be demonstrated; because it is not impossible to God’s omnipotency, if he pleases, to bestow upon some parcels of matter, disposed as he sees fit, a faculty of thinking?

This your accusation of my lessening the credibility of these articles of faith, is founded on this, that the article of the immortality of the soul abates of its credibility, if it be allowed, that its immateriality (which is the supposed proof from reason and philosophy of its immortality) cannot be demonstrated from natural reason: which argument of your lordship’s bottoms, as I humbly conceive, on this, that divine revelation abates of its credibility in all those articles it proposes, proportionably as human reason fails to support the testimony of God. And all that your lordship in those passages has said, when examined, will, I suppose, be found to import thus much, viz. Does God propose any thing to mankind to be believed? It is very fit and credible to be believed, if reason can demonstrate it to be true. But if human reason come short in the case, and cannot make it out, its credibility is thereby lessened; which is in effect to say, that the veracity of God is not a firm and sure foundation of faith to rely upon, without the concurrent testimony of reason; i. e. with reverence be it spoken, God is not to be believed on his own word, unless what he reveals be in itself credible, and might be believed without him.

If this be a way to promote religion, the christian religion, in all its articles, I am not sorry that it is not a way to be found in any of my writings; for I imagine any thing like this would (and I should think deserved to) have other titles than bare scepticism bestowed upon it, and would have raised no small outcry against any one, who is not to be supposed to be in the right in all that he says, and so may securely say what he pleases. Such as I, the profanum vulgus, who take too much upon us, if we would examine, have nothing to do but to hearken and believe, though what he said should subvert the very foundations of the christian faith.

What I have above observed, is so visibly contained in your lordship’s argument, that when I met with it in your answer to my first letter, it seemed so strange for a man of your lordship’s character, and in a dispute in defence of the doctrine of the Trinity, that I could hardly persuade myself, but it was a slip of your pen: but when I found it in your second letter made use of again, and seriously enlarged as an argument of weight to be insisted upon, I was convinced that it was a principle that you heartily embraced, how little favourable soever it was to the articles of the christian religion, and particularly those which you undertook to defend.

I desire my reader to peruse the passages as they stand in your letters themselves, and see whether what you say in them does not amount to this: that a revelation from God is more or less credible, according as it has a stronger or weaker confirmation from human reason. For,

Your lordship says, you do not question whether God can give immortality to a material substance; but you say it takes off very much from the evidence of immortality, if it depends wholly upon God’s giving that, which of its own nature it is not capable of.

To which I reply, any one’s not being able to demonstrate the soul to be immaterial, takes off not very much, nor at all, from the evidence of its immortality, if God has revealed that it shall be immortal; because the veracity of God is a demonstration of the truth of what he has revealed, and the want of another demonstration of a proposition, that is demonstratively true, takes not off from the evidence of it. For where there is a clear demonstration, there is as much evidence as any truth can have, that is not self-evident. God has revealed that the souls of men should live for ever. But, says your lordship, from this evidence it takes off very much, if it depends wholly upon God’s giving that, which of its own nature it is not capable of, i. e. The revelation and testimony of God loses much of its evidence, if this depends wholly upon the good pleasure of God, and cannot be demonstratively made out by natural reason, that the soul is immaterial, and consequently in its own nature immortal. For that is all that here is or can be meant by these words, which of its own nature it is not capable of, to make them to the purpose. For the whole of your lordship’s discourse here, is to prove, that the soul cannot be material, because then the evidence of its being immortal would be very much lessened. Which is to say, that it is not as credible upon divine revelation, that a material substance should be immortal, as an immaterial; or which is all one, that God is not equally to be believed, when he declares that a material substance shall be immortal, as when he declares, that an immaterial shall be so; because the immortality of a material substance cannot be demonstrated from natural reason.

Let us try this rule of your lordship’s a little farther. God hath revealed, that the bodies men shall have after the resurrection, as well as their souls, shall live to eternity. Does your lordship believe the eternal life of the one of these more than of the other, because you think you can prove it of one of them by natural reason, and of the other not? Or can any one, who admits of divine revelation in the case, doubt of one of them more than the other? Or think this proposition less credible, that the bodies of men, after the resurrection, shall live for ever; than this, That the souls of men shall, after the resurrection, live for ever? For that he must do, if he thinks either of them is less credible than the other. If this be so, reason is to be consulted how far God is to be believed, and the credit of divine testimony must receive its force from the evidence of reason; which is evidently to take away the credibility of divine revelation in all supernatural truths, wherein the evidence of reason fails. And how much such a principle as this tends to the support of the doctrine of the Trinity, or the promoting the christian religion, I shall leave it to your lordship to consider.

I am not so well read in Hobbes or Spinosa, as to be able to say, what were their opinions in this matter. But possibly there be those, who will think your lordship’s authority of more use to them in the case, than those justly decried names; and be glad to find your lordship a patron of the oracles of reason, so little to the advantage of the oracles of divine revelation. This at least, I think, may be subjoined to the words at the bottom of the next page, That those who have gone about to lessen the credibility of the articles of faith, which evidently they do, who say they are less credible, because they cannot be made out demonstratively by natural reason, have not been thought to secure several of the articles of the christian faith, especially those of the trinity, incarnation, and resurrection of the body, which are those upon the account of which I am brought by your lordship into this dispute.

I shall not trouble the reader with your lordship’s endeavours, in the following words, to prove, that if the soul be not an immaterial substance, it can be nothing but life; your very first words visibly confuting all that you allege to that purpose, they are, If the soul be a material substance, it is really nothing but life; which is to say, That if the soul be really a substance, it is not really a substance, but really nothing else but an affection of a substance; for the life, whether of a material or immaterial substance, is not the substance itself, but an affection of it.

You say, Although we think the separate state of the soul after death, is sufficiently revealed in the scripture; yet it creates a great difficulty in understanding it, if the soul be nothing but life, or a material substance, which must be dissolved when life is ended. For, if the soul be a material substance, it must be made up, as others are, of the cohesion of solid and separate parts, how minute and invisible soever they be. And what is it which should keep them together, when life is gone? So that it is no easy matter to give an account how the soul should be capable of immortality, unless it be an immaterial substance; and then we know the solution and texture of bodies cannot reach the soul, being of a different nature.

Let it be as hard a matter as it will, to give an account what it is that should keep the parts of a material soul together, after it is separated from the body; yet it will be always as easy to give an account of it, as to give an account what it is that shall keep together a material and immaterial substance. And yet the difficulty that there is to give an account of that, I hope, does not, with your lordship, weaken the credibility of the inseparable union of soul and body to eternity: and I persuade myself, that the men of sense, to whom your lordship appeals in the case, do not find their belief of this fundamental point much weakened by that difficulty. I thought heretofore (and by your lordship’s permission would think so still) that the union of the parts of matter, one with another, is as much in the hands of God, as the union of a material and immaterial substance; and that it does not take off very much, or at all, from the evidence of immortality, which depends on that union, that it is no easy matter to give an account what it is that should keep them together: though its depending wholly upon the gift and good pleasure of God, where the manner creates great difficulty in the understanding, and our reason cannot discover in the nature of things how it is, be that which, your lordship so positively says, lessens the credibility of the fundamental articles of the resurrection and immortality.

But, my lord, to remove this objection a little, and to show of how small force it is even with yourself; give me leave to presume, that your lordship as firmly believes the immortality of the body after the resurrection, as any other article of faith; if so, then it being no easy matter to give an account what it is that shall keep together the parts of a material soul, to one that believes it is material, can no more weaken the credibility of its immortality, than the like difficulty weakens the credibility of the immortality of the body. For, when your lordship shall find it an easy matter to give an account what it is, besides the good pleasure of God, which shall keep together the parts of our material bodies to eternity, or even soul and body, I doubt not but any one who shall think the soul material, will also find it as easy to give an account what it is that shall keep those parts of matter also together to eternity.

Were it not that the warmth of controversy is apt to make men so far forget, as to take up those principles themselves (when they will serve their turn) which they have highly condemned in others, I should wonder to find your lordship to argue, that because it is a difficulty to understand what shall keep together the minute parts of a material soul, when life is gone; and because it is not an easy matter to give an account how the soul shall be capable of immortality, unless it be an immaterial substance: therefore it is not so credible, as if it were easy to give an account by natural reason, how it could be. For to this it is that all this your discourse tends, as is evident by what is already set down; and will be more fully made out by what your lordship says in other places, though there needs no such proof, since it would all be nothing against me in any other sense.

I thought your lordship had in other places asserted, and insisted on this truth, that no part of divine revelation was the less to be believed, because the thing itself created great difficulty in the understanding, and the manner of it was hard to be explained, and it was no easy matter to give an account how it was. This, as I take it, your lordship condemned in others as a very unreasonable principle, and such as would subvert all the articles of the christian religion, that were mere matters of faith, as I think it will: and is it possible, that you should make use of it here yourself, against the article of life and immortality, that Christ hath brought to light through the gospel, and neither was, nor could be made out by natural reason without revelation? But you will say, you speak only of the soul; and your words are, That it is no easy matter to give an account how the soul should be capable of immortality, unless it be an immaterial substance. I grant it; but crave leave to say, that there is not any one of those difficulties, that are or can be raised about the manner how a material soul can be immortal, which do not as well reach the immortality of the body.

But, if it were not so, I am sure this principle of your lordship’s would reach other articles of faith, wherein our natural reason finds it not so easy to give an account how those mysteries are; and which therefore, according to your principles, must be less credible than other articles, that create less difficulty to the understanding. For your lordship says, that you appeal to any man of sense, whether to a man, who thought by his principles he could from natural grounds demonstrate the immortality of the soul, the finding the uncertainty of those principles he went upon in point of reason, i. e. the finding he could not certainly prove it by natural reason, doth not weaken the credibility of that fundamental article, when it is considered purely as a matter of faith? which, in effect, I humbly conceive, amounts to this, that a proposition divinely revealed, that cannot be proved by natural reason, is less credible than one that can: which seems to me to come very little short of this, with due reverence be it spoken, that God is less to be believed when he affirms a proposition that cannot be proved by natural reason, than when he proposes what can be proved by it. The direct contrary to which is my opinion, though you endeavour to make it good by these following words; If the evidence of faith fall too much short of that of reason it must needs have less effect upon men’s minds, when the subserviency of reason is taken away; as it must be when the grounds of certainty by reason are vanished. Is it at all probable, that he who finds his reason deceive him in such fundamental points, should have his faith stand firm and unmoveable on the account of revelation? Than which I think there are hardly plainer words to be found out to declare, that the credibility of God’s testimony depends on the natural evidence of probability of the things we receive from revelation, and rises and falls with it; and that the truths of God, or the articles of mere faith, lose so much of their credibility, as they want proof from reason; which if true, revelation may come to have no credibility at all. For if, in this present case, the credibility of this proposition, the souls of men shall live for ever, revealed in the scripture, be lessened by confessing it cannot be demonstratively proved from reason; though it be asserted to be most highly probable: must not, by the same rule, its credibility dwindle away to nothing, if natural reason should not be able to make it out to be so much as probable, or should place the probability from natural principles on the other side? For, if mere want of demonstration lessens the credibility of any proposition divinely revealed, must not want of probability, or contrary probability from natural reason, quite take away its credibility? Here at last it must end, if in any one case the veracity of God, and the credibility of the truths we receive from him by revelation, be subjected to the verdicts of human reason, and be allowed to receive any accession or diminution from other proofs, or want of other proofs of its certainty or probability.

If this be your lordship’s way to promote religion, or defend its articles, I know not what argument the greatest enemies of it could use more effectual for the subversion of those you have undertaken to defend; this being to resolve all revelation perfectly and purely into natural reason, to bound its credibility by that, and leave no room for faith in other things, than what can be accounted for by natural reason without revelation.

Your lordship insists much upon it, as if I had contradicted what I have said in my essay, by saying that upon my principles it cannot be demonstratively proved, that it is an immaterial substance in us that thinks, however probable it be. He that will be at the pains to read that chapter of mine, and consider it, will find, that my business there was to show, that it was no harder to conceive an immaterial than a material substance; and that from the ideas of thought, and a power of moving of matter, which we experienced in ourselves, (ideas originally not belonging to matter as matter) there was no more difficulty to conclude there was an immaterial substance in us, than that we had material parts. These ideas of thinking, and power of moving of matter, I in another place showed, did demonstratively lead us the certain knowledge of the existence of an immaterial thinking being, in whom we have the idea of spirit in the strictest sense; in which sense I also applied it to the soul, in the 23d ch. of my essay; the easily conceivable possibility, nay great probability, that the thinking substance in us is immaterial, giving me sufficient ground for it: in which sense I shall think I may safely attribute it to the thinking substance in us, till your lordship shall have better proved from my words, that it is impossible it should be immaterial. For I only say, that it is possible, i. e. involves no contradiction, that God, the omnipotent immaterial spirit, should, if he pleases, give to some parcels of matter, disposed as he thinks fit, a power of thinking and moving: which parcels of matter, so endued with a power of thinking and motion, might properly be called spirits, in contradistinction to unthinking matter. In all which, I presume, there is no manner of contradiction.

I justified my use of the word spirit, in that sense, from the authorities of Cicero and Virgil, applying the Latin word spiritus, from whence spirit is derived, to the soul as a thinking thing, without excluding materiality out of it. To which your lordship replies, That Cicero, in his Tusculan Questions, supposes the soul not to be a finer sort of body, but of a different nature from the body — That he calls the body the prison of the soul — And says, that a wise man’s business is to draw off his soul from his body. And then your lordship concludes, as is usual, with a question, Is it possible now to think so great a man looked on the soul but as a modification of the body, which must be at an end with life? Ans. No: it is impossible that a man of so good sense as Tully, when he uses the word corpus or body for the gross and visible parts of a man, which he acknowledges to be mortal, should look on the soul to be a modification of that body; in a discourse wherein he was endeavouring to persuade another, that it was immortal. It is to be acknowledged that truly great men, such as he was, are not wont so manifestly to contradict themselves. He had therefore no thought concerning the modification of the body of a man in the case: he was not such a trifler as to examine, whether the modification of the body of a man was immortal, when that body itself was mortal: and therefore, that which he reports as Dicæarchus’s opinion, he dismisses in the beginning without any more ado, c. 11. But Cicero’s was a direct, plain, and sensible inquiry, viz. What the soul was? to see whether from thence he could discover its immortality. But in all that discourse in his first book of Tusculan Questions, where he lays out so much of his reading and reason, there is not one syllable showing the least thought that the soul was an immaterial substance; but many things directly to the contrary.

Indeed (1) he shuts out the body, taken in the senses he uses corpus all along, for the sensible organical parts of a man; and is positive that is not the soul: and body in this sense, taken for the human body, he calls the prison of the soul: and says a wise man, instancing in Socrates and Cato, is glad of a fair opportunity to get out of it. But he no where says any such thing of matter: he calls not matter in general the prison of the soul, nor talks a word of being separate from it.

He concludes, that the soul is not, like other things here below, made up of a composition of the elements, ch. 27.

He excludes the two gross elements, earth and water, from being the soul, ch. 26.

So far he is clear and positive: but beyond this he is uncertain; beyond this he could not get: for in some places he speaks doubtfully, whether the soul be not air or fire. Anima sit animus, ignisve, nescio, c. 25. And therefore he agrees with Panætius, that if it be at all elementary, it is, as he calls it, inflammata anima, inflamed air; and for this he gives several reasons, c. 18, 19. And though he thinks it to be of a peculiar nature of its own, yet he is so far from thinking it immaterial, that he says, c. 19. that the admitting it to be of an aërial or igneous nature, will not be inconsistent with any thing he had said.

That which he seems most to incline to is, that the soul was not at all elementary, but was of the same substance with the heavens; which Aristotle, to distinguish from the four elements, and the changeable bodies here below, which he supposed made up of them, called quinta essentia. That this was Tully’s opinion is plain from these words, Ergo animus (qui, ut ego dico, divinus) est, ut Euripides audet dicere, Deus: & quidem, si Deus aut anima aut ignis est, idem est animus hominis. Nam ut illa natura cœlestis et terrâ vacat & humore; sic utriusque harum rerum humanus animus est expers. Sin autem est quinta quædam natura ab Aristotele inducta; primum hæc & deorum est & animorum. Hanc nos sententiam secuti, his ipsis verbis in consolatione hæc expressimus, ch. 29. And then he goes on, c. 27. to repeat those his own words, which your lordship has quoted out of him, wherein he had affirmed, in his treatise De Consolatione, the soul not to have its original from the earth, or to be mixed or made of any thing earthly; but had said, singularis est igitur quædam natura & vis animi, sejuncta ab his usitatis notisque naturis: whereby he tells us, he meant nothing but Aristotle’s quinta essentia: which being unmixed, being that of which the gods and souls consisted, he calls it divinum cœleste, and concludes it eternal; it being, as he speaks, sejuncta ab omni mortali concretione. From which it is clear, that in all his inquiry about the substance of the soul, his thoughts went not beyond the four elements, or Aristotle’s quinta essentia, to look for it. In all which there is nothing of immateriality, but quite the contrary.

He was willing to believe (as good and wise men have always been) that the soul was immortal; but for that, it is plain, he never thought of its immateriality, but as the eastern people do, who believe the soul to be immortal, but have nevertheless no thought, no conception of its immateriality. It is remarkable what a very considerable and judicious author says in the case. No opinion, says he, has been so universally received as that of the immortality of the soul; but its immateriality is a truth, the knowledge whereof has not spread so far. And indeed it is extremely difficult to let into the mind of a Siamite the idea of a pure spirit. This the missionaries who have been longest among them, are positive in. All the pagans of the east do truly believe, that there remains something of a man after his death, which subsists independently and separately from his body. But they give extension and figure to that which remains, and attribute to it all the same members, all the same substances, both solid and liquid, which our bodies are composed of. They only suppose that the souls are of a matter subtile enough to escape being seen or handled. — Such were the shades and manes of the Greeks and the Romans. And it is by these figures of the souls, answerable to those of the bodies, that Virgil supposed Æneas knew Palinurus, Dido, and Anchises, in the other world.

This gentleman was not a man that travelled into those parts for his pleasure, and to have the opportunity to tell strange stories, collected by chance, when he returned: but one chosen on purpose (and he seems well chosen for the purpose) to inquire into the singularities of Siam. And he has so well acquitted himself of the commission, which his epistle dedicatory tells us he had, to inform himself exactly of what was most remarkable there, that had we but such an account of other countries of the east, as he has given us of this kingdom, which he was an envoy to, we should be much better acquainted than we are, with the manners, notions, and religions of that part of the world inhabited by civilized nations, who want neither good sense nor acuteness of reason, though not cast into the mould of the logick and philosophy of our schools.

But to return to Cicero: it is plain that in his inquiries about the soul, his thoughts went not at all beyond matter. This the expressions that drop from him in several places of this book evidently show. For example, that the souls of excellent men and women ascended into heaven; of others, that they remained here on earth, c. 12. That the soul is hot, and warms the body: that, at its leaving the body, it penetrates, and divides, and breaks through our thick, cloudy, moist air: that it stops in the region of fire, and ascends no farther, the equality of warmth and weight making that its proper place, where it is nourished and sustained, with the same things wherewith the stars are nourished and sustained, and that by the convenience of its neighbourhood it shall there have a clearer view and fuller knowledge of the heavenly bodies, c. 19. That the soul also from this height shall have a pleasant and fairer prospect of the globe of the earth, the disposition of whose parts will then lie before it in one view, c. 20. That it is hard to determine what conformation, size, and place, the soul has in the body: that it is too subtile to be seen: that it is in the human body as in a house, or a vessel, or a receptacle, c. 22. All which are expressions that sufficiently evidence, that he who used them had not in his mind separated materiality from the idea of the soul.

It may perhaps be replied, that a great part of this which we find in cha is said upon the principles of those who would have the soul to be anima inflammata, inflamed air. I grant it. But it is also to be observed, that in this 19th, and the two following chapters, he does not only not deny, but even admits, that so material a thing as inflamed air may think.

The truth of the case in short is this: Cicero was willing to believe the soul immortal; but, when he sought in the nature of the soul itself something to establish this his belief into a certainty of it, he found himself at a loss. He confessed he knew not what the soul was; but the not knowing what it was, he argues, c. 22, was no reason to conclude it was not. And thereupon he proceeds to the repetition of what he had said in his 6th book, De Repub. concerning the soul. The argument, which, borrowed from Plato, he there makes use of, if it have any force in it, not only proves the soul to be immortal, but more than, I think, your lordship will allow to be true: for it proves it to be eternal, and without beginning, as well as without end: Neque nata certe est, & æterna est, says he.

Indeed from the faculties of the soul he concludes right, that it is of divine original: but as to the substance of the soul, he at the end of this discourse concerning its faculties, c. 25, as well as at this beginning of it, c. 22, is not ashamed to own his ignorance of what it is; Anima sit animus, ignisve, nescio; nec me pudet, ut istos, fateri nescire quod nesciam. Illud si ulla alia de re obscura affirmare possem, sive anima, sive ignis sit animus, eum jurarem esse divinum, c. 25, So that all the certainty he could attain to about the soul, was, that he was confident there was something divine in it, i. e. there were faculties in the soul that could not result from the nature of matter, but must have their original from a divine power; but yet those qualities, as divine as they were, he acknowledged might be placed in breath or fire, which, I think, your lordship will not deny to be material substances. So that all those divine qualities, which he so much and so justly extols in the soul, led him not, as appears, so much as to any the least thought of immateriality. This is demonstration, that he built them not upon an exclusion of materiality out of the soul; for he avowedly professes he does not know, but breath or fire might be this thinking thing in us; and in all his considerations about the substance of the soul itself, he stuck in air, or fire, or Aristotle’s quinta essentia; for beyond those it is evident he went not.

But with all his proofs out of Plato, to whose authority he defers so much, with all the arguments his vast reading and great parts could furnish him with for the immortality of the soul, he was so little satisfied, so far from being certain, so far from any thought that he had, or could prove it, that he over and over again professes his ignorance and doubt of it. In the beginning he enumerates the several opinions of the philosophers, which he had well studied, about it: and then, full of uncertainty, says, Harum, sententiarum quæ vera sit, Deus aliquis viderit; quæ verisimillima, magna quæstio, c. 11. And towards the latter end, having gone them all over again, and one after another examined them, he professes himself still at a loss, not knowing on which to pitch, nor what to determine. Mentis acies, says he, seipsam intuens, nonnunquam hebescit, ob eamque causam contemplandi diligentiam amittimus. Itaque dubitans, circumspectans, hæsitans, multa adversa revertens, tanquam in rate in mari immenso, nostra vehitur oratio, c. 30. And to conclude this argument, when the person he introduces as discoursing with him, tells him he is resolved to keep firm to the belief of immortality; Tully answers, c. 32, Laudo id quidem, etsi nihil animis oportet considere: movemur enim sæpe aliquo acute concluso; labamus, mutamusque sententiam clarioribus etiam in rebus; in his est enim aliqua obscuritas.

So unmoveable is that truth delivered by the spirit of truth, that though the light of nature gave some obscure glimmering, some uncertain hopes of a future state; yet human reason could attain to no clearness, no certainty about it, but that it was JESUS CHRIST alone, who had brought life and immortality to light through the gospel. Though we are now told, that to own the inability of natural reason to bring immortality to light, or which passes for the same, to own principles upon which the immateriality of the soul, (and, as it is urged, consequently its immortality) cannot be demonstratively proved, does lessen the belief of this article of revelation, which JESUS CHRIST alone has brought to light, and which consequently the scripture assures us is established and made certain only by revelation. This would not perhaps have seemed strange, from those who are justly complained of for slighting the revelation of the gospel, and therefore would not be much regarded, if they should contradict so plain a text of scripture, in favour of their all-sufficient reason: but what use the promoters of scepticism and infidelity, in an age so much suspected by your lordship, may make of what comes from one of your great authority and learning, may deserve your consideration.

And thus, my lord, I hope, I have satisfied you concerning Cicero’s opinion about the soul, in his first book of Tusculan questions; which, though I easily believe, as your lordship says, you are no stranger to, yet I humbly conceive you have not shown, (and, upon a careful perusal of that treatise again, I think I may boldly say you cannot show) one word in it, that expresses any thing like a notion in Tully of the soul’s immateriality, or its being an immaterial substance.

From what you bring out of Virgil, your lordship concludes, That he, no more than Cicero, does me any kindness in this matter, being both assertors of the soul’s immortality. My lord, were not the question of the soul’s immateriality, according to custom, changed here into that of its immortality, which I am no less an assertor of than either of them, Cicero and Virgil do me all the kindness I desired of them in this matter; and that was to show, that they attributed the word spiritus to the soul of man, without any thought of its immateriality; and this the verses you yourself bring out of Virgil,

Et cum frigida mors animâ seduxerit artus,

Omnibus umbra locis adero; dabis, improbe, pœnas;

confirm, as well as those I quoted out of his 6th book: and for this monsieur de la Loubere shall be my witness in the words above set down out of him; where he shows that there be those amongst the heathens of our days, as well as Virgil and others amongst the ancient Greeks and Romans, who thought the souls or ghosts of men departed did not die with the body, without thinking them to be perfectly immaterial; the latter being much more incomprehensible to them than the former. And what Virgil’s notion of the soul is, and that corpus, when put in contradistinction to the soul, signifies nothing but the gross tenement of flesh and bones; is evident from this verse of his Æneid 6, where he calls the souls which yet were visible,

 — Tenues sine corpore vitas.

Your lordship’s answer concerning what is said Eccles. xii. turns wholly upon Solomon’s taking the soul to be immortal, which was not what I question: all that I quoted that place for, was to show, that spirit in English might properly be applied to the soul, without any notion of its immateriality, as תיך was by Solomon, which, whether he thought the souls of men to be immaterial, does little appear in that passage where he speaks of the souls of men and beasts together, as he does. But farther, what I contended for is evident from that place, in that the word spirit is there applied by our translators, to the souls of beasts, which your lordship, I think, does not rank amongst the immaterial, and consequently immortal spirits, though they have sense and spontaneous motion.

But you say, If the soul be not of itself a free thinking substance, you do not see what foundation there is in nature for a day of judgment. Ans. Though the heathen world did not of old, nor do to this day, see a foundation in nature for a day of judgment; yet in revelation, if that will satisfy your lordship, every one may see a foundation for a day of judgment, because God has positively declared it; though God has not by that revelation taught us, what the substance of the soul is; nor has any where said, that the soul of itself is a free agent. Whatsoever any created substance is, it is not of itself, but is by the good pleasure of its Creator; whatever degrees of perfection it has, it has from the bountiful hand of its maker. For it is true in a natural, as well as a spiritual sense, what St. Paul says, “Not that we are sufficient of ourselves to think any thing as of ourselves, but our sufficiency is of God.”

But your hordship, as I guess by your following words, would argue, that a material substance cannot be a free agent; whereby I suppose you only mean, that you cannot see or conceive how a solid substance should begin, stop, or change its own motion. To which give me leave to answer, that when you can make it conceivable, how any created, finite, dependant substance can move itself, or alter or stop its own motion, which it must to be a free agent; I suppose you will find it no harder for God to bestow this power on a solid than an unsolid created substance. Tully, in the place above quoted, could not conceive this power to be in any thing but what was from eternity; Cum pateat igitur æturnum id esse quod seipsum moveat, quis est qui hanc naturam animis esse tributam neget? But though you cannot see how any created substance, solid or not solid, can be a free agent, (pardon me, my lord, if I put in both, till your lordship please to explain it of either, and show the manner how either of them can, of itself, move itself or any thing else) yet I do not think you will so far deny men to be free agents, from the difficulty there is to see how they are free agents, as to doubt whether there be foundation enough for a day of judgment.

It is not for me to judge how far your lordship’s speculations reach; but finding in myself nothing to be truer than what the wise Solomon tells me, “As thou knowest not what is the way of the spirit, nor how the bones do grow in the womb of her that is with child; even so thou knowest not the works of God, who maketh all things;” I gratefully receive and rejoice in the light of revelation, which sets me at rest in many things, the manner whereof my poor reason can by no means make out to me: Omnipotency, I know, can do any thing that contains in it no contradiction: so that I readily believe whatever God has declared, though my reason find difficulties in it, which it cannot master. As in the present case, God having revealed that there shall be a day of judgment, I think that foundation enough to conclude men are free enough to be made answerable for their actions, and to receive according to what they have done; though how man is a free agent, surpasses my explication or comprehension.

In answer to the place I brought out of St. Luke, your lordship asks, Whether from these words of our Saviour it follows, that a spirit is only an appearance? I answer, No: nor do I know who drew such an inference from them: but it follows, that in apparitions there is something that appears, and that which appears is not wholly immaterial; and yet this was properly called ϫνεῦμα, and was often looked upon, by those who called it ϫνεῦμα in Greek, and now call it spirit in English, to be the ghost or soul of one departed; which I humbly conceive justifies my use of the word spirit, for a thinking voluntary agent, whether material or immaterial.

Your lordship says. That I grant, that it cannot upon these principles be demonstrated, that the spiritual substance in us is immaterial: from whence you conclude, That then my grounds of certainty from ideas are plainly given up. This being a way of arguing that you often make use of, I have often had occasion to consider it, and cannot after all see the force of this argument. I acknowledge that this or that proposition cannot upon my principles be demonstrated; ergo, I grant this proposition to be false, that certainty consists in the perception of the agreement or disagreement of ideas. For that is my ground of certainty, and till that be given up, my grounds of certainty are not given up.

OF THE CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. ADVERTISEMENT TO THE READER.

The ensuing treatises are true and genuine remains of the deceased author, whose name they bear; but, for the greatest part, received not his last hand, being in a great measure little more than sudden views, intended to be afterwards revised and farther looked into; but by sickness, intervention of business, or preferable inquiries, happened to be thrust aside, and so lay neglected.

The “conduct of the understanding” he always thought to be a subject very well worth consideration. As any miscarriages, in that point, accidentally came into his mind, he used sometimes to set them down in writing, with those remedies, that he could then think of. This method, though it makes not that haste to the end, which one could wish, yet perhaps is the only one, that can be followed in the case; it being here, as in physic, impossible for a physician to describe a disease, or seek remedies for it, till he comes to meet with it. Such particulars of this kind, as occurred to the author, at a time of leisure, he, as is before said, set down in writing; intending, if he had lived, to have reduced them into order and method, and to have made a complete treatise; whereas now it is only a collection of casual observations, sufficient to make men see some faults in the conduct of their understanding, and suspect there may be more, and may, perhaps, serve to excite others to inquire farther into it, than the author hath done.

“The examination of P. Malebranche’s opinion, of seeing all things in God,” shows it to be a very groundless notion, and was not published by the author, because he looked upon it to be an opinion that would not spread, but was like to die of itself, or at least to do no great harm.

“The discourse of miracles” was writ for his own satisfaction, and never went beyond the first draught, and was occasioned by his reading “Mr. Fleetwood’s essay on miracles,” and the letter writ to him on that subject.

“The fourth letter for toleration” is imperfect, was begun by the author a little before his death, but never finished. It was designed for an answer to a book intitled, “A second letter to the author of the three letters for toleration,” &c. which was writ against the author’s third letter for toleration, about twelve years after the said third letter had been published.

“The memoirs of the late earl of Shaftesbury” are only certain particular facts, set down in writing by the author, as they occurred to his memory; if time and health would have permitted him, he had gone on farther, and from such materials have collected and compiled an history of that noble peer.

AN EXAMINATION OF P. MALEBRANCHE’S OPINION OF SEEING ALL THINGS IN GOD.

The acute and ingenious author of the Recherche de la Verité, among a great many very fine thoughts, judicious reasonings, and uncommon reflections, has in that treatise started the notion of “seeing all things in God,” as the best way to explain the nature and manner of the ideas in our understanding. The desire I had to have my unaffected ignorance removed, has made it necessary for me to see whether this hypothesis, when examined, and the parts of it put together, can be thought to cure our ignorance, or is intelligible and satisfactory to one who would not deceive himself, take words for things, and think he knows what he knows not.

This I observe at the entrance, that P. Malebranche having enumerated, and in the following chapters showed the difficulties of the other ways, whereby he thinks human understanding may be attempted to be explained, and how insufficient they are to give a satisfactory account of the ideas we have, erects this of “seeing all things in God” upon their ruin, as the true, because, it is impossible to find a better. Which argument, so far being only “argumentum ad ignorantiam,” loses all its force as soon as we consider the weakness of our minds, and the narrowness of our capacities, and have but humility enough to allow, that there may be many things which we cannot fully comprehend, and that God is not bound in all he does to subject his ways of operation to the scrutiny of our thoughts, and confine himself to do nothing but what we must comprehend. And it will very little help to cure my ignorance, that this is the best of four or five hypotheses proposed, which are all defective; if this too has in it what is inconsistent with itself, or unintelligible to me.

That P. Malebranche’s Recherche de la Verité, l. 3. . c. 1, tells us, that whatever the mind perceives “must be actually present and intimately united to it.” That the things that the mind perceives are its own sensations, imaginations, or notions; which, being in the soul the modifications of it, need no ideas to represent them. But all things exterior to the soul we cannot perceive but by the intervention of ideas, supposing that the things themselves cannot be intimately united to the soul. But because spiritual things may possibly be united to the soul, therefore he thinks it probable that they can discover themselves immediately without ideas; though of this he doubts, because he believes not there is any substance purely intelligible but that of God; and that though spirits can possibly unite themselves to our minds; yet at present we cannot entirely know them. But he speaks here principally of material things, which he says certainly cannot unite themselves to our souls in such a manner, as is necessary that it should perceive them; because, being extended, the soul not being so, there is no proportion between them.

This is the sum of his doctrine contained in the first chapter of the second part of the third book, as far as I can comprehend it; wherein, I confess, there are many expressions, which carrying with them, to my mind, no clear ideas, are like to remove but little of my ignorance by their sounds. v. g. “What it is to be intimately united to the soul;” what it is for two souls or spirits to be intimately united; for intimate union being an idea taken from bodies when the parts of one get within the surface of the other, and touch their inward parts; what is the idea of intimate union, I must have, between two beings that have neither of them any extension or surface? And if it be not so explained as to give me a clear idea of that union, it will make me understand very little more of the nature of the ideas in my mind, when it is said I see them in God, who being “intimately united to the soul” exhibits them to it; than when it is only said they are by the appointment of God produced in the mind by certain motions of our bodies, to which our minds are united. Which, however imperfect a way of explaining this matter, will still be as good as any other that does not by clear ideas remove my ignorance of the manner of my perception.

But he says that “certainly material things cannot unite themselves to our souls.” Our bodies are united to our souls, yes; but, says he, not after “a manner which is necessary that the soul may perceive them.” Explain this manner of union, and show wherein the difference consists betwixt the union necessary and not necessary to perception, and then I shall confess this difficulty removed.

The reason that he gives why “material things cannot be united to our souls after a manner” that is necessary to the soul’s perceiving them, is this, viz. That, “material things being extended, and the soul not, there is no proportion between them.” This, if it shows any thing, shows only that a soul and a body cannot be united, because one has surface to be united by, and the other none. But it shows not why soul, united to a body as ours is, cannot, by that body, have the idea of a triangle excited in it, as well as by being united to God, (between whom and the soul there is as little proportion, as between any creature immaterial or material, and the soul,) see in God the idea of a triangle that is in him, since we cannot conceive a triangle, whether seen in matter, or in God, to be without extension.

He says, “There is no substance purely intelligible but that of God.” Here again I must confess myself in the dark, having no notion at all of the substance of God;” nor being able to conceive how his is more intelligible than any other substance.

One thing more there is, which, I confess, stumbles me in the very foundation of this hypothesis, which stands thus: we cannot “perceive” anything but what is “intimately united to the soul.” The reason why some things (viz. material) cannot be “intimately united to the soul,” is, because “there is no proportion between the soul and them.” If this be a good reason, it follows, that the greater the proportion there is between the soul and any other being, the better and more intimately they can be united. Now then I ask, whether there be a greater proportion between God, an infinite being, and the soul, or between finite created spirits and the soul? And yet the author says, that “he believes that there is no substance purely intelligible but that of God,” and that “we cannot entirely know created spirits at present.” Make this out upon your principles of “intimate union” and “proportion,” and then they will be of some use to the clearing of your hypothesis, otherwise “intimate union” and “proportion” are only sounds serving to amuse, not instruct us.

In the close of this chapter he enumerates the several ways whereby he thinks we come by ideas, and compares them severally with his own way. Which how much more intelligible it is than either of those, the following chapters will show: to which I shall proceed, when I have observed that it seems a bold determination, when he says that it must be one of these ways, and we can see objects no other. Which assertion must be built on this good opinion of our capacities, that God cannot make the creatures operate, but in ways conceivable to us. That we cannot discourse and reason about them farther than we conceive, is a great truth: and it would be well if we would not, but would ingenuously own the shortness of our sight where we do not see. To say there can be no other, because we conceive no other, does not, I confess, much instruct. And if I should say, that it is possible God has made our souls so, and so united them to our bodies, that, upon certain motion made in our bodies by external objects, the soul should have such or such perceptions or ideas, though in a way inconceivable to us; this perhaps would appear as true and as instructive a proposition as what is so positively laid down.

Though the peripatetic doctrine of the species does not at all satisfy me, yet I think it were not hard to show, that it is as easy to account for the difficulties he charges on it, as for those his own hypothesis is laden with. But it being not my business to defend what I do not understand, nor to prefer the learned gibberish of the schools to what is yet unintelligible to me in P. M. I shall only take notice of so much of his objections, as concerns what I guess to be the truth. Though I do not think any material species, carrying the resemblance of things by a continual flux from the body we perceive, bring the perception of them to our senses; yet I think the perception we have of bodies at a distance from ours, may be accounted for, as far as we are capable of understanding it, by the motion of particles of matter coming from them and striking on our organs. In feeling and tasting there is immediate contact. Sound is not unintelligibly explained by a vibrating motion communicated to the medium, and the effluvia of odorous bodies will, without any great difficulties, account for smells. And therefore P. M. makes his objections only against visible species, as the most difficult to be explained by material causes, as indeed they are. But he that shall allow extreme smallness in the particles of light, and exceeding swiftness in their motion; and the great porosity that must be granted in bodies, if we compare gold, which wants them not, with air, the medium wherein the rays of light come to our eyes, and that of a million of rays that rebound from any visible area of any body, perhaps the 1/1000 or 1/10000 part coming to the eye, are enough to move the retina, sufficiently to cause a sensation in the mind, will not find any great difficulty in the objections which are brought from the impenetrability of matter, and these rays ruffling and breaking one another in the medium which is full of them. As to what is said, that from one point we can see a great number of objects, that is no objection against the species, or visible appearances of bodies, being brought into the eye by the rays of light; for the bottom of the eye or retina, which, in regard of these rays, is the place of vision, is far from being a point. Nor is it true, that though the eye be in any one place; yet that the sight is performed in one point, i. e. that the rays that bring those visible species do all meet at a point; for they cause their distinct sensations by striking on distinct parts of the retina, as is plain in optics: and the figure they paint there must be of some considerable bigness, since it takes up on the retina an area whose diameter is at least thirty seconds of a circle, whereof the circumference is in the retina, and the centre somewhere in the crystalline; as a little skill in optics will manifest to any one that considers, that few eyes can perceive an object less than thirty minutes of a circle, whereof the eye is the centre. And he that will but reflect on that seeming odd experiment of seeing only the two outward ones of three bits of paper stuck up against a wall, at about half a foot, or a foot one from another, without seeing the middle one at all, whilst his eye remains fixed in the same posture, must confess that vision is not made in a point, when it is plain, that looking with one eye there is always one part between the extremes of the area that we see, which is not seen at the same time that we perceive the extremes of it; though the looking with two eyes, or the quick turning of the axis of the eye to the part we would distinctly view, when we look but with one, does not let us take notice of it.

What I have here said I think sufficient to make intelligible, how by material rays of light visible species may be brought into the eye, notwithstanding any of P. M.’s objections against so much of material causes, as my hypothesis is concerned in. But when by this means an image is made on the retina, how we see it, I conceive no more than when I am told we see it in God. How we see it, is, I confess, what I understand not in the one or in the other, only it appears to me more difficult to conceive a distinct visible image in the uniform invariable essence of God, than in variously modifiable matter; but the manner how I see either, still escapes my comprehension. Impressions made on the retina by rays of light, I think I understand; and motions from thence continued to the brain may be conceived, and that these produce ideas in our minds I am persuaded, but in a manner to me incomprehensible. This I can resolve only into the good pleasure of God, whose ways are past finding out. And I think I know it as well when I am told these are ideas that the motion of the animal spirits by a law established by God, produces in me; as when I am told they are ideas I see in God. The ideas it is certain I have, and God both ways is the original cause of my having them; but the manner how I come by them, how it is that I perceive, I confess I understand not; though it be plain motion has to do in the producing of them: and motion so modified, is appointed to be the cause of our having them; as appears by the curious and artificial structure of the eye, accommodated to all the rules of refraction and dioptrics, that so visible objects might be exactly and regularly painted on the bottom of the eye.

The change of bigness in the ideas of visible objects, by distance and optic glasses, which is the next argument he uses against visible species, is a good argument against them, as supposed by the peripatetics; but when considered, would persuade one that we see the figures and magnitudes of things rather in the bottom of our eyes than in God: the idea we have of them and their grandeur being still proportioned to the bigness of the area, on the bottom of our eyes, that is affected by the rays which paint the image there; and we may be said to see the picture in the retina, as, when it is pricked, we are truly said to feel the pain in our finger.

In the next place where he says, that when we look on a cube “we see all its sides equal.” This, I think, is a mistake; and I have in another place shown, how the idea we have from a regular solid, is not the true idea of that solid, but such an one as by custom (as the name of it does) serves to excite our judgment to form such an one.

What he says of seeing an object several millions of leagues, the very same instant that it is uncovered, I think may be shown to be a mistake in matter of fact. For by observations made on the satellites of Jupiter, it is discovered that light is successively propagated and is about ten minutes coming from the sun to us.

By what I have said, I think it may be understood how we may conceive, that from remote objects material causes may reach our senses, and therein produce several motions that may be the causes of ideas in us; notwithstanding what P. M. has said in his second chapter against material species. I confess his arguments are good against those species as usually understood by the peripatetics: but, since my principles have been said to be conformable to the Aristotelian philosophy, I have endeavoured to remove the difficulties it is charged with, as far as my opinion is concerned in them.

His third chapter is to confute the “opinion of those who think our minds have a power to produce the ideas of things on which they would think, and that they are excited to produce them by the impressions which objects make on the body.” One who thinks ideas are nothing but perceptions of the mind annexed to certain motions of the body by the will of God, who hath ordered such perceptions always to accompany such motions, though we know not how they are produced; does in effect conceive those ideas or perceptions to be only passions of the mind, when produced in it, whether we will or no, by external objects. But he conceives them to be a mixture of action and passion when the mind attends to them, or revives them in the memory. Whether the soul has such a power as this, we shall perhaps have occasion to consider hereafter; and this power our author does not deny, since in this very chapter he says, “When we conceive a square by pure understanding, we can yet imagine it; i. e. perceive it in ourselves by tracing an image of it on the brain.” Here then he allows the soul power to trace images on the brain, and perceive them. This, to me, is matter of new perplexity in his hypothesis; for if the soul be so united to the brain as to trace images on it, and perceive them, I do not see how this consists with what he says a little before in the first chapter, viz. “that certainly material things cannot be united to our souls after a manner necessary to its perceiving them.”

That which is said about objects exciting ideas in us by motion; and our reviving the ideas we have once got in our memories, does not, I confess, fully explain the manner how it is done. In this I frankly avow my ignorance, and should be glad to find in him any thing that would clear it to me; but in his explications I find these difficulties which I cannot get over.

The mind cannot produce ideas, says he, because they are “real spiritual beings,” i. e. substances; for so is the conclusion of that paragraph, where he mentions it as an absurdity to think they are “annihilated when they are not present to the mind.” And the whole force of this argument would persuade one to understand him so; though I do not remember that he any-where speaks it out, or in direct terms calls them substances.

I shall here only take notice how inconceivable it is to me, that a spiritual, i. e. an unextended substance, should represent to the mind an extended figure, v. g. a triangle of unequal sides, or two triangles of different magnitudes. Next, supposing I could conceive an unextended substance to represent a figure, or be the idea of a figure, the difficulty still remains to conceive how it is my soul sees it. Let this substantial being be ever so sure, and the picture ever so clear; yet how we see it, is to me inconceivable. Intimate union, were it as intelligible of two unextended substances as of two bodies, would not yet reach perception, which is something beyond union. But yet a little lower he agrees, that an idea “is not a substance,” but yet affirms it is “a spiritual thing:” this “spiritual thing” therefore must either be a “spiritual substance,” or a mode of a spiritual substance, or a relation; for besides these I have no conception of any thing. And if any shall tell me it is a “mode,” it must be a mode of the substance of God; which, besides that it will be strange to mention any modes in the simple essence of God; whosoever shall propose any such modes, as a way to explain the nature of our ideas, proposes to me something inconceivable, as a means to conceive what I do not yet know; and so bating a new phrase, teaches me nothing, but leaves me as much in the dark as one can be where he conceives nothing. So that supposing ideas real spiritual things ever so much, if they are neither substances nor modes, let them be what they will, I am no more instructed in their nature, than when I am told they are perceptions such as I find them. And I appeal to my reader, whether that hypothesis be to be preferred for its easiness, to be understood, which is explained by real beings, that are neither substances nor modes.

In the fourth chapter he proves, that we do not see objects by ideas that are created with us; because the ideas we have even of one very simple figure, v. g. a triangle, are not infinite, though there may be infinite triangles. What this proves I will not here examine; but the reason he gives being built on his hypothesis, I cannot get over, and that is, that, “it is not for want of ideas, or that infinite is not present to us, but it is only for want of capacity and extension of our souls, because the extension of our spirits is very narrow and limited.” To have a limited extension, is to have some extension which agrees but ill with what is before said of our souls, that they “have no extension.” By what he says here and in other places, one would think he were to be understood, as if the soul, being but a small extension, could not at once receive all the ideas conceivable in infinite space, because but a little part of that infinite space can be applied to the soul at once. To conceive thus of the soul’s intimate union with an infinite being, and by that union receiving of ideas, leads one as naturally into as gross thoughts, as a country maid would have of an infinite butter-print, in which was engraven figures of all sorts and sizes, the several parts whereof being, as there was occasion, applied to her lump of butter, left on it the figure or idea there was present need of. But whether any one would thus explain our ideas, I will not say, only I know not well how to understand what he says here, with what he says before of union, in a better sense.

He farther says, that had we a magazine of all ideas that are necessary for seeing things, they would be of no use, since the mind could not know which to choose, and set before itself to see the sun. What he here means by the sun is hard to conceive, and according to his hypothesis of “seeing all things in God,” how can he know that there is any such real being in the world as the sun? Did he ever see the sun? No, but on occasion of the presence of the sun to his eyes, he has seen the idea of the sun in God, which God has exhibited to him; but the sun, because it cannot be united to his soul, he cannot see. How then does he know that there is a sun which he never saw? And since God does all things by the most compendious ways, what need is there that God should make a sun that we might see its idea in him when he pleased to exhibit it, when this might as well be done without any real sun at all.

He farther says, that God does not actually produce in us as many new ideas as we every moment perceive different things. Whether he has proved this or no, I will not examine.

But he says, that “we have at all times actually in ourselves the ideas of all things.” Then we have always actually in ourselves the ideas of all triangles, which was but now denied, “but we have them confusedly.” If we see them in God, and they are not in him confusedly, I do not understand how we can see them in God confusedly.

In the fifth chapter he tells us “all things are in God,” even the most corporeal and earthly, but after “a manner altogether spiritual, and which we cannot comprehend.” Here therefore he and I are alike ignorant of these good words; “material things are in God after a spiritual manner,” signifying nothing to either of us; and “spiritual manner,” signifies no more but this, that material things are in God immaterially. This and the like are ways of speaking, which our vanity has found out to cover, not remove our ignorance. But “material things are in God,” because “their ideas are in God, and those ideas which God had of them before the world was created, are not at all different from himself.” This seems to me to come very near saying, not only that there is variety in God, since we see variety in what “is not different from himself;” but that material things are God, or a part of him; which, though I do not think to be what our author designs; yet thus I fear he must be forced to talk, who thinks he knows God’s understanding so much better than his own, that he will make use of the divine intellect to explain the human.

In the sixth chapter he comes more particularly to explain his own doctrine, where first he says, “the ideas of all beings are in God.” Let it be so, God has the idea of a triangle, of a horse, of a river, just as we have; for hitherto this signifies no more, for we see them as they are in him; and so the ideas that are in him, are the ideas we perceive. Thus far I then understand God hath the same ideas we have. This tells indeed that there are ideas, which was agreed before and I think nobody denies, but tells me not yet what they are.

Having said that they are in God, the next thing he tells us is, that we “can see them in God.” His proof, that “our souls can see them in God, is because God is most straitly united to our souls by his presence, insomuch that one may say, God is the place of spirits, as spaces are the places of bodies;” in which there is not, I confess, one word that I can understand. For, first, in what sense can he say, that “spaces are the places of bodies;” when he makes body and space, or extension, to be the same thing? So that I do no more understand what he means, when he says, “spaces are the places of bodies,” than if he had said, bodies are the places of bodies. But when this simile is applied to God and spirits, it makes this saying, that “God is the place of spirits,” either to be merely metaphorical, and so signifies literally nothing, or else being literal, makes us conceive that spirits move up and down, and have their distances and intervals in God, as bodies have in space. When I am told in which of these senses he is to be understood, I shall be able to see how far it helps us to understand the nature of ideas. But is not God as straitly united to bodies as to spirits? For he is also present, even where they are, but yet they see not these ideas in him. He therefore adds, “that the soul can see in God the works of God, supposing God would discover to it what there is in him to represent them,” viz. the ideas that are in him. Union therefore is not the cause of this seeing; for the soul may be united to God, and yet not see the ideas are in him, till he “discover” them to it; so that, after all, I am but where I was. I have ideas, that I know; but I would know what they are; and to that I am yet only told, that “I see them in God.” I ask how I see them in God? And it is answered, by my “intimate union” with God, for he is every-where present. I answer, if that were enough, bodies are also intimately united with God, for he is every-where present; besides, if that were enough, I should see all the ideas that are in God. No, but only those that he pleases to “discover.” Tell me wherein this discovery lies, besides barely making me see them, and you explain the manner of my having ideas: otherwise all that has been said amounts to no more but this, that I have those ideas that it pleases God I should have, but by ways that I know not; and of this mind I was before, and am not got one jot farther.

In the next paragraph he calls them “beings, representative beings.” But whether these beings are substances, modes, or relations, I am not told; and so by being told they are spiritual beings, I know no more but that they are something, I know not what, and that I knew before.

To explain this matter a little farther, he adds, “It must be observed, that it cannot be concluded, that souls see the essence of God, in that they see all things in God; because what they see is very imperfect, and God is very perfect. They see matter divisible, figured, &c. and in God there is nothing divisible and figured: for God is all being, because he is infinite, and comprehends all things; but he is not any being in particular. Whereas what we see is but some one or more beings in particular; and we do not at all comprehend that perfect simplicity of God which contains all beings. Moreover, one may say, that we do not so much see the ideas of things, as the things themselves, which the ideas represent. For when, for example, one sees a square, one says not that one sees the idea of a square, which is united to the soul, but only the square that is without.” I do not pretend to be short-sighted; but if I am not duller than ordinary, this paragraph shows, that P. M. himself is at a stand in this matter, and comprehends not what it is we see in God, or how. Chap. fourth, he says, in express words, that “it is necessary that at all times we should have actually in ourselves the ideas of all things.” And in this very chapter, a little lower, he says, that “all beings are present to our minds,” and that we have “general ideas antecedent to particular.” And, chath, that we are never without the “general idea of being:” and yet here he says, “that which we see” is but “one or more beings in particular.” And after having taken a great deal of pains to prove, that “we cannot possibly see things in themselves, but only ideas; here he tells us “we do not so much see the ideas of things as the things themselves.” In this uncertainty of the author what it is we see, I am to be excused if my eyes see not more clearly in his hypothesis than he himself does.

He farther tells us, in this sixth chapter, that “we see all beings, because God wills that that which is in him that represents them should be discovered to us.” This tells us only, that there are ideas of things in God, and that we see them when he pleases to discover them; but what does this show us more of the nature of those ideas, or of the discovery of them, wherein that consists, than he that says, without pretending to know what they are, or how they are made, that ideas are in our minds when God pleases to produce them there, by such motions as he has appointed to do it? The next argument for our “seeing all things in God,” is in these words; “but the strongest of all the reasons is the manner in which the mind perceives all things: it is evident, and all the world knows it by experience, that when we would think of any thing in particular, we at first cast our view upon all beings, and afterwards we apply ourselves to the consideration of the object which we desire to think on.” This argument has no other effect on me, but to make me doubt the more of the truth of this doctrine. First, because this, which he calls the “strongest reason of all,” is built upon matter of fact, which I cannot find to be so in myself. I do not observe, that when I would think of a triangle, I first think of “all beings;” whether these words “all beings” be to be taken here in their proper sense, or very improperly for “being” in general. Nor do I think my country neighbours do so, when they first wake in the morning, who, I imagine, do not find it impossible to think of a lame horse they have, or their blighted corn, till they have run over in their minds “all beings” that are, and then pitch on dapple; or else begin to think of “being” in general, which is “being” abstracted from all its inferiour species, before they come to think of the fly in their sheep, or the tares in their corn. For I am apt to think that the greatest part of mankind very seldom, if ever at all, think of “being” in general, i. e. abstracted from all its inferiour species and individuals. But taking it to be so, that a carrier when he would think of a remedy for his galled horse, or a foot-boy for an excuse for some fault he has committed, begins with casting his eye upon all things; how does this make out the conclusion? Therefore “we can desire to see all objects, whence it follows that all beings are present to our minds.” Which presence signifies that we see them, or else it signifies nothing at all. They are all actually always seen by us; which, how true, let every one judge.

The words wherein he pursues this argument stand thus, “Now it is indubitable that we cannot desire to see any particular object without seeing it already, although confusedly, and in general. So that being able to desire to see all beings sometimes one, sometimes another, it is certain that all beings are present to our spirits; and it seems all beings could not be present to our spirits, but because God is present to them, i. e. he that contains all things in the simplicity of his being.” I must leave it to others to judge how far it is blameable in me; but so it is, that I cannot make to myself the links of this chain to hang together; and methinks if a man would have studied obscurity, he could not have writ more unintelligibly than this. “We can desire to see all beings, sometimes one, sometimes another; therefore we do already see all things, because we cannot desire to see any particular object, but what we see already confusedly and in general.” The discourse here is about ideas, which he says are real things, and we see in God. In taking this along with me, to make it prove any thing to his purpose, the argument must, as it seems to me, stand thus: we can desire to have all ideas, sometimes one, sometimes another; therefore we have already all ideas, because we cannot desire to have any particular idea, but what we have already “confusedly” and “in general.” What can be meant here by having “any particular” idea “confusedly and in general,” I confess I cannot conceive, unless it be a capacity in us to have them; and in that sense the whole argument amounts to no more but this: we have all ideas, because we are capable of having all ideas; and so proves not at all that we actually have them by being united to God, who, “contains them all in the simplicity of his being.” That any thing else is, or can be meant by it, I do not see; for that which we desire to see, being nothing but what we see already, (for if it can be any else, the argument falls and proves nothing,) and that which we desire to see, being, as we are told here, something particular, “sometimes one thing, sometimes another;” that which we do see must be particular too; but how to see a particular thing in general, is past my comprehension. I cannot conceive how a blind man has the particular idea of scarlet confusedly or in general, when he has it not at all; and yet that he might desire to have it, I cannot doubt, no more than I doubt that I can desire to perceive, or to have the ideas of those things that God has prepared for those that love him, “though they be such as eye hath not seen, or ear hath not heard, nor hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive,” such as I have yet no idea of. He who desires to know what creatures are in Jupiter, or what God hath prepared for them that love him, hath, it is true, a supposition that there is something in Jupiter, or in the place of the blessed; but if that be to have the particular ideas of things there, enough to say that we see them already, nobody can be ignorant of any thing. He that has seen one thing hath seen all things; for he has got the general ideas of something. But this is not, I confess, sufficient to convince me, that hereby we see all things “in the simplicity of God’s being,” which comprehends all things. For if the ideas I see are all, as our author tells us, real beings in him, it is plain they must be so many real distinct beings in him; and if we see them in him, we must see them as they are, distinct particular things, and so shall not see them confusedly and in general. And what it is to see any idea (to which I do not give a name) confusedly, is what I do not well understand. What I see I see, and the idea I see is distinct from all others that are not the same with it: besides, I see them as they are in God, and as he shows them me. Are they in God confusedly? Or does he show them me confusedly?

Secondly, This “seeing of all things,” because we “can desire to see all things,” he makes a proof that “they are present” to our minds; and if they “be present, they can no ways be present but by the presence of God, who contains them all in the simplicity of his being.” This reasoning seems to be founded on this, that the reason of seeing all things, is their being present to our minds; because God, in whom they are, is present. This, though the foundation he seems to build on, is liable to a very natural objection, which is, that then we should actually always see all things, because in God, who is present, they are all actually present to the mind. This he has endeavoured to obviate, by saying we see all the ideas in God, which he is pleased “to discover to us;” which indeed is an answer to this objection; but such an one as overturns his whole hypothesis, and renders it useless, and as unintelligible as any of those he has for that reason laid aside. He pretends to explain to us how we come to perceive any thing, and that is by having the ideas of them present in our minds: for the soul cannot perceive things at a distance, or remote from it. And those ideas are present to the mind, only because God, in whom they are, is present to the mind. This so far hangs together, and is of a piece. But when after this I am told, that their presence is not enough to make them be seen, but God must do something farther to discover them to me, I am as much in the dark as I was at first: and all this talk of their presence in my mind explains nothing of the way wherein I perceive them, nor ever will, till he also makes me understand, what God does more than make them present to my mind, when he discovers them to me. For I think nobody denies, I am sure I affirm, that the ideas we have, are in our minds by the will and power of God, though in a way that we conceive not, nor are able to comprehend. God, says our author, is strictly united to the soul, and so the ideas of things too. But yet that presence or union of theirs is not enough to make them seen, but God must show or exhibit them; and what does God do more than make them present to the mind when he shows them? Of that there is nothing said to help me over this difficulty, but that when God shows them we see them; which in short seems to me to say only thus much, that when we have these ideas we have them, and we owe the having of them to our Maker: which is to say no more than I do with my ignorance. We have the ideas of figures and colours by the operation of exteriour objects on our senses, when the sun shows them us; but how the sun shows them us, or how the light of the sun produces them in us; what, and how the alteration is made in our souls; I know not: nor does it appear, by any thing our author says, that he knows any more what God does when he shows them us, or what it is that is done upon our minds, since the presence of them to our minds, he confesses, does it not.

Thirdly, One thing more is incomprehensible to me in this matter, and that is, how the “simplicity of God’s being” should contain in it a variety of real beings, so that the soul can discern them in him distinctly one from another? it being said, chath. That the ideas in God “are not different from God himself.” This seems to me to express a simplicity made up of variety, a thing I cannot understand. God I believe to be a simple being, that by his wisdom knows all things, and by his power can do all things; but how he does it, I think myself less able to comprehend, than to contain the ocean in my hand, or grasp the universe with my span. “Ideas are real beings,” you say; if so, it is evident they must be distinct “real beings;” for there is nothing more certain than that there are distinct ideas; and they are in God, in whom we see them. There they are then actually distinct, or else we could not see them distinct in him. Now these distinct real beings that are in God, are they either parts, or modifications of the Deity, or comprehended in him as things in a place? For besides these three, I think we can scarce think of another way wherein we can conceive them to be in him, so that we can see them. For to say they are in him “eminenter,” is to say they are not in him actually and really to be seen; but only if they are in him “eminenter,” and we see them only in him, we can be said to see them only “eminenter” too. So that though it cannot be denied that God sees and knows all things; yet when we say we see all things in him, it is but a metaphorical expression to cover our ignorance, in a way that pretends to explain our knowledge; seeing things in God signifying no more than that we perceive them we know not how.

He farther adds, That he “does not believe that one can well give an account of the manner wherein the mind knows many abstract and general truths, but by the presence of him who can enlighten the mind after a thousand different fashions.” It is not to be denied that God can enlighten our minds after a thousand different fashions; and it cannot also be denied, that those thousand different fashions may be such, as we comprehend not one of them. The question is, whether this talk of seeing all things in God does make us clearly, or at all, comprehend one of them; if it did so to me, I should gratefully acknowledge that then I was ignorant of nine hundred and ninety-nine of the thousand, whereas I must yet confess myself ignorant of them all.

The next paragraph, if it proves any thing, seems to me to prove that the idea we have of God is God himself, it being something, as he says, “uncreated.” The ideas that men have of God are so very different, that it would be very hard to say that it was God himself. Nor does it avail to say they would all have the same, if they would apply their minds to the contemplation of him; for this being brought here to prove that God is present in all men’s minds, and that therefore they see him, it must also, in my apprehension, prove that he being immutably the same, and they seeing him, must needs see him all alike.

In the next section we are told that we have “not only the idea of infinite, but before that of finite.” This being a thing of experience, every one must examine himself; and it being my misfortune to find it otherwise in myself, this argument, of course, is like to have the less effect on me, who therefore cannot so easily admit the inference, viz. “That the mind perceives not one thing, but in the idea it has of infinite.” And I cannot but believe many a child can tell twenty, have the idea of a square trencher, or a round plate, and have the distinct clear ideas of two and three, long before he has any idea of “infinite” at all.

The last argument which he tells us is a demonstration that we see all things in God, is this: “God has made all things for himself; but if God made a spirit or mind, and gave it the sun for its idea, or the immediate object of its knowledge, God would have made that spirit or mind for the sun, and not for himself.” The natural inference from this argument seems to me to be this, therefore God has given himself for the idea, or immediate object of the knowledge of all human minds. But experience too manifestly contradicting this, our author has made another conclusion, and says thus, “It is necessary then that the light which he gives the mind, should make us know something that is in him,” v. g. Because “all things that come from God cannot be but for God.” Therefore a covetous man sees in God the money, and a Persian the sun that he worships; and thus God is the “immediate object” of the minds, both of the one and the other. I confess this demonstration is lost on me, and I cannot see the force of it. All things, it is true, are made for God, i. e. for his glory; and he will be glorified even by those rational beings, who would not apply their faculties to the knowledge of him.

But the next paragraph explains this: “God could not then make a soul for to know his works, were it not that that soul sees God after a fashion in seeing his works:” just “after such a fashion,” that if he never saw more of him, he would never know any thing of a God, nor believe there was any such being. A child, as soon as he is born, sees a candle, or before he can speak, the ball he plays with; these he “sees in God” whom he has yet no notion of. Whether this be enough to make us say that the mind is made for God, and this be the proof of it, other people must judge for themselves. I must own that if this were the knowledge of God, which intelligent beings were made for, I do not see but they might be made for the knowledge of God without knowing any thing of him; and those that deny him, were made for the knowledge of him. Therefore I am not convinced of the truth of what follows, that “we do not see any one thing, but by the natural knowledge which we have of God.” Which seems to me a quite contrary way of arguing to what the apostle uses, where he says, that “the invisible things of God are seen by the visible things he has made.” For it seems to me a quite contrary way of arguing, to say we see the Creator in, or by the creatures, and we see the creatures in the Creator. The apostle begins our knowledge in the creatures, which lead us to the knowledge of God, if we will make use of our reason: our author begins our knowledge in God, and by that leads us to the creatures.

But to confirm his argument, he says, “all the particular ideas we have of the creatures are but limitations of the idea of the Creator.” As for example, I have the idea of the solidity of matter, and of the motion of body, what is the idea of God that either of these limits? And, when I think of the number ten, I do not see how that any way concerns or limits the idea of God.

The distinction he makes a little lower between “sentiment” and “idea,” does not at all clear to me, but cloud, his doctrine. His words are, “It must be observed, that I do not say that we have the sentiment of material things in God, but that it is from God that acts in us: for God knows sensible things, but feels them not. When we perceive any sensible thing, there is in our perception sentiment and pure idea.” If by “sentiment,” which is the word he uses in French, he means the act of sensation, or the operation of the soul in perceiving: and by “pure idea,” the immediate object of that perception, which is the definition of ideas he gives here in the first chapter; there is some foundation for it, taking ideas for real beings or substances. But, taken thus, I cannot see how it can be avoided, but that we must be said to smell a rose in God, as well as to see a rose in God; and the scent of the rose that we smell, as well as the colour and figure of the rose that we see, must be in God; which seems not to be his sense here, and does not well agree with what he says concerning the ideas we see in God, which I shall consider in its due place. If by “sentiment” here he means something that is neither the act of perception nor the idea perceived, I confess I know not what it is, nor have any conception at all of it. When we see and smell a violet, we perceive the figure, colour, and scent of that flower. Here I cannot but ask whether all these three are “pure ideas,” or all “sentiments?” If they are all “ideas,” then according to his doctrine they are all in God; and then it will follow, that as I see the figure of the violet in God; so also I see the colour of it, and smell the scent of it in God, which way of speaking he does not allow, nor can I blame him. For it shows a little too plainly the absurdity of that doctrine, if he should say we smell a violet, taste wormwood, or feel cold in God; and yet I can find no reason why the action of one of our senses is applied only to God, when we use them all as well as our eyes in receiving ideas. If the figure, colour, and smell are all of them “sentiments,” then they are none of them in God, and so this whole business of seeing in God is out of doors. If (as by what he says in his Eclaircissements it appears to me to be his meaning) the figure of the violet be to be taken for an “idea,” but its “colour” and “smell” for sentiments: I confess it puzzles me to know by what rule it is, that in a violet the purple colour, whereof whilst I write this I seem to have as clear an idea in my mind as of its figure, is not as much an idea as the figure of it; especially, since he tells me in the first chapter here, which is concerning the nature of ideas, that, “by this word idea he understands here nothing else, but what is the immediate or nearest object of the mind when it perceives any thing.”

The “sentiment,” says he in the next words, “is a modification of our soul.” This word “modification” here, that comes in for explication, seems to me to signify nothing more than the word to be explained by it; v. g. I see the purple colour of a violet, this, says he, is “sentiment:” I desire to know what “sentiment” is; that, says he, is a “modification of the soul.” I take the word, and desire to see what I can conceive by it concerning my soul; and here, I confess, I can conceive nothing more, but that I have the idea of purple in my mind, which I had not before, without being able to apprehend any thing the mind does or suffers in this, besides barely having the idea of purple: and so the good word “modification” signifies nothing to me more than I knew before; v. g. that I have now the idea of purple in it, which I had not some minutes since. So that though they say sensations are modifications of the mind; yet having no manner of idea what that modification of the mind is, distinct from that very sensation, v. g. the sensation of a red colour or a bitter taste: it is plain this explication amounts to no more than that a sensation is a sensation, and the sensation of red or bitter is the sensation of “red” or “bitter;” for if I have no other idea, when I say it is a modification of the mind, than when I say it is the sensation of “red” or “bitter,” it is plain sensation and modification stand both for the same idea, and so are but two names of one and the same thing. But to examine their doctrine of modification a little farther. Different sentiments are different modifications of the mind. The mind or soul that perceives, is one immaterial indivisible substance. Now I see the white and black on this paper, I hear one singing in the next room, I feel the warmth of the fire I sit by, and I taste an apple I am eating, and all this, at the same time. Now I ask, take “modification” for what you please, can the same unextended indivisible substance have different, nay inconsistent and opposite (as these of white and black must be) modifications at the same time? Or must we suppose distinct parts in an indivisible substance, one for black, another for white, and another for red ideas, and so of the rest of those infinite sensations which we have in sorts and degrees; all which we can distinctly perceive, and so are distinct ideas, some whereof are opposite, as heat and cold, which yet a man may feel at the same time? I was ignorant before how sensation was performed in us, this they call an explanation of it. Must I say now I understand it better? If this be to cure one’s ignorance, it is a very slight disease, and the charm of two or three insignificant words will at any time remove it; “probatum est.” But let it signify what it will, when I recollect the figure of one of the leaves of a violet, is not that a new modification of my soul, as well as when I think of its purple colour? Does my mind do or suffer nothing anew when I see that figure in God?

The idea of that figure, you say, is in God; let it be so, but it may be there, and I not see it, that is allowed; when I come to see it, which I did not before, is there no new modification, as you call it, of my mind? If there be, then seeing of figure in God, as well as having the idea of purple, is a “modification of the mind,” and this distinction signifies nothing. If seeing that figure in God now, which a minute or two since I did not see at all, be no new modification or alteration in my mind, no different action or passion from what was before, there is no difference made in my apprehensions between seeing and not seeing. The ideas of figures, our author says, are in God, and are real beings in God; and God being united to the mind, these are also united to it. This all seems to me to have something very obscure and inconceivable in it, when I come to examine particulars; but let it be granted to be as clear as any one would suppose it; yet it reaches not the main difficulty, which is in “seeing.” How after all do I see? The ideas are in God, they are real things, they are intimately united to my mind, because God is so, but yet I do not see them. How at last after all this preparation, which hitherto is ineffectual, do I come to see them? And to that I am told, “when God is pleased to discover them to me.” This in good earnest seems to me to be nothing but going a great way about to come to the same place, and this learned circuit, thus set out, brings me at last no farther than this, that I see or perceive, or have ideas when it pleases God I should, but in a way I cannot comprehend; and this I thought without all this ado.

This “sentiment” he tells us in the next words, “it is God causes in us, and he can cause it in us, although he has it not, because he sees in the idea that he has of our soul, that it is capable of them.” This I take to be said to show the difference between “sentiments” and “ideas” in us. V. g. “figures” and “numbers” are ideas, and they are in God. “Colours” and “smells,” &c. are “sentiments” in us, and not ideas in God. First, as to ourselves I ask, why, when I recollect in my memory a violet, the purple colour as well as figure is not an idea in me? The making then the picture of any visible thing in my mind, as of a landscape I have seen, composed of figure and colour, the colour is not an idea, but the figure is an idea, and the colour a “sentiment.” Every one I allow may use his words as he pleases; but if it be to instruct others, he must when be uses two words where others use but one, show some grounds of the distinction. And I do not find but the colour of the marigold I now think of, is as much “the immediate object of my mind,” as its figure? and so according to his definition is an “idea.” Next as to God, I ask, whether, before the creation of the world, the idea of the whole marigold colour as well as figure was not in God? “God,” says he, “can cause those sentiments in us, because he sees in the idea that he has of our soul, that it is capable of them.” God, before he created any soul, knew all that he would make it capable of. He resolved to make it capable of having the perception of the colour as well as figure of a marigold; he had then the idea of that colour that he resolved to make it capable of, or else he made it capable (with reverence let it be spoken) of he knew not what: and if he knew what he should be capable of, he had the idea of what he knew; for before the creation there was nothing but God, and the ideas he had. It is true, the colour of that flower is not actually in God, no more is its figure actually in God; but we that can consider no other understanding, but in analogy to our own, cannot conceive otherwise but as the ideas of the figure, colour, and situation of the leaves of a marigold are in our minds, when we think of that flower in the night when we see it not; so it was in the thoughts of God before he made that flower. And thus we conceive him to have the idea of the smell of a violet, of the taste of sugar, the sound of a lute or trumpet, and of the pain and pleasure that accompany any of these or other sensations which he designed we should feel, though he never felt any of them, as we have the ideas of the taste of a cherry in winter, or of the pain of a burn when it is over. This is what I think we conceive of the ideas of God, which we must allow to have distinctly represented to him all that was to be in time, and consequently the colours, odours, and other ideas they were to produce in us. I cannot be so bold as to pretend to say what those ideas are in God, or to determine that they are real beings; but this I think I may say, that the idea of the colour of a marigold, or the motion of a stone, are as much real beings in God, as the idea of the figure or number of its leaves.

The reader must not blame me for making use here all along of the word “sentiment,” which is our author’s own, and I understood it so little, that I knew not how to translate it to any other. He concludes, “that he believes there is no appearance of truth in any other ways of explaining these things, and that this of seeing all things in God, is more than probable.” I have considered with as much indifferency and attention as is possible; and I must own it appears to me as little or less intelligible than any of the rest; and the summary of his doctrine, which he here subjoins, is to me wholly incomprehensible. His words are, “Thus our souls depend on God all manner of ways: for as it is he which makes them feel pleasure and pain, and all other sensations, by the natural union which he has made between them and our bodies, which is nothing else but hid decree and general will: so it is he, who by the natural union which he has made betwixt the will of man and the representation of ideas, which the immensity of the divine being contains, makes them know all that they know; and this natural union is also nothing but his general will.” This phrase of the union of our wills to the ideas contained in God’s immensity, seems to me a very strange one; and what light it gives to his doctrine I truly cannot find. It seemed so unintelligible to me, that I guessed it an errour in the print of the edition I used, which was the 4to printed at Paris, 78, and therefore consulted the 8vo, printed also at Paris, and found it “will” in both of them. Here again the “immensity of the divine being” is mentioned as that which contains in it the ideas to which our wills are united; which ideas being only those of quantity, as I shall show hereafter, seems to me to carry with it a very gross notion of this matter, as we have above remarked. But that which I take notice of principally here, is, that this union of our wills to the ideas contained in God’s immensity does not at all explain our seeing of them. This union of our wills to the ideas, or, as in other places, of our souls to God, is, says he, nothing but the will of God. And, after this union, our seeing them is only when God discovers them, i. e. our having them in our minds, is nothing but the will of God; all which is brought about in a way we comprehend not. And what then does this explain more than when one says, our souls are united to our bodies by the will of God, and by the motion of some parts of our bodies? V. g. the nerves or animal spirits have ideas or perceptions produced in them, and this is the will of God. Why is not this as intelligible and as clear as the other? Here is by the will of God given union and perception in both cases; but how that perception is made in both ways, seems to me equally incomprehensible. In one, God discovers ideas in himself to the soul united to him when he pleases; and in the other, he discovers ideas to the soul, or produces perception in the soul united to the body by motion, according to laws established by the good pleasure of his will: but how it is done in the one or the other I confess my incapacity to comprehend. So that I agree perfectly with him in his conclusion, that “there is nothing but God that can enlighten us:” but a clear comprehension of the manner how he does it, I doubt I shall not have, till I know a great deal more of him and myself, than in this state of darkness and ignorance our souls are capable of.

In the next, cha, he tells us, “there are four ways of knowing; the first is to know things by themselves;” and thus, he says, “we know God alone;” and the reason he gives of it is this, because “at present he alone penetrates the mind, and discovers himself to it.”

First, I would know what it is to penetrate a thing that is unextended? These are ways of speaking, which taken from body, when they are applied to spirit, signify nothing, nor show us any thing but our ignorance. To God’s penetrating our spirits, he joins his discovering himself; as if one were the cause of the other, and explained it: but I not conceiving any thing of the penetration of an unextended thing, it is lost upon me. But, next God penetrates our souls, and therefore we “see him by a direct and immediate view,” as he says in the following words. The ideas of all things which are in God, he elsewhere tells us, are not at all different from God himself; and if God’s penetrating our minds be the cause of our direct and immediate seeing God, we have a direct and immediate view of all that we see; for we see nothing but God and ideas; and it is impossible for us to know that there is any thing else in the universe; for since we see, and can see nothing but God and ideas, how can we know there is any thing else which we neither do nor can see? But if there be any thing to be understood by this penetration of our souls, and we have a direct view of God by this penetration, why have we not also a direct and immediate view of other separate spirits besides God? To this he says, that there is none but God alone who at present penetrates our spirits. This he says, but I do not see for what reason, but because it suits with his hypothesis: but he proves it not, nor goes about to do it, unless the direct and immediate view, he says, we have of God, be to be taken as a proof of it. But what is that direct and immediate view we have of God that we have not of a cherubim? The ideas of being, power, knowledge, goodness, duration, make up the complex idea we have of one and of the other; but only that in the one we join the idea of infinite to each simple idea, that makes our complex one; but to the other that of finite. But how have we a more direct or immediate view of the idea of power, knowledge, or duration, when we consider them in God, than when we consider them in an angel? The view of these ideas seems to be the same. Indeed we have a clearer proof of the existence of God than of a cherubim; but the idea of either, when we have it in our minds, seems to me to be there by an equally direct and immediate view. And it is about the ideas which are in our minds that I think our author’s enquiry here is, and not about the real existence of those things whereof we have ideas, which are two very remote things.

Perhaps it is God alone, says our author, “who can enlighten our minds by his substance.” When I know what the substance of God is, and what it is to be enlightened by that substance, I shall know what I also shall think of it; but at present I confess myself in the dark as to this matter; nor do these good words of substance and enlightening, in the way they are here used, help me one jot out of it.

He goes on, “one cannot conceive, says he, that any thing created can represent what is infinite.” And I cannot conceive that there is any positive comprehensive idea in any finite mind that does represent it fully and clearly as it is. I do not find that the mind of man has infinity positively and fully represented to it, or comprehended by it; which must be, if his argument were true, that therefore God enlightens our minds by his proper substance: because no created thing is big enough to represent what is infinite; and therefore what makes us conceive his infinity, is the presence of his own infinite substance in our minds: which to me manifestly supposes, that we comprehend in our minds God’s infinite substance, which is present to our minds; for if this be not the force of his argument, where he says, “nothing created can represent what is infinite; the being that is without bounds, the being immense, the being universal, cannot be perceived by an idea, i. e. by a particular being, by a being different from the universal infinite being itself.” It seems to me that this argument is founded on a supposition of our comprehending the infinite substance of God in our minds, or else I see not any force in it, as I have already said. I shall take notice of one or two things in it that confound me, and that is, that he calls God here the universal being; which must either signify that being which contains, and is made up as one comprehensive aggregate of all the rest, in which sense the universe may be called the universal being; or else it must mean being in general, which is nothing but the idea of being, abstracted from all inferiour divisions of that general notion, and from all particular existence. But in neither of these senses can I conceive God to be the universal being, since I cannot think the creatures either to be a part or a species of him. Next he calls the ideas that are in God particular beings. I grant whatever exists is particular, it cannot be otherwise; but that which is particular in existence, may be universal in representation, which I take to be all the universal beings we know, or can conceive to be. But let universal or particular beings be what they will, I do not see how our author can say, that God is an universal being, and the ideas we see in him particular beings; since he in another place tells us, that the ideas we see in God, are not at all different from God. But, says he, “as to particular beings it is not hard to conceive that they can be represented by the infinite being which contains them, and contains them after a very spiritual manner, and consequently very intelligible.” It seems as impossible to me, that an infinite simple being, in whom there is no variety, nor shadow of variety, should represent a finite thing, as that a finite thing should represent an infinite; nor do I see how its “containing all things in it after a very spiritual manner, makes it so very intelligible;” since I understand not what it is to contain a material thing spiritually, nor the manner how God contains any thing in himself, but either as an aggregate contains all things which it is made up of; and so indeed that part of him may be seen, which comes within the reach of our view. But this way of containing all things can by no means belong to God, and to make things thus visible in him, is to make the material world a part of him, or else as having a power to produce all things; and in this way, it is true, God contains all things in himself, but in a way not proper to make the being of God a representative of those things to us; for then his being, being the representative of the effects of that power, it must represent to us all that he is capable of producing, which I do not find in myself that it does.

Secondly, “The second way of knowing things, he tells us, is by ideas, that is, by something that is different from them; and thus we know things when they are not intelligible by themselves, either because they are corporeal or because they cannot penetrate the mind, or discover themselves to it; and this is the way we know corporeal things.” This reasoning I do not understand: first, because I do not understand why a line or a triangle is not as intelligible as any thing that can be named; for we must still carry along with us, that the discourse here is about our perception, or what we have any idea or conception of in our own minds. Secondly, because I do not understand what is meant by the penetrating a spirit; and till I can comprehend these, upon which this reasoning is built, this reasoning cannot work on me. But from these reasons he concludes, “thus it is in God, and by their ideas that we see bodies and their properties; and it is for this reason that the knowledge we have of them is most perfect.” Whether others will think that what we see of bodies, is seen in God, by seeing the ideas of them that are in God, must be left to them. Why I cannot think so, I have shown; but the inference he makes here from it, I think, few will assent to, that we know bodies and their properties most perfectly. For who is there that can say, he knows the properties either of body in general, or of any one particular body perfectly? One property of body in general is to have parts cohering and united together; for wherever there is body, there is cohesion of parts; but who is there that perfectly understands that cohesion? And as for particular bodies, who can say that he perfectly understands gold or a loadstone, and all its properties? But to explain himself, he says, “that the idea we have of extension, suffices to make us know all the properties whereof extension is capable, and that we cannot desire to have an idea more distinct, and more fruitful of extension, of figures, and of motions, than that which God has given us of them.” This seems to me a strange proof that we see bodies and their properties in God, and know them perfectly, because God hath given us distinct and fruitful ideas of extension, figure, and motion; for this had been the same, whether God had given these ideas by showing them in himself, or by any other way; and his saying, that God has given us as distinct and fruitful ideas of them as we can desire, seems as if our author himself had some other thoughts of them. If he thought we see them in God, he must think we see them as they are in themselves, and there would be no room for saying, God hath given them us as distinct as we could desire: the calling them fruitful, shows this yet more; for one that thinks he sees the ideas of figures in God, and can see no idea of a figure but in God, with what thought can he call any one of them feconde, which is said only of such things as produce others? Which expression of his seems to proceed only from this thought in him, that when I have once got the idea of extension, I can frame the ideas of what figures, and of what bigness I please. And in this I agree with him, as appears in what I have said, L. 2. C. 13. But then this can by no means proceed from a supposition, that I see these figures only in God; for there they do not produce one another, but there are, as it were, in their first pattern to be seen, just such, and so many as God is pleased to show them to us. But it will be said, our desire to see them is the occasional cause of God’s showing them us, and so we see whatever figure we desire. Let it be so, this does not make any idea feconde, for here is no production of one out of another: but as to the occasional cause, can any one say that it is so? I, or our author, desire to see an angle next in greatness to a right angle; did upon this God ever show him or me such an angle? That God knows, or has in himself the idea of such an angle, I think will not be denied; but that he ever showed it to any man, how much soever he desired it, I think may be doubted. But after all, how comes it by this means that we have a perfect knowledge of bodies and their properties, when several men in the world have not the same idea of body, and this very author and I differ in it? He thinks bare extension to be body, and I think extension alone makes not body, but extension and solidity; thus either he, or I, one of us, has a wrong and imperfect knowledge of bodies and their properties. For if bodies be extension alone, and nothing else, I cannot conceive how they can move and hit one against another, or what can make distinct surfaces in an uniform simple extension. A solid extended thing I can conceive moveable; but then, if I have a clear view of bodies and their properties in God, I must see the idea of solidity in God, which yet I think, by what our author has said in his Eclaircissements, he does not allow that we do. He says farther, “that whereas the ideas of things that are in God contain all their properties, he that sees their ideas may see successively all their properties.” This seems to me not to concern our ideas more, whether we see them in God, or have them otherwise. Any idea that we have, whencesoever we have it, contains in it all the properties it has, which are nothing but the relations it has to other ideas, which are always the same. What he says concerning the properties, that we may successively know them, is equally true, whether we see them in God, or have them by any other means. They that apply them as they ought to the consideration of their ideas, may successively come to the knowledge of some of their properties; but that they may know all their properties, is more than I think the reason proves, which he subjoins in these words, “for when one sees the things as they are in God, one sees them always in a most perfect manner.” We see, for example, in God, the idea of a triangle, or a circle; does it hence follow, that we can know all the properties of either of them? He adds, that the manner of seeing them “would be infinitely perfect, if the mind which sees them in God was infinite.” I confess myself here not well to comprehend his distinction between seeing after a manner “[tres parfait] most perfect and infinitely perfect;” he adds, “that which is wanting to the knowledge that we have of extension, figures, and motion, is not a defect of the idea which represents it, but of our mind which considers it.” If by ideas be meant here the real objects of our knowledge, I easily agree, that the want of knowledge in us is a defect in our minds, and not in the things to be known. But if by ideas be here meant the perception or representation of things in the mind, that I cannot but observe in myself to be very imperfect and defective, as when I desire to perceive what is the substance of body or spirit, the idea thereof fails me. To conclude, I see not what there is in this paragraph that makes any thing for the doctrine of seeing all things in God.

“The third way of knowing is by consciousness or interiour sentiments; and thus,” he says “we know our souls; and it is for this reason that the knowledge we have of them is imperfect, we know nothing of our souls but what we feel within ourselves.” This confession of our author brings me back, do what I can, to that original of all our ideas which my thoughts led me to when I writ my book, viz. sensation and reflection; and therefore I am forced to ask any one who is of our author’s principles, whether God had not the idea of mind, or of an human soul, before he created it? Next, whether that idea of an human soul be not as much a real being in God as the idea of a triangle? If so, why does not my soul, being intimately united to God, as well see the idea of my soul which is in him, as the idea of a triangle which is in him? And what reason can there be given, why God shows the idea of a triangle to us, and not the idea of our souls, but this, that God has given us external sensation to perceive the one, and none to perceive the other, but only internal sensation to perceive the operation of the latter? He that pleases may read what our author says in the remainder of this, and the two or three next paragraphs, and see whether it carries him beyond where my ignorance stopped; I must own that me it does not.

This, (i. e. the ignorance we are in of our own “souls,) says he, may serve to prove that the ideas that represent any thing to us that is without us are not modifications of our souls; for if the soul saw all things by considering its own proper modifications, it should know more clearly its own essence, or its own nature, than that of bodies; and all the sensations or modifications whereof it is capable, than the figures or modifications of which bodies are capable. In the mean time, it knows not that it is capable of any such sensation by sight, as it has of itself, but only by experience; instead of that it knows that extension is capable of an infinite number of figures by the ideas that it has of extension. There are, moreover, certain sensations, as colours and sounds, which the greatest part of men cannot discover whether they are modifications of the soul; and there are figures which all men do not discover by the idea of extension to the modifications of bodies.” This paragraph is, as he tells us, to prove, “That the ideas that represent to us something without us, are not modifications of the soul;” but instead of that, it seems to prove that figure is the modification of space, and not of our souls. For if this argument had tended to prove, “That the ideas that represent any thing without us were not modifications of the soul,” he should not have put the mind’s not knowing what modifications itself was capable of, and knowing what figures space was capable of, in opposition one to another: but the antithesis must have lain in this, that the mind knew it was capable of the perception of figure or motion without any modification of itself, but was not capable of the perception of sound or colour without a modification of itself. For the question here is not whether space be capable of figure, and the soul not; but whether the soul be capable of perceiving, or having the idea of figure, without a modification of itself, and not capable of having the idea of colour without a modification of itself. I think now of the figure, colour, and hardness, of diamond that I saw some time since: in this case I desire to be informed how my mind knows that the thinking on, or the idea of the figure is not a modification of the mind; but the thinking on, or having an idea of the colour or hardness, is a modification of the mind? It is certain there is some alteration in my mind when I think of a figure which I did not think of before, as well as when I think of a colour that I did not think of before. But one, I am told, is seeing it in God, and the other a modification of my mind. But supposing one is seeing in God, is there no alteration in my mind between seeing and not seeing? And is that to be called a modification or no? For when he says seeing a colour, and hearing a sound, is a modification of the mind, what does it signify but an alteration of the mind from not perceiving to perceiving that sound or colour? And so when the mind sees a triangle, which it did not see before, what is this but an alteration of the mind from not seeing to seeing, whether that figure be seen in God or no? And why is not this alteration of the mind to be called a modification, as well as the other? Or indeed what service does that word do us in the one case or the other, when it is only a new sound brought in without any new conception at all? For my mind, when it sees a colour or figure, is altered, I know, from the not having such or such a perception to the having it; but when, to explain this, I am told that either of these perceptions is a modification of the mind, what do I conceive more than that from not having such a perception my mind is come to have such a perception? Which is what I as well knew before the word modification was made use of, which, by its use, has made me conceive nothing more than what I conceived before.

One thing I cannot but take notice of here by the by, that he says, that “the soul knows that extension is capable of an infinite number of figures by the idea it has of extension,” which is true. And afterwards he says, that “there are no figures, which all men do not discover by the idea they have of extension to be modifications of body.” One would wonder why he did not say modifications of extension, rather than as he does modifications of body, they being discovered by the idea of extension; but the truth would not bear such an expression. For it is certain that in pure space or extension, which is not terminated, there is truly no distinction of figures; but in distinct bodies that are terminated there are distinct figures, because simple space or extension, being in itself uniform, inseparable, immoveable, has in it no such modification or distinction of figures. But it is capable, as he says; but of what? Of bodies of all sorts of figures and magnitudes, without which there is no distinction of figures in space. Bodies that are solid, separable, terminated, and moveable, have all sorts of figures, and they are bodies alone that have them: and so figures are properly modifications of bodies, for pure space is not any-where terminated, nor can be; whether there be or be not body in it, it is uniformly continued on. This that he plainly said there, to me plainly shows that body and extension are two things, though much of our author’s doctrine be built upon their being one and the same.

The next paragraph is to show us the difference between ideas and sentiments in this, that “sentiments are not tied to words; so that he that never had seen a colour, or felt heat, could never be made to have those sensations by all the definitions one could give him of them.” This is true of what he calls sentiments; and as true also of what he calls ideas. Show me one who has not got by experience, i. e. by seeing or feeling, the idea of space or motion, and I will as soon by words make one, who never felt what heat is, have a conception of heat, as he, that has not by his senses perceived what space or motion is, can by words be made to conceive either of them. The reason why we are apt to think these ideas belonging to extension got another way than other ideas, is because, our bodies being extended, we cannot avoid the distinction of parts in ourselves; and all that is for the support of our lives, being by motion applied to us, it is impossible to find any one who has not by experience got those ideas; and so by the use of language learnt what words stand for them, which by custom came to excite them in his mind; as the names of heat and pleasure do excite in the mind of those who have by experience got them the ideas they are by use annexed to. Not that words or definitions can teach or bring into the mind one more than another of those I call simple ideas; but can by use excite them in those who, having got them by experience, know certain sounds to be by use annexed to them as the signs of them.

Fourthly, “The fourth way of knowing, he tells us, is by conjecture, and thus only we know the souls of other men and pure intelligences,” i. e. We know them not at all; but we probably think there are such beings really existing in “rerum naturâ.” But this looks to me beside our author’s business here, which seems to me to examine what ideas we have, and how we came by them. So that the thing here considered, should in my opinion be, not whether there were any souls of men or pure intelligences any-where existing, but what ideas we have of them, and how we came by them. For when he says, we know not angels, either “in themselves, or by their ideas, or by consciousness,” what in that place does angels signify? What idea in him does it stand for? Or is it the sign of no idea at all, and so a bare sound without signification? He that reads this seventh chapter of his with attention, will find that we have simple ideas as far as our experience reaches, and no farther. And beyond that we know nothing at all, no not even what those ideas are that are in us, but only that they are perceptions in the mind, but how made we cannot comprehend.

In his Eclaircissements on the nature of ideas, , of the quarto edition, he says, that “he is certain that the ideas of things are unchangeable.” This I cannot comprehend; for how can I know that the picture of any thing is like that thing, when I never see that which it represents? For if these words do not mean that ideas are true unchangeable representations of things, I know not to what purpose they are. And if that be not their meaning, then they can only signify, that the idea I have once had will be unchangeably the same as long as it recurs the same in my memory; but when another different from that comes into my mind, it will not be that. Thus the idea of an horse, and the idea of a centaur, will, as often as they recur in my mind, be unchangeably the same; which is no more than this, the same idea will be always the same idea; but whether the one or the other be the true representation of any thing that exists, that, upon his principles, neither our author nor any body else can know.

52. What he says here of universal reason, which enlightens every one, whereof all men partake, seems to me nothing else but the power men have to consider the ideas they have one with another, and by this comparing them, find out the relations that are between them; and therefore if an intelligent being at one end of the world, and another at the other end of the world, will consider twice two and four together, he cannot but find them to be equal, i. e. to be the same number. These relations, it is true, are infinite, and God, who knows all things and their relations as they are, knows them all, and so his knowledge is infinite. But men are able to discover more or less of these relations, only as they apply their minds to consider any sort of ideas, and to find out intermediate ones, which can show the relation of those ideas, which cannot be immediately compared by juxta-position. But then what he means by that infinite reason which men consult; I confess myself not well to understand. For if he means that they consider a part of those relations of things which are infinite, that is true; but then this is a very improper way of speaking, and I cannot think that a man of his parts would use it to mean nothing else by it. If he means, as he says, , that this infinite and universal reason, whereof men partake, and which they consult, is the reason of God himself; I can by no means assent to it. First, because I think we cannot say God reasons at all; for he has at once a view of all things. But reason is very far from such an intuition; it is a laborious and gradual progress in the knowledge of things, by comparing one idea with a second, and a second with a third, and that with a fourth, &c. to find the relation between the first and the last of these in this train, and in search for such intermediate ideas, as may show us the relation we desire to know, which sometimes we find, and sometimes not. This way therefore of finding truth, so painful, uncertain, and limited, is proper only to men of finite understandings, but can by no means be supposed in God; it is therefore in God understanding or knowledge. But then to say that we partake in the knowledge of God, or consult his understanding, is what I cannot receive for true. God has given me an understanding of my own; and I should think it presumption in me to suppose I apprehended any thing by God’s understanding, saw with his eyes, or shared of his knowledge. I think it more possible for me to see with other men’s eyes, and understand with another man’s understanding, than with God’s; there being some proportion between mine and another man’s understanding, but none between mine and God’s. But if this infinite reason which we consult, be at last nothing but those infinite unchangeable relations which are in things, some of which we make a shift to discover; this indeed is true, but seems to me to make little to our author’s purpose of seeing all things in God; and that, “if we see not all things by the natural union of our minds with the universal and infinite reason, we should not have the liberty to think on all things,” as he expresses it, . To explain himself farther concerning this universal reason, or, as he there calls it by another name, order, , he says, that “God contains in himself the perfections of all the creatures that he has created, or can create, after an intelligible manner.” Intelligible to himself, it is true; but intelligible to men, at least to me, that I do not find, unless, “by containing in himself the perfections of all the creatures,” be meant, that there is no perfection in any creature, but there is a greater in God, or that there is in God greater perfection than all the perfections of the creatures taken together. And therefore though it be true what follows in the next words, “that it is by these intelligible perfections that God knows the essence of every thing;” yet it will not follow from hence, or from any thing else that he has said, that those perfections in God, which contain in them the perfections of all the creatures, are “the immediate objects of the mind of man;” or that they are so the objects of the mind of man,” that he can in them see the essences of the creatures. For I ask in which of the perfections of God does a man see the essence of an horse or an ass, of a serpent or a dove, of hemlock or parsley? I for my part, I confess, see not the essence of any of these things in any of the perfections of God, which I have any notion of. For indeed I see not the distinct essence either of these things at all, or know wherein it consists. And therefore I cannot comprehend the force of the inference, which follows in these words, “then the intelligible ideas or perfections that are in God, which represent to us what is out of God, are absolutely necessary and unchangeable.” That the perfections that are in God are necessary and unchangeable, I readily grant: but that the ideas that are intelligible to God, or are in the understanding of God (for so we must speak of him whilst we conceive of him after the manner of men) can be seen by us; or, that the perfections that are in God represent to us the essences of things that are out of God, that I cannot conceive. The essence of matter, as much as I can see of it, is extension, solidity, divisibility, and mobility; but in which of the perfections of God do I see this essence? To another man, as to our author perhaps, the essence of body is quite another thing; and when he has told us what to him is the essence of body, it will be then to be considered in which of the perfections of God he sees it. For example, let it be pure extension alone, the idea then that God had in himself of the essence of body, before body was created, was the idea of pure extension; when God then created body he created extension, and then space, which existed not before, began to exist. This, I confess, I cannot conceive; but we see in the perfections of God the necessary and unchangeable essences of things. He sees one essence of body in God, and I another: which is that necessary and unchangeable essence of body which is contained in the perfections of God, his or mine? Or indeed how do or can we know there is any such thing existing as body at all? For we see nothing but the ideas that are in God; but body itself we neither do nor can possibly see at all; and how then can we know that there is any such thing existing as body, since we can by no means see or perceive it by our senses, which is all the way we can have of knowing any corporeal thing to exist? but it is said, God shows us the ideas in himself, on occasion of the presence of those bodies to our senses. This is gratis dictum, and begs the thing in question; and therefore I desire to have it proved to me that they are present. I see the sun, or an horse; no, says our author, that is impossible, they cannot be seen, because being bodies they cannot be united to my mind, and be present to it. But the sun being risen, and the horse brought within convenient distance, and so being present to my eyes, God shows me their ideas in himself: and I say God shows me these ideas when he pleases, without the presence of any such bodies to my eyes. For when I think I see a star at such a distance from me; which truly I do not see, but the idea of it which God shows me; I would have it proved to me that there is such a star existing a million of million of miles from me when I think I see it, more than when I dream of such a star. For until it be proved that there is a candle in the room by which I write this, the supposition of my seeing in God the pyramidical idea of its flame, upon occasion of the candle being there, is begging what is in question. And to prove to me that God exhibits to me that idea, upon occasion of the presence of the candle, it must first be proved to me that there is a candle there, which upon these principles can never be done.

Farther, We see the “necessary and unchangeable essences of things” in the perfections of God. Water, a rose, and a lion, have their distinct essences one from another, and all other things; what I desire to know, are these distinct essences, I confess I neither see them in nor out of God, and in which of the perfections of God do we see each of them?

Page 504, I find these words, “It is evident that the perfections that are in God which represent created or possible beings, are not at all equal: that those for example that represent bodies, are not so noble as those for example that represent spirits; and amongst those themselves which represent nothing but body, or nothing but spirit, there are more perfect one than another to infinity. This is conceivable clearly, and without pain, though one finds some difficulty to reconcile the simplicity of the divine Being with this variety of intelligible ideas which he contains in his wisdom.” This difficulty is to me insurmountable; and I conclude it always shall be so, till I can find a way to make simplicity and variety the same. And this difficulty must always cumber this doctrine, which supposes that the perfections of God are the representatives to us of whatever we perceive of the creatures; for then those perfections must be many, and diverse, and distinct one from another, as those ideas are that represent the different creatures to us. And this seems to me to make God formerly to contain in him all the distinct ideas of all the creatures, and that so, that they might be seen one after another. Which seems to me after all the talk of abstraction to be but a little less gross conception than of the sketches of all the pictures that ever a painter draws, kept by him in his closet, which are there all to be seen one after another as he pleases to show them. But whilst these abstract thoughts produce nothing better than this, I the easier content myself with my ignorance which roundly thinks thus: God is a simple being, omniscient, that knows all things possible; and omnipotent, that can do or make all things possible. But how he knows, or how he makes, I do not conceive: his ways of knowing as well as his ways of creating, are to me incomprehensible; and if they were not so, I should not think him to be God, or to be perfecter in knowledge than I am. To which our author’s thoughts seem in the close of what is above cited somewhat to incline, when he says, “the variety of intelligible ideas, which God contains in his wisdom;” whereby he seems to place this variety of ideas in the mind or thoughts of God, as we may so say, whereby it is hard to conceive how we can see them; and not in the being of God, where they are to be seen as so many distinct things in it.

A DISCOURSE OF MIRACLES.

TO discourse of miracles without defining what one means by the word miracle, is to make a show, but in effect to talk of nothing.

A miracle then I take to be a sensible operation, which being above the comprehension of the spectator, and in his opinion contrary to the established course of nature, is taken by him to be divine.

He that is present at the fact, is a spectator: he that believes the history of the fact, puts himself in the place of a spectator.

This definition, it is probable, will not escape these two exceptions:

That hereby what is a miracle is made very uncertain; for it depending on the opinion of the spectator, that will be a miracle to one which will not be so to another.

In answer to which, it is enough to say, that this objection is of no force, but in the mouth of one who can produce a definition of a miracle not liable to the same exception, which I think not easy to do; for it being agreed, that a miracle must be that which surpasses the force of nature in the established, steady laws of causes and effects, nothing can be taken to be a miracle but what is judged to exceed those laws. Now every one being able to judge of those laws only by his own acquaintance with nature, and notions of its force (which are different in different men) it is unavoidable that that should be a miracle to one, which is not so to another.

Another objection to this definition, will be, that the notion of a miracle thus enlarged, may come sometimes to take in operations that have nothing extraordinary or supernatural in them, and thereby invalidate the use of miracles for the attesting of divine revelation.

To which I answer, not at all, if the testimony which divine revelation receives from miracles be rightly considered.

To know that any revelation is from God, it is necessary to know that the messenger that delivers it is sent from God, and that cannot be known but by some credentials given him by God himself. Let us see then whether miracles, in my sense, be not such credentials, and will not infallibly direct us right in the search of divine revelation.

It is to be considered, that divine revelation receives testimony from no other miracles, but such as are wrought to witness his mission from God who delivers the revelation. All other miracles that are done in the world, how many or great soever, revelation is not concerned in. Cases wherein there has been, or can be need of miracles for the confirmation of revelation, are fewer than perhaps is imagined. The heathen world, amidst an infinite and uncertain jumble of deities, fables, and worships, had no room for a divine attestation of any one against the rest. Those owners of many gods were at liberty in their worship; and no one of their divinities pretending to be the one only true God, no one of them could be supposed in the pagan scheme to make use of miracles to establish his worship alone, or to abolish that of the other; much less was there any use of miracles to confirm any articles of faith, since no one of them had any such to propose as necessary to be believed by their votaries. And therefore I do not remember any miracles recorded in the Greek or Roman writers, as done to confirm any one’s mission and doctrine. Conformable hereunto we find St. Paul, 1 Cor. i. 22, takes notice that the jews (it is true) required miracles, but as for the Greeks they looked after something else; they knew no need or use there was of miracles to recommend any religion to them. And indeed it is an astonishing mark how far the God of this world had blinded men’s minds, if we consider that the gentile world received and stuck to a religion, which, not being derived from reason, had no sure foundation in revelation. They knew not its original, nor the authors of it, nor seemed concerned to know from whence it came, or by whose authority delivered; and so had no mention or use of miracles for its confirmation. For though there were here and there some pretences to revelation, yet there were not so much as pretences to miracles that attested it.

If we will direct our thoughts by what has been, we must conclude that miracles, as the credentials of a messenger delivering a divine religion, have no place but upon a supposition of one only true God; and that it is so in the nature of the thing, and cannot be otherwise, I think will be made appear in the sequel of this discourse. Of such who have come in the name of the one only true God, professing to bring a law from him, we have in history a clear account but of three, viz. Moses, Jesus, and Mahomet. For what the Persees say of their Zoroaster, or the Indians of their Brama (not to mention all the wild stories of the religions farther east), is so obscure, or so manifestly fabulous, that no account can be made of it. Now of the three before mentioned, Mahomet having none to produce, pretends to no miracles for the vouching his mission; so that the only revelations that come attested by miracles, being those of Moses and Christ, and they confirming each other; the business of miracles, as it stands really in matter of fact, has no manner of difficulty in it; and I think the most scrupulous or sceptical cannot from miracles raise the least doubt against the divine revelation of the gospel.

But since the speculative and learned will be putting of cases which never were, and it may be presumed never will be; since scholars and disputants will be raising of questions where there are none, and enter upon debates whereof there is no need; I crave leave to say, that he who comes with a message from God to be delivered to the world, cannot be refused belief if he vouches his mission by a miracle, because his credentials have a right to it. For every rational thinking man must conclude as Nicodemus did, “we know that thou art a teacher come from God, for no man can do these signs which thou doest, except God be with him.”

For example, Jesus of Nazareth professes himself sent from God: he with a word calms a tempest at sea. This one looks on as a miracle, and consequently cannot but receive his doctrine. Another thinks this might be the effect of chance, or skill in the weather, and no miracle, and so stands out; but afterwards seeing him walk on the sea, owns that for a miracle and believes: which yet upon another has not that force, who suspects it may possibly be done by the assistance of a spirit. But yet the same person, seeing afterwards our Saviour cure an inveterate palsy by a word, admits that for a miracle, and becomes a convert. Another overlooking it in this instance, afterwards finds a miracle in his giving sight to one born blind, or in raising the dead, or his raising himself from the dead, and so receives his doctrine as a revelation coming from God. By all which it is plain, that where the miracle is admitted, the doctrine cannot be rejected; it comes with the assurance of a divine attestation to him that allows the miracle, and he cannot question its truth.

The next thing then is, what shall be a sufficient inducement to take any extraordinary operation to be a miracle, i. e. wrought by God himself for the attestation of a revelation from him?

And to this I answer, the carrying with it the marks of a greater power than appears in opposition to it. For,

First, this removes the main difficulty where it presses hardest, and clears the matter from doubt, when extraordinary and supernatural operations are brought to support opposite missions, about which methinks more dust has been raised by men of leisure than so plain a matter needed. For since God’s power is paramount to all, and no opposition can be made against him with an equal force to his; and since his honour and goodness can never be supposed to suffer his messenger and his truth to be born down by the appearance of a greater power on the side of an impostor, and in favour of a lye; wherever there is an opposition, and two pretending to be sent from heaven clash, the signs, which carry with them the evident marks of a greater power, will always be a certain and unquestionable evidence, that the truth and divine mission are on that side on which they appear. For though the discovery, how the lying wonders are or can be produced, be beyond the capacity of the ignorant, and often beyond the conception of the most knowing spectator, who is therefore forced to allow them in his apprehension to be above the force of natural causes and effects; yet he cannot but know they are not seals set by God to his truth for the attesting of it, since they are opposed by miracles that carry the evident marks of a greater and superiour power, and therefore they cannot at all shake the authority of one so supported. God can never be thought to suffer that a lye, set up in opposition to a truth coming from him, should be backed with a greater power than he will show for the confirmation and propagation of a doctrine which he has revealed, to the end it might be believed. The producing of serpents, blood, and frogs, by the Egyptian sorcerers and by Moses, could not to the spectators but appear equally miraculous: which of the pretenders then had their mission from God, and the truth on their side, could not have been determined, if the matter had rested there. But when Moses’s serpent eat up theirs, when he produced lice which they could not, the decision was easy. It was plain Jannes and Jambres acted by an inferiour power, and their operations, how marvellous and extraordinary soever, could not in the least bring in question Moses’s mission; that stood the firmer for this opposition, and remained the more unquestionable after this, than if no such signs had been brought against it.

So likewise the number, variety, and greatness of the miracles wrought for the confirmation of the doctrine delivered by Jesus Christ, carry with them such strong marks of an extraordinary divine power, that the truth of his mission will stand firm and unquestionable, till any one rising up in opposition to him shall do greater miracles than he and his apostles did. For any thing less will not be of weight to turn the scales in the opinion of any one, whether of an inferiour or more exalted understanding. This is one of those palpable truths and trials, of which all mankind are judges; and there needs no assistance of learning, no deep thought, to come to a certainty in it. Such care has God taken that no pretended revelation should stand in competition with what is truly divine, that we need but open our eyes to see and be sure which came from him. The marks of his over-ruling power accompany it; and therefore to this day we find, that wherever the gospel comes, it prevails to the beating down the strong holds of Satan, and the dislodging the prince of the power of darkness, driving him away with all his lying wonders; which is a standing miracle, carrying with it the testimony of superiority.

What is the uttermost power of natural agents or created beings, men of the greatest reach cannot discover; but that it is not equal to God’s omnipotency, is obvious to every one’s understanding; so that the superiour power is an easy, as well as sure guide to divine revelation, attested by miracles, where they are brought as credentials to an embassy from God.

And thus, upon the same grounds of superiority of power, uncontested revelation will stand too.

For the explaining of which, it may be necessary to premise,

That no mission can be looked on to be divine, that delivers any thing derogating from the honour of the one, only, true, invisible God, or inconsistent with natural religion and the rules of morality: because God having discovered to men the unity and majesty of his eternal godhead, and the truths of natural religion and morality by the light of reason, he cannot be supposed to back the contrary by revelation: for that would be to destroy the evidence and the use of reason, without which men cannot be able to distinguish divine revelation from diabolical imposture.

That it cannot be expected that God should send any one into the world on purpose to inform men of things indifferent, and of small moment, or that are knowable by the use of their natural faculties. This would be to lessen the dignity of his majesty in favour of our sloth, and in prejudice to our reason.

3. The only case then wherein a mission of any one from heaven can be reconciled to the high and awful thoughts men ought to have of the Deity, must be the revelation of some supernatural truths relating to the glory of God, and some great concern of men. Supernatural operations attesting such a revelation may with reason be taken to be miracles, as carrying the marks of a superiour and over-ruling power, as long as no revelation accompanied with marks of a greater power appears against it. Such supernatural signs may justly stand good, and be received for divine, i. e. wrought by a power superiour to all, till a mission attested by operations of a greater force shall disprove them: because it cannot be supposed, God should suffer his prerogative to be so far usurped by any inferiour being, as to permit any creature, depending on him, to set his seals, the marks of his divine authority, to a mission coming from him. For these supernatural signs being the only means God is conceived to have to satisfy men as rational creatures of the certainty of any thing he would reveal, as coming from himself, can never consent that it should be wrested out of his hands, to serve the ends and establish the authority of an inferiour agent that rivals him. His power being known to have no equal, always will, and always may be safely depended on, to show its superiority in vindicating his authority, and maintaining every truth that he hath revealed. So that the marks of a superiour power accompanying it, always have been, and always will be, a visible and sure guide to divine revelation; by which men may conduct themselves in their examining of revealed religions, and be satisfied which they ought to receive as coming from God; though they have by no means ability precisely to determine what is, or is not above the force of any created being; or what operations can be performed by none but a divine power, and require the immediate hand of the Almighty. And therefore we see it is by that our Saviour measures the great unbelief of the jews, John xv. 24, saying, “If I had not done among them the works which no other man did, they had not had sin; but now have they both seen and hated both me and my father;” declaring, that they could not but see the power and presence of God in those many miracles he did, which were greater than ever any other man had done. When God sent Moses to the children of Israel with a message, that now according to his promise he would redeem them by his hand out of Egypt, and furnished him with signs and credentials of his mission; it is very remarkable what God himself says of those signs, Exod. iv. 8, “And it shall come to pass, if they will not believe thee, nor hearken to the voice of the first sign,” (which was turning his rod into a serpent,) that “they will believe the voice of the latter sign” (which was the making his hand leprous by putting it in his bosom). God farther adds, v. 9, “And it shall come to pass, if they will not believe also these two signs, neither hearken unto thy voice, that thou shalt take of the water of the river and pour upon the dry land: and the water which thou takest out of the river shall become blood upon the dry land.” Which of those operations was or was not above the force of all created beings, will, I suppose, be hard for any man, too hard for a poor brick-maker, to determine; and therefore the credit and certain reception of the mission, was annexed to neither of them, but the prevailing of their attestation was heightened by the increase of their number; two supernatural operations showing more power than one, and three more than two. God allowed that it was natural, that the marks of greater power should have a greater impression on the minds and belief of the spectators. Accordingly the jews, by this estimate, judged of the miracles of our Saviour, John vii. 31, where we have this account, “And many of the people believed on him, and said, When Christ cometh, will he do more miracles than these which this man hath done?” This, perhaps, as it is the plainest, so it is also the surest way to preserve the testimony of miracles in its due force to all sorts and degrees of people. For miracles being the basis on which divine mission is always established, and consequently that foundation on which the believers of any divine revelation must ultimately bottom their faith, this use of them would be lost, if not to all mankind, yet at least to the simple and illiterate, (which is the far greatest part,) if miracles be defined to be none but such divine operations as are in themselves beyond the power of all created beings, or at least operations contrary to the fixed and established laws of nature. For as to the latter of those, what are the fixed and established laws of nature, philosophers alone, if at least they, can pretend to determine. And if they are to be operations performable only by divine power, I doubt whether any man, learned or unlearned, can in most cases be able to say of any particular operation, that can fall under his senses, that it is certainly a miracle. Before he can come to that certainty, he must know that no created being has a power to perform it We know good and bad angels have abilities and excellencies exceedingly beyond all our poor performances or narrow comprehensions. But to define what is the utmost extent of power that any of them has, is a bold undertaking of a man in the dark, that pronounces without seeing, and sets bounds in his narrow cell to things at an infinite distance from his model and comprehension.

Such definitions therefore of miracles, however specious in discourse and theory, fail us when we come to use, and an application of them in particular cases.

“These thoughts concerning miracles, were occasioned by my reading Mr. Fleetwood’s Essay on Miracles, and the letter writ to him on that subject. The one of them defining a miracle to be an extraordinary operation performable by God alone: and the other writing of miracles without any definition of a miracle at all.”

J. LOCKE.

MEMOIRS RELATING TO THE LIFE OF ANTHONY FIRST EARL OF SHAFTESBURY.

TO WHICH ARE ADDED,

Three Letters writ by the Earl of Shaftesbury while Prisoner in the Tower; one to King Charles II, another to the Duke of York, a Third to a noble Lord: found with Mr. Locke’s Memoirs, &c.

Being at Oxford in the beginning of the civil war (for he was on that side as long as he had any hopes to serve his country there) he was brought one day to King Charles I, by the lord Falkland, his friend, then secretary of state, and presented to him as having something to offer to his majesty worth his consideration. At this audience he told the king that he thought he could put an end to the war if his majesty pleased, and would assist him in it. The King answered, that he was a very young man for so great an undertaking. Sir, replied he, that will not be the worse for your affairs, provided I do the business; whereupon the king showing a willingness to hear him, he discoursed to him to this purpose:

The gentlemen and men of estates, who first engaged in this war, seeing now after a year or two that it seems to be no nearer the end than it was at first, and beginning to be weary of it, I am very well satisfied would be glad to be at quiet at home again, if they could be assured of a redress of their grievances, and have their rights and liberties secured to them. This I am satisfied is the present temper generally through all England, and particularly in those parts where my estate and concerns lie; if therefore your majesty will empower me to treat with the parliament garrisons to grant them a full and general pardon, with an assurance that a general amnesty (arms being laid down on both sides) should re-instate all things in the same posture they were before the war, and then a free parliament should do what more remained to be done for the settlement of the nation: —

That he would begin and try the experiment first in his own country; and doubted not but the good success he should have there would open him the gates of other adjoining garrisons, bringing them the news of peace and security in laying down their arms.

Being furnished with full power according to his desire, away he goes to Dorchester, where he managed a treaty with the garrisons of Pool, Weymouth, Dorchester, and others; and was so successful in it, that one of them was actually put into his hands, as the others were to have been some few days after. But prince Maurice,Prince Maurice. who commanded some of the king’s forces, being with his army then in those parts, no sooner heard that the town was surrendered, but he presently marched into it, and gave the pillage of it to his soldiers. This sir A. saw with the utmost displeasure, and could not forbear to express his resentments to the prince; so that there passed some pretty hot words between them; but the violence was committed, and thereby his design broken. All that he could do was, that he sent to the other garrisons, he was in treaty with, to stand upon their guard, for that he could not secure his articles to them; and so this design proved abortive and died in silence.

This project of his for putting an end to a civil war, which had sufficiently harassed the kingdom, and nobody could tell what fatal consequences it might have, being thus frustrated, it was not long before his active thoughts, always intent upon saving his country, (the good of that being that by which he steered his counsels and actions through the whole course of his life,) it was not long before he set his head upon framing another design of the same purpose. The first project of it took its rise in a debate between him and serjeant Fountain, in an inn at Hungerford, where they accidentally met: and both disliking the continuance of the war, and deploring the ruin it threatened, it was started between them, that the counties all through England should arm and endeavour to suppress the armies on both sides. This proposal, which in one night’s debate, looked more like a well-meant wish than a formed design, he afterwards considered more at leisure, framed and fashioned into a well-ordered and practical contrivance, and never left working in it till he had brought most of the sober and well-intentioned gentlemen of both sides all through England into it. This was that which gave rise to that third sort of army, which of a sudden started up in several parts of England, with so much terrour to the armies both of king and parliament; and had not some of those who had engaged in it, and had undertaken to rise at the time appointed, failed, the clubmen,Clubmen. for so they were called, had been strong enough to carry their point, which was to make both sides lay down their arms, and if they would not do it, to force them to it; to declare for a general amnesty; to have the then parliament dissolved, and to have a new one called for redressing the grievances, and settling the nation. This undertaking was not a romantic fancy, but had very promising grounds of success; for the yeomanry and body of the people had suffered already very much by the war; and the gentry and men of estates had abated much of their fierceness, and wished to return to their former ease, security, and plenty; especially perceiving that the game, particularly on the king’s side, began to be played out of their hands, and that it was the soldiers of fortune who were best looked upon at court, and had the commands and power put in their hands.

He had been for some time before in Dorsetshire, forming and combining the parts of this great machine, till at length he got it to begin to move. But those, who had been forward to enter into the design, not being so vigorous and resolute, when the time was to appear and act; and the court, who had learnt or suspected that it had its rise and life from him, having so strict an eye upon him that he could not maintain correspondence with distant countries, and animate the several parts as it was necessary, before it was his time to stir; he received a very civil and more than ordinary letter from the king to come to him at Oxford: but he wanted not friends there to inform him of the danger it would be to him to appear there, and to confirm him in the suspicion that the king’s letter put him in, that there was something else meant him, and not so much kindness as that expressed. Besides, the lord Goring, who lay with an army in those parts, had orders from court to seize him, and had civilly sent him word, that he would come such a day and dine with him. All this together made him see that he could be no longer safe at home, nor in the king’s quarters; he therefore went, whither he was driven, into the parliament quarters; and took shelter in Portsmouth. Thus, for endeavouring to save his king and country, he was banished from the side he had chosen. And the court, that was then in high hopes of nothing less than perfect conquest, and being masters of all, had a great aversion to moderate counsels, and to those of the nobility and gentry of their party, who were authors or favourers of any such proposals as might bring things to a composition. Such well-wishers to their country, though they had spent much, and ventured all on the king’s side, when they appeared for any other end of the war but dint of arms, and a total reduction of the parliament by force, were counted enemies; and any contrivance carried on to that end was interpreted treason.

A person of his consideration, thus rejected and cast off by the king, and taking sanctuary with them, was received by the parliament with open arms; and though he came in from the other side, and put himself into their hands without any terms; yet there were those among them that so well knew his worth, and what value they ought to put upon it, that he was soon after offered considerable employments under them, and was actually trusted with command without so much as ever being questioned concerning what he knew of persons or counsels on the other side, where they knew that his great penetration and forward mind would not let him live in ignorance among the great men, who were most of them his friends, and all his acquaintance.

But though he was not suffered to stay among those with whom he had embarked, and had lived in confidence with, and was forced to go over to the parliament, he carried thither himself only, and nothing of any body’s else; he left them and all their concerns, actions, purposes, counsels, perfectly behind him; and nobody of the king’s side could complain of him after the day he went from his house, where he could be no longer safe, that he had any memory of what he had known when one of them.

This forgetfulness, so becoming a gentleman, and a man of honour, he had established so firmly in his own mind, that his resolution to persist in it was like afterwards to cost him no little trouble. Mr. Denzil Hollis (afterwards the lord Hollis) had been one of the commissioners employed by the parliament in the treaty at Uxbridge; he had there had some secret and separate transactions with the king; this could not be kept so secret, but that it got some vent, and some of the parliament had some notice of it. Mr. Hollis being afterwards attacked in parliament by a contrary party, there wanted nothing perfectly to ruin him, but some witness to give credit to such an accusation against him. Sir A. Ashley Cooper they thought fit for their purpose; they doubted not but he knew enough of it; and they made sure that he would not fail to embrace such a fair and unsought-for opportunity of ruining Mr. Hollis, who had been long his enemy upon a family quarrel, which he had carried so far, as, by his power in the house, to hinder him from sitting in the parliament, upon a fair election for that parliament. Upon this presumption he was summoned to the house; and being called in, was there asked, whether when he was at Oxford he knew not, or had not heard something concerning Mr. Hollis’s secret transaction with the king at the treaty at Uxbridge. To this question he told them he could answer nothing at all; for though, possibly, what he had to say would be to the clearing of Mr. Hollis; yet he could not allow himself to say any thing in the case, since, whatever answer he made, it would be a confession that, if he had known any thing to the disadvantage of Mr. Hollis, he would have taken that dishonourable way of doing him a prejudice, and wreak his revenge on a man that was his enemy.

Those who had brought him there pressed him mightily to declare, but in vain, though threats were added of sending him to the Tower. He persisting obstinately silent, was bid to withdraw; and those who had depended upon his discovery being defeated, and consequently very much displeased, moved warmly for his commitment; of which he, waiting in the lobby, having notice, unmoved expected his doom, though several of his friends coming out, were earnest with him to satisfy the house; but he kept firm to his resolution, and found friends enough among the great men of the party that opposed Mr. Hollis to bring him off; who very much applauded the generosity of his carriage, and showed that action so much to deserve the commendation, rather than the censure of that assembly, that the angry men were ashamed to insist farther on it, and so dropt the debate.

Some days after Mr. Hollis came to his lodging, and having, in terms of great acknowledgment and esteem, expressed his thanks for his late behaviour in the house, with respect to him; he replied, that he pretended not thereby to merit any thing of him, or to lay an obligation on him; that what he had done was not out of any consideration of him, but what was due to himself, and he should equally have done, had any other man been concerned in it; and therefore he was perfectly as much at liberty as before to live with him as he pleased. But with all that he was not so ignorant of Mr. Hollis’s worth, nor knew so little how to put a just value on his friendship, as not to receive it as a very great and sensible favour, if he thought him a person worthy on whom to bestow it. Mr. Hollis, not less taken with his discourse than what had occasioned it, gave him fresh and repeated assurances of his sincere and hearty friendship, which were received with suitable expressions. And thus an old quarrel between two men of high spirits and great estates, neighbours in the same county, ended in a sound and firm friendship, which lasted as long as they lived.

This passage brings to my mind what I remember to have often heard him say concerning a man’s obligation to silence, in regard of discourse made to him or in his presence: that it was not enough to keep close and uncommunicated what had been committed to him with that caution, but there was a general and tacit trust in conversation, whereby a man was obliged not to report again any thing that might be any way to the speaker’s prejudice, though no intimation had been given of a desire not to have spoken it again.

He was wont to say, that wisdom lay in the heart, and not in the head; and that it was not the want of knowledge, but the perverseness of the will that filled men’s actions with folly, and their lives with disorder.

That there were in every one, two men, the wise and the foolish, and that each of them must be allowed his turn. If you would have the wise, the grave, and the serious, always to rule and have the sway, the fool would grow so peevish and troublesome, that he would put the wise man out of order, and make him fit for nothing: he must have his times of being let loose to follow his fancies, and play his gambols, if you would have your business go on smoothly.

I have heard him also say, that he desired no more of any man but that he would talk: if he would but talk, said he, let him talk as he pleases. And indeed I never knew any one penetrate so quick into men’s breasts, and from a small opening survey that dark cabinet, as he would. He would understand men’s true errand as soon as they had opened their mouths, and begun their story in appearance to another purpose.

Sir Richard Onslow and he were invited by Sir J. D. to dine with him at Chelsea, and desired to come early, because he had an affair of concernment to communicate to them. They came at the time, and being sat, he told them he had made choice of them both for their known abilities, and particular friendship to him, for their advice in a matter of the greatest moment to him that could be. He had, he said, been a widower for many years, and begun to want somebody that might ease him of the trouble of house-keeping, and take some care of him under the growing infirmities of old age; and to that purpose had pitched upon a woman very well known to him by the experience of many years, in fine, his house-keeper. These gentlemen, who were not strangers to his family, and knew the woman very well, and were besides very great friends to his son and daughter, grown up, and both fit for marriage, to whom they thought this would be a very prejudicial match, were both in their minds opposite to it; and to that purpose sir Richard Onslow began the discourse; wherein, when he came to that part, he was entering upon the description of the woman, and going to set her out in her own colours, which were such as could not have pleased any man in his wife. Sir Anthony seeing whither he was going, to prevent any mischief, begged leave to interrupt him, by asking sir J. a question, which in short was this, “whether he were not already married?” Sir J. after a little demur, answered, “Yes truly, he was married the day before.” Well then, replied sir Anthony, there is no more need of our advice; pray let us have the honour to see my lady and wish her joy, and so to dinner. As they were returning to London in their coach, I am obliged to you, said sir Richard, for preventing my running into a discourse which could never have been forgiven me, if I had spoke out what I was going to say. But as for sir J. he, methinks, ought to cut your throat for your civil question. How could it possibly enter into your head to ask a man, who had solemnly invited us on purpose to have our advice about a marriage he intended, had gravely proposed the woman to us, and suffered us seriously to enter into the debate, “whether he were already married or no?” The man, and the manner, replied sir Anthony, gave me a suspicion that, having done a foolish thing, he was desirous to cover himself with the authority of our advice. I thought it good to be sure before you went any farther, and you see what came of it. This afforded them entertainment till they came to town, and so they parted.

Soon after the restoration of king Charles II, the earl of Southampton and he having dined together at the chancellor’s, as they were returning home, he said to my lord Southampton, “Yonder Mrs. Ann Hyde (for so, as I remember, he styled her) is certainly married to one of the brothers.” The earl, who was a friend to the chancellor, treated this as a chimæra, and asked him how so wild a fancy could get into his head. Assure yourself, sir, replied he, it is so. A concealed respect, however, suppressed, showed itself so plainly in the looks, voice, and manner, wherewith her mother carved to her, or offered her of every dish, that it is impossible but it must be so. My lord S. who thought it a groundless conceit then, was not long after convinced by the duke of York’s owning of her, that lord Ashley was no bad guesser.

I shall give one instance more of his great sagacity, wherein it proved of great use to him in a case of mighty consequence. Having reason to apprehend what tyranny the usurpation of the government by the officers of the army, under the title of the committee of safety, might end in; he thought the first step to settlement was the breaking of them, which could not be done with any pretence of authority, but that of the long parliament. Meeting therefore secretly with sir Arthur Haselrig, and some others of the members, they gave commissions in the name of the parliament to be majors-generals, one of the forces about London, another of the west, &c. and this when they had not one soldier. Nay, he often would tell it laughing, that when he had his commission his great care was where to hide it. Before this he had secured Portsmouth; for the governor of it, colonel Metham, being his old acquaintance and friend, he asked him one day, meeting him by chance in Westminster-hall, whether he would put Portsmouth into his hands if he should happen to have an occasion for it? Metham promised it should be at his devotion. These transactions, though no part of them were known in particular, yet causing some remote preparations, alarmed Wallingford-house, where the committee of safety sat, and made them so attentive to all actions and discoveries that might give them any light, that at last they were fully persuaded there was something a brewing against them, and that matter for commotions in several parts was gathering. They knew the vigour and activity of sir A. Ashley, and how well he stood affectionated to them, and therefore suspected that he was at the bottom of the matter. To find what they could, and secure the man they most apprehended, he was sent for to Wallingford-house, where Fleetwood examined him according to the suspicions he had of him; that he was laying designs in the west against them, and was working the people to an insurrection that he intended to head there. He told them he knew no obligation he was under to give them an account of his actions, nor to make them any promises; but to show them how ill grounded their suspicions were, he promised that he would not go out of town without coming first and giving him an account of it. Fleetwood knowing his word might be relied on, satisfied with the promise he had made, let him go upon his parole. That which deceived them in the case, was, that knowing his estate and interest lay in the west, they presumed, that that was his post, and there certainly, if any stir was, he would appear, since there lay his great strength, and they had nobody else in view who could supply his room, and manage that part. But they were mistaken: Haselrig, upon the knowledge that they should have Portsmouth, forwardly took that province; and he, who had instruments at work in the army quartered in and about London, and knew that must be the place of most business and management, and where the turn of affairs would be, had chosen that.

Lambert, who was one of the rulers at Wallingford-house, happened to be away when he was there, and came not in till he was gone: when they told him that sir A. Ashley had been there, and what had passed, he blamed Fleetwood for letting him go, and told him they should have secured him, for that certainly there was something in it that they were deceived in, and they should not have parted so easily with so busy and dangerous a man as he was. Lambert was of a quicker sight, and a deeper reach than Fleetwood, and the rest of that gang; and knowing of what moment it was to their security to frustrate the contrivances of that working and able head, was resolved, if possibly he could, to get him into his clutches.

Sir A. A. coming home to his house in street in Covent-Garden one evening, found a man knocking at his door. He asked his business; the man answered, it was with him, and fell a discoursing with him. Sir A. A. heard him out, and gave him such an answer as he thought proper, and so they parted; the stranger out of the entry where they stood into the street, and sir A. A. along the entry into the house: but guessing by the story the other told him, that the business was but a pretence, and that his real errand he came about was something else; when he parted from the fellow he went inwards, as if he intended to go into the house; but as soon as the fellow was gone, turned short, and went out, and went to his barber’s, which was but just by; where he was no sooner got in, and got up stairs into a chamber, but his door was beset with musketeers, and the officer went in too with others to seize him: but not finding him, they searched every corner and cranny of the house diligently, the officer declaring he was sure he was in the house, for he had left him there just now; as was true, for he had gone no farther than the corner of the Halfmoon tavern, which was just by, to fetch a file of soldiers that he had left there in the Strand out of sight, whilst he went to discover whether the gentleman he sought were within or no; where doubting not to find him safely lodged, he returned with his myrmidons to his house, sure, as he thought, of his prey; but sir A. A. saw through his made story, and gave him the slip. After this he was fain to get out of the way and conceal himself under a disguise; but he hid himself not lazily in a hole; he made war upon them at Wallingford-house, incognito as he was, and made them feel him, though he kept out of sight.                Several companies of their soldiers drew up in Lincoln’s-inn-fields without their officers, and there put themselves under the command of such officers as he appointed them. The city began to rouse itself, and to show manifest signs of little regard to Wallingford-house; and he never left working till he had raised a spirit and strength enough to declare openly for the old parliament, as the only legal authority then in England, which had any pretence to claim and take on them the government. For Portsmouth being put into the hands of sir Arthur Haselrig, and the city showing their inclination; the counties readily took it, and by their concurrent weight re-instated the excluded members in their former administration. This was the first open step he made towards wresting the civil power out of the hands of the army; who, having thought Richard, Oliver’s son, unworthy of it, had taken it to themselves, executed by a committee of their own officers, where Lambert, who had the chief command and influence in the army, had placed it, till he had modelled things among them, so as might make way for his taking the sole administration into his own hands; but sir A. A. found a way to strip him of that as soon as the parliament was restored.

The first thing he did was to get from them a commission to himself, and two or three more of the most weighty and popular members of the house, to have the power of general of all the forces in England, which they were to execute jointly. This was no sooner done but he got them together, where he had provided abundance of clerks, who were immediately set to work to transcribe a great many copies of the form of a letter, wherein they reciting, that it pleased God to restore the parliament to the exercise of their power, and that the parliament had given to them a commission to command the army, they therefore commanded him (viz. the officer to whom the letter was directed) immediately with his troop, company, or regiment, as it happened, to march to N. These letters were directed to the chief officer of any part of the army who had their quarters together in any part of England. These letters were dispatched away by particular messengers that very night, and coming to the several officers so peremptorily to march immediately, they had not time to assemble and debate among themselves what to do; and having no other intelligence but that the parliament was restored, and that the city and Portsmouth, and other parts of England, had declared for them: the officers durst not disobey, but all, according to their several orders, marched some one way, and some another; so that this army, which was the great strength of the gentlemen of Wallingford-house, was by this means quite scattered, and rendered perfectly useless to the committee of safety, who were hereby perfectly reduced under the power of the parliament, as so many disarmed men to be disposed of as they thought fit.

It is known, that, whilst the long parliament remained intire, Mr. Denzil Hollis was the man of the greatest sway in it, and might have continued it on, if he would have followed sir A. A.’s advice. But he was a haughty stiff man, and so by straining it a little too much lost all.

From the time of their reconcilement already mentioned, they had been very hearty friends; it happened one morning that sir A. A. calling upon Mr. Hollis in his way to the house, as he often did; he found him in a great heat against Cromwell, who had then the command of the army, and a great interest in it. The provocation may be read at large in the pamphlets of that time, for which Mr. Hollis was resolved, he said, to bring him to punishment. Sir A. A. dissuaded him all he could from any such attempt, showing him the danger of it, and told him it would be sufficient to remove him out of the way, by sending him with a command into Ireland. This Cromwell, as things stood, would be glad to accept; but this would not satisfy Mr. Hollis. When he came to the house the matter was brought into debate, and it was moved, that Cromwell, and those guilty with him, should be punished. Cromwell, who was in the house, no sooner heard this, but he stole out, took horse, and rode immediately to the army, which, as I remember, was at Triplowheath; there he acquainted them what the presbyterian party was a doing in the house, and made such use of it to them, that they, who were before in the power of the parliament, now united together under Cromwell, who immediately led them away to London, giving out menaces against Hollis and his party as they marched, who with Stapleton and some others were fain to fly; and thereby the independent party becoming the stronger, they, as they called it, purged the house, and turned out all the presbyterian party. Cromwell, some time after, meeting sir A. A. told him, I am beholden to you for your kindness to me; for you, I hear, were for letting me go without punishment; but your friend, God be thanked, was not wise enough to take your advice.

Monk, after the death of Oliver Cromwell, and the removal of Richard, marching with the army he had with him into England, gave fair promises all along in his way to London to the Rump that were then sitting, who had sent commissioners to him that accompanied him. When he was come to town, though he had promised fair to the Rump and commonwealth party on one hand, and gave hopes to the royalists on the other; yet at last agreed with the French ambassador to take the government on himself, by whom he had promise from Mazerine of assistance from France to support him in his undertaking. This bargain was struck up between them late at night, but not so secretly but that his wife, who had posted herself conveniently behind the hangings, where she could hear all that passed, finding what was resolved, sent her brother Clarges away immediately with notice of it to sir A. A. She was zealous for the restoration of the king, and had therefore promised sir A. to watch her husband, and inform him from time to time how matters went. Upon this notice sir A. caused the counsel of state, whereof he was one, to be summoned; and when they were met, he desired the clerks might withdraw, he having matter of great importance to communicate to them. The doors of the council-chamber being locked, and the keys laid upon the table, he began to charge Monk, not in a direct and open accusation, but in obscure intimations, and doubtful expressions, giving ground of suspicion, that he was playing false with them, and not doing as he promised. This he did so skilfully and intelligibly to Monk, that he perceived he was discovered, and therefore in his answer to him fumbled and seemed out of order; so that the rest of the council perceived there was something in it, though they knew not what the matter was; and the general at last averring that what had been suggested was upon groundless suspicions, and that he was true to his principles, and stood firm to what he had professed to them, and had no secret designs that ought to disturb them, and that he was ready to give them all manner of satisfaction; whereupon sir A. A. closing with him, and making a farther use of what he had said than he intended: for he meant no more than so far as to get away from them upon this assurance which he gave them. But sir A. A. told him, that if he was sincere in what he had said, he might presently remove all scruples, if he would take away their commissions from such and such officers in his army, and give them to those whom he named; and that presently before he went out of the room. Monk was in himself no quick man; he was guilty alone among a company of men whom he knew not what they would do with him; for they all struck in with sir A. A. and plainly perceived that Monk had designed some foul play. In these straits being thus close pressed, and knowing not how else to extricate himself, he consented to what was proposed; and so immediately, before he stirred, a great part of the commissions of his officers were changed; and sir Edward Harley, amongst the rest, who was a member of the council, and there present, was made governor of Dunkirk in the room of sir William Lockhart, and was sent away immediately to take possession of it. By which means the army ceased to be at Monk’s devotion, and was put into hands that would not serve him in the design he had undertaken. The French ambassador, who had the night before sent away an express to Mazarine, positively to assure him that things went here as he desired, and that Monk was fixed by him in his resolution to take on himself the government, was not a little astonished the next day to find things taking another turn; and indeed this so much disgraced him in the French court, that he was presently called home, and soon after broke his heart.

This was that which gave the great turn to the restoration of king Charles II, whereof sir A. had laid the plan in his head a long time before, and carried it on,

Quantus hîc situs est ex titulis, quod rarò, discas.

Baro Ashley de Winborne St. Giles,

Deinde Comes Shaftesburiensis,

Cancellarius Scaccarij, Ærarij Triumvir,

Magnus Angliæ Cancellarius,

CAROLO Secundo à Sanctioribus & Secretioribus

Conciliis, &c.

Hæc non Sepulchri ornamenta, sed Viri.

Quippe quæ nec Majoribus debuit nec favori.

Comitate, acumine, suadelâ, consilio, animo, constantia, fide,

Vix Parem alibi invenias, Superiorem certè nullibi.

Libertatis Civilis, Ecclesiasticæ,

Propugnator strenuus, indefessus.

Vitæ publicis commodis impensæ memoriam & laudes,

Stante libertate, nunquam obliterabit

Tempus edax, nec edacior Invidia.

Servo pecori inutilia, invisa magna exempla.

THE CHARACTER OF MR. LOCKE.

In a LETTER to the Author of the Nouvelles de la Republique des Lettres. By Mr. P. Coste.

SIR,

London,

Dec. 10, 1704.

YOU must have heard of the death of the illustrious Mr. Locke. It is a general loss. For that reason he is lamented by all good men, and all sincere lovers of truth, who were acquainted with his character. He was born for the good of mankind. Most of his actions were directed to that end; and I doubt whether, in his time, any man in Europe applied himself more earnestly to that noble design, or executed it with more success.

I will forbear to speak of the valuableness of his works. The general esteem they have attained, and will preserve, as long as good sense and virtue are left in the world; the service they have been of to England in particular, and universally to all that set themselves seriously to the search of truth, and the study of christianity; are their best eulogium. The love of truth is visible in every part of them. This is allowed by all that have read them. For even they, who have not relished some of Mr. Locke’s opinions, have done him the justice to confess, that the manner, in which he defends them, shows he advanced nothing that he was not sincerely convinced of himself. This his friends gave him an account of from several hands: “Let them after this, answered he, object whatever they please against my works; I shall never be disturbed at it: for since they grant I advance nothing in them but what I really believe, I shall always be glad to prefer truth to any of my opinions, whenever I discover it by myself, or am satisfied that they are not conformable to it.” Happy turn of mind! which, I am fully persuaded, contributed more even than the penetration of that noble genius, to his discovery of those great and useful truths which appear in his works.

But, without dwelling any longer upon considering Mr. Locke in the quality of an author, which often serves only to disguise the real character of the man, I haste to show him to you in particulars much more amiable, and which will give you a higher notion of his merit.

Mr. Locke had a great knowledge of the world, and of the business of it. Prudent without being cunning; he won people’s esteem by his probity, and was always safe from the attacks of a false friend, or a sordid flatterer. Averse to all mean complaisance; his wisdom, his experience, his gentle and obliging manners, gained him the respect of his inferiours, the esteem of his equals, the friendship and confidence of the greatest quality.

Without setting up for a teacher, he instructed others by his own conduct. He was at first pretty much disposed to give advice to such of his friends as he thought wanted it; but at length, finding that, “good counsels are very little effectual in making people more prudent,” he grew much more reserved in that particular. I have often heard him say, that the first time he heard that maxim, he thought it very strange; but that experience had fully convinced him of the truth of it. By counsels, we are here to understand those which are given to such as do not ask them. Yet, as much as he despaired of rectifying those whom he saw taking of false measures; his natural goodness, the aversion he had to disorder, and the interest he took in those about him, in a manner forced him sometimes to break the resolution he had made of leaving them to go their own way; and prevailed upon him to give them the advice, which he thought most likely to reclaim them; but this he always did in a modest way, and so as to convince the mind by fortifying his advice with solid arguments, which he never wanted upon a proper occasion.

But then Mr. Locke was very liberal of his counsels, when they were desired; and nobody ever consulted him in vain. An extreme vivacity of mind, one of his reigning qualities, in which perhaps he never had an equal; his great experience, and the sincere desire he had of being serviceable to all mankind; soon furnished him with the expedients, which were most just and least dangerous. I say, the least dangerous; for what he proposed to himself before all things was to lead those, who consulted him, into no trouble. This was one of his favourite maxims, and he never lost sight of it upon any occasion.

Though Mr. Locke chiefly loved truths that were useful, and with such fed his mind, and was generally very well pleased to make them the subject of his discourse; yet he used to say, that in order to employ one part of this life in serious and important occupations, it was necessary to spend another in mere amusements; and when an occasion naturally offered, he gave himself up with pleasure to the charms of a free and facetious conversation. He remembered a great many agreeable stories, which he always brought in properly; and generally made them yet more delightful, by his natural and agreeable way of telling them. He was no foe to raillery, provided it were delicate and perfectly innocent.

Nobody was ever a greater master of the art of accommodating himself to the reach of all capacities; which, in my opinion, is one of the surest marks of a great genius.

It was his peculiar art in conversation, to lead people to talk of what they understood best. With a gardener he discoursed of gardening; with a jeweller, of a diamond; with a chymist, of chymistry, &c. “By this, said he himself, I please all those men, who commonly can speak pertinently upon nothing else. As they believe I have an esteem for their profession, they are charmed with showing their abilities before me; and I, in the mean while, improve myself by their discourse.” And indeed, Mr. Locke had by this means acquired a very good insight into all the arts, of which he daily learnt more and more. He used to say too, that the knowledge of the arts contained more true philosophy, than all those fine learned hypotheses, which, having no relation to the nature of things, are fit for nothing at the bottom, but to make men lose their time in inventing, or comprehending them. A thousand times have I admired how, by the several questions he would put to artificers, he would find out the secret of their art, which they did not understand themselves; and oftentimes give them views entirely new, which sometimes they put in practice to their profit.

This easiness, with which Mr. Locke knew how to converse with all sorts of men, and the pleasure he took in doing it, at first surprised those, who had never talked with him before. They were charmed with this condescension, not very common among men of letters; and which they so little expected from a person, whose great qualities raised him so very much above all other men. Many who knew him only by his writings, or by the reputation he had gained of being one of the greatest philosophers of the age, having imagined to themselves before-hand, that he was one of those scholars, that, being always full of themselves, and their sublime speculations, are incapable of familiarizing themselves with the common sort of mankind, or of entering into their little concerns, or discoursing of the ordinary affairs of life; were perfectly amazed to find him nothing but affability, good humour, humanity, pleasantness, always ready to hear them, to talk with them of things which they best understood, much more desirous of informing himself in what they understood better than himself, than to make a show of his own science. I knew a very ingenious gentleman in England, that was for some time in the same prejudice. Before he saw Mr. Locke, he had formed a notion of him to himself under the idea of one of the ancient philosophers, with a long beard, speaking nothing but by sentences, negligent of his person, without any other politeness but what might proceed from the natural goodness of his temper, a sort of politeness often very coarse and very troublesome in civil society. But one hour’s conversation entirely cured him of his mistake, and obliged him to declare, that he looked upon Mr. Locke to be one of the politest men he ever saw: “He is not a philosopher always grave, always confined to that character, as I imagined; he is, said he, a perfect courtier, as agreeable for his obliging and civil behaviour, as admirable for the profoundness and delicacy of his genius.”

Mr. Locke was so far from assuming those airs of gravity, by which some folks, as well learned as unlearned, love to distinguish themselves from the rest of the world; that, on the contrary, he looked upon them, as an infallible mark of impertinence. Nay, sometimes he would divert himself with imitating that studied gravity, in order to turn it the better into ridicule; and upon this occasion he always remembered this maxim of the duke of la Rochefoucault, which he admired above all others, “that gravity is a mystery of the body, invented to conceal the defects of the mind.” He loved also to confirm his opinion on this subject, by that of the famous earl of Shaftsbury, to whom he took a delight to give the honour of all the things, which he thought he had learnt from his conversation.

Nothing ever gave him a more sensible pleasure than the esteem, which that earl conceived for him, almost the first moment he saw him, and which he afterwards preserved as long as he lived. And, indeed, nothing set Mr. Locke’s merit in a better light, than the constant esteem of my lord Shaftsbury, the greatest genius of his age, superiour to so many great men that shone at the same time at the court of Charles II; not only for his resolution and intrepidity in maintaining the true interests of his country, but also for his great abilities in the conduct of the most knotty affairs. When Mr. Locke studied at Oxford, he fell by accident into his company, and one single conversation with that great man won him his esteem and confidence to such a degree, that soon afterwards my lord Shaftsbury took him to be near his person, and kept him as long as Mr. Locke’s health or affairs would permit. That earl particularly excelled in the knowledge of men. It was impossible to catch his esteem by moderate qualities; this his enemies themselves could never deny. I wish I could, on the other hand, give you a full notion of the idea, which Mr. Locke had of that nobleman’s merit. He lost no opportunity of speaking of it; and that in a manner, which sufficiently showed he spoke from his heart. Though my lord Shaftsbury had not spent much time in reading; nothing, in Mr. Locke’s opinion, could be more just than the judgment he passed upon the books, which fell into his hands. He presently saw through the design of a work; and without much heeding the words, which he ran over with vast rapidity, he immediately found whether the author was master of his subject, and whether his reasonings were exact. But, above all, Mr. Locke admired in him that penetration, that presence of mind, which always prompted him with the best expedients, in the most desperate cases; that noble boldness, which appeared in all his public discourses, always guided by a solid judgment, which, never allowing him to say any thing but what was proper, regulated his least word, and left no hold to the vigilance of his enemies.

During the time Mr. Locke lived with that illustrious lord, he had the advantage of becoming acquainted with all the polite, the witty, and agreeable part of the court. It was then that he got the habit of those obliging and benevolent manners, which, supported by an easy and polite expression, a great knowledge of the world, and a vast extent of capacity, made his conversation so agreeable to all sorts of people. It was then too, without doubt, that he fitted himself for the great affairs, of which he afterwards appeared so capable.

I know not whether it was the ill state of his health, that obliged him, in the reign of king William, to refuse going ambassador to one of the most considerable courts in Europe. It is certain that great prince judged him worthy of that post, and nobody doubts but he would have filled it gloriously.

The same prince, after this, gave him a place among the lords commissioners, whom he established for advancing the interest of trade and the plantations. Mr. Locke executed that employment for several years; and it is said (absit invidia verbo) that he was in a manner the soul of that illustrious body. The most experienced merchants were surprised, that a man, who had spent his life in the study of physic, of polite literature, or of philosophy, should have more extensive and certain views than themselves, in a business which they had wholly applied themselves to from their youth. At length, when Mr. Locke could no longer pass the summer at London, without endangering his life, he went and resigned that office to the king himself, upon account that his health would permit him to stay no longer in town. This reason did not hinder the king from entreating Mr. Locke to continue in his post, telling him expressly, that, though he could stay at London but a few weeks, his services in that office would yet be very necessary to him; but at length he yielded to the representations of Mr. Locke, who could not prevail upon himself to hold an employment of that importance, without doing the duties of it more regularly. He formed and executed this design without mentioning a word of it to any body whatsoever; thus avoiding, with a generosity rarely to be found, what others would have earnestly laid out after; for by making it known that he was about to quit that employment, which brought him in a thousand pounds a year, he might easily have entered into a kind of composition with any pretender, who, having particular notice of this news, and being befriended with Mr. Locke’s interest, might have carried the post from any other person. This, we may be sure, he was told of, and that too by way of reproach. “I knew it very well, replied he; but this was the very reason why I communicated my design to nobody. I received this place from the king himself, and to him I resolved to restore it, to dispose of it as he thought proper.” “Heu prisca fides!” Where are such examples, at this day, to be met with?

One thing, which those who lived for any time with Mr. Locke could not help observing in him, was, that he took a delight in making use of his reason in every thing he did; and nothing, that is attended with any usefulness, seemed unworthy his care; so that we may say of him, what was said of queen Elizabeth, that he was no less capable of small things than of great. He used often to say himself, that there was an art in every thing; and it was easy to be convinced of it, to see the manner in which he went about the most trifling thing he did, and always with some good reason. I might here descend into particulars, which probably, to many, would not be unpleasant: but the bounds I have set myself, and the fear of taking up too many pages in your journal, will not give me leave to do it.

Mr. Locke, above all things, loved order; and he had got the way of observing it in every thing with wonderful exactness.

As he always kept the useful in his eye, in all his disquisitions, he esteemed the employments of men only in proportion to the good they were capable of producing; for which reason he had no great value for those critics, or mere grammarians, that waste their lives in comparing words and phrases, and in coming to a determination in the choice of a various reading, in a passage that has nothing important in it. He cared yet less for those professed disputants, who, being wholly taken up with the desire of coming off with the victory, fortify themselves behind the ambiguity of a word, to give their adversaries the more trouble. And whenever he had to deal with this sort of folks, if he did not beforehand take a strong resolution of keeping his temper, he quickly fell into a passion. And, in general, it must be owned, he was naturally somewhat choleric. But his anger never lasted long. If he retained any resentment, it was against himself for having given way to so ridiculous a passion; which, as he used to say, may do a great deal of harm, but never yet did the least good. He often would blame himself for this weakness. Upon which occasion, I remember, that two or three weeks before his death, as he was sitting in a garden taking the air in a bright sun-shine, whose warmth afforded him a great deal of pleasure, which he improved as much as possible, by causing his chair to be drawn more and more towards the sun, as it went down; we happened to speak of Horace, I know not on what occasion, and having repeated to him these verses, where that poet says, of himself, that he was

Solibus aptum;

Irasci celerem, tamen ut placabilis essem:

“That he loved the warmth of the sun, and that, though he was naturally choleric, his anger was easily appeased.” Mr. Locke replied, that, if he durst presume to compare himself with Horace in any thing, he thought he was perfectly like him in those two respects. But, that you may be the less surprised at his modesty, upon this occasion, I must, at the same time, inform you, that he looked upon Horace to be one of the wisest and happiest Romans that lived in the age of Augustus, by means of the care he took to preserve himself clear of ambition and avarice, to keep his desires within bounds, and to cultivate the friendship of the greatest men in those times, without living in their dependence.

Mr. Locke also disliked those authors that labour only to destroy, without establishing any thing themselves: “A building, said he, displeases them. They find great faults in it; let them demolish it, and welcome, provided they endeavour to raise another in its place, if it be possible.”

He advised, that, whenever we have meditated any thing new, we should throw it as soon as possible upon paper, in order to be the better able to judge of it by seeing it altogether; because the mind of man is not capable of retaining clearly a long chain of consequences, and of seeing, without confusion, the relation of a great number of different ideas. Besides, it often happens, that what we had most admired, when considered in the gross, and in a perplexed manner, appears to be utterly inconsistent and unsupportable, when we see every part of it distinctly.

Mr. Locke also thought it necessary always to communicate one’s thoughts to some friend, especially if one proposed to offer them to the public; and this was what he constantly observed himself. He could hardly conceive how a being of so limited a capacity as man, and so subject to errour, could have the confidence to neglect this precaution.

Never man employed his time better than Mr. Locke, as appears by the works he published himself; and perhaps, in time, we may see new proofs of it. He spent the last fourteen or fifteen years of his life at Oates, a country-seat of sir Francis Masham’s, about five and twenty miles from London, in the county of Essex. I cannot but take pleasure in imagining to myself, that this place, so well known to so many persons of merit, whom I have seen come thither from so many parts of England to visit Mr. Locke, will be famous to posterity, for the long abode that great man made there. Be that as it may, it was there that enjoying sometimes the conversation of his friends, and always the company of my lady Masham, for whom Mr. Locke had long conceived a very particular esteem and friendship, (in spite of all that lady’s merit, this is all the eulogium she shall have of me now,) he tasted sweets, which were interrupted by nothing but the ill state of a weakly and delicate constitution. During this agreeable retirement, he applied himself especially to the study of the Holy Scripture; and employed the last years of his life in hardly any thing else. He was never weary of admiring the great views of that sacred book, and the just relation of all its parts; he every day made discoveries in it, that gave him fresh cause of admiration. It is strongly reported, in England, that those discoveries will be communicated to the public. If so, the whole world, I am confident, will have a full proof of what was observed by all that were near Mr. Locke to the last part of his life; I mean, that his mind never suffered the least decay, though his body grew every day visibly weaker and weaker.

His strength began to fail him more remarkably than ever, at the entrance of the last summer; a season which, in former years, had always restored him some degrees of strength. Then he foresaw that his end was very near. He often spoke of it himself, but always with great composure, though he omitted none of the precautions, which his skill in physic taught him, to prolong his life. At length, his legs began to swell; and, that swelling increasing every day, his strength diminished very visibly. He then saw how short a time he had left to live, and prepared to quit this world, with a deep sense of all the blessings which God had granted him, which he took delight in numbering up to his friends, and full of a sincere resignation to his will, and of firm hopes in his promises, built upon the word of Jesus Christ, sent into the world to bring to light life and immortality, by his gospel.

At length, his strength failed him to such a degree, that, the 26th of October, 1704. two days before his death, going to see him in his closet, I found him on his knees, but unable to rise again without assistance.

The next day, though he was not worse, he would continue a-bed. All that day he had a greater difficulty of respiration than ever, and about five of the clock, in the evening, he fell into a sweat, accompanied with an extreme weakness, that made us fear for his life. He was of opinion himself, that he was not far from his last moment. Then he desired to be remembered at evening prayers; thereupon my lady Masham told him, that if he would, the whole family should come and pray by him in his chamber. He answered, he should be very glad to have it so, if it would not give too much trouble; there he was prayed for particularly. After this, he gave some orders with great serenity of mind; and, an occasion offering of speaking of the goodness of God, he especially exalted the love which God showed to man, in justifying him by faith in Jesus Christ. He returned him thanks, in particular, for having called him to the knowledge of that divine Saviour. He exhorted all about him to read the Holy Scripture attentively, and to apply themselves sincerely to the practice of all their duties; adding, expressly, that “by this means they would be more happy in this world, and secure to themselves the possession of eternal felicity in the other.” He past the whole night without sleep. The next day he caused himself to be carried into his closet, for he had not strength to walk by himself; and there in his chair, and in a kind of dozing, though in his full senses, as appeared by what he said from time to time, he gave up the ghost about three in the afternoon, the 28th of October.

I beg you, sir, not to take what I have said of Mr. Locke’s character for a finished portrait. It is only a slight sketch of some few of his excellent qualities. I am told we shall quickly have it done by the hand of a master. To that I refer you. Many features, I am sure, have escaped me; but I dare affirm, that those, which I have given you a draught of, are not set off with false colours, but drawn faithfully from the life.

I must not omit a particular in Mr. Locke’s will, which it is of no small importance to the commonwealth of learning to be acquainted with; namely, that therein he declares what were the works which he had published without setting his name to them. The occasion of it was this: some time before his death, Dr. Hudson, keeper of the Bodleian library at Oxford, had desired him to send him all the works with which he had favoured the public, as well those with his name as those without, that they might be all placed in that famous library. Mr. Locke sent him only the former; but in his will he declares he is resolved fully to satisfy Dr. Hudson; and to that intent he bequeaths to the Bodleian library a copy of the rest of his works, to which he had not prefixed his name, viz. a Latin “Letter concerning Toleration,” printed at Tergou, and translated some time afterwards into English, unknown to Mr. Locke; two other letters upon the same subject, in answer to the objections made against the first; “The Reasonableness of Christianity,” with two Vindications of that book; and “Two Treatises of Government.” These are all the anonymous works which Mr. Locke owns himself to be the author of.

For the rest, I shall not pretend to tell you at what age he died, because I do not certainly know it. I have often heard him say, he had forgot the year of his birth; but that he believed he had set it down somewhere. It has not yet been found among his papers; but it is computed that he was about sixty-six.

Though I have continued some time at London, a city very fruitful in literary news, I have nothing curious to tell you. Since Mr. Locke departed this life, I have hardly been able to think of any thing, but the loss of that great man, whose memory will always be dear to me; happy if, as I admired him for many years, that I was near him, I could but imitate him in any one respect! I am, with all sincerity, Sir, your, &c.

THE FUNDAMENTAL CONSTITUTIONS OF CAROLINA.

OUR sovereign lord the king having, out of his royal grace and bounty, granted unto us the province of Carolina, with all the royalties, properties, jurisdictions, and privileges of a county palatine, as large and ample as the county palatine of Durham, with other great privileges, for the better settlement of the government of the said place, and establishing the interest of the lords proprietors with equality, and without confusion; and that the government of this province may be made most agreeable to the monarchy under which we live, and of which this province is a part; and that we may avoid erecting a numerous democracy: we, the lords and proprietors of the province aforesaid, have agreed to this following form of government, to be perpetually established amongst us, unto which we do oblige ourselves, our heirs, and successors, in the most binding ways that can be devised.

THE eldest of the lords proprietors shall be palatine; and, upon the decease of the palatine, the eldest of the seven surviving proprietors shall always succeed him.

There shall be seven other chief offices erected, viz. the admiral’s, chamberlain’s, chancellor’s, constable’s, chief-justice’s, high-steward’s, and treasurer’s; which places shall be enjoyed by none but the lords proprietors, to be assigned at first by lot; and upon the vacancy of any one of the seven great offices by death, or otherwise, the eldest proprietor shall have his choice of the said place.

The whole province shall be divided into counties; each county shall consist of eight signories, eight baronies, and four precincts; each precinct shall consist of six colonies.

Each signiory, barony, and colony, shall consist of twelve thousand acres; the eight signories being the share of the eight proprietors, and the eight baronies of the nobility; both which shares, being each of them one fifth part of the whole, are to be perpetually annexed, the one to the proprietors, the other to the hereditary nobility, leaving the colonies, being three fifths, amongst the people: that so in setting out and planting the lands, the balance of the government may be preserved.

At any time before the year one thousand seven hundred and one, any of the lords proprietors shall have power to relinquish, alienate, and dispose to any other person, his proprietorship, and all the signories, powers, and interest thereunto belonging, wholly and entirely together, and not otherwise. But, after the year one thousand seven hundred, those, who are then lords proprietors, shall not have power to alienate or make over their proprietorship, with the signories and privileges thereunto belonging, or any part thereof, to any person whatsoever, otherwise than as in § xviii. but it shall all descend unto their heirs male; and, for want of heirs male, it shall all descend on that landgrave, or cassique, of Carolina, who is descended of the next heirs female of the proprietor; and, for want of such heirs, it shall descend on the next heir general; and, for want of such heirs, the remaining seven proprietors shall, upon the vacancy, choose a landgrave to succeed the deceased proprietor, who being chosen by the majority of the seven surviving proprietors, he and his heirs, successively, shall be proprietors, as fully, to all intents and purposes, as any of the rest.

That the number of eight proprietors may be constantly kept; if, upon the vacancy of any proprietorship, the seven surviving proprietors shall not choose a landgrave to be a proprietor, before the second biennial parliament after the vacancy; then the next biennial parliament but one after such vacancy shall have power to choose any landgrave to be a proprietor.

Whosoever after the year one thousand seven hundred, either by inheritance or choice, shall succeed any proprietor in his proprietorship, and signiories thereunto belonging; shall be obliged to take the name and arms of that proprietor, whom he succeeds; which from thenceforth shall be the name and arms of his family and their posterity.

Whatsoever landgrave or cassique shall any way come to be a proprietor, shall take the signiories annexed to the said proprietorship; but his former dignity, with the baronies annexed, shall devolve into the hands of the lords proprietors.

There shall be just as many landgraves as there are counties, and twice as many cassiques, and no more. These shall be the hereditary nobility of the province, and by right of their dignity be members of parliament. Each landgrave shall have four baronies, and each cassique two baronies, hereditarily and unalterably annexed to, and settled upon the said dignity.

The first landgraves and cassiques of the twelve first counties to be planted, shall be nominated thus; that is to say, of the twelve landgraves, the lords proprietors shall each of them separately for himself, nominate and choose one; and the remaining four landgraves of the first twelve, shall be nominated and chosen by the palatine’s court. In like manner, of the twenty-four first cassiques, each proprietor for himself shall nominate and choose two, and the remaining eight shall be nominated and chosen by the palatine’s court; and when the twelve first counties shall be planted, the lords proprietors shall again in the same manner nominate and choose twelve more landgraves, and twenty-four cassiques for the twelve next counties to be planted; that is to say, two-thirds of each number by the single nomination of each proprietor for himself, and the remaining one-third by the joint election of the palatine’s court, and so proceed in the same manner till the whole province of Carolina be set out and planted, according to the proportions in these Fundamental Constitutions.

Any landgrave or cassique at any time before the year one thousand seven hundred and one, shall have power to alienate, sell, or make over to any other person, his dignity, with the baronies thereunto belonging, all intirely together. But after the year one thousand seven hundred, no landgrave or cassique shall have power to alienate, sell, make over, or let the hereditary baronies of his dignity, or any part thereof, otherwise than as in § xviii; but they shall all intirely, with the dignity thereunto belonging, descend unto his heirs male; and for want of heirs male, all intirely and undivided, to the next heir general; and for want of such heirs, shall devolve into the hands of the lords proprietors.

That the due number of landgraves and cassiques may be always kept up; if, upon the devolution of any landgraveship or cassiqueship, the palatine’s court shall not settle the devolved dignity, with the baronies thereunto annexed, before the second biennial parliament after such devolution; the next biennial parliament but one after such devolution shall have power to make any one landgrave or cassique, in the room of him, who dying without heirs, his dignity and baronies devolved.

No one person shall have more than one dignity, with the signiories or baronies thereunto belonging. But whensoever it shall happen, that any one, who is already proprietor, landgrave, or cassique, shall have any of these dignities descend to him by inheritance, it shall be at his choice to keep which of the dignities, with the lands annexed, he shall like best; but shall leave the other, with the lands annexed, to be enjoyed by him, who not being his heir apparent, and certain successor to his present dignity, is next of blood.

Whosoever, by right of inheritance, shall come to be landgrave or cassique, shall take the name and arms of his predecessor in that dignity, to be from thenceforth the name and arms of his family and their posterity.

Since the dignity of proprietor, landgrave, or cassique, cannot be divided, and the signiories or baronies thereunto annexed must for ever all intirely descend with, and accompany that dignity: whensoever for want of heirs male it shall descend on the issue female, the eldest daughter and her heirs shall be preferred; and in the inheritance of those dignities, and in the signiories or baronies annexed, there shall be no coheirs.

In every signiory, barony, and manor, the respective lord shall have power in his own name to hold court-leet there, for trying of all causes both civil and criminal; but where it shall concern any person being no inhabitant, vassal, or leet-man of the said signiory, barony, or manor, he, upon paying down of forty shillings to the lords proprietors use, shall have an appeal from the signiory or barony-court to the county-court, and from the manor-court to the precinct court.

Every manor shall consist of not less than three thousand acres, and not above twelve thousand acres in one intire piece and colony: but any three thousand acres or more in one piece, and the possession of one man, shall not be a manor, unless it be constituted a manor by the grant of the palatine’s court.

The lords of signiories and baronies shall have power only of granting estates not exceeding three lives, or thirty-one years, in two thirds of the said signiories or baronies, and the remaining third shall be always demesne.

Any lord of a manor may alienate, sell, or dispose to any other person and his heirs for ever, his manor, all intirely together, with all the privileges and leet-men thereunto belonging, so far forth as any colony lands; but no grant of any part thereof, either in fee, or for any longer term than three lives, or one-and-twenty years, shall be good against the next heir.

No manor, for want of issue male, shall be divided amongst co-heirs; but the manor, if there be but one, shall all intirely descend to the eldest daughter and her heirs. If there be more manors than one, the eldest daughter first shall have her choice, the second next, and so on, beginning again at the eldest, till all the manors be taken up; that so the privileges, which belong to manors being indivisible, the lands of the manors, to which they are annexed, may be kept intire, and the manor not lose those privileges, which, upon parcelling out to several owners, must necessarily cease.

Every lord of a manor, within his manor, shall have all the powers, jurisdictions, and privileges, which a landgrave or cassique hath in his baronies.

In every signiory, barony, and manor, all the leet-men shall be under the jurisdiction of the respective lords of the said signiory, barony, or manor, without appeal from him. Nor shall any leet-man, or leet-woman, have liberty to go off from the land of their particular lord, and live any-where else, without licence obtained from their said lord, under hand and seal.

All the children of leet-men shall be leet-men, and so to all generations.

No man shall be capable of having a court-leet, or leet-men, but a proprietor, landgrave, cassique, or lord of a manor.

Whoever shall voluntarily enter himself a leet-man, in the registry of the county-court, shall be a leet-man.

Whoever is lord of leet-men, shall upon the marriage of a leet-man, or leet-woman of his, give them ten acres of land for their lives; they paying to him therefore not more than one-eighth part of all the yearly produce and growth of the said ten acres.

No landgrave or cassique shall be tried for any criminal cause, in any but the chief justice’s court, and that by a jury of his peers.

There shall be eight supreme courts. The first called the palatine’s court, consisting of the palatine, and the other seven proprietors. The other seven courts of the other seven great officers, shall consist each of them of a proprietor, and six counsellors added to him. Under each of these latter seven courts, shall be a college of twelve assistants. The twelve assistants of the several colleges shall be chosen, two out of the landgraves, cassiques, or eldest sons of the proprietors, by the palatine’s court; two out of the landgraves, by the landgrave’s chamber; two out of the cassiques, by the cassiques chamber; four more of the twelve shall be chosen by the commons chamber, out of such as have been, or are members of parliament, sheriffs, or justices of the county-court, or the younger sons of proprietors, or eldest sons of landgraves or cassiques; the two other shall be chosen by the palatine’s court, out of the same sort of persons, out of which the commons chamber is to choose.

Out of these colleges shall be chosen at first by the palatine’s court, six counsellors, to be joined with each proprietor in his court; of which six, one shall be of those, who were chosen into any of the colleges by the palatine’s court, out of the landgraves, cassiques, or eldest sons of proprietors; one out of those, who were chosen by the landgrave’s chamber; and one out of those, who were chosen by the cassiques chamber; two out of those, who were chosen by the commons chamber; and one out of those, who were chosen by the palatine’s court, out of the proprietor’s younger sons, or eldest sons of landgraves, cassiques, or commons, qualified as aforesaid.

When it shall happen that any counsellor dies, and thereby there is a vacancy, the grand council shall have power to remove any counsellor that is willing to be removed out of any of the proprietors courts to fill up the vacancy; provided they take a man of the same degree and choice the other was of, whose vacant place is to be filled up. But if no counsellor consent to be removed, or upon such remove the last remaining vacant place, in any of the proprietor’s courts, shall be filled up by the choice of the grand council, who shall have power to remove out of any of the colleges any assistant, who is of the same degree and choice that counsellor was of, into whose vacant place he is to succeed. The grand council also shall have power to remove any assistant, that is willing, out of one college into another, provided he be of the same degree and choice. But the last remaining vacant place in any college, shall be filled up by the same choice, and out of the same degree of persons the assistant was of who is dead, or removed. No place shall be vacant in any proprietor’s court above six months. No place shall be vacant in any college longer than the next session of parliament.

No man, being a member of the grand council, or of any of the seven colleges, shall be turned out, but for misdemeanor, of which the grand council shall be judge; and the vacancy of the person so put out shall be filled, not by the election of the grand council, but by those, who first chose him, and out of the same degree he was of who is expelled. But it is not hereby to be understood, that the grand council hath any power to turn out any one of the lords proprietors or their deputies, the lords proprietors having in themselves an inherent original right.

All elections in the parliament, in the several chambers of the parliament, and in the grand council, shall be passed by balloting.

The palatine’s court shall consist of the palatine, and seven proprietors, wherein nothing shall be acted without the presence and consent of the palatine or his deputy, and three others of the proprietors or their deputies. This court shall have power to call parliaments, to pardon all offences, to make elections of all officers in the proprietor’s dispose, and to nominate and appoint port-towns; and also shall have power by their order to the treasurer, to dispose of all public treasure, excepting money granted by the parliament, and by them directed to some particular public use; and also shall have a negative upon all acts, orders, votes, and judgments, of the grand council and the parliament, except only as in § vi. and xii. and shall have all the powers granted to the lords proprietors, by their patent from our sovereign lord the king, except in such things as are limited by these Fundamental Constitutions.

The palatine himself, when he in person shall be either in the army, or in any of the proprietors courts, shall then have the power of general, or of that proprietor, in whose court he is then present; and the proprietor in whose court the palatine then presides, shall during his presence there be but as one of the council.

The chancellor’s court, consisting of one of the proprietors, and his six counsellors, who shall be called vice-chancellors, shall have the custody of the seal of the palatine, under which charters of lands or otherwise, commissions and grants of the palatine’s court, shall pass. And it shall not be lawful to put the seal of the palatinate to any writing, which is not signed by the palatinate or his deputy, and three other proprietors or their deputies. To this court also belong all state matters, dispatches, and treaties with the neighbour Indians. To this court also belong all invasions of the law, of liberty of conscience, and all disturbances of the public peace, upon pretence of religion, as also the licence of printing. The twelve assistants belonging to this court shall be called recorders.

Whatever passes under the seal of the palatinate, shall be registered in that proprietor’s court, to which the matter therein contained belongs.

The chancellor, or his deputy, shall be always speaker in parliament, and president of the grand council; and in his and his deputy’s absence, one of his vice-chancellors.

The chief justice’s court, consisting of one of the proprietors and his six counsellors, who shall be called justices of the bench, shall judge all appeals in cases both civil and criminal, except all such cases as shall be under the jurisdiction and cognizance of any other of the proprietors courts, which shall be tried in those courts respectively. The government and regulation of the registries of writings and contracts, shall belong to the jurisdiction of this court. The twelve assistants of this court shall be called masters.

The constable’s court, consisting of one of the proprietors and his six counsellors, who shall be called marshals, shall order and determine of all military affairs by land, and all land forces, arms, ammunition, artillery, garrisons, and forts, &c. and whatever belongs unto war. His twelve assistants shall be called lieutenant-generals.

In time of actual war, the constable, whilst he is in the army, shall be general of the army: and the six counsellors, or such of them as the palatine’s court shall for that time or service appoint, shall be the immediate great officers under him, and the lieutenant-generals next to them.

The admiral’s court, consisting of one of the proprietors, and his six counsellors, called consuls, shall have the care and inspection over all ports, moles, and navigable rivers, so far as the tide flows, and also all the public shipping of Carolina, and stores thereunto belonging, and all maritime affairs. This court also shall have the power of the court of admiralty; and shall have power to constitute judges in port-towns, to try cases belonging to law-merchant, as shall be most convenient for trade. The twelve assistants, belonging to this court, shall be called proconsuls.

In time of actual war, the admiral, whilst he is at sea, shall command in chief, and his six counsellors, or such of them as the palatine’s court shall for that time and service appoint, shall be the immediate great officers under him, and the proconsuls next to them.

The treasurer’s court, consisting of a proprietor and his six counsellors, called under-treasurers, shall take care of all matters that concern the public revenue and treasury. The twelve assistants shall be called auditors.

The high steward’s court, consisting of a proprietor and his six counsellors, called comptrollers, shall have the care of all foreign and domestic trade, manufactures, public buildings, work-houses, highways, passages by water above the flood of the tide, drains, sewers, and banks against inundations, bridges, post, carriers, fairs, markets, corruption or infection of the common air or water, and all things in order to the public commerce and health; also setting out and surveying of lands; and also setting out and appointing places for towns to be built on in the precincts, and the prescribing and determining the figure and bigness of the said towns, according to such models as the said court shall order; contrary or differing from which models it shall not be lawful for any one to build in any town. This court shall have power also to make any public building, or any new highway, or enlarge any old highway, upon any man’s land whatsoever; as also to make cuts, channels, banks, locks, and bridges, for making rivers navigable, or for draining fens, or any other public use. The damage the owner of such lands (on or through which any such public things shall be made) shall receive thereby, shall be valued, and satisfaction made by such ways as the grand council shall appoint. The twelve assistants, belonging to this court, shall be called surveyors.

The chamberlain’s court, consisting of a proprietor and his six counsellors, called vice-chamberlains, shall have the care of all ceremonies, precedency, heraldry, reception of public messengers, pedigrees, the registry of all births, burials, and marriages, legitimation, and all cases concerning matrimony, or arising from it; and shall also have power to regulate all fashions, habits, badges, games, and sports. To this court also it shall belong to convocate the grand council. The twelve assistants belonging to this court shall be called provosts.

All causes belonging to, or under the jurisdiction of any of the proprietors courts, shall in them respectively be tried, and ultimately determined without any farther appeal.

The proprietors courts shall have a power to mitigate all fines, and suspend all executions in criminal causes, either before or after sentence, in any of the other inferiour courts respectively.

In all debates, hearings, or trials, in any of the proprietors courts, the twelve assistants belonging to the said courts respectively, shall have liberty to be present, but shall not interpose, unless their opinions be required, nor have any vote at all; but their business shall be, by the direction of the respective courts, to prepare such business as shall be committed to them; as also to bear such offices, and dispatch such affairs, either where the court is kept, or elsewhere, as the court shall think fit.

In all the proprietors courts, the proprietor, and any three of his counsellors, shall make a quorum; provided always, that for the better dispatch of business, it shall be in the power of the palatine’s court, to direct what sort of causes shall be heard and determined by a quorum of any three.

The grand council shall consist of the palatine and seven proprietors, and the forty-two counsellors of the several proprietors courts, who shall have power to determine any controversies that may arise between any of the proprietors courts, about their respective jurisdictions, or between the members of the same court, about their manner and methods of proceeding, to make peace and war, leagues, treaties, &c. with any of the neighbour Indians; to issue out their general orders to the constable’s and admiral’s courts, for the raising, disposing, or disbanding the forces, by land or by sea.

The grand council shall prepare all matters to be proposed in parliament. Nor shall any matter whatsoever be proposed in parliament, but what hath first passed the grand council; which, after having been read three several days in the parliament, shall by majority of votes be passed or rejected.

The grand council shall always be judges of all causes and appeals that concern the palatine, or any of the lords proprietors, or any counsellor of any proprietor’s court, in any cause, which otherwise should have been tried in the court, in which the said counsellor is judge himself.

The grand council, by their warrants to the treasurer’s court, shall dispose of all the money given by the parliament, and by them directed to any particular public use.

The quorum of the grand council shall be thirteen, whereof a proprietor, or his deputy, shall be always one.

The grand council shall meet the first Tuesday in every month, and as much oftener as either they shall think fit, or they shall be convocated by the chamberlain’s court.

The palatine, or any of the lords proprietors, shall have power, under hand and seal, to be registered in the grand council, to make a deputy, who shall have the same power, to all intents and purposes, as he himself who deputes him; except in confirming acts of parliament, as in § lxxvi, and except also in nominating and choosing landgraves and cassiques, as in § x. All such deputations shall cease and determine at the end of four years, and at any time shall be revocable at the pleasure of the deputator.

No deputy of any proprietor shall have any power, whilst the deputator is in any part of Carolina, except the proprietor, whose deputy he is, be a minor.

During the minority of any proprietor, his guardian shall have power to constitute and appoint his deputy.

The eldest of the lords proprietors, who shall be personally in Carolina, shall of course be the palatine’s deputy, and if no proprietor be in Carolina, he shall choose his deputy out of the heirs apparent of any of the proprietors, if any such be there; and if there be no heir apparent of any of the lords proprietors above one and twenty years old, in Carolina, then he shall choose for deputy any one of the landgraves of the grand council: till he have, by deputation, under hand and seal, chosen any one of the fore-mentioned heirs apparent, or landgraves, to be his deputy, the eldest man of the landgraves, and for want of a landgrave, the eldest man of the cassiques, who shall be personally in Carolina, shall of course be his deputy.

Each proprietor’s deputy shall be always one of his own six counsellors respectively; and in case any of the proprietors hath not, in his absence out of Carolina, a deputy, commissioned under his hand and seal, the eldest nobleman of his court shall of course be his deputy.

In every county there shall be a court, consisting of a sheriff and four justices of the county, for every precinct one. The sheriff shall be an inhabitant of the county, and have at least five hundred acres of freehold within the said county; and the justices shall be inhabitants, and have each of them five hundred acres a-piece freehold within the precinct, for which they serve respectively. These five shall be chosen and commissioned from time to time by the palatine’s court.

For any personal causes exceeding the value of two hundred pounds sterling, or in title of land, or in any criminal cause: either party, upon paying twenty pounds sterling to the lords proprietors use, shall have liberty of appeal from the county-court unto the respective proprietor’s court.

In every precinct there shall be a court, consisting of a steward and four justices of the precinct, being inhabitants, and having three hundred acres of freehold within the said precinct, who shall judge all criminal causes; except for treason, murder, and any other offences punishable with death, and except all criminal causes of the nobility; and shall judge also all civil causes whatsoever; and in all personal actions, not exceeding fifty pounds sterling, without appeal; but where the cause shall exceed that value, or concern a title of land, and in all criminal causes; there either party, upon paying five pounds sterling to the lords proprietors use, shall have liberty of appeal to the county-court.

No cause shall be twice tried in any one court, upon any reason or pretence whatsoever.

For treason, murder, and all other offences punishable with death, there shall be a commission, twice a year, at least, granted unto one or more members of the grand council, or colleges, who shall come as itinerant judges to the several counties, and, with the sheriff and four justices, shall hold assizes to judge all such causes; but, upon paying of fifty pounds sterling to the lords proprietors use, there shall be liberty of appeal to the respective proprietor’s court.

The grand jury at the several assizes shall, upon their oaths, and under their hands and seals, deliver in to the itinerant judges a presentment of such grievances, misdemeanors, exigencies, or defects, which they think necessary for the public good of the country; which presentments shall, by the itinerant judges, at the end of their circuit, be delivered in to the grand council, at their next sitting. And whatsoever therein concerns the execution of laws already made, the several proprietors courts, in the matters belonging to each of them respectively, shall take cognizance of it, and give such order about it as shall be effectual for the due execution of the laws. But whatever concerns the making of any new law, shall be referred to the several respective courts to which that matter belongs, and be by them prepared and brought to the grand council.

For terms, there shall be quarterly such a certain number of days, not exceeding one and twenty at any one time, as the several respective courts shall appoint. The time for the beginning of the term, in the precinct-court, shall be the first Monday in January, April, July, and October; in the county-court, the first Monday in February, May, August, and November; and in the proprietors courts, the first Monday in March, June, September, and December.

In the precinct-court no man shall be a juryman under fifty acres of freehold. In the county-court, or at the assizes, no man shall be a grand juryman under three hundred acres of freehold; and no man shall be a petty juryman under two hundred acres of freehold. In the proprietors courts no man shall be a juryman, under five hundred acres of freehold.

Every jury shall consist of twelve men; and it shall not be necessary they should all agree, but the verdict shall be according to the consent of the majority.

It shall be a base and vile thing to plead for money or reward; nor shall any one (except he be a near kinsman, nor farther off than cousin-german to the party concerned) be permitted to plead another man’s cause, till before the judge, in open court, he hath taken an oath, that he doth not plead for money or reward, nor hath, nor will receive, nor directly, nor indirectly, bargained with the party whose cause he is going to plead, for money or any other reward, for pleading his cause.

There shall be a parliament, consisting of the proprietors, or their deputies, the landgraves and cassiques, and one freeholder out of every precinct, to be chosen by the freeholders of the said precinct respectively. They shall sit all together in one room, and have every member one vote.

No man shall be chosen a member of parliament who hath less than five hundred acres of freehold within the precinct, for which he is chosen; nor shall any have a vote in choosing the said member that hath less than fifty acres of freehold within the said precinct.

A new parliament shall be assembled the first Monday of the month of November every second year, and shall meet and sit in the town they last sat in, without any summons; unless, by the palatine’s court, they be summoned to meet at any other place. And if there shall be any occasion of a parliament in these intervals, it shall be in the power of the palatine’s court to assemble them in forty days notice, and at such time and place as the said court shall think fit; and the palatine’s court shall have power to dissolve the said parliament when they shall think fit.

At the opening of every parliament, the first thing that shall be done, shall be the reading of these Fundamental Constitutions, which the palatine and proprietors, and the rest of the members then present, shall subscribe. Nor shall any person whatsoever sit or vote in the parliament, till he hath that session subscribed these Fundamental Constitutions, in a book kept for that purpose by the clerk of the parliament.

In order to the due election of members for the biennial parliament, it shall be lawful for the freeholders of the respective precincts to meet the first Tuesday in September every two years, in the same town or place that they last met in to choose parliamentmen; and there choose those members that are to sit the next November following, unless the steward of the precinct shall, by sufficient notice thirty days before, appoint some other place for their meeting, in order to the election.

No act, or order of parliament, shall be of any force, unless it be ratified in open parliament, during the same session, by the palatine or his deputy, and three more of the lords proprietors, or their deputies; and then not to continue longer in force but until the next biennial parliament, unless, in the mean time, it be ratified under the hands and seals of the palatine himself, and three more of the lords proprietors themselves, and by their order published at the next biennial parliament.

Any proprietor, or his deputy, may enter his protestation against any act of the parliament, before the palatine or his deputy’s consent be given as aforesaid; if he shall conceive the said act to be contrary to this establishment, or any of these Fundamental Constitutions of the government. And in such case, after full and free debate, the several estates shall retire into four several chambers; the palatine and proprietors into one; the landgraves into another; the cassiques into another; and those chosen by the precincts into a fourth; and if the major part of any of the four estates shall vote that the law is not agreeable to this establishment, and these Fundamental Constitutions of the government, then it shall pass no farther, but be as if it had never been proposed.

The quorum of the parliament shall be one half of those who are members, and capable of sitting in the house that present session of parliament. The quorum of each of the chambers of parliament shall be one half of the members of that chamber.

To avoid multiplicity of laws, which by degrees always change the right foundations of the original government, all acts of parliament whatsoever, in whatsoever form passed or enacted, shall at the end of an hundred years after their enacting, respectively cease and determine of themselves, and without any repeal become null and void, as if no such acts or laws had ever been made.

Since multiplicity of comments, as well as of laws, have great inconveniencies, and serve only to obscure and perplex; all manner of comments and expositions, on any part of these Fundamental Constitutions, or any part of the common or statute law of Carolina, are absolutely prohibited.

There shall be a registry in every precinct, wherein shall be enrolled all deeds, leases, judgments, mortgages, and other conveyances, which may concern any of the land within the said precinct; and all such conveyances, not so entered or registered, shall not be of force against any person or party to the said contract or conveyance.

No man shall be register of any precinct who hath not at least three hundred acres of freehold within the said precinct.

The freeholders of every precinct shall nominate three men; out of which three, the chief justices court shall choose and commission one to be register of the said precinct, whilst he shall well behave himself.

There shall be a registry in every signiory, barony, and colony, wherein shall be recorded all the births, marriages, and deaths, that shall happen within the respective signiories, baronies, and colonies.

No man shall be register of a colony that hath not above fifty acres of freehold within the said colony.

The time of every one’s age, that is born in Carolina, shall be reckoned from the day that his birth is entered in the registry, and not before.

No marriage shall be lawful, whatever contract and ceremony they have used, till both the parties mutually own it before the register of the place where they were married, and he register it, with the names of the father and mother of each party.

No man shall administer to the goods, or have right to them, or enter upon the estate of any person deceased, till his death be registered in the respective registry.

He that doth not enter, in the respective registry, the birth or death of any person that is born, or dies, in his house or ground, shall pay to the said register one shilling per week for each such neglect, reckoning from the time of each birth, or death, respectively, to the time of registering it.

In like manner the births, marriages, and deaths, of the lords proprietors, landgraves, and cassiques, shall be registered in the chamberlain’s court.

There shall be in every colony one constable, to be chosen annually by the freeholders of the colony; his estate shall be above a hundred acres of freehold within the said colony, and such subordinate officers appointed for his assistance, as the county-court shall find requisite, and shall be established by the said county-court. The election of the subordinate annual officers shall be also in the freeholders of the colony.

All towns incorporate shall be governed by a mayor, twelve aldermen, and twenty-four of the common-council. The said common-council shall be chosen by the present householders of the said town; the aldermen shall be chosen out of the common-council; and the mayor out of the aldermen, by the palatine’s court.

It being of great consequence to the plantation, that port-towns should be built and preserved; therefore whosoever shall lade or unlade any commodity at any other place but a port-town, shall forfeit to the lords proprietors, for each tun so laden or unladen, the sum of ten pounds sterling; except only such goods as the palatine’s court shall license to be laden or unladen elsewhere.

The first port-town upon every river shall be in a colony, and be a port-town for ever.

No man shall be permitted to be a freeman of Carolina, or to have any estate or habitation within it, that doth not acknowledge a GOD; and that God is publicly and solemnly to be worshipped.

[As the country comes to be sufficiently planted and distributed into fit divisions, it shall belong to the parliament to take care for the building of churches, and the public maintenance of divines, to be employed in the exercise of religion, according to the church of England; which being the only true and orthodox, and the national religion of all the king’s dominions, is so also of Carolina; and therefore it alone shall be allowed to receive public maintenance, by grant of parliament.]

But since the natives of that place, who will be concerned in our plantation, are utterly strangers to christianity, whose idolatry, ignorance, or mistake, gives us no right to expel, or use them ill; and those who remove from other parts to plant there, will unavoidably be of different opinions concerning matters of religion, the liberty whereof they will expect to have allowed them, and it will not be reasonable for us on this account to keep them out; that civil peace may be maintained amidst the diversity of opinions, and our agreement and compact with all men may be duly and faithfully observed; the violation whereof, upon what pretence soever, cannot be without great offence to Almighty God, and great scandal to the true religion, which we profess; and also that jews, heathens, and other dissenters from the purity of the christian religion, may not be scared and kept at a distance from it, but by having an opportunity of acquainting themselves with the truth and reasonableness of its doctrines, and the peaceableness and inoffensiveness of its professors, may by good usage and persuasion, and all those convincing methods of gentleness and meekness, suitable to the rules and design of the gospel, be won over to embrace and unfeignedly receive the truth; therefore any seven or more persons, agreeing in any religion, shall constitute a church or profession, to which they shall give some name, to distinguish it from others.

The terms of admittance and communion with any church or profession shall be written in a book, and therein be subscribed by all the members of the said church or profession; which book shall be kept by the public register of the precinct where they reside.

The time of every one’s subscription and admittance shall be dated in the said book or religious record.

In the terms of communion of every church or profession, these following shall be three; without which no agreement or assembly of men, upon pretence of religion, shall be accounted a church or profession within these rules:

“That there is a GOD.

“That GOD is publicly to be worshipped.

“That it is lawful and the duty of every man, being thereunto called by those that govern, to bear witness to truth; and that every church or profession shall in their terms of communion set down the external way whereby they witness a truth as in the presence of GOD, whether it be by laying hands on, or kissing the bible, as in the church of England, or by holding up the hand, or any other sensible way.”

No person above seventeen years of age shall have any benefit or protection of the law, or be capable of any place of profit or honour, who is not a member of some church or profession, having his name recorded in some one, and but one religious record at once.

No person of any other church or profession shall disturb or molest any religious assembly.

No person whatsoever shall speak any thing in their religious assembly, irreverently or seditiously of the government or governors, or state-matters.

Any person subscribing the terms of communion in the record of the said church or profession, before the precinct register, and any five members of the said church or profession; shall be thereby made a member of the said church or profession.

Any person striking his own name out of any religious record, or his name being struck out by any officer thereunto authorized by each church or profession respectively, shall cease to be a member of that church or profession.

No man shall use any reproachful, reviling, or abusive language, against any religion of any church or profession; that being the certain way of disturbing the peace, and of hindering the conversion of any to the truth, by engaging them in quarrels and animosities, to the hatred of the professors and that profession, which otherwise they might be brought to assent to.

Since charity obliges us to wish well to the souls of all men, and religion ought to alter nothing in any man’s civil estate or right, it shall be lawful for slaves, as well as others, to enter themselves, and be of what church or profession any of them shall think best, and thereof be as fully members as any freeman. But yet no slave shall hereby be exempted from that civil dominion his master hath over him, but be in all other things in the same state and condition he was in before.

Assemblies, upon what pretence soever of religion, not observing and performing the abovesaid rules, shall not be esteemed as churches, but unlawful meetings, and be punished as other riots.

No person whatsoever shall disturb, molest, or persecute another for his speculative opinions in religion, or his way of worship.

Every freeman of Carolina shall have absolute power and authority over his negro slaves, of what opinion or religion soever.

No cause, whether civil or criminal, of any freeman, shall be tried in any court of judicature, without a jury of his peers.

No person whatsoever shall hold or claim any land in Carolina by purchase or gift, or otherwise, from the natives or any other whatsoever; but merely from and under the lords proprietors; upon pain of forfeiture of all his estate, moveable or immoveable, and perpetual banishment.

Whosoever shall possess any freehold in Carolina, upon what title or grant soever, shall, at the farthest from and after the year one thousand six hundred eighty-nine, pay yearly unto the lords proprietors, for each acre of land, English measure, as much fine silver as is at this present in one English penny, or the value thereof, to be as a chief rent and acknowledgment to the lords proprietors, their heirs and successors for ever. And it shall be lawful for the palatine’s court by their officers, at any time, to take a new survey of any man’s land, not to out him of any part of his possession, but that by such a survey the just number of acres he possesseth may be known, and the rent thereupon due may be paid by him.

All wrecks, mines, minerals, quarries of gems, and precious stones, with pearl-fishing, whale-fishing, and one half of all amber-grease, by whomsoever found, shall wholly belong to the lords proprietors.

All revenues and profits belonging to the lords proprietors, in common, shall be divided into ten parts, whereof the palatine shall have three, and each proprietor one; but, if the palatine shall govern by a deputy, his deputy shall have one of those three tenths, and the palatine the other two tenths.

All inhabitants and freemen of Carolina above seventeen years of age, and under sixty, shall be bound to bear arms, and serve as soldiers whenever the grand council shall find it necessary.

A true copy of these Fundamental Constitutions shall be kept in a great book by the register of every precinct, to be subscribed before the said register. Nor shall any person of what condition or degree soever, above seventeen years old, have any estate or possession in Carolina, or protection or benefit of the law there, who hath not, before a precinct register, subscribed these Fundamental Constitutions in this form:

“I A. B. do promise to bear faith and true allegiance to our sovereign lord king Charles the Second, his heirs and successors; and will be true and faithful to the palatine and lords proprietors of Carolina, their heirs and successors; and with my utmost power will defend them, and maintain the government according to this establishment in these Fundamental Constitutions.”

Whatsoever alien shall, in this form, before any precinct register, subscribe these Fundamental Constitutions, shall be thereby naturalized.

In the same manner shall every person, at his admittance into any office, subscribe these Fundamental Constitutions.

These Fundamental Constitutions, in number a hundred and twenty, and every part thereof, shall be and remain the sacred and unalterable form and rule of government of Carolina for ever. Witness our hands and seals, the first day of March, 1669.

RULES OF PRECEDENCY.

The lords proprietors; the eldest in age first, and so in order.

The eldest sons of the lords proprietors; the eldest in age first, and so in order.

The landgraves of the grand council; he that hath been longest of the grand council first, and so in order.

The cassiques of the grand council; he that hath been longest of the grand council first, and so in order.

The seven commoners of the grand council that have been longest of the grand council; he that hath been longest of the grand council first, and so in order.

The younger sons of the proprietors; the eldest first, and so in order.

The landgraves; the eldest in age first, and so in order.

The seven commoners, who next to those before mentioned have been longest of the grand council; he that hath been longest of the grand council first, and so in order.

The cassiques; the eldest in age first, and so in order.

The seven remaining commoners of the grand council; he that hath been longest of the grand council first, and so in order.

The male line of the proprietors.

The rest shall be determined by the chamberlain’s court.

OBSERVATIONS UPON THE GROWTH AND CULTURE OF VINES AND OLIVES:

THE PRODUCTION OF SILK:

THE PRESERVATION OF FRUITS.

WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF THE EARL OF SHAFTSBURY.

TO WHOM IT IS INSCRIBED.

(FIRST PUBLISHED IN M.DCC.LXVI.)

THE EDITOR TO THE READER.

At this time, when every improvement of the garden is so much the study and delight of our countrymen; when artificial means have been discovered to supply every defect of climate, and the vegetable productions of every other region of the globe have been raised in our own soil; it is presumed the following small tract, printed from a manuscript very neatly written by Mr. John Locke, with his usual accuracy, will be no unwelcome present to the public.

Subjects of curiosity and instruction, to the inquisitive philosopher and his noble patron, will, doubtless, be entertaining to every reader.

Should it gain a passage to America, it will be of far more extensive use both to that country and to Britain.

No union, no alliance, is so firm and lasting as that which is founded upon the solid basis of a mutual interest.

Necessity, natural or artificial, is the real cause and support of trade and navigation. Our commerce with Spain and Portugal, and other countries, will subsist under every change of government or inhabitants, whilst we are in want of the productions of their soil and industry.

Politicians, who ought to know how commerce, and consequently naval force, has fluctuated in the world, will take care not to oppress, by very heavy and improvident taxations, their manufactures, and other articles of trade at home, nor such commodities imported from abroad, as may dispose other nations to cultivate those very articles among themselves, which they have hitherto received from us.

However populous and great, industrious and rich, the settlements in the vast continent of America may hereafter become, this the mother-country may for ever be connected with it more intimately than the southern nations, by encouraging the growth and produce of vines and olives, silk and fruits, which cannot advantageously be raised in England: and sound policy will always engage the subjects in England and America not to be rivals in trade, by setting up such manufacturers in one country as must necessarily distress the other.

The wisdom of this country will instruct governors to do all that is possible to promote the linen manufacture in Ireland; and the wise and good in both kingdoms will never desire such use of their wool and their ports as must be directly prejudicial to England.

The most perfect harmony will subsist between Great Britain and her colonies, as long as British subjects, cemented by blood, by mutual interest and commerce, continue friends to liberty and the protestant religion, and succession in the present royal family; this is a true and lasting family-compact: all which inestimable blessings will be rendered permanent and inviolable by the fleets of England, which, whilst the British empire is united, will be superiour to all other powers in the world.

The editor cannot take his leave of the reader without observing, that very important services have been done to America, by a plan of government drawn up for the province of Carolina by Mr. Locke, under the direction of that eminent and able statesman the first earl of Shaftsbury; and by the present earl of Shaftsbury, as an active and zealous trustee for the colony of Georgia; from which, in time, we may expect a considerable quantity of raw silk will be imported into England.

Vines are natural to the soil of many parts in America; and, if olive-trees are planted in such provinces as are most proper for the growth of them, the planters will soon be enriched, and England relieved in several articles made from this profitable fruit, and which are necessary to the support of every individual and every manufacture in the kingdom.

Temple,

March 1766.

G. S.

John Locke

Feb, 1, 1679

Shaftsbury

Anthony Earl

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE ANTHONY EARL OF SHAFTSBURY.

My Lord,

THE country, where these observations were made, hath vanity enough to over-value every thing it produces; and it is hard to live in a place, and not take some tincture from the manners of the people. Yet I think I should scarce have ventured to trouble your lordship with these French trifles, had not your lordship yourself encouraged me to believe, that it would not be unacceptable to you, if I took this way (for I ought all manner of ways) to express that duty and observance wherewith I am,

My Lord,
Your lordship’s most humble,
and most obedient servant,

Feb. 1, 1679.

JOHN LOCKE.

WINE.

In Languedoc they plant their vineyards in February; and they choose the quarter before the full, as the fittest time of the moon to do it in.

They set the cuttings they plant exactly in quincunx, and the rows at four and a half, five, and six pans distance. — A pan is 9 [Editor: illegible number]/6 inches.

About Tholoun in Provence, and also about Bourdeaux, I have seen vines and corn interchangeably; viz. two or three rows of vines, and then a ridge or two of corn.

They set their plants about a spit deep, and always leave two knots above ground.

In setting the vines, they dig the ground sometimes all over, sometimes only in trenches.

They plant their vineyards both in plains and on hills, with indifferency; but say that on hills, especially opening to the east or south, the wine is best; in plains they produce most. The soil about Frontignan, where the best muscat grows, is so stony, that one can see no earth at all. And the vine de Pontac, so much esteemed in England, grows on a rising open to the west, in a white sand mixed with a little gravel, which one would think would bear nothing; but there is such a particularity in the soil, that at Mr. Pontac’s, near Bourdeaux, the merchants assured me that the wine growing in the very next vineyards, where there was only a ditch between, and the soil, to appearance, perfectly the same, was by no means so good. The same also they observe about Montpelier, where two vineyards, bounding one upon another, constantly produce the one good and the other bad wine.

A vineyard, from its planting, will last fifty, eighty, or an hundred years. The older the vineyard, the fewer the grapes, but the better the wine. New planted vineyards produce more, but the wine not so good: it is generally green, i. e. more inclining to verjuice.

The vineyard thus planted, the next year at pruning they cut them, so that (if conveniently there can) there may be four shoots next year, near the ground, at least three, spreading several ways, which may come to be so many standing branches, out of which the shoots are to sprout. There being thus left the beginnings of three or four branches spreading different ways, ever afterwards, when they come to prune, they leave about an inch of that last year’s shoot, which grew strait out of the top of each of the four standing branches; all the rest they cut off clean to the old stock.

If by chance they find (when they are pruning) a vine decayed, or gone in any place, they dig a trench from the next stock to that place, and laying the old stock along in the trench, order it so that one last year’s shoot of the said stock shall come out just where the laid stock grew, and another where there was one wanting: these they cut off about eight or nine inches above the ground, which being fed by the great old root (which they move not when they lay the old stock, but so loosen it only as it may let the old stock be gently bent down, and so be buried in the trench) will bear the next vintage: whereas, if they planted a cutting in the place where they found a stock wanting, it would not bear in three or four years. By these young plants, they stick in a good strong branch, a pretty deal longer than the plant, which they leave there to defend it.

They prune their vines in December, January, February, and March; they that do it so late as the latter end of February, or the month of March, are such as have vineyards apt to shoot early in the spring; and, if cold weather nip the young shoots, they have the fewer grapes at the vintage. And in pruning their vines they observe to do it in one year in the new and another in the old of the moon, or else they say they will grow too much to wood.

They turn the ground of their vineyards twice a year; about the end of February or in March, and again in May; they do it either by ploughing betwixt the rows of vines, or, which they count better, by digging, in which they sometimes use little spades, but most commonly large houghs, the usual way of delving in this country; in which way they turn up the earth as deep and much faster than our men do with spades in England.

Pigeons dung and hens dung they make use of in their vineyards, as an improvement that will increase the quantity without injuring the goodness of their wine: but horse dung, or that of any beast, they say, spoils the goodness of their wine. This they have so strong an opinion of at Galliac, a place about thirty leagues from Montpelier, that, if a peasant there should use any but birds dung about his vines, his neighbours would burn his house; because they would not have the wine of that place lose its reputation.

I have been told that a sheep’s horn buried at the root of a vine will make it bear well even in barren ground. I have no great faith in it, but mention it, because it may so easily be tried.

But I suppose the husbandry in their vineyards differs much, both according to the fashion of several countries, and the difference of soil; for I remember that, at Mr. Pontac’s vineyard near Bourdeaux, the vines in some parts of the vineyard grew four or five feet high, and were tied to stakes; and in another part of the same vineyard they were directed along upon the ground, not above a foot from it, between little low stakes or laths, so that the old branches stand on each side the root like a pair of arms spread out, and lying open towards the south. The reason of this different way of culture I could not learn of the labourers for want of understanding Gascoin. In Languedoc they use no stakes at all to support their vines, but they trust them to the strength of their own growth, pruning them as I have above mentioned; which makes them say in the more northerly parts of France, that in Languedoc they have wine without taking pains for it.

When the grapes are ready to turn, they go into the vineyards, and there taking four, five, or six of the neighbour shoots, twist them together at the top; and thus the shoots all through the vineyard, being as it were tied together, stand upright, whereby the grapes have more sun, and perhaps the sap too is hindered from running into the wood and leaves.

They have about Montpelier these following sorts of grapes:

1. Epiran.

2. Espiran verdau.

3. Tarret.

4. Barbarous.

5. Grumeau negre.

6. Grumeau blanc.

7. Grumeau blanc muscat.

8. Laugeby.

9. L’ougré.

10. Raisin de St. Jean.

11. Marroquin.

12. Marroquin gris.

13. Marroquin bleu.

14. Clarette.

15. Clarette rouge.

16. Ovilla de negre.

17. Ovilla de blanc.

18. Covilla de Gal.

19. Ramounen.

20. Unio negro.

21. Unio blanquo.

22. Corinth.

23. Effouimu.

24. Iragnou.

25. Piquepoul.

26. Farret.

27. Piquardan.

28. Musquat negre.

29. Musquat blanc.

30. Musquat d’Espagne.

31. Palofedo.

32. Servan.

33. Damas violet.

34. Raison de la fon.

35. Sadoulo boyyier.

36. Sergousan.

37. L’ambrusque.

38. Rovergas.

39. Coltort.

40. Masquadassas.

41. Crispata.

These are the names of grapes they have about Montpelier, as they are called in the pattoy of that country.

The espiran, a round, black, very sweet and very wholesome grape: they eat them in great quantities when thorough ripe (which is about the middle of August stylo novo) without any fear of surfeit; and they are often prescribed by physicians to be eaten plentifully. I think them one of the best fruits in the world. These alone, of all the red grapes, make good wine by themselves; but they plant them not in so great quantities as the other sorts, because in hot and dry seasons they will dry up before they are ripe.

Espiran verdau, or the green espiran, called so from its colour; an admirable grape also to eat, though not altogether so delicate as the black espiran; but its excellency is, that it will keep long in the winter for eating; and I have eat very good of them at Christmas. Their way of keeping them is to gather them when ripe, and so hang them up, every bunch single, to the roof of a close room.

Tarret is a black, very large, but not very sweet grape, and therefore used only for wine; wherein it gives a very large quantity, but not much strength.

Grumeau negre, or the black grumeau, is an excellent large grape, very fleshy, and well enough tasted, of the fashion of a pear. I have seen one single grape of this sort which was in compass above 3½ inches English measure, and in compass the long way 3¾, and weighed of their weights [Editor: illegible character]ss. Эj. gr. iij. and all the rest of the grapes of the same bunch proportionable; but I have not observed them ordinarily planted in their vineyards.

Raisin de St. Jean is a sort of grape which they have only at the physic-garden at Montpelier: it came from India; it is a black grape, very good, ripe at Midsummer (and therefore called St. John’s grape) two months before any of the other sorts.

Marroquin, a very black, large, fleshy, round grape, very good to eat, but seldom used in wine.

Clarette, white, longish, middle-sized, sweet, good to eat, and good for wine.

19. Ramounen, black, very sweet, middle-sized, good for wine, and eating.

22. Corinth; this we have in England; and I do not find they use it much there for wine.

25. Piquepoul, black and very sweet, good for wine and for eating.

27. Piquardan, white, long, large, very sweet, with a very little of the muscat taste in it; makes very good wine alone or mingled.

29. Musquat blanc, or white muscat; this is usually planted and pressed alone, and makes the wine we usually call Frontiniac, from Frontignan, a town on the Mediterranean, near two or three leagues from Montpelier, where the most and best sort of this wine is made. It is a pleasant grape, and early ripe, before the ordinary sorts; but they are not near so good to eat as the espiran, being apt to fume to the head and make it ache.

32. Servan, a long, large, white, fleshy, sweet grape, called so, because they keep well, and you have of these always latest in winter.

41. Crispata: this I saw no-where but in the physic-garden at Montpelier: a good sweet white grape; called so from its jagged leaves, and I suppose the same with our parsley grape in England.

At Marmoustier, the great abbey of benedictins near Tours, I saw in their garden a sort of grapes pretty ripe, which they called raisins de Ste. Magdalene, because they used to be ripe about that time, which is the 22d of July.

Upon the skilful mixture of these several sorts of grapes, as well as on the propriety of the soil, depends in a great measure the goodness of their wine: though, as far as I could observe, it was not so far improved as it might; nor any other great care taken, but that there should be always a mixture of white grapes when they made their red wine, which will otherwise be too thick and deep-coloured: and therefore, if they have a sufficient quantity of claret or piquardin grapes in their vineyards, they seem not over curious of an exact proportion of the other sorts, which are planted there promiscuously.

When their grapes are ripe, and they have leave, they cut them, carry them home, and tread them immediately; for they will not keep without spoiling: this is the reason they must have leave; for, the parson being to have his tithe, and of that make his wine, if the parishioners were not obliged to vintage all at the same time, he could not make wine of his share, since one parcel of grapes could not stay till the other was cut to be pressed with them.

The grapes being brought in great tubs, either on mules or men’s backs, to the place where the wine is to be made, they put them in a kind of grate over the kuve, and there tread them till they are all broken, and then they throw them husks, stalks, and all, into the kuve: and thus till all their whole crop of grapes are trod.

When all the mass is in the kuve, they let it work there one, two, or three days, as they think fit to have their wine: the longer it works, and the more stalks are in it (for sometimes they put them not all in) the rougher and deeper-coloured will the wine be, but keep the longer.

When it has wrought its time in the kuve, they put it into buts, and there let it work as long as it will, filling up the working vessel every day with some of the same must kept on purpose, for it wastes much in working.

Of the marc (which is husks, stalks, and other sediment, left at the bottom of the kuve when the must is taken out) they make a worse and coarse sort of wine for the servants, and this they press as we do our apples, to make cyder.

The stones, after pressing, some people cleanse from the rest of the marc, and sell for food for pigeons: the stalks also cleansed they use in making of verdigris. And in some places they take the remaining marc after pressing, put it in great tubs, and cover it with water, keeping the marc down with weights, and of this they give to their horses, which very much cools and refreshes them there in the hot season. This may give one reason to consider, whether any such use might be made of the marc of our apples, after making cyder.

When they have a mind to have their wine fine sooner than ordinary, they put into the cask a pretty good quantity of shavings of fir, and in some places of hazel, and with it they sometimes put some whole white grapes.

A little bread or oil (they say ever so little, and therefore they are very careful in this point) mixed with the must, turns the wine to vinegar; and so does thunder: but they say iron laid upon the vessels will keep wine from souring by thunder.

The kuve is, in some places, a great vessel made of wood (witness the great kuve that is yet to be seen at Marmoustier, which, they say, will hold two hundred tun of wine), as our brewers vessels for the working of their kuve is in England. But, at Montpelier, it is usually a place made in the ground in some part of the house, proportionably big accordingly to the quantity they ordinarily make, and lined with plaster of Paris, to keep it from leaking. In the kuve (which is made use of but once a year) as well as all other parts of their making wine, they are, according to their manner, sufficiently nasty: the grapes often are also very rotten, and always full of spiders. Besides that, I have been told by those of the country, that they often put salt, dung, and other filthiness, in their wine to help, as they think, its purging. But, without these additions, the very sight of their treading and making their wine (walking without any scruple out of the grapes into the dirt, and out of the dirt into grapes they are treading) were enough to set one’s stomach ever after against this sort of liquor.

In some parts of Languedoc, out of the great roads, their wine is so cheap, that one may ordinarily buy three pints a penny.

It is usual to set fig-trees, pear-trees, &c. up and down in their vineyards, and sometimes I have seen olive-trees. Here at Montpelier, as in other parts of France, it is no discredit for any man to hang out a bush at his door, and sell his wine by retail, either to those that fetch it out of doors, or will come and drink it at his house; for which they usually, for that time, set apart a room or quarter of the house, and have a servant on purpose to attend it. This I have known both gentlemen and churchmen do. But, whoever, in Languedoc, sells his own wine at his house, must not afford his customers so much as a bit of bread, or any thing else, to eat with it; for then it will come under the notion of a cabaret, or common drinking-house, and their tax or excise overtake them. I mention Languedoc, because in other parts of France they who sell their own wine by retail, are not excused from paying the king a part of what they sell it for. At Saumur, I remember I was told, they then sold their wine (which is a very good sort of white wine) at their bushons, i. e. private houses, for 18 deniers per pint, which is more than our quart; out of which 18d. the king had 10d. and the proprietor the remaining 8d.

OIL.

THE sorts of olives, as well as grapes, are very various about Montpelier: the names of some of them are as followeth:

1. Groosau, a large olive.

2. Pichulina, little.

3. Verdal, middle-sized.

These three sorts are good to eat, and the last also is good for oil, and a great bearer.

4. Olivera. }

5. Corneau. } Good bearers.

6. Salierna. }

7. Clarmontesa. }

8. Redonau. }

9. Bootiliau.

10. Argentau.

11. Moorau.

12. Marsiliesa.

13. Pigau.

All these are little olives, and used only for oil: they plant them promiscuously in their olive-yards, and mingled the olives in making oil. That which they principally regard in the plants is, that they be of the sorts that are the best bearers, and if they have not enough of those, they plant others, and inoculate them. The slips will grow, but they commonly use off-sets from the roots.

Their time of planting is February, March, and April. Their olive-trees last to a great age; they say two hundred years. When the old stocks are faulty or decayed, they let up young off-sets from the roots round about, and when they are grown up to any considerable bigness, cut away the old stock close to the ground; and when the remaining young trees have not room to spread, because of their neighbourhood, they transplant them, till they leave at last but one standing.

They set their olive-trees ordinarily in quincunx, the rows at thirty or forty feet distance in their arable ground; for this hinders them not from ploughing and sowing corn in the same ground.

They dig about their olive-trees every year, and about the same time they dig their vineyards, and sometimes at others; and lay soil in the trenches they open about their roots; this is usually done in March, and the soil they use is horse-dung.

In pruning their olive-trees, which they do about the beginning of March, I observed them to cut off the top branches, I suppose to make them spread.

About the beginning of October they gather the olives, yet green, that they intend to pickle for eating, (for about the end of October they turn black;) and having carefully picked out those that have worms, they soak the sound ones, in the strongest ley they can get, four, six, or eight hours, according as they design to eat them sooner or later: the longer they soak in the ley, the more of their bitterness is taken away, but they will keep the less while. This ley they buy for this purpose at the soap-boilers. After they have been soaked in ley, they put them into water, which, for the three or four first days, they change two or three times a day, and afterwards once; in all a fortnight: this they do to take away the taste of the ley. The ley and water they use both cold. When this is done, they put them into pickle of salt and water, and so keep them.

I have been told, that cutting each olive in two or three places to the stone, and so soaking them in fair water seven or eight days, changing it every day, will take away their bitterness, and prepare them well enough for the pickle: but they count the ley the better way.

They often pickle them also after they are turned black, cutting them in two or three places to the stone, and then soaking them about a fortnight in water changed every day, and then boiling them in salt and water, which is the pickle they keep them in. These have a much worse taste than the green, having no very pleasant mixture of bitter and oily: but the good housewives think they will go much farther, (for they are oftener food than sauce there,) and so in their private families are commonly used.

They count their olives ripe enough for oil about St. Catharine’s day, the 25th of November; and about that time they begin to gather them: though I have seen them let them hang on the trees, and not gathered till the latter end of January.

In the gathering there will be leaves and branches mixed with them; to separate these they lay them down in a heap in a field, and a workman, taking up a few in a shovel, throws them into a winnowing sheet set up at a good distance from him, whither the olives come alone, the leaves and branches falling by the way.

The manner of making oil is this;

They take four septiés of olives a little heaped, and put them into a mill, which is drawn by a mule, where they grind them, as tanners grind bark, to a fine pulp, one standing by as the mill goes round, and shovelling in a little of the olives or pulp towards the centre, and clearing a part of the stone at the bottom, where he stands with a shovel, which he doth so by degrees and in succession, that I believe the mule goes round forty or fifty times for his once.

They being sufficiently ground, they put them into a stone trough, two whereof stand between the mill and the press; out of these troughs they take the pulp, and put it into frails, and spread it in them equally, so that they may lay them plain one upon another. Of these frails there were, when I saw them press, twenty-four upon each pedestal; viz. in all forty-eight; in which were contained ten septiés of olives. Sometimes they press twelve septiés of olives at once, and then they use more frails proportionably.

The frails being filled with pulp, and placed evenly and upright upon the two pedestals in equal number, they set the press a-working, first lifting up the screw end, and so the other end of the beam, sinking upon the hinder pile of frails, and pressing them, may make way for the putting in the wedges into the great mortise, and discharge the wedge in a little mortise, which, whilst they were placing the frails upon the pedestals, supported the beam; which being taken out, they work the screw the other way, and so bringing down the screw end of the beam press both on the fore and hinder pile of frails; a man attending in the mean time at each pile of frails with a lever in his hand, which resting in the groove or gutter where the oil runs, he thrusts against the side of the pile of frails, whenever he perceives it begin to swell out on any side, and thus keeps it upright from leaning any way whilst it is pressing, especially at the beginning; another man in the mean time not ceasing to turn the screw till the great stone at the end of it be clear off from the ground.

When the oil ceases to run, or but in small quantity, they lift up the screw end of the beam, and then putting a wedge in the little mortise, bring down the screw end of the beam again, and so lift up the great end that pressed the frails, and so bringing the beam to a level (the whole weight whereof lies upon the wedge in the little mortise, which supports it in the middle) discharge it clear from the frails.

Then they take off all the frails, except the eight or ten lower, on each pedestal, and stirring the pulp in one of the frails taken off, replace it again upon those that remained still on the pedestal; and then one pours on it a bucket of scalding water; after which he stirs the pulp again, and lays it flat and equal as at first, and then stirs and puts on another frail as before, with a bucket of scalding water poured on it; and so they serve them all, till all the frails that were taken off are replaced on the two piles as at first; and then they set the press a-working again as long as any quantity will run; and then lifting up the beam again, take off all the frails, stir the pulp, and pour on fresh hot water upon every frail, a little bucket-full as at first, and then press as long as any thing will run, screwing the stone up clear from the ground, and letting it hang so a good while. When not one jot more of liquor will be pressed from the frails, and they perfectly cease running, they let down the stone, and that pressing is done; and then one with a broad, but very shallow skimming-dish of brass, skims off the oil from the water, puts it into a brass vessel like a tumbler, but holding, as I guess, about three pints, and out of that pouring it into the vessels of the owners by a brass funnel.

When the oil is well skimmed off from the water, they pull out a stopple in the bottom of the cistern, and so let go the water, which runs into a great cistern, called hell, which is locked up and out of sight; into this hell all the water that hath served in pressing the oil runs, and is made so, that though it be always full of this water, yet the water alone runs out, and the oil that swims on top stays behind, by which means all the oil that escaped the skimming-dish is here caught: but this I suppose belongs to the master of the oil-press, for every body’s water runs in here to the former oil and water.

N. B.

1°. That the mill which grinds the olives is much after the same fashion with that which our tanners use to grind bark, only with some difference.

As 1°, that in the centre of the oil-mill there stands up a round stone, very smooth and true wrought, about two feet English in diameter, and about the same height, which the inside of the great grinding stone touches in its going round about it, so that no olives can escape the great stone towards the centre, nor get beside it that way.

2°. That the floor of the mill, upon which the great turning stone bears in its turning round, is also of hard stone and smooth, and a little shelving, the declivity being towards the centre; to answer which, the edge of the turning stone which is to grind the olives, that it may bear in its whole breadth upon the stones in the floor, is not cut with a direct perpendicular to the sides, but the line of the inside of the said grinding stone, and of the edge or circumference, make an angle something less than a right one, and on the outside there is left no angle, but it is cut off with a round; by which means, I suppose the great grinding stone slides constantly towards and is kept close to the round stone that stands fixed in the centre described N° 1°, upon which the perpendicular turning beam stands.

3°. So much of the floor or inside of the mill as the grinding stone does not touch, or is a little without his breadth, is covered with boards lying more shelving than the stone-floor within it; on which board-floor the olives to be ground are at first laid, which are not thrown all at once under the grinding stone, but are by small parcels shovelled down under the grinding stone by the man that attends the mill; every passing round of the stone a few; and here lies also the pulp which the stone works out in its grinding, which is also shovelled in its turn; for the floor of the mill, where the grinding stone bears on it, has always very little upon it, its great weight working is still out towards the circumference of the floor, for the stone in the middle hinders it from going inwards.

4°. The grinding stone is about six feet diameter, and about eleven inches thick, and on the edge and inside is wrought very smooth, and stands upright without leaning, that I could perceive; though, as I have said, the edge be not square to the sides, which is recompensed in the sinking of the floor towards the centre. The stone whereof it is made seems to be very hard, and it need be hard and heavy to break olive-stones and grind them to powder.

II°. That the shovels which they use to shovel in the pulp under the grinder, and when it is fine enough to take it out, and put it in the stone troughs, and then into the frails, are more like bakers peels than shovels, and there is not any iron upon any of them.

III°. That there are between the mill and the press two great stone troughs to put the pulp in when ground; two pedestals and two stone cisterns, into which the oil runs from the two pedestals by distinct passages, so that two peoples oil may be pressed at once, without the danger of mingling a drop.

IV°. The press is made thus: there are two pedestals about nineteen or twenty inches asunder, which lie just under the great end of the great beam; that which I call a pedestal is a round plain stone about twenty-six inches diameter, round about which is cut a groove or little trench in the same stone nine or ten inches broad; from the groove of each pedestal there is made a distinct passage for the oil to run to the two cisterns: upon these pedestals the frails are laid, and into these grooves or trenches the oil runs when pressed out of the frails, and so is conveyed separately to the two cisterns.

V°. Behind the hindmost pedestal stand erect in the ground two great beams, well fastened in the ground, as far on sunder from each other as the breadth of the pressing beam which is to pass up and down between them. From the nearest side of the nearest pedestal to the middle of the thickness of these beams horizontally is about twenty-nine inches: in the middle of each of these beams, in respect of their thickness, is cut a mortise or slit quite through, about forty-four or forty-five inches long, and about five or six inches broad; the bottom of this mortise is about forty-four inches higher than the pedestal.

VI°. This which I call the great mortise, they fill with several pieces of wood reaching quite athwart from outside to outside, and more, of the two erect beams; these pieces of wood, or, as I call them, wedges, are as thick as just easily to go into the mortise, and somewhat broader; with these they fill up this mortise when this end of the pressing beam is sunk below the lowest part of it, and thereby pin down the great end of the said beam to keep it down upon the frails, when the other end is drawn down by the screw; for by more or less of the wedges put into this mortise, they keep down the great end of the beam to the height that is fittest to press with.

VII°. The pressing beam is thirty-eight pans, or about thirty-two feet long, and about thirty-four inches broad; and, to increase its weight and strength, another great beam was fastened to it all along with bands of iron.

VIII°. At the little end is a screw, whereof the very screw (for it standing upright I could not measure it) was, as I guess, about thirteen or fourteen feet; the square of it, wherein the holes for the levers were cut, something above a yard; and at the bottom was a great round stone, in which this lower end of the screw is fastened with iron-work, so as to have the liberty to turn. The screw, when it is turned faster than this end of the pressing beam sinks, lifts up this great stone from the ground, which is as broad, thick, and heavy as an ordinary mill-stone.

IX°. Between the screw and the two erect beams placed behind the pedestals before described, stand two other beams, erect as the former, with a mortise in them long enough to hold only one wedge; this I call the little mortise, the top whereof is higher than the level of the highest frail, when they lay on most: upon this wedge the beam is to rest, when they are laying in or taking out the frails. So that the length of the great beam is thus divided: behind the pinning wedges three pans, from the pinning to the supporting wedge twenty pans, from the supporting wedge to the screw fifteen pans.

There is a piece of wood fastened on to the great beam, cross it, hanging over on each side, and placed just by the middle erect beams on the side towards the pedestals, to keep the great beam from sliding towards the screw.

X°. The ground where the great screw-stone lies is much lower than the level of the pedestals, which affords also a convenience for the placing the two cisterns, which are just under the great beam, and a little distance from the outmost pedestal.

XI°. The matter of the frails they use in pressing, and the texture, is the same with the frails that bring raisins to England; but the figure just the same with that of an hat-case, the crown being taken away: they are exactly all of a breadth, and scarce discernibly narrower than the pedestal; the whole to put in the pulp about one third of the breadth or diameter.

XII°. The oil that runs at first pressing, before the mixture of water, they call virgin oil, which is better than the other; but they all say it will not keep, but spoil in a month or two, unless you put to it salt or sugar, salt is the better of the two, and then it will keep six months: as much as you can hold in your two hands is enough to put into a septié of oil. — A septié is thirty-two pots, and their pot is more than our quart.

XIII°. They usually, therefore, let the virgin and other oil, of the second and third pressing, mingle all together in the cistern, which being afterwards put up in jars, and kept in cool cellars, will keep good seven years: but the mingling of some of the hot water, after pressing with the virgin oil, will not preserve it. So that it seems to be something either in the skins or stones of the olives, that comes not out but by the mixture of hot water and hard pressing, that serves to preserve it.

XIV°. They begin to gather their olives, as I have said, about St. Catharine’s day, i. e. the 25th of November.

XV°. All confess that oil is better which is made of olives fresh gathered, than those that have keen kept a month or two: but some tell me they delay so long (for when I saw them making oil, it was almost the middle of February) because olives that are kept yield the more oil; others say, the reason why they are not pressed sooner is, because every body’s grist cannot be ground at once, and they must stay till they can get a turn; and by keeping, they say also, they grind better, for the new gathered spirt away from the mill.

XVI°. After they have gathered their olives, they lay them in heaps in the corner of a cellar, or some such other place, upon little faggots of dried vine branches (a good part of the fuel of the country) between the olives and the ground, where sometimes a black water will run from them; this they call purging them. In these heaps they lie till they press them; none lie less than fifteen days; but, for the reasons above mentioned, they sometimes lie two months.

XVII°. Though they begin to gather their olives about the end of November, as has been said; yet they never set their mills on work till after Twelfth-day, or New-year’s-day, at soonest: the reason whereof is this: the master of the mill hires a great many men, for the time that oil is made, who keep the mill going day and night. Those whose oil is making give these workmen meat and drink, whilst they are employed about their olives; so that if the master should entertain them before Christmas, he must not only pay them for so many holidays, whilst they stand still, but maintain them too.

XVIII°. Four septiés of olives usually yield one septié of oil; but I observed they were somewhat heaped.

XIX°. The goodness of the oil depends exceedingly on the property of the soil; this makes the oil of Aramont in Provence, not far from Avignon, the best in France.

XX°. When they are either filling the frails, or new stirring the pulp in them, there are two men at work at each pedestal, besides a fifth, that takes the pulp out of the trough thereby, wherein it lies ready ground, and with a shovel puts it into the frails as they bring them; or else lades boiling water out of the furnace (which is also by, and the top of it level with the ground, with a trap-door over) and pours it into the frails as they are ready for it.

XXI°. When the oil is made, carried home, and has settled, they usually take three-fourths of the upper part; this they call the flower, and put it into earthen pots for eating; the remainder, being thicker, is kept for lamps and such other uses: and the very thick sediment they put in the sun, to get as much oil out as they can.

XXII°. The pulp, that is left after all the pressing and affusion of boiling water, belongs to the master of the mill, who sells it for a groat, or five-pence a mill-full, to others, who press it again, and make a coarse oil for soap, and other such uses.

XXIII°. The remaining pulp the bakers use to throw a little of it into their ovens as they are heating, it making a very violent fire.

XXIV°. Oil they count one of the best and surest commodities of their country. The ordinary rate of good oil at Montpelier is some years three, some four, and some years four livres and a half per quartal, i. e. one fourth of a septié, or eight pots.

FRUIT.

PLUMS.

The best plums are,

1. Perdrigon.

2. D’Apricot.

3. Diapré.

4. Ste. Catherine.

5. Vert & long.

6. Damar violett.

7. Roche corbon.

8. Mirabell.

9. Catalane.

Of these the best to dry is the roche corbon, a large red plum; and the next to that the Ste. Catherine, large and yellow; because they are large and fleshy: not but that they dry of the other sorts too.

The way they take in drying them is this:

1°. They let them be so ripe, they drop off from the tree of themselves, which is best; or else fall with a little shaking.

2°. When you have them thus ripe, the best way (though not always observed) is to put them two or three days in the hot sun-shine, which will dry up gently some part of the superfluous moisture.

3°. When they have been thus a little dried in the sun, you must heat the oven gently; one little brush faggot is enough the first time; and having placed them singly upon wicker driers about two feet broad, and four or five feet long, (or of a round figure so large as will go into the oven’s mouth,) put them into the oven, and so let them dry there till the oven is cold; and then they must be taken out and turned, whilst the oven is heating again. The oven may be thus heated twice a day, at eight in the morning, and at eight at night.

4°. The second time the oven may be made a little hotter than the first; and thus the heating of the oven, and turning the plums, be repeated till they are dry enough, which is when they are of a due consistence and brownish colour.

5°. When they are so far dried as to be capable of pressing, the best way is to press them gently with the fingers, not into a flat, but round figure, for that way they keep best.

6°. The great care to be taken is in the first putting them into the oven, that the oven be not too hot; for if it be, it makes them crack their skins and run out, which makes them much worse.

PEACHES.

After the same manner one dries peaches, with this difference, that after the first time they have been in the oven, one peels them with a knife, for the skin will easily strip; and the stone then is to be taken out, and, if one will, a little peach thrust into its place, which makes the other large and better. This also they often do in drying their plums, when they take out the stone of a great one, thrust a little plum into the place of it.

PEARS.

Thus also pears are to be dried; but that the oven may be made a little hotter for pears than plums; they are to be stripped also after their first coming out of the oven.

The best pears to be dried, are the rouselette de Champagne.

The pears in most esteem amongst them about Tours and Saumur (for this is the part of France where are the best pears, plums, peaches, and melons) are,

1. Moule bouche.

2. Vigoleuse.

3. Martin sec.

4. Double fleur.

5. Rouselette.

6. Colmar.

7. St. Marsiac.

8. Vert & long.

9. Burée Blanche.

10. Rouselette de Champagne.

11. La poire de citron.

12. La citron de carmes.

13. La poire de monsieur.

14. La verate.

15. L’amadote musquée.

16. La muscate d’Almagne.

The 10, 11, 12, 13, are their best summer pears.

The Virgoleuse,

Amadote musquée,

Verate,

Muscate d’Almagne,

are their best winter pears.

In the recollets garden at Saumur there is abundance of good fruit, amongst the rest a sort of pear, which they call,

17. Poire sans peau,

which is ripe at the same time cherries are. They told me it was a very good pear, and a great bearer. Before the middle of August, when I was there, they were all gone.

They have in the same garden another pear, which they call

18. Poire de jasmin,

which, as they say, hath something of the flavour of jasmin.

MELONS.

The melons of Langers (a town upon the Loire, six leagues above Saumur) are counted the best in France; and from hence the court is supplied with them. Here, and at Saumur (where they are loth to give any preference to the melons of Langers), they set them in the common earth of their gardens without dung, or any other art, but barely nipping the tops of the branches when the young melons are knit, to hinder the sap from running too much into leaves and branches.

PRUNES.

The prunes we have from France are a great black plum, that grows about Montauban and those parts: they dry them as much as they can in the sun, and what wants to dry them perfectly, they make out by the heat of the oven.

Prunellas, or rather brignols, are a sort of plums that grow in Provence, not far from Aix: they gather them thorough ripe, and having stripped off the skins, they stick them on scuers about six inches long, and very slender; they take care not to put them too close to one another on these scuers. These little spits, loaded thus with plums, they fasten one above another, either in a cane, or a rope of straw like that we make for onions; and as we hang them up in our houses to keep, so do they those in the sun to dry.

When they are a little hardened, or half dry, they take out the stones, and press them with their fingers into that flat figure we see them, wetting their fingers a little to hinder them from sticking to them in handling: when this is done, they put them to dry again in the sun till they are quite cured; some say on the scuers again, others on boards. Those that grow at Brignol are the best, and hence they have their name.

They sometimes dry them with their stones in, and so they are better, as some that have eaten of them have told me.

SILK.

THEY usually put the eggs a hatching in the holy week, i. e. the week before Easter; but that which best regulates the time is the budding of the mulberry-trees, that when the worms are hatched, they may have food.

To hatch them, they commonly wrap them up in a linen rag, and so wear them in some warm place about them night and day till they are hatched, which will be in about three days.

When they are hatched, they feed them with the leaves of the white mulberry-tree: the leaves of the young trees are best whilst the worms are young; but when they are grown pretty big, and towards the latter end of their feeding, they must be fed with the leaves of old trees, else they will not be strong to get up into the branches to work. The leaves of young trees given them in the beginning make the silk the finer: they take care also not to give them yellow or withered leaves; but to avoid the trouble of gathering fresh leaves, every day, they will keep two or three days well enough in an earthen pot covered, or in a cellar.

They take great care also that no wet leaves or other moisture come to them, for that will kill them; and in feeding them they throw away the tender deep coloured young leaves at the top of the branches, because these, they say, will make the worms very big and yellow, and die also without working.

Whilst they are young, they keep them up in some box or chest from the cold, which will kill them: they say also that thunder will kill them, if it happen when they begin to work.

They change their skins four times, from ten days to ten days, or thereabouts; this they call their sickness; for about the time they change their skins they forbear to eat, and therefore they feed them but once a day; but at other times they give them fresh leaves oftener. At the time also of their sickness they change them, taking away the cake of dry leaves and dung that was under them, by removing them with fresh leaves, which they will stick to: but after the fourth sickness is over, they change them every day till they begin to work, which is about ten days after.

The woman of the house where I lay, put her eggs to hatch on Good Friday, April the 3rd; they were hatched the Monday following, and they began to work on Tuesday, June the 2nd: so that, allowing one day for every sickness, it fell out pretty near according to their reckoning.

When the worms are ripe as they call it, they cull out the ripe ones, i. e. those that are ready to work, from among those that are feeding, and put them upon shelves, where they are to work. They know those that are ripe by their clearness; for if you hold them up against the light with their bellies upwards, you will find them clear about the fore legs, some yellow, some white, according to the several colours of the silk they will spin; and by this clearness one may easily distinguish them from those that are not yet ripe.

The shelves they put them on to work are thus ordered: they place deal shelves one over another, as if they were for books; they make them about thirty inches broad, and the distance between them is about twenty-two inches: betwixt these shelves they set rows of a small brushy plant, somewhat like our heath, which reaching from one shelf to another are at the top turned partly one way, partly the other; so that the tops of the branches of these several rows or partitions reaching to one another touch, so that the whole length of each shelf is by these branches divided as it were into so many little caves, each of about nine or ten inches breadth; for the rows of branches that are set up to make these caves, which are as deep as the shelves are broad, are set at that distance. Into one of these caves they put the worms that are first ripe, which creeping up the branches find amongst the little twigs places to work in. When one cave has as many of these spinners as it hath well room for, they fill the next, and so on.

They never give them any leaves of the red mulberry-tree when they are young, because it being a strong nourishment, will hurt them; but if one give them red mulberry-leaves towards the latter end, they will be the stronger, and mount the branches the better, which when they are weak they cannot do; and the silk of those that thus eat red mulberry-leaves is as good as the other.

About a fortnight after they begin to work, they take the cocons (i. e. the pods of silk they have wrought) out of the branches; if you take them down too soon, they will not have done working, and if you stay too long, they will have eat their way out of the pods, and the silk will be spoiled. It is time to take them down out of the branches as soon as any of the papilions, i. e. the flies that come out of the pods, appear amongst them.

As many of the cocons as they think necessary to keep for a breed for the next year they strip off the loose silk from, and then thread them; but pass the needle warily through the side of the cocon, so as it may be sure not to hurt the worm within. They count that a pound of cocons will yield an ounce of eggs. The cocons, thus threaded, they hang up or lay in a convenient room, that so the papilions may come out, and make love to one another, and then lay their eggs on white paper laid there on purpose.

From the remaining cocons they presently either wind off the silk, or if they cannot do that (for it is not every body can do it) they either with the heat of the sun, or oven, or hot water, kill the worms in the cocons, so that they may keep them without having them spoiled by the worm, till they can get their silk wound.

Eight pounds of cocons usually yield one pound of silk.

The way of winding silk off from the cocons is a thing that cannot be taught without seeing; and there are but few amongst them that can do it well, it lying in a dexterity not easy to be learnt, as they say: they put the cocons in hot water, and so stirring them about with a kind of rod, the ends of the silk twires of the cocons stick to it, which they laying on upon a turning reel draw off from the cocons, which lie all the while in the hot water; but the great skill is to have such a number of these single twires of the cocons running at a time, as may make the thread of silk which they compose of a due bigness; for in turning (which they do apace) many of the twires of the cocons break, and so by degrees the silk thread, made of sundry of these drawn together, grows too little, and then the woman that is winding stirs her rod or little besom again with her left hand amongst the cocons, to get new ends of twires to add to the thread, which all this while keeps running. To know when to make this addition of new twires and in what quantity, so as to keep an even thread all along, is the great skill of these winders; for they do it by guess, and keep the real turning and the thread running all the while; for should they, as oft as is occasion, stand still to count the twires or consider the thread, and how many new twires were fit to be added, it would be an endless labour, and they could never make wages.

The engines also that they use for twisting this silk afterwards are too curious to be described, but by a model. I have seen one where one woman has turned a hundred and thirty-four spindles, and twisted as many threads at a time; and I have seen another wherein two women going in a wheel, like that of a crane, turned three hundred and sixty.

The mulberry-trees, where they stand near towns, yield them good profit; I have known the leaves of four white mulberry trees (some whereof were not very large) sold for a pistole, i. e. between sixteen and seventeen shillings sterling.

THE WHOLE HISTORY OF NAVIGATION

FROM ITS ORIGINAL TO THIS TIME (1704.)

PREFIXED TO CHURCHILL’S COLLECTION OF VOYAGES.

OF all the inventions and improvements the wit and industry of man has discovered and brought to perfection, none seems to be so universally useful, profitable and necessary, as the art of navigation. There are those that will not allow it to be called the invention of man, but rather the execution of the direction given by Almighty God, since the first vessel we read of in the world, was the ark Noah built by the immediate command and appointment of the Almighty. But this is not a place to enter upon such a controversy, where some will ask, why it should be believed there were not ships before the flood as well as after, since doubtless those first men extending their lives to eight or nine hundred years, were more capable of improving the world than we whose days are reduced to fourscore years, and all beyond them only misery or dotage? It is impertinent to spend time upon such frivolous arguments, which only depend on opinion or fancy. If then we give any credit to history, on which all our knowledge of what is past depends, we shall find that navigation had but a mean and obscure original, that it was gradually and but very leisurely improved, since in many ages it scarce ventured out of sight of land; and that it did not receive its final perfection till these latter times, if we may be allowed to call that perfect which is still doubtless capable of a further improvement: but I give it that epithet only, with regard to the infinite advancement it has received since its first appearance in the world.

The first vessel ever known to have floated on the waters, was the ark made by God’s appointment, in which Noah and his three sons were saved from the universal deluge. But this ark, ship, or whatever else it may be called, had neither oars, sails, masts, yards, rudder, or any sort of rigging whatsoever, being only guided by divine providence, and having no particular port, or coast to steer to, only to float upon the waters, till those being dried up, it rested on the mountains of Ararat, as we read in Gen. viii. 4. From this time till after the confusion of tongues there was no use of navigation, there being as yet no sufficient multitude to people the earth, and those men there were, having undertaken to build the tower of Babel, from thence were dispersed into all other parts of the known world. These first travellers doubtless met with many rivers before they came to the sea, as plainly appears by the situation of Babel, generally agreed upon by all that treat of sciptural geography; and those rivers they passed in a hollowed piece of timber, no better than a trough, or a sort of baskets covered over with raw hides, being the easiest that occurred to invention, and sufficient for their present purpose, which was only to pass on in their way to other parts, without the prospect of trade or commerce, which cannot be supposed to have then entered into their thoughts. What vessels they built when they came to the sea no history describes, and therefore it would be a rashness to pretend to any knowledge of them. That they were small, ill rigged, and only durst creep along the shores, is out of all dispute; if we consider that many succeeding ages were no better furnished, though they never failed from time to time to correct the defects they found in their shipping, and industriously laboured to improve the art of navigation. Not to speak therefore of what is absolutely fabulous, or only supposititious, let us come to the first sailors famed in history; and touching those times lightly, descend to matters of more certainty and better authority.

If we give credit to poets and poetical writers, we shall find Neptune covering the Mediterranean sea with his mighty fleets, as admiral under his father Saturn, supposed to be Noah, as Neptune is to be Japheth; and to him is ascribed the first building of ships, with sharp stems, or heads shod with iron or brass, to run against other ships, and split them, and with towers on them for men to fight when they came to lie board and board. Yet there are others that give the honour of inventing of ships, and steering them, to Glaucus, affirming it was he that built and piloted the ship Argo in Jason’s expedition against the Tyrrhenians; which others attribute to Argos, making him the builder and pilot. These notions, or rather poetical fictions, are rejected by the learned Bochartus in his Geographia Sacra, , 820, where he shows that the ship Argo ought properly to be called Arco, which in the Phœnician tongue signifies long, a name given it because it was the first long ship built by the Greeks, who learned it of the Phœnicians, and called it by their name, whereas all the vessels used by them before that time were round. This ship Argo, or rather galley, he says had fifty oars, that is twenty-five on each side, and therefore must be fifty cubits in length. Here it appears that the Greeks had round vessels before that time, and all that we can reasonably conclude is, that this ship or galley Argo, or Arco, was larger, and perhaps better built and contrived than any before it, and might perform the longer voyage, which rendered it famous, as if it had been the first ship. But it is certain there were many fleets, such as they were, before this time; for the Argonauts expedition was about the year of the world 2801, which was after the flood 1144 years: whereas we find Semiramis built a fleet of two thousand sail on the coasts of Cyprus, Syria, and Phœnicia, and had them transported on carriages and camels backs to the river Indus, where they fought and defeated the fleet of Staurobates king of India, consisting of four thousand boats made of cane, as Diodorus Siculus writes. About the year of the world 2622, and 965 after the flood, Jupiter king of Crete, or Candia, with his fleet stole away Europa the daughter of Agenor king of the Sidonians. In 2700 of the world, and after the flood 1043, Perseus went on the expedition by sea against Medusa in Afric. Now to return to the Argonaunts so much celebrated by the poets, upon the strictest examination into truth, we shall only find them inconsiderable coasters in the Mediterranean, and set out by the public to suppress pirates, though fabulous Greece has extolled their expedition beyond all measure. Next follows the Trojan war about the year of the world 2871, and 1214 after the flood, where we find a fleet of one thousand one hundred and forty sail of all sorts, still creeping along the shores, without daring to venture out of sight of land.

Now leaving the Greeks it is fit we return to the Phœnicians, who are the same the scripture calls the Philistines or Canaanites, as is largely proved by Bochartus, certainly the earliest and ablest mariners in those first ages: they made the greatest discoveries of any nation, they planted colonies of their own in most of those countries so discovered, and settled trade and commerce in the most distant regions. There can be no greater testimonies of their wealth and naval power than what we find in holy writ, Ezek. xxvii. where the prophet speaking of Tyre, says it is situate at the entrance of the sea, is a merchant for many isles, its ship-boards are of fir-trees of Senir, their masts of cedars, their oars of oak of Bashan, their benches of ivory, their sails of fine embroidered linen, and so goes on through most of the chapter, extolling its mariners, pilots, ships, all things belonging to them. This, though from the undeniable oracle of scripture, were no sufficient proof of their knowledge in this art, were not all histories full of their many expeditions. The first was on the coast of Afric, where they founded the most powerful city of Carthage, which so long contended with Rome for the sovereignty of the world: thence they extended their dominions into Spain, and not so satisfied, coasted it round, still pursuing their discoveries along the coast of France, and even into this island of Great Britain, where they afterwards had a settled trade for tin, and such other commodities as the country then afforded, as may be seen at large in Procopius, Strabo, Diodorus Siculus, and many other ancient authors. Pliny, lib. 2. ca. with others affirms, that in the flourishing times of the republic of Carthage, Hanno being sent out from thence to discover southward, sailed quite round Afric into the Redsea, and returned the same way; and that Kimilco setting out at the same time northwards, sailed as far as Thule or Iceland. Both these relations are in part rejected by most authors as fabulous, because it does not appear that the utmost extent of Afric was ever known till the Portugueses in these latter times discovered it; and the very northern parts of Europe were not thoroughly discovered even in the time of the Roman greatness. However, no doubt is to be made but that they sailed very far both ways, and might perhaps add something of their own invention, to gain the more reputation to their undertaking. Nor were they confined to the Mediterranean and westward ocean, it was they that conducted Solomon’s fleets to Ophir; and we read in 1 Kings ix. 27. that Hiram (who was king of Tyre, and consequently his men Phœnicians) sent in the navy his servants, shipmen that had knowledge of the sea. And again, chap. x. ver. 11. And the navy also of Hiram that brought gold from Ophir. Thus we see the Phœnicians traded to Ophir before king Solomon, and for him. To enter into the controversy where this Ophir was, is not proper for this place, but the most probable opinions conclude it to be some part of the East-Indies, and indeed there is not the least show of reason to place it elsewhere. How they performed these long voyages without the help of the compass, or magnetical needle, would be another no less difficult inquiry, considering they could not always sail by day, and lie by at night, or continually keep within sight of land, whence tempests at least would often drive them into the open sea; but this is easily solved by all authors, who with one consent inform us, that they were directed by the course of the sun in the day, and by the stars at night. And in this knowledge of the heavens the Phœnicians exceeded all other nations, as may be gathered from Pliny, lib. 5. c. 12, and 19, where he shows that mankind is obliged to the Phœnicians for five things of the greatest use, viz. letters, the knowledge of the stars, the art of navigation, military discipline, and the building of many towns. By this their knowledge of the stars, they recovered themselves when lost in foul weather, and knew how to shape their course across spacious gulphs, and bays which would have spent them much time in coasting round. However it must not hence be inferred that they were capable of traversing the vast ocean betwixt Europe and America, as some would endeavour to make out; because it is well known that voyage even with the help of the compass was at first thought impracticable, and when discovered, for some time proved very difficult and dangerous, till time and experience had made it more familiar. The very reason alleged for the possibility of their sailing to the West-Indies, which is the certainty of the trade-winds blowing always at east within the tropics, makes against them, because had those winds carried them thither, the vast difficulty in returning the same way would deter them from that enterprize, they being altogether ignorant, and we may say incapable of coming away north, which was accidentally found out many years after the discovery of the West-Indies.

The Greeks, though occasionally mentioned before them, were the next in order to the Phœnicians in maritime affairs, and learned the art of them. They not only equalled their masters in this art, but soon excelled them, and gave them several notable overthrows on their own element; for we often find them, though much inferiour in numbers, gaining glorious victories over the Persians, whose fleets were all managed by Phœnicians. One instance or two may serve for all; the first is the famous battle of Salamis, where the confederate Greeks, whose whole force consisted but of three hundred and eighty ships, defeated thirteen hundred of the Persians, with inconsiderable loss to themselves, and incredible to their enemies; as may be seen in Plutarch’s lives of Themistocles and Aristides, in Diod. Sic. lib. XI. Herod. lib. VII. and VIII. and others. Again the Athenian fleet commanded by Cimon lorded it along the coasts of Asia, where closely pursuing the Persian admiral Titraustes, he obliged him to run his ships aground, of which he took two hundred, besides all that perished on the shore. And not so satisfied, Cimon proceeded to Hydrope, where he destroyed seventy sail, which were the peculiar squadron of the Phœnicians; for which particulars see Thucyd. lib. I. ca and 12, Plutarch in vit. Cimon. and Diod. Sic. lib. XII. These victories were the bane of Greece, which growing rich with the spoils of the Persians fell into those vices it had before been a stranger to, and which broke that union which had preserved it against the common enemy. Hence followed the war betwixt the Athenians and Lacedemonians, and several others, where those little states confederating one against another set out many numerous fleets, and strove for the sovereignty of the sea, till having sufficiently weakened themselves they at length became a prey to others. Yet during their flourishing times, and even in adversity, when driven from home by disasters, they never ceased sending out colonies upon all the coasts of the Mediterranean, and particularly of Asia, Spain, France, Italy, and Sicily. In all which countries they so far extended their empire, that it would fill a volume to give but an indifferent account of them. Yet under Alexander the Great, the founder of the Grecian empire, there are some things so singular that they well deserve a place here. That these latter ages may not boast of the invention of fireships, we find in Curtius, lib. IV. that at the siege of Tyre, when a mole was carrying on to join that city to the continent, the inhabitants having loaded a large ship heavily-a-stern with sand and stones, to the end the head might rise above the water, and prepared it for their purpose with combustible matter, they drove it violently with sails and oars against the mole, where they set fire to it, the seamen in it escaping in their boats. The mole being in a great measure made of wood, with wooden towers on it, was by this device utterly destroyed. Thus we see the Tyrians successfully invented the first fireship we read of in history. The next thing remarkable in this mighty conqueror’s reign in relation to navigation, was his sailing down the river Indus into the Indian ocean, where we may by the by observe the wonderful ignorance, not only of his landmen, but even of the sailors, who, as Curtius, lib. IX. testifies, were all astonished and beside themselves at the ebbing and flowing of the river. From hence the same author tells us, Alexander sent his admiral Nearchus to coast along the ocean as far as he could, and return to him with an account of what he should discover. Nearchus accordingly keeping along the Indian and Persian shores, and entering the Persian Gulph, returned to him up the river Euphrates, which was then looked upon as a wonderful discovery, and a great masterpiece of that Admiral, for which he received a crown of gold from Alexander. Thus much we have concerning this expedition in Curtius quoted above, and in Plutarch in vit. Alex. Purchas, in his first vol. , 87, 88, gives a very particular account day by day of this voyage of Nearchus, taken out of Arianus, lib. VIII. who delivers it as Nearchus’s journal of the expedition.

Next to the Phœnicians and Greeks, the Romans became sovereigns of the sea; yet not all at once, but after hard struggling with the Carthaginians, then in the height of their power, having by their naval force made themselves masters of the greatest part of Spain, and the coast of Afric, of many islands in the Mediterranean, and being intent upon the conquest of Sicily. This island furnished these mighty cities with an occasion of trying their forces on pretence of protecting their allies, but in reality out of a desire of sovereignty. The Romans were altogether unacquainted with naval affairs, insomuch that they knew not how to build a galley, but that the Carthaginians cruising on the coast of Italy, as we find in Polybius, lib. I. one of their quinquereme galleys happened to fall into the hands of the Romans, who by that model built an hundred of the same sort, and twenty triremes. Whilst the galleys were building, they exercised the seamen in rowing upon the dry shore, causing them to sit in ranks as if they were aboard, with oars in their hands and an officer in the middle, who by signs instructed them how they should all at once dip their oars and recover them out of the water. When the fleet was launched, finding the galleys not artificially built, but sluggish and unwieldy, they invented an engine to grapple fast with the enemy at the first shock, that so they might come to handy-strokes, at which they knew themselves superiour, and prevent being circumvented by the swiftness of the Carthaginian galleys, and experience of their mariners. This engine they called corvus; it consisted of a large piece of timber set upright on the prow of the vessel, about which was a stage of several ascents of boards well fastened with iron, and at the end of it two massive irons sharp pointed. The whole could be hoisted or lowered by a pulley at the top of the upright timber. This engine they hoisted to the top when the enemy drew near, and when they came to shock ship to ship, they let it run down amain into the enemy’s vessel, with which its own weight graggled it so fast that there was no breaking loose; and if the attack happened on the bow, the men went down two and two into the enemy’s vessel by the help of the aforementioned scaffold; all which may be seen more fully described in Polybius above quoted. By the help of these engines Duillius the Roman admiral overthrew Hannibal the Carthaginian, though superiour to him in number of vessels and experience in maritime affairs, taking his own septireme and fifty other vessels, with great slaughter of his men, though he himself escaped in his boat. This was in the year of Rome 493. In 497, M. Attilius Regulus, and L. Manlius Volso, consuls, commanded another fleet, in which were above one hundred and forty thousand men; the Carthaginians had then in their fleet one hundred and fifty thousand men under the conduct of Hamilcar, who was intirely overthrown, fifty of his ships taken, and sixty-four sunk. Thus far the sea had proved favourable to the Romans: but in the year of Rome 499, having set out a fleet of quinqueremes, they lost one hundred and forty by storms, which made them resolve to lay aside all naval enterprizes, keeping only seventy sail of ships to serve as transports, till in the year 503, perceiving their affairs in Sicily decline, the Carthaginians being absolute masters at sea, they again set out two hundred sail, and the following year received a mighty overthrow, with the loss of ninety-three galleys. Resolving now to put an end to the war, they again fit out two hundred quinqueremes, built by the model of a Rhodian they had before taken, and with them gave the Carthaginians such a fatal overthrow, as reduced them to accept of a dishonourable peace. This was the rise of the Roman power at sea, which they after not only held, but increased as long as their empire subsisted. Their actions are too many and too great for this place; those that desire to see more may read them in Livy, Plutarch, Appian, and many other authors who deliver them at large; thus much having been said only to deduce the succession of navigation from one people to another. Now though the Romans at this time gained the sovereignty of the seas, and held it for some ages, yet we do not find that they applied themselves to new discoveries, or ever exceeded the bounds of what the Phœnicians had before made known, their greatest voyage being that which Pliny, lib. VI. ca, gives an account of, being from Egypt to India before mentioned, to have been frequently performed by the Phœnicians, and therefore had nothing new in it. What occurs in this place is, to say something of the several sorts of galleys called triremes, quadriremes, quinqueremes, and so forth, whereof mention was made above. Herodotus, Thucydides, and Diodorus, agree, that Aminocles the Corinthian was the first that invented the trireme galley, about three hundred years after the destruction of Troy. Pliny will have it that Aristotle a Carthaginian first built a quadrireme, and Nesichton of Salamis a quinquereme; but Diodorus contradicts it, attributing the invention of the quinqueremes to Dionysius the Sicilian. Pliny further adds, that Zenagoras the Syracusan built the first vessel of six ranks, Nesigiton one of ten; Alexander the great is reported to have proceeded to twelve; Philostephanus makes Ptolomy Soter the first that made one of fifteen ranks; Demetrius the son of Antigonus of thirty, Ptolomy Philadelphus of forty, and Ptolomy Philopater of fifty. Thus we have the original of them all; but what sort of vessels these were, that is, how the several degrees or ranks of oars were disposed, has been much controverted, and is a most difficult point to be determined. The shortness of this discourse will not allow much canvassing of the point, yet a few words out of two or three learned authors will give some satisfaction to the curious. Morisotus in his Orbis Maritimus, , positively affirms that each of these vessels had its name from the number of ranks of oars placed one above another, so that the trireme had three, the quinquereme five ranks; and so every one according to its name, even till we come to Ptolomy Philopater’s tesseraconteres, which he asserts, had forty ranks of oars placed one over another, wherein he agrees with Baifius, whom he quotes, as he does the emperor Leo, whose words are these; Every ship of war must be of its due length, having two ranks of oars, the one higher, and the other lower. This which to him seems concluding, to others appears of no force; for allowing there might be vessels that had two ranks of oars one above another, that does not at all prove the possibility of having twenty or forty, which must of necessity rise to such a height as would look more like a mountain than a ship; and those upper oars must be so long, and in proportion so large and unwieldy, that no strength of hands could ever manage them. Others will have these several ranks of oars to be taken lengthways, and not in height; that is, so many in the prow, so many in the midships, and so many in the poop; whence will follow that Ptolomy’s galley had forty several ranks in length, with intervals betwixt them, in one line from stem to stern, which allowing but a small number of oars to each of these ranks, will quite outrun the length assigned that vessel, being two hundred and eighty cubits. This opinion is followed by Stewechius, Castilionius, and several others; but sir Henry Savil is of another mind, and supposes these ranks not to lie in length from head to stern, nor in height one above another, but athwart; which must appear preposterous, because allowing so many ranks this way, that is thwart the galley, its breadth would exceed all proportion. The fourth solution of this difficulty, and that very much received, is, that the vessel had its name from so many men tugging at one oar, that is three in a trireme, five in a quinquereme, and so of the rest; which indeed as far as six or seven men to an oar has the most resemblance of truth; but when we come to forty or fifty men to an oar, it will be difficult either to reconcile either to the breadth of the vessel, not to be supposed capable of eighty men in a rank, or to the height of the men, because though the first man next the side of the galley had the oar under hand, yet the end of it when it came to the fortieth must of necessity rise above his reach. These two objections are again answered, the first by allowing each oar to reach quite athwart the galley, and so the forty men to fill up the whole breadth, rowing as they do in our wherries or barges; and the second by allowing an ascent from one side of the galley to the other for each seat or standing of those that rowed; and for the soldiers and sailors, we must imagine a deck over the heads of the slaves at the oar. This carries much of reason, but little of ancient authority, for we find no ancient monuments that describe any thing of this nature. We will conclude this matter with the opinion of Schefferus de militia navali, lib. II. ca. where allowing a competent distance according to the length of the vessel betwixt each bank of oars, he supposes the first row to be as in our galleys next the level of the water; then in the intervals another row, not distinguished by a deck, but raised so high by their seat that their feet rested against that which was the back of the bank below them, and so one above the other in those intervals, which takes off much of the height, that must have been, allowing them several decks, and consequently shortens the upper oars in proportion; yet cannot at all lessen the difficulty that will occur upon plying so many oars, which will come to dip so close together in the water, that it seems impracticable to avoid clattering of them, and falling into confusion, not to mention many more inconveniences obvious enough to every man’s reason that has seen any vessels of this nature: and therefore it is best to determine nothing amidst such uncertainties, but leave every one to approve that which shall best suit with his notion of the matter. Therefore leaving these obscurities, it is better to proceed upon the history of navigation where we left off, and see in what state it continued from the time of the Romans last spoken of, till the fortunate discovery of the magnetical needle, from which time is to be dated its greatest advancement, as will be visible in that place.

As long as the Roman empire continued in splendour, it supported what it had found of navigation, but added little or nothing to it, that people being altogether intent upon making new conquests, and finding still more work than they were able to compass upon dry land, without venturing far out to sea. But when the barbarous nations began to dismember that monarchy, this art, instead of improving, doubtless declined, as did all others. The first of these barbarians were the Goths and Vandals, of whom no great actions appear on the sea, their farthest expeditions on this element being in the Mediterranean, betwixt Italy and Afric, Spain and the islands, where nothing occurs worth mentioning. The Saracens were next to them as to order of time, though much superiour in naval power, yet contained within the same bounds, and consequently did nothing more memorable. After the Saracens may be reckoned the Normans, who for several years infested the coasts of Britain and France with their fleets from Norway, till having settled themselves in Normandy, they ran out plundering all the coasts of Spain, and entering the streights conquered a great part of the kingdom of Naples, and the whole island of Sicily. Still these, though they undertook longer voyages, were but coasters, and satisfied with what they found, did not endeavour to add any thing to the art of navigation, especially for that they were as then but rude and barbarous, war and rapine being their only profession. Other nations famous at sea were the Genoeses and Venetians, betwixt whom there were bloody wars for several years; and the latter, till the Portugueses discovered the way by sea to the East-Indies, had all the trade of those parts in their own hands, either brought up the Red-sea into Egypt, or by caravans to the sea-port towns of Asia. We might here mention the expeditions of English, French, Danes, Dutch, and other nations, but should find nothing new in them all. They all in their turns were powerful at sea, they all ventured sometimes far from home, either to rob, conquer, or trade, but all in the same manner creeping along the shores, without daring to venture far out to sea, having no guides out of sight of land but the stars, which in cloudy nights must fail them. It is therefore time to leave these blind sailors and come to the magnet or loadstone, and to the compass or magnetical needle, which has opened ways in the unknown ocean, and made them as plain and easy in the blackest night as in the brightest day. To come then to the point.

The loadstone, or magnet, so called from the Latin word magnes, had this name given it because found in the country of Magnesia, which is a part of Lydia in Asia; or because the Magnesians first discovered its virtue of attracting iron: for both these reasons are given by the learned Bochartus Geogr. Sacr. . What other virtues and qualities it has, does not belong to this place. But it is certain the magnet has two poles answering to the two poles of the world, and to which they naturally incline (if nothing obstructs) to lie parallel. This property is not confined to itself, but communicative, as daily experience shows us in the nautical needles, which by the touch of this stone partake so much of its nature, that the point so touched, unless otherwise hindered, will always look towards the north-pole. Let the learned naturalist plunge himself into the inscrutable abyss of nature to find out reasons for this sympathy; it shall suffice here to show the benefits and advantages navigation, and in it mankind, has reaped by the discovery of this most wonderful secret. The Magnesians, as was said above, were counted the first discoverers of the loadstone’s virtue of attracting iron; but this greater virtue of pointing out the north-pole, was never found till about the year 1300, if we will believe all the best modern inquirers into antiquity, who upon diligent search unanimously agree they cannot find the least ground to believe it was known before, rather than give credit to some few writers, who rather suppose such a thing to have been used by the Phœnicians, than pretend to prove it, having nothing but their own fancies, raised upon weak and groundless surmises, to build upon. The great advocate I find for this opinion in Bochart. Geog. Sac. . and in Purchas’s pilgrims, . is Fuller in his miscellanies, l. 4. c. 19. yet neither of them mentions any proof or strong argument he brings to corroborate his opinion, and therefore they both with reason reject him. These two authors, and Pancirol, lib. ii. tit. 11. do not forget the verse often urged out of Plautus in Mercat

HIC SECUNDUS VENTUS NUNC EST, CAPE MODO VERSORIAM.

Which versoria some will have to be the compass. But there is nothing solid in this argument, it is only catching at straws, when all history and practice of former ages make against it. History, because it could not but have made some mention of a thing so universally useful and necessary; and practice, because it is well known no such voyages were then performed, as are now daily by the help of the compass. It has sufficiently been proved before, that in all former ages they were but coasters, scarce daring to venture out of sight of land; that if out at night they had no other rule to go by but the stars: and what is still more, it is manifest they scarce ventured at all to sea in the winter months. That this is so, appears by Vegetius, lib. IV. where speaking of the months, he says, the seas are shut from the third of the ides of November to the sixth of the ides of March, and from that time till the ides of May it is dangerous venturing to sea. Thus much may suffice to shew the compass was not known to antiquity; let us see when it first appeared in the world.

Its ancient use being rejected by general consent, there have still been some who have endeavoured to rob the discoverer of this honour: among them Goropius quoted by Morisotus, will have this invention attributed to the Cimbrians, Teutonics or Germans, for this weak reason, because the names of the thirty-two winds about it are Teutonic, and used by almost all Europeans. Others will not allow this to be the product of any part of Europe, and therefore go as far as China for it, alleging that M. Paulus Venetus brought it from thence about the year 1260: but this is asserted without any the least authority, only because Paulus Venetus travelled into China, and when afterwards the Portugueses came thither, they found the use of the needle common among all those eastern nations, which they affirmed they had enjoyed for many ages. Not to dwell upon groundless suppositions, the general consent of the best authors on this subject is, that the magnetical needle or compass was first found out in Europe by one John Gioia, whom others call Flavio Gioia, of the city of Amalfi, on the coast of that part of the kingdom of Naples called Terra di Lavoro. This happened about the year of our Lord 1300, and though the thing be of such stupendous advantage to the world, yet it did not prove so greatly profitable to the first finder, whose bare name is all that remains to posterity, without the least knowledge of his profession, or after what manner he made this wonderful discovery. So wonderful that it seems to contradict the opinion of Solomon, who so many ages since said there was nothing new under the sun; whereas this certainly appears, though so long after him, to be altogether new, and never so much as thought of before, which cannot so plainly be made out of any other of those we look upon as modern inventions or improvements. For to instance in a few things, we find the use of fire-ships among the Tyrians in the time of Alexander the great, as was mentioned before out of Curtius, lib. IV. and therefore not repeated here. Our sea charts, on which latter times have so much valued themselves, are of such ancient date, that we cannot find their original; yet Morisotus, , says, that Eolus gave Ulysses a sea chart drawn on a ram’s skin, that is, a parchment. Again, , the same author out of Trogus observes, that Democedes the Cratonian, employed by Darius Hystaspes to view the coasts of Greece, sent him charts of them all, with the ports, roads, and strong holds, exactly marked down. Then, , he shows out of Ælianus and Aristophanes, that there were maps of the world in Socrates’s time. This, he says, was about the eightieth Olympiad, and then quotes Strabo, who from Eratosthenes affirms, Anaximander the Milesian was the first that made geographical tables about the fiftieth Olympiad. Sheathing of ships is a thing in appearance so absolutely new, that scarce any will doubt to assert it altogether a modern invention; yet how vain this notion is, will soon appear in two instances. Leo Baptisti Alberti in his book of architecture, lib. V. ca, has these words. But Trajan’s ship weighed out of the lake of Riccia at this time, while I was compiling this work, where it had laid sunk and neglected for above thirteen hundred years; I observed that the pine and cypress of it had lasted most remarkably. On the outside it was built with double planks, daubed over with Greek pitch, caulked with linen rags, and over all a sheet of lead fastened on with little copper nails. Raphael Volaterranus in his geography says, this ship was weighed by the order of cardinal Prospero Colonna. Here we have caulking and sheathing together above sixteen hundred years ago; for I suppose no man can doubt that the sheet of lead nailed over the outside with copper nails was sheathing, and that in great perfection, the copper nails being used rather than iron, which, when once rusted in the water, with the working of the ship soon lose their hold and drop out. The other instance we find in Purchas’s pilgrims, vol. I. lib. IV. in captain Saris’s voyage to the court of Japan, , where the captain giving an account of his voyage says, that rowing betwixt Firando and Fuccate, about eight or ten leagues on this side Xemina-seque, he found a great town where there lay in a dock a junck of eight or ten hundred ton burden, sheathed all with iron. This was in the year 1613, about which time the English came first acquainted with Japan; and it is evident, that nation had not learned the way of sheathing of them, or the Portugueses, who were there before, but were themselves ignorant of the art of sheathing.

Now to return to the magnetical needle, or sea-compass; its discoverer, as has been said, appears to be Flavius, or John Gioia of Amalfi, and the time of its discovery about the year 1300. The reason of its tending to or pointing out the north, is what many natural philosophers have in vain laboured to find; and all their study has brought them only to be sensible of the imperfection of human knowledge, which when plunged into the inquiry after the secrets of nature, finds no other way to come off but by calling them occult qualities, which is no other than owning our ignorance, and granting they are things altogether unknown to us. Yet these are not all the wonders of this magnetic virtue. The variation of it is another as inscrutable a secret. This variation is when the needle does not point out the true pole, but inclines more or less either to the east or west; and is not certain, but differs according to places, yet holding always the same in the same place, and is found by observing the sun or stars. The cause of this variation some philosophers ascribe to magnetical mountains, some to the pole itself, some to the heavens, and some to a magnetical power even beyond the heavens; but these are all blind guesses, and fond ostentations of learning, without any thing in them to convince one’s reason. There is nothing of it certain but the variation itself. Nor is this variation alone, there is a variation of the variation, a subject to be handled by none but such as have made it a peculiar study, and which deserving a peculiar volume is daily expected from a most able pen. But let us leave these mysteries, and come to the historical part, as the principal scope of this discourse; where we shall find, that though the use of the needle was so long since found out, yet either through its being kept private by some few persons at first as a secret of great value, or through the dulness of sailors, at first not comprehending this wonderful phenomenon; or through fear of venturing too far out of the known shores; or lastly, out of a conceit that there could not be more habitable world to discover: whether for these, or any other cause, we do not find any considerable advantage made of this wonderful discovery for above an age after it: nay, what is more, it does not appear how the world received it, who first used it upon the sea, and how it spread abroad into other parts. This is not a little strange in a matter of such consequence, that the histories of nations should not mention when they received so great an advantage, or what benefit they found at first by it. But so it is; and therefore to show the advancement of navigation since the discovery of the magnetical needle, it will be absolutely necessary to begin several years after it, before which nothing appears to be done. This shall be performed with all possible brevity, and by way of annals, containing a summary account of all discoveries from year to year: yet lest the distance and variety of places should too much distract the reader, if all lay intermixed, the European northern discoveries shall be first run through in their order of years; next to them, as next in order of time, shall follow the African, and so the East-Indian, or Asiatic, the one being the consequence of the other; and in the last place shall appear the West-Indian, or American. The first part of the northern European discoveries is all taken out of Hakluyt, beginning with the nearest after the discovery of the needle, quoting the authors out of him, and the page where they are to be found.

An. 1360, Nicholas de Linna, or of Linn, a friar of Oxford, who was an able astronomer, took a voyage with others into the most northern islands of the world; where leaving his company he travelled alone, and made draughts of all those northern parts, which at his return he presented to king Edward III. This friar made five voyages into those parts; for this he quotes Gerardus Mercator, and Mr. John Dee, Hak. . And this, though it is not there mentioned, being sixty years after the discovery of the compass, we may look upon as one of the first trials of this nature made upon the security of the magnetical direction in these northern seas. Yet after this for many years we find no other discovery attempted this way, but rather all such enterprises seemed to be wholly laid aside, till

An. 1553, and in the reign of king Edward VI. sir Hugh Willoughby was sent out with three ships to discover Cathay and other northern parts. He sailed in May, and having spent much time about the northern islands subject to Denmark, where he found no commodity but dried fish and train oil, he was forced about the middle of September, after losing the company of his other two ships, to put into a harbour in Lapland called Arzina, where they could find no inhabitants, but thinking to have wintered there were all frozen to death. However the Edward, which was the second ship in this expedition, and commanded by Richard Chancellor, who was chief pilot for the voyage, having lost Sir Hugh Willoughby, made its way for the port of Wardhouse in Norway, where they had appointed to meet if parted by storms. Chancellor staid there seven days, and perceiving none of his company came to join him, proceeded on his voyage so fortunately, that within a few days he arrived in the bay of St. Nicholas on the coast of Muscovy, where he was friendly received by the natives, being the first ship that ever came upon that coast. Chancellor himself went to the court of Mosco, where he settled a trade betwixt England and Muscovy, with John Basilowitz the great duke, or czar, then reigning. This done, Chancellor returned home with the honour of the first discovery of Russia.

An. 1556, Stephen Burrough was sent out in a small vessel to discover the river Ob: he sailed in April, and in May came upon the coast of Norway; whence continuing his voyage, in July he arrived at Nova Zembla, that is, the new land, where he received directions how to shape his course for the river Ob. He spent some time in search of it, but coming to the straits of Weygats found no passage, and the summer-season being almost spent, returned to Colmogro in Muscovy, where he wintered, designing to prosecute his voyage the next summer, but was countermanded, and so this was all the event of the expedition.

An. 1558, Anthony Jenkinson sailed for Muscovy with four ships under his command: he left his ships, and travelled by land to Mosco, where having been nobly entertained by the czar, he obtained his pass, and continued his journey through Muscovy across the kingdoms of Casan and Astracan, where shipping himself on the river Volga he sailed down into the Caspian sea, having travelled by land about six hundred leagues in the czar’s dominions from Mosco. On the Caspian sea he spent twenty-seven days, after which landing, he proceeded five days’ journey by land among a sort of wild Tartars with a caravan of one thousand camels; then twenty days more through a desert, suffering much through hunger and thirst. This brought him again to another part of the Caspian sea, where formerly the river Oxus fell into it, which now he says runs into another river not far from hence called Ardock, which runs toward the north and under ground above five hundred miles, after which it rises again, and unburdens itself in the lake of Kitay. Hence he continued his discovery amidst those countries of Tartars to Boghar in Bactria, whence he returned to Mosco.

An. 1561, he returned to Muscovy with letters from queen Elizabeth to the czar; and taking the same way as before down to the Caspian sea, crossed over it into Hircania, where being nobly entertained, and conducted by the princes of that country, he passed through to the court of the king of Persia at Casbin, where he obtained several privileges for the English nation, and returned home in safety the same way he went.

An. 1580, Mr. Arthur Pet and Mr. Charles Jackman sailed in May from Harwich in two barks to make discoveries in the north-east beyond Weygats. In June they doubled the north cape of Norway, and having spent some days in that part of Norway, continued their voyage into the bay of Petzora; where Jackman’s vessel being in no good sailing condition he left Pet, who proceeded on to the coast of Nova Zembla, where in July he met with much ice, yet making his way through part of it, though with great difficulty, he at last came to the straits of Weygats: there he drew as close as the shoal water would permit, coming into two fathom and a half water, and sending his boat to sound till he found there was not water enough even for the boat in the strait, and therefore returned the same way he came. A few days after Pet met with Jackman again in some distress, as not being able to steer, his ship’s stern-post being broken, and the rudder hanging from the stern. Having remedied this the best they could for the present, they both stood northward to endeavour to find some passage that way; but meeting with much ice, they despaired of success, and resolved to turn again to Weygats, there to consult what was farther to be done. All the way thither they met with such quantities of ice, that some days they were not able to make any way. Being come again upon the Weygats, they made another attempt that way, but to as little purpose as before, the ice obstructing their progress. Wherefore winter now coming on, they found it necessary to quit their design for the present. Accordingly Pet being parted from Jackman, arrived safe in the river of Thames about the end of December this same year: Jackman put into a port in Norway betwixt Tronden and Rostock in October, where he wintered. In February following, he departed thence in company of a ship of the king of Denmark’s towards Iceland, and was never more heard of. The English having made these unsuccessful attempts, gave them over for many years; and the Dutch growing powerful at sea, resolved to try their fortune, hoping the failures of the English might help to point out to them what course they were to avoid, and what to follow; and accordingly,

An. 1594. The states fitted out three ships, commanded by William Barentz, Cornelius Cornelissen and John Hugens: they all sailed together, but Barentz run further up to the northward than the others, till he came into seventy-eight degrees of latitude, and in August met with much ice and abundance of sea-monsters, at which the seamen being discouraged they resolved to return home. The other two ships discovered some islands, and at last a strait or passage capable of the greatest ships, and above five or six leagues in length: being passed it, they came into an open and warmer sea, and upon the coast of Tartary near the river Ob or Oby, a very fruitful country. This they called the strait of Nassau, and might have gone further but for want of provisions. This done, they came back the same way very joyful to Holland. Meteren hist. of the Low-countries, lib. XVIII. This we see positively delivered, but with how much of truth I dare not decide; only must think it strange, that if such a strait had been once found it should never be met with since, though often searched for, and once by the same persons that pretended to have been the first discoverers, as may be seen in the year 1596, yet we see this assertion repeated by the same author, who takes it from the relations of the sailors, and in the same place before quoted says, that

An. 1595. The states being much encouraged by the relation of these discoverers, fitted out seven ships, six of them to proceed on their voyage to China, Japan, &c. this way, and the seventh to bring back the news of their being passed the strait; but they met with too much ice at strait Nassau, coming to it too late by reason of the contrary winds they had in their passage thither: yet the inhabitants of the place told them many particulars more than they knew before: but they returned re infecta. Meteren. ubi sup.

An. 1596. The Dutch not discouraged by the former disappointment, fitted out two ships under the command of William Barentsen and John Cornelissen, who sailed on the eighteenth of May, and on the nineteenth of June, found themselves in the latitude of 80 degrees, and eleven minutes, where they found a country they supposed to be Greenland, with grass, and beasts grazing like deer, &c. and less cold and ice than in 76 degrees: they turned back to an island they had before called the Island of Bears, because of the many bears they saw in it, and there parted company. Cornelissen went up again into 80 degrees of latitude, thinking to find a passage east of the land they had discovered, but returned home without doing any thing considerable. Barentsen made towards Nova Zembla, and coasted along it till he met with an island which he called Orange, in 77 degrees of latitude; thence he steered south and doubled a cape, but was stopped by ice, and making towards the land, on the last of August, was so inclosed that there was no stirring. They landed and built a house with timber and planks, into which they put all their provisions and goods, where they continued suffering much hardship all the winter. On the twenty-second of June they set out from thence in two boats they had repaired, leaving their ship among the ice, and an account in writing of their being there. Thus with much difficulty, they arrived at Cola in Lapland on the second of October 1597, where they found Cornelissen, who had made a voyage to Holland in the mean while, and was returned thither. Barentsen died by the way, but the survivors arrived in Holland on the twenty-ninth of October. Meteren. lib. XIX.

An. 1676. Captain John Wood in his majesty’s ship the Speedwell, with the Prosperous Pink to attend him, sailed from the buoy of the Nore to discover the north-east-passage. June the fourth he anchored in the island of Shetland, and the tenth sailed out again, directing his course north-north-east, and north-east-by-east, till the twenty-second, when at noon he saw ice right a head about a league from him, and sailed close to it, as they did the next day, entering into many openings which they perceived to be bays. Sometimes the weather proved foggy, and then they made little way; but as fast as the fog fell, it froze on their sails and rigging: they perceived the ice here joined to the land of Nova Zembla, and run out five leagues to sea. They continued coasting the ice to find a passage, till on the twenty-ninth of June at near midnight the Prosperous Pink fired a gun and bore down upon the man of war, crying out, ice on the weather-bow; whereupon he clapped the helm hard a weather to come about, but before she could be brought upon the other tack struck upon a ledge of rocks that lay sunk, the Pink got clear, but the ship stuck fast, and there being no getting her off, the men got all ashore in their boats with what provision they could save, some arms and other necessaries; only two men were lost with the pinnace. Here they set up a tent, and saw no other inhabitants but white bears. The following days the ship broke and much wreck drove ashore, which was a great help to them, there being wood for firing, some meal, oil, brandy and beer. They killed a white bear and eat her, which they said was very good meat. Thus they continued, contriving to build a deck to their long boat to carry off some of the men, and others to travel afoot towards the Weygats; till on the eighth of July to their great joy they discovered the Pink, and making a fire for a signal, she sent her boat to help bring them off, and by noon they all got aboard. They presently stood off to westward, and made the best of their way home, arriving on the twenty-third of August at the buoy of the Nore. Taken out of captain Wood’s own journal.

These are the principal discoveries attempted and performed at the north-east, which have proved unsuccessful, as failing of the main design of finding a passage that way to the East-Indies.

Let us now leave the barren frozen north, where so many have miserably perished, and yet so little been discovered of what was intended; ice, shoals, rocks, darkness, and many other obstacles, having disappointed the bold undertakings of so many daring sailors, and for so many losses made us no return but the bare trade of Russia, whilst our intentions were levelled at that of the mighty kingdom of Cathay, and a passage to China, Japan, and all the other eastern regions. Let us, I say, quit these unfortunate attempts, and come now to speak of those so successful, made towards the south and south-east, along the coast of Afric first, and then to those of the more frequented, as more profitable Asia. The first we find in this order, if the authority we have for it be good, is of an Englishman, by name Macham, who

An. 1344, having stolen a woman with whom he was in love, and intending to fly with her into Spain, was by a storm cast upon the island Madeira in 32 degrees of north-latitude. Going ashore there with his mistress to refresh her after the toils of the sea, the ship taking the opportunity of a favourable gale sailed away, leaving them behind. The lady soon died for grief of being left in that desolate island; and Macham with what companions he had, erected a little chapel and hermitage under the invocation of the name of Jesus, to bury her. This done, they contrived a boat made of one single tree, in which they got over to the coast of Afric, where they were taken by the Moors, and presented to their king for the rarity of the accident. He for the same reason sent them to the king of Castile, where giving an account of what had befallen them, it moved many to venture out in search of this island. This story we find in Hakluyt, vol. II. part 2. . where he quotes Anthony Galvao a Portuguese author for it; and D. Antonio Manoel in his works among his epanaforas, has one on this particular subject, which he calls epanafora amorosa. Upon this information, as was said, several adventurers went out, but to no effect that we can hear of, till

An. 1348. John Batancourt a Frenchman, obtained a grant of king John the second of Castile, and went to conquer the Canary islands long before discovered, and made himself master of five of them, but could not subdue the two greatest, as most populous and best defended. These were afterwards subdued by king Ferdinand, as may be seen in Mariana, lib. XVI. . These were small beginnings, and out of regular course; next follow the gradual discoveries made by the Portugueses, which may be said to have been the groundwork of all the ensuing navigations, which happened in this manner. King John of Portugal enjoying peace at home after his wars with Castile, was persuaded by his sons to undertake the conquest of Ceuta on the African shore. Prince Henry his fifth son accompanied him in this expedition, and at his return home brought with him a strong inclination to discover new seas and lands, and the more on account of the information he had received from several Moors concerning the coasts of Afric to the southward, which were as yet unknown to Europeans, who never pretended to venture beyond cape Nao, which had therefore this name given it, signifying in Portuguese No, to imply there was no sailing further: and the reason was, because the cape running far out into sea, caused it to break and appear dangerous; and they as yet not daring to venture too far from land, were ignorant that by keeping off to sea they should avoid that danger. Prince Henry resolving to overcome all difficulties, fitted out two small vessels,

An. 1417, commanding them to coast along Afric, and doubling that cape to discover further towards the equinoctial. They ventured to run sixty leagues beyond cape Nao, as far as cape Bojador, so called because it stretches itself out almost forty leagues to the westward, which in Spanish they call Bojar. Here finding the difficulty of passing further greater than at cape Nao, for the same reason of the sea’s breaking upon the cape, they returned home satisfied with what they had done. The following year,

An. 1418, the prince sent John Gonzalez Zarco and Tristan Vaz, with orders to pass that cape; but before they could come upon the coast of Afric they were carried away by a storm, and not knowing where, they accidentally fell in with an island, which they called Porto Santo, or Holy Haven, because of their deliverance there after the storm. It is a small island a little to the northward of the Madera: thither the prince, being informed of what had happened, sent Bartholomew Perestrello with seeds to sow, and cattle to stock the place; but one couple of rabbits put in among the rest, increased so prodigiously, that all corn and plants being destroyed by them, it was found necessary to unpeople the island.

An. 1419, John Gonzalez and Tristan Vaz making another voyage by order of the prince, discovered the island Madera, before mentioned to have been accidentally found by Macham the Englishman, and lost again till this time. The reason of calling it Madera was, because they found it all over-grown with trees, this word in Portuguese signifying wood. They set fire to the woods to clear them, which are said to have burnt seven years continually, and since the greatest want is of wood. The following years were employed in peopling and furnishing the islands discovered, till

An. 1434, Gilianez was sent by the prince to pass that dreadful cape Bojador, though at the same time many blamed the attempt, imagining, that in case they should happen to pass much farther on those coasts, all that did it would turn black; others saying there was nothing there but deserts, like those of Lybia; and others alleging other absurdities of this nature, suitable to the ignorance the world was then in of all parts yet undiscovered. Gilianez was satisfied with sailing 30 leagues beyond the cape, giving name there to the bay called Angra de Ruyvas, or Bay of Gurnets, because he there found many of that sort of fish. The next year,

An. 1435, the same commanders passed twelve leagues further, where they also landed, but the people fled from them: whereupon they proceeded twelve leagues further, where they found a vast multitude of sea-wolves, of which they killed many, and returned home with their skins, which was the greatest return made this voyage, they being valued for their rarity.

An. 1440, Antony Gonzalez was sent to the place of the sea-wolves to load his vessel with their skins. He landed, took some of the natives, and killed others; then coasted on as far as Cabo Blanco, or White Cape, and returned to Portugal.

An. 1442, Antony Gonzalez returned, and carrying these persons he had taken in his former voyage, exchanged them for some Guinea slaves and a quantity of gold dust; for which reason the river that there runs into the country was called Rio del Ora, or the River of Gold.

An. 1443. The gold above mentioned sharpening mens appetites, Nunho Tristan undertook the voyage, and passing further than the others, discovered one of the islands of Arguim, called Adeget, and another De las Garzas, or of the Herons, because they saw many herons in it.

An. 1444, a small company was erected, paying an acknowledgment to the prince, to trade to those parts lately discovered, whither they sent six caravels; which coming to the isles of Arguim took there about two hundred slaves, which yielded them good profit in Portugal.

An. 1445, Gonzalo de Cintra sailed to the island of Arguim, and venturing up a creek in the night to surprize the inhabitants, the tide left his boat ashore; so that two hundred moors coming down upon him, he was killed with seven of his men, and from him the place was called Angra de Gonzalo de Cintra, fourteen leagues beyond Rio del Oro.

An. 1446, the caravels sailed for the same river to settle commerce, but effected nothing, and only brought away one of the natives, and left a Portuguese there to view the country. But Dinis Fernandez the same year passed beyond the River Sanaga, which divides the Azanagi from Jalof, and discovered the famous cape called Cabo Verde, or the Green Cape.

An. 1447, three caravels performed the same voyage without doing any thing remarkable, more than taking up the Portuguese left there before, whom they found in good health, and he gave them some account of the country. This year likewise Nunho Tristan sailed sixty leagues beyond Cabo Verde, and anchoring at the mouth of Rio Grande, or the great river, ventured up in his boat, where he and most of his men were killed by their blacks with their poisoned arrows. Alvaro Fernandez the same year went forty leagues beyond Rio Grande. Prince Henry the great encourager, or rather undertaker in all these discoveries, dying, they were afterwards managed by his nephew Alonso the fifth king of Portugal. Under him,

An. 1449, Gonsalo Vello discovered the islands called Azores, or of Hawks, because many of those birds were seen about them. They are eight in number, viz. S. Michael, S. Mary, Jesus or Tercera Graciosa, Pico, Fayal, Flores, and Corvo. They are near about the latitude of Lisbon. In the last of them was found the statue of a man on horse-back with a cloak, but no hat, his left hand on the horse’s mane, the right pointing to the west, and some characters carved on the rock under it, but not understood.

An. 1460, Antony Nole, a Genoese in the Portuguese service, discovered the islands of Cabo Verde, the names whereof are Fogo, Brava, Boavista, Sal. S. Nicholao, S. Lucia, S. Vincente, and S. Antonio. They lie about a hundred leagues west of Cabo Verde, and therefore take name from that cape. He also found the islands Maya, S. Philip, and S. Jacob. This same year Peter de Cintra, and Suero de Costa, sailed as far as Serra Leona.

An. 1471, John de Santarem and Peter de Escobar advanced as far as the place they called Mina, or the Mine, because of the trade of gold there; and then proceeded to cape S. Catherine, thirty seven leagues beyond cape Lope Gonzalez in two degrees and a half of south latitude. Ferdinand Po the same year found the island by him called Hermosa, or Beautiful, which name it lost, and still keeps that of the discoverer. At the same time were found the islands of S. Thomas, Anno Bom, and Principe. Some years passed without going beyond what was known; but in the mean time King John the second, who succeeded his father Alonso, caused a fort to be built at Mina, which he called fort S. George, and settled a trade there.

An. 1480, James Cam proceeded as far as the river Congo in the kingdom of the same name, called by the natives Zayre, whence he continued his voyage as far as 22 degrees of south latitude, and thence home again.

An. 1486. King John being informed by an embassador from the King of Benin on the coast of Afric, that there was a mighty prince two hundred and fifty leagues from his country, from whom his master received his confirmation in his throne; and imagining this to be the so much talked of Prester John, he sent Peter de Covillam and Alonzo de Payva by land to get intelligence of this great potentate, and some account of India. They went together by the way of Grand Cair to Tor on the coast of Arabia, where they parted, Covillam for India, and Payva for Ethiopia, agreeing to meet by a certain time at Grand Cair; the first went to Cananor, Calicut, and Goa, passed thence to Zofala in Afric, then to Aden at the mouth of the Red-sea on the side of Arabia, and at last to Grand Cair, where he found his companion had died. Hence he sent an account to the king of his proceedings by a jew come from Portugal, and with another embarked for Ormuz, then went over into Ethiopia, where he was kindly entertained, but never suffered to return home. At the same time these were sent away by land, Bartholomew Diaz put to sea with three ships, and out-going all that had been before him a hundred and twenty leagues, discovered the mountains he called Sierra Parda, and passed on in sight of the bay called De los Vaqueros, or of the Herdsmen, because of the great herds of cattle they saw there: beyond which he touched at the small island Santa Cruz, entered the mouth of the river, called Del Infante, and at last came to the now famous, and till then unknown cape, which he called Tormentoso, because he there met with storms; but the king, in hopes of discovering the East-Indies, changed its name to that of Cabo de Buena Esperanza, or cape of Good Hope: this done he returned home, having discovered more than any man before him. The strange conceit which possessed the heads of the sailors, that there was no possibility of passing beyond Cabo Tormentoso, as they called it, and the great employment the kings of Portugal found in their great discoveries upon the coast of Afric, very much retarded the prosecution of further designs, so that nothing was advanced till

An. 1497. King Emanuel, who with the crown of Portugal had inherited the ambition of enlarging his dominions, and the desire of finding a way by sea to the East-Indies, appointed Vasco de Gama, a gentleman of an undaunted spirit, admiral of those ships he designed for this expedition, which were only three, and a tender; their names were the S. Gabriel, the S. Raphael, and Berrio; the captains Vasco de Gama admiral, Paul de Gama his brother, and Nicholas Nunez, and Gonzalo Nunez of the tender, which was laden with provisions. Gama sailed from Lisbon on the eighth of July, and the first land he came to after almost five months sail was the bay of S. Helena, where he took some blacks. The twentieth of November he sailed thence, and doubled the cape of Good Hope, and on the twenty-fifth touched at the bay of S. Blas, sixty leagues beyond the aforesaid cape, where he exchanged some merchandize with the natives. Here he took all the provisions out of the tender, and burnt it. On Christmas-day they saw the land; which for that reason they called Terra do Natol, that is Christmas-land; then the river they named De los Reyes, that is of the kings, because discovered on the feast of the Epiphany; and after that cape Corrientes, passing fifty leagues beyond Zofala without seeing it, where they went up a river in which were boats with sails made of palm-tree leaves: the people were not so black as those they had seen before, and understood the Arabic character, who said that to the eastward lived people who sailed in vessels like those of the Portugueses. This river Gama called De Bons Sinays, or of good tokens, because it put him in hopes of finding what he came in search of. Sailing hence, he again came to an anchor among the islands of S. George opposite to Mozambique, and removing thence anchored again above the town of Mozambique, in 14 degrees and a half of south latitude; whence after a short stay, with the assistance of a moorish pilot, he touched at Quiloa and Monbaza; and having at Melinde settled a peace with the moorish king of that place, and taking in a Guzarat pilot, he set sail for India, and crossing that great gulph of seven hundred leagues in twenty days, anchored two leagues below Calicut on the twentieth of May. To this place had Gama discovered twelve hundred leagues beyond what was known before, drawing a straight line from the river Del Infante, discovered by Bartholomew Diaz, to the port of Calicut, for in sailing about by the coast it is much more. Returning home not far from the coast, he fell in with the islands of Anchediva, signifying in the Indian language five islands, because they are so many; and having had sight of Goa at a distance, sailed over again to the coast of Afric, and anchored near the town of Magadoxa. At Melinde he was friendly received by the king, but being again under sail, the ship S. Raphael struck ashore and was lost, giving her name to those sands: all the men were saved aboard the other two ships, which parted in a storm near Cabo Verde. Nicholas Coello arrived first at Lisbon, and soon after him Vasco de Gama, having spent in this voyage two years and almost two months. Of a hundred and sixty men he carried out, only fifty-five returned home, who were all well rewarded.

An. 1500. King Emanuel, encouraged by the success of Vasco de Gama, fitted out a fleet of thirteen sail under the command of Peter Alvarez Cabral, and in it twelve hundred men, to gain footing in India. He sailed on the eighth of March, and meeting with violent storms was cast off from the coast of Afric so far, that on Easter eve the fleet came into a port, which for the safety found in it was called Seguro, and the country at that time Santa Cruz, being the same now known by the name of Brazil, on the south continent of America. Hence the admiral sent back a ship to advertise the king of the accidental new discovery, leaving two Portugueses ashore to inquire into the customs and product of the land. Sailing thence on the twelfth of May for the cape of Good Hope, the fleet was for twenty days in a most dreadful storm, insomuch, that the sea swallowed up four ships, and the admiral arrived with only six at Zofala on the sixteenth of July, and on the twentieth at Mozambique; where having refitted, he prosecuted his voyage to Quiloa, and thence to Melinde, whence the fleet stood over for India, and reached Anchediva on the twenty-fourth of August: then coming to Calicut, peace and commerce was there agreed on with Zamori, the king of Calicut, but as soon broken, and the Portugueses entered into strict amity with the kings of Cochin and Cananor, where they took in their lading and returned to Portugal.

An. 1501, John de Nova departed from Lisbon with four ships and four hundred men, and in his way discovered the island of Conception, in 8 degrees of south latitude and on the east side of Afric that which from him was called the island of John de Nova. At Cananor and Cochin he took in all his lading, destroying many vessels of Calicut, and in his return home found the island of St. Helena in 15 degrees of south latitude, distant fifteen hundred forty-nine leagues from Goa, and eleven hundred from Lisbon, being then unpeopled, but since of great advantage to all that use the trade of India.

An. 1502, the king set out a fleet of twenty sail commanded by the first discoverer of India, Vasco de Gama, whose second voyage this was. No new discoveries were made by him, but only trade secured at Cochin and Cananor, several ships of Calicut taken and destroyed, the king of Quiloa on the coast of Afric brought to submit himself to Portugal, paying tribute; and so Vasco de Gama returned home with nine ships richly laden, leaving Vincent Sodre behind with five ships to scour the coasts of India, and secure the factories there.

An. 1503, nine ships were sent under three several commanders, Alfonso de Albuquerque, Francis de Albuquerque, and Antony de Saldanha, each of them having three ships. The Albuquerques, with permission of that king, built a port at Cochin, burnt some towns, took many ships of Calicut, and then returned richly laden homewards, where Alfonso arrived safe with his ships, but Francis and his were never more heard of. Saldanha the third of these commanders, gave his name to a bay short of the cape of Good Hope, were he endeavoured to water; but it cost the blood of some of his men, and therefore the place was called Aguada de Saldanha, or Saldanha’s watering-place. Thence proceeding on his voyage, he obliged the king of Monbaza on the other coast of Afric to accept of peace; and then went away to cruise upon the moors at the mouth of the Red sea, which was the post appointed him.

An. 1504. Finding no good was to be done in India without a considerable force, king Emanuel fitted out thirteen ships, the biggest that had been yet built in Portugal, and in them twelve hundred men, all under the command of Lope Soarez, who made no further discoveries, only concluded a peace with Zamori, and returned rich home.

An. 1505, D. Francisco de Almeyda was sent to India, with the title of viceroy, carrying with him twenty-two ships, and in them fifteen hundred men, with whom he attacked and took the town of Quiloa on the east coast of Afric, and in about 9 degrees of south latitude, where he built a fort: then burnt Monbaza on the same coast in four degrees, and sailing over to India erected another fort in the island Anchediva, and a third at Cananor on the Malabar coast.

An. 1506, James Fernandez Pereyra, commander of one of the ships left to cruize upon the mouth of the Red-sea, returned to Lisbon with the news of his having discovered the island Zocotora, not far distant from the said mouth, and famous for producing the best aloes, from it called succotrina. In March this year sailed from Lisbon Alonso de Albuquerque, and Tristan da Cunha, with thirteen ships, and thirteen hundred men, the former to command the trading ships, the latter to cruize on the coast of Arabia: in their passage they had a sight of cape S. Augustin in Brasil; and standing over from thence for the cape of Good Hope, Tristan da Cunha ran far away to the south, and discovered the islands which still retain his name. Sailing hence, some discovery was made upon the island of Madagascar, that of Zocotora subdued, and the fleet sailed part for the coast of Arabia, and part for India. In the former Albuquerque took and plundered the town of Calayate, the same he did to Mascate, Soar submitted, and Orfuzam they found abandoned by the inhabitants. This done, Albuquerque sailed away to Ormuz, then first seen by Europeans. This city is seated in an island called Gerum, at the mouth of the Persian gulph, so barren that it produces nothing but salt and sulphur, but it is one of the greatest marts in those countries. Hence Albuquerque sailed to India, where he served some time under the command of the viceroy Almeyda, till he was himself made governor of the Portuguese conquests in those parts, which was in the year 1510, during which time the whole business was to settle trade, build forts, and erect factories along those coasts already known, that is all the east-side of Afric, the shores of Arabia, Persia, Guzarat, Cambaya, Decan, Canara, and Malabar; and indeed they had employment enough, if well followed, to have held them many more years. But avarice and ambition know no bounds; the Portugueses had not yet passed cape Comori, the utmost extent of the Malabar coast, and therefore

An. 1510, James Lopes de Sequeira was sent from Lisbon with orders to pass as far as Malaca: this is a city seated on that peninsula, formerly called Aurea Chersonesus, running out into the Indian sea from the main land, to which it is joined by a narrow neck of land on the north, and on the south separated from the island of Sumatra, by a small strait or channel: Malaca was at that time the greatest emporium of all the farther India. Thither Sequeira was sent to settle trade, or rather to discover what advantages might be gained; but the moors who watched to destroy him, having failed of their design to murder him at an entertainment, contrived to get thirty of his men ashore on pretence of loading spice, and then falling on them and the ships at the same time killed eight Portugueses, took sixty, and the ships with difficulty got away. However here we have Malaca discovered, and a way open to all the further parts of India. In his way to Malaca, Sequeira made peace with the kings of Achem, Pedir and Pacem, all at that time small princes at the north west end of the island Sumatra. Whilst Sequeira was thus employed, Albuquerque assaults the famous city of Goa, seated in a small island on the coast of Decan, and taking the inhabitants unprovided made himself master of it, but enjoyed it not long; for Hidalcan the former owner returning with sixty thousand men, drove him out of it after a siege of twenty days: yet the next year he again took it by force, and it has ever since continued in the hands of the Portugueses, and been the metropolis of all their dominions in the east, being made an archbishop’s see, and the residence of the viceroy who has the government of all the conquests in those parts. Albuquerque flushed with this success, as soon as he had settled all safe at Goa, sailed for Malaca with fourteen hundred fighting men in nineteen ships. By the way he took five ships, and at his arrival at the coast of Sumatra was complimented by the kings of Pedir and Pacem. It is not unworthy relating in this place, that in one of the ships taken at this time was found Nehoada Beeguea, one of the chief contrivers of the treachery against Sequeira; and though he had received several mortal wounds, yet not one drop of blood came from him; but as soon as a bracelet of bone was taken off his arm the blood gushed out at all parts. The Indians said this was the bone of a beast called cabis, which some will have to be found in Siam, and others in the island of Java, which has this strange virtue, but none has ever been found since. This being looked upon as a great treasure, was sent by Albuquerque to the king of Portugal, but the ship it went in was cast away, so that we have lost that rarity, if it be true there ever was any such. Albuquerque sailing over to Malaca had the Portugueses that had been taken from Sequeira delivered; but that not being all he came for, he landed his men, and at the second assault made himself master of the city, killing or driving out all the moors, and peopling it again with strangers and Malays.

An. 1513, Albuquerque made an attempt upon the city of Aden, but failed, being repulsed with loss. This place is seated on the coast of Arabia Fœlix, near the mouth of the Red-sea, under the mountain Arzira, which is all a barren rock; it is rich, because resorted to by many merchants of several nations; but the soil excessive dry, so that it scarce produces any thing. Being disappointed here, Albuquerque steered his course towards the Red-sea, being the first European that ever entered it with European ships.

An. 1517, Lope Soarez de Albergoria governor of India sailed over to the island of Ceylon with seven galleys, two ships, and eight smaller vessels, carrying in them all seven hundred Portuguese soldiers. This island had been before seen by the Portugueses passing to Malaca, but not much known. Here Lope Soarez built a fort, and in process of time the Portugueses made themselves masters of all the sea-coasts of this wealthy island.

About the same time John de Silveyra, who had the command of four sail, made a farther progress than had been done before in the discovery of the Maldivy islands, which are so many that the number of them is not yet known, lying in clusters, and these in a line, N. W. and S. E. and twelve of these clusters in the line, besides two other little parcels lying together east and west from one another at the south end of the aforesaid twelve. These, though so numerous, are so very small, that no great account is made of them. From them he sailed to the kingdom of Bengala, lying in the upper part of the gulph of the same name in about 23 degrees of north latitude, being all the country about the mouth of the river Ganges. To this joins the kingdom of Arracam descending southward, then that of Pegu, and next to it that of Siam, which joins to the Aurea Chersonesus, or peninsula of Malaca. All these countries abound in wealth, producing infinite plenty of silk and cotton, of which last they make the finest callicoes and muslins, with much reason admired by all the nations of Europe. They have numerous droves of elephants, and consequently great plenty of ivory, besides plenty of black cattle and buffaloes.

An. 1517, Fernan Perez de Andrade, sent by the king of Portugal to make new discoveries, leaving all behind that had been before known, and passing the strait betwixt Malaca and the island Sumatra, came upon the coast of the kingdom of Camboia, whence he proceeded to that of Chiampa, where taking of fresh water had like to have cost him his life. He went on to Patane, and established peace and commerce with the governor there: which done, the season being unfit to proceed further, he returned to Malaca to refit. As soon as the weather was seasonable he set out again, and continued his discoveries till he arrived at Canton, or Quantung, the most remarkable sea-port town on the southern coast of the vast empire of China. He treated with the governor of Canton, and sent an embassador to the emperor of China, and settled trade and commerce in that city for the present. Though this was not lasting, (for the very next Portugueses that arrived behaved themselves so insolently, that the fleet of China attacked them, and they had much difficulty to get off; and their embassador being sent back from Peking by the emperor of Canton unheard, was there put to death,) nevertheless some years after the Portugueses obtained leave to settle in a little island opposite to the port of Canton, where they built the city Macao, which they hold to this day, though subject to the emperor of China.

An. 1520, James Lopez de Sequeira, then governor of India, sailed for the Red-sea with a fleet of twenty-four ships, and in it eighteen hundred Portugueses, and as many Malabars and Canarins. Coming to the island Mazua in the Red-sea, he found it forsaken by the inhabitants, who were fled over to Arquico, a port belonging to Prester John, or the emperor of Ethiopia, which was now first discovered by sea. At this time it was a vast monarchy, and extended along the shores of the Red-sea above a hundred and twenty leagues, which was counted the least of its sides; but since then all the sea-coast has been taken from them by the Turks. Here the Portugueses in following years made some progress into the country, five hundred of them being sent under the command of D. Christopher de Gama to assist the emperor against his rebellious subjects, and his enemies the Turks. The actions performed by this handful of men being all by land, do not belong to us; but they travelled a great part of the country, and opened a way for the jesuits, who for several years after continued there.

An. 1521, Antony de Brito was sent to the Molucco islands from Malaca. These had been before discovered by Antony de Abreu. The Molucco islands are five in number, their names, Ternate, Tidore, Mousel, Machien, Bacham. These islands were afterwards long struggled for by the Portugueses and Dutch till at last the Dutch prevailed, and continue in possession of that trade till this day. A few years now past without any considerable discoveries by sea, though still they found several little islands, and advanced far by land, too long for this discourse, designed only to show the progress of navigation. Let us then proceed to the next considerable voyage, which was

An. 1540, which furnishes as remarkable a piece of sea-service as any we shall read undertaken by a private man. Peter do Faria governor of Malaca sent his kinsman Antony de Faria y Sousa, to secure a peace with the king of Patane. He carried with him goods to the value of twelve thousand ducats; and finding no sale for them there, sent them to Lugor in the kingdom of Siam, by one Christopher Borallo, who coming to an anchor in the mouth of that river was surprised by a moor of Guzarat called Coje Hazem, a sworn enemy to the Portugueses. Borallo having lost his ship swam himself ashore, and carried the news of what had happened to Faria at Patane, who vowed never to desist till he had destroyed that moor, and in order to it fitted out a small vessel with fifty men, in which he sailed from Patane towards the kingdom of Champa, to seek the pirate there. In the latitude of 3 degrees 20 minutes, he found the island of Pulo Condor, whence he sailed into the port of Bralapisam in the kingdom of Camboia, and so coasted along to the river Pulo Cambier, which divides the kingdoms of Camboia and Tsiompa. Coasting still along, he came to an anchor at the mouth of the river of Toobasoy, where he took two ships belonging to the pirate Similau, and burnt some others. The booty was very rich, besides the addition of strength, the ships being of considerable force. Thus increased he goes on to the river Tinacoreu, or Varela, where the Siam and Malaca ships trading to China barter their goods for gold, calamba wood, and ivory. Hence he directed his course to the island Aynan on the coast of China, and passed in sight of Champiloo in the latitude of 13 degrees, and at the entrance of the bay of Cochinchina; then discovered the promontory Pulocampas, westward whereof is a river, near which spying a large vessel at anchor, and imagining it might be Coje Hazem, he fell upon and took it, but found it belonged to Quiay Tayjam a pirate. In this vessel were found seventy thousand quintals, or hundred weight of pepper, besides other spice, ivory, tin, wax, and powder, the whole valued at sixty thousand crowns, besides several good pieces of cannon, and some plate. Then coasting along the island Aynan, he came to the river Tananquir, where two great vessels attacked him, both which he took, and burnt the one for want of men to sail her. Further on at C. Tilaure he surprised four small vessels, and then made to Mutipinam, where he sold his prizes for the value of two hundred thousand crowns of uncoined silver. Thence he sailed to the port of Madel in the island Aynan, where meeting Himilian a bold pirate, who exercised great cruelties towards christians, he took and practised the same on him. This done he run along that coast, discovering many large towns and a fruitful country. And now the men weary of seeking Coje Hazem in vain, demanded their share of the prizes to be gone, which was granted: but as they shaped their course for the kingdom of Siam, where the dividend was to be made, by a furious storm they were cast away on the island called de los Ladrones, which lies south of China, where of five hundred men only eighty-six got ashore naked, whereof twenty-eight were Portugueses: here they continued fifteen days with scarce any thing to eat, the island not being inhabited. Being in despair of relief, they discovered a small vessel which made to the shore, and anchoring, sent thirty men for wood and water. These were Chineses, whom the Portugueses, upon a sign given as had been agreed, surprised, running on a sudden and possessing themselves of their boat and vessel; and leaving them ashore, directed their course towards Liampo, a sea-port town in the province of Chequiang in China, joining by the way a Chinese pirate, who was a great friend to the Portugueses, and had thirty of them aboard. At the river Anay they refitted and came to Chincheo, where Faria hired thirty-five Portugueses he found, and putting to sea met with eight more naked in a fisher-boat, who had their ship taken from them by the pirate Coje Hazem; which news of him rejoiced Faria, and he provided to fight him, having now four vessels with five hundred men, whereof ninety-five were Portugueses. He found his enemy in the river Tinlau, where he killed him, and four hundred of his men, and took all his ships but one that sunk, with abundance of wealth: but it prospered very little, for the next night Faria’s ship and another were cast away, and most of the goods aboard the others thrown over-board, and one hundred and eleven men lost; Faria escaped, and taking another rich ship of pirates by the way, came at last to winter at Liampo, as was said before, a sea-port town in the province of Chequiang in China, but built by the Portugueses, who governed there. Having spent five months here, he directed his course for the island Calempuly on the coast of China, where he was informed were the monuments of the ancient kings of China, which he designed to rob, being reported to be full of treasure. After many days sail through seas never before known to the Portugueses, he came into the bay of Nanking, but durst not make any stay there, perceiving about three thousand sail lie at anchor about it. Here the Chineses he had with him being ill used, fled, but some natives informed him he was but ten leagues from the island Calempluy: he arrived there the next day, and intending to rob all the tombs, the old keepers of them gave the alarm, which prevented his design, and he was obliged to put to sea again, where having wandered a month he perished in a storm, both his ships being cast away, and only fourteen men saved. Thus ended this voyage, famous for several particulars, and especially for having discovered more of the north of China than was known before, though the design of the undertaker was only piracy. The city Liampo before mentioned was soon after utterly destroyed by the governor of the province of Chequiang, for the robberies and insolences committed in the country by the Portugueses.

An. 1542. Antony de Mota, Francis Zeimoto, and Antony Peixoto, sailing for China, were by storms drove upon the islands of Nipongi, or Nison, by the Chineses called Gipon, and by us Japan. Here they were well received, and had the honour, though accidentally, of being the first discoverers of these islands. Their situation is east of China, betwixt 30 and 40 degrees of north-latitude: there are many of them, but the principal is Nipongi, or Japan, in which the emperor keeps his court at the city of Meaco. The chief islands about it are Cikoko, Tokoesi, Sando, Sisime, Bacasa, Vuoqui, Saycock or Ximo, Goto, Ceuxima, Toy, Gisima, Jasima, Tanaxuma, and Firando. Hitherto we have mentioned none but the Portugueses, they being the only discoverers of all those parts, and all other nations having followed their track, yet not till some years after this time, as we shall soon see. I do not here mention the discovery of the Philippine islands, though properly belonging to the east, as not very remote from China, because they were discovered and conquered the other way, that is from America; and therefore we shall speak of them in their place among the western discoveries. What have been hitherto said concerning these Portuguese voyages is collected out of John de Barros’s decads of India, Osorius’s history of India, Alvarez of Abassia and Faria’s Portuguese Asia. Having seen what has been done by these discoverers, let us next lightly touch upon the voyages of those who followed their footsteps.

An. 1551. We meet with the first English voyage on the coast of Afric, performed by Mr. Thomas Windham, but no particulars of it.

An. 1552. The same Windham returned with three sail, and traded at the ports of Zafim and Santa Cruz; the commodities he brought from thence being sugar, dates, almonds, and molosses.

An. 1553. This Windham, with Antony Anes Pinteado, a Portuguese and promoter of this voyage, sailed with three ships from Portsmouth: they traded for gold along the coast of Guinea, and from thence proceeded to the kingdom of Benin, where they were promised loading of pepper: but both the commanders and most of the men dying through the unseasonableness of the weather, the rest, being scarce forty, returned to Plymouth with but one ship and little wealth.

An. 1554. Mr. John Locke undertook a voyage for Guinea with three ships, and trading along that coast brought away a considerable quantity of gold and ivory, but proceeded no further. The following years Mr. William Towerson and others performed several voyages to the coast of Guinea, which having nothing peculiar but a continuation of trade in the same parts, there is no occasion for giving any particulars of them. Nor do we find any account of a further progress made along this coast by the English, till we come to their voyages to the East-Indies, and those begun but late; for the first Englishman we find in those parts was one Thomas Stephens, who

An. 1579, wrote an account of his voyage thither to his father in London; but he having sailed aboard a Portuguese ship, this voyage makes nothing to the English nation, whose first undertaking to India in ships of their own was,

An. 1591. Three stately ships, called the Penelope, the Merchant Royal, and the Edward Bonaventure, were fitted out at Plymouth, and sailed thence under the command of Mr. George Raymond: they departed on the 10th of April, and on the first of August came to an anchor in the bay called Aguada de Saldanha, fifteen leagues north of the cape of Good Hope. Here they continued several days, and traded with the blacks for cattle, when finding many of their men had died, they thought fit to send back Mr. Abraham Kendal in the Royal Merchant with fifty men, there being too few to manage the three ships if they proceeded on their voyage: Kendal accordingly returned, and Raymond and Lancaster in the Penelope and Edward Bonaventure proceeded, and doubled the cape of Good Hope; but coming to cape Corrientes on the fourteenth of September, a violent storm parted them, and they never met again; for Raymond was never heard of, but Lancaster held on his voyage. Passing by Mozambique he came to the island Comera, where after much show of friendship, the moorish inhabitants killed thirty-two of his men, and took his boat, which obliged him to hoist sail and be gone; and after much delay by contrary winds he doubled cape Comori, opposite to the island of Ceylon in India, in the month of May, 1592. Thence in six days, with a large wind which blew hard, he came upon the island of Gomes Polo, which lies near the northernmost point of the island Sumatra; and the winter season coming on, stood over to the island of Pulo Pinao, lying near the coast of Malaca, and betwixt it and the island Sumatra, in 7 degrees of north latitude, where he continued till the end of August refreshing his men the best the place would allow, which afforded little but fish, yet twenty-six of them died there. Then the captain running along the coast of Malaca, and adjacent islands, more like a pirate than merchant or discoverer, took some prizes, and so thought to have returned home: but his provisions being spent when they came to cross the equinoctial, where he was staid by calms and contrary winds six weeks, he ran away to the West-Indies to get some supply, where, after touching at several places, the captain and eighteen men went ashore in the little island Mona, lying betwixt those of Portorico and Hispaniola, but five men and a boy left in the ship cut the cable and sailed away. Lancaster and eleven of his men some days after spying a sail, made a fire; upon which signal the Frenchman, for such a one it proved to be, took in his topsails, and drawing near the island received them aboard, treating them with extraordinary civility, and so brought them to Diepe in Normandy, whence they passed over to Rye in Sussex, and landed there in May 1594, having spent three years, six weeks, and two days in this voyage. Hitherto Hackluyt, vol. II.

An. 1595. The Dutch resolving to try their fortune in the East-Indies, fitted out four ships at Amsterdam, under the command of Cornelius Hootman, which sailed on the second of April, and on the fourth of August anchored in the bay of St. Blase, about forty-five leagues beyond the cape of Good Hope, where they continued some days trading with the natives for cattle in exchange for iron. August the eleventh they departed that place, and coasting along part of the island of Madagascar, came at last into the bay of S. Augustin, where they exchanged pewter spoons and other trifles with the natives for cattle, till they fell at variance; and the natives keeping away, no more provisions were to be had: and therefore on the 10th of December they weighed, directed their course for Java, but meeting with bad weather and strong currents, were kept back till the tenth of January, when they were forced for want of refreshments to put into the island of S. Mary, lying on the eastern coast of Madagascar in 17 degrees of south latitude, whence they removed to the great bay of Antongil, and continued there till the twelfth of February: then putting to sea again, they arrived on the coast of the great island Sumatra on the eleventh of June, and spending some days along that coast, came at last to Bantam in the island of Java. They lay here, very favourably entertained by the emperor of Java, till falling at variance many hostilities passed betwixt them; and in November the Dutch removed from before Bantam to Jacatra, which is no great distance. In January finding themselves much weakened by loss of men, and the Amsterdam one of the biggest ships leaky, they unladed and burnt her. Having thoughts of sailing for the Molucco islands, they ran along as far as the strait of Balambuon at the east end of Java; but the seamen refusing to pass any further, they made through the strait, and on the twenty-seventh of February sailed along the coast of Java towards the cape of Good Hope; and three of their four ships, besides the pinnace that was a tender, and eighty-nine seamen, being all that were left of four hundred and forty-nine, returned to Holland in August following, having been abroad twenty-nine months. This and the voyage soon after following in 1598, may seem to be mistaken, because it is said in both, that the commander in chief was Cornelius Hootman; but it must be observed, they differ not only in time, but in all other circumstances, and this is certainly the first voyage the Dutch made to India, whereas in the other there is mention of those people having been there before. This is to be seen at large in the collection of voyages undertaken by the Dutch East-India company, printed this present year 1703.

An. 1596. Sir Robert Dudley, as principal adventurer, set out three ships under the command of Benjamin Wood, designing to trade in China; for which purpose he carried letters from queen Elizabeth to the emperor of China: but these ships and the men all perished, so we have no account of their voyage. Purchas, vol. I. .

An. 1598. Three merchants of Middleburgh fitted out two ships under the command of Cornelius Howteman for the East-Indies, which sailed on the fifteenth of March. In November they put into the bay of Saldanha on the coast of Afric, in 34 degrees of south latitude, and ten leagues from the cape of Good Hope. Here pretending to trade with the natives, they offered them some violence; to revenge which, three days after they came down in great numbers, and surprising the Dutch slew thirteen of them, and drove the rest to their ship. January the 3d they again anchored in the bay of S. Augustin in the south-west part of the island Madagascar, and 23 degrees of south latitude, where the natives would not trade with them; and being in great want of provisions, they sailed to the island Magotta, or S. Christopher, on the north of Madagascar, and having got some relief went on to Answame, or Angovan, another small island, where they took in more provisions. Then proceeding on their voyage, they passed by the Maldivy islands, thence by Cochin, and in June arrived at Sumatra at the port of Achen, where after being kindly received by the king, he sent many men aboard on pretence of friendship, but with a design to surprise the ships, which they had near accomplished, but were with difficulty beaten off, yet so that the Dutch lost sixty-eight of their men, two pinnaces of twenty ton each, and one of their boats. Sailing hence they watered and refreshed at Pulo Batun off Queda, which is on the coast of Malaca; and having spent much time about those parts, in November anchored at the islands of Nicobar in 8 degrees of latitude, where they had some refreshment, but little; to remedy which, in their way towards Ceylon, they took a ship of Negapatan and plundered it. Then directing their course home in March 1600, they doubled the cape of Good Hope, and in July returned to Middleburgh. Purchas, vol. I. .

This same year, 1598, the Holland East-India company set out six great ships and two yatchs for India under the command of Cornelius Hemskirke, which sailed out of the Texel on the first of May, and coming together to the cape of Good Hope in August, were there separated by a terrible storm: four of them and a yacht put into the island Maurice east of Madagascar; the other two ships and yatch put into the island S. Mary on the east also of Madagascar; where they made no stay, but sailing thence arrived on the twenty-sixth of November 1598, before Bantam; and a month after them came the other four ships and a yatch from the island Maurice. The first comers having got their lading, departed from before Bantam on the eleventh of January 1599, and arrived happily in the Texel on the ninth of June 1599, richly laden with pepper, cloves, mace, nutmegs, and cinnamon, having spent but fifteen months in the whole voyage. The other four ships and yatch left in India under the command of Wybrant, sailed from Bantam along the north side of Javan to the east end of it, where the town of Arosoya is seated. Here the natives, in revenge for some of their people killed by the Dutch in their first voyage, seized seventeen of them that were sent ashore for provisions; and fifty more being sent to their relief in sloops and boats, were all of them killed, drowned, or taken. The prisoners were ransomed for two thousand pieces of eight, and then the ships put to sea, and on the third of March 1599, came into the strait of Amboina, where they anchored before a small town in that island, called Itan. This is near the Moluccos, and produces plenty of cloves. There being lading but for two ships here, the other two were sent to Banda, where they took their lading of cloves, nutmegs, and mace, and returned home in April 1600. The other two ships left behind at Amboina having taken in what lading of cloves they could get, sailed away to get what they wanted at the Moluccos, and anchored at Ternate, where having got the rest of their lading, they departed thence on the nineteenth of August 1599, and came to Jacatra in the island Java on the thirteenth of November, being then reduced to extremity for want of provisions: whence after a few days stay they proceeded to Bantam, and thence on the twenty-first of January for Holland, where after a tedious voyage they arrived in safety, having lost many men through sickness and want of provisions. Every year after the Dutch failed not to set out new fleets, being allured by the vast returns they made; yet there was nothing in these voyages but trade, and some encounters with the Spaniards, and therefore it will be needless to mention them all in particular, till in the year 1606, the Dutch possessed themselves of Tidore, one of the Molucco islands, and Amboina, expelling the Portugueses first, and afterwards the English. In 1608 the Dutch admiral Matelief laid siege to Malaca, but without success. Soon after they grew formidable at Jacatra, or Batavia, on the island Java, where they continue to this day, that being the chief seat of all their dominions in the east. Not so satisfied, they at length made themselves masters of Malaca, and expelled the Portugueses the island of Ceylon, by which means they are possessed of the most considerable trade of the east, all the cinnamon, nutmegs, and cloves, being entirely in their own hands. Nor is this all, for they have conquered the island Formosa on the coast of China, whence they trade to Japan, with the exclusion of all christian nations from that island. And here we will leave the Dutch, to give some further relation of the English proceedings, and so conclude with the East-Indies.

An. 1600. A company of merchant adventurers was by patent from queen Elizabeth authorized to trade in the East-Indies, and accordingly in January 1600-1 they fitted out four great ships and a victualler, all under the command of captain James Lancaster, who sailed out of the river of Thames on the thirteenth of February, having four hundred and eighty men aboard his ships, yet got not beyond Torbay till the second of April, and on the first of November doubled the cape of Good Hope. In April following they anchored at the islands of Nicobar, north-east of the great island of Sumatra, and in June came before Achem, where they had a good reception, and settled peace and commerce with that king; but having little to trade with, put to sea, and took a great Portuguese ship richly laden, and returned to Achem, whence they sailed to Bantam, in the island of Java: here they had also good entertainment, and liberty of trade was agreed on; and having taken in what more lading was wanting, which consisted in pepper and cloves, on the twentieth of February they set sail in order to return for England, but meeting with violent storms were carried into 40 degrees of south latitude, where Lancaster lost his rudder, which was restored with much labour, and so they arrived at the island of St. Helena in June, and having refreshed themselves there put to sea again, and returned safe to England in August. Purchas, vol. I. .

An. 1604. The aforesaid company sent four ships more to the East-Indies under the command of sir Henry Middleton, who sailed on the second of April, and arrived at Bantam on the twenty-third of December. Two of the ships loaded pepper at Bantam; sir Henry with the others sailed to the isles of Banda, where he continued twenty-one weeks, and then returned to Bantam, and arrived in the Downs on the sixth of May 1606. The same year captain John Davis and sir Edward Michelburn with one ship and a pinnace sailed into the East-Indies, trading at Bantam, and taking some prizes, but performed nothing else remarkable. Purchas, vol. I. .

An. 1607. The company fitted out their third voyage, being three ships under the command of William Keeling, but only two of them kept company; and setting out in April, arrived not at Priaman in the island Sumatra till July the following year; having spent all this time along the coasts of Afric, and beating at sea against contrary winds. Here they took in some pepper, and then sailed to Bantam, where a Siam embassador invited them to settle commerce in his master’s dominions; and so they proceeded to Banda, where they were hindered taking in their lading of spice by the Dutch, who had built a fort on that island. So being disappointed they returned to Bantam, loaded pepper, and settled a factory there, which continued in prosperity till overthrown by the Dutch. Purchas, vol. I. .

The third ship mentioned above, which did not keep company with the other two, but set out at the same time, after touching at the bay of Saldanha on the coast of Afric, and at Bantam on the island of Java, proceeded to the Molucco islands, where with the permission of the Spaniards, then possessed of those islands, they had a trade for some days, but were afterwards commanded away. Then sailing towards the island Celebes at the island Button, or Buton, they were friendly entertained by the king, and brought their full loading of cloves; which done, they returned to Bantam, and thence to England. Purchas, vol. I. .

An. 1608. The East-India company for its fourth voyage set out two ships, the Union and Ascension, commanded by Alexander Sharpey and Richard Rowles, who sailed on the fourteenth of March; and having spent above a year by the way, and lost the Union in a storm, the Ascension came on the eighth of April 1609 to an anchor before the city Aden on the coast of Arabia Felix, whence they sailed into the Red-sea, being the first English ship that ever entered it, and on the eleventh of June anchored in the road of the city of Mocha; and having made a short stay to refit, sailed away for the coast of Cambaya, where refusing to take in a pilot the ship was lost on the shoals, but all the men saved in two boats, who got ashore at the small town of Gandevel, about forty miles from Surat, whither they travelled by land, and were relieved by the English factor there. The captain and most of the company went from thence to Agra the court of the mogul, resolving to take their journey through Persia to return into Europe. But Thomas Jones, the author of this account, with three others, committed themselves to a Portuguese religious man, who promised to send them home, and accordingly carried them through Daman and Chaul to Goa, where in January they were shipped aboard the admiral of four Portuguese ships homeward bound, and arrived at Lisbon in August, where embarking in an English ship they came safe into England in September 1610. The rest of the company that went with the captain dispersed, and few of them came home.

The Union, mentioned before to be separated from the Ascension in a storm, touched at the bay of St. Augustin in the island Madagascar, where the captain and five more going ashore upon friendly invitation were killed by the natives, who thought to have surprised the ship with their boats, but were beaten off with great loss. So sailing hence, they directed their course to Achem on the island Sumatra, where and at Priaman they took in their lading of bafts and pepper, and directed their course to return home. But their voyage proved so unfortunate, that all her men died by the way, except three English and an Indian, who were scarce alive; and not being able to hand the sails, the ship was carried upon the coast of Britany in France, where the French conveyed her into harbour, and most of the lading was saved for the company.

An. 1609. The English East-India company for its fifth voyage set out but one ship, commanded by David Middleton, who arriving at Banda was by the Dutch there hindered loading any spice, and therefore sailed to Puloway a small island not far distant, where with much difficulty and hazard he got loading of spice, and returned home safe. Purchas, vol. I. .

An. 1610. Sir Henry Middleton sailed with three ships under his command; and being informed by the natives of the island Zocotora, that he would be friendly received at Mocha in the Red-sea, and find good vent for his goods, he ventured up thither, and after much deceitful kindness shown him by the Turks, was himself with many of his men secured, and sent up the country several miles to another bassa. Some men were also killed by the infidels, who attempted to surprise one of the ships, and were possessed of the upper decks, till the seamen blew up some, shot others, and drove the rest into the sea, so that only one of them that hid himself escaped, and was afterwards received to mercy. After much solicitation sir Henry Middleton and his men were sent back to Mocha, where most of them made their escape aboard their ships. Many fruitless contests having afterwards passed with the bassas about the restitution of the goods taken; at last he sailed to Surat, where he arrived in September 1611, and having, notwithstanding the opposition made by the Portugueses, sold some of his goods, and departing thence to Dabul, had some more trade in that place, yet not so much as to dispose of all he had. Whereupon he resolved to return to the Red-sea, there to traffic with the ships of India, which usually resort to those parts; he detained many of them by force, and bartered with them as he thought fit, the Indians being under restraint, and in no condition to oppose whatever was offered them. Being thus furnished, he sailed for Sumatra, where he got loading of spice, and sent one ship home with her burden, his own having been on a rock, and therefore unfit for the voyage till repaired, which could not be done so soon. This ship arrived safe in England, but sir Henry Middleton and his were cast away in India. Purchas, vol. I. . Other ships sailed the latter end of the year 1610, and beginning of 1611, which still ran much the same course with the former, and have nothing singular to relate. But

An. 1611, in April sailed captain John Saris with three ships, who having run the same course all the rest had done severally before, entering the Red-sea, and touching at Java, he received a letter from one Adams an Englishman, who sailed aboard some Dutch ships to Japan, and was there detained, in which he gave an account of that country. Captain Saris dismissing his other two ships, directed his course for that island; and passing by those of Bouro, Xula, Bachian, Celebes, Silolo, the Moluccos, and others, came to an anchor on the eleventh of June 1613, at the small island and port of Firando, lying southwest of the southwest point of the great island of Japan. This and several other small islands about it are subject to petty kings, who all acknowledge the emperor of Japan for their sovereign. These little princes showed all imaginable kindness to the English, being the first that ever appeared in those parts. Captain Saris, with the assistance of the king of Firando, was conducted to the emperor’s court at Meaco, where he had audience of him, and settled peace and commerce in as authentic manner as if he had been sent from England only upon that errand; the emperor granting to the English free liberty of trade, and several privileges and immunities for their encouragement. All things being settled there, captain Saris returned to Firando well pleased with his success: and there the goods he brought being not yet all disposed of, he erected a factory, leaving in it eight English, three Japaneses for interpreters, and two servants. These were to dispose of the goods left behind, and provide loading for such ships as were to continue the trade now began. This done, he left Firando on the fifth of December, and stood for the coast of China, along which he kept to that of Cochinchina and Camboya, whence he struck over to the southward, and came into Bantam road, where he continued some time, and lastly put into Plymouth in September 1614. Purchas, vol. I. . Thus have we brought the English to Japan, the furthest extent of what vulgarly is comprehended under the name of the East-Indies, and therefore think it needless to prosecute their voyages this way any longer, since they can afford nothing new; nor indeed have these hitherto added any thing to what was discovered by the Portugueses, to whom all these countries were well known long before, as has been made appear. Of the Dutch navigations this way somewhat has been said, and it seems needless to add any thing concerning the French, who are not so considerable there as any of those nations already mentioned, besides that they came thither the latest, and therefore not as discoverers, but tracing the beaten road; so that all that can be said of them will be only a repetition of things already spoken of. Having thus given an account of the first discoverers, and the success of all the first voyages to Afric and Asia, it now remains to show what a vast extent of land is by these means made known, which before Europe was wholly a stranger to, and the commodities it supplies us with; which is one great point of this discourse, viz. to show what benefit is reaped by navigation, and the vast improvement it has received since the discovery of the magnetical needle, or sea-compass. Then having performed this with all possible brevity, it will be fit to proceed to give the like relation of the discovery and other affairs of America, or the new world, which will lead us to the voyages round the globe, where this discourse will end.

To begin then where the discoveries commenced, that is, at cape Nam, or Nao, which is on the coast of the kingdom of Morocco, and in the twenty-eighth degree of latitude; we find the extent made known from thence, taking it only from north to south from 18 degrees of north latitude to 35 degrees of south latitude, in all 53 degrees in length, at twenty leagues to a degree, to be one thousand sixty leagues, but very much more if we run along the coast, especially upon that of Guinea, which lies east and west for above 25 degrees, which at the same rate as before amounts to five hundred leagues. So that we have here a coast, only reckoning to the cape of Good Hope, of above fifteen hundred leagues in length made known to us, and in it the further Lybia, the country of the Blacks, Guinea, the kingdoms of Benin, Conga, Angola, and the western coast of the Cafres. These are the general names by which these vast regions are known. The natives are for the most part black, or else inclining to it. All the commodities brought from thence, are gold-dust, ivory, and slaves; those black people selling one another, which is a very considerable trade, and has been a great support to all the American plantations. This is all that mighty continent affords for exportation, the greatest part of it being scorched under the torrid zone, and the natives almost naked, no-where industrious, and for the most part scarce civilized. In the southermost parts among the wild Cafres, there is plenty of good cattle, which the first traders to India used to buy for knives and other toys at the bay of Saldanha, and other places thereabouts. The Portugueses here have the largest dominions on this coast of any nation, which are in the kingdoms of Congo and Angola. The English and Dutch have some small forts on the coast of Guinea, and the Dutch, a large strong town, with all manner of improvements about it, at the cape of Good Hope. From this cape of Good Hope to cape Guardafu at the entrance into the Red-sea, the coast running north-east and south-west, extends above twelve hundred leagues in a straight line, containing the eastern Cafres and Zanguebar, which are the two great divisions of this side; the latter of these subdivided into the kingdoms of Mozambique, Pemba, Quiloa, Monbaca, Melinde, Magadoxa and Adel. Of these the Portugueses possess the town and fort of Mozambique, having lost Monbaca within these few years, taken from them by the moors. No other European nation has any dominions on this coast, which is all in the possession of the natives or moors. The commodities here are the same as on the west side of Afric, gold, ivory, and slaves. All this vast continent produces many sorts of fruit and grain unknown to us, as also beasts and fowl, which being no part of trade, are not mentioned here. Yet before we leave this coast we must not omit to mention the island Zocotora, famous for producing the best aloes, and situate not far distant from cape Guardafu. Next in course follows the Red-sea, the mouth whereof is about a hundred and twenty leagues from cape Guardafu, and its length from the mouth to Suez at the bottom of it above four hundred leagues, lying north-west and south-west: on one side of it is the coast of Aben and Egypt, on the other that of Arabia Petrea, and Arabia Felix, all in the possession of the Turks, and not at all resorted to by any European nation, but somewhat known to them by the way of Egypt, before the discovery of India. From the mouth of the Red-sea to the gulph of Persia lies the coast of Arabia, extending about four hundred leagues north-east and south-west to cape Rosalgate at the entrance into the bay of Ormuz. This coast is partly subject to the Turk, and partly to Arabian princes; and its principal commodities are rich gums, and coffee. Turning cape Rosalgate to the north-west is the great bay of Ormuz, along which runs still the coast of Arabia, where stands Mascate, once possessed by the Portugueses, now by the Arabs. Next we come into the gulph of Bazora, or of Persia, almost two hundred leagues in length, and enclosed by Arabia on the one side, and Persia on the other. At the mouth of this bay in a small island is the famous city Ormuz, conquered and kept many years by the Portugueses, but at last taken from them by the Persians, with the assistance of the English. Within the bay on the Arabian side is the island Baharem, famous for a great fishery of pearls. From the mouth of the Persian gulph to that of Indus are about three hundred and forty leagues, being the coast of Persia, where no prince possesses any thing but that great monarch. The chiefest commodities here are raw silk, rhubarb, worm-seed, carpets of all sorts, wrought and plain silks, silks wrought with gold or silver, half silks and half cottons. From the mouth of Indus to cape Comori, taking in the bend of the coast from Indus to Cambaya, lying north-west and south-east, and from that bay to the cape almost north and south, are near four hundred leagues, including the shores of Guzarat, Cambaya, Decan, Canara and Malabar: of these Guzarat and Cambaya, with part of Decan, are subject to the great mogul, the other parts to several Indian princes. Yet the Portugueses have the fort of Diu in Guzarat, Damam in Cambaya, and the great city of Goa in Decan, besides other forts of lesser consequence: the English the island of Bombaim, and the Dutch some forts. Doubling cape Comori, and running in a straight line north-east, there are about four hundred and forty leagues to the bottom of the bay of Bengala; and turning thence south-east, somewhat more than the same number of leagues to the southermost point of the Aurea Chersonesus, or the coast of Malaca; and in this space the shores of Coromandel, Bisnagar, Golconda, Orixa, Bengala, Arracan, Pegu, Martaban, and the Aurea Chersonesus, or Peninsula, of Malaca. Hence we will make but one line more for brevity sake up to Japan on the northern coast of China, which in a straight line, without allowing any thing for the bays of Siam and Cochinchina, is at least eight hundred leagues, and in it the east-side of the Peninsula of Malaca, the kingdoms of Siam, Camboia, Chiampa, and Cochinchina, and the vast empire of China. All these immense regions from Persia eastward are vulgarly, though improperly, comprehended under the name of the East-Indies. The product of these countries is no less to be admired, being all sorts of metals, all beasts and birds, and the most delicious of fruits. But to speak by way of trade, the commodities here are diamonds, silk raw and wrought in prodigious quantities, cotton unwrought, and infinite plenty of it in callicoes and muslins, all sorts of sweet and rich woods, all the gums, drugs, and dyes, all the precious plants, and rich perfumes, not to mention the spices, which I leave to the islands; in fine, all that is precious, delightful, or useful: insomuch, that though here be mines of silver and gold, yet none is sent abroad, but hither it flows from all other parts and is here swallowed up. But something must be said of the islands belonging to this great continent, for the value of them is immense, as well as their number, and the extent of some of them. The first in order that are any thing considerable, are the Maldivy islands, rather remarkable for their multitude than any other thing, being so many that the number is not known, yet so small, that no great account is made of them: they lie south-east of cape Comori, betwixt 3 and 8 degrees of north latitude; for so far they run, being disposed in twelve several clusters or parcels that lie north-west and south-east, at the south end whereof lie two other less clusters or parcels east and west from one another. As for trade, or commerce, though these islands are very fruitful, they have not any thing considerable to promote it, especially to supply Europe, which is the thing here to be considered. Next to these is the great and rich island of Ceylon beyond cape Comori, formerly divided into several petty kingdoms, till the Portugueses first reduced all the sea-coasts under their dominion, and were afterwards dispossessed by the Dutch, who still remain masters of them, but could never yet conquer the inland. This is a place of mighty traffick, for it produces the best cinnamon in the world, and supplies all Europe: here are also found the finest rubies, and several other sorts of precious stones. The elephants of this island are counted the best in all India, and as such coveted by all the eastern princes, who, though they have herds of them in their own dominions, do not spare to give considerable prices for these, which is a great enriching of the country. The islands of Sunda, or the Sound, are that great parcel lying south and south-east of Malaca, the principal whereof are Sumatra, Borneo, and Java; the two first directly under the line, Sumatra above three hundred leagues in length, lying north-west and south-east, and about sixty in breadth in the widest place; Borneo is almost round, and about six hundred in circumference; Java the last of them lies betwixt 7 and 10 degrees of south latitude, is about two hundred leagues in length from east to west, and not above forty in breadth in the widest place from north to south. There are many more, but all small in comparison of these, unless we reckon Celebes, lying under the line, near an hundred and eighty leagues in length, the longest way north-east and south-west, and about eighty in breadth in the broadest place from east to west: as also Gilolo, under the equator as well as the last, of an irregular shape, and not above one-fourth part of the bigness of Celebes. All these islands have a prodigious trade, being resorted to from all parts, not only of India, but even from Europe. Their wealth is incredible, for they produce whatsoever man can wish; but the principal commodities exported are ginger, pepper, camphor, agaric, cassia, wax, honey, silk, cotton; they have also mines of gold, tin, iron, and sulphur, all sorts of cattle and fowl, but no vines nor olive-trees. In Sumatra the Dutch have some forts, and are very powerful, but much more in Java, where Batavia, a populous city, is the metropolis of their eastern dominions. The English had a great trade and factory at Bantam in the same island, but were expelled by the Dutch in the year 1682. After these follow the Molucco islands, which are five in number properly so called, viz. Ternate, Tidore, Machian, Moutil or Mousil, and Bachian: they lie along the west side of Gilolo, so near the equinoctial, that the last of them lies 24 or 25 minutes south, and the first of them about fifty minutes north of it. They are so small, that all of them do not take up above 1 degree, and 10 or 15 minutes of latitude. Ternate is the northermost, and in order from it lie to the south Tidore, Moutil, Machian and Bachian. The whole product of these islands is cloves, which are scarce found elsewhere, and here little besides them; which is the reason why the Dutch have possessed themselves of them, expelling the Portugueses, who after long contests had bought out the Spaniards claim to them. With the Moluccos may be reckoned the islands of Amboina and Banda: the first of these produces cloves like the other, and was once much resorted to by the English, till the Dutch destroyed their factory, of which action there are particular printed accounts. Banda is a larger island than any of the others, and in five degrees of south latitude, possessed also by the Dutch, who have here all the trade of nutmegs and mace, which scarce grow any-where but in this and two or three neighbouring islands. A vast multitude of other little islands are scattered about this sea, but those already mentioned are the most considerable; for though those of Chiram and Papous be large, there is very little of them known, by which it is natural to guess they are not of much value; for if they were, the same avarice that has carried so many European nations into their neighbourhood to destroy not only the natives, but one another, would have made them long since as familiar to us as the rest. Of Japan enough was said when first discovered by the Portugueses, and in captain Saris’s voyage thither, where the reader may satisfy his curiosity. All that needs be added is, that it produces some gold, and great plenty of silver. For other commodities, here is abundance of hemp, excellent dyes, red, blue, and green, rice, brimstone, saltpetre, cotton, and the most excellent varnish in the world, commonly called japan, whereof abundance of cabinets, tables, and many other things, are brought into Europe. Thus are we come to Japan the utmost of these eastern discoveries, omitting to say any thing of the Philippine islands, and those called De las Ladrones, though within this compass, because they were discovered from the West-Indies; and therefore they are left to be treated of among the American affairs, as are the isles of Solomon, whereof hitherto the world has had but a very imperfect account. This summary shows the improvement of navigation on this side the world since the discovery of the magnetical needle, or sea-compass, it having made known to us as much of the coast of Afric and Asia, as running along only the greatest turnings and windings, amounts to about five thousand leagues; an incredible extent of land, were it not so universally known to be true, and so very demonstrable. The benefit we reap is so visible, it seems not to require any thing should be said of it. For now all Europe abounds in all such things as those vast, wealthy, exuberant eastern regions can afford; whereas before these discoveries it had nothing but what it received by retail, and at excessive rates from the Venetians, who took in the precious drugs, rich spices, and other valuable commodities of the east in Egypt, or the coast of Turky, whither it was brought from India, either by caravans or up the Red-sea; and they supplied all other countries with them at their own prices. But now the sea is open, every nation has the liberty of supplying itself from the fountain-head; and if some have encroached upon others, and confined them to a narrower trade in those parts, yet the returns from thence are yearly so great, that all those goods may be purchased here at the second-hand infinitely cheaper than they could when one nation had the supplying of all the rest, and that by so expensive a way, as being themselves served by caravans, and a few small ships on the Red-sea. To conclude; these parts, the discovery whereof has been the subject of this discourse, supply the christian world with all gums, drugs, spices, silks, and cottons, precious stones, sulphur, gold, salt-petre, rice, tea, china-ware, coffee, japan varnished works, all sorts of dyes, of cordials, and perfumes, pearls, ivory, ostrich feathers, parrots, monkeys, and an endless number of necessaries, conveniencies, curiosities, and other comforts and supports of human life, whereof enough has been said for the intended brevity of this discourse. It is now time to proceed to a still greater part, greater in extent of land as reaching from north to south, and its bounds not yet known, and greater in wealth, as containing the inexhaustible treasures of the silver mines of Peru and Mexico, and of the gold mines of Chile, and very many other parts. A fourth part of the world, not much inferiour to the other three in extent, and no way yielding to them for all the blessings nature could bestow upon the earth. A world concealed from the rest for above five thousand years, and reserved by providence to be made known three hundred years ago. A region yet not wholly known, the extent being so immense, that three hundred years have not been a sufficient time to lay it all open. A portion of the universe wonderful in all respects: 1. For that being so large it could lie so long hid. 2. For that being well inhabited, the wit of man cannot conclude which way those people could come thither, and that none others could find the way since. 3. For its endless sources of gold and silver, which supplying all parts, since their first discovery, are so far from being impoverished, that they only want more hands to draw out more. 4. For its mighty rivers, so far exceeding all others, that they look like little seas, compared with the greatest in other parts. 5. For its prodigious mountains, running many hundred leagues, and whose tops are almost inaccessible. 6. For the strange variety of seasons, and temperature of air to be found at very few leagues distance. And lastly, For its stupendous fertility of soil, producing all sorts of fruits and plants which the other parts of the world afford, in greater perfection than in their native land, besides an infinity of others which will not come to perfection elsewhere.

To come to the discovery of this fourth and greatest part of the earth, it was undertaken and performed by Christopher Columbus, a Genoese, excellently skilled in sea-affairs, an able cosmographer, and well versed in all those parts of the mathematics, which might capacitate him for such an enterprise. This person being convinced by natural reason, that so great a part of the world as till then was unknown could not be all sea, or created to no purpose; and believing that the earth being round, a shorter way might be found to India by the west, than by compassing all Afric to the southward, as the Portugueses were then attempting to do; he resolved to apply himself wholly to the discovery of those rich countries, which he positively concluded must extend, from what was known of the East-Indies, still to the eastward one way, and to be the easier met with by sailing round to the westward. Having been long fully possessed with this notion, and provided to answer all objections that might be started against it, he thought the undertaking too great for any less than a sovereign prince, or state; and therefore, not to be unjust to his country, he first proposed it to the state of Genoa, where it was rather ridiculed than any way encouraged. This repulse made him have recourse to king John the second of Portugal, who having caused the matter to be examined by those that had the direction of the discoveries along the coast of Afric, by their advice he held him in hand till he had sent out a caravel with private orders to attempt this discovery. This caravel having wandered long in the wide ocean, and suffered much by storms, returned without finding any thing. Columbus understanding what had been done, resented it so highly, that in hatred to Portugal he resolved to go over to Castile and offer his service there; but for fear of any disappointment, at the same time he sent his brother Batholomew Columbus into England, to make the same overture to king Henry the seventh. His brother had the ill fortune to be taken at sea by pirates, which much retarded his coming to the court of England; where when at last he came, being poor and destitute of friends, it was long before he could be heard, or at least be looked upon; so that in fine, Columbus was gone before he returned to Spain with his answer. Columbus in the mean while stole away out of Portugal, and coming to the court of Ferdinand and Isabel, king and queen of Castile and Aragon, he there spent eight years soliciting with little hopes, and many difficulties; till at last, when he had utterly despaired of success, he met with it, through the assistance of some few friends he had gained at court. At his earnest suit he had all the conditions he required granted, which were, that he should be admiral of all those seas he discovered, and viceroy and governor general of all the lands; that he should have the tenth of all things whatsoever brought from those parts, and that he might at all times be an eighth part in all fleets sent thither, and to receive the eighth of all the returns. This to him and his heirs for ever. With these titles and sufficient power from the queen, who espoused the undertaking, he repaired to the port of Palos de Moguer, on the coast of Andaluzia, where there was furnished for him a ship called the S. Mary, and two caravels, the one called la Pinta, commanded by Martin Alonzo Pinzon, and the other la Nina, by Vincent Yanez Pinzon. In these vessels he had ninety men, and provisions for a year; and thus equipped he sailed from Palos de Moguer.

An. 1492. On the twenty-third of August, directing his course to the Canary islands, where he made a new rudder to the caravel Pinta, which had hers broke off at sea, he took in fresh provisions, wood, and water, with all possible expedition; and on the sixth of September put to sea again, steering due west, and on the seventh lost sight of land. The eleventh at a hundred and fifty leagues distance from the island of Ferro, they saw a great piece of a mast drove by the current, which set strong towards the north; and the fourteenth the admiral observed the variation of the needle to the westward about two points. On Sunday the sixteenth the men were surprised to see green and yellow weeds scattered about in small parcels on the superfices of the water, as if it had been newly torn off from some island or rock; and the next day they saw much more, which made some conclude they were near land, and others supposing it only to be rocks or shoals began to mutter. Every day they saw some birds flying to the ships, and abundance of weeds in the water, which still made them conceive hopes of land; but when these failed, then they began again to murmur, so that the admiral was forced to use all his art to keep them quiet, sometimes with fair words, and sometimes with threats and severity, they imagining, that since for the most part they sailed before the wind, it would be impossible for them ever to return. Thus their mutinous temper daily increased, and began to appear more open, some being so bold as to advise throwing the admiral overboard. The first of October the pilot told the admiral, he found by his account they were five hundred and eighty-eight leagues west of the island of Ferro, which is the westermost of the Canaries; who answered, his reckoning was five hundred and eighty-four, whereas in reality his computation was seven hundred and seven; and on the third the pilot of the caravel Nina reckoned six hundred and fifty, he of the caravel Pinta six hundred and thirty-four: but they were out, and Columbus made it less for fear of discouraging the men, who nevertheless continued very mutinous, but were somewhat appeased on the fourth, seeing above forty sparrows fly about the ships, besides other birds. The eleventh of October there appeared manifest tokens of their being near land; for from the admiral’s ship they saw a green rush in the water, from the Nina they saw a cane and a stick, and took up another that was artificially wrought, and a little board, besides abundance of weeds fresh pulled up; from the Pinta they beheld such-like tokens, and a branch of a thorn-tree with the berries on it: besides that, sounding they found bottom, and the wind grew variable. For these reasons the admiral ordered, they should make but little sail at night, for fear of being aground in the dark, and about ten of the clock that night the admiral himself saw a light, and showed it to others. About two in the morning the caravel Pinta, which was furthest a-head, gave the signal of land; and when day appeared, they perceived it was an island about fifteen leagues in length, plain, well wooded and watered, and very populous; the natives standing on the shore, admiring what the ships were. The admiral and captains went ashore in their boats, and called that island S. Salvador, the natives calling it Guanahani, and is one of the Lucayos in about 26 degrees of north latitude, nine hundred and fifty leagues west of the Canaries, and discovered the thirty-third day after they sailed from them. Columbus took possession for the king and queen of Spain, and all the Spaniards joyfully took an oath to him as their admiral and viceroy. He gave the Indians, who stood in admiration to see him and his men, some red caps, glass-beads, and other trifles, which they valued at a high rate. The admiral returning aboard, the natives followed, some swimming, others in their canoes, carrying with them bottoms of spun cotton, parrots, and javelins pointed with fish-bones, to exchange for glass baubles and horse-bells. Both men and women were all naked, their hair short and tied with a cotton string, and well enough featured, of a middle stature, well shaped, and of an olive colour, some painted white, some black, and some red. They knew nothing of iron, and did all their work with sharp stones. No beasts or fowl were seen here but only parrots. Being asked by signs, whence they had the gold, whereof they wore little plates hanging at their noses, they pointed to the south. The admiral understanding there were other countries not far off, resolved to seek them out; and taking seven Indians that they might learn Spanish, sailed on the fifteenth to another island which he called the Conception, seven leagues from the other. The sixteenth he proceeded to another island and called it Ferdinanda, and so to a fourth, to which he gave the name of Isabella; but finding nothing more in these than in the first, he proceeded on to the island of Cuba, which he called Juana, and entered the port on the east end called Baracoa, whence after sending two men to discover without finding what he sought for, he went on to Hispaniola, and anchored on the north side of it. Here the admiral finding there were gold mines, and plenty of cotton, the people simple, and one of the caciques, or princes, showing all tokens of love and affection; and having lost his own ship, which through the carelessness of the sailors in the night run upon a sand, he resolved to build a fort, which with the assistance of the Indians was performed in ten days, and called the Nativity: here he left thirty-nine men, with provisions for a year, seeds to sow, baubles to trade with the natives, all the cannon and arms belonging to his own ship, and the boat. This done, he departed the port of the Nativity on the fourth of January 1493, steering eastward, and the sixth discovered the caravel Pinta, which had left him some days before, the captain hoping to get much gold to himself. Columbus having sailed some days along the coast of the island, discovered more of it, and trafficking with the natives, and seeing some other islands at a distance, at length launched out to sea to return for Spain. In the way they struggled with the dreadfullest storms any of them had ever seen, which separated the admiral from the caravel Pinta, so that he saw her no more; but at last it pleased God to bring his shattered caravel into the river of Lisbon, where the people flocked with admiration to see him, and some advised the king of Portugal to murder him, but he having entertained him generously dismissed him; and he putting to sea again, arrived safe at Palos de Moguer, from whence he set out on the fifteenth of March, having been out six months and a half upon his discovery. The court was then at Barcelona, whither the admiral repaired, carrying with him the Indians he brought, some gold, and other samples of what the discovery afforded. The king and queen received him with all possible demonstrations of honour, making him sit down in their presence, and ordering all the privileges and titles before granted him to be confirmed. After some time spent in these entertainments, the admiral desired to be fitted out as became his dignity, to conquer and plant those new countries; which was granted, and he departed for Seville to set out on his second voyage, which we are to speak of next; we have been very particular in this, because being the first, it required a more exact account to be given of it, and shall therefore be more succinct in those that follow.

An. 1493. A fleet of seventeen sail of all sorts was fitted out at Seville, well furnished with provisions, ammunition, cannon, corn, seeds, mares and horses, tools to work in the gold mines, and abundance of commodities to barter with the natives. There were aboard fifteen hundred men, many of them labouring people, and artificers, several gentlemen, and twenty horse. With this fleet Columbus set sail from Seville on the fifteenth of September the aforesaid year, and on the fifth of October came to the Gomeru, one of the Canary islands, where he took in wood and water, as also cattle, calves, sheep, goats, and swine, to stock the Indies, besides hens and garden-seeds. Sailing hence more to the southward than the first voyage, on the third of November in the morning, all the fleet spied an island, which Columbus called Dominica, because discovered on a Sunday, and soon after many others, the first of which he called Marigalanti, the name of the ship he was in, the next Guadalupe, then Montserrate, Santa Maria Redonda, Santa Maria el Antigua, S. Martin, Santa Cruz; these are the Caribbe islands. Next he came to the large island, which he called S. John Baptist, but the Indians Borriquen, and it is now known by the name of Puerto Rico. November the twenty-second the fleet arrived on the coast of Hispaniola, where they found the fort burnt down, and none of the Spaniards, they being all destroyed either by discord among themselves, or by the Indians. Not liking the place he had chosen the first voyage to plant his colony, he turned back to the eastward, and finding a seat to his mind, landed and built a little town which he called Isabella, in honour of Isabel then queen of Castile. Then keeping five ships of the fleet with him for his use there, he sent back twelve to Spain, under the command of Antony de Torres, with some quantity of gold, and a full account of what had been done. Thus ended this year 1493, and here it must be observed, that all the actions done ashore must be omitted, as too great for this discourse, and in reality no way belonging to it, the design of it being only to show what advantages have been made by sea since the discovery of the magnetical needle, as has been declared before.

An. 1494. Columbus sailed from his new colony of Isabella with one great ship and two caravels on the twenty-fourth of April, directing his course westward, and came upon the point of Cuba on the eighteenth of May, where sailing along the coast he saw an infinite number of small islands; so that it being impossible to give them all names, he in general called them the Queen’s Garden. Thus he proceeded as far as the island de Pinos, near the westermost end of Cuba, having discovered 330 leagues to the westward from his colony of Isabella. He suffered very much in this voyage by the continual storms of rain, wind, thunder and lightning; and therefore resolved to return, taking his way more to the southward, and on the twenty-second of July found the island of Jamaica; whence he directed his course to Hispaniola, and coasting about it, arrived at the town of Isabella on the twenty-ninth of September, where he found his brother Bartholomew Columbus, who was come with four ships from Spain. The admiral built many forts in the island, and being much offended at the ill behaviour of many of the Spaniards, who began to use him disrespectfully, and sent complaints against him to court, returned into Spain to justify his proceedings, and secure his authority. Thus far out of Herrera’s first decade, lib. I, II, and III.

The fame of these mighty discoveries being spread abroad throughout Europe, Sebastian Cabot, a Venetian, but residing in England, made application to king Henry the seventh, to be employed in finding out a passage to the East-Indies through the north-west. The king admitted of his proposal, and

An. 1497, ordered him two ships provided with all necessaries for such an undertaking, with which he sailed from Bristol in the beginning of summer, (for here does not appear a particular journal,) and directing his course north-west came into 56, Herara says 68, degrees of north latitude, where he discovered land running still to the northward, which made him despair of finding a passage that way, as he had projected, and therefore came about to the southward, hoping to meet it in less latitude. Thus he soon fell in upon the now much frequented island of Newfoundland, reaching from 54 to 48 degrees, where he found a wild people clad in skins of beasts, and armed with bows and arrows, as also bears and stags, and great plenty of fish, but the earth yielding little fruit. Here he took three of the savages, whom at his return he carried into England, where they lived long after. Hence he continued his course along the American coast as far as 38 degrees of latitude, where his provisions beginning to fall short he returned to England. Hackluyt, vol. III. , et seq. This imperfect account is all we have of this voyage, which was not prosecuted by the English in many years after; and Cabot finding little encouragement went away into Spain, where he was entertained.

An. 1498. On the thirtieth of May admiral Columbus having been again well received and honoured by the king and queen of Castile and Aragon, and provided as he desired, sailed from S. Lucar with six ships upon new discoveries, and coming to the island Gomeru, one of the Canaries, on the nineteenth, sent thence three of his ships with provisions to sail directly for Hispaniola. He with the other three made the islands of Cabo Verde, resolving to sail southward as far as the equinoctial; and therefore steering south-west on the thirteenth of July he felt such violent heat, that they all thought they should there have ended their days: and this continued till the nineteenth, when the wind freshening they stood away to the westward, and the first of August came to an anchor in the island which he called La Trinidad, near the continent of South America, in about 11 degrees of north latitude. Discovering land from this place, which he supposed to be another island, but it was the continent, he sailed over and came upon the point of Paria, and run many leagues along the coast of the continent, without knowing it was so, trading with the Indians for gold and abundance of pearls. However, thinking his presence necessary at Hispaniola, he could not continue his discovery, but returned the same way he came to the island Trinidad, and found that he called Margarita, where was afterwards the great pearl-fishery, and that of Cubagua, besides many others of less note, and arrived at Santo Domingo, a town newly built on the south coast of the island Hispaniola on the twenty-second of August. Herrera, dec. 1. lib. IV.

An. 1499. The news having been brought to Spain of the discovery Columbus had made on the continent, though it was not yet certainly known whether it was a continent or an island; Alonso de Ojeda and some other private men fitted out four ships to make discoveries, and sailed from port S. Mary on the twentieth of May. John de la Cosa, a Biscainer, went with him as pilot, and Americus Vespucius as merchant. They took their course to the south-west, and in twenty-seven days had sight of land, which they supposed to be the continent. Being within a league of the shore, they sent some men in the boat, who saw abundance of naked people, who presently fled to the mountains; and therefore they followed the coast to find some harbour, which they found two days after, with multitudes of natives, thronging to see the ships. They were of a middle stature, well shaped, broad faced, and of a ruddy complexion; they covered their nakedness with leaves or cotton clouts. Their wealth consisted in fine feathers, fish-bones, and green and white stones, but they had neither gold nor pearls. Ojeda ran along this coast till he came to a town seated like Venice in the water, but containing only twenty-six great houses; for which reason he called it Venezuela, or little Venice, in about 11 degrees of north latitude. Still he kept along the coast of Paria, before discovered by Columbus, for the space of two hundred leagues, and then proceeded two hundred further to the point called Cabo de la Vela. Then turning back he came to the island Margarita, where he careened, and on the fifth of November arrived at the island of Hispaniola, where we may put an end to this discovery.

This same year Peter Alonso Nino and Christopher Guevara sailed from Sevil with one ship to discover, but did nothing more than had been done before, trading along the coast where Columbus and Ojeda had been. Herrera, dec. 1. lib. IV.

An. 1500, Vincent Yanez Pinzon, who was with Columbus the first voyage, set out four ships at his own charge, and sailing to the southward was the first Spaniard that ever cut the equinoctial line. Then sailing to the westward, on the twenty-sixth of January he discovered land at a distance, which was the point of land now called cape S. Augustin, on the coast of Brasil, where he took possession for the king of Spain: but not being able to bring the natives to trade with him, he passed on to a river, where landing, eight of his men were killed by the Indians; which made him remove again down to the mouth of the river Maranon, which is thirty leagues over, and runs with such force, that the water is fresh forty leagues out at sea. Finding no benefit could be made along this coast, he held on his course to Paria, whence he sailed over to the islands in the way to Hispaniola; and being at an anchor among them, a furious storm sunk two of their ships downright, the other two escaping repaired to Hispaniola, and having refitted returned to Spain. In this voyage they discovered six hundred leagues along the coast lying south-east from Paria.

In December this same year James de Lepe sailed from Palos de Moguer to discover, and went some way to the southward of cape S. Augustin, but did little considerable. Herrera, dec. 1. lib. IV.

This year also Emanuel king of Portugal fitted out a fleet of thirteen sail for the East-Indies, commanded by Peter Alvarez Cabral, who sailing from Lisbon in March, to avoid the calms on the coast of Guinea, stood out far to sea; and being carried away further to the westward than he intended by a storm, on the twenty-fourth of April fell in upon the coast of Brasil in America, in 10 degrees of south latitude. He sailed along it one day, and going ashore found a tawny people; but the weather still forced him to the southward, to a harbour he called Porto Seguro, in 17 degrees of south latitude, where he landed, and found the country abounding in cotton and Indian wheat. Here he erected a cross in token of possession, and therefore called the country Santa Cruz, but the name of Brazil prevailed, because of that sort of wood brought from thence. Peter Alvarez sent a ship to Portugal to give advice of this discovery, and he with the rest prosecuted his voyage to the East-Indies, as may be seen in the account of them, Herrera ubi sup. and Faria in Asia, part I, .

Again this year, 1500, Gasper de Cortereal a Portuguese sailed to the north parts of America with two caravels, where he run along a great part of what was said before to have been discovered by Cabot, and gave his name to some small islands about the north of Newfoundland, bringing away sixty of the natives. He made a second voyage into those parts, but was cast away. Herrera, dec. 1. lib. VI.

An. 1501, Roderick de Bastidas fitted out two ships at Cadiz, and taking John de la Cosa, who was best acquainted with the western seas, for his pilot, put to sea in the beginning of February, following the same course Columbus had taken when he discovered the continent; and coasting all along where he and the others had been, he traded with the Indians. Not so satisfied, he run to the westward, and discovered Santa Marta Carthagena, and as far as Nombre de Dios, being above an hundred leagues more than was known before. His ships being now leaky and worm-eaten, so that they could not long keep the sea, and having traded for a considerable quantity of gold and pearls, he with difficulty made over to Xaragua in Hispaniola, where his ships sunk after saving the treasure; and he after being imprisoned in this island got over into Spain with his wealth. He carried some Indians from the continent to Hispaniola, who went stark naked, only carrying their privities in a gold case made like a funnel. Herrera ubi sup.

An. 1502. Admiral Columbus, being through the malicious insinuations of his enemies removed from the government of Hispaniola, but still fed by the king with fair words, obtained of him four ships to go upon some new discovery, and sailed with them from Cadiz on the ninth of May. On the twenty-ninth of June he came before Santo Domingo in the island Hispaniola, where the governor refused to admit him into the port. On the fourteenth of July he sailed away to the westward, and after driving some days with the currents in calms, struggled for sixty days with violent storms; after which he discovered the little island Guanaja, northward of cape Honduras, in 19 degrees of latitude. He sent his brother ashore, who met with a canoe as long as a spanish galley, and eight foot wide, covered with mats, and in it many men, women and children, with abundance of commodities to barter, which were large cotton cloths of several colours, short cotton shirts without sleeves curiously wrought, clouts of the same to cover their privities, wooden swords edged with flint, copper, hatchets to cut wood, horse-bells of the same metal, and broad flat plates of it, crucibles to melt the copper, cocoa-nuts, bread made of Indian wheat, and drink of the same. Being carried aboard the admiral, he exchanged some commodities with them, and then dismissed them, only keeping an old man, of whom when he inquired for gold, he pointed eastward, which made Columbus alter his design of sailing westward. Therefore taking the way he was directed, the first land he came to was cape Casinas on the continent of the province of Honduras, where his brother landed and took possession, the natives coming down in peaceable manner, wearing short jackets of cotton, and clouts of the same before their privy-parts, and bringing him plenty of provisions. Sailing hence many days to the eastward against the wind, he came to a great point of land, from which perceiving the shore run to the southward, he called it Cabo de Gracios a Dios, or cape Thanks be to God, because then the easterly winds would carry him down the coast. He run along trading with the natives, and touched at Porto Bello, Nombre de Dios, Belen, and Veragua, where he heard there were gold mines, and sent his brother up the country, who returned to him with a considerable quantity of that metal, exchanged for inconsiderable trifles. Upon this encouragement Columbus resolved to leave his brother there with eighty men, and accordingly built houses for them; yet after all, the Indians becoming their enemies, and the Spaniards mutinous, he was forced to take them aboard again, and then sailed away for Hispaniola. The ships being quite shaken with the many storms, and eaten through with the worms, could not reach that island, and therefore he was forced to run them a-ground on the coast of Jamaica, close board and board by one another, shoring them up with piles drove in the sand, and making huts on the decks for the men to live in, because they were full of water up to the deck. Hence with incredible difficulty and danger he sent messengers in a canoe over to Hispaniola for some vessels to carry him and his men away, and after suffering much was at last transported to that island, and thence into Spain, where he died. Herrera, dec. 1. lib. V, VI. So that we have here an end of his discoveries, and all the continent of America made known from cape Honduras in 18 degrees of north latitude, to Porto Seguro on the coast of Brasil in 17 degrees of south latitude, being above fifteen hundred leagues, taking only the greater windings of the coast.

An. 1506. The news of Columbus’s new discovery being spread abroad in Castile, John Diaz de Solis and Vincent Yanez Pinzon resolved to prosecute what he had begun; and coming to the island Guanaja, whence Columbus had turned back to the eastward, they held on their course still westward, running along the coast of Honduras till they came to the bottom of that deep bay, which they called Baia de Navidad, now called the Gulph of Honduras. Then turning to the north-east, they discovered a great part of the province of Yucatan, whereof little was afterwards known till the discovery of New-Spain.

An. 1507. It being still unknown whether Cuba was an island or part of the continent, Nicholas de Obando governor of Hispaniola sent Sebastian de Ocampo to discover it: he sailed along the north side of it, touching at several places, and careened his ships at the port now well known by the name of the Havana, which then he called de Coranas. Then continuing his voyage to the westermost end of the island now called Cabo de S. Anton, he turned to the eastward along the south coast of the island, and put into the port of Xagua, which is one of the best in the world, and capable of containing a thousand ships. Here he was most courteously entertained and supplied with abundance of partridges and good fish. Having rested here a few days, he held on his way along the coast, and returned to Hispaniola, with the certain news of Cuba’s being an island. Herrera, dec. 1. lib. VII.

An. 1508. John Ponce de Leon sailed over from Hispaniola to the island called by the Indians Borriquen, by the Spaniards S. Juan de Puerto Rico, and by the English Porto Rico: it is but fifteen leagues distant from Hispaniola, has a good harbour, which with the plenty of gold found in it gave it the name of Puerto Rico, or the Rich Harbour. Herrera, dec. 1. lib. VII.

The same year, 1508, John Diaz de Solis, and Vincent Yanez Pinzon, who before discovered the gulph of Honduras, sailed with two caravels fitted out at the king’s expence to discover the south coast of America; and coming upon cape S. Augustin in about 11 degrees of south latitude, continued thence their navigation along the coast, often landing and trading with the natives till they came into 40 degrees of the same latitude, whence they returned with an account of what they had found into Spain. Herrera, dec. 1. lib. VII.

An. 1509. John de Esquibel was sent from Hispaniola, by the admiral James Columbus, son to Christopher Columbus, with seventy men to settle a colony in the island of Jamaica.

This same year John de la Cosa sailed from Spain with one ship and two brigantines, to join Alonzo de Ojeda in the island Hispaniola, thence to go and settle on the continent. James de Nicuessa set out soon after him with four ships upon the same design. After some dispute about the limits of their provinces, they agreed that the river of Darien should part them, and then they set out towards their several governments. Herrera, dec. 1. lib. VII.

An. 1510, Ojeda landed at Carthagena, where after endeavouring to gain the Indians by fair means without success he came to a battle with them, in which John de la Cosa was killed, and he escaped by flight, having lost seventy Spaniards. Nicuessa arrived a few days after, and joining the other Spaniards belonging to Ojeda, revenged the death of the former seventy, and took a great booty. However Ojeda removed thence to the gulph of Uraba, where he founded the town of S. Sebastian, being the second built on the continent, if we reckon that before founded by Columbus near the same place, which did not stand, as has been mentioned, nor did this continue long at that time, being removed after most of the Spaniards were consumed to Darien. Hence the Indians carried swine, salt and fish up the country, and in return brought home gold and cotton-cloth. Nicuessa with his ships sailed to Veragua, and after many miseries and calamities, at last founded the town of Nombre de Dios on the small isthmus that joins the two continents of North and South America. Herrera, dec. 1. lib. VII, VIII.

An. 1511. The admiral James Columbus from the island Hispaniola sent James Velasquez with about three hundred men to plant in the island of Cuba, where no settlement had yet been made.

An. 1512. John Ponce de Leon, before mentioned as first planter of the island of Puerto Rico, being grown rich, fitted out three ships in that island, resolving to discover to the northward. He sailed on the third of March, steering north-west and by north and on the eighth anchored at Baxos de Babueca, near the island del Viejo, in 22 degrees and a half of north latitude, and on the fourteenth at the island Guanahani, which was the first discovered by Columbus. Hence he directed his course north-west, and on the twenty-seventh, being Easter-Sunday, discovered an island not known before; whence he proceeded, west-north-west, till the second of April, when they came to an anchor near a part of the continent they had run along in 30 degrees and eight minutes of north latitude, which he believed to be an island, and called Florida, that is, flowry, or flourishing, both because it looked green and pleasant, and because it was Easter time, which the Spaniards call pasqua florida. After landing to take possession, he sailed south and by east till the twenty-first of April, when he met so strong a current, that though they had the wind large, his ships could not stem it, which obliged him to come to an anchor; this being the now well known channel of Bahama, through which most ships return out of those parts into Europe. Here he landed, and had a skirmish with the Indians who were warlike. On the eighth of May he doubled the point of Florida, which he called cape Corrientes, because of the great strength of the current there. Being come about, they spent many days along the coast and neighbouring islands, watering and careening, and dealing with the Indians for hides and guanines, which are plates of a mixture of gold and copper. In June he had two battles with the Indians, who in their canoes came out to draw his ships ashore, or at least to cut his cables. Having beaten them off, he came upon the coast of Cuba, though he knew it not to be that island, and thence returned to Puerto Rico, whence he sailed into Spain to beg of the king the government of what he had discovered. Herrera, dec. 1. lib. IX.

An. 1513. Basco Nunez de Balboa, who had subtilely wound himself into the government of the Spaniards, who were before mentioned to have built the town of Darien, having used all his endeavours as others did to find out more gold, and being told by an Indian, that there was a mighty prince beyond the mountains who had a vast plenty of it, and that there was also an open sea, he resolved to venture over to find these treasures, and gain the honour of being the first that found this so long looked for sea. Accordingly he set out from Darien in September with Indian guides, and others given him by the caciques his friends to carry burdens. Entering upon the mountains, he had a fight with a cassique that would have stopped him, in which he killed the cacique and six hundred of his men. On the twenty-fifth of September he reached the top of the mountains, from whence, to his unspeakable joy, he saw the South-sea; with this satisfaction he went down, and coming to the shore walked into the sea, to take possession of it for the king of Spain. This done, he with eighty of his men, and a cacique his friend, went into nine canoes, and put out to sea, where a storm rising, they had all like to have perished; however, with much difficulty they got into a small island, where some of their canoes were beaten to pieces and all their provisions lost. The next day with what canoes remained they landed on the further side of the bay, where after some opposition from the Indians they made peace, and the cacique brought a good quantity of gold as a present, and two hundred and forty large pearls; and seeing the Spaniards valued them, he sent some Indians to fish, who in four days brought twelve mark-weight of them, each mark being eight ounces. Basco Nunez would have gone over to the island of pearls, five leagues distant, but was advised by the Indians his friends to put it off till summer, because of the danger of the sea at that time. Here he had some information of the wealth of Peru, and was assured that the coast ran along to the southward without end, as the Indians thought. Basco Nunez having made so great a discovery, and gathered much wealth, returned over the mountains to Darien, whence he presently sent advice to the king of what he had found. Herrera, dec. 1. lib. X.

An. 1515, John Diaz de Solis was sent out by the king to discover to the southward: he sailed on the eighth of October, and came to Rio de Janeiro on the coast of Brazil in 22 degrees twenty minutes of south latitude, whence he continued his course down the coast which lies south-west to cape S. Mary in 35 degrees of latitude, where he landed and took possession. Then turning with one of his caravels into the river of Plate, which because it was so large and fresh, they called the fresh sea, and by another name, the river of Solis, he spied along the shore abundance of houses of Indians, and the people coming down to gaze at the ships, and offering what they had. Solis landed with as many men as his boat could carry, who going a little up from the shore, were set upon by the natives, who lay in ambush in the woods, and every man of them killed, notwithstanding the cannon fired from aboard. When they had killed the men they removed them further from the shore, yet not so far but that the Spaniards aboard might see them, where cutting off their heads, arms and legs, they roasted the whole bodies and eat them. Having seen this dismal sight, the caravel returned to the other vessel, and both together repaired to cape S. Augustin, where having loaded with Brazil wood, they sailed back to Spain. Thus ended the famous seaman John Diaz de Solis. Herrera, dec. 2. lib. I.

An. 1516. Padrarias governor of Darien before spoken of, sent the licentiate Espinosa with a good body of men over the mountains to Panama, who had some encounters with the Indians in those parts, and made some considerable discoveries along that coast. But having gathered a great quantity of gold, and abundance of slaves, he returned to Darien, leaving Hernan Ponce de Leon with a small force at Panama. This commander lost no time, though he had no good vessels but some small barks, for in them he ventured to run up to the north-west as far as the port of Nicoya in the province of Nicaragua, a hundred and forty leagues from Nata, which is at the mouth of the bay of Panama; where finding the people in arms, and that they fled to the mountains upon the first firing, he concluded there was not much good to be done there at that time, and returned to Panama. At the same time Basco Nunez de Balboa, who first discovered the Southsea, cut timber at Ada on the north-sea, and having hewed it out fit to put together, had it all carried up twelve leagues to the top of the mountains by Indians, blacks and Spaniards, and thence down to the Southsea, which was an incredible labour, there being all the timber, iron-work and rigging for two brigantines. Herrera, dec. 2, lib. II.

This same year, 1516, Hackluyt mentions a voyage made by sir Thomas Pert and Sebastian Cabot, by order of King Henry the eighth of England to Brazil, but gives no particulars of it. Hackluyt, vol. III. .

An. 1517, James Velasquez, governor of Hispaniola, gave commission to Francis Hernandez de Cordova to make some further discovery on the continent. He bought two ships and a brigantine, furnished them with all necessaries, and a hundred and ten men, and sailed from Havana on the eighth of February to the westward. At the end of twenty-one days they saw land, and drawing near perceived a town. Five canoes came to the ship, and thirty men went aboard, wearing short jackets without sleeves, and clouts about their waists instead of breeches, who being well entertained were dismissed: and the next day twelve canoes came with a cacique, who said conez cotoche, that is, come to my house; and the Spaniards not understanding it, called that point of land cape Cotoche, being the westermost of the province of Yucatan, in 22 degrees of latitude. The Spaniards going ashore with this invitation, were set upon by Indians that lay in ambush, whom they put to flight. Here they found three structures like little temples with idols, built with lime and stone, which were the first that had been seen in America. Returning to their ships, they kept along the coast westward till they came to Campeche, where they took water out of a well, there being no other, and retired to their ships, the Indians pursuing at their heels, yet without engaging. Further on at a place called Potonchan, being ashore again to water, they were beset by the Indians, who killed fifty of them, and the rest, whereof many were wounded, with much difficulty got aboard their ships. Wanting hands for them all, they burnt one, and with the other two vessels in great want of water, stood over for the coast of Florida, where as they were watering the Indians fell on them and killed four or five more, but were put to flight, so that the Spaniards had time to carry off their water, and so returned to Cuba, where James Fernandez the commander died of his wounds. Herrera, dec. 2. lib. II.

An. 1518. The report of the discovery made in Yucatan pleasing the undertaker James Velasquez, governor of Cuba, he provided three ships and a brigantine, with two hundred and fifty men, to prosecute that enterprise, under the command of John de Grijalva, who sailed from Cuba on the eighth of April, and driving to the southward with the currents came upon the island of Cozumel, in the 20th degree of latitude, not known before, and south of the cape of Cotoche; where keeping along its coast, they anchored at a place they called Santa Cruz, because that was the third of May and the feast of the finding of the cross. Landing he could not prevail with any of the natives to come to trade, yet found in the island good honey, swine with their navels on their backs, and several small temples of stone, as also an Indian woman of Jamaica, who went aboard, and was afterwards of great use to them. Grijalva sailed on to Potonchan, where Francis Hernandez, the first discoverer of that country, had been: and after defeating the natives held on to the river of his own name, saying this country was like a new Spain, because of the many structures he saw of lime and stone, whence the name remained to the adjacent kingdom of Mexico. Coming to the river of Tabasco, he treated with the natives, and a cacique there with his own hand put upon Grijalva a suit of complete armour all of beaten gold, besides many other rich presents he gave him. Then coasting along, he saw the great mountains of S. Martin, and the rivers of Alvarado and Banderas on the coast of New-Spain, at which last place he was supplied with provisions, and traded for much gold with the governor, who had received orders so to do from Montezuma the great monarch of Mexico, upon the news brought him of the first ships that appeared on that coast. He spent seven days at S. John de Ulva, trading with the natives, and then went on as far as the province of Panuco, from whence he returned to Cuba, having in this voyage discovered all the coast of New-Spain, almost as far as the province of Florida. Herrera, dec. 2. lib. III.

This same year the licentiate Espinosa, by order of Peter Arias Davila governor of Darien, founded the town of Panama on the South-sea. Ibid.

An. 1519. Ferdinand Cortes, with eleven sail fitted out at the charge of James Velasquez, sailed from Cuba in February, and landing on the coast of New-Spain before discovered by Grijalva, marched up to Mexico, made himself master of that mighty city, and subdued all the provinces about it till he came to the South-sea. Here were found those rich mines of silver, which with the others of Peru have ever since enriched the universe, not to speak of the abundance of cotton, and very many other precious commodities. In fine, his actions and the wealth of this country are the subject of large volumes, and too great for so short a discourse. Therefore we will proceed to the discoveries. Ibid.

This year also Ferdinand Magalhaens, or as we call him, Magellan, sailed from Spain to discover the strait of his name, the particulars of which voyage are the subject of the first of those round the world, to be found together at the latter end of this discourse, and therefore need not be repeated at this place, for there the reader may find it at large, with an account of those southern parts of America.

This same year, 1519, an English ship of two hundred and fifty ton came to the island of Puerto Rico, pretending it came out with another to discover a passage to Tartary, and had been at Newfoundland, where there were fifty Spanish, French and Portuguese ships fishing, and that offering to go ashore their pilot was killed.

They further said they came to load Brazil wood, and carry the king of England an account of those countries. Hence they sailed over to Hispaniola, where being fired at from the castle they returned to Puerto Rico, where they traded with the inhabitants, and going thence were never more heard of. Herrera, dec. 2. lib. V. Hackluyt, vol. III. , gives the same account out of Ramusio, only differing in that he says it was in the year 1517.

An. 1522. Cortes having subdued the mighty kingdom of Mexico, and greatest part of the provinces of Mechoacan, Panuco, Guaxaca, Tabasco and Soconusco, a conquest above two hundred leagues in length, above a hundred and fifty in breadth in the widest part, and lying betwixt 14 and 24 degrees of north latitude; and having discovered the South-sea, which washes the shores of several of the provinces mentioned, he resolved that way to send to the Molucco islands, and in order to it sent ship-wrights to the port of Zacatula to build two ships to discover along the coast, and two caravels to sail to the Muloccos, causing all the iron-work, sails and rigging to be carried upon men’s backs from Vera Cruz across the country, which is at least a hundred and forty leagues.

Whilst these vessels were preparing in New-Spain, Giles Gonzalez Davila with incredible labour had built four in the island Tarrarequi, not far from Panama, whence he sailed on the twenty-first of January this same year 1522, taking Andrew Nino along with him as his pilot. Having sailed an hundred leagues along the coast to the north-west, they were forced to send to Panama for necessaries to refit their ships, which being brought they proceeded. At Nicoya, Giles Gonzales landed and travelled into the province of Nicaragua, where abundance of Indians with their cacique submitted themselves: but afterwards meeting with a more warlike nation he was forced to retire to the sea. Whilst Gonzales travelled by land, Andrew Nino had sailed along the coast as far as the bay of Fonseca in the province of Guatimala, discovering three hundred leagues that way further than was known before: which done, they both returned to Panama with great wealth in gold and pearls. Herrera, dec. 3. lib. IV.

An. 1524. Francis the first, king of France, employed John Varrazona, a Florentine, to make some discovery to the north-west. He set out from Diep with four ships, and after some time spent privateering on the coast of Spain, he steered to the island of Madera, whence dismissing the rest he departed with one ship and fifty men upon his enterprize. The first twenty-five days he ran five hundred leagues to the westward, after which followed a dreadful storm; and that ceasing, in twenty-five days more ran four hundred leagues, and then discovered a land before unknown, which was low and well peopled, running to the southward. He sailed fifty leagues along the coast to the south without finding any harbour, which made him stand about to the northward, and at last come to an anchor, where he traded with the Indians, who went naked, covering only their privities with furs like sables, and garlands about their heads made of fine feathers; their complexion like the other Indians, their hair black and long, tied up behind like a tail. His short stay there gave him not leisure to learn any thing of their customs, but the country seemed delightful, with pleasant plains, and plenty of woods of several sorts of trees, great variety of beasts and birds, and some tokens of gold. This country was in 34 degrees of north latitude, a temperate climate, and is the northern part of the province of Florida. Sailing hence fifty leagues to the north-east, they came upon another coast, where they took a boy, and so run on, seeing all the way abundance of trees, variety of herbs and flowers for two hundred leagues, where they again anchored, and were well entertained by the natives, a cacique coming often aboard, and seeming well pleased with the French. Hence they held on their course above a hundred leagues, and saw people clothed with feathers, and a very pleasant country; but passed on still to a great island, and anchored betwixt it and the continent, where the people were still naked, with only furs before their privities, and valued copper beyond gold. Thus he proceeded, landing and taking a view of the shores, till he came into fifty degrees of north latitude, where his provisions falling short, he resolved to return into France, having discovered seven hundred leagues along the coast, and giving it the name of New-France. Herrera, dec. 3. lib. VI. Hackluyt, vol. III. . Purchas, vol. IV. .

The same year, 1524, Francis Pizarro sailed from Panama in November with one ship and two canoes, in which were eighty Spaniards, and four horses, to discover to the southward. Coming under the equinoctial, which was further than any had discovered on that side, he landed, and provisions failing, sent back the ship for them, remaining himself ashore with most of the men, where they were drove to such extremities, that twenty-seven of them died for want, and therefore they called this place Puerto de Lahambre, that is, Port Famine. The ship returning with provisions, they proceeded on their voyage to the port they called De la Candelaria, where they again went ashore and travelled up the country; but all the people fled from them, and the continual rains rotted their clothes. Though all the rest of his actions in this expedition were in the ensuing years, yet the summary of them shall here be delivered together, to avoid the confusion that might be caused by the dismembering of them. Hence they went on to a place they called Pueblo Quemado, where they had two bloody encounters with the Indians, and therefore proceeded to Chicama, whence they again sent back the ship to Panama for provisions. Whilst the ship was returning, James de Almagro, who was at the chief expence of this enterprise, went out of Panama with a ship full of provisions, and sixty men in it, and running along the coast, at length found Pizarro at Chicama; and having relieved and conferred with him, returned to Panama for more men, whence he brought two ships and two canoes with arms, men, ammunition, and provisions. Leaving Chicama, they proceeded along the coast; and after many delays, and several times sending back to Panama, during which time the rest of the men were left ashore, and suffered incredible hardships, Pizarro came to Tumbez, where he sent men ashore, who were friendly entertained by the natives, supplied with provisions, and returned aboard with the joyful news, that they had seen stately palaces, and all sorts of vessels of silver and gold. Here he was invited ashore, and went twice, having much discourse with the Indians, who gave him an account of the great city of Cusco, and of the immense wealth of the mighty monarch of Guaynacapa. This done, having gathered a good quantity of gold, and got some of the large Peru sheep, and other things to show the wealth of the country, he returned to Panama to gather a force sufficient to make a conquest in that rich country, he had discovered. In this voyage he reached as far as the port of Santa in 9 degrees of south latitude, having run above two hundred leagues, in which he spent three years, being detained so long by the misfortunes and wants above mentioned, besides many more too tedious to insert here. The conquest and further discoveries shall fall in their due place. Herrera, dec. 3. lib. VII, VIII, and X. and dec. 4. lib. II.

An. 1525, the emperor Charles the fifth fitted out six ships and a tender at Corunna, under the command of D. Garcia Jofre de Loaysa, and well furnished with provisions, ammunition, and commodities to trade, as also four hundred and fifty Spaniards. These ships were to pass through the straits of Magellan to the Molucco islands, and sailed from Corunna in July. On the fifth of December they came upon the coast of Brasil in 21 degrees and a half of south latitude. December the twenty-eighth the ships were parted in a storm, but met all again except the admiral. January the fifth they came to cape Blanco in 37 degrees, and thence to Santa Cruz in 51 degrees, where the admiral and another ship being missing, they put up some signs to direct them. Coming to the mouth of the straits, one of the ships was cast away in a storm, the other three with much difficulty got into the strait. January the twenty-sixth the admiral, with the other ship that was missing, and the tender came to the mouth of the strait, where it was near perishing in a storm: and on the fifth of April the five ships being again joined, put into the strait, whence the foul weather had beaten them out. May the twenty-fifth they came out into the South-sea, where a violent storm parted them all; and the tender being left alone with very little provision sailed to the northward, till it came upon the coast of New-Spain, where the men were plentifully relieved by the Indians for the present, and afterwards by Cortes from Mexico. The admiral was parted from the other ships, and never saw them more, for he died on this side the line, and soon after him John Sebastian Cano his successor, who had brought the ship called the Victory home, after sailing round the world in the voyage undertaken by Magellan. Then they chose Toribio Alonso de Salazar for their admiral, and so directing their course for the islands Ladrones, on the thirteenth of September discovered an island, which they called S. Bartholomew; and the wind not permitting them to come near it, followed on their course to the Ladrones, and came to the two southermost of them, where there came to them a Spaniard that had been left there when a ship of Magellan’s company left at the Moluccos attempted to return to New-Spain, as may be seen in that voyage. Five days this which was the admiral’s ship continued in the island Bataha, and then prosecuted its voyage to the Moluccos on the 10th of September 1526, and on the second of October came to the great island Mindanao, one of the Philippines, where they got some fresh provisions, and then sailed away towards the Moluccos, and arrived safe at Tidore on the last day of December, and there built a fort, whence for a long time after they made war with the Portugueses of Ternate; where we will leave them, having ended their navigation, and shall hear of them again in the following years. Herrera, dec. 3. lib. VII, VIII, IX. and dec. 4. lib. I.

An. 1526. Sebastian Cabot, who made the great discovery in North America for king Henry the seventh of England, being now in the Spanish service, sailed from Cadiz with four ships, designed for the Moluccos through the strait of Magellan: but when he came upon the coast of Brasil, his provisions began to fail, and the men to mutiny, both which things obliged him to lay aside his first design, and ran up the river then called of Solis, now of Plate; and going up it thirty leagues, he came to the island of S. Gabriel, and seven leagues above it to the river S. Salvador, where he landed and built a fort, in which he left some men, whilst he discovered higher. Thirty leagues further up he found the river of Zarcarana, and erected another fort, which was called by his name. Then continuing the same course, after running up two hundred leagues he came to the river Paraguay, up which he turned leaving the great river, and at the end of thirty leagues found a people that tilled the ground, which he had not seen before, and they opposed him so vigorously, that he was forced to return down the river after losing twenty-eight of his men: where we must leave him a-while, to show that this same year James Garcia was sent from Galicia with one ship, a small tender, and a brigantine, to disover this same river of Plate, and came upon that part of the coast of Brasil which for its many rocks and shoals is called Abrelojo, or Open your Eyes, at the end of the year.

An. 1527. At the beginning of the year he came into the river of Plate, and there found two of Cabot’s ships, but sent back his own to carry slaves into Portugal. Then he run up the river, and found Cabot in that of Paraguay, where we said he lost his men, whence they returned together to the ships. Cabot sent one of them back into Spain, with an account of what he had discovered, the reasons why he went not to the Moluccos, and some silver and gold, desiring to be reinforced, and to have leave to plant there, which was not done till some time after, when it shall be mentioned in its place. Herrera, dec. 3. lib. IX. and dec. 4. lib. I.

This same year Cortes fitted out three ships on the coast of New-Spain in the South-sea, and sent them to the Molucco islands, where they joined the Spaniards before mentioned, and prosecuted the war with the Portugueses. One of the ships attempted to return with cloves to New-Spain, but was beaten back to Tidore by contrary winds, where the continual wars reduced the Spaniards to only twenty, who were forced to put themselves into the power of the Portugueses, and by them were carried into India, whence some of them returned into Spain. These ships were in several of the Philippine islands, and took possession of them for the king of Spain. Herrera, dec. 4. lib. I.

This year also Francis de Montejo sailed from Sevil with three ships, and five hundred men in them, to conquer the province of Yucatan, and Peter de Alvarado for that of Guatimala. Of the discovery of both something has been said already, and therefore there needs no repetition.

The same year still Pamphilo de Narvaez sailed from Sanlucar on the seventeenth of June with five vessels, and in them seven hundred men, and spent much time at Hispaniola and Cuba, where, after escaping a dreadful storm, he was forced to winter. In March following he put to sea with four ships and above four hundred men, and on the twelfth of April after many storms and dangers came upon the coast of Florida; he landed his men and forty horses, and then travelled with them by land, sending the ships at the same time to coast along and find a safe harbour where they might settle a town. Those that marched by land, after incredible suffering ashore, and losing their ships, built some barks to carry them off, making sails of their shirts, and ropes of their horses tails and manes. By the twenty-second of September they had eaten all their horses, and then went aboard their barks: they crept along the shore seven days in those creeks almost starved, till they found some dry fish in an Indian house, but after this suffered such extremity of thirst, that five of them died with drinking of salt water. They landed again and got some refreshment, but the Indians proving treacherous, they lost some men, and so put to sea again, where they ranged many days in foul weather, and were all parted. At last all the barks were cast upon the shore and several men drowned, those that escaped almost naked and starved met with charitable Indians, who came down and lamented their misfortune with tears, fetching wood to make fire to warm them, carrying them to their houses, and giving them all the best they had; but this lasted not long; for the Indians though so loving were poor, and soon after suffered extreme want themselves, so that the Spaniards dispersed to shift, and the sixty that landed were soon reduced to fifteen. Such was their misery, that five of them who had kept together ate up one another till only one was left. Three or four that survived these calamities travelled some hundreds of leagues across the country, and with incredible hardships at length came to New Spain, the rest with their officers all perished; and this was the end of the expedition. Herrera, dec. 4. lib. II, IV.

Before we proceed, it must be here noted, that this same year king Henry the eighth of England sent out two ships to discover to the northward, which sailed out of the Thames on the twentieth of May, and entering between the north of Newfoundland and the continent one of them was cast away. The other directed its course towards cape Breton, and the coast of Arambec, often sending men ashore to get information of the country, and returned home in October; which is all the account we have of this voyage. Hackluyt, vol. III. .

An. 1530. Francis Pizarro having been in Spain, and obtained many favours of the emperor, and power to conquer what he had discovered, sailed from Panama with a hundred and eighty-five Spaniards, and thirty-seven horses. At the bay of S. Matthew he landed the horses and most of the men to march along the shore, whilst the ships coasted; and falling upon the town of Quapel, he took a vast booty of gold, silver, and emeralds: then he sent three ships to Panama and Nicaragua to bring recruits of men and provisions. Being reduced to great straits, and ready to abandon the country, a ship arrived with supplies. Hence they sailed to the island Puna, which lies between three and four degrees of south latitude; where after much feigned friendship from the Indians, he came to a battle with them, and having gained the victory, continued there, setting at liberty six hundred Indians of Tumbez, kept there in slavery, which gained him the affection of those people. Two ships coming to him with recruits from Panama, Pizarro sailed over to Tumbez, of which place he possessed himself after killing many Indians, who used all means by open force and treachery to destroy him. Here inquiring into the affairs of the country, he was informed of the greatness and infinite wealth of the city of Cuzco, and of the vast power and large dominion of the emperor of Peru. Then moving still to the southward, he founded the city of S. Michael, and staid there long to settle that new colony, to get more supplies and further intelligence into the affairs of the country; and though these things happened in the following years, we will conclude with them at once, according to the intended brevity. At that time two brothers contended for the monarchy of Peru, these were Atahaulpa and Guascar, of whom the former had been successful in several battles. Pizarro resolved to make his advantage of their divisions. He therefore marched into the country with scarce two hundred men, and coming to Caxamalca, whence Atahaulpa drew out with his army, he sent to invite him back. The inga came with an infinite multitude of Indians; and having filled the great market of Caxamalca, he ordered they should seize all the Spaniards, and take care that not one escaped; upon which as his horns and other warlike instruments began to make a dreadful noise, Pizarro gave the signal in like manner; and falling on, routed that multitude, and took the inga prisoner, and with him an incredible treasure of gold, silver, and cotton cloth. The inga being prisoner, offered for his ransom ten thousand ingots of gold, and a great room full to the top of silver; which he had almost performed, when new troubles arising, he was put to death. After which Pizarro marched to the great city of Cuzco, near two hundred leagues from Caxamalca, to the south-east; whence moving to the sea, he founded the city of Lima in 18 degrees of south latitude, and subdued all that vast empire of Peru. Herrera, dec. 4. lib. VII. and IX. and dec. 5. throughout the greatest part of it.

An. 1532. Nunho de Guzman, sent out by Cortes from Mexico by land to reduce the province of Mechoacan, discovered and subdued the provinces of Culiacan and Cinaloa, extending to 28 degrees of north latitude on the coast of the South-sea, and opposite to the south end of California; all which was done by land, and a consequence of the former navigations. Herrera, dec. 5. lib. I.

Some ships were sent out these years by Cortes from New-Spain, to discover to the north-west; but they having gone no further than has been already mentioned, it is needless to give any account of them.

An. 1534. Simon de Alcazova, a Portuguese in the king of Spain’s service, undertook to discover to the southward of Peru; passing the strait of Magellan, and fitting out two good ships with two hundred and fifty men, he sailed from S. Lucar on the twenty-first of September, and entered the mouth of the straits of Magellan in January following. Having spent some time in it, and being half way through, the violent storms, which lasted many days, were the occasion that his men in a mutinous manner obliged him to turn back out of the strait, and put into port Lobos, a little above the mouth of it. Here he landed a hundred men to discover up the country, appointing his lieutenant to command them, because he could not himself, by reason of his indisposition. They marched ninety leagues through a desart country, seeing scarce any inhabitants, and being ready to perish sometimes for want of water; and by this time all the provisions they brought from aboard were spent, the country affording little or nothing. This done, they returned towards the ships, and some of them mutinying by the way, secured those that opposed their wicked designs; and coming aboard, murdered Alcazova their commander in chief and his pilot, designing to leave the rest that had opposed them on shore, and turn pirates. But being divided among themselves, the loyal party took the advantage to possess themselves of the ships, and executed many of them. This done, they directed their course for the islands of America. The greatest ship was cast away on the coast of Brasil, the other in much distress arrived at the island Hispaniola. Thus ended this enterprise. Herrera, dec. 5. lib. VII. and VIII.

This same year, 1534, Jaques Cartier sailed from the port of S. Malo, by order of Francis I. king of France, to discover the north part of America. He set out on the twentieth of April, and on the tenth of May put into the port of S. Catherine in Newfoundland; where having spent some days in refitting, he sailed all the length of the island from cape Raz to cape de Grace; and entering between the island and the continent, run to the westward along the shore, till at the mouth of the great river Canada, he turned to the southward, came to the bay called du Chaleur, and traded with the natives in a very peaceable manner, as they did all along those shores on the back of Newfoundland, viewing all the creeks and harbours; till the fifteenth of August, when they departed thence homeward, and arrived at S. Malo on the fifth of September. Hackluyt, vol. III. .

An. 1535. The same Jaques Cartier sailed again from S. Malo, May the nineteenth, with three ships upon the same discovery; and after suffering much by storms, which parted them, Cartier upon the twenty-fifth of June came upon the coast of Newfoundland, in 49 degrees and 40 minutes of latitude, and staying some days, was there joined by his other two ships. Then they all together entered the great bay on the back of Newfoundland, sailing to the westward, and foul weather coming on, anchored in the port of S. Nicholas, where they staid till the seventh of August; and then steering to the southward, on the fifteenth came upon the island of the Assumption. Thence he turned again into the great river, and coasting along it, came to the island he called of Orleans, in the country of Canada, where he traded amicably with the Indians; and leaving the ships there, with fifty men in the boats, he ran fifty leagues higher, where he saw the town of Hochelaga, consisting of about fifty great houses, each capable of a great number of people, and the town inclosed with a triple fence, all of timber. Returning hence to his ships, he went to Stadacona, a town about a league from them, to visit the prince of that part of Canada. In these parts he found much fish, Indian wheat, and tobacco. He continued here all the winter, discovering what was nearest, and inquiring into the further parts of the country; and in May following returned home with a particular account of the great river of Canada, and the whole country called by that name, or New-France. Hackluyt, vol. III. .

This year D. Peter de Mendoza sailed from S. Lucar with eleven ships and eight hundred men in them, for the river of Plate, where he happily arrived, and settled the colony of Buenos Ayres, which continues and is famous to this day; though the greatest part of his people perished there for want, before they were relieved from Spain. Herrera, dec. 5. lib. IX.

An. 1536. Two ships were fitted out at London, under the command of Mr. Hore, with a hundred and twenty men, for North America; of whom we find no account that they did any more than get to Newfoundland, where they were in such want that they eat up one another; and those that were left surprised a French ship that came into those parts, and so returned home. Hackluyt, vol. III. .

An. 1539. F. Mark de Niza, with his companion F. Honoratus, a black, whose name was Stephen, and some Indians for interpreters, set out on the seventh of March from the town of Culiacan at the entrance into the strait of California on the South-sea shore, to discover the country to the northward by land. F. Honoratus fell sick, and was left behind; and F. Mark proceeded to Petathen, sixty leagues from Culiacan; the people there and all the way paying him extraordinary respect, and supplying him plentifully with all necessaries. Hence he went on to Vacapa, and sent the black towards the sea to discover that port, who soon after sent messengers, desiring the father to come speedily to him because he had received information of a country called Cibola, where there were seven great cities, built with stone two stories high, and the people well clad; and that it was but thirty days journey from the place where he then was. F. Mark set out towards this country, and all the way he went, the people offered him not only provisions, but Turky stones, earthen dishes, and other things, whereof he would receive nothing, but what was barely for his and his company’s maintenance. He passed through a desart of four days journey, and coming out of it, the people of the first towns ran to meet him all clad in cotton cloth, or skins, with collars, and other ornaments of Turky stones. Having travelled a hundred and twenty leagues from Vacapa, he came into a most delightful plain, all inhabited by very civilized people, and six days journey over; and then entered into a desart of fifteen days journey, where an Indian brought him the news that Stephen his black, who had gone all the way before, was killed at Cibola by the governor’s order; which was confirmed by other Indians that went with him and had escaped. F. Mark having with much difficulty persuaded some few Indians to follow him, went on till he came in sight of Cibola, which he viewed from a rising ground, and afterwards declared it was the best city he had seen in America, the houses being two or three stories high, and very beautiful; but durst not go into it, for fear if they should kill him, there would be none to carry back an account of that discovery. He therefore returned, having seen many good towns in his way, and found people very much civilized: whereof he sent an account to the viceroy. He also was informed, that beyond Cibola there were three great and powerful kingdoms, called Marata, Acus, and Tonteac, where the people lived very politely, wove cloth, and had great riches. Cibola lies in about 38 or 39 degrees of north latitude. Herrera, dec. 6. lib. VII.

Upon the news of this great discovery by land, Cortes set out three ships from New Spain, under the command of D. Francisco de Ulloa; who directed his course to the north-west, run along the back of California, searching all that coast as far as cape Enganho in the latitude of 30 degrees; but here was no discovery of any consequence made, and Ulloa resolving to go further, was never more heard of; another of his three ships had been lost before, and the third, which now left him, returned to New-Spain. Herrera, dec. 6. lib. IX.

An. 1540. Don Antony Mendoza viceroy of Mexico, upon the information above given by F. Mark of the country of Cibola, ordered Francis Vasquez de Cornado, governor of New-Galicia, to march thither with some forces, and plant colonies where he thought convenient. Cornado set out from Culiacan in May, with an hundred and fifty horse and two hundred foot, and store of ammunition and provisions. He directed his course almost north-east, and after a long march of many days came to the first town, where Stephen the black above mentioned was killed. Here they saw five towns, each of about two hundred inhabitants, and the houses of stone and mud, and flat at the top; the country cold, but plentiful, the people clad in skins of beasts. Five days journey to the north-east of Cibola is a province called Tucayan. All these places gave the Spaniards friendly reception, except the first town of Cibola. They travelled seven days further still north-east, and came to the river Cicuique, where they found abundance of cows, and then proceeded twenty days without knowing where they were. Here Cornado ordered all his forces to stay, except thirty men, and with them he travelled thirty days to the northward always among abundance of cattle, and on the feast of St. Peter and Paul came to the river to which he gave those names. Hence they turned into the province of Quivira, which is a finer country than most in Europe, and where they saw grapes and several sorts of European fruits, as also flax growing wild. Having taken an account of all this country, he returned to his government. In his way outwards he travelled three hundred and thirty leagues, and but two hundred in his return, because he came back the direct way. Quivira is in 40 degrees of latitude. Cornado was out two years upon his discovery, and was blamed at his return for not having planted a colony.

The same year the viceroy of Mexico sent out two shiys at Acapulco on the South-sea, to discover on that element, whilst Cornado travelled by land, and gave the command of them to Ferdinand de Alarcon, who set sail on the ninth of May. Coming to the flats at the entrance of the strait of California, he sent his boats before to sound, and yet run aground; but the tide rising, brought him off, and he run up till he came to a great river, up which he went with his boats, and traded with the Indians for provisions and hides. Having gone very far up this river, Alarcon heard tidings of Cibola, which was what he looked for, and of the death of Stephen the black. He called the river Buena Guia, and returning to his ships, put aboard his boats abundance of provisions and commodities to trade with; resolving to join Francis Vasquez de Cornado that way. Alarcon went up this river eighty-five leagues, and then hearing no news of Cornado, in search of whom he went, he took down the river again to his ships. He proceeded on his voyage many days after up the coast, inquiring for Cornado and Cibola, till perceiving at last there were no hopes of finding them, he returned to New Spain; having sailed 4 degrees further than the ships sent by Cortes. Herrera, dec. 6. lib IX.

This year still, Jaques Cartier before mentioned sailed from S. Malo with five ships on the twenty-third of May for the coast of Canada and Saguenay: and meeting with very bad weather at sea were parted, and came together again, after long beating at sea, in the port of Carpont in Newfoundland; and on the twenty-third of August put into the haven of Santa Croix, or the holy cross in Canada. Hence the lord of Roberval sailed four leagues further, where he thought a convenient place, and there erected a fort, into which he landed the provisions and ammunition; and keeping three ships with him, sent back the other two into France. This is the first colony I find in North America, and the first in all that continent of any nation, except the Spaniards or Portugueses. Hackluyt, vol. III. .

There occurs another navigation this year, no less remarkable in its way, than any of those already mentioned. Pizarro having conquered the mighty empire of Peru, guided by his boundless ambition, travelled up into the inland, and wanting provisions, sent captain Orellana down the river of the Amazons with eighty men in a boat and several canoes. He set out about the latter end of this year, and being carried two hundred leagues from the place were he entered, the violence of the current driving the boats twenty-five leagues a-day, he thought he was too far gone to return against the stream, and therefore held on his way, till in January, for want of provisions, his men eat all the leather they had. Being ready to perish, they came to an Indian town, where they found provisions, the Indians abandoning it at first; but Orellana speaking to some in the Indian tongue, they all returned, and plentifully furnished him with turkeys, partridges, fish, and other necessaries. Finding these Indians sincere, they staid here twenty days; in which time they built a brigantine, and set out again on Candlemas day, and ran two hundred leagues farther without seeing any town; when being again in great want, they spied some Indian dwellings, where they civilly asked for some sustenance, and had abundance of tortoises and parrots given them. In the way hence they saw good towns, and the next day two canoes came aboard, bringing tortoises and good partridges, and much fish, which they gave to Orellana, who in return gave them such things as he had. Then he landed, and all the caciques of the country about came to see and present him with provisions: so that he staid here thirty-five days, and built another brigantine, which he caulked with cotton, and was supplied by the Indians with pitch for it. They left this place on the twenty-fourth of April, and running eighty leagues without meeting any warlike Indians, came to a desart country. May the twelfth they came to the province of Machiparo, where many canoes full of Indians set upon them; yet they landed some men, who brought provisions from the town in spite of the multitude of natives that opposed it, and repulsed the Indians from their boats. Yet when he went off, they pursued him two days and two nights, and therefore when they left him, he rested three days in a town, whence he drove the inhabitants, and found much provision, whereof he laid in good store. Two days after he came to another town as plentiful as the last, and where they saw much silver and gold, but valued it not, being now intent only upon saving their lives. In fine, with such like accidents he run down this vast river, seeing many towns and large rivers that fell into this: fighting often with the Indians, till he came into the North-sea. These Spaniards judged the mouth of the river to be fifty leagues over, that the fresh water ran twenty leagues into the sea, that the tide rises and falls five or six fathoms, and that they had run along this vast river eighteen hundred leagues, reckoning all the windings. Being out at sea, they coasted along by guess with their small vessels, and after many labours and sufferings, arrived at last in September at the island Cubagua on the coast of Paria, where was then a Spanish town, and great pearl-fishery. Herrera, dec. 6. lib. IX.

An. 1542, John Francis de la Roche, lord of Roberval, whom Francis I. king of France had constituted his lieutenant in the countries of Canada, Saguenay, and Hochelaga, sailed from Rochelle with three ships, and in them two hundred persons, as well women as men, on the sixteenth of April; and by reason of contrary winds did not reach Newfoundland till the seventh of June. Here he made some stay to refit, and there came into the same port Jaques Cartier with all his company, who we mentioned went into Canada two years before. He left the country because he was too weak to withstand the natives; and Roberval commanding him now to return with him who had strength enough, he stole away in the night, and returned into France. The last of June the general sailed out of port S. John in Newfoundland, and ran up the river of Canada, till four leagues above the island of Orleans, the place now called Quebec. Finding here a convenient harbour, he landed and erected a strong and beautiful fort, into which he conveyed his men, provisions, and all necessaries, sending two ships back into France with the account of his proceedings. Being settled in this place they suffered much hardship, their provisions falling short, but were relieved by the natives. Roberval took a journey into the country of Saguenay to discover, but we have no particulars of this his expedition. Hackluyt, vol. III. .

The same year, 1542, D. Antony de Mendoza, viceroy of Mexico, fitted out two ships on the coast of the South-sea to discover to the northward, under the command of John Rodriguez Cabrillo a Portuguese. He sailed from the port of Navidad on the twenty-seventh of June, and on the twentieth of August came up with cape Engano on the back of California in 31 degrees of latitude, where Cortes his discoverers had been before. September the fourteenth they anchored at a cape they called de la Cruz, or of the cross, in 33 degrees of latitude. October the tenth they traded with some peaceable Indians in 35 degrees 20 minutes, and called those the towns of the canoes, because they saw many there. On the eighteenth of the said month they anchored at cape Galera, and above it in a port they called Of Possession, trading with the natives, who go naked, have their faces painted in chequers, and are all fishermen. From this time they had many storms, which obliged them to turn back to the island Of Possession, where they continued many days by reason of the foul weather. At length they put to sea again, and sailed to the northward as far as 44 degrees, where the cold was so intense they could not bear it; and their provisions now failing, they returned to New-Spain; having sailed further to the northward, than any had done on that side. Herrera, dec. 7. lib. V.

An. 1543. The viceroy last mentioned gave the command of two ships, a galley, and two small tenders, to Ruy Lopez de Villalobos, to discover the islands to the westward. He sailed from the coast of New Spain on the first of November, and having run a hundred and eighty leagues in 18 degrees and a half of latitude, came to two desart islands about twelve leagues distant from one another, which he called S. Thoma and Anublada. Eighty leagues further they saw another, and called it Roca Portida. Seventy-two leagues beyond it they found an Archipelago of small islands inhabited by a poor people, where they watered; and on the sixth of January passed by ten other islands, which for their pleasantness they called the Gardens, all of them in about 9 or 10 degrees of latitude. January the 10th, after a great storm, in which they lost their galley, they discovered another island, from which some Indians came in boats making the sign of the cross, and bidding them good-morrow in Spanish. February the second they came to an island they called Cæsarea Caroli, about fifteen hundred leagues from New-Spain, where Villalobos would have planted a colony, but forbore because the place was unwholesome. This island by its bigness, for he coasted along it sixty leagues to the south, must be Luzon or Manila, the biggest of the Philippines, and he says it is three hundred and fifty leagues in compass. In a small island near to it he found China ware, musk, amber, civet, benjamin, storax, and other perfumes, as also some gold. Here they resolved to stay, and sowed some grain, which being little they were reduced to extremity. Hence they removed to the island of Gilolo near the Moluccos, at the invitation of the king of it; whence they sent two ships at several times to carry news of them to New-Spain, which were both forced back by contrary winds. Between the Moluccos and Philippine islands the Spaniards were long tossed, sometimes removing to one, sometimes to another, ever persecuted by the Portugueses, and suffering great wants; till being quite spent and without hopes of relief, they put themselves into the hands of the Portugueses, and were by them sent through India into Spain. Herrera, dec. 7. lib. V.

An. 1562. The French admiral Chastillon fitted out two of the king’s ships under the command of captain John Ribault, who sailed with them on the eighteenth of February, and two months after arrived on the coast of Florida, where he landed at cape Francois in about 30 degrees of latitude, but made no stay. Running hence to the northward, he came into the river of May, where he was friendly entertained by the Indians, who presented him with fish, Indian wheat, curious baskets, and skins. He proceeded still northward to the river of Port Royal, about which he saw turkey-cocks, partridges, and several other sorts of birds and wild beasts. The mouth of the river is three leagues over, and he sailed twelve leagues up it, where landing, the natives presented him chamois skins, fine baskets, and some pearls; and here he erected a pillar with the arms of France. Having taken a view of all the shores of this river, he built a fort here but sixteen fathom in length and thirteen in breadth, with proportionable flanks, in which he left only twenty-six men with provisions, ammunition, and all other necessaries, and called it Charles Fort. This done, he sailed some leagues further along the coast, and finding it dangerous, and his provisions almost spent, returned to France. Those left in the new fort discovered up the river, and contracted great friendship with five Indian princes, whose subjects, when their provisions failed them, gave them all they had; and when that was spent guided them to other princes southward, who freely presented them with what they wanted. The fort happening accidentally to be burnt down, the Indians of their own accord rebuilt it. The French had lived long in a peaceable manner, and having no enemy abroad they fell out among themselves, and murdered their captain, choosing another in his stead. After which, growing weary of the place, they built a small bark and put to sea in it; but their provisions failing, they were all like to perish, and eat one of their company. In this distress they met an English vessel, which set some of them ashore, and carried the rest into England. Hackluyt, vol. III. .

This same year Mr. Hawkins made a voyage to Guinea, where having got three hundred blacks, he sailed over with them to Hispaniola, and sold them at good rates. But this being a trading voyage, and not upon discovery, deserves no further mention. Hackluyt, vol. III. .

An. 1564, Captain Laudonniere had the command of three ships given him by the king of France, and sailed with them on the twenty-second of April for Florida. He passed by the islands Antilles, and arrived on the coast of Florida on the twenty-second of June. After spending some days along the coast, every-where entertained with the greatest tokens of affection by the Indians, he sailed up the river of May, and finding a convenient place erected a fort, which he called Caroline in honour of Charles king of France. The fort finished, Laudonniere sent some of his men up the river, who at several times run eighty leagues, always meeting with natives that courted their friendship. After some time many mutinies happened among the French, of whom several went away with two brigantines to the Spanish islands, and having committed some rapine were closely pursued and drove back to Florida, where four of them were hanged. Whilst these mutineers were abroad, Laudonniere sent some of his men up the river, who discovered as far as the great lake out of which it runs, and the mountain Apalache, in which the Indians said there were rich mines. The following winter, the French having exchanged away all their commodities, the Indians forsook them, and they were reduced to great straits, being obliged to use force to get provisions. In the height of their distress, when they had thoughts of venturing to return to France in a small vessel scarce able to contain them, with very slender provisions: Mr. Hawkins before mentioned, who this same year had made another voyage to Guinea, and thence to the West-Indies to sell blacks, and in his way home run along the coast of Florida, coming to the river of May found the French in this distress, and therefore sold them a ship upon credit, generously supplying them with all they wanted, which done, he sailed away and returned into England. The French were now preparing to depart for France, this being

An. 1565, when in August captain John Ribault arrived with seven sail of French ships to take possession of that country. A few days after six great Spanish ships came upon the coast, and gave chase to four of Ribault’s that were without the port, which being better sailors escaped; and Ribault made out with the other three after them, leaving Laudonniere in the fort with eighty-five men, whence the Spaniards attacked him, and made themselves masters of the fort. Laudonniere with some of his men escaped aboard two ships they had in the river, in one of which he arrived in England, and thence into France. Ribault with his ships as soon as he was out of May river met with a dreadful storm, which wrecked them all on the coast of Florida, where abundance of his men saved themselves from the sea, but were afterwards destroyed by the Spaniards. Hackluyt, vol. III. and 349, and Purchas, vol. IV. .

An. 1567, Captain Gourgues sailed from France with three ships, and coming to the river of May in Florida, revenged the death of his countrymen, killed all the Spaniards he found there, but did nothing as to discoveries. Hackluyt, vol. III. . Purchas, vol. IV. .

An. 1576, Mr. Martin Forbisher with two barks and a pinnace set out from Gravesend for the discovery of a passage to China and Cathay by the north-west, on the twelfth of June. Sailing about the north of Scotland, on the twenty-eighth of July, and in 62 degrees of latitude, he discovered land which he supposed to be the continent of America, called Tierra de Labrador, with abundance of ice about it. Within a cable’s length of the shore he found an hundred fathom water, and not being able to anchor stood to the north-east, as the coast there lies, and by reason of the ice could not come within five leagues of the shore. The tenth of August he landed on a desart island: the eleventh in 63 degrees and 8 minutes latitude he entered a strait which is called by his own name; the twelfth he came to S. Gabriel’s island, and anchored in a bay which he called Prior’s sound. The eighteenth, having sailed north-north-west, he came to Butcher’s island, where landing they spied seven boats. These people came aboard and looked like Tartars, with long black hair, broad faces and flat noses, of a tawny complexion, clad in seal-skins, the boats also made of seal-skins with a wooden keel. The twenty-sixth one of those men came aboard, and the boat going to set him ashore, was taken by those savages with all the men. Having staid a day in hopes to recover them, and no signs appearing, he sailed homewards, and arrived at Harwich on the first of October. Hackluyt, vol. III. , 57.

An. 1577, Mr. Forbisher sailed the second time on the twenty-sixth of May with a ship of two hundred tons and two barks, and in them an hundred and forty men, upon the same discovery he had attempted the foregoing year. June the seventh he arrived at the isles of Orkney, and July the fourth at Friesland: the sixteenth he came to his strait discovered the last year, and much ice appearing durst not venture in with his ship, but went with two pinnaces, and took one of the savages ashore. July the nineteenth the ice driving away the ships, he run into the strait, and anchored in a bay which they called Jackman’s sound: here he landed with most of his men, and having travelled some way and found nothing to satisfy his desires, he coasted a little in the barks and boats both east and west; and though he saw several people, could take none but a woman and her child; and therefore on the fourth of August came to that he called Anne Warwick’s sound and island. Here he used all possible means to bring the natives to trade, or give some account of themselves, but they were so wild, that they only studied how to destroy the English. Forbisher this year did not run above thirty leagues up the strait, and the winter drawing on returned into England, having loaded his vessels with a sort of shining sand and stones, which he imagined to be gold, but it proved a fallacy. Hackluyt, vol. III. , 60.

An. 1578. The noise of gold pretended to be found, and the hopes of a passage, encouraged people to prosecute this voyage; and fifteen sail of ships provided for it met at Harwich, carrying a wooden fort ready framed to be set up in the golden country discovered, and an hundred men that were to be left there. The thirty-first of May they left Harwich, and the second of July came into Forbisher’s strait, which they found choked up with ice, and as they struggled to work through it, a sudden storm arose, and so enclosed them with mountains of ice, that it was wonderful they did not all perish. One vessel of an hundred tons was lost, but the men saved; two others had not been seen in twenty days before, and four that were farthest out at sea best escaped the danger of the ice, clearing themselves of it in time. Being got out of this danger by the wind turning to the north-west, and into sea room, they were driven down by the current to the southward of Forbisher’s strait, and run into another about 60 leagues, without knowing where they were, the cloudy weather obstructing their making an observation. Returning out of it again, most of the scattered fleet met and made for Forbisher’s strait, in hopes of those golden mountains, but found others of ice to obstruct their passage. After many other difficulties Forbisher with most of the ships worked his way through, and on the thirty-first of July reached his long desired port of the Countess of Warwick’s sound. Here they landed, and thought of erecting the house or fort brought from England; but part of it being lost in the ship cast away, and more of it, as also of the provisions, not yet come, being in four ships, the design of inhabiting there was laid aside. The other ships that had been missing, after hard struggling with ice and storms, joined the fleet. Here they set their miners to work, and loaded abundance of ore, which done they directed their course for England, whither they returned in safety. Hackluyt, vol. III. , 74.

The same year, 1582, Francis de Ovalle sailed from Acapulco, and running to the westward about eighteen hundred leagues, came to the island del Engano, the farthest of those called de los Ladrones, in thirteen degrees of north latitude: thence he held on his course westward two hundred and eighty leagues, to Cabo del Espiritu Santo, or the cape of the Holy Ghost in the island of Tandaya, the first of the Philippines. He spent several days in the narrow channels among these islands, shaping his course diversly as they would permit; and coming out into the open sea run up into the bay of Manila, now the metropolis of the Philippine islands, lying in 14 degrees and a quarter. Returning out of this bay, he made over to the coast of China, and arrived in the port of Macao. Here he furnished himself with necessaries, and turning again to the eastward passed through the islands called Lequios, whence he held his course east, and east by north, never touching any-where, or meeting with any land, till he came upon the coast of California in 38 degrees and a half of latitude. From this place he ran south-east and south-east and by south to cape S. Lucas, which is five hundred leagues from the north cape called Mendocino, whence he continued his voyage successfully back to the port of Acapulco. Hackluyt, vol. III. . This voyage is inserted because it is the first from New-Spain to China, and the first that found the way of returning to New-Spain by the northward; for want of which knowledge, many ships that attempted to return from the Moluccos to America, were still beaten back, there being no possibility of returning the way they go, which is near the line, where the easterly winds continually reign.

An. 1583, on the eleventh of June, sir Humphrey Gilbert sailed from the west of England with five vessels, and in them two hundred and sixty men, designing to plant a colony in some part of North America. On the thirteenth the biggest ship stole away by night, and returned to Plymouth, there being a contagious distemper among the men. July the thirtieth he came upon the back of Newfoundland, which is about fifty leagues from the coast, and has at least twenty-five or thirty fathom water, and about ten leagues over, lying like a long ridge of mountains in the sea, for on each side of it there are above two hundred fathom water. He came upon the coast, and running along it put into S. John’s harbour, where he anchored among abundance of fishermen of several countries, who were there before. Here he went ashore and took possession. One of his ships had before played the pirate at sea, robbing a French vessel, and here his men run away with a ship laden with fish, and others hid themselves; so that finding too few men for his ships, some being sick, he put them into one of his vessels, and sent it home, remaining now with only three. August the twentieth he sailed from port S. John, and the next day came up with cape Raz in 46 degrees 25 minutes latitude. Turning from hence to the westward towards cape Breton, eighty-seven leagues distant, they spent eight days in the passage; and coming among the flats, the biggest ship of the three was cast away, and nothing saved except a few men in the boat. Sir Humphrey Gilbert was not aboard the ship cast away: the other two left, resolved to return home, but by the way the small vessel sir Humphrey was in perished, the other arrived safe at Dartmouth. Hackluyt, vol. III. .

An. 1584, Mr. Philip Amadas and Mr. Arthur Barlow sailed on the twenty-seventh of April from the west of England in two barks, to discover in America. On the tenth of June they came among the islands of America, much more to the southward than they had designed. July the fourth they discovered the continent, and sailed along the coast four leagues till they came to a river on the thirteenth, where they anchored, and going ashore took possession. This place they afterwards found to be the island of Wokoken, on the coast of Virginia, in 34 degrees of latitude, and in it deer, rabbits, hares, fowl, vines, cedars, pines, sassafras, cypress, and mastich trees. The natives from the continent repaired to the ships, and exchanged several sorts of skins, white coral, and some pearls, for tin things and other trifles. The country is fruitful, producing all things in a very short time. The natives called it Wingandacao, and the English Virginia. Going ashore they were entertained with extraordinary civility at a little village, and heard news of a great city up the country, but saw it not. They made no long stay here, nor proceeded any further upon discovery, only just to the neighbouring parts in their boats, and returned to England in September, bringing two of the natives with them. Hackluyt, vol. III. .

An. 1585, on the ninth of April, sir Richard Greenvil departed from Plymouth with seven sail; and after touching at the islands of Puerto Rico, and Hispaniola, on the twenty-sixth of June came to an anchor at the island Wokoken in Virginia, where the admiral’s ship was lost through the ignorance of the pilot. Here Mr. Lane was set ashore with above an hundred men to settle a colony, with all necessaries for that purpose. Then the admiral returned to England, and the new planters made several discoveries up the country, finding it every-where plentiful and pleasant. Here they continued a year, at the end whereof the natives conspiring to destroy them, and no relief as yet coming from England, they returned home on board sir Francis Drake’s ships, which happened to touch there after his expedition to the Spanish plantations. Hackluyt, vol. III. . Purch. vol. IV. .

The same year, 1585, on the seventh of June, Mr. John Davis sailed from Dartmouth with two barks for the discovery of the north-west passage to China. July the nineteenth they met with much ice, and on the twenty-ninth discovered land bearing north-east of them in 64 degrees 15 minutes latitude. Here they went ashore, and found a tractable sort of people, with whom they dealt for seal skins, and several sorts of leather. August the first they proceeded on their discovery to the north-west, and on the sixth came into 66 degrees and 40 minutes free from ice, and landed under a hill which they called mount Raleigh, where they saw no inhabitants, but many white bears. The eighth they coasted on, and the eleventh found themselves in a passage twenty leagues wide, and free from ice, along which they sailed sixty leagues; and searching all about found many islands and several harbours, with all appearances of a further passage, yet the winds proving contrary to proceed, they returned for England, and arrived at Dartmouth on the thirtieth of September. Hackluyt, vol. III. .

An. 1586, Mr. Davis sailed the second time on the seventh of May with one ship, two barks, and a small pinnace, upon the same discovery. The fifteenth of June he discovered land in the latitude of 60 degrees, but could not come near it for ice, till the twenty-ninth he came to land in 64 degrees latitude, and went ashore on an island, where he traded very friendly with the natives for seals, stags, and white hares skins, and dried fish and some fowl. Here he continued some days trading with the natives who were very thievish; at his departure he brought away one of them with him. He run into 66 degrees 20 minutes latitude, and then coasted southward again to 56 degrees, where in a good harbour he continued till September; and sailing thence in 54 degrees found an open sea tending westward, which they hoped might be the passage so long sought for; but the weather proving tempestuous, they returned to England in October. Hackluyt, vol. III. .

The same year, 1586, sir Richard Greenvil returned to Virginia with three ships to relieve the colony left by him there; which being gone, as was said before, he left fifteen men on the island Roanoak with provisions for two years, and then returned to England. Hackluyt, vol. III. .

This year also was begun the voyage round the world by sir Thomas Candish, which may be seen among the voyages about the globe after these West-India discoveries.

An. 1587, Mr. John Davis on the nineteenth of May sailed with three small vessels, upon his third voyage for his discovery of a passage to the north-west. June the eighteenth they came to an anchor on the northern American coast, and the twentieth were in 67 degrees 40 minutes latitude in an open sea; and then steering westward ran forty leagues, where meeting with much ice, and the north wind driving them from their intended northerly course, they were forced to seek the open sea again. The twentieth they had sight of the strait they discovered the year before, and sailed up it 60 leagues; and having landed without finding any thing more than the year before, came out again to the wide sea; then they coasted along to the southward as far as 52 degrees of latitude, whence they returned home, without doing any thing of note. Hackluyt, vol. III. .

The same year, 1587, sir Walter Raleigh provided three vessels to carry over to Virginia a hundred and fifty men to settle a colony there under the command of John White. They sailed from Plymouth on the eighth of May, and having spent several days among the Spanish American islands, arrived at last on the twenty-second of July at Hatorask in Virginia; whence crossing over to the island Roanoak, they found the fifteen English left there the year before were killed by the natives. Here the new planters were set ashore with all their provisions, goods, and ammunition, and the ships returned into England, carrying with them the governor to solicit for speedy supplies to be sent to the new colony. Hackluyt, vol. III. .

An. 1590, John White returned to Virginia to the place where he had left the colony, but found none of the men; only an inscription on a tree, signifying they were removed to Croatoan, another island on the coast, and many chests broke up, and some lumber belonging to them, scattered about the place. In going ashore here a boat was overset, and a captain with six men drowned; the rest with much difficulty got aboard again, leaving behind them several casks they had carried to fill with fresh water. They had spent much time before they came hither, ranging about the Spanish islands; and the season being now stormy, they were forced to return to England, without so much as knowing what was become of the colony. Hackluyt, vol. III. .

An. 1602, Captain Gosnols sailed from Falmouth on the twenty-sixth of March, and on the fourteenth of April discovered land in about 40 degrees of north latitude; and having spent some days sounding along the coast, on the twenty-fourth came upon Elizabeth’s island in 41 degrees 10 minutes, and four leagues from the continent. This island was not inhabited, but overgrown with trees and shrubs of all sorts, and in it a pool of fresh water, about two miles in compass, one side of it not above thirty yards from the sea, and in the midst of it a small rocky island about an acre in extent, all covered with wood, where the captain designed to build a fort, and leave some men. The thirty-first he went over to take a view of the continent, which he found a most delicious and fruitful country, and the natives peaceable and friendly. Having taken this small view of the country, and the men refusing to be left on that desart place, he returned for England. Purchas, vol. IV. .

An. 1603, Captain Samuel Champlain of Brouage, sailed from the port of Honfleur in Normandy on the fifth of March for Canada. The second of May they came upon the bank of Newfoundland in 44 degrees 20 minutes of latitude. The twelfth they came upon cape S. Mary, and the twentieth to the island of the Assumption, at the mouth of the river of Canada. He run up it a hundred leagues to the little port of Tadoussac on the north side of Canada, and at the mouth of Sanguenay river, where they contracted strict friendship with the natives. He ran twelve leagues up the river Sanguenay, all which way is a mountainous country, and the river deep and wide. Next they run up the great river of Canada as far as that of the Iroquois, and thence to the first great fall of the river, which tumbles down there about two fathom with an incredible fury; and the Indians told them there were ten more falls, though not so great, beyond the first. After discovering thus much, and getting information of several great lakes up the country, and of a boundless ocean at four hundred leagues distance westward, they returned to Tadoussac, and spending some days more in searching the great and lesser rivers, and getting intelligence of the country, they sailed back into France. Purchas, vol. IV. .

The same year, 1603, two vessels of Bristol, and one of London, made their voyages to Virginia, in which there was nothing remarkable, except that the last of them run up into Chesapeac bay in about 37 degrees of latitude, where the captain going ashore, was killed with four men; upon which the rest presently returned home. Purchas, vol. IV. , and 1656.

An. 1604, Monsieur de Monts having obtained a patent from Henry IV. king of France for peopling the countries of Acadie and Canada, he sailed for those parts with two ships well manned, and Monsieur de Potrincourt with him. They were kept long at sea by contrary winds, and met with much ice; but on the sixth of May they put into a port in the south of Acadie, which they called Rossignol, because there they took a French ship, commanded by a captain of that name, being confiscate for trading there contrary to the king’s patent. Then doubling cape Sable, the southermost of that country, they run up to the northward in a large bay to that of S. Mary, and thence to a convenient harbour, which they called Port Royal; which Monsieur de Potrincourt demanded a grant of, to settle a colony and inhabit there, and had it given him. They proceeded still further up to cape Mines, so called because of some found there, and into the river of S. John; and then turning back, erected a fort in a small island twenty leagues from the said river, resolving to settle there, and calling it the island of Santa Croix, or the Holy Cross. It is small but very fruitful, and lies as it were among many others. Here winter coming on, and the fort being ill seated as exposed to the north, the men suffered very much through extremity of cold and deep snows; and being forced to cross a great river for water and wood, many of them were dangerously sick. This hard season being over, Monsieur de Monts searched all the coast in a small vessel he built to discover a more convenient place to settle, and at last pitched upon Port Royal, where he left part of his men, and returned himself to France. Purchas, vol. IV. .

An. 1605, and on the last day of March, captain George Weymouth with one ship sailed from the Downs, and on the eighteenth of May came to an anchor in S. George’s island on the coast of Virginia, where he found great plenty of fish; and two days after removed into an excellent port, which he called Penticost harbour. Then he run up a great river twenty-six miles, and found it fit to receive and secure any number of ships. The natives of this coast traded in a friendly manner for several days, but were found at last to be treacherous, as only contriving by their fair show of kindness to draw the English into their power; who being aware of them in time broke off the correspondence, and returned into England without making any considerable advantage of this small discovery. Purchas, vol. IV. .

An. 1606, Monsieur de Monts and Monsieur de Potrincourt sailed again from Rochel with one ship of an hundred and fifty ton. The twenty-eighth of June they came upon the bank of Newfoundland, and making the shore, coasted all along to Port Royal, where they had before left their colony, and anchored at the mouth of the harbour on the twenty-sixth of July. Here they found but two Frenchmen, the rest being gone with their small vessel towards Newfoundland; but soon returned, being met by a pinnace belonging to this last come ship, left to coast along close by the shore. Here they settled a-new, viewed all the country about for a more convenient seat for their town, were most obligingly treated by the natives, and planted, and had crops of all sorts of European grain and garden-stuff: yet after all, the colony was forsaken, not for any defect in the country, as may appear by what has been said; but because new measures were taken in France, and the supplies that should have been sent them were employed another way. Purchas, vol. IV. .

The same year, 1606, on the twentieth of December, three ships sailed from London, commanded by captain Newport, to settle a colony in Virginia; and passing among the Spanish American islands, on the twenty-sixth of April came into the bay of Chesapeac, where they presently landed, and had some men hurt in skirmish with the natives. The twenty-seventh they marched eight miles up the country, and the twenty-eighth went up the bay in their boats, where they always found shallow water; but returning, they fell into a channel six, eight, and ten fathom deep, which was a satisfaction, and therefore they called the point of land next it cape Comfort. The point at the mouth of the bay they called cape Henry. The following days they surveyed all the shores in their boats, being civilly treated every-where by the Indians; and running up Powhatan river, found a place where their ships could lie moored to the trees in six fathom water. Here on the fourteenth of May they landed all their men, and fell to work to fortify themselves, resolving to settle their colony, as they did, giving it the name of James Town; which is the first plantation of the English in Virginia that continued, as it does to this day. June the twenty-second captain Newport in the admiral was sent back into England. In the colony were left an hundred and four men with little provision, and therefore they were soon reduced to great extremities; many also dying of diseases peculiar to that country. But in their greatest distress, the natives, who before had been their enemies, supplied them with plenty of all sorts of victuals, which recovered the sick men, and was the saving of the colony. Every year after ships arrived from England with supplies, till the new town grew to a considerable body, and sent out other colonies to the parts adjacent, where they were thought necessary, till they made themselves masters of that northern part of America. The relation is too long any more than to be hinted as above, but to be seen at large in Purchas, vol. IV. .

An. 1610, Mr. Hudson again undertook the discovery of a north-west passage, which had been laid aside for some years, and proceeded an hundred leagues further than any before him had done, giving names to some places, to be seen in the maps; as Desire provokes, Isle of God’s Mercies, Prince Henry’s Cape, King James’s Cape, and Queen Anne’s Cape: but he could proceed no farther for ice.

An. 1611, sir Thomas Button, at the instigation of prince Henry, whose servant he was, pursued the northwest discovery. He passed Hudson’s strait, and leaving Hudson’s bay to the south, sailed above two hundred leagues to the south-westward, through a sea above eighty fathom deep, and discovered a great continent called by him New-Wales; where after much misery and sickness, wintering at port Nelson, he carefully searched all the bay, from him called Button’s bay, back again almost to Digg’s island. He discovered the great land called Cary’s Swansnest. He lost many men during his stay in the river called Port Nelson, in 57 degrees 10 minutes of north latitude; though he kept three fires in his ship all winter, and had great store of white partridges, and other fowl, besides deer, bears and foxes.

An. 1612, Mr. Richard Moore was sent in April with one ship and sixty men to inhabit the Summer islands, otherwise called Bermudas, long before discovered by the Spaniards, who after some attempts to settle there, abandoned them; and were after accidentally found by sir Thomas Gate and sir George Summers, who were shipwrecked upon them, and lived there nine months, during which time they built a ship and a pinnace with the cedar growing there, and in 1610 sailed away for Virginia, leaving only two men in the great island. A ship sent thither from Virginia left only three men in the island, who found there amber-grease to the value of nine or ten thousand pounds. Mr. Moore at his coming this year found those three men in perfect health. He settled a colony, and continued there three years, being relieved from time to time, till they amounted to above six hundred inhabitants, who built several forts, but had like to have been themselves destroyed by an infinite number of rats, which increased from a few coming ashore out of a ship, and continued for four years devouring all the growth of the country, notwithstanding all possible means were used to destroy them.

An. 1612, James Hall and William Baffin returned into England, having discovered Cockins sound in 65 degrees 2 minutes latitude, and tried the mine at Cunningham’s River, which they found to be worth nothing.

An. 1615, Mr. Baffin went again, and the chief thing he discovered was, that there is no passage in the north of Davis’s Strait.

An. 1616, Mr. Baffin was sent the third time, and entered sir Thomas Smith’s bay in 78 degrees of latitude; and returned, despairing of finding any passage that way.

An. 1620, a ship sailed from Plymouth for New England on the sixth of September; though we have not the commander’s name, nor what force his ship was of. It is also here to be observed, that all the northern coast from about 60 to 40 degrees of north latitude, was first discovered by Sabastian Cabot, and afterwards at several times by Cortereal a Portuguese, as has been set down in their proper places, and by sundry English and French discoverers; to particularize every one of whose voyages would swell a volume, and therefore only the principal discoveries and plantations are here set down, as most suitable to the nature of this discourse, and the intended brevity. The ship we now speak of, anchored in the bay of cape Cod in New England, and in 41 degrees and a half of north latitude on the eleventh of November. Here they put out their boat, and landed men, who went some miles into the country several ways without meeting any people, and only found some little Indian wheat buried, the boat coasting along the shore. This they continued for several days, seeking out some proper place to settle. At length, on the twenty-third of December, they pitched upon a place to their mind, and fell to work to building their houses, dividing themselves into nineteen families, that the fewer houses might serve. About this place they found no people, but were told by an Indian, who came to them from the next part inhabited, that the natives there had all died lately of a plague. This savage brought some of the neighbouring people to them, by whom they were conducted to their king, a very poor one, with whom they concluded peace and amity. The following year this new colony was reinforced with thirty-five men from England, and supplied with provisions and necessaries, and called New Plymouth in New England. A war soon breaking out with another Indian prince, the English fortified their colony to secure themselves against all attempts of their enemies. From hence all other colonies were by degrees sent into other parts of the country; of which it were too tedious to give any further account. Purchas, vol. IV. .

An. 1631, Captain James sailing into the north-west, was much pestered with ice in June and July; and entering a great bay near port Nelson, he named the land New South-Wales. Roving up and down these seas, he gave names to these places discovered by him, viz. cape Henrietta Maria, Lord Weston’s Island, Earl of Bristol’s Island, Sir Thomas Roe’s Island, Earl of Danby’s Island, and Charlton Island. He wintered there in 52 degrees 3 minutes latitude, and returned home the following year, 1632, having discovered much beyond Hudson, Button, and Baffin. The Danes have attempted to discover in these northern parts, but there is nothing remarkable in their actions.

An. 1667, Zachariah Gillam in the Nonsuch ketch passed through Hudson’s Strait, and then into Baffin’s bay to 75 degrees of latitude, and thence southerly into 51 degrees; where, in a river called Prince Rupert’s River, he had a friendly correspondence with the natives, built a fort, which he called Charles Fort, and returned with success: having laid the foundation of an advantageous trade in those parts.

An. 1669. Captain John Narborough, afterwards sir John Narborough, sailed in the Sweepstakes, a man of war of three hundred ton, thirty-six guns, and eighty men and boys, with a pink of seventy ton and nineteen men, both set out at the charge of his majesty king Charles II. and his royal highness the duke of York, to make a farther discovery on the coast of Chile. On the twenty-first of October the year following, he came to the mouth of the straits of Magellan, and through them to the South-sea, about the middle of November; having taken a most exact survey of that passage, which is made public in his voyage. On the twenty-sixth of November he went ashore on the small island called Neustra Senora del Socorro, or Our Lady of Succour; where he watered, but found no people. Holding on his course to the northward, on the fifteenth of December he sent his boat, with the lieutenant in her, ashore on the south side of port Baldivia, which is in 39 degrees 56 minutes of south latitude. Here the lieutenant and three others going ashore to a Spanish fort, were detained, and the ship sailed away without them. From hence captain Narborough turned again to the southward, and through the strait of Magellan returned into England; where he arrived in June following, having been out about two years.

An. 1673, on the thirteenth of May, F. Marquett a jesuit, with only six other Frenchmen, set out in two canoes from the Lac des Puans, or the Stinking Lake, in the province of Canada in North America; and passing through the provinces of Folle Avoine and Iliquois, Indians in peace with France, sometimes carrying their boats by land, and sometimes being carried in them, they came at length to the great river Mississippi. They ran many leagues along this river through a desart country, their course always south, though sometimes bending east, and sometimes west. At the end of several days solitude, they came among savage Indians, were friendly received, and heard that the sea was within two or three days sail of them; which was the gulph of Mexico. Thus he discovered all that inland part of North-America along the river, from 38 to 34 degrees of north latitude, lying on the back of Canada, Virginia, &c, down to Florida. The particulars of this voyage may be seen in Thevenot’s small collection of voyages in octavo.

An. 1680 and 1681, captain Sharp having been buccaneering in the South-sea, and not able to recover the strait of Magellan to return home, he run further to the south beyond Le Mair’s and Brower’s, till he came into 60 degrees of south latitude; meeting with many islands of ice, and abundance of snow, frost, and whales, and called a small place he found the Duke of York’s island. Thus he came into the north sea a new way, and made it appear that the land in the straits of le Maire and Brower must be islands, and not joined to any continent. Introduction to the account of several late discoveries, printed in 1694, .

Here we may conclude with the American voyages and discoveries, having run along from north to south on the east side of that new world, or along that commonly called the North-sea; and back from south to north along the west side, or South-sea. It follows next, as was done after the eastern discoveries, to show the extent of this vast tract of land thus found, and what benefits the world has received by this navigation. The whole length of what has been discovered, is from 78 degrees of north latitude, in which sir Thomas Smith’s bay lies, to 60 degrees of south latitude, in all a hundred and thirty-eight degrees; which, allowing twenty leagues to a degree, in a strait line amounts to two thousand seven hundred and sixty leagues, a thing almost incredible, were it not so well known, that so great and stupendous a part of the world should lie concealed so many ages: being never known since the creation, till about three hundred years ago. Now to descend to particulars: from 80 to almost 50 degrees of north latitude being 30 degrees, and according to the rate above of twenty leagues to a degree, six hundred leagues; the extremity of the cold, which is there more fierce than in the parts of Europe under the like elevation, renders that part little regarded, and consequently not inhabited by any European nation, though much of it be peopled by savages, living there little better than brutes: and all the advantage made of those northern nations is the fishery of whales and morses; the former for their oil and bone, and the latter for their teeth, which are finer than ivory. The next division beginning above 50 degrees of north latitude, and reaching to about 44, is Canada or New-France; running up the river of Canada above two hundred leagues into the continent, and possessed by the French, who have there several colonies, and trade with the natives for furs. Next to Canada is New-England, lying along the sea-coast north-east and south-west about 70 miles, subject to the crown of England, and their chief trade furs, flax, hemp, and some corn. After it follows New-York, the trade much the same with those spoken of. Then comes Pensylvania, Virginia, and Maryland, almost north and south for above a hundred leagues of English conquest, and the principal commodity tobacco. Carolina is next in course, being a part of the great province of Florida, lying between 29 and 36 degrees of latitude, and therefore about a hundred and forty leagues in length: it has been possessed by the English but of later years, in the reign of king Charles II. from whom it took the name; and being so lately subdued, the returns of it are not yet great, but much is hoped from it. Florida is a vast part of the continent, reaching above two hundred and fifty leagues from north to south, and above four hundred from east to west, besides a large province of it shooting out into the sea, where begins the channel of Bahama: part of it is subject to the Spaniards, and a greater part not yet conquered; so that it affords no great profit. But now follows the great and wealthy kingdom of Mexico, running above a hundred and thirty leagues almost north and south, and about the same length upon a turn it makes in the south part towards the east, including the great peninsula of Yucatan, above three hundred leagues in compass. In this vast dominion, entirely subject to Spain, is to be found in great plenty all that is necessary and convenient for human life, except wine and oil; and from it Europe is supplied with great store of silver, cochineal, indigo, cacao, bairullas, cotton, mechoacan, and many other precious commodities. Whence to Porto Bello the coast runs partly near east and west, and partly almost north and south, above three hundred and fifty leagues of countries incredibly rich, and affording all the commodities above mentioned, more plenty of gold, and many other precious things. From Nombre de Dios to Cabo de Galera, taking it in a straight line, the coast runs east and west about four hundred and fifty leagues, all still Spanish, and abounding in wealth; particularly the pearl-fishery on the coast of Paria, and the rich emeralds up the inland. From cape Galera to Cabo de Conde, along the coast of Caribana, lying south-east and north-west about two hundred and fifty leagues, and thence to Caparare more southerly about a hundred and twenty leagues, in all three hundred and seventy; all this for the most part unconquered, and peopled by savage Indians. From cape Caparare to Cabo do Natal about four hundred leagues east and west, somewhat southerly, and from Cabo do Natal to Rio de Janeiro almost north and south near four hundred leagues, and so to Lagoa de Pernaba a hundred and fifty leagues, in all nine hundred leagues; all this tract of land, commonly known by the name of Brasil, and subject to the crown of Portugal, yielding abundance of tobacco and sugar, infinite quantities of brasil wood, which gives the name to the country, and of late years a gold mine found in it, which yields considerable treasure. From Lagoa de Pernaba to the river of Plate, about three hundred leagues south-west and north-east, under the dominion of Spain. From the mouth of the river of Plate, running up the continent on the back of Brasil, the Spanish dominions reach quite across to Peru, being at least four hundred leagues, and above as much north and south in the inland; being fruitful countries, almost overrun with flocks and herds of all sorts of cattle, whence they send abundance of hides to Spain, and much silver which they have from Peru by way of trade. From the mouth of the river of Plate, to the entrance into the strait of Magellan, south-west and north-east four hundred leagues; all this country is inhabited only by savage Indians, and was never subdued by any European nation: therefore yielding no profit, though fruitful and good land. Terra del Fuogo, or Terra Magellanica, lying to the south of the strait, is little known, and not worth conquering by reason of its coldness, and therefore no more needs be said of it. The strait of Magellan is about a hundred leagues in length, and coming out of it into the South sea, from cape Victoria to Rio de los Gallegos, about two hundred leagues; all still the country of the Patagones, never inhabited by christians, nor yielding them any benefit. But here begins the coast of Chile, extending above three hundred leagues; a country infinitely rich in gold, for which the silver is neglected, though it has plenty of it, and yielding the most precious natural balsam in the world; all subject to Spain, as is the whole coast on the South-sea up to 40 degrees of north latitude, for which reason it will be needless to repeat it. Peru reaches four hundred leagues north-west and south-east, well known for its inexhaustible silver mines of Potosi and Porco. Next is the province of Quito, about an hundred leagues along the coast north and south. Then the firm land, or continent, so called peculiarly, and provinces of Panama and Veragua, above an hundred leagues north-east and south-west, and north-west and south-east. After this follows the government of Guatemala, near three hundred and fifty leagues along the coast north-west and south-east; and then that of Mexico two hundred and fifty leagues, abounding in gold, silver, all useful woods, rich drugs, cotton, and many other precious commodities. Lastly, New-Mexico reaching up to 40 degrees of north latitude, being about four hundred leagues; a rich country in silver mines, and plentiful in cattle, corn, and all other blessings for human life. Having run along both sides of America, and given a particular of each division, as to extent, product, and by whom possessed, as far as the brevity of this discourse would permit; it is fit to note that all the lengths are here taken in a straight line, and not winding with the shores, which would make them double what is computed; and, as in such vast extents not pretended to be measured to exactness, but according to the general computation of sailors. The total thus amounts to six thousand five hundred leagues, taking only the greatest windings of the coast, and this along what is conquered by Europeans; excepting only the seven hundred leagues of the land of the Patagones about the strait of Magellan, and two hundred and fifty or thereabouts, of Caribana, not so well subdued. And to sum up the commodities we have from these countries; the principal are gold, silver, pearls, emeralds, amethists, cochineal of several sorts, indigo, anatto, logwood, brasil, Nicaragua wood, brasilette, fustic, lignum vitæ, sugar, ginger, cacao, bairullas, cotton, red wool, tobacco of various sorts, snuff, hides raw and tanned, amber-greece of all sorts, bezoar, balsam of Tolu, of Peru, and of Chile, jesuit’s bark, jalap, mechoacan, sarsaparilla, sassafras, tamarinds, cassia, and many other things of lesser note. It only remains now to add a word concerning the islands belonging to this mighty continent. The first of these beginning northerly, is Newfoundland, above three hundred leagues in compass, peopled by French and English, who have some colonies in it fruitful enough, were it well cultivated; yet it yields no commodity to export from the land: but the sea is an inexhausted treasure, furnishing all Europe with salt and dried fish; which yield a mighty profit to those that follow the fishery, and is a general benefit to all men. The next are the Bermudas, or Summer-islands, lying above three hundred leagues east from the coast of Virginia: the biggest of them is not twenty miles long, and not above two or three in breadth, the others much smaller: yet here is a strong colony of English, the land being delightful to live in, producing all things for human life plentifully, and the trade is some cochineal, ambergreece and pearl: it used to send abroad the fairest oranges in these parts, but they have failed of late years. Off the coast of Florida are the islands called Lucayos, the first discovered by Columbus; but they are small and of no account. South of the point of Florida is Cuba, above two hundred leagues in length, and about forty in breadth in the widest place; a pleasant place, has gold and copper mines, and yields tobacco, sugar, and cotton. East of Cuba lies Hispaniola an hundred and fifty leagues in length, and about sixty in breadth, producing the same commodities as Cuba; and both subject to Spain. Jamaica lies south of Cuba, about seventy leagues in length, and twenty in breadth, possessed by the English, and producing sugar, indigo and cotton. The island of Puerto Rico is less than Jamaica, yields the same commodities, and belongs to Spain. The Caribbe islands are many, but small; some of them possessed by the English, French, and Dutch, others not inhabited: they produce sugar, indigo, cotton and tobacco, and run from the coast of Paria to Puerto Rico. The Leeward-islands lie along the coast of Paria, the most remarkable of them being Margarita, and Cubagua, famous for the pearl-fishery. La Trinidad is a large island before the gulph of Paria, near which there are many small ones, but not considerable. All the coast southward has no island of any note, till we come to the strait of Magellan, the south part whereof is made by Terra del Fuego and other islands, of which little is known. Nor is there any ascending again northward worth speaking of, till the mouth of the bay of Panama, where are the islands of Pearls, so called from a pearl-fishery there; they are small, and of no consideration in any other respect. The only great island on this side America is California, found to be so but of late years, running from the tropic of Cancer to 45 degrees of north latitude, north-west and south-east, above five hundred leagues in length, and an hundred in breadth in the northern part, whence it runs tapering down to the south. It has hitherto yielded no great profit to the Spaniards, who have not had leisure to build colonies there till within these very few years, and not above two as yet. This is all that belongs to America; it remains to add some few voyages to the isles of Solomon, Terra Australis incognita, and the land of Yesso, or Jedso; which being properly no part of the East or West Indies, and but little of them as yet known, they have been reserved to be spoke of by themselves.

An. 1595, Alvaro de Mendana, with the title of governor and lord-lieutenant, set out from Peru for the islands of Solomon, whereof some uncertain knowledge was had before by ships that accidentally had seen some of them: he had four sail, with men and women, and all other necessaries to settle a colony. In about 9 or 10 degrees of south latitude, and fifteen hundred leagues west of the city of Lima in Peru, he discovered four small islands inhabited by very handsome and civilized people. Hence holding on his course still westward, he found several other more considerable islands, where he intended to have settled his colony, but was hindered by many misfortunes, and among the rest sickness. All that is extant of this relation, is only a fragment in Spanish taken out of Thevenot’s second volume; which being inserted in this collection, it will be needless to add any more in this place, only that three of the ships perished; two were never heard of, a third cast away on the Philippine islands, the men saved; and the fourth, being the admiral, arrived at Manila, with the men almost starved: and thus this enterprise was disappointed.

An. 1600, four ships sailing from Peru for the Philippine islands, were by northerly winds driven south of the equinoctial, where they fell upon several rich countries and islands, not far from the isles of Solomon; they called one place Monte de Plata, or Mountain of Silver, because they found plenty of it there. After which a captain of note went out on purpose, and saw these discoveries. This is all we have of it in Purchas, vol. IV. ; only he adds two petitions of captain Peter Fernandez de Quiros to the king of Spain, suing to be employed in conducting colonies to those southern parts, alleging the vast extent and riches of the continent, and great value of the islands, which he speaks of as an eye-witness, and by the report of natives he brought away from thence, as may be seen more at large in Purchas, vol. IV. .

An. 1628. On the twenty-eighth of October, the Dutch set out eleven sail for India, among which was the Batavia, commanded by captain Francis Pelsart, which being parted from the rest was cast away on the rocks near some small islands not inhabited, and having no fresh water, in upwards of 38 degrees of south latitude, but all the people saved on the islands. This want obliged them to build a deck to their long boat and put out to sea, where they soon discovered the continent, bearing north and by west about six miles from them. This was on the eighth of June,

An. 1629, and the weather being rough, and the coast high, they were forced to beat at sea till the fourteenth, when they found themselves in 24 degrees of south latitude; and six men swimming ashore saw four savages quite naked, who fled from them: they went to seek fresh water, but finding none, swam back to their boat. The fifteenth the boat made into shore, and found no fresh water, but the remains of the rain that lay in the hollow of the rocks, which relieved them, being almost choaked. The sixteenth they went ashore again, but found no water, the latitude here 22 degrees; the twentieth in 19 degrees, the twenty second in 16 degrees 10 minutes. Thus Pelsart sailed along this coast to the northward till he came among the Indian islands, and then struck over to Java, where he met two Dutch ships, which carried him to Batavia, whence he returned with a vessel to save as much as might be of the wreck. Thevenot, vol I.

An. 1642, Abel Jansen Tasman set sail from Batavia in the island of Java with a yacht and a flyboat, and September the fifth anchored at the island Mauritius in 20 degrees of south latitude. The eighth they departed thence south till 40 or 41 degrees, then bore away east somewhat southerly, till the sixth of November they were in 49 degrees. The twenty-fourth in 42 degrees 25 minutes they saw land east and by north at ten miles distance, and called it Antony van Diemen’s land, and after running along the coast came to an anchor on the first of December in a bay they named Frederick Hendrick’s Bay: they heard some noise as of people, but saw none, and only the footing of wild beasts, and some smokes. Departing hence on the thirteenth of December they anchored in the country called in the maps New-Zealand; here they saw some natives lusty people, and half naked, who coming aboard on pretence to traffic, fell upon the men in the boat, and killed four of them, for which reason it was called Murderers Bay. Here they seemed to be embayed, but on the fourth of January 1643, came up with the N. W. cape of this land, and finding an island there, called it Three Kings Island; and going thither to refresh, they saw some large men, but could not understand them. Hence they directed their course north-east, till in 22 degrees 35 minutes they saw a small island, which they could not come at, but called it Piilstreet’s island, January 21, in 21 degrees 20 minutes, they called two islands, the one Amsterdam, the other Zealand; on the first they got many hogs, hens, and all sorts of fruit. The inhabitants were friendly, had no weapons, and seemed to know no evil, but that they would steal. In the latter of these islands they saw gardens with square beds and trees regularly planted. Leaving this place they saw many islands as they stood northward, and in 17 degrees 19 minutes they run among eighteen or twenty islands, which in the charts are called Prince William’s Islands, or Hemskirk’s Shoals. Directing their course now N. or N. N. W. after much foul weather, on the twenty-second of March, in 5 degrees 2 minutes south latitude, they had sight of land four miles west of them, being about twenty islands, called in the charts Onthong Java, about ninety miles from the coast of New-Guinea. March the twenty-fifth, in 4 degrees 35 minutes, they were up with the islands of Mark, found before by William Schouten, and John le Maire: the natives are savage and have their hair tied up. March the twenty-ninth they passed by Green Island, the thirtieth by S. John’s Island, and April the first, in 4 degrees 30 minutes, they reached the coast of New-Guinea at a cape called by the Spaniards Santa Maria, and run along the coast to the promontory called Struis Hook, where the land bends to the south and south-east, as they did to find a passage to the south, but were forced to turn to the west. April the twenty-eighth they came to the burning island, where they saw a great fire come out of the hill, and sailing betwixt the island and the main saw many fires. At the islands Jama and Moa they got refreshment. May the twelfth, in only 54 minutes of south latitude, they sailed along the side of William Schouten’s island, which seems to be well inhabited: and the eighteenth they came to the west-end of New-Guinea, and on the fifteenth of June returned to Batavia, having finished the voyage in ten months. Thevenot, vol. II.

An. 1643, a Dutch ship sailing to the northward of Japan, came upon a coast in 39 degrees 45 minutes latitude. Running up as far as 43 degrees, they saw several villages near one another, and say there are about them many mines of silver. The land in some places seemed to bear no grass, but the sea was very full of fish. In 44 degrees 30 minutes, they went ashore in a mountainous country, supposed to be full of silver mines. In 46 degrees the land resembled the coast of England, the soil being good, but the natives do not till it. In 48 degrees there are small hills covered with short grass. In 45 degrees 50 minutes is an island, which the Dutch call Staten island, and beyond it the Companies land, another island: in this they found a sort of mineral earth, that looked as if it had been all silver. In 45 degrees they observed, that though the land was not cultivated it yielded very good fruit of several sorts, the sea-shore was covered with rose-trees, and on the rocks many large oysters, but on the land they saw no beast but one bear. The inhabitants of this land of Eso or Yedso, for so it is called, are all strong set, thick, with long hair and beards, good features, no flat noses, black eyes, a sallow complexion, and very hairy about their bodies: the women are not so black as the men, some of them cut their hair, and others tie it up. They seem to have no religion nor government, every man has two wives, who serve him at home and abroad: they are very jealous of their women, love drinking, look like savages, but yet are very civil and obliging to strangers: their houses are only small cottages, and but a few of them together: they eat the fat and oil of whales, all sorts of fish and herbs, and rose-buds are their greatest dainty. Their clothes are some of silk and some of the skins of beasts. They use bows and arrows to kill wild beasts, and they spin hemp. They trade with the Japoneses, whom they furnish with train-oil, whales tongues smoaked, furs, several sorts of feathers, for which they receive rice, sugar, silk, and other coarser garments, copper-pipes, tobacco-boxes, and varnished dishes and vessels for their meat and drink, pendants for their ears, copper ear-rings, hatchets, knives, &c. The capital of the country is small, they call it Matsmay, where the prince or governor of the country resides, who every year goes over to pay his respects to the emperor of Japan, and carry him presents. This is what the Dutch discovered, but a Japonese told them this land of Eso or Yedso was an island. Thevenot, tom. I.

Anno 1698-9. On the fourteenth of January captain Dampier, in his majesty’s ship the Roe-Buck, sailed from the Downs upon a new discovery, touched at the Canaries and isles of Cabo Verde, and the twenty-fifth of March came to an anchor in Bakia de Todos Santos, or the Bay of All-saints, in Brasil. April the third he left this place, and the twenty-third of April saw the land about the cape of Good Hope. August the first having run from Brasil a hundred and fourteen degrees, he made into the shore of New-Holland in 26 degrees south latitude, thinking to put into some harbour; but finding rocks and foul ground, stood out to sea again till August the sixth, when he came to an anchor in 25 degrees at an opening, which he called Sharks Bay, where he could get no fresh water, but plenty of wood, and refreshed the men with racoons, tortoises, sharks, and other fish, and some sorts of fowl. He sounded most of this bay, and on the fourteenth sailed out of it, coasting as the weather would permit to the northward, and then to the north-east, as the coast runs, where, in 20 degrees 21 minutes, he found several islands, and going ashore on some of them could get no fresh water, nor see any inhabitants; so he continued along the shore as near as could be with safety, till on the thirtieth he anchored in eight fathom water, where he saw some of the natives, but could not take any. Looking for water none was found, and digging pits they got some that was brackish and not fit to drink. Finding no water or other refreshment on this coast, in the beginning of September he stood over for the island Timor, where he took in fresh water, and on the third of December arrived on the coast of New-Guinea, and had some commerce with the inhabitants of an island called Pulo Sabuti. Then passing to the northward, and to the eastermost part of New-Guinea, he found it did not join to the main land of New-Guinea, but was an island which he called New-Britain. Having discovered thus far, and being unprovided to proceed, he returned by Timor and Java, so to the cape of Good Hope, and island of S. Helena. At the island of the Ascension his ship foundered, but the men were saved, and returned to England aboard the East-India ship called the Canterbury. Dampier’s voyage to New-Holland, being his third volume.

The voyages round the world, which, for so many thousand years as past from the creation till the discovery of the West-Indies, could never so much as enter into the thoughts of man, and which after they were performed gave just subject of admiration, do well deserve to be mentioned apart from all others, as being the boldest action that could be undertaken, and to be performed but one way, though several attempts have been made to find out others, as has been showed in the fruitless voyages for discovery of the north-east and north-west passages: for this reason they have been reserved for this place, where something shall be said of all hitherto performed, but more particularly of the first, as the most glorious and honourable, because it showed the way to all that followed. This wonderful enterprise was undertaken and performed after this manner:

An. 1519, Ferdinand de Magalhaens, or as we corruptly call him, Magellan, by nation a Portuguese, by descent a gentleman, and by profession a soldier and seaman, having served his prince well both in Afric and India, and being ill rewarded, renounced his country, disnaturalizing himself as the custom then was, and offered his service to the emperor Charles the fifth then king of Spain. He had long before conceived an opinion, that another way might be found to India, and particularly to the Molucco islands, besides the common track by the cape of Good Hope followed by the Portugueses. This he proposed to the emperor with such assurance of performing what he promised, that he had the command of five ships given him, and in them two hundred and fifty men: with this squadron he sailed from S. Lucar de Barrameda on the twentieth of September, the aforesaid year 1519. Being come to the river called Rio de Janeiro on the coast of Brasil, and near 23 degrees of south latitude, some discontent began to appear among the men, which was soon blown over; but proceeding to the bay of S. Julian in 49 degrees of latitude, where they were forced to winter, the mutiny grew so high, three of the captains and most of the men being engaged. that Magellan having in vain endeavoured to appease it by fair means, was forced to use his authority, executing two of the said captains, and setting the third with a priest who had sided with them ashore among the wild Indians. This done, he proceeded on his voyage, and on the twenty first of October 1520, having been out above a year, discovered the cape, which he called Cabo de la Virgines, or the Virgins’ Cape, because that day was the feast of S. Ursula and the eleven thousand virgins; and there turned into the strait he went in search of, which from him to this day is called the strait of Magellan: it lies in 52 degrees of south latitude, is about a hundred leagues in length, in some parts a league wide, in some more, in some less, but all narrow, and enclosed with high land on both sides, some bare, some covered with woods, and some of the loftiest mountains with snow. Having sailed about fifty leagues in this strait, they discovered another branch of it, and Magellan sent one of his ships to bring him some account of it; but the seamen being parted from him took the opportunity, and confining their captain for opposing their design, returned into Spain, spending eight months in their return. Magellan having expected beyond the time appointed, and finding they did not return to him, proceeded though the strait, and came into the South-sea with only three ships, having lost one in his passage, but all the men saved, and another as was said being stolen away from him. The last land of the strait he called Cabo Deseado, or the Desired Cape, because it was the end of his desired passage to the South-sea. The cold being somewhat sharp, he thought good to draw nearer to the equinoctial, and accordingly steered west-north-west. In this manner he sailed three months and twenty days without seeing land, which reduced them to such straits, that they were forced to eat all the old leather they had aboard, and to drink stinking water, of which nineteen men died, and near thirty were so weak, that they could do no service. After fifteen hundred leagues sailing he found a small island in 18 degrees of south latitude, and two hundred leagues further another, but nothing considerable in them; and therefore held on his course, till in about 12 degrees of north latitude, he came to those islands which he called De los Ladrones, or of Thieves, because the natives hovered about his ships in their boats, and coming aboard stole every thing they could lay hold of. Finding no good to be done here, he sailed again, and discovered a great number of islands together, he gave that sea the name of Archipelago de S. Lazaro, the islands being those we now call the Philippines. On the twenty-eighth of March he anchored by the island of Buthuan, where he was friendly received, and got some gold; then removed to the isle of Massana, at a small distance from the other, and thence to that of Cebu. Magellan having hitherto succeeded so well, stood over to the island Matan, where not agreeing with the natives he came to a battle, and was killed in it with eight of his men. After this disaster the rest sailed over to the island Bohol, and being too weak to carry home their three ships, burnt one of them, after taking out the cannon and all that could be of use to them. Being now reduced to two ships, they made away to the south-west in search of the Molucco islands, and instead of them fell in with the great one of Borneo, where they made some short stay, being friendly received: and departing thence, with the assistance of Indian pilots arrived at length at the Moluccos on the eighth of November 1521, in the twenty-seventh month after their departure from Spain, and anchored in the port of Tidore, one of the chief of those islands, where they were lovingly treated by the king, who concluded a peace, and took an oath ever to continue in amity with the king of Spain. Here they traded for cloves, exchanging the commodities they brought to their own content: when they were to depart, finding one of the ships leaky, and unfit for so long a voyage, they left her behind to refit, and then sailed for Spain as soon as possible. The other ship called the Victory, commanded by John Sebastian Cano, and carrying forty-six Spaniards, and thirteen Indians, took its course to the south-west, and coming to the island Malva, near that of Timor, in 11 degrees of south latitude, staid there fifteen days to stop some leaks they discovered in her. On the twenty-fifth of January 1522, they left this place, and the next day touched at Timor, whence they went not till the eleventh of February, when they took their way to the southward, resolving to leave all India, and the islands to the northward, to avoid meeting the Portugueses, who were powerful in those seas, and would obstruct their passage: therefore they run into 40 degrees of south latitude before they doubled the cape of Good Hope, about which they spent seven weeks beating it out against contrary winds, so that their provisions began to fail, and many men grew sick, which made some entertain thoughts of turning back to Mozambique, but others opposed it. In fine, after two months more hardships, in which they lost twenty-one of their company, they were forced to put into the island of S. James, being one of those of Cabo Verde, where with much intreaty they obtained some small relief of provisions; but thirteen of them going ashore again for some rice the Portugueses had promised to supply them with, were detained ashore, which made those that were left aboard the ship hoist sail and put to sea, fearing the like treachery might surprise them, and on the seventh of September arrived safe at S. Lucar, below the city Sevil, where after firing all their guns for joy, they repaired to the great church in their shirts and barefoot to return thanks to God. The ship that performed this wonderful voyage was called the Victory, as was said before; the commander’s name was John Sebastian Cano, who was well rewarded and honoured by the emperor. This was the first voyage round the world, which we shall soon see followed by other nations; and this was the discovery of the strait of Magellan, which made the voyage practicable. The other Spanish ship we mentioned to be left at the Moluccos to stop her leaks, attempted to return the way it came to Panama, but after struggling above four months with the easterly winds, most of the men dying, and the rest being almost starved, it went back to the Moluccos, where it was taken by the Portugueses; and the few men that survived after being kept two years in India, were sent to Spain in the Portugueses ships. Herrera, dec. 2. lib. IV, IX, and dec. 3. lib. I. IV. Hackluyt, vol. III. and Purchas, vol. I.

The second voyage round the world was begun

An. 1577, by Mr. Francis, afterwards sir Francis, Drake, with five ships and barks, and a hundred and sixty-four men, who sailed from Plymouth on the thirteenth of December, and on the twenty-fifth of the same month touched at cape Cantin on the African coast, in 31 degrees of north latitude; on the seventeenth of January 1578, at cape Blanco on the same coast, and twenty-one degrees of latitude, and then at the islands of Cabo Verde. Departing thence they sailed fifty-four days without seeing land, and on the fifth of April came upon the coast of Brasil, where they watered, and proceeded to the mouth of the river of Plate in 36 degrees of south latitude. Sailing hence, on the twenty-seventh of April they put into a port in the latitude of 46 degrees, where Drake burnt a flyboat that attended him, after saving all that could be of use. On the twentieth of June he again put into a good harbour, called Port S. Julian, in the latitude of 49 degrees, and continued there till the seventeenth of August, when putting to sea again, he entered the straits of Magellan on the twenty-first of the same month. What sort of straits these are was described in Magellan’s voyage, and therefore needs no repetition. Here on an island they found fowl that could not fly, as big as geese, whereof they killed three thousand, which was good provision; and they entered the South-sea on the sixth of September. Hence they were drove by a storm to the southward as far as the latitude of 57 degrees 20 minutes, and anchored among certain islands; whence removing to a good bay, they saw many men and women naked in canoes, and traded with them for such things as they had. Steering away again to the northward, they found three islands, and in one of them an incredible quantity of fowl; but on the eighth of October they lost sight of one of their ships commanded by Mr. Winter, which the rest supposed to be cast away, but it was put back by the tempest into the strait of Magellan, and returned home the same way it came. Drake with the rest sailed for the coast of Chile, and sending for water at the island of Mocha, two of his men were killed by the Indians, which made him depart without it. This island is on the coast of Chile in 39 degrees of south latitude. Coasting still along, he came to the bay of Valparaiso, where he found a Spanish ship with only eight Spaniards and three blacks in her, whom he surprised and took, and then going ashore plundered nine houses, being all there were in that which they called the town of Santiago. At Coquimbo in 29 degrees 30 minutes of latitude fourteen men landing, one of them was killed by the Spaniards, the rest fled back to their ships. Not far from thence landing for fresh water, they met one single Spaniard and an Indian boy driving eight lamas, or Peru sheep, loaded with silver, which they took. Running on thence to Arica on the coast of Peru in 18 degrees 30 minutes latitude, he plundered three barks, in which was some quantity of silver, but not one man. Hence he advanced to the port of Lima in 12 degrees of latitude, and after rifling what little was in them cut the cables of 12 vessels that lay there, letting them drive wheresoever the water would carry them, there being no man aboard, as having never seen an enemy in those seas. Near cape S. Francis in one degree of north latitude he took a rich ship called Cacafuego, and a little further another. Then he plundered Guatulco, and after refitting his ship in a small island run away to the northward in 43 degrees of latitude, where feeling much cold he returned into 38 degrees, and there put into a large bay on the coast of California, which Drake called Nova Albion. Here he was well received by the people, and continued some time, and sailing hence directed his course for the Molucco islands, seeing no land till the thirtieth of October, when he discovered the islands de los Ladrones in eight degrees of north latitude. On the fourteenth of November he fell in with the Molucco islands, and came to an anchor in that of Ternate, the king whereof came aboard Drake’s ship, offering him all the island could afford; and he having taken in what was most necessary and could be had there, went over to a small island south of Celebes, where he graved his ship, and fitted her to return home, which took him up twenty-six days. Thinking to return to the Moluccos, they were drove by contrary winds to the northward of the island Celebes, till turning again to the southward for fear of the many small islands in that sea, the ship on a sudden sat upon a rock, where it was feared she would have perished; but lightening her of three ton of cloves, eight guns and some provisions, she got off. On the eighth of February 1579, they fell in with the island Barateve, where they refreshed themselves after their fatigues, and took in store of such provisions as the place afforded, the natives proving very friendly, and bartering their commodities for linen. Being well furnished with all necessaries, they left this place, and again made some stay at the island of Java, the natives by their civility inviting them to it. Thence they steered directly for the cape of Good Hope, which was the first land they came near from Java, yet touched not there, nor at any other place till they came to Sierra Leona, the westermost point of Guinea, in 8 degrees of north latitude, on the twenty-second of July, and there recruited themselves with provisions. Departing thence on the twenty-fourth, they arrived in England on the third of November 1580, and the third year after their departure. This relation is to be seen at large in Hackluyt, vol. III. , and in Purchas, vol. I. lib. II. .

An. 1586. Mr. Thomas, afterwards sir Thomas Candish, undertook the third voyage round the world with three small vessels, one of a hundred and twenty, the second of sixty, and the third of forty tons burden, all fitted out at his own charges; and sailed from Plymouth on the twenty-first of July 1586. On the twenty-third of August he put into a bay on the coast of Afric, and destroyed there a village of the blacks, because they killed a man with a poisoned arrow. After some days spent about this place, he sailed away south-west, and on the first of November put in between the island of S. Sebastian and the continent of Brasil, in 24 degrees of south latitude, where the men were set to work ashore to build a pinnace, make hoops for the casks, and fill fresh water, which took them up till the twenty-third of the month, when sailing again on the seventeenth of December, they entered Port Desire, in 47 degrees and a half of latitude, and that being a convenient place for the purpose, careened their ships, and refitted what was amiss. The third day of January 1587, they anchored at the mouth of the straits of Magellan, the weather being very stormy, which lasted three days, all which time they continued there, but lost an anchor, and the sixth day entered the strait. The seventh, as they drew near the narrow part of the strait, they took a Spaniard, being one of the twenty-three that still remained alive, which were all then left of five hundred there three years before to guard the strait, the rest being dead with hunger. These had built a town, which they called king Philip’s city, and fortified it, but they could make no works against famine, which consumed them all to those before mentioned, who except him that was taken were gone along the coast, hoping to get to the river of Plate. Candish having wooded and watered here, called this place Port Famine. The weather proving very boisterous and foul, he was forced to ride it out often at anchor, and therefore did not get out into the South-sea till the twenty-fourth of February. On the first of March a violent storm parted the bark of forty tons from the other two ships, and they met not before the fifteenth betwixt the island of S. Mary and the continent of Chile, in 37 degrees and a half of south latitude. Here they took in as much corn as they would have and abundance of potatoes, all which had been laid up in the island for the Spaniards, besides as many hogs as they could salt, abundance of hens, and five hundred dried dog-fishes. The eighteenth they left this place, and on the last of the month landed at Punta de Quenuro in 33 degrees of latitude, but saw no man, though they travelled some miles, only spied some herds of very wild cattle; but the first of April going to water, the men were set upon by the Spaniards, and twelve of them cut off. Proceeding hence along the coast of Chile and Peru, they took some coasting vessels carrying provisions from one place to another. In this manner they ran along to the island Puna, in about 3 degrees of south latitude, being a famous place for supplying all those coasts with cables. Here the English took what they found for their use, the island being inhabited by none but Indians, except some few Spaniards that lived in the chief town, who killed twelve of the English, but were put to flight, and the town burnt, as was the church particularly, and the bells carried away. This second loss of men obliged Candish to sink his bark of forty ton, that had attended him out of England. On the twelfth of June they cut the equinoctial line, and holding on their course to the northward all that month, on the first of July came upon the coast of New-Spain; where on the ninth they took and burnt a ship with seven men in her, and soon after a bark, whose men were fled to shore. The twenty-sixth day they anchored at Copalita in 16 degrees of north latitude, whence they went with thirty men to Aguatulco a small Indian town, which they burnt and rifled. Then keeping along that coast, they continued ravaging the Indian towns, till they came to a small island in 23 degrees of latitude, and eleven leagues from the city Chiametlan; where having watered, and staid till the ninth of November, they then stood over to cape S. Lucar, which is the southermost point of California, and beating about it till the fourth of November, met then with the S. Anne, being the Spanish galeon bound from the Philippine islands to the port of Acapulco in New-Spain. After a fight of six hours the galeon was taken and carried into the port called Puerto Seguro; where setting ashore the Spaniards, and taking out what goods they could carry, they burnt the galeon, and on the nineteenth of November sailed thence towards India. This night Candish, who was in the Desire, lost his other ship called the Content, and never saw her after. Being thus left alone he sailed before the wind, as is usual there, for the space of forty-five days, and on the third of January 1588, came up with the islands de los Ladrones, having run about eighteen hundred leagues; on the fourteenth with cape Espiritu Santo, a great head-land of one of the Philippine islands to the westward in 13 degrees of latitude, and about three hundred leagues from the islands Ladrones. At the island Cabul he continued some days getting fresh provisions, and then sailing amidst all those islands south-west and by south, on the eighth of February discovered the island Batochina near Gilolo, in 1 degree of south latitude; whence he steered to the south side of the great island of Java, and touching there on the twelfth of March, traded with the natives for provisions, which were brought him in great plenty. On the sixteenth he set sail for the cape of Good Hope, and doubled it about the middle of May; having spent nine weeks betwixt the island of Java and this place, which is about eighteen hundred leagues distance. On the ninth of June he anchored at the island of S. Helena, about five hundred leagues distant from the cape of Good Hope, lying betwixt the coast of Afric and Brazil, in about 15 degrees of south latitude. This island is generally touched at by ships going to and returning from the East-Indies, because of the conveniency of watering, besides the great plenty it produces of excellent fruit, as also abundance of fowl, swine, and goats, the place being extremely pleasant, but very small. Having taken in wood and water here, and made clean the ship, on the twentieth of June, Candish sailed for England; on the twenty-fourth of August he discovered the islands Flores and Corvo, two of the Azores, and on the ninth of September after a terrible storm, which carried away part of his sails, put into the port of Plymouth. Hackluyt, vol. III. , and Purchas, vol. I. lib. II. .

An. 1598. The Dutch resolving to perform as much as had been done before by Magellan’s ship, and by sir Francis Drake and sir Thomas Candish, they fitted out four ships under the command of captain Oliver d’Oirt, as Van Meteren calls him, or Oliver Noort, according to Purchas. The rest proceeded on their voyage upon the nineteenth of July; and to omit particulars of less moment, and their touching at places not material, on the tenth of December they came to the Prince’s Island, or Ilha do Principe on the coast of Congo, in 2 degrees of north latitude; where the Portugueses killed some of their men, and the Dutch commander in revenge assaulting their fort, was repulsed with greater loss. This made him desist; and sailing thence, on the fifth of February 1599, came on the coast of Brazil. Here they spent much time, seeking refreshment and water along the shore, and being much shaken by a storm, and abundance of the men sick, besides, that it was the winter season there, they put into a little island called S. Clare, on the coast of Brazil, in about 21 degrees of south latitude. Here the sick men being set ashore, some of them presently died; the rest ailing nothing but the scurvy, were cured with eating sour plums they found there. One of the ships being very leaky, was here burnt, after all that could be of use had been taken out of her. On the sixteenth of July they left this place, steering for Port Desire in 47 degrees; and after many storms put into it on the twentieth of September, careened their ships, and took abundance of fowl. Some men were here killed by the Indians. Departing hence on the twenty-ninth, they came to cape Virgines at the mouth of the strait of Magellan, on the fourth of November; where they met with storms of wind, rain, hail, and snow, besides much sickness and contention among themselves, having been from home fifteen months, before they could get into the strait; so that it was the last of February 1600, before they came into the South-sea. March the twelfth they lost sight of the vice-admiral, and sailed without him to the island Mocha, in 38 degrees south. Another ship missing the island of S. Maries, and being drove by necessity to make the continent for provisions, lost most of its men ashore, the rest putting to sea with the vessel. Being now in fear of the Spanish men of war, he directed his course with the two ships he had left for the islands de los Ladrones, which he had sight of on the fifteenth of September; and on the fourteenth of October discovered the island of Luzon or Manilla, the chief of the Philippines. Near this island he met the two Spanish ships bound thence for New Spain; and after a desperate fight, Noort sunk one of them; but at the same time the other took his second ship, and he made all haste away to Borneo, but made no stay there for fear of the natives, who attempted to cut his cable; and therefore sailing hence, he traded for pepper at Java, and at length returned by the cape of Good Hope, and isle of S. Helena, arriving at Amsterdam on the twenty-sixth of August 1601. Purchas, vol. I. lib. II. . Van Meteren, lib. XXIII.

An. 1614. George Spilbergen, commander of five Dutch ships, sailed out of the Texel on the eighth of August, and entered the strait of Magellan on the twenty-eighth of March 1615, but being drove out again by contrary winds, he re-entered on the second of April. In the strait they continued going ashore on the south side upon the land called Tierra del Fuego, known since to be an island, till the sixth of May, when they came out into the South-sea, which received them with storms, and on the twenty-sixth came up with the island la Mocha, on the coast of Chile, mentioned in all the former voyages. Here they treated with the Indians, exchanging hatchets, and other utensils, as also coral, for large Peru sheep, which serve not only to eat, but to carry burdens. Landing at the island of S. Mary on the 29th, they had a skirmish with some few Spaniards, and got some booty of sheep. Running along the coast, they touched at Valparaiso, cape Quintero, and other places; but finding the Spaniards every-where had taken the alarm, they durst not do any thing ashore. July the seventeenth keeping along the shores of Peru, they discovered eight Spanish ships set out to engage them. That very night they engaged, and after a hot dispute, three of the Spanish ships sunk. In this action they had forty men killed, and sixty wounded. Drawing too near the shore at Callao the port of Lima, the Huntsman, one of the Dutch ships, was almost sunk with a thirty-six pounder, which made them keep further off: and holding their course to the northward, they took the little town of Peita. Therefore August the twenty-first they set out to sea again, and beat about in bad weather till the eleventh of October, when they put into the harbour of Acapulco in New-Spain, and there exchanged the prisoners they had taken for provisions. Which done, they run up into twenty degrees of north latitude, and on the twenty-sixth of November stood over for the islands de loss Ladrones. In January following, which was the year 1616, many of the men died of diseases. On the twenty-third of the same month they discovered the Ladrones, and on the ninth of February cape Espiritu Santo, the eastermost point of the Philippine islands to the northward; passing among which, they arrived at Ternate, the chief of the Moluccos, on the twenty-ninth of March, which the Dutch in the island reckoned the twenty-eighth; the fleet by following the course of the sun having lost a day, whereas they that sail round to the eastward gain a day. About these islands they continued some months, and arrived at Jacatra in the island of Java on the fifteenth of September, on the thirtieth of March 1617 at the island of S. Helena, and in July following in Zealand. Purchas, vol. I. lib. II. .

An. 1615. Isaac le Maire a merchant of Amsterdam, and William Cornelison Schouten of Horn, resolving to find out a new way to the East-Indies, besides those already known by the cape of Good Hope and strait of Magellan; at their own charges fitted out a good ship of three hundred and sixty ton and twenty guns, and a smaller of an hundred and ten ton and eight guns, in which they sailed themselves out of the Texel on the sixteenth of June in the aforesaid year, resolving to find another passage into the South-sea, to the south-ward of the strait of Magellan; which their design they kept secret, till they came near the line, where they discovered it to the seamen, who were well pleased with the undertaking. To pass by all other particulars, as too like those in the foregoing voyages, on the ninth of December they sailed up into Port Desire, on the coast of America, in 47 degrees and 40 minutes of south latitude: where bringing their ships ashore to clean them, as they were burning reeds under the lesser of them, she took fire, and burnt till the tide coming up, quenched the flame; yet so that nothing of her could be saved, but a little wood for fuel and the iron-work. The thirteenth of January 1616, the great ship now left alone sailed out of Port Desire, and the twenty-fifth discovered the island they called Staten-land to the eastward and the point of Tierra del Fuego to the westward, which they called Maurice-land, in almost 55 degrees of south latitude. Entering betwixt these two lands, they steered south-south-west, till coming under 55 degrees 36 minutes, they stood south-west and then south. Thus the twenty-sixth they came under 57 degrees, and the twenty-ninth discovered those they called Barnevelts islands. The third of February they were under 59 degrees 25 minutes, and the twelfth found the staits of Magellan lay east of them; and therefore being satisfied that they were in the South-sea, they called the newfound passage the strait of le Maire. March the first they came near the islands of John Fernandez, in 33 degrees 40 minutes of south latitude, and at some distance from the coast of Chile; but though they endeavoured it, could never come near enough to anchor, being still beaten off by the wind and current, and therefore steered away to the westward to prosecute their voyage; and in April they discovered several small islands inhabited by naked people, none of whom would come aboard, nor could they come to an anchor. These islands were in about 14 or 15 degrees of south latitude. Sailing on still westward, they saw many more islands in May, and had some trade with the natives, who attempted to surprise the ship, or at least the boat; but were soon scared away by the fire arms, when they saw they did execution, for before they thought they had only made a noise. Finding no continent, and perceiving they were at least sixteen hundred leagues to the westward of Chile or Peru, they steered to the northward, for fear they should fall south of New-Guinea, and perhaps not be able to clear themselves of the coast, the winds being always at east. Many more islands are mentioned in the journal, at some of which they touched and got refreshment; but on the first of July they anchored near the coast of New-Guinea, whence they sailed still along the shore, and amidst a multitude of islands, till they came into half a degree of south latitude, whence they saw a small island off the shore of the land of Papous, and called it William Schouten’s Island, after the captain’s name, and the westernmost point of it the cape of Good Hope. September the 17th they arrived at the island Ternate, and thence in October to Jacatra, or Batavia in the island of Java; where the president of the Dutch East-India company seized the ship and goods. Whereupon William Cornelison Schouten the master, Jacob le Maire the merchant, and ten seamen, put themselves aboard the Amsterdam, a Dutch ship homeward bound, and twelve others aboard the Zealand, and arrived in safety at Amsterdam in July; having discovered the new strait called le Maire, as was said before, and performed the voyage round the world in two years and eighteen days. Purchas, vol. I. lib. II. .

An. 1643. Brewer, or Brower, went another way into the South-sea, by a passage called after his own name, which is east of le Maire’s strait; but whether this was a strait with land on each side, or an open sea, is not known, his diary not being made public; but most maps make it a new strait.

An. 1683. One John Cook sailed from Virginia in a ship of eight guns and fifty-two men a buccaneering; and with him one Cowley, as master. On the coast of Guinea they took a ship of forty guns by surprise, in which they sailed away to the South-sea, meeting by the way another ship commanded by one Eaton, who joined them to follow the same trade. They ran into 60 degrees of south latitude, and passed that way into the South-sea, where Cowley says they discovered several islands about the line. Thence they sailed over to the Ladrones, whence they continued their course, and anchored at Canton in China. Departing from Canton, they came to the island Borneo, where Cowley, the author of this relation, with nineteen others, got a great boat in which they went away to Java. At Batavia the author, with two others, shipped himself on board a Dutch vessel, and so returned to Europe. The relation of this voyage is shortened, because there have been so many voyages round the world before, and all of them performed in the same ship; whereas in this there was much shifting. Those that desire may see it at large in the collection of original voyages, published by captain William Hack, An. 1699.

Captain Dampier in his first book of voyages gives an account of this same last mentioned, but more at large, he being aboard with the same Cook; and therefore no more needs be said of it, though there may be many circumstances which this discourse cannot descend to: wherefore here shall end the voyages round the world, it being time to proceed to what remains.

After so long a discourse of voyages and discoveries, it may seem superfluous to treat of the advantages the public receives by navigation, and the faithful journals and accounts of travellers. The matter is natural, and no man can read the one without being sensible of the other; and therefore a few words may suffice on this subject, to avoid cloying the judicious reader with what is so visible and plain, and to save runningout this introduction to an unreasonable length. What was cosmography before these discoveries, but an imperfect fragment of a science, scarce deserving so good a name? When all the known world was only Europe, a small part of Afric, and the lesser portion of Asia; so that of this terraqueous globe not one sixth part had ever been seen or heard of. Nay, so great was the ignorance of man in this particular, that learned persons made a doubt of its being round; others no less knowing imagined all they were not acquainted with, desart and uninhabitable. But now geography and hydrography have received some perfection by the pains of so many mariners and travellers, who to evince the rotundity of the earth and water, have sailed and travelled round it, as has been here made appear; to show there is no part uninhabitable, unless the frozen polar regions, have visited all other countries, though never so remote, which they have found well peopled, and most of them rich and delightful; and to demonstrate the antipodes, have pointed them out to us. Astronomy has received the addition of many constellations never seen before. Natural and moral history is embellished with the most beneficial increase of so many thousands of plants it had never before received, so many drugs and spices, such variety of beasts, birds, and fishes, such rarities in minerals, mountains and waters, such unaccountable diversity of climates and men, and in them of complexions, tempers, habits, manners, politics, and religions. Trade is raised to the highest pitch, each part of the world supplying the other with what it wants, and bringing home what is accounted most precious and valuable; and this not in a niggard and scanty manner, as when the Venetians served all Europe with spice and drugs from India by the way of Turky and the Red sea; or, as when gold and silver were only drawn from some poor European and African mines; but with plenty and affluence, as we now see, most nations resorting freely to the East-Indies, and the West, yearly sending forth prodigious quantities of the most esteemed and valuable metals. To conclude, the empire of Europe is now extended to the utmost bounds of the earth, where several of its nations have conquests and colonies. These and many more are the advantages drawn from the labours of those who expose themselves to the dangers of the vast ocean, and of unknown nations; which those who sit still at home abundantly reap in every kind: and the relation of one traveller is an incentive to stir up another to imitate him, whilst the rest of mankind, in their accounts, without stirring a foot, compass the earth and seas, visit all countries, and converse with all nations.

It only remains to give some few directions for such as go on long voyages: which shall be those drawn up by Mr. Rook, a fellow of the Royal Society, and geometry professor of Gresham college, by order of the said society, and published in the Philosophical Transactions of the eighth of January 1665-6, being Numb. 8. They are as follow:

To observe the declination of the compass, or its variation from the meridian of the place, frequently; marking withal the latitude and longitude of the place where such observation is made, as exactly as may be, and setting down the method by which they made them.

To carry dipping needles with them, and observe the inclination of the needle in like manner.

To remark carefully the ebbings and flowings of the sea in as many places as they can, together with all the accidents ordinary and extraordinary of the tides; as, their precise time of ebbing and flowing in rivers, at promontories or capes, which way the current runs, what perpendicular distance there is between the highest tide and lowest ebb, during the spring tides and neep tides, what day of the moon’s age, and what times of the year the highest and lowest tides fall out: and all other considerable accidents they can observe in the tides, chiefly near ports, and about islands, as in S. Helena’s island, and the three rivers there, at the Bermudas, &c.

To make plots and draughts of prospect of coasts, promontories, islands and ports, marking the bearings and distances as near as they can.

To sound and mark the depth of coasts and ports, and such other places near the shore as they shall think fit.

To take notice of the nature of the ground at the bottom of the sea, in all soundings, whether it be clay, sand, rock, &c.

To keep a register of all changes of wind and weather at all hours, by night and by day, showing the point the wind blows from, whether strong or weak: the rains, hail, snow, and the like; the precise times of their beginnings and continuance, especially hurricanes and spouts; but above all, to take exact care to observe the trade-winds, about what degree of latitude and longitude they first begin, where and when they cease or change, or grow stronger or weaker, and how much, as near and exact as may be.

To observe and record all extraordinary meteors, lightnings, thunders, ignes fatui, comets, &c. marking still the places and times of their appearing, continuance, &c.

To carry with them good scales, and glass-vials of a pint, or so, with very narrow mouths, which are to be filled with sea-water in different degrees of latitude, as often as they please, and the weight of the vial full of water taken exactly at every time, and recorded, marking withal the degree of latitude, and the day of the month; and that as well of water near the top, as at a greater depth.

This may suffice for sea voyages; but in regard it may be expected something should be said for those who travel by land, a few instructions have been collected from experienced travellers, who are best able to direct such as design to follow them into remote countries. We will therefore begin with Monsieur de Bourges, who with the bishop of Berytus made a journey through Turky, Persia and India, as far as Cochinchina. He advises such as intend for those parts so to order their affairs, that they may come into Turky in October, to avoid the excessive heats of those countries for four or five months before that time. If our traveller will hold on his journey to Persia, he must go with the caravan from Aleppo to Babylon, or Bagdat, which will take him up a month; thence he embarks upon the river Euphrates, which carries him down to Bassora. whence he proceeds by sea to Bander, where he may find convenience by land to Ispahan, the capital of Persia; from Ispahan the difficulties of travelling by land to India are almost invincible, and therefore the proper way is to repair to the port of Gomrom, whence there is a constant and safe passage to Suratte, or any other part of India. All persons that travel in Turky must change their habit into that of the country, and must lay aside the hat and wear a turbant, and the meaner the habit the safer they will be from extortions and robberies; they must endeavour to have a Turkish interpreter on the road with them, who may own whatever goods they carry, and protect them against any affronts that may be offered them; but above all, they must endeavour to be well recommended to the captain of the caravan, which will be their greatest safeguard. This recommendation must be from some of the christian consuls, but generally the best from the French, who are much regarded in those parts. Such as will not carry all their stock in ready money, must be careful to carry those commodities that will turn to best account, amongst which the brightest yellow amber, and the largest red coral, are in great esteem. These though not wrought, are profitable; and to avoid the duties paid at several places, may be carried in a bag, or portmanteau on the horse the traveller rides, for those are not searched. The best money they can carry are Spanish pieces of eight, provided they be full weight, and not of Peru, which are not so fine silver as the others. By this money they will have seven or eight per cent. profit in some parts, and ten per cent. in others, and the same in French crowns. As for gold, the greatest profit is made of the Venetian and Hungarian, and it is very considerable. There is so great an advantage to be made by those who rightly understand the best coins and their value, that those who are well instructed in it can travel for a very inconsiderable expence. It is absolutely necessary to carry good arms to defend themselves upon all occasions, but more particularly to fight the Arabs, and other rovers. Above all, it is requisite in Turky that travellers be armed with patience to bear many affronts the infidels will put upon them, and with prudence and moderation to prevent, as much as possibly may be, any such insolencies. They will do well never to go without provisions, because the caravans never stop to bait, and very often at night have no other inn but the open fields, where they lie in tents, and eat what they carry. When they travel with the caravan, they must take care never to be far from it, for fear of being devoured by wild beasts, or by the wilder Arabs. This in Turky, for in Persia it is quite otherwise; here we may travel in the European habit, and wear hats, which are better against the heat than turbants; the roads are safe, and the Persians courteous to strangers, especially the better sort. However the traveller must watch the servants, and meaner sort of people of the country, who else will impose on him in matter of payments, of buying and selling; and therefore his best way is, where there are missioners to repair to them, who will assist and instruct him. He must carry no gold into Persia, because it bears a low price, and he will be a great loser by it: the best way is to change his money on the Turkish frontiers into Persian coin, or else to carry a quantity of good amber and coral, which will yield profit, as will also good watches. In India Spanish gold yields some profit, though small, which the traveller may take notice of, in case he has no goods to carry that may yield a greater profit: this at Suratte; but further in India, and particularly at Galconda, gold yields more, and especially old gold: however, at Siam again there is great loss in Spanish gold, and all other sorts, for there it is lower than in any other part of the East-Indies nearer to us, and still decreases beyond it, as in Cochinchina, Tonquin and China. In India the way of travelling by land is commonly in carts drawn by oxen, and in some parts on elephants, but in China the most common carriage is in palankenes, or chairs on mens shoulders, who travel swift and cheap.

These particulars may serve in relation to the eastern nations; and as for Europe, the methods of travelling are too well known to require any particular instructions, therefore it only remains to set down some general rules which may concern all travellers to observe. They are in the first place to consider, that they do not go into other countries to pass through them, and divert themselves with the present sight of such curiosities as they meet with, nor to learn the vices of those people, for which they need not take the pains of going abroad, nor to observe their faults that they may have matter to rail when they come home. If they will make an advantage of their trouble and cost, they must not pass through a country as if they carried an express, but make a reasonable stay at all places where there are antiquities, or any rarities to be observed; and not think that because others have writ on that subject, there is no more to be said; for upon comparing their observations with other mens they will often find a very considerable difference. Let them therefore always have a table-book at hand to set down every thing worth remembering, and then at night more methodically transcribe the notes they have taken in the day. The principal heads by which to regulate their observations are these, the climate, government, power, places of strength, cities of note, religion, language, coins, trade, manufactures, wealth, bishoprics, universities, antiquities, libraries, collections of rarities, arts and artists, public structures, roads, bridges, woods, mountains, customs, habits, laws, privileges, strange adventures, surprising accidents, rarities, both natural and artificial, the soil, plants, animals, and whatsoever may be curious, diverting or profitable. It is not amiss, if it may be, to view all rarities in the company of other strangers, because many together are apt to remark more than one alone can do. Every traveller ought to carry about him several sorts of measures, to take the dimensions of such things as require it; a watch by which, and the pace he travels, he may give some guess at the distances of places, or rather at the length of the computed leagues, or miles; a prospective-glass, or rather a great one and a less, to take views of objects at greater and less distances; a small sea compass or needle, to observe the situation of places, and a parcel of the best maps to make curious remarks of their exactness, and note down where they are faulty. In fine, a traveller must endeavour to see the courts of princes, to keep the best company, and to converse with the most celebrated men in all arts and sciences. Thus much for travellers; but that every man may have his due, as we owned the instructions for the eastern countries to be those given by Monsieur de Bourges, so we must here confess, that most of these general rules may be found in Monsieur Misson’s travels. Having given an account of the advancement of navigation, and all discoveries made by help of it, of the countries so discovered, of the advantages the public receives by the relations of travellers, and some directions for them; it now only remains to subjoin a catalogue and character of books of travels, for the information of such as take delight in this sort of pleasant and profitable reading.

A CATALOGUE AND CHARACTER OF MOST BOOKS OF VOYAGES AND TRAVELS.

LATIN.

DESCRIPTIO Africæ, 8°.

Descriptiones Asiæ.

De Lege Mahumetica, and

De Rebus Mahumeticis.

These four by John Leo, a Spaniard by birth, and a mahometan by education, but afterwards converted, who before his conversion travelled through the greatest part of Afric, and has given the best right into it of any writer, as Johannes Bodinus affirms. He first writ them in the Arabic for his own nation, but afterwards translated them himself into Italian, and John Florianus into Latin. He gives an excellent account of the religion, laws, customs and manners of the people of Afric, but is too brief in martial affairs and the lives of the African princes.

Epistolæ viginti sex de rebus Japonicis, or twenty-six letters concerning the affairs of Japan, to be seen in several collections of this sort of letters.

Historica relatio de legatione regis Sinensium ad regem Japonum: or an account of the embassy sent by the emperor of China to Taicosoma king of Japan, An. 1596. and of the strange prodigies that happened before the embassy, Rome 1599. 8°.

Historica relatio de rebus per Japoniam, An. 1596. à patribus societatis durante persecutione gestis: or an account of the proceedings of the jesuits in Japan, in the year 1596, during the persecution. These three by F. Lewis Froes, a jesuit who lived forty-nine years in the east, and thirty-six of them in the island of Japan as a missioner. It is believed these relations were writ in Portuguese by the author, and afterwards translated into Latin.

De Abassinorum rebus, deque Æthiopiæ patriarchis, Lions, 1615. 8°. The author was F. Nicholas Godinho, a Portuguese jesuit, who divides his work into three books, and in it refutes the fabulous history writ by F. Urreta.

Itinerarium ab oppido Complutensi Toletanæ provinciæ usque ad urbem Romanam. A journal of a journey from the university of Alcala in Spain to Rome, by Dr. James Lopez de Zuniga, a pious and learned man.

Literæ annuæ. The annual or yearly letters out of Ethiopia, China, India, and other parts, give much light into the affairs of those countries, and are to be found in several volumes, and scattered in collections of travels; of all which it will be needless to give any account in this place.

Athanasii Kircheri è societate Jesu China, monumentis qua sacris qua profanis, illustrata, fol. This is a complete history of China, and held in great reputation for some years, but of late its reputation has declined, since so many books of that empire have appeared writ by missioners, who have resided there many years, and discovered great mistakes in Kircher.

Jobi Ludolfi historia Æthiopica, fol. This history of Æthiopia is written by a German, who having gathered most of it from the writings of the jesuits, yet makes it his business to contradict them, from the information given him by an Ethiopian he was acquainted with in Germany, for he was never near Ethiopia himself; and his whole book has more of controversy, and of the Ethiopian language, than of history.

Relatio eorum que circa S. Cæs. Majest. ad magnum Moscorum Czarum ablegatos anno æræ christianæ 1675. gesta sunt, strictim recensita per Adolphum Lyseck, dictæ legationis secretarium, 8°. Saltzburg 1676. In this account of an embassy to the czar of Muscovy, we have an account of his travels through Silesia, Pomerania, Prussia, Lithuania, and Muscovy, to the court of Moscow, and of all things of note the author saw or heard of, being an ingenious person, and having a greater privilege than common travellers, as secretary to the embassy. Giorn. de Letter.

Johannis Schefferi Argentoratensis Lapponiæ, id est regionis Laponum & gentis nova & verissima descriptio, 4°. Liptiæ 1674. An account of Lapland, which though it be not by way of travels, well deserves a place here, because we shall scarce find travellers that will go into that frozen region to bring us a just relation of it. This however is authentic, as gathered from the Swedish writers, who are best acquainted with those parts.

Theodori & Johannis de Brye India orientalis & occidentalis, 6 vols. fol. Frankfort 624. This collection being three volumes of the East and three of the West-Indies, begins with a particular account of the kingdom of Congo in Afric, as lying in the way to, and having accordingly been discovered before India; this account translated from the Italian writ by Philip Pigafetta. Next follows five voyages of Samuel Bruno of Basil, the three first to Congo, Ethiopia, and other parts round the coast of Afric; the fourth to several parts in the Straits, and the fifth to Portugal and Spain, &c. translated into Latin from the author’s original in high Dutch. The next are Linschoten’s Indian voyages, translated from the Dutch, and containing a very full account of all things remarkable in those parts. Then three Dutch voyages to the north-east passage, and after them a great number of cuts and maps, besides very many dispersed throughout the book, and a considerable number at the beginning. These are the contents of the first volume. The second begins with a large account of Bantam, Banda, Ternate, and other parts of India, being a voyage of eight Dutch ships into those parts in the year 1598, translated out of high Dutch. After that the description of Guinea, out of high Dutch. Spilberg’s voyage, An. 1601. Gaspar Balbi’s voyage, An. 1579. In the third volume Jacob Neck’s voyage, An. 1603. Jo. Hermon de Bree, An. 1602. Corn. Nicolas, Cornelius Ven, and Stephen de Hagen, all to India. Verhuff’s voyage to India, An. 1607. Dialogues in Latin and the Malayc language. Hudson’s voyage to the north-east passage. An account of Terra Australis incognita, by Capt. Peter Ferdinand de Quir: and the description of Siberia, Samoieda, and Tingoesia. Two voyages of Americus Vesputius to the East-Indies. A very strange relation of an Englishman, who being shipwrecked on the coast of Cambaia, travelled through many of those eastern countries; and the description of the northern country of Spitzbergen: the whole illustrated with a vast number of maps and other cuts. Thus far the three volumes of the East-Indies. The three of the West are composed of these parts. Vol. I. an ample account of Virginia. The unfortunate expedition of the French to Florida, An. 1565. Laudonniere’s voyage thither, An. 1574. Two voyages of John Stadius to Brazil and the river of Plate, where he lived among the Indians. Leri’s account of Brazil. Villagano’s voyage to South America. Benzo’s history of the discovery of America. Vol. II. The second and third parts of Benzo’s history of the West-Indies. Faber’s description of several parts of America, where he travelled. Voyages of Sir F. Drake, Cavendish and Raleigh. Dutch expedition to the Canaries. General account of America. Sebald de Weert’s voyage through the straits of Magellan. Noort round the world. Vol. III. Two voyages of Americus Vesputius. Hamor’s account of the state of Virginia. Captain Smith’s description of New-England. Schouten and Le Maire’s discovery of a new passage into the South-sea, called Strait le Maire. Spilbergen’s voyage through the straits of Magellan. Herrera’s description of the West-Indies. These are the contents of the six volumes, the whole Illustrated and adorned with such a vast number of maps and cuts, representing all such things as require it, that the like is not in any other collection, nor is it likely that any will be at so excessive an expence. To be short, this collection is a small library, including all the voyages and discoveries of any note till the time it was published, when most of the remote parts began to be well known, and therefore is of excellent use and great value.

ITALIAN.

Delle navigationi & viaggi, raccolse da M. Gio Battista Ramusio, Venice, 3 vols. fol. 1613. Ramusio’s collection of voyages and travels, the most perfect work of that nature extant in any language whatsoever: containing all the discoveries to the east, west, north, and south; with full descriptions of all the countries discovered; judiciously compiled, and free from that great mass of useless matter, which swells our English Hackluyt and Purchas; much more complete and full than the Latin de Brye, and in fine, the noblest work of this nature. The contents of it as briefly as may be set down, are as follow. In the first volume, John Leo’s description of Afric. Alvise de ca da Mosto’s voyage, and that of Peter de Santra to the coast of Afric. Hanno the Carthaginian’s navigation on the coast of Afric. Voyage from Lisbon to the island of S. Thomas. Gama’s voyage to Calicut. Peter Alvarez to India. Two voyages of Americus Vesputius. Voyages to India by Tho. Lopez and Gio. da Empoli. Barthema’s travels to, and account of India. Corsali to India. Alvarez to Ethiopia. Discourse of the overflowing of the Nile. Nearchus admiral to Alexander the great, his navigation. Voyage down the Red-sea to Diu. Barbosa of the East-Indies. Voyages of Conti, and S. Stephano. First voyage round the world performed by the Spaniards. Gaeton of the discovery of the Molucco Islands. Account of Japan. Extracts of Barros’s History of India. The second volume; Marcus Paulus Venetus’s travels. Hayton the Armenian of the great chams or emperors of Tartary. Angiolello of the wars betwixt Ussuncassan king of Persia, and Mahomet emperor of the Turks; of Ismael Sophy and the sultan of Babylon, and of Selim the Turk’s subduing the mamalucks. Barbaro’s travels to Tartary and Persia. Contarino’s embassy from the republic of Venice to Ussuncassan king of Persia. Campense of Muscovy. Jovius of Muscovy. Arianus of the Euxine, or Black-sea. Geor. Interiano of the Circassians. Quini’s shipwreck and adventures in 60 degrees of north latitude. The same by Christ. Fioravante and J. de Michele, who were with him. Baron Herberstain of Muscovy and Russia. Zeno’s voyage to Persia. Nich. and Ant. Zeni’s discovery of Frizeland, Iceland, and to the north pole. Two voyages to Tartary by dominicans sent by pope Innocent IV. Odoricus’s two voyages into the east. Cabot’s voyage into the north-west. Guagnino’s description of Poland, Muscovy, and part of Tartary. The same by Micheorus. In the third volume; an abridgment of Peter Martyr of Angleria, his decads of the discovery of the West-Indies. An abridgment of Oviedo’s history of the West-Indies. Cortes’s account of his discovery and conquests of Mexico. Alvarado of his conquest and discovery of other provinces above Mexico. Godoy of several discoveries and conquests in New-Spain. Account of Mexico and New-Spain, by a gentleman belonging to Cortes. Alvar Nunez of the success of the fleet set out by Pamphilo de Narvaez, and his strange adventures for ten years. Nunno de Guzman of several cities and provinces of New-Spain. Francis de Ulloa’s voyage to California. Vasquez Coronado and Marco de Nizza of the provinces north of New-Spain. Alarcon’s voyage by sea to discover the seven cities north of Mexico. Discovery and conquest of Peru, writ by a Spanish captain. Xeres’s conquest of Peru. The same by Pizarro’s secretary. Oviedo’s account of a voyage up the great river of Maranon. Verazzano’s discovery of North America. Jaques Cartier’s first and second voyages to Canada or New-France. Federici’s voyage to India, with a large account of the spice, drugs, jewels, and pearls in those parts. Three voyages of the Dutch to discover the north-east passage to China and Japan, in which they found the straits of Weygats and Nova Zembla, and the coast of Geenland running to 80 degrees of north latitude. These, with many learned discourses and observations of the author’s, are the contents of the three volumes.

Prima speditione all Indie orientali del P. F. Gioseppe di Santa Maria, 4°. Roma 1668. This author was sent by pope Alexander VII. to the Malabar christians of S. Thomas, being himself a barefoot carmelite, and has in this left a most excellent piece of curiosity. He gives a very particular account of the places and people he saw, of birds, beasts, and other animals, and of the philosophy of the brachmans, their secrets, and of all the other Malabars, as also of the infinite number of their gods. Hence he proceeds further, to treat of the vast empire of the mogul, of the pearl fishery, of the Sabeans about Bassora, who pretend they received their religion from S. John Baptist; and concludes with the errors of the jacobites, nestorians, Greeks, Armenians, and other eastern sects.

Historia delle Guerre Civili di Polonia, progressi dell’ arme Mocovite contro a Polacchi, relationi della Moscovia e Suetia, e loro governi, di D. Alberto Vinina Belluneso, 4°. Venetia 1672. Though the wars of Poland may not seem relating to travels, this work is inserted, as giving a good account of the Poles, Tartars, and Cossacks, their government, manners, &c. then follows that of Muscovy and Sweden, where the author travelled, and made his excellent observations.

Il viaggio all’ Indie orientali del P. F. Vincenzo Maria di S. Caterina da Siena, fol. Roma 1673. A voyage to the East-Indies, performed by F. Vincent Maria of S. Catherine of Siena, procurator general of the barefoot carmelites, and sent to India by the way of Turkey and Persia by the pope, together with F. Joseph of S. Mary, who writ also an account of his travels, which is mentioned above. This author divides his work into five books: in the first and last is a journal of all things remarkable in his travels thither and back again. The second treats of the affairs of the Malabar christians. The third and fourth of all the nations of India, their manners, customs, wealth, government, religion, plants, animals, &c. The whole is so faithful, exact, and learned an account of all things remarkable in those parts, that scarce any other can equal it.

Istorica descrittione de tre regni Congo, Matamba, & Angola, & delle missione apostoliche essercitaevi de religiosi Capuccini, compilata dal P. Gio. Antonio Cavazzi, & nel presente stile ridotta dal P. Fortunato Alamandini, fol. Bologna, 1687. An historical description of the kingdoms of Congo, Matamba and Angola; the authors were capuchin missioners, who compiled it by order of the congregation de propaganda fide, and have given a most accurate description of those countries, and all things of note in them; as also of the missions thither, which was the principal end of their painful travels.

Relatione della citta d’ Attene, colle provincie dell’ Attica, Focia, Beotia, e Negroponte, ne tempi che furono queste passegiate da Cornelio Magni l’anno 1674. 4°. Parma 1688. An account of Athens, and the provinces of Attica, Focia, Beotia, and Negropont, which the author viewed, and took a particular account of, and for further satisfaction conferred with Mr. Spon, who had travelled the same parts, for his approbation of what he delivers. He treats very briefly of Syria, Chaldea, and Mesopotamia, and principally inlarges himself upon the city of Athens, the condition whereof he describes more fully than any other has done.

Relatione e viaggio della Moscovia del signor cavaliere De Ercole Zani, Bologns, 12°. Bologna 1690. This voyage to Muscovy is writ by a most judicious person, and who had spent a great part of his life in travelling, and deserves to be highly valued as coming from such a hand; and the more, because we have but very imperfect accounts of that country.

Viaggio del monte Libano del R. R. Jeronimo Dandina, 12°. He performed this voyage to mount Libanus by order of pope Clement VIII. to inquire into the faith of the maronite christians; he describes the country, gives an account of the peoples doctrines, their manner of living, their books, learning, bishops, priests, and religious men. A work very curious and useful. It is translated into French, and the translator has added many useful remarks of his own.

Relazione del viaggio fatto a Constantinopoli, &c. da Gio. Benaglia, 12°. Bologna 1664. This is an account of count Caprara’s embassy to the great Turk, the author being his secretary, and has many good remarks of that court, and of the Turkish army, taken by him upon the spot, and therefore well worth the observation of the curious. Biblioth. Univ. vol. XV. .

FRENCH.

Relations de divers voyages curieux, par M. Melchisedec Thevenot. There is no need to give a character of this author, any further than that he has received the general approbation of the learned, for compiling a collection of curious travels in two volumes in folio. The first contains Greaves’s description of the pyramids of Egypt, and Buratini’s account of the mummies. An account of the Cossacks, another of the Tartars, another of Mingrelia, and another of Georgia. Jenkinson’s voyage to Cathay. An extract of the Dutch embassy to the Tartar. A relation of the conquest of the island Formosa by the Chineses; another of the court of the mogol. Sir Thomas Roe’s and Terry’s voyage to the mogol. A Greek description of the East-Indies. The Arabic geography of Abulfeda. The antiquities of Persepolis. The beginning of a book of the Chaldeans of Bassora. Relations of the kingdoms of Golconda, Tanassari, and Aracan, of the gulph of Bengala, and of Siam. Bontekoue’s voyages to India. The discovery of Terra Australis. The sailing course to India. Instructions upon the trade of India and Japan. Beaulieu’s voyage to the West-Indies. Accounts of the Philippine islands, of Japan, of the discovery of the land of Yedso. A description of the plants and flowers of China. Ancient monuments of christian religion in China. The second volume; the Dutch embassy to China; the Chinese atlas. The state of India. The portraiture of the Indians. Acarete’s voyage on the river Plate, and thence to Peru and Chile. Journey by land to China. The second book of Confucius the Chinese philosopher. The history of Ethiopia, and of some countries about it. Travels to the province of Zaide in Egypt. The history of Mexico in figures explained. Tasman’s voyage to Terra Australis. Instructions for the navigation from Holland to Batavia. Two embassies to the emperor of Cathay. A chronological synopsis of the Chinese monarchy. Barros’s Asia, or conquest of India. An account of the christians of S. John. A voyage to Tercera. The elements of the Tartar language. A fragment concerning the isles of Solomon; another of the history of some eastern princes.

Thevenot has also composed one volume in 8°. in which is an embassy from the czar of Moscovy to China by land. The discovery of some countries in North America, and of the great river Mississippi. A discourse of Navigation. The natural histories of the ephemera, or fly that lives but a day, and the cancellus.

Les six voyages de Jean Baptiste Tavernier en Turque, en Perse, & aux Indes. These travels are printed in several sorts of volumes in French, according to the several editions, and have been translated into English. He is a faithful writer, and deserves full credit in what he delivers upon his own sight and knowledge; but in some relations taken from others, he was imposed upon, being a person of integrity, and not suspecting others would give a false information. His accounts are very particular and curious, and the extent he travelled very great, having taken several ways in his six journies. But above all, he gives the best description of the diamond mines, and rivers where they are found, and manners of finding them; having been upon the spot, as being a great dealer in those precious stones.

Receuil de plusieurs relations & traites singuliers & curieux de Jean Baptiste Tavernier, divise en cinque parties, 4°. This is an addition to his voyages, in which he treats of the Dutch practices to exclude all christians from Japan, negotiations of French deputies in Persia and India, remarks on the trade of India, an account of the kingdom of Tunquin, and the history of the proceedings of the Dutch in Asia.

Relation nouvelle de la Caroline, par un gentilhomme François, arrive depuis deux mois de ce nouveau pais, ou il parle de la route qu’il faut tenir pour y aller le plus surement, & de l’etat ou il a trouve cette nouvelle contree. A la Haye 1686. 12°. This is a modern account of Florida, its estate in the year 1684, and the best way to it. The book has a good reputation; and as Florida is one of those American countries we have not the best account of, this is a considerable light into it.

Relation du voyage de monsieur l’evesque de Beryte par la Turque, la Perse, les Indes jusques au Royaume de Siam, & autres lieux, escript par monsieur de Bourges, Prestre, 8°. An account of the bishop of Berytus’s journey by land through Turkey, Persia, and India, into China, by a priest that went with him; very curious in the description of those countries and manners of the people, with instructions for travellers to those parts. Journ. des Scav. vol. I. .

L’embassade de D. Garcia de Silva Figuerra. This is a translation out of Spanish, and the account of the book is among the Spanish under the title Embaxada, &c. to which the reader may turn; only he is advertised that he may see more concerning this translation in Journ. des Scav. vol. I. .

Les voyages de monsieur de Monconys. Monsieur Monconys’s travels in three volumes 4°. The first through Portugal, Italy, Egypt, Syria, and Constantinople. The second into England, the Low-Countries, Germany, and Italy. The third into Spain. Besides the general account of those countries and particular places, they contain abundance of rare and extraordinary observations and secrets in physic and chemistry, and mathematical inventions. But the author dying before the work was fitted for the press, it is in some measure imperfect, and has many particulars of no use to any but himself; which there is no doubt he would have omitted, had he lived. Journ. des Scav. vol. I. , and 424.

Description des costes de l’Amerique septentrional, avec l’histoire de ce pays, par monsieur Denys, 2 vols. 12°. The first volume is a description of the northern coasts of America and the countries adjacent, with a map of them, rendered extraordinary diverting by several stories related. The second is the natural history, very curious and learned. Journ. des Scav. vol. III. .

Relation ou journal d’un voyage fait aux Indes orientales, contenant les affairs du pais, & les establissements de plusieurs nations, &c. 12°. This author set out on his voyage in the year 1671. He is worth reading for several observations not easily to be found in others; but most for his account of the settlements of European nations, yet all short.

Nouvelle relation en forme de journal d’un voyage fait en Egypt, par le P. Vansleb, en 1672 & 1673, 12°. The author to what he saw himself, for the better information of his reader, adds all that is to be found remarkable in other late travellers relating to Egypt.

Voyage d’Italie, de Dalmatie, de Grece, & du Levant, aux années 1675 & 1676, par Jacob Spon, 12°. 3 vols. This work, besides the general observations of travellers, is singular for its curiosity in the search of antiquities. Journ. des Scav. vol. VI. , and 185.

Voyage de François Pirard de la Val aux Indes orientales, Maldives, Moluques, & au Brasil, &c. 4°. This is one of the exactest pieces of travels, and the most diverting hitherto made public. M. Pirard the traveller furnished the materials, which were digested and methodised by several very able men in France. Many who have travelled after him mention much of what he does, and yet he has some curiosities which others have not touched upon. Journ. des Scav. vol. VII. .

Ambassade de la compagnie des Indes orientales des Provinces unies vers les empereurs du Japon, An. 1641, fol. It is a perfect account of all that happened to the said embassadors, and full description of the country, towns, cities, &c. with variety of cuts. Journ. des Scav. vol. VIII. . and Biblioth. Univers. vol. IV. .

Nouvelle relation d’un voyage de Constantinople, presentée au roi par le Sieur Grelot, An. 1680, in 4°. A curious account not only of that city, but of all places to it, with cuts drawn by the author upon the spot. Journ. des Scav. vol. VIII. .

Relations des missions et des voyages des eveques vicaries apostoliques, & de lieurs ecclesiastiques en années 1676 & 1677, in 8°. This is a relation of what those preachers observed in their travels in Asia.

Les voyages de Jean Struys en Moscovie, &c. in 4°. In these travels through Muscovy, Tartary, Persia, India, the isle of Madagascar, and other places, being a vast extent of ground, and to be travelled many several ways, there are abundance of notable observations, not to be found in other books of this sort; the whole very instructive and diverting. Journ. des Scav. vol. IX. .

Relation nouvelle particulier du voyage des peres de la mercy aux royaumes de Fez & de Moroc, en l’an 1681, 12°. Besides what these fathers did, as the peculiar business of their religious profession, this book contains many curiosities relating to the king of Morocco and the customs of the country. Journ. des Scav. vol. X. .

Relation de la riviere des Amazons traduit par M. Gomberville, sur l’original Espagnol du P. d’Acufia jesuite. This is a relation of the said father’s voyage down this vast river; to which the translator has added a dissertation, the principal matters treated of therein being the towns of Manoa, Dorado, and the lake of Parima. Journ. des Scav. vol. XI. .

Relation du voyages de Venise à Constantinople de Jaques Gassot, 12°. This author, though he writ above a hundred years ago, is valuable for many curious observations not to be found in later travellers. Journ. des Scav. vol. XII. .

Relation du voyage des Indes orientales, par M. Dellon, two volumes 12°. The author affirms, he has inserted nothing but what he saw; much of what he relates has been delivered by other authors: but he is very particular, and out-does them all in his account of the coast of Malabar; and concludes with a treatise of diseases in those parts, and their cures. Journ. des Scav. vol. XIII. .

Histoire de la conqueste de la Floride par les Espagnols, traduit de Portugais, 12°. This is a very exact account of that country, and all that happened in the conquest of it, writ by a Portuguese gentleman, who served in that war, and was an eye-witness of all that passed. Journ. des Scav. vol. XIII. .

Voyages de l’empereur de la Chine dans la Tartarie, ausquels on a joint une nouvelle decouverte au Mexique, 12°. It treats of two journies the emperor of China made into the eastern and the western Tartary. The other part shows the settlement made by the Spaniards in the island of California, An. 1683. Journ. des Scav. vol. XIII. .

Relation de l’embassade de Mr. le chevalier de Chamont à la cour du roi de Siam, 12°. He writes not like a common traveller, but like an embassador, and is therefore more political, and treats of higher matters than others, though often descending to things of less moment worth the general observation, as the description of the country, customs and manners of the inhabitants, and other things of that nature. Journ. des Scav. vol. XIV. . and Biblioth. Univers. vol. III. .

Journal du voyage du Chevalier Chardin en Perse, & aux Indes orientales par la mer Noire, & par la Colchide, fol. Though so many travellers as have visited those parts before him, seem to have left him nothing new to write of, yet in him are found abundance of rarities not to be seen in any other, and remarks no where else to be found, and particularly the exposition of several passages in scripture, which the author makes out by customs preserved in the east from the time of Moses till our day. Journ. des Scavans, vol. XIV. . and Biblioth. Univers. vol. III. .

Ambassades de la compagnie Hollandoise d’orient vers l’empereur du Japan, 2 vols. 12°. It is an abridgment of a volume in folio, printed in the year 1680, and is divided into three parts: the first is the description of Japan; the second an account of the embassy there; and the third of five other embassies. To which is added a relation of the civil wars in Japan. Journ. des Scav. vol. XV. .

Journal du voyage de Siam, fait par monsieur l’abbé de Choisi, 4°. It is composed of several letters writ by this gentleman, who was sent by the king of France with the character of embassador in case the king of Siam had embraced christianity, as was hoped; and does not only inform as to all particulars of that great kingdom, but of many others about it as far as Tonquin and Cochinchina, without neglecting in the way to treat very accurately of the Dutch colony at the Cape of Good Hope. Journ. des Scav. vol. XV. .

Histoire des Indes orientales, 4°. It is divided into two parts. The first treats of the voyage to, and observations at Cape Verde, of the Isle of Madagascar, and several passages which happened in Argier and Constantinople. The second of two voyages into India. Journ. des Scav. vol. XV. . and Hist. des ouvrages des Scavans, vol. II. .

Histoire naturelle & politique du royaume de Siam, 4°. It is divided into four parts, which treat, 1. Of the situation and nature of the country. 2. The laws and customs of the people. 3. Their religion: and, 4. Of the king and court. Monsieur Gervaise the author of it resided there four years, understood the language perfectly, read their books, and conversed with the most intelligent persons, and therefore got good information of what he writes, having been careful to deliver as little as he could of what others had before made public. Journ. des Scav. vol. XV. .

Relation nouvelle & exact d’un voyage de la Terre Sainte, 12°. Contains an exact description of all the places where the principal passages of our Saviour’s passion happened, and many other things well worth observing, being very short, and yet full enough. Journ. des Scav. vol. XVI. . and Hist. des ouvrages des Scavans, vol. III. .

Voyage en Moscovie d’un ambassadeur de l’empereur Leopold, 12°. An. 1661. He describes the great rivers, the chief towns on the banks of them, the manners, government, and religion of the people. Journ. des Scav. vol. XVI. .

Description historique du royaume de Macaçar, 12°. It is divided into three books, the first the description of the country, the second the manners and government of the people and kingdom, the third the religion. Journ. des Scav. vol. XVI. . and Hist. des ouvrages des Scavans, vol. V. .

Relation de la Nigritie, 12°. It contains an exact description of the kingdoms of the blacks, their government, religion, manners, rarities of the country, with the discovery of the river Senega, and a map of it. By four franciscan friars, who went thither upon the mission in the year 1689, from France. Journ. des Scav. vol. XVII. .

Voyage du pere Tachard & des jesuites envoyez par la roi au royaume de Siam, An. 1685, 4°. This is an historical, physical, geographical, and astronomical account, being taken by learned men, and great mathematicians. The first book is mostly astronomical observations in the voyage to the Cape of Good Hope; the second a relation of the table-mountain, and many other things about the aforesaid Cape; the third passages at Batavia and Macassar; the fourth of affairs of Siam and others: the fifth continues the same matter: the sixth much natural history, concluding with the king of Siam’s letters to the pope, king of France, and F. le Chaise; the seventh the father’s return home; and the eighth from thence to Rome. Journ. des Scav. vol. XVII. . and Biblioth. Univers. vol. IV. .

Second Voyage du pere Tachard & des jesuites envoyez par le roi au royaume de Siam, 1689, 8°. This father returned from his first voyage to carry more missioners; and this second voyage, which he divides into eight books, like the other contains many historical, physical, geographical, and astronomical remarks, besides abundance of other observations and curiosities omitted in the first voyage. Biblioth. Univers. vol. XIV. .

Histoire de l’eglise du Japan, par Mr. l’abbé de T. 2 vols. 4°. It was writ by F. Solier, a jesuit, and published by l’abbé, who refined the language. This, though an ecclesiastical history, contains all the diverting particulars to be found in books of travels, as being composed by those fathers, who were all travellers in that country. It is an excellent work, in twenty books. Journ. des Scav. vol. XVII. .

Journal du voyage fait à la mer du Sud, avec les flibustiers de l’Amerique, en 1684, & années suivantes, par le sieur Ravenau de Lussand, 12°. It is a buccaneering expedition, containing very much of robbery, with an account of the isthmus of America and countries about it, where the author with his gang travelled much by land. Journ. des Scav. vol. XVII. .

Histoire de monsieur Constance premier ministre du roi de Siam, & de la derniere revolution de cet estat. Par le P. d’Orleans, 12°. It is a relation of that gentleman’s wonderful adventures in Siam, where he attained to be first minister to that great monarch in the year 1685, and those that followed, with the revolution of that kingdom, and the persecution that ensued against the christians. Journ. des. Scav. vol. XVIII. .

Du royaume de Siam. Par Mr. de la Loubere, envoye extraordinaire du roi apres du roi de Siam, en 1687 & 1688, 2 vols. 12°. In this there are many particulars not to be found in other relations. The first volume divided into three parts; the first geographical, the second of customs in general, and the third of manners in particular. The second volume begins with strange fables and superstitions, proceeds to the practices of the religious men, and many other particulars extraordinary, curious, and remarkable. Journ. des Scav. vol. XIX. and 269.

Relation du Voyage d’Espagne, 3 vols. 12°. Treats of the country in general, of the situation of its towns, of public and private structures, of palaces and churches, with their ornaments, &c. of the king’s power, government, councils, employments, benefices, and their revenues; of the orders of knighthood, and the inquisition; with many pleasant adventures, in which there is much of the romantic. Journ. des Scav. vol. XIX. . It is writ by the countess d’Aunoi, and has much of the woman.

Nouvelle relation de la Gaspesie. Par le P. Chretien le Clercq. 12°. This is a complete account of the manners and religion of the savages called Gaspesians, carrying crosses, and worshipping the sun; and other nations of Canada in North America. It was taken in twelve years, the author residing there as missioner, beginning An. 1675. Journ. des Scav. vol. XIX. . and Biblioth. Univers. vol. XXIII. .

Premier establissement de la foi dans la Nouvelle France. Par le P. le Clercq, missionaire, 2 vols. 12°. It is the complete history of Canada, or New-France, from the first discovery of it till this time, containing the discoveries, settling of colonies, conquests, and all other passages from those northern parts down to the gulph of Mexico, with the battles of the English and Iroquois, An. 1690. Journ. des Scav. vol. XX. .

Voyages en divers estats d’Europe & d’Asie, pour decouvrir un nouveau chemin à la Chine, 4°. These travels were writ and performed by F. Avril, a jesuit, who spent five years in traversing Turkey, Persia, Muscovy, Poland, Prussia, Moldavia, and Tartary, and embarked in several seas to find out this way to China, to avoid the tedious voyage by the Cape of Good Hope and India. The relation is physical, geographical, hydrographical, and historical. Journ. des Scav. vol. XX. .

Les aventures de Jaques Sadeur dans la decouverte, & le voyage de la Terre Australe, 12°. This is a very extraordinary account of Terra Australis incognita, infinitely exceeding all that has been writ of it by others; the author being cast upon that country after the loss of the ship he was in, and living thirty years among those savages. He therefore treats of the manners of the people, their religion, employments, studies, wars, of the birds and beasts, and other rarities. Journ. des Scav. vol. XX. .

Voyages historiques de l’Europe, 8 vols. 12°. The first of these volumes treats only of France; the second of Spain and Portugal; the third of Italy; the fourth of England, Scotland, and Ireland; the fifth of the seven United Provinces; the sixth of the empire; the seventh of Muscovy: the eighth of Poland, Lithuania, Sweden, Denmark, Norway, and Iceland. These volumes are travels into the most considerable parts of Europe, and contain abundance of singularities not observed by other travellers and writers. Journ. des Scav. vol. XXI. , 95, 276.

Relation du voyage, & retour des Indes orientales, pendant les années 1690, 1691, par un garde de la marine servant sur le bord de M. Duquesne commandant de l’Escadre, 12°. It has many curious observations during the voyage outward and homeward bound, and an account of all places the squadron touched at. Journ. des Scav. vol. XXI. .

Les voyages du sieur le Maire aux isles Canaries, Cape Verde, Senegal, & Gambie, 12°. In this are many particulars of those African countries, little known, and scarce to be found in other travellers. Journ. des Scav. vol. XXIII. .

Nouvelle relation de la Chine, en l’année 1668, par le R. P. Gabriel de Magaillons, de la compagnie de Jesus, 8°. This was originally writ in Portuguese, and ought to have been among the travels in that language, had we any number of them. It was thought worth translating into French first, and from that into English, but was never printed in its original language. It has the reputation of an exact and faithful account. His. des ouvrages des Scav. vol. II. .

Relation universelle de l’Afrique ancienne & moderne, par le sieur de la Croix, 12°. 4 vols. Besides the chronology and geography, it has the customs, manners, religion, trade, plants, and other particulars of the continent and islands, and what the king of France has done against the Barbary corsairs, An. 1688. A Lyon.

Le bouclier de l’Europe, contenant des avis politiques & chretiens, &c. Avec une relatione de voyages faits dans la Turquie, la Thebaide, & la Barbarie. Par le R. R. Jean Coppin, 4°. This father was first a soldier, then consul for the French nation at Damietta in Egypt, and lastly, a religious man. The design of his work is to stir up christian princes to make war on the Turk, and accordingly his first and second books are taken up in showing of how great consequence that war is, the methods of managing it, the causes of the rise and decay of the Ottoman empire, and much more to that effect. In the following books he proceeds to his travels; first in Egypt, where he has many curious observations not to be found in other travellers, but more particularly, in that he took the pains to travel the great desart of Thebaida, where few besides him have been in these latter times; and this is the subject of his third and fourth books. The fifths treats of Barbary, Phœnicia, and the Holy Land: and the work concludes with an exact description of the city Damietta, where he resided some years. His relation is faithful, and deserves all credit, especially in those things he delivers as an eye-witness. It was published at Paris in the year 1686. Biblioth. Univers. vol. V. .

Journal, ou suite du voyage de Siam, en forme de lettres familières, fait en 1685 & 1686, par monsieur l’abbé de Choisi, 8°. It is the third account of the French embassadors sent to Siam; monsieur de Chaumont, and P. Tachard, both before mentioned, being the two others. It contains an exact journal of that voyage, has all the sea terms, much of the same as F. Tachard, and several other remarks. He treats of the war at Bantam, of the island of Java, of Batavia, the power of the Dutch in India, of Siam, Tonquin, Cochinchina, &c. Biblioth. Univers. vol. VI. .

Histoire naturelle & politique du royaume de Siam, par Monsieur Gervaise, 1688. 4°. The author lived four years at the court of Siam, and affirms nothing but what he saw, or found in the best books of that country, as also by discourse by the best people there. He says little or nothing of what has been mentioned by other travellers to Siam, and adds much, which they, as being only passengers, could not observe. The work is divided into four parts: the first contains the description of the country; the second the laws, customs, manners, and government of that nation; the third the religion; the fourth speaks of the king, royal family, and court. Biblioth. Univers. vol. X. .

Relation nouvelle & exacte d’un voyage de la Terre Sainte, ou description de l’etat present dies lieux, ou se sont passées les principales actions de la vie de Jesus Christ. Paris 1688, 8°. This is a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, and therefore writ in a religious style, and contains an account of all the holy places in Palestine, and description of Malta; and is a good guide for such as desire to travel into those parts.

Voyages de M. de Thevenot en Asie & en Afrique. Paris, 1689, 3 vols. 12°. It is to be observed, that whereas before mention is made of Thevenot’s travels, that is a collection of other men, as appears there, but these are Thevenot’s own travels, divided into three parts; the first of the eastern countries under the Turk; the second continues other eastern parts, proceeding towards Persia; and the third the East Indies. It is one of the most curious and exact works of this nature hitherto published, and well deserving to be read by all that are curious of travels. Biblioth. Univers. vol. XIII. .

Voyages d’Amerique, histoire des avanturieres qui se sont signalez dans les Indes, &c. Par Alexander Olivier Oexmelin. Paris, 1688. 2 vols. 12°. This was a surgeon sent over in the service of the French West-India company, and sold in America, where he lived several years. The author of the Biblioth. Univers. gives a great character of this work, and says, no man has yet given so good an account of the manner of living in those parts, besides very good descriptions, and all that is requisite in such a work; of which see more in the said Biblioth. Univers. vol. XVIII. .

Nouveau voyage d’Italie fait en l’année 1688, avec un memoire contenant des avis utiles à ceux qui voudront faire le meme voyage. A la Haye, 1691, 2 vols. 12°. Par Monsieur Misson. This author gives a general account of all things observable in Italy, and therefore is the more diverting. He begins his travels in Holland, of which he gives a short account; then crossing Germany and Tirol, he runs down Italy by the Adriatic shore, and returns on the other side through Tuscany, Genoa, Piedmont, Swisserland.

Voyage en divers etats d’Europe & d’Asie, entrepris pour decouvrir un nouveau chemin à la Chine. Par le P. Avril. Paris, 1693, 12°. The first book contains the author’s travels from Marseilles to Erivan in Persia; the second from Erivan to Moscow; in the third he gives an account of Tartary, but it was such as he received from others, for he was not in that country; and in the fourth, of his return to Poland, thence to Constantinople, and thence for want of health to France. Biblioth. Univers. vol. XXIV. .

Histoire de la revolution de l’empire du Mogol. Par monsieur F. Bernier, 8°. This history of the revolution of the empire of the mogul contains the whole account of Aurenge Zeb dethroning his father, with all the intrigues and wars on that account; the description of Agra and Delhi, capital cities of that empire, many particulars of that court, the doctrines, customs, &c. of the Indians, the mogul’s journey to Cachemire, and many other curious observations made by the author in his travels in that country.

Relation d’un voyage en la Mauritanie. Par le sieur Roland Frejus, 8°. The author of this voyage into Mauritania was sent by the king of France’s order in the year 1666, to settle trade in the kingdom of Fez, and gives a very just, though brief account of his voyage and negotiation. There is added to it a letter of monsieur Charant, who lived twenty-five years in Suez and Morocco, giving an account of the religion, manners, trade, &c. of those people.

Voyages en Asie, Afrique, & l’Amerique. Par monsieur Jean Mocquet, 8°. See this among the English, 8°.

Voyage par monsieur du Quesne aux Indes en 1691 & 1692, &c. See more of this among the English, 8°.

Voyages historiques & curieux en Allemagne, Boheme, Suisse, Holland, &c. de monsieur Charles Patin, 8°. See this among the English.

Voyages aux Indes, de Dellon, 2 vols. 12°.

Histoire de la Chine sous la domination des Tartares. Par le P. Greslon de la comp. de Jesus, 8°. Paris 1672. We have here a succinct history of China from the year 1651, till 1669, delivered by a missionary resident there many years; his principal subject is the astronomy of China, which gained the first admission to the missioners; of which, and all its parts, and how used and practised there, he treats very ingeniously and learnedly. Giorn. de Letter.

Voyage du Levant. Par monsieur de Loir, 12°. A voyage to the Levant in ten letters, containing all things remarkable in the islands of the Archipelago, Ephesus, Smyrna, Constantinople, Scutari, Negropont, Greece, the Morea, and all the coasts to Venice; in which are all the ancient and modern names of places, and what authors have said of them, compared with what was when the author travelled. A work no less learned than curious. Giorn. de Letter. An. 1673.

Voyage d’Angleterre, par monsieur Sorbierre, 12°. This account of England is not methodical, but contains some observations worth reading.

Relation universelle de l’Afrique ancienne & moderne, par le sieur de la Croix, 4 vols. 12°. Lyon 1688. This is the fullest and most perfect account yet extant of that great part of the world, being a judicious and laborious collection of all the best that has been writ on the subject. Giorn. de Letter. An. 1689.

Histoire de l’isle de Ceylon, par le capitaine Jean Ribeyro, traduite du Portugais en François, 12°. Paris 1701. This short history of Ceylon, though writ originally in Portuguese, and published in the year 1685, is here inserted in the French translation, because the translator Mr. le Grand has added to it several chapters, collected from the best authors that have writ of that island. It is divided into three books; the first is the description of the island, its government, religion, product, &c. the second treats of the wars there between the Portugueses, the natives, and the Dutch: and the third, of the errours the Portugueses committed in their conquests of India, and the power of the Dutch in those parts. Journ. de Scav. vol. XXIX. .

Nouveau memoires sur l’estat present de la Chine, par le P. Louis le Comte, 2 vols. 12°. Paris 1696. F. le Comte’s memoirs of China have appeared in English; they have abundance of very remarkable passages and singular curiosities, and have been too much talked of to require much to be said of them. Journ. des Scav. vol. XXV. .

Deruieres descouvertes dans l’Amerique septentrionale de monsieur de la Sale, mises au jour par monsieur le chevalier Tonti, governeur de fort S. Louis aux Islinois, 12°. Paris 1697. This is an account of a vast discovery in North America, being the whole length of the river Mississipi, from the French plantations in Canada down to the gulph of Mexico to the southward, and from the same plantation to the source of the said river northwards. Journ. des Scav. vol. XXV. .

Relation d’un voyage fait en 1696 & 1697, aux costes de l’Afrique, detroit de Magellan, Brezil, Cayenne, & isles Antilles, par le sieur Froger. This is a relation of an expedition of six French ships fitted out during the war with Spain in those years; it is looked upon as very faithful, and adorned with a great number of maps and cuts of all sorts. Journ. des Scav. vol. XXVI. .

Memoirs du chevalier Beaujeu, contenant divers voyages en Pologne, Allemagne, & en Hongrie, 12°. Paris 1679. The author of these memoirs having travelled in Poland, Germany, and Hungary, undertakes to rectify many mistakes in the maps as to distances of places; he gives a particular account of these countries, and most especially of Poland, and all things relating to it. Journ. des Scav. vol. XXVI. .

Relation du voyage du sieur de Montauban capitain des Flibustiers en. Guinée, dans l’année 1695. This was a privateer voyage, which ended in the blowing up the ship; but so that the captain escaped, and got ashore on the coast of Afric, of which he gives some account; thence he got over to Barbadoes, and thence into France.

Relation curieuse & nouvelle de Moscovie, contenant l’etat de cet empire, 12°. Paris 1698. This account of Moscovy is composed by Mr. de Nouville, envoy from the king of Poland to the czar, who during his residence there collected the best account of a way through Moscovy and Tartary to China, as convenient as any for travellers in Europe, which he says he was told by one that travelled it twice; but that the czar at the request of the Dutch has prohibited merchants trading that way.

Journal du voyage des grandes Indes, contenant tout ce qui s’y est fait & passe par l’escadre de sa majesté, envoye sous le commandement de M. de la Haye, 12°. Orleans 1697. This is a voyage of the French fleet to the Indies in the year 1670; it describes Goa, and gives some account of these coasts, of taking the city of S. Thomas or Meliapor, and the losing it again to the Dutch and infidels, with the return of the French.

Voyage d’Italie & de Grece, avec une dissertation sur la bizarrerie des opinions des hommes, 12°. Paris 1698. This author set out from France in the year 1691, and gives such a description of the countries he passed through, and of the adventures that befel him, as renders it extremely diverting; concluding with a reflection upon the extravagant humours of men, whose behaviour he condemns in many particulars, which are rather pleasant and diverting than solid. Journ. des Scav. vol. XXVI. .

SPANISH.

Historia del Gran Tamorlan. Itinerario, y relacion de la embaxada que Ruy Gonzales de Clavijo le hizo por mondado del senor Rey D. Henrique tercero de Castilla. Sevil 1582. fol. This is the first Spanish book of travels, at least of any reputation, now extant, and is of no less than 300 years antiquity: for though the book was published as above, the embassy was in the year 1403, in which the author spent three years, saw a considerable part of Asia, following Tamerlan’s camp, and besides what he saw during those years, had an ample account of all that mighty prince’s wars: it is a book rare and of great value.

Comentarios do grande Alphonso de Albuquerque capitao general da India, collegidos por seu filho das proprias cartas, que elle escrivio ao rey D. Manoel. Lisboa 1576. fol. This is a large relation of the actions of that great man, who was one of the first Portuguese conquerors of the East-Indies; and a particular encomium of it is given by Anthony Ferreira in his poems.

Naufragios de Alvar Nunez Cabeca de Vaca, y.

Comentarios de Alvar Nunez Adelantado y governador de la provincia del Rio de la Plata. Valladolid 1555. 4°. The first was writ by Alvar Nunez himself, wherein he gives an account of his shipwreck, and unparalleled sufferings in Florida. The second was composed by his order by Peter Fernandez his secretary, and is an account of the province of the river of Plate, where he was governor: both curious and scarce.

Nuevo descubrimiento del gran Catayo, o reynos de Tibet en el anno de 1624. Madrid 1627. It is writ by F. Anthony de Andrada, a jesuit, who in it gives an account of his travels in the most remote eastern countries.

Verdadera description de la Tierra Santa como estava el anno de 1530. Alcala 1531. 8°. It is an exact account of the Holy Land at that time, writ by F. Anthony de Aranda, who travelled it all over as a pilgrim at that time.

El devoto peregrino viage de la Tierra Santa. Madrid 1654. 4°. The description of the Holy Land in a pious style, for the help of pilgrims, by F. Antony del Castillo, a franciscan; who was superior of the monastery at Bethlehem.

Relacion de lo sucecido a los padres de la campania de Jesus en la India, y Japon, en los anos de 1630 y 1631. Valladolid 4°. An account of the travels and actions of the Jesuits in India and Japan, by F. Antony Collaco.

Jornada de arcebispo de Goa D. F. Aleino de Meneses, &c. as serras de Malabar, & lugares em que moram os antigos christaos de S. Thome. Coimbra 1606. fol. It was writ by F. Antony de Gouve of the order of St. Augustin, who treats very curiously of the inland parts of Malabar, and christians of S. Thomas there.

Historia general de los hechos de los castellanos en las islas, y tierra firma del mar oceano, escrita por Antonio de Herrera. Madrid 1615. 4 vols. fol. A most excellent and complete history of the discovery and conquest of America by the Spaniards, not omitting to mention the discoveries made at the same time by other nations. It reaches from Columbus’s first discovery An. 1492 till 1554, divided into four volumes, and those into eight decads, with a very just description of that vast continent.

Historia general de la India oriental, los descubriemientos y conquista que hon hecho los armos de Portugal en el Brazil, &c. hosta el ano de 1562. Valladolid 1603. fol. This though ancient is the fullest account there was till that time of the Portugueses in the East-Indies and Brasil, writ by F. Antony de S. Roman of the order of S. Benedict.

Historia de la conquista espiritual de la provincia del Paraguay. Madrid 1639. 4°. It is an account of the progress of the preaching jesuits in that province, and written by one of them who was rector of some colleges in that country.

Itinerario da India a Portugal per terra anno 1520. Coimbra 1565. 16°. A journal of Antony Tenreiro’s travels from India by land into Portugal. It was more rare in those days than now, yet there are good remarks to be found in it.

Viage desde Manila a la China. This voyage was performed by F. Augustin de Tordesillas, a franciscan, but published by John Gonzales de Mendoza, An. 1585, being a voyage from the Philippine islands to China; which I have not seen, nor met with any further account of it.

Historia del descubrimiento, y conquista del Peru, de Augustin de Zarate. Seville 1577. 8°. The author was an examiner or controler of accounts in the king’s household, and sent over to Peru to inquire into the king’s revenue during the rebellion in those parts, where he gathered materials for his history, which has always been in good esteem where known, as appears by its having been twice translated into Italian.

Historia da Ethiopia alta, do P. Baltasar Tellez. fol. He was a Portuguese jesuit, who collected this history of Ethiopia from the writings of the jesuits, who resided there. He is highly commended by D. Francisco Manoel in his epistles and his history, and no less by Georgius Cordosus in Agiologio.

Conquista de las islas Molucas, de Bartolome Leonardo de Argensola. Madrid 1609. fol. This author was historiographer of the kingdom of Arragon, and the most accomplished master of the Spanish tongue in his time: so that his history is not only valuable for his excellent account of the Molucco islands, but for its language, wherein he has outdone most men.

Manual y relacion de las cosas del Peru, de F. Bernardino de Cardenas. Madrid 1634. 4°. The author was a native of Peru, and bishop of Paraguay; so that his birth, education, and learning, qualified him to give a good account of that country.

Navigacion de oriente y noticias de la China, 1577. 8°. It is a short but ingenious treatise of the eastern voyages, and some affairs of China.

Historia de Yucatan, de Bernardo de Lizana. The author was a missioner in the province of Yucatan, whose history he writes, but intermixed with much devotion.

Historia de las cosas antiguas quelos Indios usavan en su infidelidad, por F. Bernardino de Sahagun. This history treats of the idolatry, rites, and ceremonies of the Indians, and of their government, laws, and politics. The same author also writ La Conquista, or the conquest of Mexico.

Historia verdadera de la Conquista de la Nueva Espana, por Bernal Diaz del Castillo. fol. The author of this history of the conquest of Mexico served in it under Cortes, from the begining till the last; and therefore speaks as an eye-witness, having been in all the expeditions of note, and received what he could not be present at from those that were. He says he finished his work in the year 1568, but it was not published till some years after.

Relacion de las grandezas de Peru, Mexico, y los Angelos, de Bernardo de la Vega. Mexico 1601. 8°. This is only a collection of rarities in those parts, as the title imports. The auther was canon of the church of Tacaman in South America.

Sitio naturaleza y propriedades de Mexico, de Diego de Cisneros, 1618. The author was physician to the marquis De Gaudalcacar viceroy of Peru, and gives a very good account of that place.

Decadas de Asia, de Joao de Barros. He finished three decades, in as many volumes, of the history of India; of which work the learned Nicholaus Antonius, in his Bibliotheca Hispana, , says it is a most complete work, which will last for ever to the honour of the compiler. His 4th volume and decade, which he left imperfect, was finished by John Baptiste Labanha, historiographer to k. Philip II. But after that James de Couto undertook to continue the history from the third decade, where Barros ended, and writ nine more; so that the whole work consists of twelve decades, but of these only seven have been printed at Lisbon.

Relaciones del Pegu, de Duarte Fernandez. Of this relation I find no further account.

Relacion de la provincia de Tecuman, de Fernando de Quintana. This relation is of good authority, and the author was one of the first that went over to inhabit that country.

Memorial y relacion las islas Philippinas, de Fernando de los rios Coronel. The author was a priest in good repute, and gives an account of the wealth, not only of the Philippine, but of the Molucco islands, representing at the same time what faults there are in the governments of those parts to be redressed.

Verdadeira informazao do Presse Joao das Indias, de Francisco Alvarez. Lisboa 1540. fol. The author, a man of great probity, was sent by king Emanuel of Portugal into Ethiopia, with his embassador Edward Galvao, and resided there six years, returning thence in the year 1533, and during his stay there had time to collect this historical account, in which he gives a description of the country, of its trade, and all things that happened there during the stay of the Portugueses.

Relazao das provincias de Japao, Malabar, Cochinchina, &c. do P. Francisco Cordim. The author was a Portuguese jesuit, who had been in those parts; and his work was so well approved of, that it was thought worthy to be translated into French, and printed at Paris 1645.

Historia general de las Indias de Francisco Lopez de Gomara. This author wrote in a commendable style; but his history is of no credit, being full of false relations, as is made out by all other authors that write of those parts, some of whom were eye-witnesses of the things he misrepresents, and others received them upon much better information.

Conquista del Peru, por Francisco de Xeres. Salamanca 1547. fol. The author was secretary to Francis Pizarro the great discoverer and conqueror of Peru, and wrote this account of the conquest of that vast kingdom, as an eye-witness, which he presented to the emperor Charles the fifth.

Commentarios de los reges Incas del Peru. Lisboa 1609. fol.

Historia general del Peru, 1617. fol.

Historia de la Florida, y jornada que hizo a ella el governador Hernando de Soto. 1695. 4°. These three by Garcilaso de la Vega, who calls himself inca, as being the son of a Spaniard, who was one of the conquerors of the kingdom of Peru, by an Indian woman of the imperial race of the incas, from whom he took that name. The history of the ancient incas he received from the natives, that of the actions of the Spaniards from his father and others, who had a share in them.

Trasado em que se contam muitopor estenso as cousas da China, e assi do regno de Ormuz, pelo P. Gasparda Cruz. Ebora 1569. 4°. The author, a dominican friar, travelled as a missioner in India, Persia and China, where he made his observations and dedicated his work to king Sebastian of Portugal. Several authors of note make mention of him.

Historia general de las Indias. Salamanca 1547. fol.

Historia del Estrecho de Magallones, 1552. fol.

Navigacion del Rio Marannon. These three by Gonzala Fernandez de Oviedo, who after many honourable employments in Spain, was sent governor of the city of Santo Domingo in Hispaniola, where he resided ten years, and compiled his history of the Indies mentioned in the first place, which he had divided into fifty books, whereof only nineteen are in the volume above mentioned; to which is added one called, Of shipwrecks. The rest have not appeared, unless we allow his history of the straits of Magellan, the second here spoke of, to be his 20th book, which is published by itself. His account of the river Marannon is in the 3d volume of Ramusio’s travels.

Tratado de la conquista de las islas de Persia y Arabia, de las muchas gentes, diversas gentes, y estranas y grandes battallas que vio, por Juan Angier. Salamanca 1512. 4°. The author, of whom we have no further account, assures he saw all he writes, which is all the character we can here give his work, but only that he treats of the conquest of the islands on the coast of Arabia and Persia, and of several nations where he travelled, and the battles he was in.

Historia de las cosas mas notables, ritos y costumbres del gran regno de la China. Madrid 1586. 8°. This history of the most remarkable things, and the customs and manners of China, was writ by F. John Gonzales de Mendoza, of the order of St. Augustin, who in the year 1580 was sent into China by k. Philip the 2d of Spain, where he gathered the materials of his history, and composed it at his return.

Virtudes del Indio, de D. Juan de Palafox y Mendoza, obispo de la Puebla de los Angelos. 4°. This is a treatise writ in defence of the Indians by the good bishop, and gives an account of their disposition and manners, in opposition to those that represented them as brutal, and scarce endued with reason. This, though it seems not a book of travels, being the manners and customs of strange nations, and by a traveller to those parts, very well deserves admittance among them.

Ethiopia oriental, e varia historia de cousas notaveis do oriente, do P. F. Joao dos Santos. Ebora 1609. fol. It treats of the eastern parts of Afric, where the author, who was a dominican, resided eleven years as a missioner, making his collections on the spot, which he after methodised in his own country.

Historia natural y moral de las Indias, por el P. Joseph de Acosta. Madrid 1610. 4°. This history is so well known and generally esteemed, that little needs be said of it; the universal character of it being better than what it can here receive, being the history natural and moral of the West-Indies.

Description del nuevo orbe, y de los naturalez del, por el P. F. Luis Jeronymo de Ore. Lima 1598. fol. The author was an American by birth, a great traveller in those parts, an able scholar, and of excellent natural parts; all which rendered him capable to write well upon this subject.

Description general de Africa, por Luis del Marmol Caravajal. 3 vols. fol. This is the fullest account extant of Afric, generally esteemed in all parts, and has been translated into French. The author being a slave at Moroco, there read and heard those accounts he afterwards published, of the interior parts of Afric which remain inaccessible to christians. Thuanus and Ambrosius Morales, in their histories, commended this work.

Historia de Ethiopia, y.

Historia de la orden de predicadores en Ethiopia, por F. Luis de Urreta, 2 vols. 4°. Both these generally condemned as fabulous, and particularly by F. Nicholas Godinho in his book de Abyssinorum rebus.

Historia de las islas del Archipelago, China, Tartaria, Cochinchina, Malaca, Sian, Camboja, y Japon, por el P. Morcello de Ribadencira. Barcelona 1601. 4°. This history of those eastern countries was collected there by the author, who travelled the greatest part of them as a missioner.

Relacion del nombre, sitio, plantas, &c. de regno de Sardenha, por el Dr. Martin Camillo. Barcelona 1612. 4°. This was a doctor of the civil law, who being sent by king Philip of Spain into Sardinia, to inspect all the courts there, travelled over the whole island of Sardinia, and took that opportunity to write this learned treatise of its name, situation, plants, conquests, conversion, fertility, towns, cities, and government.

Relacion del Govierno de los Quixos en Indias. 1608. 4°. An account of the province called Los Quixos in South America writ by Dr. Peter de Castro Eorle of Lemos. What more to say of it I do not find.

Relacion de Philippinas, por el P. Pedro Chirino. Roma 1604. 4°. The author of this account of the Philippine islands spent the greatest part of his life, and ended his days there, so that he was well acquainted with what he writ; but a great part of it consists of the actions of the jesuits in those parts, he being of that society.

Primera parte de la Chronica de Peru, de Pedro Cieca de Leon. Antwerp 1554. 8°. It treats of the limits and description of the provinces of Peru, the founding of cities, and the customs and manners of the Indians. Only this first part is extant, the other four, which the author promises, and were historical, having never been published; which is a great loss, for by the value of this first we may judge of the rest.

Historia da provincia de Santa Cruz, a que vulgarmente chamamos Brasil. The history of the province of Santa Cruz, vulgarly Brasil, by Peter de Magalhaens Gandavo. Lisbon 1579. 4°. It is commended by Antonius Leo, in his Bibliotheca Indica.

Relacion dos reges de Persia y Ormuz, viage da India oriental a Italia por terra no anno de 1604. An account of the kings of Persia and Ormuz, and travels from India to Italy by land, in the year 1614. 4°. The author Peter Texeira a Portuguese, who performed the journey.

Itinerario de las missiones orientales, con une sumaria relacion del imperio del gran Mogor. An account of the eastern missions, and of the empire of the mogol. Rome 1649. 4°. Composed by Sebastian Manrique, of which we have no other particulars.

Cortas de D. Hernando Cortes Marque del Valle, de la conquista de Mexico, al emperador. The original letter writ by Cortes the famous conqueror of Mexico, giving the emperor Charles the 5th an account of his expedition. There is no need to speak of the value of such papers, than which nothing can be more authentic, as being the relation of a commander in chief to his sovereign.

Corta do P. Gonzalo Rodrigues do sua embaixado a Ethiopia, e do que la le sucedeo com o seu Rey Claudio. A letter giving an account of the embassy of F. Gonzalo Rodriguez, sent by the king of Portugal to the emperor of Ethiopia. It is to be seen in F. Nicholas Godinho de rebus Abyssinorum, lib. II. ca.

Relacion del viage que hizieron los capitones Bartolome Garcia de Nodal, y Gonsalo de Nodal hermanos al descubrimiento del Estreco Nuevo de S. Vincente, y reconocimiento del de Magalhanes. This is an account of a voyage performed by the two captains above named to the straits of St. Vincent, which we call strait Le Mayre, and to view that of Magellan, in the years 1618 and 1619. Madrid 1621. 4°. It is an exact journal of their voyage and observations whilst they were out, which was 11 months; and they were both able seamen, who had served the king many years.

Viage a la santa ciudad de Jerusalem, descripcion suya y de todo la Tierra Santa, y peregrinacion al monte Sinai, por el P. Bernardo Italiano. Naples 1632. 8°. A journey to Jerusalem, the description of that holy city and country, and a pilgrimage to mount Sinai, performed by the author, a franciscan friar.

Relacion de los sagrados lugares de Jerusalem, y toda la Tierra Santa. The author F. Blaze de Buiza, a franciscan, and collector of the charity gathered to pay the Turks the tribute for the privilege of those holy places. It is a curious relation, printed at Salamanca 1624. 8°.

Tratado de las drogas, y medicinas de las Indias orientales. Burgos 1578. 4°.

Tratado del viage de las Indias orientales y loque se navega por aquellas partes. Both these by Christopher de Costa, a native of Tangier, who spent many years in his travels in Afric and Asia, and was a doctor of physic, which enabled him to write that most excellent treatise first mentioned of these two, of the plants and drugs of the East-Indies. The second is of the East-India voyage, and of those seas.

Relazao da navigazao de Duarte Lopez a Africa, e Congo, no anno de 1578. Or Lopez his voyage to Afric, and the kingdom of Congo, which is to be seen in Latin in Theodore de Bry’s collection.

Viage de D. Fradrique Henriquez de Ribera a Jerusalem. Lisboa 1580. 4°. This is a pilgrimage to Jerusalem performed by this nobleman, who was marquis of Tarifa, and spent two years in it, setting out in November 1518, and returning in October 1520, when he left this monument of his piety and ingenuity.

Peregrinacao de Fernan Mendez Pinto. Lisboa 1614. fol. Pinto’s travels in India, so fabulous that the general consent of the world has exploded them, though some few have taken the pains to defend those chimeras.

Viage que hizo a Jerusalem Francisco Guerero. Sevil 1645. This is another pilgrimage to Jerusalem, by a demi-canon of the cathedral of Sevil, and can only be a repetition of what we see in the others above mentioned.

Chorographia de alguns lugares que stam em hum caminho que Fez Gaspor Barreiras, o anno de 1546, de Badajoz em Cassel la ate Milan en Italia. Coimbra 1561. 4°. The author gives an account of the places he passed through in his journey from Badajoz in Spain, to the city of Milan. But Andrew de Resende complains that he stole notes which he friendly communicated to him, and inserted them as his own.

Itinerario da India per terra ate Portugal, com a descripzao de Jerusalem. Lisboa 1611. 4°. This journey was performed and book writ by F. Gaspar de Sa, a Portuguese franciscan, being a journal of his travels, from India to Portugal by land, and a description of Jerusalem; but of this sort there are several, and this I do not find has any thing more remarkable above others.

Viage de Jeronimo de Santistevan de Genova por el Cairo a la India, y sa buelta a Portugal. A voyage by Jerome de Santistevan from Genoa by the way of Grand Cairo to India, and his return to Portugal. It is to be seen in Italian in the first volume of Ramusio’s collection.

Itinerario de Esparca a las Philippinas, y de alli ala China, y buelta por la India oriental. This is a voyage round the world by F. Martin Ignatius de Loyala, a franciscan, who took his way from Spain to America, thence to the Philippine islands, thence to China, and so round home by the East-Indies. It is printed in F. John Gonzales de Mendoza’s history of China, with the author’s name to it, in the edition of the year 1585, but the name is left out in that of 1586.

Jornada da Terre Santa. Another holy land pilgrimage, by F. Nicholas Diaz, of the order of St. Dominic.

Itinerario da Terra Santa, e odas las suas particularidades. Another pilgrimage still to the Holy Land, by F. Pantaleo de Aveiro. Lisbon 1593. 4°.

Relazao de Pedro Alvarez Cabral da sua navegazao a India oriental. This Cabral was the next after Gama sent by Emanuel king of Portugal into India; and accidentally being drove thither by storms, discovered Brasil. This relation is to be seen in Italian in John Baptista Ramusio’s collection.

Relazao de Pedro de Cintra, da sua navegazao a costa de Guinée, y a India. A voyage to the coast of Guinea and India, by Peter de Cintra, of which I find no more, but that it was translated into Italian by Aloisius Cadamustus.

Relazao do viage de Pedro Covillam de Lisboa a India per terra, e volta ao Cairo. 1587. This Covillam was one of the first sent from Portugal to discover India by land, before the way to it had been opened by sea; and this is the account of his travels thither, and back to Grand Cairo.

Viage que hizo a Jerusalem el P. F. Pedro de Santo Domingo, de la orden del mismo santo. This was a dominican lay-brother, who gave an account of his pilgrimage; but enough of them. It was in the year 1600, and printed at Naples in 1604. 8°.

Viage de Jerusalem de Pedro Gonzales Gallardo. Another holy land voyage printed at Sevil 1605. 8°.

Naufragio y peregrinacion en la costa del Peru, de Pedro Goveo de Victoria. This is an account of a shipwreck and travels in America by this Goveo in his youth, a book of no great fame, and therefore hard to find any account of it. Printed in 1610. 8°.

Viage del mundo, por Pedro Ordonez de Zevallos. 4°. This though the author calls it the voyage of the world, only shows a piece of vanity, for it reaches no further than America, a part whereof the author saw, and writes of.

Relacion del voyage que hizo a la India Tomas Lopez, el anno de 1502. This voyage to India by Lopez, is to be seen in Italian in Ramusio’s collection.

Nuevo descubrimiento del gran Rio de las Amazonas. A new discovery of the great river of Amazons, by Christopher de Acuna, a jesuit who went upon that expedition by order of the king of Spain. Madrid 1641. 4°.

Relacion del voyage de los hermanos Nodales, de Diego Ramirez. This is a relation of the voyage made by the two brothers Bartholomew and Garcia de Nodal to the straits of Le Mayre; their own journal of this voyage was mentioned before, yet this relation is much commended by Anthony de Leon in his Biblioth. Ind. occident. .

Relacion del naufragio de la nao Santiago, y itinerario de la gente, que della se salvo el anno de 1585. This is an account of a Portuguese ship cast away, and of the great sufferings of those that were saved. It is a very remarkable relation, and printed An. 1602. 8vo.

Relacion del descubrimiento de las siete ciudades, de Fernando de Alarcon. The discovery of seven cities in the North America by Ferdinand de Alarcon. It is to be found in Italian in Ramusio’s collection. vol. III.

Relacion del descubrimiento de las siete ciudades, de Francisco Vasquez Coronado. The discovery of the seven cities last mentioned by Coronado, and to be found in the same volume of Ramusio.

Tratado de las guerras de los Chichimecas. An account of those northern people in America, called Chichimecas, and the wars with them, by Gonzalo de los Casas, a native of Mexico, and lord of the province of Zanguitan in that country.

Relacion de lo sucedido a los padres de la compania de Jesus en la India oriental y Japon en los anos 1600, 1601, 1607, y 1608. This account was first writ in Portuguese, and translated into Spanish, and has not very much but what relates to religious affairs.

Historia ecclesiastica del Japon desde del ano 1602, hosta el de 1621. This is an ecclesiastical history of Japan for those years above mentioned, composed by F. James Collado, and printed at Madrid, An. 1623. in 4°. It was continued to the year 1622, by F. Jacintus Offanel of the order of St. Dominic, as was the other.

Historia evangelica del regno de la China del P. F. Juan Baptista Morales. This history of China has been always in good repute; the author was a dominican and missioner first in Camboya, and then in China, where he suffered much, being put to the rack, twice whipped, and then banished. Coming to Rome he gave the pope a good account of the affairs of that country, whither he returned and spent there the remainder of his life, dying at 70 years of age in the province of Fokien. Thus much has been said of him, to show that he was well acquainted with what he writ, and well deserves the general approbation he has met with.

Embaxada de D. Garcia de Silva Figueroa a la Persia. This embassador was a man curious and knowing, and observed many considerable things which other authors have not spoke of, and made learned reflections on what ancient historians have writ of the eastern countries. He gives an account of the manners and customs of the people, and description of all places in the way he went from Goa to Ispahan, the capital of Persia. The relation of the Persians taking Ormus from the Portugueses, a description of Chilminara the ancient palace of Persepolis, burnt by Alexander the Great when he was drunk. This is a book of great value in the original Spanish, the French translation being vitiated by the translator, so that there is no relying on it.

Conquista y antiquedades de las islas de la Gran Canaria, su descripcion, &c. Per el licenciado Juan Nunez de la Pena. 4°. Madrid. The conquest and antiquities of the Canary islands, being perhaps the best relation we have of them, both as to their present state and antiquities.

ENGLISH.

Hackluyt, a minister by profession, is the first Englishman that compiled any collection of travels now extant: he himself was no traveller, but only delivers what he could gather from others. His work was published in the year 1598, and reaches down to 1597; it is divided into three parts, composing one thick volume in folio. The first contains the following voyages: 1. K. Arthur to Iseland, an. 517. 2. K. Malgo to Iseland, Gotland, &c. an. 580. 3. K. Edwin to Anglesey and Man, an. 624. 4. Bertus to Ireland, an. 684. 5. Octher beyond Norway, an. 890. 6. Octher into the Sound. 7. Wolstan into the Sound. 8. K. Edgar round his monarchy, an. 973. 9. Edmund and Edward into Hungary, an. 1017. 10. Harald into Russia, an. 1067. 11. An Englishman into Tartary, Poland, and Hungary, an. 1243. 12. F. de Plano’s wonderful voyage, an. 1246. 13. F. de Rubricis’s journal, an. 1258. 14. F. de Linna towards the north pole, an. 1360. 15. Hen. e. of Derby into Prussia, an. 1390. 16. F. of Woodstock into Prussia, an. 1391. 17. Sir H. Willoughby to Lapland, an. 1553. 18. Chancellor’s discovery of Muscovy by sea, an. 1553. 19. Burrough to the river Ob, an. 1556. 20. Johnson to the Samoeds, an. 1556. 21. Burrough to Wardhouse, an. 1557. 22. Jenkinson to Russia, an. 1557. 23. Jenkinson from Moscow into Bactria, an. 1558. 24. Jenkinson through Russia into Persia, an. 1561. 25. Alcock, &c. by land to Persia, an. 1563. 26. Johnson, &c. by land to Persia, 1565. 27. Southam and Spark to Novogrod, an. 1566. 28. Jenkinson to Russia, an. 1566. 29. Edwards, &c. by land to Persia, an. 1568. 30. Banister and Ducket by land to Persia, an. 1569. 31. Burrough to Livonia, an. 1570. 32. Jenkinson to Russia, an. 1571. 33. Burrough by land to Persia, an. 1579. 34. Pet and Jackman to the north-east, an. 1580. 35. Horsey by land from Moscow to England, an. 1584. 36. Russians to the north-east. 37. Voyage to Siberia and the river Ob. 38. Vanquishing the Spanish armada, an. 1588. 39. Voyage to Cadiz, an. 1596. Thus far the first volume; the first 16 of which voyages are not of much moment or authority, and the two last are warlike expeditions, which were not properly placed among discoveries; the rest of the volume is filled with treaties, patents, and letters. Thus it appears all these, except the two last, are northern voyages. The second volume contains voyages to the straits, coast of Afric, and the East-Indies. Of these the greatest part are pilgrimages to Jerusalem, many of very little moment, expeditions for the Holy Land, common trading voyages, that have little or nothing of curiosity, and sea-fights; all which being a great number, and of no moment, are not worth inserting here: the small remaining part are voyages to Guinea, and other coasts of Afric, and some few to the East-Indies; of all which there is a much better account in Purchas and others, and therefore they are not inserted in this place. Besides, as in the first part, there are abundance of letters, discourses, patents, and such original papers. The third volume, not to mention many of no worth, has these considerable voyages, Sebastian Cabot’s to North America, three of sir Martin Forbisher to the north-west passage, two of Davis’s to the north-west, Hore and Gilbert to Newfoundland; Granpre, and others to the isle of Ramea; three of Jaques Cartier to Newfoundland, Canada, &c. Roberval to Canada; Amadas, Balow, Greenvil, and others, to Virginia; Verazzano, Ribault, Laudonnierre, and Gourges to Florida; Marco de Nica, Francis Vasques Coronado, and Antony de Espejo to Cibola, Culiacon and New Galicia; Ulloa, Alarcon and Drake to California; Ovalle to the Philippine islands, Lequeos, China, and back to Acapulco; Tonson, Bodenham, Chilton, Hawks, Philips, and Hortop to New Spain, Peru, and Panuco; Pert and Cabot to Brasil; Tison and Hawkins to the West-Indies; Hawkins to Guinea and the West-Indies; Drake to Nombre de Dios; Oxnam, Barker, Drake, Michelson to Mexico, &c. Newport to Puerto Rico, &c; May to the straits of Magellan; Dudley, Preston, Drake, Sherley, Parker, to several parts of the West-Indies; Raleigh to the island Trinidad, and to Guiana; Hawkins, Reniger, Hare, Lancaster to Brasil: two Englishmen and Drake up the river of Plate; Drake round the world; Silva through the straits of Magellan; Winter into the South-sea; Fenton to Brasil; Witherington to 44 degrees of south latitude; Candish round the world; Ship Delight to the straits of Magellan; Candish his last voyage. Thus have we briefly run over the contents of Hackluyt’s collection, precisely setting down all in the first volume, to give the reader a taste of the author’s method of heaping together all things good and bad which has been abridged in relation to the second and third volumes, to avoid being tedious. The collection is scarce and valuable for the good there is to be picked out; but it might be wished the author had been less voluminous, delivering what was really authentic and useful, and not stuffing his work with so many stories taken upon trust, so many trading voyages that have nothing new in them, so many warlike exploits not at all pertinent to his undertaking, and such a multitude of articles, charters, privileges, letters, relations, and other things little to the purpose of travels and discoveries.

Purchas was the next great English collector of travels after Hackluyt, whom he has imitated too much, swelling his work into five volumes in folio. The whole collection is very valuable, as having preserved many considerable voyages which might otherwise have perished. But to particularize with him, as has been done before with Hackluyt; his first volume is divided into five books. The first contains the travels of the ancient patriarchs, the apostles and philosophers, with the warlike expeditions of Alexander the Great, and other princes; to which is added an enquiry into languages, and an account of the several sorts of religions. The second book treats of navigation in general, the discoveries made by Henry prince of Portugal, king John of Portugal, Columbus of the West and Gama of the East-Indies; then follow Magellan, Drake, Candish, Noort, and Spilbergen round the world, and Le Maire’s discovery of the new strait of his name. The third book is filled with some private voyages to the East-Indies, and the seven first made by the East-India company with descriptions, and an account of all those parts, their product, trade, government, religion, &c. but all, as delivered by the first that resorted there and made no long stay, imperfect, and far short of what we have had since. The fourth book contains the 8th voyage of the East-India company, capt. Saris to Japan; Finch to India; 9th, 10th, 11th and 12th voyages of the company; observations for sailors; Steel to the mogul’s court; Milward to India; Peyton to India; an extract of sir Thomas Roe, embassador from king James to the mogul, his journal; Coryat’s travels. The fifth book still continues upon accounts of the East-Indies, of all parts thereof, and from many several hands, upon differences between the Dutch and English, wars of the natives, engagements of the English and Portugueses, and many other passages and occurrences to the same purpose. The sixth book, being the first in the second volume, begins with collections of John Leo’s history of Afric, and R. C.’s history of Barbary: then follow Nicholay’s description of Argier; an expedition to Argier under sir Robert Mansel; and some relations of Afric. The seventh book begins Jobson’s voyage to Guinea; Battle’s account of Angola is next, then Pigafetta’s relation of Congo, Alvarez’s voyage to Ethiopia; D. John de Castro from India to Suez; Bermudez the patriarch to Ethiopia, and Nunhes Barretto of the same country. The eighth contains several pilgrimages to Jerusalem, christian expeditions to the Holy Land; Barton’s (q. Elizabeth’s embassador to the great Turk) account of his voyage and the adventures of J. Smith. The ninth book consists of Sherley’s travels into Persia; Benjamin the son of Jonas his peregrination; Terry’s voyage to the mogul; Barthema’s to Egypt, Syria, Arabia, Persia and India; collections of Asia out of Arabic; Menesses’s account of India; Figueroa to Ispahan; J. de Santos to Ethiopia; Jobson on Gambra river; account of the grand signior’s seraglio; Sanderson’s voyages in the straits; Timberley from Cairo to Jerusalem: Newberry of the eastern parts of the world; Fran. Pyrard de la Vol to the East-Indies. The tenth book has a collection of Spanish and Portuguese voyages out of Galvan; Trigautius his voyage to India; letter touching Japan; Frederick’s Indian observations; Balbi to Pegu; Fitz to Goa, and other parts of India; Pimenta’s observations of India; Linschoten’s voyages to India; relation of Ormuz; sir Rob. Sherley to Persia; Coryate’s travels; Lithgow Scot to the Holy Land, &c.; Intelligence out of Turkey; Brown’s Indian voyage; Dutch proceedings at Amboyna; and description of the bay of Todos os Santos. The third volume, book the first, contains as follows: W. de Rubricis’ travels into the East; relations of Bacon, and Balvacensis; Wendover of the Tartars; Mr. Paulus Venetus his voyages; S. J. Mandeville’s travels; extracts of an Arabic history of Tamerlan; travels of Chaggi Memet, a Persian; treatise of China, of F. Gaspar da Cruz; Pereira of China. The second book has, Sir H. Willoughby, Chanceller, and Jenkinson’s voyages to the north-east; Extracts of Fernan Mendez Pinto’s travels; discovery and planting of the Philippine islands; Goes’ travels from Lahor to China by land; Jesuits first entrance into China and Japan; Pantoja’s account of China; Discourse of China out of Riccius and Trigautius. The third book, Fletcher’s treatise of Russia; Edge’s northern voyages; Barent’s into the north-sea; Gerart de Veer’s northern voyages; Iver Boty of Iceland and Greenland; description of Siberia, Samoieda and Tingoesia; Gourdon to Pecora; Logan to Pecora, and his wintering there; Pusglove to Pecora, and wintering there; Gourdon wintering at Pustozra; Voyages to Cherry island; Hudson’s northern voyages; discovery of Nicholas and Anthony Zeni; Quirino’s shipwreck; Barkley’s travels in Europe, Asia, Afric and America; Broniovius embassador to the Crim Tartar; Blefkin’s voyages and history of Iceland and Greenland; Angrim Jonas’s history of Iceland. The fourth book, sir T. Smith to Cherry island; Pool to Greenland; Baffin to Greenland; Fosterby to Greenland; several northern voyages; revolutions in Russia; Cossac’s travels out of Siberia to Catay; discovery of the river Ob; Cabot, Thorn, and Weymouth’s voyages to the south-west; Hall to discover Greenland; Knight to the north-west passage. Other northern voyages. The fifth book, Herrera’s description of the West-Indies, Acosta and Oviedo of the West-Indies, Mexican history in cuts, conquest of Mexico by Cortes, other particulars of America. The fourth volume begins with the sixth book, and in it as follows: the first book, earl of Cumberland’s voyage, Cabot, Pert, Hawkins and Drake’s voyages and sea-fights, Carder living among the savages in Brasil, Candish’s unfortunate voyage to the straits of Magellan, Knivet’s adventures with Candish, Turner in Brasil, Parker taking Puerto Bello, Middleton and Geare to the West-Indies. Description of the island Trinidad, country of Guiana, and river Oronoko, by F. Sparry. Leigh’s voyages to Guiana, massacre of English in Guiana, Wilson’s relation of Guiana, Harcourt to Guiana, description of the river of the Amazons. The seventh book, a treatise of Brasil written by a Portuguese; extracts of Leri’s history of Brasil; Schnirdel’s 20 years travels, Hawkins to the South-sea, Ellis of the same voyage, relation of an Englishman 13 years prisoner in Peru, Ursino of the coast of the firm land, and secrets of Peru and Chili; notes of the West-Indies out of Peter Ordonez de Cevallos. New discovery in the South-sea by Peter Fernandez Quiros, Lope Vas of American affairs, extracts of Benzo of the new world, and of Garcilasso incas of Peru; Pizarro’s conquest of Peru, occurrences in Peru after the conquest. The eighth book, Alvar Nunez of Florida, Soto to Florida, discoveries to the northward of Mexico by Nuno de Guzman, Marco de Nica, D. Fr. Vasquez Coronada, and D. Ant. de Espejo; Casas of the cruelties of the Spaniards, voyages and plantations of French in North-America, Gosnol to Virginia, other voyages to Virginia. Description of the Azores. The ninth book, description of Virginia, and proceeding of the English colonies there, wreck of sir Thomas Gate, and account of the Bermudas; Argol from Virginia to Bermudas, affairs relating to Virginia, fight of an English and two Spanish ships, voyages to the Summer Islands, and history of them. The tenth book, discovery and plantation of New England, Chalton’s voyage for North Virginia, extracts of Smith of New England’s trials, other accounts of New England; New Scotland the first planting of it, Newfoundland the first settlements there, and account of the island; warlike fleets set out by queen Elizabeth against the Spaniards, the duke of Medina’s for invasion of England, squadron of the galeons of Portugal; the expedition to Portugal by sir John Norris and sir Francis Drake, supposed to be writ by colonel Antony Wingfield; expedition to Cadiz, and the success against the Spanish ships, and in taking the town; the earl of Essex his fruitless expedition to the Azores, the conclusion of the work. The fifth volume is a theological and geographical history of the world, consisting of the description, and an account of the religions of all nations. This author like Hackluyt, as was observed at first, has thrown in all that came to hand to fill up so many volumes, and is excessive full of his own notions, and of mean quibbling and playing upon words; yet for such as can make choice of the best the collection is very valuable.

A voyage to Surat in the year 1689, giving a large account of that city, its inhabitants and factory of English, describing Madeira, Santiago, Annoboa, Cablanda, Malamba, S. Helena, Bomba, Mascate, Mycate, the cape of Good Hope, and island of Ascension, the revolution of Golconda, description of Aracan and Pegu, an account of the coins of India and Persia, and observations concerning silk-worms. By J. Ovington, 8°. London 1696. This account was by a person well qualified to make such observations.

Travels and voyages into Asia, Afric, and America, performed by Mons. John Morquet, keeper of the cabinet of rarities to the king of France in the Tuilleries, in six books with cuts. Translated from the French by Nathaniel Pullen, gent. 8°. London 1696. For so many travels the relation is too short, however there are things in it worth observing.

A new voyage to the East-Indies, in the years 1690 and 1691, with a description of several islands, and of all the forts and garrisons in those parts, now in possession of the French, the customs, &c. of the Indians, by Mons. du Quisne. It has also a description of the Canaries, and of Senega and Gambia on the coast of Afric, with several cuts and a map of the Indies, and another of the Canaries. Made English from the Paris edition, 12°. London 1696. Of the French factories in those parts we have no such account; and few better for the bulk, of all other places the author undertakes to speak of.

The voyages and travels of sir John Mandevil, knt. showing the way to the Holy Land and Jerusalem, to the Great Cham, Prester John, India, and other countries, 4°. London 1696. It is needless to say much of this book, as being so universally allowed to be fabulous.

Two journeys to Jerusalem, the first an account of the travels of two English pilgrims, and accidents that befel them in their journey to Jerusalem, Grand Cairo, Alexandria, &c. The second of 14 Englishmen in 1669, with the antiquities, monuments, and memorable places mentioned in scripture; there are also ancient and modern remarks of the Jewish nation, the description of the Holy Land, captivities of the Jews, what became of the ten tribes, &c. Here is very much promised, but the performance scarce answers, the volume being too small, and looks more like a collection out of some real travels, than any true pilgrimage performed.

Travels through Germany, Bohemia, Swisserland, Holland, and other parts of Europe, describing the most considerable cities and palaces of princes; with historical relations and critical observations, upon ancient medals and inscriptions, by Charles Patin, m. d. of the faculty of Paris, made English and illustrated with copper cuts, 8°. London 169frac6over7;. For those who are curious in medals this piece will be most acceptable, yet this does not lessen the value of the descriptions and other relations.

A new discovery of a vast country in America extending above 4000 miles between New France and New Mexico, with a description of rivers, lakes, plants, and animals, manners, customs, and languages of the Indians, &c. by L. Hennepin; to which are added new discoveries in North America, and not published in the French edition, 8°. The promise is very great, but there is little or rather no proof of such a vast extent of land, which no man has yet seen, and is all framed upon conjectures, or what is as groundless, idle relations of Indians; the other parts have more in them, yet only what are collections out of better authors.

A late voyage to S. Kilda, the remotest of all the Hebrides or western isles of Scotland; with a history of the island, natural, moral and topographical, containing an account of the people’s religion and customs, of the fish, fowl, &c. As also of a late imposter there, pretending to be sent by St. John Baptist. By M. Martin, gent. 8°. London 1698. We have here the only history and account of this island, that ever perhaps appeared in any language: and being such, its reputation ought to hold good, till any better can appear to lessen it.

The history of the buccaniers of America, 8°.

A new account of East-India and Persia in eight letters, being nine years travels, containing observations of the moral, natural and artificial state of those countries, as the government, religion, laws, customs, soil, seasons, diseases, animals, vegetables, manufactures, trade, weights and measures, in the principal places there. By John Fryer, m. d. with maps and tables, London 1698.

A voyage to the East-Indies, giving an account of the isles of Madagascar and Mascarenhas, of Surat, the coast of Malabar, Goa, Gomron, Ormuz, and the coast of Brasil, &c. and of the religion, customs, trade, &c. of the inhabitants, also a treatise of distempers peculiar to the eastern countries. There is annexed an abstract of Mons. Reneford’s history of the East-Indies, with his proposals for improvement of the East-India company; written originally in French, by Mons. Dellon, m. d. 8°. London 1698. This work has been well received both in French and English.

A new voyage and description of the isthmus of America, giving an account of the author’s abode there, the form of the country, coasts, hills, rivers, wood, soil, weather, &c. trees, fruit, beasts, birds, fish, &c. the Indian inhabitants, their features, complexion, manners, customs, employments, marriages, feasts, hunting, computation, language, &c. with remarkable occurrences on the South sea and other places, by Lionel Wafer, with cuts, 8°. London 1698. A work that has been well received by the public.

A new account of North America, as it was lately presented to the French king; containing a more particular account of that vast country, and of the manners and customs of the inhabitants, than has been hitherto published, 8°. London 1698. We have here a French account of those countries, but more particularly what belongs to them, more exact than any other has delivered.

The new atlas, or travels and voyages in Europe, Asia, Africa, and America, &c. 8°. London 1699. A little volume, which seems rather some collections out of books and travels, than any real voyage.

An account of a voyage from Archangel in Russia, in the year 1697, of the ship and company wintering near the north cape, in the latitude of 71 degrees: their manner of living, and what they suffered by the extreme cold; also remarkable observations of the climate, country and inhabitants; with a chart describing the place where they lay, land in view, soundings, &c. By Thomas Allison commander of the ship. This is the latest relation we have of any such northerly wintering, and well worth comparing with such others as write of those northern parts.

A relation of two several voyages made into the East-Indies, by Christopher Fryke surgeon, and Christopher Scwartzer, particularly describing those countries that are under the Dutch, 8°. London 1699. There is nothing extraordinary in them.

An account of a Dutch Embassy to the emperor of China, writ by one of the embassador’s retinue, fol. It is a translation from the Dutch original, and contains a description of the country, and all places they passed through, with 200 cuts drawn upon the spot; it treats also of the government of China, and manners of the people.

The description of the island of Ceylon by captain Knox. He lived 19 years upon the island, being taken, and kept there all this while by the Dutch, and had the opportunity of seeing the greatest part, and being informed of the rest by the natives. He gives a particular account of his manner of living, and accidents that befel him till he made his escape, and than treats very fully of all things that relate to the island. The Dutch, who are masters of Ceylon, have thought this account worth translating into their language, and it has found a good reception among them, which must add to its reputation.

Travels to Dalmatia, Greece and the Levant, by Mr. George Wheeler. He travelled with Mr. Spon, who published the same travels in French, but Mr. Wheeler remaining there behind him, has several curiosities that escaped the other, many medals and curious cuts of antiquities; so that his work seems the most complete, or at least both together confirm one another.

Terry’s voyage to the East-Indies, begun in the year 1615. 12°. He was chaplain to sir Thomas Roe, embassador to the mogol from K. James the first, and gives an account of some things in that country omitted by sir Thomas in his relation; but a great part of his book is filled up with discourses of his own, very little to the purpose.

An account of several late voyages and discoveries to the south and north, containing sir John Narbrough’s voyage through the straits of Magellan, to the coast of Chile, in the year 1669. Capt. Wood’s voyage for the discovery of the north-east passage, an. 1676. Capt. Tasman’s round Terra Australis, an. 1642, and Frederick Marten’s to Spitsberg and Greenland, an. 1671. With a supplement, containing observations and navigations to other northern parts; and an introduction, giving a brief account of several voyages. This collection has generally a good reputation, and seems very well to deserve it.

Collection of original voyages, published by capt. Hack, 8°. It contains Cowley’s voyage round the world, which is the same with Dampier’s mentioned in the next place; capt. Sharp’s voyage into the South-sea: both buccanier voyages. The third is capt. Wood’s voyage through the straits of Magellan, which is the same as sir John Narbrough’s before mentioned: and the fourth Mr. Roberts’s adventures among the corsairs of the Levant; so that there is little new in them, the three first being in other collections, and the last a very indifferent piece.

Dampier’s voyages in three volumes, 8°. The first a new voyage round the world, begun an. 1697. It describes the isthmus of America, and several of its coasts and islands, the passage by Tierra del Fuego, the isle of Guam, one of the Ladrones, the Philippines, Formosa, Luconia, Celebes, the cape of Good Hope, and island of S. Helena.

The second volume he calls a supplement to his voyage round the world, where he describes Tonquin, Achen, Malaca, &c. their product, inhabitants, manners, trade, &c. the countries of Campeche, Yucatan, New Spain in America; and discourses of trade, wind, breezes, storms, seasons, tides, currents of the torrid zone.

The third volume is his voyage to New Holland, which has no great matter of new discovery, but gives an account of the Canary islands, some of those of Cabo Verde, and the town and port of Baya de Totos los Santos in Brasil. All the three volumes have cuts and maps.

A collection of voyages by the Dutch East India company, being three to the north-east, two to the East-Indies, and one to the straits of Magellan. Little can be said in behalf of this work, being no more than what is to be seen in several other collections, 8°.

An historical relation of the island of Ceylon in the East-Indies, &c. illustrated with cuts and a map of the island, fol. The author, who lived long in that country, gives a general description of it, referring the reader to the map; and then the whole natural history.

Lassel’s travels through Italy, first printed in one volume, 12°. then in two. He was there four times, and gives a particular and curious account of most things of note there.

Relation of the discovery of the island Madeira, 4°. This is a discovery before it was peopled, and it continued lost again for several years, and has little of certainty.

Gage’s survey of the West-Indies, 8°. This book has gained some reputation.

The discoveries of John Lederer in three several marches from Virginia to the west of Carolina, and other parts of the continent, begun in March 1669, and ended in September 1670. 4°. This is a small account of the author’s, who was a German, and travelled further up the inland in that part, than any has yet done; is contained in about four sheets, published by sir William Talbot, in which there is much worth observing.

Relation of the travels and captivity of W. Davis, 4°. A small pamphlet of a few sheets.

Account of the captivity of Thomas Phelps at Machaness in Barbary, and his escape. Another small 4°. pamphlet.

The Golden Coast, or description of Guinea, in which are four English voyages to Guinea. A 4°. pamphlet, and has several pretty observations.

Herbert’s travels into divers parts of Africa, and Asia the Great, more particularly into Persia and Indostan, fol. These travels have always deservedly had a great reputation, being the best account of those parts written by an Englishman, and not inferior to the best of foreigners. What is peculiar in them, is the excellent description of all antiquities, the curious remarks on them, and the extraordinary accidents which often occur; not to mention other particulars common in the books of all other travellers, which would be too tedious for this place.

Brown’s travels in divers parts of Europe, fol. The author, a doctor of physic, has showed himself excellently qualified for a traveller by this ingenious piece, in which he has omitted nothing worthy the observation of so curious a person, having spent much time in the discovery of European rarities, and that in those parts which are not the common track of travellers, who content themselves with seeing France and Italy, and the Low-Countries; whereas his relation is of Hungary, Servia, Bulgaria, Macedonia, Thessaly, Austria, Styria, Carinthia, Carniola, and Friuli; adding to these Germany, the Low-Countries, and a great part of Italy, of all which he has composed a work of great use and benefit.

The voyages and travels of J. Albert de Mandelslo, a gentleman belonging to the embassy sent by the duke of Holstein, to the duke of Moscovy and king of Persia, fol. These are also known by the name of Olearius’s travels; the first part, which is of Muscovy and Persia, being altogether his, who was secretary to the aforesaid embassy: but then the following part, which treats of all parts of the East-Indies, is solely Mandelslo’s, who left the embassadors and Olearius at Ispahan, and proceeded to view those remoter parts. It is needless to give any other character of this work, than to inform such as are unacquainted with it, that it has generally the reputation of being one of the most accomplished books of travels now extant.

Blunt’s travels to the Levant, is a very short account of a journey through Dalmatia, Sclavonia, Bosnia, Hungary, Macedonia, Thessaly, Thrace, Rhodes and Egypt. The whole very concise, and without any curious observations, or any notable descriptions; his account of the religions and customs of those people, only a brief collection of some other travellers, the language mean, and not all of it to be relied on, if we credit others who have writ better.

A description of the present state of Samos, Nicaria, Patmos, and mount Athos; by Jos. Georgirenes, archbishop of Samos, 8°. This prelate resided long as archbishop at Samos, and saw Nicaria, as being a dependance of his diocese; but being weary of that function, he retired to Patmos, where he continued some time, and after visited mount Athos; so that all he delivers of these places, is as an eye-witness, and indeed the most particular account we have of them. The description is very exact, and what he says of the Greek religion may be relied on, as having so much reason to know it. All that can be excepted against, is what he says of the people in Nicaria, conversing at four or five miles distance, which indeed is not very credible. The preface the reader must observe is the translator’s, not the author’s, which is requisite to be known.

A voyage to Constantinople, by Mons. Grelot, 8°. translated into English by J. Philips. This though perhaps in the relation it may not contain much more than what may be picked out of other travellers who have writ of those parts, yet it exceeds them in fourteen curious cuts, the exactness of which is attested by several travellers that have been at Constantinople, and seen the places they represent; besides that all the ingenious people of Paris gave their approbation of the work, and upon their testimony the king himself having seen the draughts, thought fit to order the author to print it. So that we need not make any scruple to reckon it among the best books of travels; for as far as it reaches, which is to Constantinople, the Propontis, Hellespont, and Dardanels, with the places adjoining, the remarks of the religion, worship, government, manners, &c. of the Turks, are singular.

A description of the islands and inhabitants of Færoe, being 17 islands, subject to the king of Denmark, in 62 deg. of north lat. written in Danish and translated into English, 12°. The description is very particular and curious, and indeed more than could well be expected of those miserable northern islands; but the author was provost of the churches there, and had time to gather such an account, which is somewhat enlarged with philosophical observations on whirlpools and other secrets of nature. His character of the people is very favourable, and savours more of affection than sincerity; but the worst part of this small book, is first a collection of some romantic stories of the ancient inhabitants of Færoe; and in the next place, what is yet worse, a parcel of insignificant tales of spectres and illusions of Satan, as the author calls them.

Josselin’s two voyages to New England, 8°. In the first of these there is little besides the sea journal and common observations, unless it be an account of necessaries for planters. The second is a very particular description of all the country, its beasts, fowl, fish, plants, and trees, the manners and customs of the English inhabitants, the time of their settling there, with many other matters well worth observing. Of the Indians he has very little or nothing. The relation is curious and faithful, but in many places, where the author makes his own remarks, there are the oddest uncouth expressions imaginable, which look very conceited; but that is only as to his style. He concludes with what he calls chronological observations of America, much whereof no way relates to that part of the world, and the rest is of no great use, especially for that there are several errours in it.

Josselin’s New England rarities, a very small 8°. is a more particular account of the fowl, beasts, fishes, serpents, insects, plants, stones, minerals, metals, and earth of that country, than he has given in his voyages.

The adventures of M. T. S. an English merchant, taken prisoner by the Turks of Argier, and carried into the inland country of Afric, 12°. Containing a short account of Argier in the year 1648, of the country about it, and more particularly of the city Tremizen, where the author resided three years, going abroad with several parties which his master commanded, and relates some love intrigues he had with moorish women, as also very strange metamorphoses of men and other creatures turned into stone. The relation is plain and without artifice. At the end are added directions how to turn it out at the straits mouth with a westerly wind.

Wyche’s relation of the river Nile, its source and current, a small 8°. This is only a translation of a Portuguese jesuit’s account who lived in Ethiopia some years, being the same that is given by F. Alvarez and others of the society who lived there, and no doubt is very authentic, as delivered by an eye-witness, who was a person of probity. Other things relating to the unicorn, rhinoceros, bird of paradise, pelican, and phœnix, he writes upon hearsay, which deserve not the same credit, particularly when he says, that the rhinoceros has two horns, which we have seen in England to be otherwise; and of the great rarity of pelicans, which are also sufficiently known. But these are trifles; he discourses well of the reason of calling the Ethiopian emperor Prester John, on the Red-sea, and of the palm or cocoa-tree.

Ray’s travels, or his observations topographical, moral, and physiological, made in a journey through part of the Low-Countries, Germany, Italy, and France. He throughout it gives a very brief, yet ingenious description of every town he saw; observes some particulars of the customs and dispositions of the people; and curiously lays before us any thing that is rare in itself, or not known to us: but in his account of mineral waters, and of foreign plants, as one so understanding in those particulars, he outdoes any thing that could be expected from other travellers. He makes an excuse for the language, which he need not, it being well enough for plain notes of a traveller. Venice he describes more particularly than any other place; but of all universities, as being himself a scholar, he says more than of other towns. Of France not much, as having made but a short stay there. He closes his work with a Latin catalogue of plants he observed abroad, which either do not grow or are very rare in England. He has inserted Willoughby’s travels in Spain.

Thus have we run through all the books of travels of any note now extant, Latin, Italian, Spanish, French, and English, placing each as near as we could in its own original language; and therefore those who miss any in the English, may look for them in the other languages, where they will certainly find them, if they were not originally in that tongue. We have not made any particular catalogue of Dutch, because they are not very many, and all of them will be found, as they were translated into other languages. As for the characters given of books, in some places it is quoted where they were had; but if such authority be not quoted, it is because the books have been purposely perused and examined, where such account could not be found of them. Lastly, the reader must observe, that in this catalogue, there is no mention made of any of the travels contained in this collection, which would be a needless repetition, they being all mentioned and characterised in the general preface.

AN ACCOUNT OF THE BOOKS CONTAINED IN THIS COLLECTION.

THE first volume begins with Navarette’s historical, political, moral and religious account of China. The author was a dominican friar sent over by his order in the year 1646, to exercise his ecclesiastical function in the Philippine islands. But there finding no great encouragement, he ventured over into China, where he spent several years in the service of the christians he found there, learning the Chinese language, reading their histories, studying the points in controversy among the missionaries, and thoroughly qualifying himself to give a just account of that mighty monarchy. He wrote in Spanish, and was never translated till now. Those that have read him in the original give a high commendation of his learning, judgment, and sincerity; for in handling the particulars mentioned in the title of his book, he delivers nothing but upon the best grounds, as an eye-witness, where he could be so, or else upon the authority of Chinese histories, which he searched and very well understood, or upon the information of credible persons; ever mentioning on which of these the reader is to rely for the truth of what he relates. He often quotes his second volume, calling it, of controversies, the main subject of it being those points still in dispute among the missioners; this book (as we are informed) was printed, but by the interest and artifice of the jesuits, the edition was seized by the inquisition before it was published, so that very few copies of it got abroad.

He gives us an exact history of the empire of China, both ancient and modern; a description of the country and people, perfect in all circumstances; a genuine translation of the morals of Confucius their great philosopher; a full view of the Chinese learning, and a judicious explication of their opinions in religious matters: in which he is so careful and particular, that no other author whatsoever has given so complete an account of the religion of that nation. Nor does he confine himself to China, but in his way thither delivers many curious observations he made in his voyage to New-Spain, and gives a very good account of that country, as also of the Philippine islands (where he made a considerable stay), of the islands lying about them, and of other parts of India; and the accidents he met with in his return home, which was in the year 1673, after he had been abroad 26 years. On his arrival in Europe he repaired to the court of Rome, upon the matter of the controversies between the missionaries; where he was treated with all the honour due to a person of his merit: and soon after his return to Spain, he was promoted to an archbishopric in Hispaniola.

II. Baumgarten, whose travels we have here into Egypt, Arabia, Palestine, and Syria, was a German nobleman, as appears by his life prefixed to his travels. His journal was not published by himself, but after his death collected from his own and his servant’s observations, both of them having kept diaries of all they saw; and therefore are two several witnesses for the truth of what is delivered. Here is not only a description of the countries above mentioned, but a great deal of their ancient history inserted; and what renders the relation yet more agreeable, is the great variety of occurrences in this voyage well worth the relating. In particular, we are obliged to him for his account of the discipline and manners of that strange and unparalleled society of men, the Mamalukes, who for a long time held the dominion of Egypt, and of whom there is scarce to be found any-where else a tolerable relation. His observations on the lives of the christian religious men in those parts will be delightful to the curious reader, as will also his remarks on the superstitions of the Mamalukes, Arabs, and other infidels. This author travelled in the year 1507. His journal never appeared before in English. The Latin copy here translated was corrected by Joseph Scaliger’s own hand.

III. Henry Brawern and Elias Herckemann were sent to the kingdom of Chili by the Dutch West-India company in the years 1642 and 1643. Brawern was ordered to endeavour to settle among the Indians of that country, who were then revolted from the Spaniards, as may appear by the advertisement before the voyage; but he died there, and so that design came to nothing. The main thing in this journal is an account of the voyage, and a description of the island of Castro lying off the south coast of Chili, as also of the river of Baldivia in that kingdom.

IV. The next tract in order in this collection is a description of the island of Formosa near the coast of China, where the Dutch had a considerable fort. Of the author we know no more, but that he was minister to the Dutch in that island. The description is but short, yet contains the most material points usually treated of in such relations.

V. The remarks on the empire of Japan give a particular account of the revenues of the emperor and all the great men of that empire. The rest of it may almost as soon be read as characterized, and is therefore left to the reader’s censure.

VI. Captain John Monck’s voyage into the northern parts, was performed by order of Christian IV. king of Denmark, in the years 1619 and 1620. The particular preface to it mentions the most material points, which therefore need not be repeated here. What may be added concerning the captain is, that he was one of the ablest seamen of his time; that he had excellent natural parts; was of a bold and daring spirit, proper to attempt those dangerous discoveries: and hardy to endure all the rigours of those frozen climates: but what is his greatest commendation in this place is, that he was a man of truth and integrity, as may appear by his narrative, in which all that have followed him could find nothing to contradict.

VII. To Beauplan’s description of Ukraine so particular a preface is prefixed, that little more can be added. In general, the reader will find many things both moral and natural, that are rare and remarkable. He lived in that country about the year 1640. He was excellently qualified to give this description, being a mathematician and an engineer; and he has performed it so well, that nothing seems to be wanting but the map, which he tells us was seized with his papers by the king of Poland.

VIII. The two voyages to Congo in Afric were performed, the first by Michael Angelo of Gattina and Denis de Carli of Piacenza, capuchins and missioners into that kingdom, in the year 1666. The first of these died there, after he had sent these particulars in letters to his friends. The other returned into Italy, where he composed a small book from which this is translated. It begins with their voyage from Italy to Lisbon, and thence to Brasil, which introduces a brief account of that country; and thence sailing over to Afric, treats of the Portuguese town of Loando on that coast, of the behaviour and manners of the people, their way of travelling, the product of the country, of the several princes, the proceedings of those and other missioners, the state of religion; and lastly, remarks in the author’s travels through Spain and France in his return home. More particulars whereof may be seen in the translator’s preface before the voyage.

IX. The other voyage to the same country was performed by F. Jerome Merolla da Sorrento in the year 1682, who was also a missioner. The vessel he went in being by contrary winds carried to the southward of the cape of Good Hope, the father delivers all that is remarkable in running along that southern coast of Afric, till his arrival at the port of Angola. Then he enters upon his business, with the discovery of Congo, and first missions to those parts; describes the river Zaire, relates the proceedings of the missioners, the superstitions and customs of the blacks, something of the wars betwixt the Portugueses and the blacks, and of the attempts of the Dutch and English to breed enmity betwixt those two nations. He describes the beasts, birds, fruits, and plants of Congo, and has many curious things not taken notice of by the former missionaries.

The first volume concludes with sir Thomas’s Roe’s journal, a valuable piece. He was sent embassador by king James the first to the great mogul, in 1615, at the charge of the East-India company, to settle peace and commerce. Being in that high post, he was the better able to give us a true account of the court of that mighty monarch, to show us all the customs and manners of it, and to instruct us in their policies, arts and maxims of state, which common travellers are not allowed to pry into. There is no cause to suspect the truth of his relation, because his negotiations in Turkey, where he was embassador, lately printed, show the extent of his genius, which was universal; and for integrity, that he was one of the honestest as well as ablest ministers that ever was employed by any court; and in this journal he had an eye particularly to serve those who had business to transact in India, and were to have business there in all future time. For a fuller account of this work we refer to the preface before the journal itself.

The second volume commences with the voyages and travels of Mr. John Nieuhoff, a Dutchman, and employed by the Dutch company to the East and West-Indies. They are divided into three parts. The first to Brasil, an. 1640, in which he went merchant supercargo to a ship of the West-India company. His description of Brasil is so exact and full, that he has left nothing for the diligence of those who came after him; for besides the general map, there are draughts of the towns of Arecite and Olinda, and cuts of all the strange beasts, birds, serpents, insects, trees, plants, and of the Indians themselves, all taken upon the spot. To which he adds the transactions in the war betwixt the Dutch and Portuguese in that country, he being there in the height of it, that is, from 1640 till 1649.

The second part contains the author’s travels in the East-Indies, begun in the year 1653. In the way thither he describes the islands of Cabo Verde, giving draughts of two of them, called S. Anthony and S. Vincent; and then a map of the cape of Good Hope. Thence he sails to Amboyna, of which, and of the Molucco islands, as also of Formosa, he leaves nothing worth relating untouched. The same he performs from China all along the coast of India and Persia; so plainly representing all things observable or strange there, that with the help of his cuts we seem to be conversing with the people of those parts, to see all their towns and living creatures, and to be thoroughly acquainted with their habits, customs and superstitions. But when he comes to Batavia, the metropolis of the Dutch dominions in the east, he there spares no labour or cost to express the greatness of that city; and this not only with words, but with abundance of fine draughts, representing, besides the town and harbour, the church, the markets, the town-house, the hospital, and many other places and structures. All the habits of those parts are also represented. In short, the whole work contains eighty-two cuts, which being all drawn to truth, and not fancy, illustrate the work, and render it extraordinary valuable. All this is interwoven with discourses of the wars betwixt the Dutch and Indians in several parts; and many remarks of their history, both political and natural.

The third part is a voyage to the east-side of Afric, in the year 1672, which is very short and imperfect; Mr. Nieuhoff being unfortunately killed in the island of Madagascar by the natives.

After Nieuhoff follow Smith’s adventures, travels and observations, beginning with his travels in the Low Countries, France and Italy, proceeding thence to the wars betwixt the Turks and Transilvanians, where the author served; and being taken prisoner and carried into Tartary, he speaks somewhat of that country: making his escape from the Tartars, he crossed all Europe, and passed into Barbary: hence he went to Virginia, the Summer Islands, and New England, and has left us the history of the English settlements in those places, and their state from the year 1624 to 1629, thence he passed to the Leeward Islands, of which he likewise gives an account.

Next to Smith’s adventures the reader will find two journals of men left in the frozen regions of Greenland and Spitzbergen, to winter there, and make some observations on those countries.

The first of these is of seven sailors, who voluntarily consented to stay in the isle of Maurice, on the coast of Greenland. These kept an exact diary, setting down the wind, weather, and all other particulars they could observe, from the twenty-sixth of August 1633, till the twenty-ninth of April 1634. The method is plain, and such as might be expected from sailors; and as there is nothing in the relation that seems incredible, so neither is there any ground to call the truth of it in question, because they all died one after another, and left this journal behind them without any alteration: and doubtless as they felt themselves declining, they would have no inclination to impose on the world.

The second journal is of seven other Dutch sailors, left to winter at Spitzbergen in the year 1634, where they also kept a diary from the eleventh of September till the twenty-sixth of February, when being spent with the scurvy, and their limbs benumbed with the winter’s cold, they could not help themselves, and like the others were all found dead at the return of the Dutch fleet in 1635.

The next is a very brief relation of a shipwreck in Spitzbergen in 1646, and of the taking up of four of the men who escaped, after a wonderful manner; yet three of them died soon after, and only one returned home.

The descriptions of Iceland and Greenland were written about the year 1645, by M. la Peyrere, a learned Frenchman, author of the book about the Præ-Adamites, secretary to the French embassy at Copenhagen, at the request of the ingenious Mons. de la Mothe la Vayer, and sent to him; of Iceland, a country long inhabited, though so cold and northerly, he delivers something of ancient history, besides the description of the land, the manners of the people, and other things remarkable. In Greenland he follows much the same method, and both of them are well worthy to be read with attention, as delivering one of the most accomplished narratives we have of those parts, and esteemed as such by Mons. de la Mothe la Vayer, who was a very competent judge.

The next in order is captain Thomas James’s voyage, an. 1631, for the discovery of the north-west passage into the South-sea: setting sail in May, he ran into the latitude of 63 degrees and upwards. ’Tis very observable throughout the voyage, that we shall scarce meet with so continual a series of storms, and all sorts of hardships, miseries and calamities, as this captain run through; who after struggling till September with tempests, cold and uninhabited shores, at last was driven upon a desert frozen island, and there forced to winter in miserable distress. The account he gives of the extremity of the cold in those quarters, and his observations on it, are curious, and were very useful to Mr. Boyle, in the experiments he made about cold. But the general esteem his relation is in among the ingenious, will sufficiently recommend it. He returned safe home with most of his crew.

The Muscovite embassador’s journey by land from Moscow to China in 1645 is so short that it requires little to be said of it, but that it describes the way from Moscow to Peking, and shows us that the city is the same with the so much talked of and little known Cambalu, mistakenly supposed to be in Tartary. This embassador being never admitted to audience, could learn nothing of the Chinese court, and therefore does not pretend to inform us of any thing that relates to it.

Wagner’s travels in Brasil and the East-Indies about 1633, which are annexed to this embassy, are as short, and may so soon be read over, that it is needless to give a character of them.

The life of Christopher Columbus has a short preface to it, partly the author’s, and partly the translator’s, which is sufficient to inform the reader both of the contents of the book, and the value of it above others that treat of the same subject. And indeed nothing can be described more authentic, if we will give credit to original papers, and those from so good a hand as the admiral himself and his own son, who bore part with him in some of his enterprises. But we must not omit to observe, that under the title of his life, is contained the narration of all that was done in the discovery of the West-Indies in his time, about 1492, besides abundance of curious remarks, scarce to be found in any other author that writes upon this subject.

Greaves’s account of the pyramids, needs little to be said of it. The universal approbation it has received is a greater character than can be here given of it; the judicious Mons. Thevenot set such a value upon it, that he translated it into French. In a word, it is the most accomplished narrative we have of those wonderful piles, and may spare all other travellers the trouble of writing of them. He has said all that can be expected; he instructs us who were the founders of the pyramids, the time of erecting them, the motive and design of them, and then describes them exactly, and gives draughts of them.

His Roman foot and denarius added to his pyramids, is another piece of excellent literature, to give light into the weights and measures of the ancients.

Christopher Borri’s account of Cochin-China, where he lived about the year 1620, closes the second volume. It is short, but contains many curious things, being full of matter, without superfluity of words to swell it to a volume.

The historical relation of the kingdom of Chili, by Alonzo de Ovalle, about the year 1646, has the first place in the third volume. It is the only good account of that kingdom; the author, being a jesuit, inserted the relations of several miracles in this work, which the translator has in great measure retrenched; for the rest, his veracity is unquestioned. The author himself is so modest, as to excuse any fault that may be found with his work, alleging its being written at Rome, where he was procurator for those of his order in Chili; and, being so far from home, ill provided with papers and all materials for composing a history of this sort: but whosoever reads it, will find more ground for commendation than need of excuse, nothing of the kind being more complete, full and accurate. Something might be here said as to the particulars contained in this book, but that the author and translator have done it already in two several prefaces before the book. The translator gives the author and his work that honourable character they deserve. The author in his preface sums up the contents of his book, declares how sincerely he has dealt, in order to deliver nothing but the truth; gives his reasons for what he says relating to Peru and Mexico, and lastly demonstrates how this work may be diverting and useful to all sorts of readers.

After Ovalle, follow sir William Monson’s naval tracts. Sir William was a gentleman well descended, but of small fortune, as he confesses, which made him take to the sea, where he served many years in several capacities, till merit raised him to the degree of an admiral, first under queen Elizabeth, and then under king James and king Charles the first. Being bred from his youth at sea, and being a man of excellent natural parts, there is not the least shadow of reason to make a doubt of his capacity in maritime affairs. His integrity will sufficiently appear to any that reads him, for he every-where carries such a visible ingenuity in what he delivers, that it plainly appears to be written with a true zeal for the public, and without prejudice or affectation. The excellent advice he gives to his eldest son, is a good instance of his virtuous inclination; and the small estate he declares he leaves him, after so many toils and dangers, plainly shows the honesty of his life. Thus much as to the author; as to his tracts there is a preface before them, to which the reader is referred for other particulars not touched upon in this place.

The first book is chiefly a collection of every year’s actions in the war against Spain, on our own and the Spanish coasts, and in the West-Indies. Here the reader is not to expect a full narrative of these affairs, for many of them are so brief that no more is said of them, but the force they are undertaken with, and the success of the enterprise; yet the design is to show the reasons, either why they miscarried, or why so little advantage was made where they succeeded. In some he is more particular than in others; and what perhaps may be still of use, he at last sets down the abuses in the fleet, and the methods for redressing them.

His second book continues somewhat of the method of the first, beginning with fatherly instructions to his son; whence he proceeds to the peace with Spain, which put an end to the warlike naval actions, yet not to his command, being employed against pirates. He inveighs against the Dutch, shows the ill management of a design against Algier, and makes very notable remarks on the attempt upon Cadiz by king Charles the first, proposing methods how Spain might have been much more endamaged, with other particulars about the shipping of England, and sovereignty of the seas.

The third book treats only of the admiralty, that is, of all things relating to the royal navy, from the lord high admiral to the meanest persons employed ashore, and to the cabin-boys at sea; and from a complete fleet to the smallest vessel and part of it, with instructions for all officers, the size of all sorts of guns, all sorts of allowances on board the king’s ships, and excellent directions for fighting at sea; an account of all the harbours in these three kingdoms, with many more curious matters accurately handled.

The fourth book is of another nature from any of the rest, being a brief collection of Spanish and Portuguese discoveries and conquests in Africa, Asia and America, with some voyages round the world, and somewhat of English and French plantation.

The fifth book is full of projects or schemes, for managing affairs at sea to the best advantage for the nation.

This sixth and last treats of fishing, to show the infinite addition of wealth and strength it would bring to England; with all instructions necessary for putting such a design in execution.

This third volume ends with the description of the coasts of Malabar and Coromandel, and the island of Ceylon in the East-Indies, about the year 1649, by Philip Baldæus, a Dutch minister, who lived several years in those parts. The preface to the work gives a general idea of it, and of the author, to which the reader may recur to avoid repetition; but for his further information let it be observed, that he first gives a brief account of the actions, and conquests of the Portugueses in those parts, and then an ample and full relation how the Dutch expelled them; where we shall find more particulars concerning those affairs than have been hitherto made public in English, which is a very considerable piece of history. And though he only promises to treat of the coasts of Malabar and Coromandel on the continent, yet to lead the more methodically into it, he begins with the description of Cambaya, the treaties of the Dutch with the great mogul, the trade of several European nations along that coast; and leads us even into the Red Sea, describing many places of note upon those shores, and even up the inland country, acquainting the reader, at the same time, with all that is requisite to be known of the mahometans in those parts. Hence he descends to treat of all the great peninsula on this side Ganges, of its product, the rivers Nile and Ganges, and more particularly than any other has done of the Malabar language. After this he proceeds to Ceylon, where he enlarges more than upon the rest, as having lived longest there, and concludes with a large account of the idolatry of the East-India pagans.

The first voyage in the fourth volume is that of Dr. Francis Gemelli Careri round the world, a piece of extraordinary curiosity, altogether new, and but lately published in Italian in six octavo volumes, and now first in English, the author returning home from his long travels but at the end of the year 1698. His learning, as being a doctor of the civil law, and his excellent natural qualifications, have rendered his work so complete, that indeed it seems to be one of the most excellent pieces of this nature now extant. Nothing can be more diverting, as having that extraordinary variety which the whole compass of the earth affords, and that in the noblest and best parts of it. An air of truth appears throughout it, there being nothing but what is told with much modesty, and what is probable and natural enough in itself; besides that the most part of what is here related may be found dispersed in many other travellers, who saw but pieces of what Gemelli took a view of entire. His remarks and observations are extraordinary curious, because he was not only capable to make them, but had leisure, that being his only business, and money to carry him through. In fine, he has an excellent brief collection of history annexed to every part of his travels, which informs the reader of the ancient as well as the present state of the countries there spoken of. He is exact for the most part in setting down the distances of places, a great help to future travellers. His account of plants and fruits peculiar to the East and West-Indies, with the draughts and representations of them, is a good help to natural history, together with his other descriptions, and his observations of customs, manners, habits, laws, religions, and all other things in those vast regions he passed through. In particular, what he says in that part of his voyage which is from Aquapulco till his leaving the continent of America, is, besides what is in Gage, almost the only account we have of the inland parts of that continent. There is a preface to the work which gives a full account of it.

An account of the shipwreck of a Dutch vessel on the coast of the isle of Quelpaert, which happened in the year 1653, together with the description of the kingdom of Corea. This was originally writ in Dutch by one that calls himself the secretary of the ship then lost, who lived thirteen years in those countries, and at last made his escape with some others. It was thought worthy to be translated into French, and now lastly into English. ’Tis the only account yet extant of the kingdom of Corea, which lies on the east of China, being a peninsula joined to that mighty empire by a small neck of land: and it is no wonder we should be so very much strangers to this country, since besides its remoteness, the author tells us they admit of no strangers; or if any have the misfortune as he had, to fall into their hands, they never return home, unless they can make as wonderful an escape as he did. The relation itself has a particular preface annexed to it by the translator, to which the reader is referred.

Next follows a relation of a voyage from Spain to Paraguay, about 1691, by F. Antony Sepp, and F. Antony Behme, German jesuits; with a description of that country, the remarkable things in it, and residences of the missioners. We have a particular account of their voyage; they landed at Buenos Ayres, of which town they give a very good description, and of the great river of Plate which runs by it; and proceeding up into the country from Buenos Ayres, they treat distinctly of the several cantons of Paraguay.

After this is placed a fragment translated out of Spanish, concerning the islands of Salomon in the South-sea, discovered by the Spaniards about 1695, but hitherto never conquered or inhabited by any European nation. It was inserted in Thevenot’s collection of voyages. Both the beginning and conclusion are wanting; which, it seems, have perished through the negligence of those intrusted with the original papers. However, by good fortune, as much has been preserved, as serves to give us some knowledge of those islands, and of the nature and disposition of their inhabitants. And because so little is known of those places, this fragment was judged not unworthy a place in this collection.

The history of the provinces of Paraguay, Tucumany, Rio de la Plata, Parana, Guaira, Urvaica, and Chili, was written in Latin by F. Nicholas del Techo a jesuit. The antecedent account of Paraguay, by F. Sepp, has lightly touched upon part of this subject, but that only relates to one of the provinces here named; whereas this extends from the North to the South-sea, and includes all that vast tract of land in America, lying south of Peru and Brasil. The greatest part of these countries have not been so fully described, nor the manners and customs of those savage Indians so fully made known, as they are by this author, who spent no less than twenty-five years among them. But to avoid repetitions, what more is performed in this work may be seen in the particular preface before it.

Pelham’s wonderful preservation of eight men left a whole winter in Greenland 1630, is the sixth treatise in this volume. The preservation was indeed very remarkable, especially considering how unprovided they were left of all necessaries for wintering in such a dismal country, it being accidental and no way designed. This narrative has nothing of art or language, being left by an ignorant sailor, who, as he confesses, was in no better a post than gunner’s mate, and that to a Greenland fisher; and therefore the reader can expect no more than bare matter of fact, delivered in a homely style, which it was not fit to alter, lest it might breed a jealousy that something had been changed more than the bare language.

Dr. John Baptist Morin’s journey to the mines in Hungary, about 1650, is a very short relation of those mines, the ore they afford, the damps, the springs in them, the miners, the manner of discharging the water, and other particulars relating to them.

Ten-Rhyne’s account of the Cape of Good Hope, about 1673, and of the Hottentots, the natives of that country, is very curious. After a short description of the cape and table mountain, he describes the birds, beasts, fishes, insects, and plants found in that part of the world; and then succinctly treats of people, their persons, garments, dwellings, furniture, disposition, manners, way of living, and making war, traffic, sports, religion, magistrates, laws, marriages, children, trades, physic, and language.

The fourth volume concludes with Captain Richard Bolland’s draught of the straits of Gibraltar, in 1675, and his observations on its currents.

C. Baldwin, Printer,

New Bridge-street, London.

The Letters

Christ Church, Oxford — Locke was admitted to Christ Church in the autumn of 1652 at the age of twenty. Although a capable student, Locke was irritated by the undergraduate curriculum of the time. He found the works of modern philosophers, such as René Descartes, more interesting than the classical material taught at the university.

Hall of Christ Church, from the book ‘Old England: A Pictorial Museum of Regal, Ecclesiastical, Baronial, Municipal, and Popular Antiquities’, 1845

MISCELLANEOUS LETTERS OF JOHN LOCKE

CONTENTS

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE ANTHONY EARL OF SHAFTSBURY.

THREE LETTERS

TO KING CHARLES II.

TO THE D. OF YORK.

TO THE LORD ——

SOME FAMILIAR LETTERS BETWEEN MR. LOCKE, AND SEVERAL OF HIS FRIENDS.

TO THE READER.

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

MR. SYNGE TO DR. QUAYL.

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

REFLEXIONS DE MR. L ——  — SUR “L’ÉSSAI DE L’ENTENDEMENT HUMAIN” DE MONSIEUR LOCKE.

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

BISHOP OF —— — ‘S LETTER TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

MR. MOLYNEUX’S ANSWER TO THE BISHOP.

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

MR. LOCKE TO MR. BURRIDGE.

DR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

MR. LOCKE TO DR. MOLYNEUX.

DR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

MR. LOCKE TO DR. MOLYNEUX.

DR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

DR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

MR. LOCKE TO DR. MOLYNEUX.

DR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

MR. LOCKE TO DR. MOLYNEUX.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

JOANNI LOCKE, PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

LETTRE DE MR. LOCKE À MR. LIMBORCH.

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

LETTRE DE MR. LOCKE À MR. LIMBORCH.

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

LETTRE DE MR. LOCKE À MR. LIMBORCH.

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH, JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

A COLLECTION OF SEVERAL PIECES OF MR. JOHN LOCKE.

TO HUGH WROTTESLEY, ESQUIRE.

A TABLE OF THE PIECES CONTAINED IN THIS COLLECTION.

THE CHARACTER OF MR. LOCKE; BY MR. PETER COSTE:

A LETTER TO MR.      .

A LETTER FROM A PERSON OF QUALITY TO HIS FRIEND IN THE COUNTRY

REMARKS UPON SOME OF MR. NORRIS’S BOOKS,

SEVERAL LETTERS TO ANHT. COLLINS, ESQ. AND OTHER PERSONS.

A LETTER FROM MR. LOCKE TO MR. OLDENBURGH, CONCERNING A POISONOUS FISH ABOUT THE BAHAMA ISLANDS.

A LETTER TO ANTHONY COLLINS, ESQ.

TO THE SAME.

TO THE SAME.

TO THE SAME.

TO THE SAME.

TO THE SAME.

TO THE SAME.

A LETTER TO THE LADY CALVERLEY IN YORKSHIRE.

A LETTER TO ANTHONY COLLINS, ESQ.

TO THE SAME.

TO THE SAME.

TO THE SAME.

TO THE SAME.

TO THE SAME.

TO THE SAME.

TO THE SAME.

TO THE SAME.

TO THE SAME.

TO THE SAME.

TO THE SAME.

TO THE SAME.

TO THE SAME.

TO THE SAME.

TO THE SAME.

TO THE SAME.

TO THE SAME.

TO THE SAME.

TO THE SAME.

TO THE SAME.

TO THE SAME.

TO THE SAME.

TO THE SAME.

TO THE SAME. [DIRECTED THUS:]

A LETTER TO THE REVEREND MR. RICHARD KING.

A LETTER TO

A LETTER TO THE REVEREND MR. RICHARD KING.

TO THE SAME.

TO THE SAME.

RULES OF A SOCIETY.

A LETTER TO MRS. COCKBURN.

A LETTER FROM MR. LOCKE TO MR. SAMUEL BOLD.

LORD ASHLEY TO DR. FELL.

John Locke by John Greenhill, 1672

THREE LETTERS

WRIT BY THE E. OF SHAFTESBURY WHILST PRISONER IN THE TOWER: ONE TO K. CHARLES II, ANOTHER TO THE D. OF YORK, A THIRD TO A NOBLE LORD: FOUND WITH MR. LOCKE’S MEMOIRS RELATING TO THE LIFE OF ANTHONY, FIRST EARL OF SHAFTESBURY.

TO KING CHARLES II.

SIR,

The Almighty God, the King of kings, permitted Job to dispute with him, and to order his cause before him; give me leave therefore, great sir, to lay my case before your majesty, and to plead not only my innocence but my merits towards your majesty; for “my integrity will I hold fast, and will not let it go; my heart shall not reproach me so long as I live.”

I had the honour to have a principal hand in your restoration; neither did I act in it, but on a principle of piety and honour: I never betrayed (as your majesty knows) the party or councils I was of. I kept no correspondence with, nor I made no secret addresses to your majesty; neither did I endeavour to obtain any private terms or articles for myself, or reward for what I had or should do. In whatever I did toward the service of your majesty, I was solely acted by the sense of that duty I owed to God, the English nation, and your majesty’s just right and title. I saw the hand of Providence that had led us through various forms of government, and had given power into the hands of several sorts of men, but he had given none of them a heart to use it as they should; they all fell to the prey, sought not the good or settlement of the nation, endeavoured only the enlargement and continuance of their own authority, and grasped at those very powers they had complained of so much, and for which so bloody and so fatal a war had been raised and continued in the bowels of the nation. I observed the leaders of the great parties of religion, both laity and clergy, ready and forward to deliver up the rights and liberties of the people, and to introduce an absolute dominion; so that tyranny might be established in the hands of those that favoured their way, and with whom they might have hopes to divide the present spoil, having no eye to posterity, or thought of future things. One of the last scenes of this confusion was general Lambert’s seizing of the government in a morning by force of arms, turning out the parliament and their council of state, and in their room erecting a committee of safety. The news of this gives a great surprize to general Monk, who commanded the army in Scotland.

TO THE D. OF YORK.

SIR,

I HUMBLY confess I never thought my person or my principles acceptable to your royal highness; but at that juncture of time and occasion when I was committed, I had no reason to expect you should be my severe enemy. Reputation is the greatest concern of great dealers in the world; great princes are the greatest dealers; no reputation more their interest than to be thought merciful, relievers of the distressed, and maintainers of the ancient laws and rights of their country. This I ever wish may attend your royal highness, and that I may be one instance of it.

TO THE LORD ——

My Lord,

I HAD prepared this for your meeting in December; but that being adjourned to the 3d of April, an age to an old infirm man, especially shut up in a winter’s prison; forgive me if I say you owe yourself and your posterity, as well as me, the endeavouring to remove so severe a precedent on one of your members; such as I may truly say is the first of the kind, and I pray heartily may be the last. Your intercession to his majesty, if it be general, is not like to be refused; if you are single, yet you have done honourably, and what I should have done for you.

SOME FAMILIAR LETTERS BETWEEN MR. LOCKE, AND SEVERAL OF HIS FRIENDS.

TO THE READER.

The following letters, offered to your perusal, are the genuine productions of those gentlemen, to whom they are attributed.

They contain not only such civil and polite conversation, as friendship produces among men of parts, learning, and candour; but several matters relating to literature, and more particularly to Mr. Locke’s notions, in his “Essay concerning human understanding,” and in some of his other works: and therefore I cannot doubt of your thanks for the present I make you. For, though the curiosity of some, to see whatever drops from the pens of great men, and to inform themselves in their private characters, their tempers, dispositions, and manner of conversing with their friends, would perhaps have justified me, in publishing any letters of Mr. Locke’s, and of his friends to him, that were not letters of mere business; yet my regard to what I take to be the more general judgment of the public, has determined me to publish such only, as have relation to this twofold view, and shall determine me hereafter, if gentlemen, that have any letters of Mr. Locke’s by them, think fit to communicate them to me.

John Locke

July 16, 1692

London

Molyneux

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

SIR,

London,

July 16, 1692.

THOUGH the extraordinary compliment you were pleased to make me, in the epistle dedicatory, easily persuaded me, from whom that present was likely to come; when, at my coming to town, I found your book left for me, by Mr. Tooke, at my bookseller’s; yet my consciousness, how little I could deserve the one, or the other, from you, made me fear some mistake, till inquiring of Mr. Tooke himself, he assured me of the favour you had done me. I will not pretend to return you such thanks as I ought, till I can write such a book as yours is. Only give me leave to say, that if my trifle could possibly be an occasion of vanity to me, you have done most to make it so, since I could scarce forbear to applaud myself, upon such a testimony from one who so well understands demonstration, did I not see that those who can be extreme rigorous and exact in the search of truth, can be as civil and as complaisant in their dealing with those whom they take to be lovers of it. But this cannot keep me from being out of countenance at the receipt of such obligations, without the hopes of making such returns as I ought. Instead of that, give me leave to do what is next to it, and let you see that I am not sorry I am obliged to you. The bearer hereof, Dr. Sibelius, is a friend of mine, who comes to Dublin with a design to settle there, and I beg your assistance of him, in what lies in your way. I shall take it as a favour done to me. And methinks I have reason now to expect it of you, since you have done me more than once, very great ones, when I had no reason to expect any at all. Sir, you have made great advances of friendships towards me, and you see they are not lost upon me. I am very sensible of them, and would make such an use of them as might assure you I should take it for a new favour, if you would afford me an occasion wherein I might, by any service, tell you how much I am,

SIR,
Your most humble, and most obliged servant,

John Locke.

I had the honour to know one of your name at Leyden about seven or eight years since. If he be any relation of yours and now in Dublin, I beg the favour of you to present my humble service to him.

Will. Molyneux

Locke

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Sir,

UPON the arrival of our lord lieutenant in this place (which was on the 25th instant) I had the favour of a letter from you by the hands of Dr. Sibelius. I cannot easily tell you how grateful it was to me, having the highest esteem for him that sent it, from the first moment that I was so happy as to see any of his writings; and therefore it was, that I was so ambitious of making a friendship with you, by presenting you one of my trifles, which I ordered my bookseller to lay before you, under this character, “as a mean testimony of the great respect I had for the author of the Essay of Human Understanding.” And since I find, by yours to me, that my ambition is not fallen short of its design; but that you are pleased to encourage me, by assuring me that I have made great advances of friendship towards you; give me leave to embrace the favour with all joy imaginable. And that you may judge of sincerity by my open heart, I will plainly confess to you, that I have not in my life read any book with more satisfaction than your essay; insomuch, that a repeated perusal of it is still more pleasant to me.

And I have endeavoured, with great success, to recommend it to the consideration of the ingenious, in this place. Dr. King, bishop of Derry, when he read it, made some slight remarks on the foremost parts of the book; but his business would not permit him to go through it all. What he did, rough as it was, he gave to me, and they are at your commands, when you please.

One thing I must needs insist on to you, which is, that you would think of obliging the world with “A Treatise of Morals,” drawn up according to the hints you frequently give in your essay, of being demonstrable according to the mathematical method. This is most certainly true. But then the task must be undertaken, only by so clear and distinct a thinker as you are. This were an attempt worthy your consideration. And there is nothing I should more ardently wish for than to see it. And therefore, good sir, let me beg of you to turn your thoughts this way; and if so young a friendship as mine have any force, let me prevail upon you.

Upon my reading your essay, I was so taken with it, that when I was in London, in August 1690, I made inquiry amongst some of my learned friends for any other of your writings, if perhaps they knew any: I was recommended, by some, to “Two Discourses concerning Government,” and a little “Treatise concerning Toleration.” There is neither of them carries your name; and I will not venture to ask you, whether they are yours or not? This only I think, no name need be ashamed of either.

Dr. Sibelius, I find, is your friend, and therefore I assure him of all service I can possibly do him. I will make it my business to get him acquaintance in this place; and I dare promise him some of the best.

The inclosed from my brother will tell you that he was your acquaintance in Leyden. I myself have been there, anno 1685, but had not the good fortune of being known to you. But from this time I shall reckon myself happy in your friendship, and shall ever subscribe myself,

Your most affectionate, and most obliged
humble servant,

Will. Molyneux.

John Locke

Sept. 20, 1692

London

Molyneux

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

Sir,

London,

Sept. 20, 1692.

THERE being nothing, that I think of so much value, as the acquaintance and friendship of knowing and worthy men, you may easily guess how much I find myself obliged, I will not say by the offer, but by the gift you have made me, of yours. That which confirms me in the assurance of it, is the little pretence I have to it. For, knowing myself, as I do, I cannot think so vainly of myself, as to imagine that you should make such overtures and expressions of kindness to me, for any other end, but merely as the pledges and exercise of it. I return you therefore my thanks, as for the greatest and most acceptable present you could have made me; and desire you to believe, that since I cannot hope that the returns, which I made you of mine, should be of any great use to you, I shall endeavour to make it up, as well as I can, with an high esteem, and perfect sincerity. You must, therefore, expect to have me live with you hereafter, with all the liberty and assurance of a settled friendship. For meeting with but few men in the world, whose acquaintance I find much reason to covet, I make more than ordinary haste into the familiarity of a rational inquirer after, and lover of truth, whenever I can light on any such. There are beauties of the mind, as well as of the body, that take and prevail upon first sight: and wherever I have met with this, I have readily surrendered myself, and have never yet been deceived in my expectation. Wonder not therefore, if, having been thus wrought on, I begin to converse with you, with as much freedom, as if we had begun our acquaintance when you were in Holland; and desire your advice and assistance about a second edition of my Essay, the former being now dispersed. You have, I perceive, read it over so carefully more than once, that I know nobody I can more reasonably consult, about the mistakes and defects of it. And I expect a great deal more, from any objections you shall make, who comprehend the whole design and compass of it, than from one who has read but a part of it, or measures it upon a slight reading, by his own prejudices. You will find, by my epistle to the reader, that I was not insensible of the fault I committed, by being too long upon some points; and the repetitions, that by my way of writing of it, had got in, I let it pass with, but not without advice so to do, But now, that my notions are got into the world, and have in some measure bustled through the opposition and difficulty they were like to meet with from the received opinion, and that prepossession, which might hinder them from being understood upon a short proposal; I ask you, whether it would not be better now to pare off, in a second edition, a great part of that which cannot but appear superfluous to an intelligent and attentive reader? If you are of that mind, I shall beg the favour of you to mark to me those passages, which you would think fittest to be left out. If there be any thing, wherein you think me mistaken, I beg you to deal freely with me, that either I may clear it up to you, or reform it in the next edition. For I flatter myself that I am so sincere a lover of truth, that it is very indifferent to me, so I am possessed of it, whether it be by my own, or any other’s discovery. For I count any parcel of this gold not the less to be valued, nor not the less enriching, because I wrought it not out of the mine myself. I think every one ought to contribute to the common stock, and to have no other scruple, or shyness, about the receiving of truth, but that he be not imposed on, and take counterfeit, and what will not bear the touch, for genuine and real truth. I doubt not but, to one of your largeness of thought, that, in the reading of my book, you miss several things, that perhaps belong to my subject, and you would think belongs to the system: if, in this part too, you will communicate your thoughts, you will do me a favour. For though I will not so far flatter myself as to undertake to fill up the gaps, which you may observe in it; yet it may be of use, where mine is at a stand, to suggest to others matter of farther contemplation. This I often find, that what men by thinking had made clear to themselves, they are apt to think, that upon the first suggestion it should be so to others, and so let it go, not sufficiently explained; not considering what may be very clear to themselves, may be very obscure to others. Your penetration and quickness hinders me from expecting from you many complaints of this kind. But, if you have met with any thing, in your reading of my book, which at first sight you stuck at, I shall think it a sufficient reason, in the next edition, to amend it, for the benefit of meaner readers.

The remarks of that learned gentleman you mention, which you say you have in your hands, I shall receive as a favour from you.

Though by the view I had of moral ideas, whilst I was considering that subject, I thought I saw that morality might be demonstratively made out; yet whether I am able so to make it out, is another question. Every one could not have demonstrated what Mr. Newton’s book hath shown to be demonstrable; but to show my readiness to obey your commands, I shall not decline the first leisure I can get to employ some thoughts, that way; unless I find what I have said in my essay shall have stirred up some abler man to prevent me, and effectually do that service to the world.

We had here, the 8th instant, a very sensible earthquake, there being scarce an house, wherein it was not by some body or other felt. We have news of it at several places, from Cologn as far as Bristol. Whether it reached you I have not heard. If it did, I would be glad to know, what was the exact time it was felt, if any body observed it. By the queen’s pendulum at Kensington, which the shake stopped from going, it was 2 h. post m. At Whitehall, where I observed it, it was by my watch 2 h. 5 m. post m. Which, supposing the queen’s pendulum went exact, and adding the equation of that day, will fall near the time marked by my watch or a little later. If there could be found people, that in the whole extent of it, did by well-adjusted clocks exactly observe the time, one might see whether it were all one shock or proceeded gradually from one place to another.

I thank you for having taken Dr. Sibelius into your protection. I desire you, with my service, to present my most humble thanks to your brother, for the favour of his letter; to which, though I have not time this post to return an answer, I shall not long delay my acknowledgments.

I hope you will see, by the freedom I have here taken with you, that I begin to reckon myself amongst your acquaintance. Use me so, I beseech you. If there be any service I can do you here, employ me, with the assurance that I am,

SIR,
Your most humble, and most faithful servant,

John Locke.

Will. Molyneux

Oct. 15, — 92

Dublin

Locke

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Sir,

Dublin,

Oct. 15, — 92.

I DO most heartily beg your pardon for my long silence to yours of the 20th last. Our then approaching parliament was the occasion of my not returning you an immediate answer; and I expected withal to give you a more large account of some things, you desire from me. But seeing no immediate hopes of leisure, by reason of our parlimentary business, I venture at present to send you only the inclosed rough papers. And till I can have an opportunity myself of revising your book, have put it into the hands of a very ingenious and learned person, who promises me to give his observations in writing; which as soon as obtained I shall transmit to you. — The earthquake was not at all felt here. — I am wonderfully pleased that you give me hopes of seeing a moral essay from your hand; which I assure you, sir, with all sincerity, is highly respected by

Your most humble servant,

Will. Molyneux.

Dec. 22, 1692

Dublin

Locke

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Sir,

Dublin,

Dec. 22, 1692.

I NOW sit down to answer yours of September 20, concerning the second edition of your book, wherein you desire my opinion and advice. And, after so long consideration of the matter, as between that and this; and consulting some ingenious heads here about it, I can say but little; only that the same judicious hand, that first formed it, is best able to reform it, where he sees convenient. I never quarrelled with a book for being too prolix, especially where the prolixity is pleasant, and tends to the illustration of the matter in hand, as I am sure yours always does. And after I received your letter on this subject, I communicated the contents thereof to two very ingenious persons here; and, at the same time I lent them your book, desiring them to examine it strictly; and to find out, and note, whatever might be changed, added, or subtracted. And after a diligent perusal, they agreed with me in the same conclusion, viz. that the work, in all its parts, was so wonderfully curious and instructive, that they would not venture to alter any thing in it. But however, that I may in some measure answer your expectations, I shall briefly note to you, what I conceive on this subject.

And, 1st, the errata typographica (besides those mentioned in the table) are many and great; these therefore, in your next edition, are diligently to be corrected.

2dly, page 270, It is asserted, “that, without a particular revelation, we cannot be certain, that matter cannot think, or that omnipotency may not endow matter with a power of thinking.”

And, page 314, 315, “the immateriality of God is evinced from the absolute impossibility of matter’s thinking.” These two places, I know, have been stumbled at by some as not consistent. To me indeed they appear, and are, very agreeable; and I have clearly evinced their consistency to those that have scrupled them. But I thought fit to give you this hint, that in your next edition you may prevent any such doubt. My sense of these two places is this. In the first it is said, “that we cannot tell (without a particular revelation to the contrary) but an almighty God can make matter think.” In the other it is asserted, “that unthinking matter cannot be this almighty God.” The next place I take notice of, as requiring some farther explication, is your discourse about man’s liberty and necessity. This thread seems so wonderfully fine spun in your book, that, at last, the great question of liberty and necessity seems to vanish. And herein you seem to make all sins to proceed from our understandings, or to be against conscience, and not at all from the depravity of our wills. Now it seems harsh to you, that a man will be damned, because he understands no better than he does. What you say concerning genera and species is unquestionably true; and yet it seems hard to assert, that there is no such sort of creatures in nature, as birds: for though we may be ignorant of the particular essence, that makes a bird to be a bird, or that determines and distinguishes a bird from a beast; or the just limits and boundaries between each; yet we can no more doubt of a sparrow’s being a bird, and an horse’s being a beast, than we can of this colour being black, and the other white: though, by shades they may be made so gradually to vanish into each other, that we cannot tell where either determines.

But all this I write more in deference to your desires from me, than to satisfy myself, that I have given you any material hints, or have offered any considerable objection, that is worth your notice and removal. Mr. Norris’s unfortunate attempts on your book sufficiently testify its validity; and truly I think he trifles so egregiously, that he should forewarn all men how far they venture to criticise on your book. But thus far, after all, I’ll venture to intimate to you, that if you are for another work of this kind, I should advise you to let this stand as it does. And your next should be of a model wholly new, and that is by way of logic; something accommodated to the usual forms, together with the consideration of extension, solidity, mobility, thinking, existence, duration, number, &c. and of the mind of man and its powers; as may make up a complete body of what the schools call logic and metaphysics. This I am the more inclinable to advise on two accounts; first, because I have lately seen Johannis Clerici Logica, Ontologia, et Pneumatologia, in all which he has little extraordinary, but what he borrows from you; and in the alteration he gives them, he robs them of their native beauties; which can only be preserved to them by the same incomparable art that first framed them. Secondly, I was the first that recommended and lent to the reverend provost of our university, Dr. Ashe, a most learned and ingenious man, your essay, with which he was so wonderfully pleased and satisfied, that he has ordered it to be read by the bachelors in the college, and strictly examines them in their progress therein. Now a large discourse, in the way of a logic, would be much more taking in the universities, wherein youths do not satisfy themselves to have the breeding or business of the place unless they are engaged in something that bears the name and form of logic.

This, sir, is in short what offers itself to me, at present, concerning your work. There remains only, that I again put you in mind of the second member of your division of sciences, the ars practica, or ethics; you cannot imagine what an earnest desire and expectation I have raised, in those that are acquainted with your writings, by the hopes I have given them from your promise of endeavouring something on that subject. Good sir, let me renew my requests to you therein; for believe me, sir, it will be one of the most useful and glorious undertakings that can employ you. The touches you give in many places of your book, on this subject, are wonderfully curious, and do largely testify your great abilities that way; and I am sure the pravity of men’s morals does mightily require the most powerful means to reform them. Be as large as it is possible on this subject, and by all means let it be in English. He that reads the 45th section, in your 129th page, will be inflamed to read more of the same kind, from the same incomparable pen. Look, therefore, on yourself as obliged by God Almighty to undertake this task (pardon me, sir, that I am so free with you, as to insist to yourself on your duty, who, doubtless, understand it better than I can tell you); suffer not therefore your thoughts to rest, till you have finished it; and that God Almighty may succeed your labours, is, and shall be the prayer of,

Worthy Sir,
Your intirely affectionate humble servant,

Will. Molyneux.

John Locke

Dec. 26, 1692

Oates

Molyneux

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

Sir,

Oates,

Dec. 26, 1692.

WHATEVER has happened to give you leisure sooner than was expected, I hope to receive some advantage by it. And that now you will be able to send me your own thoughts on my book, together with the observations of your friend, into whose hands you have put it with that design. I return you my humble thanks for the papers you did me the favour to send me in your last: but am apt to think you agree with me that there is very little in those papers, wherein either my sense is not mistaken, or very little, wherein the argument is directly against me. I suppose that learned gentleman, if he had had the leisure to read my essay quite through, would have found several of his objections might have been spared. And I can easily forgive those who have not been at the pains to read the third book of my essay, if they make use of expressions that, when examined, signify nothing at all, in defence of hypotheses, that have long possessed their minds. I am far from imagining myself infallible; but yet I should be loth to differ from any thinking man, being fully persuaded there are very few things of pure speculation, wherein two thinking men, who impartially seek truth, can differ, if they give themselves the leisure to examine their hypotheses, and understand one another. I, presuming you to be of this make, whereof so few are to be found, (for it is not every one that thinks himself a lover, or seeker of truth, who sincerely does it,) took the liberty to desire your objections, that in the next edition I might correct my mistakes. For I am not fond of any thing in my book, because I have once thought or said it. And therefore I beg you, if you will give yourself the pains to look over my book, again with this design, to oblige me, that you would use all manner of freedom, both as to matter, style, disposition, and every thing wherein, in your own thoughts, any thing appears to you fit, in the least, to be altered, omitted, explained, or added. I find none so fit, nor so fair judges, as those whose minds the study of mathematicks has opened, and dis-entangled from the cheat of words, which has too great an influence in all the other, which go for sciences: and I think (were it not for the doubtful and fallacious use that is made of those signs) might be made much more sciences than they are.

I sent order, some time since, that a posthumous piece of Mr. Boyle’s should be given to your bookseller in London, to be conveyed to you. It is “A General History of the Air;” which, though left by him very imperfect, yet I think the very design of it will please you; and it is cast into a method that any one who pleases may add to it, under any of the several titles, as his reading or observation shall furnish him with matter of fact. If such men as you are, curious and knowing, would join to what Mr. Boyle had collected and prepared what comes in their way, we might hope, in some time, to have a considerable history of the air, than which I scarce know any part of natural philosophy would yield more variety and use; but it is a subject too large for the attempts of any one man, and will require the assistance of many hands, to make it a history very short of complete.

Since I did myself the honour to write to your brother, I have been very ill, to which you must pardon some part of the length of my silence. But my esteem and respect for you is founded upon something so much beyond compliment and ceremony, that I hope you will not think me the less so, though I do not every post importune you with repeated professions that I am,

SIR,
Your most humble servant,

John Locke.

Jan. 20, 1692-3

Oates

Molyneux

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

Sir,

Oates,

Jan. 20, 1692-3.

HAD I known I should, within so few days, have received the favour of such a letter as yours of Dec. 22, I should not have troubled you with mine, that went hence but a little before the receipt of yours. I was afraid, in reading the beginning of yours, that I had not so great an interest in you as I flattered myself, and upon a presumption whereof it was, that I took the liberty so confidently to ask your advice, concerning the second edition of my book. But what followed satisfied me, that it was your civility, and not reservedness, made you tell me, that the same hand, which first formed it, is best able to reform it. Could I flatter myself so, as to think I deserved all that you say of me, in your obliging letter, I should yet think you a better judge of what is to be reformed in my book, than I myself. You have given the world proofs of your great penetration, and I have received great marks of your candour. But were the inequality between us as much to my advantage, as it is on the other side, I should nevertheless beg your opinion. Whatsoever is our own, let us do what we can, stands a little too near us to be viewed as it should: and, though we ever so sincerely aim at truth, yet our own thoughts, judging still of our own thoughts, may be suspected to overlook errours, and mistakes. And I should think he valued himself more than truth, and presumed too much on his own abilities, who would not be willing to have all the exceptions could be made, by any ingenious friend, before he ventured any thing into the public. I therefore heartily thank you, for those you have sent me, and for consulting some of your friends, to the same purpose: and beg the favour, if any thing more occurs from your own thoughts, or from them, you will be pleased to communicate it to me, if it be but those errata typographica you meet with, not taken notice of in the table. I confess, I thought some of the explications in my book too long, though turned several ways to make those abstract notions the easier sink into minds prejudiced in the ordinary way of education; and therefore I was of a mind to contract it. But finding you, and some other friends of mine, whom I consulted in the case of a contrary opinion, and that you judge the redundancy in it a pardonable fault, I shall take very little pains to reform it.

I confess what I say, page 270, compared with 314, 315, may, to an unwary reader, seem to contain a contradiction: but you, considering right, perceive that there is none. But it not being reasonable for me to expect that every body should read me with that judgment you do, and observe the design and foundation of what I say, rather than stick barely in the words, it is fit, as far as may be, that I accommodate myself to ordinary readers, and avoid the appearances of contradiction, even in their thoughts. P. 314, I suppose matter in its own natural state, void of thought; a supposition I concluded would not be denied me, or not hard to be proved, if it should: and thence I inferred, matter could not be the first eternal being. But, page 270, I thought it no absurdity, or contradiction, to suppose, “that, a thinking, omnipotent being once granted, such a being might annex to some systems of matter ordered in a way, that he thought fit, a capacity of some degrees of sense and thinking.” To avoid this appearance of a contradiction, in my two suppositions, and clear it up to less attentive readers, I intend in the second edition to alter it thus, if you think it will do:

P. 270, l. 20, read, “For I see no contradiction in it, that the first, eternal, thinking being, or omnipotent spirit, should, if he pleased, give to certain systems of created, senseless matter, put together as he thinks fit, some degrees of sense, perception, and thought, though I judge it no less than a contradiction, to suppose matter (which is evidently, in its own nature, without sense and thought) should be the eternal, first, thinking being. What certainty of knowledge can any one have, that some perceptions, such as, v. g. pleasure and pain, should not be in some bodies themselves after” ——

P. 315, l. 5, read, “Thought can never begin to be; for it is impossible to conceive that matter, either with or without motion, could have originally, in and from itself, sense, perception, and knowledge; as is evident from hence, that sense, perception, and knowledge must then be a property eternally inseparable from matter and every particle of it. Not to add, that though our general or specific conception of matter makes us speak of it as one thing; yet really all matter is not one individual thing, neither is there any such thing existing as one material being, or one body, that we know or can conceive. And therefore, if matter were the eternal, first, cogitative being, there would not be one eternal, infinite, cogitative being: but an infinite number of finite, cogitative beings independent one of another, of limited force and distinct thoughts, which could never produce that order, harmony, and beauty, is to be found in nature. Since, therefore, whatsoever is the first, eternal being must necessarily be cogitative: and whatsoever is first of all things —— higher degree it necessarily follows, that the eternal, first being cannot be matter.” Pray, give me your opinion, whether, if I print it thus, it will not remove the appearance of any contradiction.

I do not wonder to find you think my discourse about liberty a little too fine spun; I had so much that thought of it myself, that I said the same thing of it to some of my friends, before it was printed; and told them, that upon that account I judged it best to leave it out; but they persuaded me to the contrary. When the connexion of the parts of my subject brought me to the consideration of power, I had no design to meddle with the question of liberty; but barely pursued my thoughts in the contemplation of that power in man of choosing, or preferring, which we call the will, as far as they would lead me, without any the least bias to one side, or other; or, if there was any leaning in my mind, it was rather to the contrary side of that, where I found myself at the end of my pursuit. But doubting that it bore a little too hard upon man’s liberty, I showed it to a very ingenious but professed Arminian, and desired him, after he had considered it, to tell me his objections, if he had any, who frankly confessed he could carry it no farther. I confess, I think there might be something said, which with a great many men would pass for a satisfactory answer to your objection; but it not satisfying me, I neither put it into my book, nor shall now into my letter. If I have put any fallacy on myself, in all that deduction, as it may be, and I have been ready to suspect it myself, you will do me a very acceptable kindness to show it me, that I may reform it. But if you will argue for, or against, liberty from consequences, I will not undertake to answer you. For I own freely to you the weakness of my understanding, that though it be unquestionable, that there is omnipotence and omniscience in God, our maker, and I cannot have a clearer perception of any thing, than that I am free; yet I cannot make freedom in man consistent with omnipotence and omniscience in God, though I am as fully as persuaded of both, as of any truths I most firmly assent to. And, therefore, I have long since given off the consideration of that question, resolving all into this short conclusion, that if it be possible for God to make a free agent, then man is free, though I see not the way of it.

In the objection you raise about species, I fear you are fallen into the same difficulty I often found myself under, when I was writing on that subject, where I was very apt to suppose distinct species I could talk of, without names. For pray, sir, consider what it is you mean, when you say, that “we can no more doubt of a sparrow’s being a bird, and a horse’s being a beast, than we can of this colour being black, and the other white,” &c. but this, that the combination of simple ideas, which the word, bird, stands for, is to be found in that particular thing we call a sparrow. And therefore I hope I have no-where said, “there is no such sort of creatures in nature, as birds;” if I have, it is both contrary to truth and to my opinion. This I do say, that there are real constitutions in things, from whence these simple ideas flow, which we observe combined in them. And this I farther say, that there are real distinctions and differences in those real constitutions, one from another; whereby they are distinguished one from another, whether we think of them, or name them, or no: but that that whereby we distinguish and rank particular substances into sorts, or genera and species, is not those real essences, or internal constitutions, but such combinations of simple ideas, as we observe in them. This I designed to show, in lib. iii. c. 6. If, upon your perusal of that chapter again, you find any thing contrary to this, I beg the favour of you to mark it to me, that I may correct it; for it is not what I think true. Some parts of that third book, concerning words, though the thoughts were easy and clear enough, yet cost me more pains to express, than all the rest of my essay. And therefore I shall not much wonder, if there be in some places of it obscurity and doubtfulness. It would be a great kindness from my readers to oblige me, as you have done, by telling me any thing they find amiss; for the printed book being more for others use than my own, it is fit I should accommodate it to that, as much as I can; which truly is my intention.

That which you propose, of turning my essay into a body of logic and metaphysics, accommodated to the usual forms, though I thank you very kindly for it, and plainly see in it the care you have of the education of young scholars, which is a thing of no small moment; yet I fear I shall scarce find time to do it: you have cut out other work for me, more to my liking, and I think of more use. Besides that, if they have, in this book of mine, what you think the matter of these two sciences, or what you will call them; I like the method it is in, better than that of the schools, where I think it is no small prejudice to knowledge, that predicaments, predicables, &c. being universally, in all their systems, come to be looked on as necessary principles, or unquestionable parts of knowledge, just as they are set down there. If logic be the first thing to be taught young men, after grammar, as is the usual method, I think yet it should be nothing but proposition and syllogism. But that being in order to their disputing exercises in the university, perhaps I may think those may be spared too: disputing being but an ill (not to say the worst) way to knowledge. I say this not as pretending to change, or find fault with, what public allowance and established practice has settled in universities; but to excuse myself to you, from whom I cannot allow myself to differ, without telling you the true reasons of it. For I see so much knowledge, candour, and the marks of so much good-will to mankind in you, that there are few men, whose opinion I think ought to have so much authority with me as yours. But, as to the method of learning, perhaps I may entertain you more at large hereafter; only now let me ask you, since you mention logic and metaphysics in relation to my book, whether either of those sciences may suggest to you any new heads, fit to be inserted into my essay, in a second edition?

You have done too much honour to me in the recommendation I see you have given to my book; and I am the more pleased with it, because I think it was not done out of kindness to one so much a stranger to you as I then was. But yet, pray do not think me so vain that I dare assume to myself almost any part of what you say of me in your last letter. Could I find in myself any reason you could have to flatter me, I should suspect you resolved to play the courtier a little. But I know what latitude civil and well-bred men allow themselves with great sincerity, where they are pleased, and kindness warms them. I am sensible of the obligation, and in return shall only tell you, that I shall speedily set myself to obey your commands in the last part of your letter. I beg your pardon for trespassing so much on your patience, and am,

SIR,
Your most humble and most obliged servant,

John Locke.

Will. Molyneux

March 2, 1692-3

Dublin

Locke

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Dublin,

March 2, 1692-3.

Honoured Sir,

YOURS of Jan. 20 came to my hands, just as I lay down on a bed of sickness, being a severe colic, that held me nigh five weeks, and brought me very weak; this was the more grievous to me, in that it hindered me from giving that ready answer to your letters, which I desired; being very covetous, on all opportunities, of keeping up a correspondence with one, for whom I had so great a respect. I am now, God be thanked, pretty well recovered; but yet weak, and have not yet stirred abroad. I know the bare signifying this to you is sufficient in my excuse; so that, relying on your pardon, I proceed to answer your last.

And first, sir, believe me, that whatever respect I have at any time used to you, has been the sincere thoughts of my heart, and not the vain compliments that usually pass between courtiers, and, how extravagant soever, are looked upon as the effects of good breeding, and pass only as such, by licence. I think I know a worthy man when I meet him, and they are so rare in the world, that no honour is too great for those that are such. And I must plainly say it to yourself, that so much humanity, candour, condescension, and good-nature, joined with so great judgment, learning, and parts, I have not met with in any man living, as in the author of the “Essay concerning Human Understanding.” You so favourably entertain all men’s objections, you are so desirous to hear the sense of others, you are so tender in differing from any man, that you have captivated me beyond resistance. What you propose to add in those places, which I intimated to you, as seemingly repugnant to unwary readers, and 314, 315, is abundantly sufficient; unless you may think it convenient (for the prevention of all manner of scruple, and to show your readers, that you are aware of the objection that may be raised against these passages) to add in the margin a little note to that purpose, specifying the seeming repugnancy that was in the first edition, and that, for the clearing thereof, you have thus farther illustrated it in this. But this, as every thing else, I propose with all submission to your better judgment. Mentioning the marginal note to you minds me to intimate, that I should think it convenient, in your next edition, to express the abstract or content of each section in the margin, and to spare (if you think fit) the table of contents at the latter end of the book, though I think both may do best. I can assure you, for my own reading, and consulting your book, I have put the table of contents to their respective sections throughout the whole.

I am fully convinced, by the arguments you give me, for not turning your book into the scholastic form of logic and metaphysics; and I had no other reason to advise the other, but merely to get it promoted the easier in our university; one of the businesses of which places is to learn according to the old forms. And this minds me to let you know the great joy and satisfaction of mind I conceived, on your promise of the method of learning; there could be nothing more acceptable to me, than the hopes thereof, and that on this account; I have but one child in the world, who is now nigh four years old, and promises well; his mother left him to me very young, and my affections (I must confess) are strongly placed on him: it has pleased God, by the liberal provisions of our ancestors, to free me from the toiling cares of providing a fortune for him; so that my whole study shall be to lay up a treasure of knowledge in his mind, for his happiness both in this life and the next. And I have been often thinking of some method for his instruction, that may best obtain the end I propose. And now, to my great joy, I hope to be abundantly supplied by your method. And my brother has sometimes told me, that, whilst he had the happiness of your acquaintance at Leyden, you were upon such a work, as this I desire; and that too, at the request of a tender father, for the use of his only son. Wherefore, good sir, let me most earnestly intreat you, by no means to lay aside this infinitely useful work, till you have finished it; for it will be of vast advantage to all mankind, as well as particularly to me, your intire friend. And, on this consideration of usefulness to mankind, I will presume again to remind you of your “discourse of morality;” and I shall think myself very happy, if, by putting you on the thought, I should be the least occasion of so great good to the world. What I have more to say, relating to your book, is of little or no moment: however, you so readily entertain all men’s thoughts of your works, that futile as mine are, you shall have a remark or two more from me.

But first to your query, whether I know any new heads from logic or metaphysics to be inserted in the second edition of your essay: I answer, I know none, unless you think it may not do well to insist more particularly, and at large, on “æternæ veritates, and the principium individuationis.” Concerning the first, you have some touches, , § 31, , § 14, , § 14, and concerning the latter, , § 4, , § 12.

Page 96, sect. 9, you assert, what I conceive is an errour in fact, viz. “that a man’s eye can distinguish a second of a circle, whereof its self is the centre.” Whereas it is certain, that few men’s eyes can distinguish less than 30 seconds, and most not under a minute, or 60 seconds, as is manifest from what Mr. Hook lays down in his animadversions, on the first part of Hevelii machina cœlestis, , 9, &c. but this, as I said before, is only an errour in fact, and affects not the doctrine laid down in the said section.

Page 341, sect. 2, you say, “the existence of all things without us (except only of God) is had by our senses.” And , sect. 33, 34, 35, 36, you show how the idea we have of God, is made up of the ideas we have gotten by our senses. Now this, though no repugnancy; yet, to unwary readers, may seem one, and therefore perhaps may deserve a fuller expression. To me it is plain, that in page 341, you speak barely of the existence of a God; and in , you speak of the ideas that are ingredient in the complex idea of God; that is, , you say, “that all the ideas ingredient in the idea of a God, are had from sense;” and , you only assert, “that the existence of this God, or that really there are united in one being all these ideas, is had, not from sense, but demonstration.” This to me seems your sense; yet perhaps every reader may not so readily conceive it; and, therefore, possibly you may think this passage, , worthy your farther consideration and addition.

I will conclude my tedious lines with a jocose problem, that, upon discourse with several, concerning your book and notions, I have proposed to divers very ingenious men, and could hardly ever meet with one, that, at first dash, would give me the answer to it which I think true, till by hearing my reasons they were convinced. It is this: “Suppose a man born blind, and now adult, and taught by his touch to distinguish between a cube and a sphere (suppose) of ivory, nighly of the same bigness, so as to tell when he felt one and t’other, which is the cube, which the sphere. Suppose then the cube and sphere placed on a table, and the blind man to be made to see; query, ‘Whether by his sight, before he touched them, he could now distinguish and tell, which is the globe, which the cube?’ I answer, not: for though he has obtained the experience of how a globe, and how a cube affects his touch; yet he has not yet attained the experience, that what affects his touch so or so, must affect his sight so or so; or that a protuberant angle in the cube, that pressed his hand unequally, shall appear to his eye as it does in the cube.” But of this enough; perhaps you may find some place in your essay, wherein you may not think it amiss to say something of this problem.

I am extremely obliged to you for Mr. Boyle’s book of the air, which lately came to my hands. It is a vast design, and not to be finished but by the united labours of many heads, and indefatigably prosecuted for many years; so that I despair of seeing any thing complete therein. However, if many will lend the same helping hands that you have done, I should be in hopes: and certainly there is not a chapter in all natural philosophy of greater use to mankind than what is here proposed. I am,

Worthy Sir,
Your most humble servant,

Will. Molyneux.

John Locke

28 Mar. 1693

London

Molyneux

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

Sir,

London,

28 Mar. 1693.

YOUR silence, that spared me a great deal of fear and uneasiness, by concealing from me your sickness, ‘till it was well over, is abundantly made amends for, by the joy it brings me, in the news of your recovery. You have given me those marks of your kindness to me, that you will not think it strange, that I count you amongst my friends; and with those, desiring to live with the ease and freedom of a perfect confidence, I never accuse them to myself of neglect, or coldness, when I fail to hear from them, so soon as I expected or desired: though had I known you so well before as I do now, since your last letter, I should not have avoided being in pain upon account of your health.

I cannot at all doubt the sincerity of any thing you say to me; but yet give me leave to think, that it is an excess of kindness alone could excuse it from looking like compliment. But I am convinced you love your friends extremely, where you have made choice of them, and then believe you can never think nor speak too well of them. I know not whether it belongs to a man, who gets once in print, to read in his book, that it is perfect, and that the author is infallible. Had I had such an opinion of my own sufficiency before I writ, my essay would have brought me to another, and given me such a sight of the weakness of my understanding, that I could not fail to suspect myself of errour and mistake, in many things I had writ, and to desire all the light I could get from others to set me right. I have found you one of the likeliest to afford it me; your clearness and candour gave me the confidence to ask your judgment; and I take it for no small assurance of your friendship that you have given it me, and have condescended to advise me of the printer’s faults, which gives me hopes you have not concealed any you have observed in the work itself. The marginal summaries you desire, of the paragraphs, I shall take care to have added, were it only for your sake; but I think too it will make the book the more useful.

That request of yours, you press so earnestly upon me, makes me bemoan the distance you are from me, which deprives me of the assistance I might have from your opinion and judgment, before I ventured any thing into the public. It is so hard to find impartial freedom in one’s friends, or an unbiassed judgment any-where, that amongst all the helps of conversation and acquaintance, I know none more wanted, nor more useful, than speaking freely and candidly one’s opinion upon the thoughts and compositions of another intended for the press. Experience has taught me, that you are a friend of this rank, and therefore I cannot but heartily wish that a sea between us did not hinder me from the advantage of this good office. Had you been within reach, I should have begged your severe examination of what is now gone to the printer, at your instance; I had rather I could have said upon your perusal, and with your correction. I am not in my nature a lover of novelty, nor contradiction; but my notions in this treatise have run me so far out of the common road and practice, that I could have been glad to have had them allowed by so sober a judgment as yours, or stopped, if they had appeared impracticable or extravagant, from going any farther. That which your brother tells you, on this occasion, is not wholly besides the matter. The main of what I now publish, is but what was contained in several letters to a friend of mine, the greatest part whereof were writ out of Holland. How your brother came to know of it, I have clearly forgot, and do not remember that ever I communicated it to any body there. These letters, or at least some of them, have been seen by some of my acquaintance here, who would needs persuade me it would be of use to publish them; your impatience to see them has not, I assure you, slackened my hand, or kept me in suspense: and I wish now they were out, that you might the sooner see them, and I the sooner have your opinion of them. I know not yet whether I shall set my name to this discourse, and therefore shall desire you to conceal it. You see I make you my confessor, for you have made yourself my friend.

The faults of the press are, I find, upon a sedate reading over my book, infinitely more than I could have thought; those that you have observed, I have corrected, and return you my thanks; and, as far as I have gone in my review, have added and altered several things; but am not yet got so far as those places you mark for the “æternæ veritates, and principium individuationis,” which I shall consider, when I come to them, and endeavour to satisfy your desire. “Malebranche’s hypothesis of seeing all things in God,” being that from whence I find some men would derive our ideas, I have some thoughts of adding a new chapter, wherein I will examine it, having, as I think, something to say against it, that will show the weakness of it very clearly. But I have so little love to controversy, that I am not fully resolved. Some other additions I have made, I hope, will not displease you, but I wish I could show them you, before they are in print; for I would not make my book bigger, unless it were to make it better.

I thank you for advising me of the errour about sight, for indeed it was a great one in matter of fact, but it was in the expression; for I meant a minute, but by mistake called 1/60 of a degree a second. Your ingenious problem will deserve to be published to the world.

The seeming contradiction between what is said page 147, and , is just as you take it, and I hope so clearly expressed, that it cannot be mistaken, but by a very unwary reader, who cannot distinguish between an idea in the mind, and the real existence of something out of the mind answering that idea. But I heartily thank you for your caution, and shall take care how to prevent any such mistake, when I come to that place. My humble service to your brother. I am,

SIR,
Your most humble servant,

John Locke.

Will. Molyneux

April 18, 1693

Dublin

Locke

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Sir,

Dublin,

April 18, 1693.

I HAVE lately received farther testimonies of your kindness and friendship to me, in your last of March 28; which brings withal the welcome news of your having committed your work of education to the press; than which, I know not any thing, that I ever expected with a more earnest desire. What my brother told me, relating to that treatise, he had from yourself in Holland; but perhaps you might have forgot what passed between you on that occasion. I perceive you fear the novelty of some notions therein may seem extravagant; but, if I may venture to judge of the author, I fear no such thing from him. I doubt not but the work will be new and peculiar, as his other performances; and this it is that renders them estimable and pleasant. He that travels the beaten roads may chance, indeed, to have company; but he that takes his liberty, and manages it with judgment, is the man that makes useful discoveries, and most beneficial to those that follow him. Had Columbus never ventured farther than his predecessors, we had yet been ignorant of a vast part of our earth, preferable (as some say) to all the other three. And, if none may be allowed to try the ocean of philosophy farther than our ancestors, we shall have but little advancements, or discoveries, made in the “mundus intellectualis;” wherein, I believe, there is much more unknown, than what we have yet found out.

I should very much approve of your adding a chapter in your essay, concerning Malebranche’s hypothesis. As there are enthusiasms in divinity, so there are in philosophy; and as one proceeds from not consulting or misapprehending the book of God; so the other from not reading and considering the book of nature. I look upon Malebranche’s notions, or rather Plato’s, in this particular, as perfectly unintelligible. And if you will engage in a philosophic controversy, you cannot do it with more advantage, than in this matter. What you lay down, concerning our ideas and knowledge, is founded and confirmed by experiment and observation, that any man may make in himself, or the children he converses with, wherein he may note the gradual steps that we may make in knowledge. But Plato’s fancy has no foundation in nature, but is merely the product of his own brain.

I know it is none of your business to engage in controversy, or remove objections, save only such as seem immediately to strike at your own positions; and therefore I cannot insist upon what I am now going to mention to you. However, I will give you the hint, and leave the consideration thereof to your own breast. The 10th chapter of your ivth book, is a most exact demonstration of the existence of God. But perhaps it might be more full, by an addition against the eternity of the world, and that all things have not been going on in the same manner, as we now see them, “ab æterno.” I have known a pack of philosophical atheists, that rely much on this hypothesis; and even Hobbes himself does somewhere allege (if I am not forgetful, it is his book “De corpore,” in the chapter “de universo”) “that the same arguments, which are brought against the eternity of the world, may serve as well against the eternity of the Creator of the world.” I am,

Honoured Sir,
Your most affectionate, devoted servant,

Will. Molyneux.

John Locke

15 July, 1693

London

Molyneux

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

Sir,

London,

15 July, 1693.

I HAD not been so long, before I had acknowledged the favour of your last, had not I a design to give you at large, an account of some alterations I intended to make, in the chapter of power, wherein I should have been very glad you had showed me any mistake. I myself, not being very well satisfied, by the conclusion I was led to, that my reasonings were perfectly right, reviewed that chapter again with great care, and by observing only the mistake of one word (viz. having put “things” for “actions,” which was very easy to be done in the place where it is, viz. , as I remember, for I have not my book by me, here in town) I got into a new view of things, which, if I mistake not, will satisfy you, and give a clearer account of human freedom than hitherto I have done, as you will perceive by the summaries of the following sections of that chapter.

§ 28. Volition is the ordering of some action by thought.

§ 29. Uneasiness determines the will.

§ 30. Will must be distinguished from desire.

§ 31. The greater good in view, barely considered, determines not the will. The joys of heaven are often neglected.

§ 32. Desire determines the will.

§ 33. Desire is an uneasiness.

§ 34. The greatest present uneasiness usually determines the will, as is evident in experience. The reasons.

§ 35. Because uneasiness being a part of unhappiness, which is first to be removed in our way to happiness.

§ 36. Because uneasiness alone is present.

§ 37. The uneasiness of other passions have their share with desire.

§ 38. Happiness alone moves the desire.

§ 39. All absent good not desired, because not necessary to our happiness.

§ 40. The greatest uneasiness does not always determine the will, because we can suspend the execution of our desires.

This short scheme may perhaps give you so much light into my present hypothesis, that you will be able to judge of the truth of it, which I beg you to examine by your own mind. I wish you were so near, that I could communicate it to you at large, before it goes to the press. But it is so much too long for a letter, and the press will be so ready to stay for it, before it is finished, that I fear I should not be able to have the advantage of your thoughts, upon the whole thread of my deduction. For I had much rather have your corrections, whilst they might contribute to make it receive your approbation, than flatter myself before-hand that you will be pleased with it.

I hope, ere this, you have received from Mr. —— that which I promised you, the beginning of the spring. I must desire your opinion of it without reserve, for I should not have ventured, upon any other condition, to have owned and presented to you such a trifle. I am,

SIR,
Your most humble servant,

John Locke.

Will. Molyneux

August 12, 1693

Dublin

Locke

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Sir,

Dublin,

August 12, 1693.

YOURS of July 15, came to my hands about a fortnight since; and I had, ere this, acknowledged the favour thereof, but that I waited the arrival of your much desired piece, of education, which came not to me ‘till about three days ago. I immediately set myself to read it as all things from its author, with the utmost attention; and I find it answerable to the highest expectations I had of it. And since, with your usual modesty, you are pleased to require my thoughts more particularly concerning it, I shall with all freedom, but at the same time with all deference, propose them to you, not doubting of your favourable interpretation and pardon, where you see it needful. And first, in general, I think you propose nothing in your whole book, but what is very reasonable, and very practicable, except only in one particular, which seems to bear hard on the tender spirits of children, and the natural affections of parents: it is page 117, 118, where you advise, “that a child should never be suffered to have what he craves, or so much as speaks for, much less if he cries for it.” I acknowledge what you say in explaining this rule, sect. 101, in relation to natural wants, especially that of hunger, may be well enough allowed: but in sect. 102, where you come to apply it to “wants of fancy and affectation,” you seem too strict and severe. You say indeed, “this will teach them to stifle their desires, and to practise modesty and temperance;” but for teaching these virtues I conceive we shall have occasions enough, in relation to their hurtful desires, without abridging them so wholly, in matters indifferent and innocent, that tend only to divert and please their busy spirits. You allow indeed, “that it would be inhumanity to deny them those things one perceives would delight them;” if so, I see no reason why, in a modest way, and with submission to the wills of their superiours, they may not be allowed to declare what will delight them. No, say you; “but in all wants of fancy and affectation they should never, if once declared, be hearkened to, or complied with.” This I can never agree to, it being to deny that liberty between a child and its parents, as we desire, and have granted us, between man and his Creator. And as, in this case, man is allowed to declare his wants, and with submission to recommend his requests to God; so I think children may be allowed by their parents, or governors. And as between the creature and Creator all manner of repining upon denial, or disappointment, is forbidden; so, in the case of children, all frowardness or discontent, upon a refusal, is severely to be reprimanded. But thus far I agree with you, in the whole, that whether it be in wants natural, or fanciful, that they express their desires in a forward, humoursome manner, there they should be surely denied them. A farther reason for my allowing children the liberty of expressing their innocent desires, is, that the contrary is impracticable; and you must have the children almost moped for want of diversion and recreation; or else you must have those about them study nothing all day, but how to find employment for them; and how this would rack the invention of any man alive, I leave you to judge. And besides, were it an easy task for any adult person to study the fancy, the unaccountable fancy, and diversion of children, the whole year round; yet it would not prove delightful to a child, being not his own choice. But this, you will say, is what you would have imprinted on them, that they are not to choose for themselves; but why not, in harmless things, and plays or sports, I see no reason. In all things of moment let them live by the conduct of others wiser than themselves.

This, sir, is all that in your whole book I stick at; to all the rest I could subscribe. And I am not a little pleased, when I consider that my own management of my only little one has hitherto been agreeable, in the main, to your rules, save only in what relates to his hardy breeding, which I was cautious in, because he is come from a tender and sickly mother; but the child himself is hitherto (God be thanked) very healthful, though not very strong.

The rules you give for the correcting of children, and implanting in their minds an early sense of praise or dispraise, of repute and dishonour, are certainly very just.

The contrivances you propose for teaching them to read and write, are very ingenious. And because I have practised one much of the same nature, I will venture to describe it: “It is by writing syllables and words in print-hand, on the face of a pack of cards, with figures or cyphers adjoined to each word; by which I can form twenty several sorts of games, that shall teach children both to read and count at the same time; and this with great variety.” One thing more I shall venture to add to what you direct concerning writing; that is, I will have my son taught shorthand; I do not mean to that perfection as to copy a speech from the mouth of a ready speaker, but to be able to write it readily, for his own private business. Believe me, sir, it is as useful a knack as a man of business, or any scholar, can be master of, and I have found the want of it myself, and seen the advantage of it in others, frequently.

You are certainly in the right of it, relating to the manner of acquiring languages, French, Latin, &c. and in what you lay down concerning grammar-schools, themes, verses, and other learning. But above all, what you direct, in every particular, for the forming of children’s minds, and giving them an early turn to morality, virtue, religion, &c. is most excellent.

And I can only say in general, that I can give no better proof of my liking your book in all these precepts, than by a strict observance of them, in the education of my own son; which I shall pursue (God willing) as exactly as I can. One thing I fear I shall be at a loss in, that is, a tutor agreeable to the character you prescribe. But in this neither shall my endeavours be wanting, though I leave him the worse estate, to leave him the better mind.

I could heartily have wished you had been more particular in naming the authors you would advise gentlemen to read, and be conversant in, in the several parts of learning you recommend to their study. Had you done this, I know no logic, that deserves to be named, but the Essay of Human Understanding. So that I fear you would rather have left that head open, that recommended your own work.

The last thing I shall take notice of, is what mightily pleases me, it being the very thought of my own mind, these many years; which is, “your recommending a manual trade to all gentlemen.” This I have ever been for, and have wondered how it comes to pass, that it is so generally neglected; but the lazy, effeminate luxuriousness that over-runs the nation, occasions the neglect thereof. Painting I have ever designed for my son; but you have raised two objections against it, that are not easily answered, especially its taking up so much time to attain a mastery in it.

I have now given you my opinion of your book, and now I am obliged to thank you for sending me a present, which I so highly value.

As to that part of your letter, relating to the alterations you have made, in your Essay, concerning man’s liberty, I dare not venture, upon those short hints you give me, to pass my opinion. But now, that you have discovered it to me, I plainly perceive the mistake of sect. 28. , where you put “thing” for “action.” And I doubt not, but in your next edition, you will fully rectify this matter. And I would advise you to hasten that edition with what speed you can, lest foreigners undertake a translation of your first, without your second thoughts. Thus they have served me, by translating into Latin, and printing my Dioptrics in Holland, when I have now by me a translation of my own of that work, with many amendments and large additions.

Pray, sir, let me beg the favour of your correspondence as frequently as you can; for nothing is more acceptable to

Your most obliged humble servant,

Will. Molyneux.

John Locke

Aug. 23, 1693

Oates

Molyneux

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

Sir,

Oates,

Aug. 23, 1693.

YOURS of August 12, which I received last night, eased me of a great deal of pain, your silence had for some time put me in; for you must allow me to be concerned for your health, as for a friend that I could not think in danger, or a disease, without a concern and trouble suitable to that great esteem and love I have for you. But you have made me amends plentifully, by the length and kindness, and let me add too, the freedom of your letter. For the approbation you so largely give to my book, is the more welcome to me, and gives me the better opinion of my method, because it has joined with it your exception to one rule of it; which I am apt to think you yourself, upon second thoughts, will have removed before I say any thing to your objections. It confirms to me that you are the good-natured man I took you for: and I do not at all wonder that the affection of a kind father should startle at it at first reading, and think it very severe that children should not be suffered to express their desires; for so you seem to understand me. And such a restraint, you fear, “would be apt to mope them, and hinder “their diversion.” But if you please to look upon the place, and observe my drift, you will find that they should not be indulged, or complied with, in any thing, their conceits have made a want to them, as necessary to be supplied. What you say, “that children would be moped for want of diversion and recreation, or else we must have those about them study nothing all day, but how to find employment for them; and how this would rack the invention of any man living, you leave me to judge;” seems to intimate, as if you understood that children should do nothing but by the prescription of their parents or tutors, chalking out each action of the whole day in train to them. I hope my words express no such thing; for it is quite contrary to my sense, and I think would be useless tyranny in their governors, and certain ruin to the children. I am so much for recreation, that I would, as much as possible, have all they do be made so. I think recreation as necessary to them as their food, and that nothing can be recreation which does not delight. This, I think, I have so expressed; and when you have put that together, judge whether I would not have them have the greatest part of their time left to them, without restraint, to divert themselves any way they think best, so it be free from vicious actions, or such as may introduce vicious habits. And therefore, if they should ask to play, it could be no more interpreted a want of fancy, than if they asked for victuals when hungry; though, where the matter is well ordered, they will never need to do that. For when they have either done what their governor thinks enough, in any application to what is usually made their business, or are perceived to be tired with it, they should of course be dismissed to their innocent diversions, without ever being put to ask for it. So that I am for the full liberty of diversion as much as you can be; and, upon a second perusal of my book, I do not doubt but you will find me so. But being allowed that, as one of their natural wants, they should not yet be permitted to let loose their desires, in importunities for what they fancy. Children are very apt to covet what they see those above them in age have or do, to have or do the like; especially if it be their elder brothers and sisters. Does one go abroad? The other straight has a mind to it too. Has such an one new, or fine clothes, or playthings? They, if you once allow it them, will be impatient for the like; and think themselves ill dealt with, if they have it not. This being indulged when they are little, grows up with their age, and with that enlarges itself to things of greater consequence, and has ruined more families than one in the world. This should be suppressed in its very first rise, and the desires you would not have encouraged, you should not permit to be spoken, which is the best way for them to silence them to themselves. Children should, by constant use, learn to be very modest in owning their desires; and careful not to ask any thing of their parents, but what they have reason to think their parents will approve of. And a reprimand upon their ill-bearing a refusal comes too late, the fault is committed and allowed, and if you allow them to ask, you can scarce think it strange they should be troubled to be denied; so that you suffer them to engage themselves in the disorder, and then think the fittest time for a cure, and I think the surest and easiest way is prevention. For we must take the same nature to be in children that is in grown men; and how often do we find men take ill to be denied what they would not have been concerned for, if they had not asked? But I shall not enlarge any farther in this, believing you and I shall agree in the matter; and indeed it is very hard, and almost impossible to give general rules of education, when there is scarce any one child which, in some cases, should not be treated differently from another. All that we can do, in general, is only to show what parents and tutors should aim at, and leave to them the ordering of particular circumstances as the case shall require.

One thing give me leave to be importunate with you about: you say, your son is not very strong; to make him strong, you must use him hardly, as I have directed; but you must be sure to do it by very insensible degrees, and begin an hardship you would bring him to only in the spring. This is all the caution needs be used. I have an example of it in the house I live in, where the only son of a very tender mother was almost destroyed by a too tender keeping. He is now, by a contrary usage, come to bear wind and weather, and wet in his feet; and the cough which threatened him, under that warm and cautious management, has left him, and is now no longer his parents constant apprehension, as it was.

I am of your mind, as to short-hand. I myself learned it, since I was a man; but had forgot to put it in when I writ, as I have, I doubt not, overseen a thousand other things, which might have been said on this subject. But it was only, at first, a short scheme for a friend, and is published to excite others to treat it more fully.

I know not whether it would be useful to make a catalogue of authors to be read by a young man, or whether it could be done, unless one knew the child’s temper, and what he was designed to.

My essay is now very near ready for another edition; and upon review of my alterations, concerning what determines the will, in my cool thoughts, I am apt to think them to be right, as far as my thoughts can reach in so nice a point, and in short is this. Liberty is a power to act, or not to act, accordingly as the mind directs. A power to direct the operative faculties to motion or rest in particular instances, is that which we call the will. That which in the train of our voluntary actions determines the will to any change of operation, is some present uneasiness, which is, or at least is always accompanied with that of desire. Desire is always moved by evil to fly it; because a total freedom from pain always makes a necessary part of our happiness. But every good, nay every greater good, does not constantly move desire, because it may not make, or may not be taken to make, any necessary part of our happiness; for all that we desire is only to be happy. But though this general desire of happiness operates constantly and invariably in us; yet the satisfaction of any particular desire, can be suspended from determining the will to any subservient action, till we have maturely examined, whether the particular apparent good we then desire, make a part of our real happiness, or be consistent, or inconsistent with it. The result of our judgment, upon examination, is what ultimately determines the man, who could not be free, if his will were determined by any thing but his own desire, guided by his own judgment. This, in short, is what I think of this matter; I desire you to examine it by your own thoughts. I think I have so well made out the several particulars, where I treat them at large, that they have convinced some I have shown them to here, who were of another mind: and therefore how much soever contrary to the received opinion, I think I may publish them; but I would first have your judicious and free thoughts, which I much rely on; for you love truth for itself, and me so well, as to tell it me without disguise.

You will herewith receive a new chapter “Of identity and diversity,” which having writ only at your instance it is fit you should see and judge of, before it goes to the press. Pray send me your opinion of every part of it. You need not send back the papers, but your remarks on the paragraphs you shall think fit: for I have a copy here.

You desired me too to enlarge more particularly about eternal verities, which to obey you, I set about; but, upon examination, find all general truths are eternal verities, and so there is no entering into particulars; though, by mistake, some men have selected some, as if they alone were eternal verities. I never, but with regret, reflect on the distance you are from me, and am,

SIR,
Your most humble servant,

John Locke.

Will. Molyneux

Sept. 16, 1693

Dublin

Locke

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Dublin,

Sept. 16, 1693.

Honoured Sir,

I HAVE yours from Oates of Aug. 23, with your chapter “of identity and diversity;” and I acknowledge myself extremely obliged to you, for being at all that thought, on my account. However, I repent not of the trouble I gave you therein, seeing the effects thereof, such clear reasoning, and profound judgment, that convinces and delights at once. And I protest, sir, it is to me the hardest task in the world, to add any thing to, or make any remarks upon, what you deliver therein; every thing you write therein is delivered with such convincing reason, that I fully assent to all. And to make remarks where I have no room to say any thing, would please neither you nor myself. And to show you that I would not wholly rely on my own examination of your chapter, I imparted it to others, desiring their censure of it; but still with the same event, all acknowledged the clearness of the reasoning, and that nothing more was left to be said on the subject.

The answer you make to what I writ on your Thoughts of Education, does fully satisfy me. But I assure you, sir, I was not the only person shocked at that passage. I find several stumble at it, as taking little play-things, that children are very apt to desire and ask for, to be matters of fancy and affectation within your rule. But seeing in your last letter, you confine desires of affectation and fancy to other matters, I am satisfied in this business.

I can say no more to the scheme you lay down of man’s liberty, but that I believe it very just, and will answer in all things. I long to see the second edition of your essay; and then, if any thing offer, I will give my thoughts more fully.

I am very sensible how closely you are engaged, till you have discharged this work off your hands; and therefore I will not venture, till it be over, to press you again to what you have promised in the business of man’s life, morality. But you must expect that I shall never be forgetful of that, from which I propose so great good to the world, and so much satisfaction to

Your most entirely affectionate humble servant,

Will. Molyneux.

Dec. 23, 1693

Dublin

Locke

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Sir,

Dublin,

Dec. 23, 1693.

I HAVE now read over your Essay of human Understanding a third time, and always make new discoveries therein of something profound. I should set upon it again, but that I will wait for your next edition, which I hope, by this time, is almost finished. The usual satisfaction I take in reading all things that come from you, made me lately again run over your chapter “of idendity and diversity;” concerning the justness whereof, I have yet the same opinion as formerly. But one thought suggested itself to me, which on my first reading did not occur. It relates to sect. 22, wherein the reason you give, why the law may justly punish a sober man, for what he did when drunk, or a waking man, for what he did when walking in his sleep, though it be true and full in the case of the night-walker: yet I conceive it not so full in the case of the drunken man. For drunkenness is itself a crime, and therefore no one shall allege it an excuse of another crime. And in the law we find, “that killing a man by chance-medley is not capital;” yet if I am doing an unlawful act, as shooting at a deer in a park, to steal it, and by chance-medley I kill a man unawares, this is capital: because the act wherein I was engaged, and which was the occasion of this mischief, was in itself unlawful, and I cannot plead it in excuse. In the case of the night-walker, your answer is true, full, and satisfactory; but that in the drunkard’s case is somewhat short. The night-walking is a sort of distemper, not to be helped, or prevented, by the patient. But drunkenness is a deliberate act, which a man may easily avoid and prevent. Moreover, whatever the law appoints in this case, I think, were I on the jury of one, who walking in his sleep had killed another, I should not violate a good conscience if I acquitted him; for he is certainly during those fits, “non compos mentis;” and it were easy to distinguish, by circumstances, how far he counterfeited or not.

You will very much oblige me, by a line or two, to let me know how forward your work is, and what other things you have on the anvil before you: amongst which, I hope, you will not forget your “Thoughts on Morality.” For I am obliged to prosecute this request to you, being the first, I presume, that moved you in it.

There is a gentleman in this town, one capt. Henry Monk, a nigh relation of the Albemarles, who tells me he has been known to you long ago: and on all occasions mentions you with the highest respects. He desired me, the other day, to give you his most humble service. I am,

Dear Sir,
Your most obedient servant,

Will. Molyneux.

John Locke

19 Jan. — 93-4

Oates

Molyneux

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

Honoured Sir,

Oates,

19 Jan. — 93-4.

I CAN take it for no other, than a great mark of your kindness to me, that you spend so much of your time, in the perusal of my thoughts, when you have so much better of your own to improve it. To which you add this farther obligation, that you read my book for my instruction, still taking notice to me of what you judge amiss in it. This is a good office that so few in the world perform in the way that you do, that it deserves my particular acknowledgment. And I own myself no less beholden to you, when I differ from you, than when, convinced by your better judgment, you give me opportunity to mend what before was amiss: your intention being that, to which I equally, in both cases, owe my gratitude.

You doubt, whether my answer be full in the case of the drunkard. To try whether it be or no, we must consider what I am there doing. As I remember (for I have not that chapter here by me) I am there showing that punishment is annexed to personality, and personality to consciousness: how then can a drunkard be punished for what he did, whereof he is not conscious? To this I answer, human judicatures justly punish him, because the fact is proved against him; but want of consciousness cannot be proved for him. This you think not sufficient, but would have me add the common reason, that drunkenness being a crime, one crime cannot be alleged in excuse for another. This reason, how good soever, cannot, I think, be used by me, as not reaching my case; for what has this to do with consciousness? Nay, it is an argument against me, for if a man may be punished for any crime which he committed when drunk, whereof he is allowed not to be conscious, it overturns my hypothesis. Your case of shooting a man by chance, when stealing a deer, being made capital, and the like, I allow to be just; but then, pray consider, it concerns not my argument; there being no doubt of consciousness in that case, but only shows, that any criminal action infects the consequences of it. But drunkenness has something peculiar in it, when it destroys consciousness; and so the instances you bring, justify not the punishing of a drunken fact, that was totally and irrecoverably forgotten; which the reason that I give being sufficient to do, it well enough removed the objection, without entering into the true foundation of the thing, and showing how far it was reasonable for human justice to punish a crime of a drunkard, which he could be supposed not conscious of, which would have uselessly engaged me in a very large discourse, and an impertinent digression. For I ask you, if a man, by intemperate drinking, should get a fever, and in the frenzy of his disease (which lasted not, perhaps, above an hour) committed some crime, would you punish him for it? If you would not think this just, how can you think it just to punish him for any fact committed in a drunken frenzy, without a fever? Both had the same criminal cause, drunkenness, and both committed without consciousness. I shall not enlarge any farther into other particular instances, that might raise difficulties about the punishing, or not punishing, the crime of an unconscious, drunken man; which would not easily be resolved, without inquiring into the reason upon which human justice ought to proceed in such cases, which was beyond my present business to do. Thus, sir, I have laid before you the reasons, why I have let that passage go, without any addition made to it. I desire you to lay by your friendship to me, and only to make use of your judgment in considering them. And if you are still of opinion, that I need give the reason too, that one crime cannot be alleged in excuse of another, I beg the favour of you to let me know it as soon as you can, that I may add what is necessary in this place, amongst the errata, before my book comes out, which advances now apace, and I believe there are by this time near 150 pages of it printed. And now, sir, though I have not agreed with your opinion in this point; yet I beseech you, believe I am as much obliged to your kindness in it as if you had shown me what, upon your reason, had appeared to me the grossest mistake; and I beg the favour of you, whenever you cast your eye upon any of my writings, to continue and communicate to me your remarks.

You write to me, as if ink had the same spell upon me, that mortar, as the Italians say, has upon others, that when I had once got my fingers into it, I could never afterwards keep them out. I grant, that methinks I see subjects enough, which way ever I cast my eyes, that deserve to be otherwise handled, than I imagine they have been; but they require abler heads, and stronger bodies than I have, to manage them. Besides, when I reflect on what I have done, I wonder at my own bold folly, that has so far exposed me, in this nice and critical, as well as quick-sighted and learned age. I say not this to excuse a lazy idleness, to which I intend to give up the rest of my few days. I think every one, according to what way Providence has placed him in, is bound to labour for the public good, as far as he is able, or else he has no right to eat. Under this obligation of doing something, I cannot have a stronger to determine me what I shall do, than what your desires shall engage me in. I know not whether the attempt will exceed my strength. But there being several here, who join with you to press me to it; (I received a letter with the same instance, from two of my friends at London, the last post;) I think, the first leisure I can get to myself, I shall apply my thoughts to it; and however I may miss my aim, will justify myself in my obedience to you, and some others of my ingenious friends.

I am exceedingly obliged to capt. Monk, for his kind remembrance, and to you for sending it me, and letting me know he is alive. I have, as I ought, all the esteem for him, that you know so modest and good a man deserves. Pray, when you see him, present my humble service to him, and let him know that I am extremely glad to hear that he is well, and that he has not forgot me, and should be much more so, to see him here again in England. Pray, give my humble service to your brother. I am,

Dear Sir,
Your most humble, and most faithful servant,

John Locke.

Will. Molyneux

Feb. 17, 1693-4

Dublin

Locke

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Dublin,

Feb. 17, 1693-4.

Honoured Sir,

I AM so very sensible of the great caution, and deep consideration you use, before you write any thing, that I wonder at my own hardiness, when I venture to object any thing against your positions. And when I read your answers to any such of my objections, I much more admire at my own weakness in making them. I have a new instance of this in your last of January 18th, which came not to this place before yesterday. This has most abundantly satisfied me, in the doubt I lay under, concerning the case of a drunken man; which you have cleared up to me, in three words, most convincingly. So that I think you have no reason in the least to alter that paragraph, unless you may think it convenient to express that matter a little plainer. Which, I think, indeed, your last letter to me does better than your twenty-second section of that chapter. That section runs thus:

22. “But is not a man, drunk and sober, the same person? Why else is he punished for the fact he commits, when drunk, though he be never afterwards conscious of it? Just as much the same person as a man that walks and does other things in his sleep, is the same person, and is answerable for any mischief he shall do in it. Human laws punish both with a justice suitable to their way of knowledge; because, in these cases, they cannot distinguish certainly what is real, what counterfeit. And so the ignorance in drunkenness, or sleep, is not admitted as a plea,” &c.

Now I conceive that which makes the expression herein not so very clear, is, “suitable to their way of knowledge;” some will be apt to mistake the word, their, to refer to the drunken, or sleeping man, whereas it refers to the laws, as if you had said, “suitable to that way of knowledge, or information, which the laws have established to proceed by.”

This, in your letter, is very manifest in a few words. There you say, “punishment is annexed to personality, personality to consciousness. How then can a drunkard be punished for what he did, whereof he is not conscious? To this I answer, human judicatures justly punish him, because the fact is proved against him, but want of consciousness cannot be proved for him.” This, sir, is most full in the case you are there treating of. So I have nothing more to offer in that matter.

Only give me leave to propose one question more to you, though it be foreign to the business you are upon, in your chapter of identity. How comes it to pass, that want of consciousness cannot be proved for a drunkard as well as for a frantic? One, methinks, is as manifest as the other: and if drunkenness may be counterfeit, so may a frenzy. Wherefore to me it seems, that the law has made a difference in these two cases, on this account, viz. “that drunkenness is commonly incurred voluntarily and premeditately; whereas a frenzy is commonly without our consent, or impossible to be prevented.” But enough of this.

I should not have troubled you with this, but that, according to your usual candour and goodness, you seemed to desire my farther thoughts thereon, as speedily as I could. I am,

Most worthy Sir,
Your most obliged humble servant,

Will. Molyneux.

John Locke

May 26, 1694

London

Molyneux

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

Sir,

London,

May 26, 1694.

THE slowness of the press has so long retarded my answer to your last obliging letter, that my book, which is now printed and bound, and ready to be sent to you, must be an excuse for my long silence. By the obedience I have paid to you in the index and summaries, ordered according to your desires, you will see it is not want of deference to you, or esteem of you, that has caused this neglect. And the profit I have made by your reflections, on several passages of my book, will, I hope, encourage you to the continuance of that freedom, to a man who can distinguish between the censures of a judicious friend, and the wrangling of a peevish critic. There is nothing more acceptable to me than the one, nor more, I think, to be slighted than the other. If therefore, as you seem to resolve, you shall throw away any more of your time in a perusal of my essay; judge, I beseech you, as severely as you can, of what you read. I know you will not forsake truth to quarrel with me; and whilst you follow her, you will always oblige me by showing me my mistakes, or what seems to you to be so. You will find in this second edition, that your advice, at any time, has not been thrown away upon me. And you will see by the errata, that, though your last came a little too late, yet that could not hinder me from following what you so kindly, and with so much reason, suggested.

I agree with you, that, drunkenness being a voluntary defect, want of consciousness ought not to be presumed in favour of the drunkard. But frenzy being involuntary, and a misfortune, not a fault, has a right to that excuse, which certainly is a just one, where it is truly a frenzy. And all that lies upon human justice is to distinguish carefully between what is real, and what counterfeit in the case.

My book, which I desire you to accept from me, is put into Mr. Churchill the bookseller’s hand, who has told me he will send it in a bale of books, the next week, to Mr. Dobson, a bookseller in Castle-street, Dublin; and I have ordered him to send with it a copy of the additions and alterations which are printed by themselves, and will help to make your former book useful to any young man, as you will see (is designed) by the conclusion of the epistle to the reader. I am,

SIR,
Your most affectionate, and most humble servant,

John Locke.

Will. Molyneux

June 2, 1694

Dublin

Locke

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Dublin,

June 2, 1694.

Sir,

I AM highly obliged to you for the favour of your last, of May 26, which I received yesterday. It brought me the welcome news of the second edition of your essay being published; and that you have favoured me with a copy, which I shall expect with some impatience; and when I have perused it, I shall, with all freedom, give you my thoughts of it.

And now that you have cleared your hands of your second edition, I hope you may have leisure to turn your thoughts to the subject I have so often proposed to you: but this, you will say, is a cruelty in me, that no sooner you are rid of one trouble, but I set you on another. Truly, sir, were I sensible it could be a trouble to you, I should hardly presume so far on your goodness; but I know those things are so easy and natural to your mind, that they give you no pain in the production. And I know also, such is your universal love of mankind, that you count nothing troublesome that tends to their good, in a matter of so great concernment as morality.

I have formerly told you what care I proposed to take in the education of my only child. I must now beg your pardon, if I trouble you in a matter wherein I shall be at a loss without your assistance. He is now five years old, of a most towardly and promising disposition; bred exactly, as far as his age permits, to the rules you prescribe, I mean as to forming his mind, and mastering his passions. He reads very well, and I think it time now to put him forward to some other learning. In order to this, I shall want a tutor for him, and indeed this place can hardly afford me one to my mind. If, therefore, you know any ingenious man that may be proper for my purpose, you would highly oblige me, by procuring him for me. I confess the encouragement I can propose to such an one is but moderate, yet, perhaps, there may be some found that may not despise it. He should eat at my own table, and have his lodging, washing, firing, and candlelight, in my house, in a good handsome apartment; and besides this, I should allow him 20l. per annum. His work for this should be only to instruct three or four boys in Latin, and such other learning as you recommend in your book; I say three or four boys, because, perhaps, I may have a relation’s child or two; one, who is my sister’s son, I have always, and do intend to keep, as a companion to my own son; and of more I am uncertain. But if there be one or two, that will be no great addition to his trouble, considering that perhaps their parents may recompense that by their gratuities. I mention to you, of the languages, only Latin, but, if I could obtain it, I should be glad he were also master of the French. As to his other qualifications, I shall only say, in general, I could wish them such as you would desire in a tutor to instruct a young gentleman, as you propose in your book. I would have him indeed a good man, and a good scholar; and I propose very much satisfaction to myself, in the conversation of such an one. And because a man may be cautious of leaving his native soil, and coming into a strange country, without some certainty of being acceptable to those that send for him, and of some continuance and settlement, I can say that I design him to stay with my son to his state of manhood; whether he go into the university, or travel, or whatever other state of life he may take to. And if perhaps on trial for some time, he or I may not like each other, I do promise to bear his charges both to and from me, so that he shall be no loser by his journey.

I beg your answer to this at your leisure; and if any such present, be pleased to let me know of him what particulars you can, as his parentage, education, qualifications, disposition, &c. with what other particulars you please to mention; and accordingly I shall write to you farther about it.

In the mean time, I beseech you to pardon this trouble given you by,

Honoured Sir,
Your most affectionate, and most obliged
humble servant,

Will. Molyneux.

John Locke

June 28, 1694

London

Molyneux

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

Sir,

London,

June 28, 1694.

SINCE the receipt of yours of the second instant, I have made what inquiry I can for a tutor for your son; the most likely, and the best recommended that I have met with, you will have an account of from himself in the inclosed, to which I need add little but these two things; 1st, that Mr. Fletcher, who is a good judge, and a person whose word I can rely on, gave me a very good character of him, both as to his manners and abilities, and said he would be answerable for him: the other is, that, however it comes to pass, the Scotch have now here a far greater reputation for this sort of employment than our own countrymen. I am sorry it is so, but I have of late found it in several instances.

I hope, by this time, the second edition of my book, which I ordered for you, and a printed copy of the additions, are come to your hands. I wish it were more answerable to the value you place in it, and better worth your acceptation. But, as I order the matter, methinks I make it a hard bargain to you, to pay so much time and pains as must go to the reading it over, though it were more slightly than we seem agreed, when you promise, and I expect, your observations on it. There appears to me so little material, in the objections that I have seen in print against me, that I have passed them all by but one gentleman’s, whose book not coming to my hand till those parts of mine were printed that he questions, I was fain to put my answer in the latter end of the epistle.

I wish the endeavours I have used to procure you a tutor for your son may be as successful as I desire. It is a business of great concernment to both you and your son; but governors, that have right thoughts concerning education, are hard to be found. It is happy for your son that a good part of it is to be under your eye. I shall be very glad, if on this, or any other occasion, I may be able to do you any service; for with great sincerity and respect, I am,

SIR,
Your most humble servant,

John Locke.

Will. Molyneux

July 28, 1694

Dublin

Locke

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Dublin,

July 28, 1694.

My most honoured Friend,

FOR so you have publicly allowed me to call you; and it is a title wherein I boast more than in maces or parliament-robes. By this you may find I have received the second edition of your essay, which I prize as an inestimable treasure of knowledge. It is but a week since it came to me; and I have yet only looked over those parts which are newly added, particularly that of liberty, the alterations wherein I take to be most judiciously made; and now I think that whole chapter stands so well put together, and the argumentation so legitimate, that nothing can shake it. I was mightily pleased to find therein a rational account of what I have often wondered at, viz. “why men should content themselves to stay in this life for ever, though at the same time they will grant, that in the next life they expect to be infinitely happy?” Of this you give so clear an account in the 44th section of your xxi. chapter, book II, that my wonder no longer remains. That candid recession from your former hypothesis, which you show in this chapter, where truth required it, raises in me a greater opinion (if possible) of your worth than ever. This is rarely to be found amongst men, and they seem to have something angelical, that are so far raised above the common pitch.

In time, I shall give you my farther thoughts of the other parts of your book, where any thing occurs to me. But, at present, I can only pour out my thanks to you for the favourable character under which you have transmitted me to posterity, . My only concern is, that I can pretend to none of it, but that of your friend; and this I set up for in the highest degree. I should think myself happy had I but half the title to the rest.

I am extremely obliged to you for the trouble you took on you in my last request, about a tutor for my son. I received your letter with Mr. Gibbs’s enclosed; to which I returned an answer, addressed to himself. The import whereof was, “That I had some offers made to me in this place, relating to that matter, to which I thought I should hearken, at least, so far as to make some trial. That I was loth to divert him from his good intentions to the ministry, and therefore I could not encourage him to undertake so long a journey, on such uncertainties on both sides, &c.” I am,

My most highly esteemed friend,
Your most affectionate humble servant,

Will. Molyneux.

John Locke

Sept. 3, 1694

Oates

Molyneux

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

Sir,

Oates,

Sept. 3, 1694.

I HAVE so much the advantage in the bargain, if friendship may be called one, that whatsoever satisfaction you find in yourself, on that account, you must allow in me with a large overplus. The only riches I have valued, or laboured to acquire, has been the friendship of ingenious and worthy men, and therefore you cannot blame me, if I so forwardly laid hold of the first occasion that opened me a way to yours. That I have so well succeeded in it I count one of my greatest happinesses, and a sufficient reward for writing my book, had I no other benefit by it. The opinion you have of it gives me farther hopes, for it is no small reward to one who loves truth, to be persuaded that he has made some discoveries of it, and any ways helped to propagate it to others. I depend so much upon your judgment and candour, that I think myself secure in you from peevish criticism or flattery; only give me leave to suspect, that kindness and friendship do sometimes carry your expressions a little too far on the favourable side. This, however, makes me not apprehend you will silently pass by any thing you are not thoroughly satisfied of in it. The use I have made of the advertisements I have received from you of this kind, will satisfy you that I desire this office of friendship from you, not out of compliment, but for the use of truth, and that your animadversions will not be lost upon me. Any faults you shall meet with in reasoning, in perspicuity, in expression, or of the press, I desire you to take notice of, and send me word of. Especially if you have any-where any doubt; for I am persuaded that, upon debate, you and I cannot be of two opinions; nor, I think, any two men used to think with freedom, who really prefer truth to opiniatrety, and a little foolish vain-glory, of not having made a mistake.

I shall not need to justify what I have said of you in my book: the learned world will be vouchers for me; and that in an age not very free from envy and censure. But you are very kind to me, since for my sake you allow yourself to own that part which I am more particularly concerned in, and permit me to call you my friend, whilst your modesty checks at the other part of your character. But, assure yourself, I am as well persuaded of the truth of it, as of any thing else in my book; it had not else been put down in it. It only wants a great deal more I had to say, had that been a place to draw your picture at large. Herein I pretend not to any peculiar obligation above others that know you. For though perhaps I may love you better than many others; yet, I conclude, I cannot think better of you than others do.

I am very glad you were provided of a tutor nearer home, and it had this particular good luck in it, that otherwise you had been disappointed, if you had depended on Mr. Gibbs; as a letter I wrote to you from London about it, I hope, acquainted you. I am,

Dear Sir,
Your most affectionate, and most humble servant,

John Locke.

Nov. 23, 1694

Oates

Molyneux

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

Sir,

Oates,

Nov. 23, 1694.

YOU speak of my book in such terms, that had I not convincing arguments that you are not a man of compliments, I should a little suspect your civility bordered very much on them in this case. But there are so few of them to be found, that you think you cannot speak too highly of the endeavours of one who pursues truth unbiassedly, and chooses not his opinions first, and then seeks arguments to support them. Upon that account I admit of whatever you please to say; but withal give me leave to assure you, that in the performance itself, I see nothing but what any one might have done, who would have sat down to it with the same love of truth and indifferency that I did. However, I cannot but be pleased that you think so well of it; for whether your friendship to me bribes your judgment, or whether your good opinion of my essay adds to your kind thoughts of the author; I find my account both ways, and should think myself well rewarded for my pains in this single purchase. But, sir, will you not pardon so lawful a desire, in one that loves you, if I ask, shall I never have the happiness to see you in England?

Mr. Churchill, my bookseller, sends me word by the last post, that he has sent you the six copies that you sent for, and advice of it. I sent to him a project of a new reduction of the year by Dr. Wood, to be sent with the copy of my essay to you. The author gave it me himself, and I thought it might possibly please you, if you had not seen it before. This, with the supernumerary cuts I ordered him to send you, will, with the books, I hope, come safe to your hands. The mentioning of those cuts puts me in mind again of your civility, which I see studies all manner of ways of expressing itself.

You see, by this liberty I take with you, that I am past terms of compliment with you, that is, I use you as one I look upon to be my friend, with a freedom of good offices, either to receive or do them, as it happens. Look upon me as such, I beseech you, and believe that I am, with the utmost sincerity,

SIR,
Your most affectionate friend,
and most humble servant,

John Locke.

Will. Molyneux

Dec. 18, 1694

Dublin

Locke

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Sir,

Dublin,

Dec. 18, 1694.

YOURS, of November 23, found me labouring under a sharp fever which has held me this month past; but I am now, God be thanked, pretty well recovered. I am obliged to you for the earnest desire you express of seeing me in England. But as to that particular, the truth is thus: last summer I designed to make a journey, on purpose to pay my respects to you, and for no other errand; but my resolutions were not so fixed as to give you any intimations thereof. For indeed the state of my health was so very uncertain, that I was very mistrustful whether I should be able to undertake the journey. However, I thought to make an essay of my strength in our own country; so that some business calling me about threescore miles from this city, the fatigue was so troublesome to me, that I was quite discouraged from thinking of England that season. I have now had another pull-back by my present sickness, so that I cannot yet well tell how to think of the other side of the water. This only I will assure you, that the first entire health God is pleased to bestow on me shall be employed in a journey towards you; there being nothing I so earnestly covet as the personal acquaintance of one for whom I have so great a respect and veneration, to whom I am so highly obliged for many favours.

There is a very worthy person, Dr. St. George Ashe, provost of the college here, lately gone from hence to London; he is a great admirer, and zealous promoter, of your writings in his college. He desired from me a letter of recommendation to you; but I fear your being in the country will hinder his designed happiness in your conversation. He stays in London these three or four months to come, in which time, if your business call you to the city, you will hear of him either at your lodgings at Mr. Pawlin’s, (where perhaps he will leave the place of his residence,) or at Mr. Tucker’s, in the secretary’s office at Whitehall, where a penny-post letter will find him out.

I thank you for the care you have taken to send me the books and sculptures, which I hope to receive in good time, having advice thereof already from Mr. Churchill. I am,

Worthy Sir,
Your most affectionate, humble servant,

Will. Molyneux.

January 15, 1694-5

Dublin

Locke

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Dublin,

January 15, 1694-5.

Honoured Sir,

I HAVE received the six copies of your book, and thank you for the care you have taken about them. I acknowledge myself likewise obliged to you for your present of Dr. Wood’s almanack, though it was not new to me, having received the favour of one from the author himself, when accomptant-general here in Ireland, many years ago. It is a very pretty project, but, I believe, it will hardly ever be practised; because men think what they have already sufficiently accurate for the common uses of life, and are hardly brought from what they have used, so long as they have done the common Julian account, unless prevailed upon by some such potent authority as the church, which abrogated the Julian, and established the Gregorian kalendar.

The sculptures also I received, and thank you for them. I shall do them all the honour that outward ornament can give them. And I heartily wish I had more effectual ways of showing my respects, which I think I can never do sufficiently.

I have ever thought that an elegant translation of your Essay into Latin would be highly acceptable to foreigners, and of great use in those countries, whose minds lie yet captivated in verbose, disputative philosophy, and false reasoning; I therefore presume to mention it to you, that though your own leisure may not permit you to perform it yourself, you may think of putting some one on it, that under your eye may do it correctly. And were I not persuaded that your own eye and correction were absolutely requisite herein, I would venture to make a bold proposal to have it done by some one in this place, whom I should reward for his labour herein. And this I do, not that I think you may not with a great deal of ease employ one yourself in this matter, but merely that herein I may have an opportunity of doing so much good in the world. You see, sir, what a veneration I have for your writings, and therefore you will pardon me, if I desire from you, “sub amicitiæ tesserâ,” the names of what books you have published. I remember, once I proposed to you the like request, and you were silent to it. If it were that you designedly conceal them, I acquiesce; but perhaps it proceeded from your cursory passing over that part of my letter, which makes me venture again on the same request. And now that your thoughts are at liberty from that essay, you will give me leave, with all submission, to mind you of what you once told me you would think of, viz. of demonstrating morals. I am sure, as no hand could perform it better; so no age ever required it more than ours.

I do heartily wish you an happy succeeding year; and may it end with us happier than the last past. I am,

Dear Sir,
Your most obliged, humble servant,

Will. Molyneux.

John Locke

8 Mar. 1694-5

Oates

Molyneux

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

Dear Sir,

Oates,

8 Mar. 1694-5.

YOU will, I fear, think me frozen up with this long winter, or else with a negligence colder than that, having two very obliging letters of yours by me, the one ever since January, the other February last, I make you no answer to either, till thus far in March. The truth is, expecting ever since I received your last letter an account from London, concerning something I had a mind to put into my letter, and after writing four times about it, being yet delayed, I can forbear no longer to return you my thanks, and to beg your pardon that I have been so slow in it. If you interpret it right, you will look upon it as the effect of a friendship got past formalities, and that has confidence enough to make bold with you, where it is without neglect of you, or prejudice to either. I was not a little rejoiced with the news you sent me in the first of your letters, of your safe recovery of a fever. Had I known it before the danger was over, that you had been ill, it would have been no small fright and pain to me. For I must assure you that, amongst all the friends your kindness or worth has procured you, there is not any one who values you more than I do, or does more interest himself in all your concerns. This makes me, that though I have a long time extremely desired to see you, and propose to myself an infinite satisfaction in a free conversation with you; yet what you tell me, that you were coming last summer into England, to make me a visit, makes me dread the satisfaction of my own wishes. And methinks I ought not to purchase one of the greatest happinesses I can propose to myself at so dear and dangerous a rate. I have received many and great obligations from you before; but they were such as, though I had no title to, I thought I might accept from one whom I love, and therefore was glad to find kind to me. But when I reflect on the length of the way, and the sea between us, the danger of the one, and the fatigue of both, and your no very robust constitution, as I imagine, I cannot consent you should venture so much for my sake. If any harm should happen to you in the journey, I could never forgive it myself, to be the occasion of so great a loss to the world and myself And if you should come safe, the greatness of the hazard, and an obligation out of all proportion to what I either ought to receive, or was capable to return, would overwhelm me with shame, and hinder my enjoyment. And yet, if I may confess my secret thoughts, there is not any thing which I would not give, that some other unavoidable occasion would draw you into England. A rational free-minded man, tied to nothing but truth, is so rare a thing, that I almost worship such a friend; but when friendship is joined to it, and these are brought into a free conversation, where they meet, and can be together; what is there can have equal charms? I cannot but exceedingly wish for that happy day, when I may see a man I have so often longed to have in my embraces. But yet, though it would endear the gift to receive it from his kindness, I cannot but wish rather that fortune alone would throw him into my arms.

This cold winter has kept me so close a prisoner within doors, that, ‘till yesterday, I have been abroad but once these three months, and that only a mile in a coach. And the inability I am in to breathe London air in cold weather has hindered me yet from the happiness of waiting on Dr. Ashe; but I hope to get to London before he leaves it, that I may, to a person whom you have an esteem for, pay some part of the respects I owe you. I had last week the honour of a visit from an ingenious gentleman, a member of your college at Dublin, lately returned from Turkey. He told me he was a kinsman of yours; and though his other good qualities might have made him welcome any-where, he was not, you may be sure, the less welcome to me, for being known and related to you. He seems to me to have been very diligent and curious in making observations whilst he has been abroad, and more inquisitive than most of our people that go into those parts. And, by the discourse I had with him the little time we were together, I promise myself we shall have a more exact account of those parts, in what I hope he intends to publish, than hitherto is extant. Dr. Huntington, who was formerly at Aleppo, and is my old acquaintance, and now my neighbour in this country, brought Mr. Smith hither with him from his house. But yet I must acknowledge the favour to you, and desire you to thank him for it when he returns to Dublin. For the friendship he knew you had for me, was, I take it, the great inducement that made him give himself the trouble of coming six or seven miles in a dirty country.

You do so attack me on every side with your kindness to my book, to me, to my shadow, that I cannot but be ashamed I am not in a capacity to make you any other acknowledgment, but in a very full and deep sense of it. I return you my thanks for the corrections you have sent me, which I will take all the care of I can in the next edition, which, my bookseller tells me, he thinks will be this summer. And if any other fall under your observation, I shall desire the continuance of your favour in communicating them.

I must own to you that I have been solicited from beyond sea to put my essay into Latin; but you guess right, I have not the leisure to do it. It was once translated by a young man in Holland into Latin; but he was so little master of the English or Latin tongue, that when it was showed me, which he did not till he had quite done it, I satisfied him that it would be very little for his credit to publish it; and so that was laid by. Since that, my bookseller was, and had been for some time seeking for a translator, whom he would have treated with to have undertaken it, and have satisfied for his pains. But a little before the coming of your letter, he writ me word he had been disappointed, where he expected to have found one who would have done it, and was now at a loss. So that what you call a bold, is not only the kindest, but the most seasonable proposal you could have made. You understand my thoughts as well as I do myself, and can be a fit judge, whether the translator has expressed them well in Latin or no; and can direct him, where to omit or contract any thing where you think I have been more large than needed. And though in this I know you intend, as you say, some good to the world; yet I cannot but take it as a very particular obligation to myself, and shall not be a little satisfied to have my book go abroad into the world with strokes of your judicious hand to it. For, as to omitting, adding, altering, transposing any thing in it, I permit it wholly to your judgment. And if there be any thing in it defective, or which you think may be added with advantage to the design of the whole work, if you will let me know, I shall endeavour to supply that defect the best I can. The chapter “of Identity and Diversity” which owes its birth wholly to your putting me upon it, will be an encouragement to you to lay any the like commands upon me. I have had some thoughts myself, that it would not be possibly amiss to add, in lib. iv. ca, something about enthusiasm, or to make a chapter of it by itself. If you are of the same mind, and that it will not be foreign to the business of my essay, I promise you, before the translator you shall employ shall be got so far, I will send you my thoughts on that subject, so that it may be put into the Latin edition. I have also examined P. Malebranche’s opinion concerning “seeing all things in God;” and to my own satisfaction laid open the vanity, inconsistency, and unintelligibleness of that way of explaining human understanding. I have gone almost, but not quite through it, and know not whether I now ever shall finish it, being fully satisfied myself about it. You cannot think how often I regret the distance that is between us; I envy Dublin for what I every day want in London. Were you in my neighbourhood, you would every day be troubled with the proposal of some of my thoughts to you. I find mine generally so much out of the way of the books I meet with, or men led by books, that were I not conscious to myself that I impartially seek truth, I should be discouraged from letting my thoughts loose, which commonly lead me out of the beaten track. However, I want somebody near me, to whom I could freely communicate them, and without reserve lay them open. I should find security and ease in such a friend as you, were you within distance. For your judgment would confirm and set me at rest, where it approved; and your candour would excuse what your judgment corrected, and set me right in. As to your request you now repeat to me, I desire you to believe that there is nothing in your letters which I pass over slightly, or without taking notice of; and if I formerly said nothing to it, think it to be, that I thought it the best way of answering a friend, whom I was resolved to deny nothing that was in my power. There are some particular obligations that tie me up in the point, and which have drawn on me some displeasure for a time, from some of my friends, who made me a somewhat like demand. But I expect to find you more reasonable, and give you this assurance, that you shall be the first that shall be satisfied in that point. I am not forgetful of what you so kindly put me upon. I think nobody ought to live only to eat and drink, and count the days he spends idly. The small remainder of a crazy life I shall, as much as my health will permit, apply to the search of truth, and shall not neglect to propose to myself those that may be the most useful. My paper is more than done, and, I suppose, you tired, and yet I can scarce give off. I am,

Dear Sir,
Your most faithful humble servant,

John Locke.

Will. Molyneux

March 26, 1695

Dublin

Locke

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Sir,

Dublin,

March 26, 1695.

THE concern you express for my welfare is extremely obliging, and I never prized my health so much as since thereby I am enabled to enjoy your correspondence and friendship. But whatever becomes of me and my carcase, I can heartily wish you had one more easy, healthful and strong. For I know mankind in general is interested in you; whereas I am sure to fall unlamented to all, save a few particular friends.

I understand my kinsman has enjoyed that which I have earnestly longed for. He tells me, by letter, the great obligations he bears you, for the civilities you showed him, and desires me to acknowledge them.

I am very glad to find your essay like to suffer a third impression; it is a good sign, and shows the world not so averse to truth, when fairly laid open. To have truth prevail, the only way is calmly and meekly to publish it, and let it shift for itself; “magna res est veritas & prævalebit.” It will make its own party good without fire and faggot, which never promoted, but, I am sure, has often stifled it.

This encourages me, with more vigour, to promote the translation of your work; and to own myself infinitely obliged to you, that you are pleased so readily to comply with the offer I made you in my last. Yesterday I sent for an ingenious young man in the college here to discourse with him about it. The result was, he would make an essay and show it me, and accordingly would proceed or desist. But then, he tells me, that he cannot set himself fully to it till towards the latter end of May; for he designs to stand candidate for a fellowship in the college, which, by the removal of the provost, is to be disposed of about next Trinity-sunday; and, in the mean time, he is to prepare himself for the examination they undergo on that occasion. I shall see his first attempt the next week, and shall give you an account. As to any alterations to be made by me, I should be very cautious of medling therein; I know the whole work has already undergone so exact a judgment, that there is no room left for amendments. However, if any such offer, after your approbation of them, I should venture to insert them.

I must freely confess, that if my notion of enthusiasm agrees with yours, there is no necessity of adding any thing concerning it, more than by the by, and in a single section in cha. lib. iv. I conceive it to be no other than a religious sort of madness, and comprises not in it any mode of thinking, or operation of the mind, different from what you have treated of in your essay. It is true, indeed, the absurdities men embrace on account of religion are most astonishing; and if in a chapter of enthusiasm, you endeavour to give an account of them, it would be very acceptable. So that (on second thoughts) I do very well approve of what you propose therein, being very desirous of having your sentiments on any subject.

Pere Malebranche’s chapter “of seeing all things in God,” was ever to me absolutely unintelligible; and unless you think a polemic discourse in your essay (which you have hitherto avoided therein) may not be of a piece with the rest, I am sure it highly deserves to be exposed, and is very agreeable to the business of your work. I would therefore humbly propose it to you, to consider of doing something therein. Pere Malebranche has many curious notions, and some as erroneous and absurd. It is a good while since I read him; but I am now turning him over a second time; he is mostly platonic, and, in some things, almost enthusiastical. I am,

Honoured dear Sir,
Your most obliged humble servant,

Will. Molyneux.

John Locke

April 26, 1695

Oates

Molyneux

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

Sir,

Oates,

April 26, 1695.

YOU look with the eyes, and speak the language of friendship, when you make my life of much more concern to the world than your own. I take it, as it is, for an effect of your kindness, and so shall not accuse you of compliment; the mistakes and over-valuings of good will being always sincere, even when they exceed what common truth allows. This on my side, I must beg you to believe, that my life would be much more pleasant and useful to me, if you were within my reach, that I might sometimes enjoy your conversation, and upon twenty occasions, lay my thoughts before you, and have the advantage of your judgment. I cannot complain that I have not my share of friends of all ranks, and such, whose interest, assistance, affection, and opinions too, in fit cases, I can rely on. But methinks, for all this, there is one place vacant, that I know nobody that would so well fill as yourself; I want one near me to talk freely with, “de quolibet ente;” to propose to the extravagancies that rise in my mind; one with whom I would debate several doubts and questions, to see what was in them. Meditating by one’s self, is like digging in the mine; it often, perhaps, brings up maiden earth, which never came near the light before; but whether it contains any metal in it, is never so well tried as in conversation with a knowing judicious friend who carries about with him the true touchstone, which is love of truth in a clear-thinking head. Men of parts and judgment the world usually gets hold of, and by a great mistake (that their abilities of mind are lost, if not employed in the pursuit of wealth or power) engages them in the ways of fortune and interest, which usually leave but little freedom or leisure of thought for pure disinterested truth. And such who give themselves up frankly, and in earnest to the full latitude of real knowledge, are not every-where to be met with. Wonder not, therefore, that I wish so much for you in my neighbourhood; I should be too happy in a friend of your make, were you within my reach. But yet I cannot but wish that some business would once bring you within distance; and it is a pain to me to think of leaving the world without the happiness of seeing you.

I do not wonder that a kinsman of yours should magnify civilities that scarce deserve the name; I know not wherein they consisted, but in being glad to see one that was any way related to you, and was himself a very ingenious man; either of those was a title to more than I did, or could show him. I am sorry I have not yet had an opportunity to wait on him in London, and I fear he should be gone before I an able to get thither. This long winter, and cold spring, has hung very heavy upon my lungs, and they are not yet in a case to be ventured in London air, which must be my excuse for not waiting upon him and Dr. Ashe yet.

The third edition of my essay has already, or will be speedily, in the press. But what perhaps, will seem stranger, and possibly please you better, an abridgment is now making (if it be not already done) by one of the university of Oxford, for the use of young scholars, in the place of the ordinary system of logic. From the acquaintance I had of the temper of that place, I did not expect to have it get much footing there. But so it is, I some time since received a very civil letter from one, wholly a stranger to me there, concerning such a design; and, by another from him since, I conclude it near done. He seems to be an ingenious man, and he writes sensibly about it, but I can say nothing of it till I see it; and he, of his own accord, has offered that it shall wholly be submitted to my opinion, and disposal of it. And thus, sir, possibly that which you once proposed may be attained to, and I was pleased with the gentleman’s design for your sake.

You are a strange man, you oblige me very much by the care you take to have it well translated, and you thank me for complying with your offer. In my last, as I remember, I told you the reason why it was so long before I writ, was an expectation of an answer from London, concerning something I had to communicate to you: it was in short this; I was willing to know what my bookseller would give for a good Latin copy; he told me, at last, twenty pounds. His delay was, because he would first have known what the translator demanded. But I forced him to make his proposal, and so I send it to you, to make what use of it you please. He since writ me word, that a friend of his at Oxford would, in some time, be at leisure to do it, and would undertake it. I bid him excuse himself to him, for that it was in hands I approved of, and some part of it now actually done. For I hope the essay (he was to show you the next week after you writ to me last) pleased you. Think it not a compliment, that I desire you to make what alterations you think fit. One thing particularly you will oblige me and the world in, and that is, in paring off some of the superfluous repetitions, which I left in for the sake of illiterate men, and the softer sex, not used to abstract notions and reasonings. But much of this reasoning will be out of doors in a Latin translation. I refer all to your judgment, and so am secure it will be done as is best.

What I shall add concerning enthusiasm, I guess, will very much agree with your thoughts, since yours jump so right with mine, about the place where it is to come in, I having designed it for cha. lib. iv. as a false principle of reasoning often made use of. But, to give an historical account of the various ravings men have embraced for religion, would, I fear, be besides my purpose, and be enough to make an huge volume.

My opinion of P. Malebranche agrees perfectly with yours. What I have writ concerning “seeing all things in God,” would make a little treatise of itself. But I have not quite gone through it, for fear I should by somebody or other be tempted to print it. For I love not controversies, and have a personal kindness for the author. When I have the happiness to see you, we will consider it together, and you shall dispose of it.

I think I shall make some other additions to be put into your Latin translation, and particularly concerning the “connection of ideas,” which has not, that I know, been hitherto considered, and has, I guess, a greater influence upon our minds, than is usually taken notice of. Thus, you see, I make you the confident of my reveries; you would be troubled with a great many more of them, were you nearer. I am,

Honoured Sir,
Your most affectionate humble servant,

John Locke.

Will. Molyneux

May, 7, 1695

Dublin

Locke

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Sir,

Dublin,

May, 7, 1695.

I AM extremely pleased to understand by yours of April 26, that we are to expect an abridgment of your work from a judicious hand in Oxford; it is what I always thought might be of good use in the universities, where we yet want another sort of language, than what has hitherto prevailed there, to the great hindrance of science.

As to the translation that is going on here, it is undertaken by one Mr. William Mullart, a senior bachelor in the college. He has the repute of an ingenious and learned young man, and I hope he may perform it well. I here enclose a specimen of his performance, concerning which I desire you would give me your thoughts, before he proceed much farther. This only may be hinted, that when he is better acquainted with the work, and your language, and has entered farther into it, it is probable his translation may be better, more easy and natural. He proposes to finish it in half a year, or nine months at farthest; for he cannot wholly disengage himself from some other studies. I perceive your bookseller is resolved to share with me in the good I thought to do the world, by bestowing on it this translation. And since he is so generous as to have it so, I will, by no means, be the translator’s hindrance in partaking of the bookseller’s proffer; and, at the same time, to engage his diligence the more, I will increase the reward considerably, that I may not wholly miss the good design I first proposed to myself. If you encourage the translator to go forward, you may be pleased to transmit to me the additions you design; as that of “enthusiasm,” “connexion of ideas,” and what else you have.

And now, with redoubled force, I send back to you the complaints you make for our distance. I cannot but hope, that Providence has yet in store for me so much happiness on this side the grave; and if it have not, I shall think I have missed the greatest temporal good my mind was ever set on. But I still say, I live in hopes, the accomplishment whereof would be the greatest satisfaction to

Your most cordially affectionate humble servant,

Will. Molyneux.

Were it not too nigh approaching to vanity, I could tell you of the extraordinary effects your method of education has had on my little boy.

John Locke

2 July, 1695

Oates

Molyneux

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

Dear Sir,

Oates,

2 July, 1695.

DID I not assure myself that our friendship were grown beyond suspicion or compliment, I should think I should have need to make excuses to you for my long silence; but I know you will credit me, when I tell you it has been neither forgetfulness nor negligence. The specimen of the translation you sent me, gave me some reason to apprehend, that Mr. Mullart’s style would lay too great a burthen on your kindness, by often needing the correction of your hand, to make it express my sense with that clearness and easiness, which I know you desire. My bookseller therefore having before told me of one who had offered to undertake the translation of my essay, I have been ever since endeavouring to get from him a specimen that I might send it you, and have your opinion which is like to do best; that so if this man had a talent that way, you might be eased of the trouble, which your friendship to me, and zeal to the work, I foresee, is likely to lay upon you. But, having the last post received this account from Mr. Churchill, that the gentleman proposed is in the country, and must have a book sent him down, on purpose, before we can expect to see any thing from him, and this being all to be managed by a third hand, who is not every day to be met with; I have resolved to lose no more time on that thought, but accepting of your kind offer, put that whole matter into your hands, to be ordered as you shall think best, and shall spend no more time in other enquiries, since the gentleman you propose will (as I remember you told me) be about this time at leisure to set himself in earnest to it. There is one thing I would offer, which may be of advantage to him and the work too, and that is, that he would constantly and sedulously read Tully, especially his philosophical works, which will insensibly work him into a good Latin style. I have heard it reported of bishop Sanderson, that being asked how he came to write Latin so well, as appears in the treatises he published in that tongue? he answered, “By ordering his studies so, that he read over all Tully’s works every year.” I leave it to you, whether you will think fit to mention this to Mr. Mullart.

The abridgment of my essay is quite finished. It is done by a very ingenious man of Oxford, a master of arts, very considerable for his learning and virtue, who has a great many pupils. It is done with the same design you had in view, when you mentioned it. He has generally (as far as I could remember) made use of my words; he very civilly sent it me when it was done, and, upon looking it over, I guess you will approve of it, and think it well done. It is in Mr. Churchill’s hands, and will be printed as soon as the third edition of my essay, which is now in the press, is printed off.

I am extremely glad to hear that you have found any good effects of my method on your son. I should be glad to know the particulars; for though I have seen the success of it in a child of the lady, in whose house I am, (whose mother has taught him Latin without knowing it herself when she began,) yet I would be glad to have other instances; because some men, who cannot endure any thing should be mended in the world by a new method, object, I hear, that my way of education is impracticable. But this I can assure you, that the child above mentioned, but nine years old in June last, has learned to read and write very well, is now reading Quintus Curtius with his mother, understands geography and chronology very well, and the Copernican system of our vortex; is able to multiply well, and divide a little; and all this without ever having had one blow for his book. The third edition is now out: I have ordered Mr. Churchill to send you one of them, which I hope he has done before this. I expect your opinion of the additions, which have much increased the bulk of the book. And though I think all that I have said right; yet you are the man I depend on for a fair and free censure, not inclined either to flatter, or quarrel. You know not of what value a knowing man, that is a sincere lover of truth, is, nor how hard to be found; wonder not, therefore, if I place a great part of my happiness in your friendship, and wish every day you were my neighbour; you would then find what use I should make of it. But, not to complain of what cannot be remedied, pray let me have all the advantage I can at this distance. Read the additions and examine them strictly, for I would not willingly mislead the world. Pray let me know whether the doctor, your brother, has any children; when he has, I count I owe him one of my books of education.

With my treatise of education, I believe you will receive another little one concerning interest and coinage. It is one of the fatherless children, which the world lay at my door; but, whoever be the author, I shall be glad to know your opinion of it.

And now I must mightily bemoan the loss of an happiness which you designed me, and I through great misfortune missed. The impressions of the last severe winter on my weak lungs, and the slow return of warm weather this spring, confined me so long to the country, that I concluded Dr. Ashe would be gone before I should get to town, and I should lose the honour of so desired an acquaintance. However as soon as I was got to London, I enquired of Mr. Churchill, who told me Dr. Ashe was lately in town, and he promised me, as I desired him, that he would enquire whether he was still there, and where he lodged. He returned me no answer, and I (through a multitude of business) forgot to inquire again, for some few days. Upon the first thought of it again, I went to the secretary’s office at Whitehall, and not finding Mr. Tucker there, I went to his house, who told me that Dr. Ashe was that very morning gone out of town. The missing of him thus unluckily, when he had been within my reach, very much vexed me; and it looked, as if fortune had a mind sensibly to cross me, in what she knew I was extremely desirous of. I enquired too for Mr. Smith; but he, I heard was gone to Flanders before I came to town. It would have been more than ordinary satisfaction to me, to have conversed and made an acquaintance with so esteemed a friend of your’s as Dr. Ashe. I shall not be at quiet, till some business brings you into England to repair this loss, and brings me a satisfaction to the most earnest of all my desires. My decaying health does not promise me any long stay in this world; you are the only person in it, that I desire to see once, and to converse some time with, before I leave it. I wish your other occasions might draw you into England, and then let me alone to husband our time together; I have laid all that in my head already. But I talk my desires and fancies as if they were in view. I wish you all manner of happiness, and am,

Dear Sir,
Your most affectionate, and most faithful servant,

John Locke.

Pray present my humble service to Dr. Ashe, and excuse my misfortunate loss to him.

When you consider the length of this, you will find my late silence was not from a sparingness of speech, or backwardness to talk with you; I have more reason now to beg your pardon for my talkativeness than silence.

The additions I intend to make, shall be sent time enough for the translator.

Will. Molyneux

Aug, 24, 1695

Dublin

Locke

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Sir,

Dublin,

Aug, 24, 1695.

I DEFERRED my answer all this while to yours of July 2, (which I received some weeks ago) in expectation of the books you have been pleased to order for me; but hitherto they are not arrived, and I would not omit my duty any longer, lest the business of our ensuing parliament should give me a farther hindrance. The university has done me the honour to choose me as one of their representatives; and though I cannot pretend to do them any great service, yet it shall not be for want of constant attendance on their business, which will take up most of my time, till the session is ended.

I am now at a great loss what apology to make you, for the disappointment you are at last like to receive in the translation of your essay. But to a candid and ingenuous man, the best excuse is a plain narrative of the matter of fact.

The gentleman whom I formerly mentioned to you, Mr. Mullart, went into the country about the middle of last June, and returned about a fortnight ago. When he went away, he assured me, he would make a considerable progress in the work, in a month or six weeks time; but he was taken ill for about a fortnight, and, at his return, I found he had scarce done four pages of the book. I found also, (as you rightly surmised,) that his style will hardly answer expectation; but this difficulty I thought might be overcome by time and application. But what to say to his very slow performance I cannot tell, or whether it may answer your, or your bookseller’s designs. But that which most of all discourages me, is, that the young man himself seems not very fond of the undertaking, but has fixed his thoughts on another pursuit. I formerly told you how he designed for a fellowship, had any at that time happened vacant, as there did none. But very lately there are two fellowships become void, and a third like to be so before the time of sitting for them, which is next June, 1696, and he tells me plainly, he must endeavour to get one of them; and that there will be at least five competitors, if not six, who are all his seniors; and therefore, he must use his utmost diligence, application and study in the intermediate time, to fit himself for the examination they undergo; and this, he says, will take up so much of his time, that he knows not whether he shall have any to spare for the translation.

I cannot well tell which way next to turn myself in this affair. I have but one anchor more, and that is not at hand immediately to use. There is a gentleman of my acquaintance, the greatest master of style of any I have known, who, I am confident, would perform this work to your utmost satisfaction; but he is not, at present, in town; and when he comes, (which, I expect, may be about Michaelmas next, as I have it from himself,) I make some doubt, whether his other avocations will permit him to undertake this. He is chancellor of the diocese of Down and Connor, and has also a private work of his own, in Latin, now fitting for the press, which he permits to run through my hands, as he goes on with it. When he comes to town, I will move him in it, if you will give me leave, and you shall know the event.

I am mightily pleased that your essay is abridged, though, for my own reading, I would not part with a syllable of it. However, others may not have so much leisure as to set on a large book, and for such the abridgment may be useful. It is to me no small argument of the curious genius of the English nation, that a work so abstract as yours should now suffer three impressions in so short a time.

I have already so much experience of your method of education, that I long to see your third edition. And since you put me upon it, (to whom I can refuse nothing in my power,) I will give you a short account of my little boy’s progress under it.

He was six years old about the middle of last July. When he was but just turned five, he could read perfectly well; and on the globes could have traced out, and pointed at all the noted parts, countries, and cities of the world, both land and sea. And by five and an half could perform many of the plainest problems on the globe, as the longitude and latitude, the antipodes, the time with them and other countries, &c. and this by way of play and diversion, seldom called to it, never chid or beaten for it. About the same age he could read any number of figures, not exceeding six places, break it as you please by cyphers or zeros. By the time he was six, he could manage a compass, ruler and pencil, very prettily, and perform many little geometrical tricks, and advanced to writing and arithmetic; and has been about three months at Latin, wherein his tutor observes as nigh as he can, the method prescribed by you. He can read a gazette, and, in the large maps of Sanson, show most of the remarkable places as he goes along, and turn to the proper maps. He has been shown some dogs dissected, and can give some little account of the grand traces of anatomy. And as to the formation of his mind, which you rightly observe to be the most valuable part of education; I do not believe that any child had ever his passions more perfectly at command. He is obedient and observant to the nicest particular, and at the same time sprightly, playful, and active.

But I will say no more; this may be tiresome to others, however pleasing to myself.

I have some thoughts of seeing England next spring, or summer; but the time I cannot prefix as yet, till I see how our affairs are like to go on in parliament, and whether we are like to have another session, and when. The other day I chanced to mention your name accidentally to his excellency my lord Capel, who thereupon expressed himself with the utmost respect and esteem for you. I am,

Honoured Sir,
Your most affectionate, humble servant,

Will. Molyneux.

John Locke

16 Nov. 1695

London

Molyneux

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

Sir,

London,

16 Nov. 1695.

THOUGH there be no man in the world that I so much long to see, as you; yet your last letter of the second instant, makes me afraid of your coming. Your kindness and expression in my favour, has painted me so in your fancy that I shall unavoidably fall many degrees in your esteem, when you find me come so much short of what you expected; “Paratus est mihi magnus adversarius, expectatio,” as I remember Tully somewhere says. One thing only I have to satisfy myself, viz. that whatever I may want of those qualities you ascribe to me, I have one that helps mightily to cover defects, and makes one acceptable, without the recommendation of great perfections; I mean friendship, true and sincere. This I can boast of to you, this I can bid you expect, and tell you, you shall not be deceived. Come then, but come with this resolution, that you will be content, that shall make up to you all those fine things which you imagine before hand, in a man whom you will readily find a plain honest, well-meaning man, who unbiassedly seeks truth, though it be but a very small part of it he has yet discovered.

I am very glad you approve of the additions to the third edition of my education; you are a father, and are concerned not to be deceived, and therefore I expect you will not flatter me in this point. You speak so well of that you have, that I shall take care to have another of those treatises of interest and coinage sent to you. The affair of our money, which is in a lamentable state, is now under debate here: what the issue will be, I know not; I pray for a good one. I find every body almost looks on it as a mystery; to me there appears to be none at all in it. It is but stripping it of the cant which all men that talk of it involve it in, and there is nothing easier: lay by the arbitrary names of pence and shillings, and consider and speak of it as grains and ounces of silver, and it is as easy as telling of twenty.

I had a great deal more to say to you, in answer to this, and two other obliging letters, I am indebted to you for: but I am sent for into the country by an express. I am,

Sir,
Your most humble, and most affectionate servant,

John Locke.

20 Nov. 1695

Oates

Molyneux

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

Sir,

Oates,

20 Nov. 1695.

BEFORE I left London, I gave order that the book you desired about interest and money, should be sent you by the first opportunity. But it is to you I send it, and not to any body else; you may give it to whom you please, for it is yours as soon as you receive it; but pray do not give it to any body in my name, or as a present from me. And however you are pleased to make me a compliment, in making me the author of a book you think well of; yet you may be sure I do not own it to be mine, till you see my name to it.

You, I see, are troubled there about your money, as well as we are here; though, I hope, you are not so deep in that disease as we are. A little before his majesty’s return, the lords justices here had this matter under consideration; and amongst others, were pleased to send to me, for my thoughts about it. This is too publicly known here, to make the mentioning of it to you appear as vanity in me. The paper I here inclose, would seem a strange thing, did I not tell you the occasion of my writing it. And since some of my friends here persuade me, it gives some light to that which the statesman you mention, thinks so profound a mystery, I have taken the liberty to send it to you, either to open that matter a little farther to you, or that you may show me the mistakes and defects of it. But pray, whatever use you make of it, conceal my name.

I writ to you from London, just as I was leaving the town in haste, in answer to yours of the second instant. You must impute the faults of that to the hurry and disturbance I was then in. I am not much more at leisure or at quiet now; but shame will not suffer me to be silent any longer, under the obligation of two other letters I have by me of yours, unanswered.

I cannot read yours of the 24th of August last, without finding new marks of your kindness to me, in the concern you therein express to get a good hand for the translating my essay. I think at last you have got a better than I could have expected. I designed to have brought Mr. Churchill and him together, and settled that matter, before I left London; but I was so unexpectedly called thence, that I left that, and several other businesses, undone. But I took order with Mr. Churchill, my bookseller, to go to him; he is a reasonable man, and I doubt not but it will be taken care of, as well as if I were there. I think the abridgment is near, if not quite printed; but I had not the time, or memory, to inquire, after my hasty summons into the country. I was told too, when I was in town, that somebody is printing against it; if it be a fair inquirer, I shall be glad; if a wrangling disputant, I shall not mind him.

Mr. Burridge is the man you speak him to be, in yours of September 19. Had I staid in London, I think I should have been able to have procured him some particulars would have been of use to him, in his design. Some of them I have taken care he should receive, notwithstanding my absence. But perhaps they might have been more, could I have stayed till more of my acquaintance were come to town. I am now in an house of sorrow and business, which hinders me from that freedom I would be in, when I write to you. I am,

SIR,
Your most affectionate, humble servant,

John Locke.

Will. Molyneux

Dec. 24, 1695

Dublin

Locke

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Sir,

Dublin,

Dec. 24, 1695.

I AM ashamed to say, that I have two of yours before me unanswered.

Yours of Nov. 20 brought me a paper, which, of all things I have ever seen on that subject, I most highly admire. You have therein revealed the whole mystery of money, exchange, trade, &c. which have hitherto been wrapped up in unintelligible cant, I believe, partly out of knavery, partly out of ignorance. You gave me liberty to make what use of it I pleased, and therefore I ventured to give a copy of it to his excellency, my lord deputy Capel, rather than the book of interest and coinage, which I thought might be too long for his present perusal, in his multitude of business. But I can tell you, that your admirable perspicuity of writing is so clearly different from all the world, and almost peculiar to yourself; that in vain you expect to be concealed, in any thing that comes from you. For I assure you, in some discourse I had with his excellency, no longer ago than yesterday, concerning the business of money; he asked me (without any occasion given him from me) whether I had ever seen Mr. Locke’s book of interest, &c.? for he has formerly known (as I think I have told you) that I had the happiness of your acquaintance; I replied to his lordship, that I had seen such a book, but that it did not bear your name in it: he answered me: the printer presented it to him as yours; and besides (says he) all the world knows Mr. Locke’s way of writing; and, if I may guess, I believe the paper you gave me a few days ago, came from Mr. Locke; pray, did it not? I told his excellency I was under some obligation to conceal the author. That’s enough, (says he,) I am sure it is his, and will put his name to it, and lay it up amongst my choicest papers.

I have lately received three small prints from London, concerning the subject of money. They were enclosed in a blank wrapper, and franked to me by sir Walter Yonge, bart. a gentleman whom I never saw, and have no manner of acquaintance with. I wonder how he comes to confer an obligation on me so suitable and agreeable to my present thoughts. If you have any hand in this favour to me, be pleased to accept of my thanks, and to express the same to sir Walter. The titles of those papers are,

“Sir W. Petty’s Quantulumcunque, concerning money.”

“A letter from an English merchant at Amsterdam to his friend at London, concerning the trade and coin of England.”

“Some questions answered, relating to the badness of the now silver coin of England.”

I hear Mr. Lowndes of the Treasury has published something on that subject, and that Mr. Flamstead has answered him, in a tract he calls Five, not Six.

I wish I could see them both, and shall beg the favour of you, if this letter finds you at London, to get them beaten pretty close, and wrapped up in folds, and directed to me, unless they be much too bulky for the post. You need not have them franked, for our letters come to us so, as we are of the parliament here.

I herewith send you enclosed the copy of a letter from an ingenious man, on the problem which you have honoured with a place in page 67, of your essay. You will find thereby, that what I say, of its puzzling some ingenious men, is true: and you will easily discover by what false steps this gentleman is led into his errour. The letter was communicated to me by the party to whom it was writ, Dr. Quayl. And the writer of the letter, Mr. Edw. Synge, is the author of a little book called The Gentleman’s Religion, which is vended as yours. The gentleman is on a second part, which he will show me, before he sends it to the press. But this is only between ourselves and the bookseller, who has been lately informed of thus much already. For though the book shows not that freedom of thought, as you or I, perhaps, may expect; yet it shows enough to incense his own herd against him; for there is little of mystery or enthusiastic in it, and yet the author is a clergyman. And you know that, in a writer on a religious subject, it is an high offence, even to be silent on those abstruse points. The clergy are not dissatisfied only with those that plainly oppose them, but are enraged also, even at those that omit zealously to advance them; as we have had a late instance in him, that writes against the Reasonableness of Christianity.

I should be mighty glad to hear that Mr. Burridge had set upon translating your essay: I believe he will do it well.

I shall be also very much obliged by any information you give me of whatsoever is done, or doing by yourself, or others, relating to your works, of which there is none a more devoted admirer, than the excellent author’s

Most affectionate, humble servant,

Will. Molyneux.

Edw. Synge

Sept. 6, 1695

Cork

Quayl

MR. SYNGE TO DR. QUAYL.

Dear Sir,

Cork,

Sept. 6, 1695.

MR. MOLYNEUX’s ingenious question, of which you gave me an account at Mr. Lukey’s yesterday, has run so much in my mind ever since, that I could scarce drive it out of my thoughts. To be revenged on you therefore for putting my brains in such a ferment, I have resolved to be so impertinent, as to send you the result of my meditations upon the subject.

The case is this: a man born perfectly blind has a globe and a cube given into his hands, and instructed, as much as he is capable of, in the notion of each of these figures, and the difference between them. Let us now suppose this man suddenly to be endowed with the sense of seeing, and the question is, “Whether, the globe and the cube being placed before his eyes, he would be able, by his sight alone, and without touching them, to tell which was the globe, and which the cube?”

For the better understanding of what I shall say on this question, I desire you to take notice, that I call every notion of any thing, which a man entertains, an idea; but that notion only, which a man entertains of a visible thing, as it is visible, I call an image.

This being premised, I lay down these propositions.

A man born blind may have a true (though perhaps not a perfect) idea of a globe and of a cube, and of some difference, which is between them.

This evidently appears, because he will certainly be able, by his touch, to distinguish them one from the other.

A man who has ever been perfectly blind, and whilst he so remains, can have no image in his mind, either of a cube, or a globe.

This, in my opinion, is very evident, because, there is no passage but the organs of sight (of which we suppose him to be deprived) for such an image to enter: and I take it for granted, that such images are not innate in men’s apprehensions.

Such a man, as soon as he is endowed with the sense of seeing, will immediately have a different image in his mind, of a globe, and of a cube, as they are exposed to his sight.

This must needs be so, if his sight and the organs thereof be such as ours, which we suppose.

And if immediately, upon the sight of the globe and cube, there be grounds enough for such a person clearly to perceive the agreement, and the difference, between his pre-conceived ideas, and newly conceived images of those figures, then may he be able to know which is the globe, and which the cube, without touching them again after he has seen them.

For the agreement which he may find between his idea and his image of a globe, and the difference of the idea of a globe from the image of a cube (“& sic vice versâ”) will be a sufficient direction to him. (If, I say, there be sufficient ground immediately to perceive the said agreement and difference.)

The idea which such a blind man must needs, by his touch alone, form of a globe, will be this, that it is a body which is exactly alike on all sides.

For let him roll it, as often as he will, between his hands, and he can find no manner of difference between the one side and the other.

Part of the idea which such a man must needs, by his touch, conceive of a cube, will be, that it is a body which is not alike in every part of its superficies.

For in one part he feels a smooth flat, in another the sharp point of an angle, and in a third a long ridge, which reaches from one angle to another.

The image, which at the first sight such a man will form of a globe, must needs represent it as a body which is alike on all sides, which consequently must be agreeable to the idea which he before had of it, and different from that idea which he had of a cube.

For turn a globe ten thousand ways, and it still carries the same aspect, if it be all of the same colour, which we now suppose.

The image, which upon the first view such a man will frame of a cube, must needs be this, that it is a body, which is not alike in all the parts of its superficies, which consequently must be agreeable to the idea which before he had of it, and different from that idea which he had of a globe.

For a cube does not carry the same aspect, when it is exposed to our sight in different positions.

Since then the image, which such a man would have of a globe, would be agreeable to the idea which before he had conceived of it, and different from that idea which before he had entertained of a cube (“& sic vice versâ”) it follows, that by his sight alone he might be able to know which was the globe, and which the cube.

I have no more, but to wish you a good journey, and tell you, that if you call me impertinent for sending you my thoughts upon such a speculation, I will retort, and tell that it was yourself who put the question to

Your most affectionate friend, and faithful servant,

Edw. Synge.

Will. Molyneux

March 14, 1695-6

Dublin

Locke

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Sir,

Dublin,

March 14, 1695-6.

AS nothing is more pleasing to me than a letter from you; so my concern is not little, when in so long a time I have wanted that satisfaction; and more especially so, when I have reason to fear it may proceed from your indisposition in health. The last letter I had from Mr. Churchill intimated to me, that you were not well, and I have not yet received any account to the contrary; so that my fears daily increase upon me, and I shall be very uneasy, ‘till I receive the glad tidings of your recovery and safety.

Mr. Lowndes’s book about our coin, and yours against him, (which I understand you have sent me, and for which I most heartily thank you,) are not yet arrived; when they come, you shall hear farther from me concerning them.

I have lately received a letter from Mr. Burridge, who is gone down to his cure in the country; he takes all opportunities of thanking you for the civil reception you gave him; and as it was upon my recommendation, I must also thank you for my share in the favour. He tells me he has read over your essay carefully, and has just set upon the translation thereof; but he has not yet sent me any specimen thereof: when he does, you shall receive it forthwith from me. I doubt not but he will perform it to your satisfaction; there is not a man in Ireland, but himself, for whom I dare promise so boldly in this matter. One thing he intimates to me, which I must needs mention to you, as being so agreeable to the apprehensions I have always had of the excellent author of the essay, to whom I have sometimes presumed to propose it, viz. that he would write a book of offices, or moral philosophy. I give you Mr. Burridge’s own words, who goes on, “The fine strokes which he has frequently in his essay, make me think he would perform it admirably, I wish you would try his inclinations; you may assure him, I will cheerfully undertake the translation of it afterwards.”

Thus you see, sir, how you are attacked on all sides; I doubt not but you have as frequent solicitations from your friends in England. I will, at this time, add nothing more to the troublesome importunity. Only on this occasion I will venture to tell you, that I have a design on Mr. Burridge, to get him, by degrees, to translate all the books you have written, and will give leave for. I am,

Honoured Sir,
Your most affectionate, humble servant,

Will. Molyneux.

John Locke

March 30, 1696

Oates

Molyneux

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX

Sir,

Oates,

March 30, 1696.

THOUGH I have been very ill this winter, not without some apprehensions of my life, yet I am ashamed that either that, or business, that has taken up more of my time than my health could well allow, should keep me so long silent, to a man so kindly concerned to hear from me. It was more than once that I resolved on the next post, but still something or other came between; and I more readily yielded to delays, in hopes to hear something from you, concerning my answer to Mr. Lowndes. If this be a fault in me, it is such an one that I am guilty of to nobody but my friends. Perhaps the running from ceremony, or punctuality, towards those whom I look on as my sure friends, that is, myself, may sometimes carry me a little too far to the other side. But if you disapprove of it, I shall only say, it is an ill effect of a very good cause; and beg you to believe, that I shall never be tardy in writing, speaking or doing, whenever I shall think it may be of any moment to the least interest of yours.

The business of our money has so near brought us to ruin, that, ‘till the plot broke out, it was every body’s talk, every body’s uneasiness. And, because I had played the fool to print about it, there was scarce a post wherein somebody or other did not give me fresh trouble about. But now the parliament has reduced guineas to two-and-twenty shillings a-piece after the 10th instant, and prohibited the receipt of clipped money, after the 4th of May next. The bill has passed both houses, and, I believe, will speedily receive the royal assent. Though I can never bethink any pains, or time of mine, in the service of my country, as far as I may be of any use; yet I must own to you, this, and the like subjects, are not those which I now relish, or that do, with most pleasure, employ my thoughts; and therefore shall not be sorry, if I escape a very honourable employment, with a thousand pounds a year salary annexed to it, to which the king was pleased to nominate me some time since. May I have but quiet and leisure, and a competency of health to perfect some thoughts my mind is sometimes upon, I should desire no more for myself in this world, if one thing were added to it, viz. you in my neighbourhood. You cannot imagine, how much I want such a friend within distance, with whom I could confer freely “de quolibet ente,” and have his sense of my reveries, and his judgment to guide me.

I am ashamed to receive so many thanks for having done so little for a man who came recommended to me by you. I had so little opportunity to show the civility I would have done to Mr. Burridge, that I should not know how to excuse it to you, or him, were not he himself a witness of the perpetual hurry I was in, all the time I was then in town. I doubt not at all of his performance in the translation of my book he has undertaken. He has understanding, and Latin, much beyond those who usually meddle with such works. And I am so well satisfied, both of his ability and your care, that the sending me a specimen I shall look on as more than needs. As to a “treatise of morals,” I must own to you that you are not the only persons (you and Mr. Burridge, I mean) who have been for putting me upon it; neither have I wholly laid by the thoughts of it. Nay, I so far incline to comply with your desires, that I, every now and then, lay by some materials for it, as they occasionally occur, in the rovings of my mind. But when I consider, that a book of offices, as you call it, ought not to be slightly done, especially by me, after what I have said of that science in my essay; and that “nonumque prematur in annum,” is a rule more necessary to be observed in a subject of that consequence, than in any thing Horace speaks of; I am in doubt, whether it would be prudent, in one of my age and health, not to mention other disabilities in me, to set about it. Did the world want a rule, I confess there could be no work so necessary, nor so commendable. But the gospel contains so perfect a body of ethics, that reason may be excused from that inquiry, since she may find man’s duty clearer and easier in revelation, than in herself. Think not this the excuse of a lazy man, though it be, perhaps, of one who, having a sufficient rule for his actions, is content therewith, and thinks he may, perhaps, with more profit to himself, employ the little time and strength he has, in other researches, wherein he finds himself more in the dark.

You put too great a value on my writings, by the design you own on Mr. Burridge, in reference to them. I am not to flatter myself, that, because they had the good luck to pass pretty well here, amongst English readers, that therefore they will satisfy the learned world, and be fit to appear in the learned language. Mr. Wynne’s abstract of my essay is now published, and I have sent order to Mr. Churchill to send you one of them. Thus far in answer to yours of the 14th of March. I come now to that of the 24th of December.

My lord deputy and you did too great honour to the paper I sent you, and to me, upon that account. I know too well the deficiency of my style, to think it deserves the commendations you give it. That which makes my writings tolerable, if any thing, is only this, that I never write for any thing but truth, and never publish any thing to others, which I am not fully persuaded of myself, and do not think that I understand. So that I never have need of false colours to set off the weak parts of an hypothesis, or of obscure expressions, or the assistance of artificial jargon, to cover an errour of my system, or party. Where I am ignorant (for what is our knowledge?) I own it. And though I am not proud of my errours; yet I am always ready and glad to be convinced of any of them. I think there wants nothing, but such a preference of truth to party-interest and vain-glory, to make any body out-do me, in what you seem so much to admire.

Though sir Walter Yonge be an intimate friend of mine, yet I can assure you, I know nothing of those three prints he franked you, and so have no title to any part of your thanks.

I see by Mr. S.’s answer to that which was originally your question, how hard it is for even ingenious men to free themselves from the anticipations of sense. The first step towards knowledge is to have clear and distinct ideas; which I have just reason, every day more and more, to think few men ever have, or think themselves to want; which is one great cause of that infinite jargon and nonsense which so pesters the world. You have a good subject to work on; and therefore, pray let this be your chief care, to fill your son’s head with clear and distinct ideas, and teach him on all occasions, both by practice and rule, how to get them, and the necessity of it. This, together with a mind active and set upon the attaining of reputation and truth, is the true principling of a young man. But to give him a reverence for our opinions, because we taught them, is not to make knowing men, but prattling parrots. I beg your pardon for this liberty; it is an expression of good-will, and not the less so, because not within the precise forms of good-breeding. I am,

Dear Sir,
Your most affectionate, humble servant,

John Locke.

Will. Molyneux

June 6, 1696

Dublin

Locke

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Honoured Sir,

Dublin,

June 6, 1696.

IT is a melancholy thought to me, that since I have had the happiness of your correspondence, there has hardly happened a year, when both you and I have not made it an apology for our long silence, that we have been indisposed in our health; yet it has pleased God, that so it has been, and so it is on my side at present. About four years and a half ago I was first seized by a violent colic, which then so weakened me, that, to this time, I lie so far under the effects thereof, as upon any cold to be very apt to relapse into the same. And so it has been with me, for a while past; but now, God be thanked, I am again well recovered. I had not otherwise so long deferred my answer to yours of March the 30th, which, after a long silence, brought me the assurance of your health, and therewith no small satisfaction; having, before that, entertained some painful thoughts of your indisposition, from some rumours I had heard. But, I find, heaven is not yet so angry with us, as to take you from amongst us.

And now I most heartily congratulate you, both on the recovery of your health, and on the honourable preferment you have lately received from his majesty. In your writings concerning money, you have given such demonstrative proofs of your reach, even in the business of the world, that I should have wondered, had the king overlooked you. And I do as much wonder, that, after what you have published on that subject, there should remain the least doubt with any man, concerning that matter. But, I fancy, it is only those who are prejudiced by their interest, that seem to be dissatisfied; such as bankers, &c. who made a prey of the people’s ignorance in this great affair. But, I think, you have cleared up the mystery, and made it so plain to all men’s capacities, that England will never again fall into the like inconveniencies. ‘Till you writ, we used money as the Indians do their wampompeek; it served us well enough for buy ng and selling, and we were content and heeded it no farther; but for the intimate nature, affections, and properties thereof, we did no more understand them than the Indians their shells.

I have read over Mr. Wynne’s abridgment of your essay. But I must confess to you, I was never more satisfied with the length of your essay, than since I have seen this abridgment; which, though done justly enough, yet falls so short of that spirit, which every-where shows itself in the original, that nothing can be more different. To one already versed in the essay, the abridgment serves as a good remembrancer: but, I believe, let a man, wholly unacquainted with the former, begin to read the latter, and he will not so well relish it. So that, how desirous soever I might have formerly been, of seeing your essay put into the form of a logic for the schools, I am now fully satisfied I was in an errour; and must freely confess to you, that I wish Mr. Wynne’s abridgment had been yet undone. That strength of thought and expression, that every-where reigns throughout your works, makes me sometimes wish them twice as long.

I find, by some little pieces I have lately met with, that you are the reputed author of the Reasonableness of Christianity; whether it be really so, or not, I will not presume to inquire, because there is no name to the book; this only I will venture to say, on that head, that whoever is the author, or vindicator thereof, he has gotten as weak an adversary in Mr. Edwards to deal with, as a man could wish; so much unmannerly passion, and billingsgate language, I have not seen any man use. In so much, that were Mr. Edwards to defend the best cause in the world, should he do it in that manner, he would spoil it. Were an angel of heaven to justify a truth, with virulence and heat, he would not prevail.

And now, my ever honoured friend, with much reluctance, I am to tell you, that I cannot be so happy this summer as to see you in England. It is needless to trouble you with a long detail of the reasons hereof; but what between my own private affairs, and a little place I have in the public, so it is, and I cannot help it. But as a small repair to myself of this disappointment, I shall beg the favour of you to admit a young gentleman, whom I shall send to you within a while, only to look on you, and afterwards look on a picture of yours, which I hear is at Mr. Churchill’s. The young gentleman’s name is Howard, a modest and ingenious youth, and excellently skilled both in the judicious and practical part of painting: for his advancement wherein, he is now kept at London, and designs soon for Italy. He is the eldest brother to my brother’s wife, of a good fortune and family. If, by his report, I understand that that picture of yours at Mr. Churchill’s be an excellent piece, and like you, he will procure it to be finely copied for me, and I may save you the trouble of sitting; but if it prove otherwise, and be not worth copying, I will then make it my request to you, that, at your leisure, you would spare me so many hours time, as to sit for such a hand as Mr. Howard shall procure to take your picture. This I thought fit to intimate to you before hand, that when he waits on you, you may be forewarned of his business.

I doubt not but, by this time, you have heard of our lord deputy Capel’s death. We are now under a most unsettled government, and our eyes are fixed on England for relief. Some here wish for your noble patron, my lord Pembroke; and go so far as to say, that he will be the man. I am confident we should be happy under one that favoured you; and if there be any thing in this report, you would highly favour me, by letting his lordship know, that here he will find me, amongst several others, that are your admirers; for that I reckon the most advantageous character I can come, recommended under, to his lordship.

Mr. Burridge has been lately so taken up with his ecclesiastic affairs in the country, that (as he writes me word) he has hitherto made but little farther progress in the translation of the essay, but he promises now to set about it earnestly. I wish you would give me your free opinion of what I have already sent you thereof.

I fear your public business will, in some measure, take you off from your more retired thoughts, by which the world were gainers every day. But, good sir, let me intreat you, that, at your leisure hours, you would think on, and send a line to

Your most affectionate, and humble servant,

Will. Molyneux.

John Locke

July 2, 1696

London

Molyneux

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

Sir,

London,

July 2, 1696.

I CANNOT, without great trouble, hear of any indisposition of yours: your friendship, which heaven has bestowed on me, as one of the greatest blessings I can enjoy, for the remainder of my life, is what I value at so high a rate, that I cannot consider myself within danger of losing a person, every way so dear to me, without very great uneasiness of mind.

Thus far I got, when I sat down to write to you, about a month since, as you will see by the date at the top; business, and a little excursion into the country, has hindered me ever since. Were you a man I only cared to talk with, out of civility, I should sooner answer your letters. But, not contenting myself with such formal correspondence with you, I cannot find in my heart to begin writing to you, ‘till I think I shall have time to talk a great deal, and pour out my mind to a man, to whom I make sure I can do it with freedom; his candour and friendship allow that, and I find I know not what pleasure in doing it. I promised myself abundance of pleasure this summer, in seeing you here, and the disappointment is one of the most sensible I could have met with, in my private concerns; and the occasion, that robbed me of that satisfaction, frights me. I have, I thank God, now as much health, as my constitution will allow me to expect. But yet, if I will think like a reasonable man, the flattery of my summer vigour ought not to make me count beyond the next winter, at any time for the future. The last sat so heavy upon me, that it was with difficulty I got through it; and you will not blame me, if I have a longing to see and embrace a man I esteem and love so much, before I leave this silly earth; which, when the conveniencies of life are moderately provided for, has nothing of value in it equal to the conversation of a knowing, ingenious, and large-minded friend, who sincerely loves and seeks truth.

When I took pen in hand to continue this letter, I had yours of March and June last before me, with a design to answer them. But my pen run on, as you see, before I could get leave of my forward thoughts, to come to what was my chief business, viz. to read again and answer those kind letters of yours.

That of March 28, brought me a sample of Mr. Burridge’s translation: upon my reading of it, I began to correct it after my fashion, and intended to have gone through that, and so all the rest of the sheets, as they came to my hand: but some other more pressing occasion interrupted me, and now I am past all hopes to have any leisure at all to do any thing more to it in that kind, and must wholly leave it to his and your care. When I say your care, I do not make so ill an use of your kindness, as to expect you should look it over and correct it; but I doubt not but you have such an interest in your college, that you can have the assistance of some able man there to do it. The subject itself, and my way of expressing my thoughts upon them, may, I doubt not, but be very different from the genius of the Latin tongue, and therefore I should not think it amiss, if Mr. Burridge would take more liberty to quit the scheme and phrase of my style, and so he takes but my sense, to comply more with the turn and manner of Tully’s philosophical language. For so he has but my sense, I care not how much he neglects my words; and whether he expresses my thoughts, you are as good judge as I, for I think you as much master of them. I say this to excuse you from the trouble of sending his papers over to me, as he dispatches them; for in my present circumstances I shall hardly have time so much as to peruse them. Pray, when you see, or send to him, give him my humble service.

Though your colic has done me no small prejudice, yet I am much more angry with it, upon the account of those inconveniencies it has made you suffer. I know you are in skilful, as well as careful hands, under the care of your brother, and it could not be advisable in any one to draw you from them. The colic is so general a name for pains in the lower belly, that I cannot from thence pretend to make any judgment of your case; but it can be no harm to advise you to ask him, whether he does not think that the drinking of our Bath waters may be useful to you in your case. I know those waters mightily strengthen those parts.

Your congratulation to me I take, as you meant, kindly and seriously, and it may be it is what another would rejoice in: but, if you would give me leave to whisper truth without vanity, in the ear of a friend, it is a preferment which I shall get nothing by, and I know not whether my country will, though that I shall aim at with all my endeavours.

Riches may be instrumental to so many good purposes, that it is, I think, vanity, rather than religion or philosophy, to pretend to contemn them. But yet they may be purchased too dear. My age and health demand a retreat from bustle and business, and the pursuit of some inquiries, I have in my thoughts, makes it more desirable than any of those rewards, which public employments tempt people with. I think the little I have enough, and do not desire to live higher, or die richer than I am. And therefore you have reason rather to pity the folly, than congratulate the fortune, that engages me in the whirlpool.

It is your pre-occupation, in favour of me, that makes you say what you do of Mr. Wynne’s abridgment; I know not, whether it be that, or any thing else, that has occasioned it; but I was told some time since, that my essay began to get some credit in Cambridge, where I think, for some years after it was published, it was scarce so much as looked into. But now I have some reason to think it is a little more favourably received there, by these two questions held there this last commencement; viz. “Probabile est animam non semper cogitare:” and, “Idea Dei non est innata.”

What you say of the Reasonableness of Christianity, gives me occasion to ask your thoughts of that treatise, and also how it passes amongst you there; for here, at its first coming out, it was received with no indifferency, some speaking of it with great commendation, but most censuring it as a very bad book. What you say of Mr. Edwards is so visible, that I find all the world of your mind.

This is now a third sitting before I finish this letter, whereby, I fear, I shall give you an ill picture of myself. By the reading of the next paragraph of your obliging letter of June 6, I am mightily comforted to find that it is not want of health (as it run in my head by a strong impression, I found remained in my mind, from the colic mentioned in the beginning of your letter) but business, that keeps me this year from the happiness of your company. This is much more tolerable to me than the other, and though I suffer by it, yet I can bear it the better, whilst there is room to hope it may be such, that both you and your country may receive advantage by it. Mr. Howard, whom I was resolving yesterday morning to inquire after, prevented me by a visit he made me, wherein he gave me an account he had received a letter from you, since his return from Cambridge. That which you desire of me, as the chief reason of affording me his acquaintance, is what I cannot refuse, and yet it causes in me some confusion to grant. If the original could do you any service, I shall be glad; but to think my picture worth your having, would carry too much vanity with it, to allow my consent, did not the skill of the painter often make amends for the meanness of the subject, and a good pencil frequently make the painted representation of more value than the real substance. This may probably be my case. Mr. Howard is a very pretty young gentleman, and I thank you for his acquaintance. I wish it lay in my power to do him any service, whilst he is here. If the length of my letter could be an excuse for the slowness of its coming, I have certainly made a very ample apology; though I satisfy myself neither in being silent so long, nor in tiring you with talking so much now; but it is from an heart wholly devoted to you. I am,

SIR,
Your most affectionate humble servant,

John Locke.

Aug. 4, 1696.

John Locke

12 Sept. 1696

London

Molyneux

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

Sir,

London,

12 Sept. 1696.

COULD the painter have made a picture of me, capable of your conversation, I should have sat to him with more delight, than ever I did any thing in my life. The honour you do me, in giving me thus a place in your house, I look upon as the effect of having a place already in your esteem and affection; and that made me more easily submit to what methought looked too much like vanity in me. Painting was designed to represent the gods, or the great men that stood next to them. But friendship, I see, takes no measure of any thing, but by itself: and where it is great and high, will make its object so, and raise it above its level. This is that which has deceived you into my picture, and made you put so great a compliment upon me; and I do not know what you will find to justify yourself to those who shall see it in your possession. You may, indeed, tell them the original is as much yours as the picture; but this will be no great boast, when the man is not more considerable than his shadow. When I looked upon it, after it was done, methought it had not that countenance I ought to accost you with. I know not whether the secret displeasure I felt whilst I was sitting, from the consideration that the going of my picture brought us no nearer together, made me look grave: but this I must own, that it was not without regret, that I remembered that this counterfeit would be before me, with the man, that I so much desired to be with, and could not tell him, how much I longed to put myself into his hands, and to have him in my arms. One thing pray let it mind you of, and when you look on it at any time, pray believe, that the colours of that face on the cloth, are more fading and changeable than those thoughts, which will always represent you to my mind, as the most valuable person in the world, whose face I do not know, and one whose company is so desirable to me, that I shall not be happy till I do.

Though I know how little service I am able to do; yet my conscience will never reproach me, for not wishing well to my country, by which I mean Englishmen, and their interest every-where. There has been, of late years, a manufacture of linen, carried on in Ireland, if I mistake not; I would be glad to learn from you the condition it is in; and if it thrives not, what are the rubs and hindrances that stop it. I suppose you have land very proper to produce flax and hemp, why could there not be enough, especially of the latter, produced there to supply his majesty’s navy? I should be obliged by your thoughts about it, and how it might be brought about. I have heard there is a law requiring a certain quantity of hemp to be sown every year: if it be so, how comes it to be neglected? I know you have the same public aims for the good of your country that I have, and therefore without any apology, I take this liberty with you. I received an account of your health, and your remembrance of me, not long since, by Mr. Howard, for which I return you my thanks. I troubled you with a long letter about the begining of the last month, and am,

SIR,
Your most affectionate, and most humble servant,

John Locke.

Will. Molyneux

Sept. 26, 1696

Dublin

Locke

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Honoured Sir,

Dublin,

Sept. 26, 1696.

I HAVE now before me two of yours, one of August the 4th, and t’other of the 12th instant. I had sooner answered the former, but that I waited to give you an account of the farther progress of the translation, which Mr. Burridge faithfully promised me; and I lately understand from him, that he has gone through the three chapters of the first book. I must confess his avocations are many, and therefore his progress is not so quick as I could desire. But I am sure he will accomplish it, and that well too; and Mr. Churchill has told him that you say, “sat cito, si sat bene;” and he is very well pleased, that you give him time.

I do not wonder that your essay is received in the universities. I should indeed have wondered with indignation at the contrary; “magna est veritas & prævalebit.” We may expect a liberty of philosophizing in the schools: but that your doctrine should be soon heard out of our pulpits, is what is much more remarkable. He that, even ten years ago, should have preached, that “idea Dei non est innata,” had certainly drawn on him the character of an atheist; yet now we find Mr. Bentley very large upon it, in his sermons at Mr. Boyle’s lectures, serm. 1. , and serm. 3. , and Mr. Whiston, in his new theory of the earth, .

Mentioning these books minds me to intimate to you, that these ingenious authors agree exactly with you, in a passage you have in your thoughts of education, , 3d edit. § 192. “That the phenomenon of gravitation cannot be accounted for, by mere matter and motion, but seems an immediate law of the divine will so ordering it.” And you conclude that section thus, “reserving to a fitter opportunity, a fuller explication of this hypothesis, and the application of it to all the parts of the deluge, and any difficulties can be supposed in the history of the flood.” This seems to imply, that you have some thoughts of writing on that subject; it would be a mighty satisfaction to me, to know from you the certainty thereof. I should be very glad also to hear what the opinion of the ingenious is concerning Mr. Whiston’s book.

As to the “Reasonableness of Christianity,” I do not find but it is well approved of here, amongst candid unprejudiced men, that dare speak their thoughts. I’ll tell you what a very learned and ingenious prelate said to me on that occasion: I asked him whether he had read that book, and how he liked it; he told me, very well; and that if my friend Mr. Locke writ it, it was the best book he ever laboured at; but, says he, if I should be known to think so, I should have my lawns torn from my shoulders. But he knew my opinion aforehand, and was, therefore, the freer to commit his secret thoughts in that matter to me.

I am very sorry I can give you no better an account of the linen manufactures of late years set up in Ireland than what follows:

About the year 1692 (I think) one Mons. Du Pin came to Dublin from England, and here, by the king and queen’s letter and patents thereon, he set up a royal corporation for carrying on the linen manufacture in Ireland. Into this corporation many of the nobility and gentry were admitted, more for their countenance and favour to the project, than for any great help could be expected either from their purses or heads, to carry on the work. Du Pin himself was nominated under-governor, and a great bustle was made about the business; many meetings were held, and considerable sums advanced to forward the work, and the members promised themselves prodigious gains; and this expectation prevailed so far (by what artifices I cannot tell) as to raise the value of each share to 40 or 50 pounds, though but five pounds was paid by each member at first, for every share he had. At length artificers began to set at work, and some parcels of cloth were made, when on a sudden there happened some controversy between the corporation here in Ireland, and such another corporation established in England by London undertakers, and in which Du Pin was also a chief member. Much time was lost in managing this dispute, and the work began in the mean time to flag, and the price of the shares to lower mightily.

But, some little time before this controversy happened, some private gentlemen and merchants, on their own stock, without the authority of an incorporating patent, set up a linen manufacture at Drogheda, which promised, and thrived very well at first; and the corporation of Dublin, perceiving this, began to quarrel with them also, and would never let them alone till they embodied with them. These quarrels and controversies (the particulars whereof I can give you no account of, for I was not engaged amongst them, and I can get no one that was, who can give any tolerable account of them; I say they) grew so high, and Du Pin began to play such tricks, that all were discouraged, and withdrew as fast as they could. So that now all is blown up, and nothing of this kind is carried on, but by such as out of their own private purses set up looms and bleaching-yards. We have many of these in many parts of Ireland; and I believe no country in the world is better adapted for it, especially the north. I have as good diaper, made by some of my tenants, nigh Armagh, as can come to a table, and all other cloth for household uses.

As to the law for the encouraging the linen manufacture, it is this: In the 17th and 18th of Car. II. there was an act of Parliament made, “obliging all landlords and tenants to sow such a certain proportion of their holdings with flax, under a great penalty on both, on failure; and impowering the sheriffs to levy 20 pounds, in each of their respective counties, to be distributed at the quarter sessions, yearly, to the three persons who should bring in the three best webs of linen cloth, of such a length and breadth, 10l. to the first, 6l. to the second, and 4l. to the third.” This, whilst it lasted, was a great encouragement to the country people, to strive to out-do each other, and it produced excellent cloth all over the kingdom; but then it was but temporary, only for twenty years from passing the act, and is now expired. But that part of the act, “ordaining landlords and tenants to sow flax,” is perpetual; and I can give no reason why it is not executed; only this I can say, that the transgression is so universal, and the forfeiture thereon to the king is so severe, that if it were inquired into, I believe all the estates in Ireland would be forfeited to his majesty. So that now the multitude of sinners is their security. This statute you will find amongst the Irish acts, 17 & 18 Car. II. cha.

England, most certainly, will never let us thrive by the woollen trade; this is their darling mistress, and they are jealous of any rival. But I see not that we interfere with them, in the least, by the linen trade. So that that is yet left open to us to grow rich by, if it were well established and managed; but by what means this should be, truly I dare not venture to give my thoughts. There is no country has better land, or water, for flax and hemp, and I do verily believe the navy may be provided here, with sailing and cordage, cheaper by far than in England. Our land is cheaper, victuals for workmen is cheaper, and labour is cheaper, together with other necessaries for artificers.

I know not in what manner to thank you for the trouble you have been at, in sitting for your picture, on my account. It is a favour of that value, that I acknowledge myself extremely obliged to you for; and therefore I could not think that the expressions concerning it in your last belonged to me, did they come from one less sincere than yourself. “Painting, it is true, was designed to represent the gods and the great men, that stand next them;” and therefore it was, that I desired your picture. This, sir, is the real and sincere thought of

Your most obliged humble servant,

Will. Molyneux.

Jan. 5, 1696-7

Dublin

Locke

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Sir,

Dublin,

Jan. 5, 1696-7.

IT is now three months since I ventured to trouble you with a letter; you may see thereby that I have a regard to the public business you are engaged in; but I have not been all this while without the satisfaction of hearing that you are well; for, as all my friends know, that I have the most respectful concern for you in the world; so they are not wanting, on all opportunities, from t’other side the water, to give me the acceptable tidings of your welfare. I have lately received a letter from Mr. Howard, that obliges me to make his acknowledgments for the favours he has received from you. This I can hardly do, without complaining of him at the same time, for not yet sending me your picture; but I suppose by this time, it is on the road hither, and I forgive him; and with all gratitude imaginable, return you my thanks on his account.

The enclosed piece of natural history I am desired by my brother to present to you, with his most affectionate humble service. If, upon perusing it, you think it may deserve it, you may send it by the penny-post to the Royal Society, to fill up an empty page in the Transactions. There is nothing to recommend it but its being exactly true, and an account of a non-descript animal. Formerly I had a constant correspondence with the secretary of the society, but of late it has failed; and therefore we take the liberty of sending this through your hands.

I have lately met with a book here of Mons. Le Clerc’s, called The Causes of Incredulity, done out of French. It is the same Le Clerc that writes Ontologia, and dedicates it to you. I find thereby you are his acquaintance and friend; I should be very glad you would be pleased to give me some account of that gentleman, and his circumstances in the world, if you know them. To me he seems an impartial and candid inquirer after truth, and to have the true spirit of christianity in that his book. The reason why I inquire after him, is, because I suppose him one of the refugees from France, and perhaps he may receive some encouragement to come into this kingdom. I am,

SIR,
Your most affectionate servant,

Will. Molyneux.

Feb. 3, 1696-7

Dublin

Locke

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Sir,

Dublin,

Feb. 3, 1696-7.

AS I had reason to rejoice on the nation’s account, when you were first put on public business; so I find, on my own particular, I had cause to lament; for since that time (to my great concern) your letters have been less frequent, and the satisfaction I had in them abundantly diminished. Were I assured of the confirmed state of your health, I could more patiently submit to this; but knowing your sickly disposition, a month’s silence puts me in pain for you; and I am very uneasy under the apprehensions of any danger that may attend you. Favour me, therefore, good sir, though it were but a line or two, in the crowd of your business; for that itself would be some contentment to me, in the want of those noble philosophical thoughts which sometimes you were pleased to communicate to me.

And now, sir, I shall beg a favour of you a little out of our common road of correspondence. We have here lately received the certainty of Mr. Methwin’s being declared our lord chancellor; and truly, sir, all moderate and good men, I find, are very well pleased at it. I suppose, by your interest and acquaintance with my lord keeper of England, you have an acquaintance likewise with Mr. Methwin; and I beg the favour of you to mention me to him as your devoted friend and servant. I am sure, if he knows you rightly, I cannot be represented to him under a more advantageous character: and I know this will give me admittance to his graces, which I desire more, as I hear he is a good, than a great man; and, being one of the masters in chancery here, it is natural to covet the favour of him under whom I am to act.

I have lately met with a book of the bishop of Worcester’s concerning the Trinity. He takes occasion therein to reflect on some things in your Essay; but truly, I think, with no great strength of reason. However, he being a man of great name, I humbly propose it to you, whether you may not judge it worth your while to take notice of what he says, and give some answer to it, which will be no difficult task. I do not intend hereby, that an answer, on purpose for that end only, should be framed by you; I think it not of that moment; but perhaps you may find some accidental occasion of taking notice thereof, either in the next edition of your Essay, or some other discourse you may publish hereafter.

I have not yet received the satisfaction of having your likeness before me, and have therefore lately writ a very discontented letter about it to Mr. Howard. A great man here told me, I something resembled you in countenance; could he but assure me of being like you in mind too, it would have been the eternal honour and boast of

Your most devoted humble servant, and
entirely affectionate friend,

Will. Molyneux.

I find, by a book I lately light on, of Mr. Norris’s, that Mr. Masham and my son agree in one odd circumstance of life, of having both their mothers blind; for my wife lost her sight above twelve years before she died, and I find lady Masham is in the same condition.

John Locke

22 Feb. 1696-7

Oates

Molyneux

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

Sir,

Oates,

22 Feb. 1696-7.

I FEAR you will be of an opinion, that I take my picture for myself, and think you ought to look no farther, since that is coming to you, or is already with you. Indeed we are shadows much alike, and there is not much difference in our strength and usefulness. Yet I cannot but remember, that I cannot expect my picture should answer your letters to me, pay the acknowledgments I owe you, and excuse a silence as great as if I were nothing but a piece of cloth overlayed with colours. I could lay a great deal of the blame on business, and a great deal on want of health. Between these two I have had little leisure since I writ to you last. But all that will bear no excuse to myself, for being three letters in arrear to a person whom I the willingliest hear from of any man in the world, and with whom I had rather entertain myself, and pass my hours in conversation, than with any one that I know. I should take it amiss if you were not angry with me for not writing to you all this while; for I should suspect you loved me not so well as I love you, if you could patiently bear my silence. I hope it is your civility makes you not chide me. I promise you, I should have grumbled cruelly at you, if you had been half so guilty as I have been. But if you are angry a little, pray be not so very much; for if you should provoke me any way, I know the first sight of a letter from you, would allay all my choler immediately; and the joy of hearing you were well, and that you continued your kindness to me, would fill my mind, and leave me no other passion. For I tell you truly, that since the receipt of your letter in September last, there has scarce a day passed, I am sure not a post, wherein I have not thought of my obligation and debt to you, and resolved to acknowledge it to you, though something or other has still come between to hinder me. For you would have pitied me, to see how much of my time was forced from me this winter in the country, (where my illness confined me within doors,) by crouds of letters, which were therefore indispensably to be answered, because they were from people whom either I knew not, or cared not for, or was not willing to make bold with; and so you, and another friend I have in Holland, have been delayed, and put last, because you are my friends beyond ceremony and formality. And I reserved myself for you when I was at leisure, in the ease of thoughts to enjoy. For, that you may not think you have been passed over by a peculiar neglect, I mention to you another very good friend of mine, of whom I have now by me a letter, of an ancienter date than the first of your three, yet unanswered.

However you are pleased, out of kindness to me, to rejoice in yours of September 26, that my notions have had the good luck to be vented from the pulpit, and particularly by Mr. Bentley; yet that matter goes not so clear as you imagine. For a man of no small name, as you know Dr. S —— is, has been pleased to declare against my doctrine of no innate ideas, from the pulpit in the Temple, and as I have been told, charged it with little less than atheism. Though the doctor be a great man, yet that would not much fright me, because I am told, that he is not always obstinate against opinions which he has condemned more publicly, than in an harangue to a Sunday’s auditory. But that it is possible he may be firm here, because it is also said, he never quits his aversion to any tenet he has once declared against, ‘till change of times, bringing change of interest, and fashionable opinions open his eyes and his heart, and then he kindly embraces what before deserved his aversion and censure. My book crept into the world about six or seven years ago, without any opposition, and has since passed amongst some for useful, and, the least favourable, for innocent. But, as it seems to me, it is agreed by some men that it should no longer do so. Something, I know not what, is at last spied out in it, that is like to be troublesome, and therefore it must be an ill book, and be treated accordingly. It is not that I know any thing in particular, but some things that have happened at the same time together, seem to me to suggest this: What it will produce, time will show. But as you say in that kind letter, “Magna est veritas & prævalebit;” that keeps me at perfect ease in this, and whatever I write; for as soon as I shall discover it not to be truth, my hand shall be the forwardest to throw it in the fire.

You desire to know, what the opinion of the ingenious is, concerning Mr. Whiston’s book. I have not heard any one of my acquaintance speak of it, but with great commendation, as I think it deserves. And truly I think he is more to be admired, that he has laid down an hypothesis, whereby he has explained so many wonderful, and, before, inexplicable things in the great changes of this globe, than that some of them should not go easily down with some men, when the whole was entirely new to all. He is one of those sort of writers, that I always fancy should be most esteemed and encouraged. I am always for the builders who bring some addition to our knowledge, or, at least, some new thing to our thoughts. The finders of faults, the confuters and pullers down, do not only erect a barren and useless triumph upon human ignorance, but advance us nothing in the acquisition of truth. Of all the mottos I ever met with, this, writ over a waterwork at Cleve, best pleased me, “Natura omnes fecit judices, paucos artifices.”

I thank you for the account you gave me of your linen manufacture. Private knavery, I perceive, does there as well as here destroy all public good works, and forbid the hope of any advantages by them, where nature plentifully offers what industry would improve, were it but rightly directed, and duly cherished. The corruption of the age gives me so ill a prospect of any success in designs of this kind, ever so well laid, that I am not sorry my ill health gives me so just a reason to desire to be eased of the employment I am in.

Yours of the fifth of January, which brought with it that curious and exact description of that non-descript animal, found me here under the confinement of my ill lungs; but knowing business of several kinds would make it necessary for me to go to London as soon as possible, I thought it better to carry it thither myself, than send it at random to the Royal Society. Accordingly when I went up to town, about a fortnight since, I showed it to Dr. Sloane, and put it in his hands to be communicated to the Royal Society; which he willingly undertook; and I promise myself it will be published in their next Transactions. Dr. Sloane is a very ingenious man, and a very good friend of mine; and, upon my telling him that your correspondence with the secretary of the society had been of late interrupted, he readily told me, that, if you pleased, he would take it up, and be very glad if you would allow him the honour of a constant correspondence with you.

You show your charitable and generous temper, in what you say concerning a friend of mine in Holland, who is truly all that you think of him. He is married there, and has some kind of settlement; but I could be glad if you in Ireland, or I here, (though of the latter say nothing to others,) could get him a prebendary of 100 or 200l. per annum, to bring him over into our church, and to give him ease, and a sure retreat to write in, where, I think, he might be of great use to the Christian world. If you could do this, you would offer him a temptation would settle him amongst us; if you think you cannot, I am nevertheless obliged to you, for offering to one, whom you take to be a friend of mine, what you are able. If he should miss the effect, yet I have still the obligation to you.

When yours of the 3rd instant met me in London, when I was there lately, I was rejoiced at my journey, though I was uneasy in town, because I thought my being there, might give me an opportunity to do you some little service, or at least show you my willingness to do it. To that purpose I went twice or thrice to wait upon Mr. Methwin, though he be a person, in whose company I remember not that I was ever but once in my life. I missed him, by good luck, both times; and my distemper increased so fast upon me, that though I went to London with an intention to make some stay there, yet I was forced away in eight days, and had not an opportunity to see Mr. Methwin at all. You will, perhaps, wonder to hear me call my missing of him, good luck; but so I must always call that which any way favours my design of serving you, as this did. For hereupon I applied myself to a friend of mine, who has an interest in him, and one to whom your worth and friendship to me are not unknown, who readily undertook all I desired on your behalf. And I promise myself, from thence, that you will find Mr. Methwin will be as desirous of your acquaintance, as you are of his.

You will, in a little time, see that I have obeyed, or rather anticipated a command of yours, towards the latter end of your last letter. What sentiments I have of the usage I have received from the person you there mention, I shall shortly more at large acquaint you. What he says, is, as you observe, not of that moment much to need an answer; but the sly design of it I think necessary to oppose; for I cannot allow any one’s great name a right to use me ill. All fair contenders for the opinions they have, I like mightily; but there are so few that have opinions, or at least seem, by their way of defending them, to be really persuaded of the opinions they profess, that I am apt to think there is in the world a great deal more scepticism, or at least want of concern for truth, than is imagined. When I was in town I had the happiness to see Mr. Burridge; he is, he says, speedily returning to you, where I hope his book, which is received with great applause, will procure him something more solid than the name it has got him here; which I look upon as a good forerunner of greater things to come. He spoke something of his intention to set about my book, but that I must leave to you and him. There is lately fallen into my hand a paper of Mons. L —— , writ to a gentleman here in England, concerning several things in my Essay. I was told, when I was in London, that he had lately ordered his correspondent to communicate them to me, and something else he has since writ hither. He treats me all along with great civility, and more compliment than I can deserve. And being, as he is, a very great man, it is not for me to say there appears to me no great weight in the exceptions he makes to some passages in my book; but his great name and knowledge in all parts of learning, ought to make me think, that a man of his parts says nothing but what has great weight in it; only I suspect he has, in some places, a little mistaken my sense, which is easy for a stranger, who has (as I think) learned English out of England. The servant I have now cannot copy French, or else you should see what he says: when I have all his papers you shall hear farther from me. I repine, as often as I think of the distance between this and Dublin.

I read that passage of your letter to my lady Masham which concerned her sight; she bid me tell you, that she hopes to see you here this summer. You will, possibly, wonder at the miracle, but that you must find in Mr. Norris’s book. She has, it is true, but weak eyes, which Mr. Norris, for reasons he knew best, was resolved to make blind ones. And having fitted his epistle to that supposition, could not be hindered from publishing it so; though my lady, to prevent it, writ him word that she was not blind, and hoped she never should be. It is a strange power, you see, we authors take to ourselves; but there is nothing more ordinary, than for us to make whomsoever we will blind, and give them out to the world for such, as boldly as Bayard himself. But it is time to spare you and your eyes. I am, with the utmost respect and sincerity,

SIR,
Your most humble and most affectionate servant,

John Locke.

Will. Molyneux

March 16, 1696-7

Dublin

Locke

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Dublin,

March 16, 1696-7.

I MUST confess, dear sir, I have not lately (if ever in my life) been under a greater concern, than at your long silence. Sometimes I was angry with myself, but I could not tell why; and then I was apt to blame you, but I could less tell why. As your silence continued my distraction increased; till, at last, I was happily relieved by yours of the 22d of February, which came not to my hands till the 10th instant. I then perceived I was to charge some part of my troubled time to the conveyance of your letter, which was almost three weeks on its way hither; and that which added to my concern was, the want of even your shadow before me, for to this moment I have not received that, which will be apt, on its appearance, to make me an idolater. Mr. Howard writes me word, he has sent it from London about five weeks ago; but I hear nothing of it from our correspondent, to whom it is consigned in Chester. However, seeing I know the substance to be in safety, and well, I can bear the hazard of the shadow with some patience, and doubt not but my expectation will be satisfied in due time.

Both Whiston and Bentley are positive against the idea of God being innate; and I had rather rely on them (if I would rely on any man) than on Dr. S —— . It is true, the latter has a great name, but that, I am sure, weighs not with you or me. Besides, you rightly observe, the doctor is no obstinate heretic, but may veer about when another opinion comes in fashion; for some men alter their notions as they do their clothes, in compliance to the mode. I have heard of a master of the Temple, who during the siege of Limerick, writ over hither to a certain prelate, to be sure to let him know, by the first opportunity, whenever it came to be surrendered, which was done accordingly; and immediately the good doctor’s eyes were opened, and he plainly saw the oaths to K. William and Q. Mary were not only expedient but lawful, and our duty. A good roaring train of artillery is not only the “ratio ultima regum,” but of other men besides.

I fancy I pretty well guess what it is that some men find mischievous in your Essay: it is opening the eyes of the ignorant, and rectifying the methods of reasoning, which perhaps may undermine some received errours, and so abridge the empire of darkness; wherein, though the subjects wander deplorably, yet the rulers have their profit and advantage. But it is ridiculous in any man to say in general your book is dangerous; let any fair contender for truth sit down and show wherein it is erroneous. Dangerous is a word of an uncertain signification; every one uses it in his own sense. A papist shall say it is dangerous; because, perhaps, it agrees not so well with transubstantiation; and a lutheran, because his consubstantiation is in hazard; but neither consider, whether transubstantiation or consubstantiation be true or false; but taking it for granted that they are true, or at least gainful, whatever hits not with it, or is against it, must be dangerous.

I am extremely obliged to you for your introducing a correspondence between Dr. Sloane and me, and it would be the greatest satisfaction imaginable to me, could I but promise myself materials, in this place, fit to support it. However I shall soon begin it, by sending him an account of the largest quadruped that moves on the earth, except the elephant, with which this country has anciently been plentifully stocked, but are now quite perished from amongst us, and is not to be found, for aught as I can learn, any where at present, but about New England, Virginia, &c.

And now I come to that part of your letter relating to Mons. Le Clerc, which grieves me every time I think on it. There are so many difficulties, in what you propose concerning him, that I know not how they will be surmounted. The clergy here have given that learned, pious, and candid man, a name that will frighten any bishop from serving him, though otherwise inclinable enough in his own breast. I know but two or three that are in any post in the church capable to help him; on whom I could rely to do it; but, at the same time, I know them to be such cautious wary men, and so fearful of the censure of the rest of the tribe, that they would hardly be brought to it. I take Mons. Le Clerc to be one of the greatest scholars in Europe; I look on him as one of the most judicious, pious and sincere Christians that has appeared publicly; and it would be an infinite honour to us, to have him amongst us, but, I fear, an ecclesiastical preferment will be very difficult to be obtained for him. And indeed, when I troubled you to give me some account of him, it was in prospect of bringing him into my own family, could his circumstances have allowed it; for I took him to be a single man, and one of the refugees in Holland, and wholly unprovided for. On his own account, I am heartily glad he has any settlement there; but, for my own sake, I could wish he were in other circumstances. But, notwithstanding these difficulties, I have ventured to break this matter to a clergyman here in a considerable post, Dr. ………. dean of ………, a gentleman who is happy in your acquaintance, and is a person of an extensive charity and great candour. He relished the thing extremely, but moved the forementioned difficulties, and raised some farther scruples concerning Mr. Le Clerc’s ordination; for ordained he must necessarily be, to capacitate him for an ecclesiastical preferment; and he questioned whether he would submit to those oaths, and subscription of assent and consent, that are requisite thereto. But he promised me that when he attends the king this summer into Holland, as his chaplain, he will wait on Mons. Le Clerc at Amsterdam, and discourse with him farther about this matter. This gentleman is the likeliest ecclesiastic in Ireland to effect this business, for he is a rising man in the church; and though he be very zealous in his own principles, yet it is with the greatest charity and deference to others; which, I think, is the true spirit of Christianity. I have not mentioned you in the least to him, in all this matter.

I am extremely obliged to you for the good offices you have done me to Mr. Methwin our lord chancellor. I promise myself a great deal of satisfaction in the honour of his lordship’s acquaintance. And, I could wish, if it were consistent with your convenience, that you would let me know the person you desired to mention my name to his lordship.

I am heartily glad to understand that you have taken notice of what the bishop of Worcester says, relating to your book. I have been in discourse here with an ingenious man, upon what the bishop alleges; and the gentleman observed, that the bishop does not so directly object against your notions as erroneous, but as misused by others, and particularly by the author of “Christianity not mysterious;” but I think this is no very just observation. The bishop directly opposes your doctrine, though, it is true, he does it on the occasion of the foresaid book. I am told the author of that discourse is of this country, and that his name is Toland, but he is a stranger in these parts; I believe, if he belongs to this kingdom, he has been a good while out of it, for I have not heard of any such remarkable man amongst us.

I should be very glad to see Mons. L.’s paper concerning your Essay. He is certainly an extraordinary person, especially in mathematics; but really to speak freely of him, in relation to what he may have to say to you, I do not expect any great matters from him; for methinks (with all deference to his great name) he has given the world no extraordinary samples of his thoughts this way, as appears by two discourses he has printed, both in the “Acta Erudit. Lipsiæ,” the first Anno 1694, . “De primæ Philosophiæ Emendatione,” &c. the other Anno 1695, . “Specimen Dynamicum,” which truly to me is, in many places, unintelligible; but that may be my defect, and not his.

I beg you would excuse me to my lady Masham, for the errour I committed relating to her ladyship. I ever looked on Mr. Norris as an obscure enthusiastic man, but I could not think he would knowingly impose on the world so notorious a falsity in matter of fact. I wish authors would take more pains to open than to shut men’s eyes, and then we should have more success in the discoveries of truth. ——  — But I have almost outrun my paper. I am,

Ever honoured Sir,
Your most affectionate, and
most obliged humble servant,

Will. Molyneux.

April 6, 1697

Dublin

Locke

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Honoured Sir,

Dublin,

April 6, 1697.

IN my last to you of March 16, there was a passage relating to the author of “Christianity not mysterious.” I did not then think that he was so near me, as within the bounds of this city; but I find since, that he is come over hither, and have had the favour of a visit from him. I now understand (as I intimated to you) that he was born in this country; but that he has been a great while abroad, and his education was, for some time, under the great Le Clerc. But that for which I can never honour him too much, is his acquaintance and friendship to you, and the respect which, on all occasions, he expresses for you. I propose a great deal of satisfaction in his conversation; I take him to be a candid free-thinker, and a good scholar. But there is a violent sort of spirit, that reigns here, which begins already to show itself against him; and, I believe, will increase daily; for I find the clergy alarmed to a mighty degree against him. And last Sunday he had his welcome to this city, by hearing himself harangued against out of the pulpit, by a prelate of this country.

I have at last received my most esteemed friend’s picture; I must now make my grateful acknowledgments to you, for the many idle hours you spent in sitting for it, to gratify my desire. I never look upon it, but with the greatest veneration. But though the artist has shown extraordinary skill at his pencil, yet now I have obtained some part of my desire, the greatest remains unsatisfied; and seeing he could not make it speak, and converse with me, I am still at a loss. But I find you are resolved, in some measure, to supply even that too, by the kind presents you sent me of your thoughts, both in your letters and in your books, as you publish them. Mr. Churchill tells me, I am obliged to you for one or two of this kind, that you have been pleased to favour me with; they are not yet come to hand, but I return you my heartiest thanks for them. I long, indeed, to see your answer to the bishop of Worcester; but for Edwards, I think him such a poor wretch, he deserves no notice. I am,

Most worthy Sir,
Your affectionate, humble servant,

Will. Molyneux.

John Locke

April 10, 1697

Oates

Molyneux

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

Sir,

Oates,

April 10, 1697.

THOUGH I do not suspect that you will think me careless or cold in that small business you desired of me, and so left it in negligent hands, give me leave to send you a transcript of a passage in my friend’s letter, which I received last post.

“It is a great while since that Mr. P —— undertook to tell you that I had spoken to Mr. Methwin about Mr. Molyneux, and that he received your recommendation very civilly, and answered, he should always have a great regard for any body you thought worthy of your esteem; and you gave so advantageous a character of Mr. Molyneux, that he should covet his acquaintance, and therefore he must desire the favour of you to recommend him to Mr. Molyneux.”

Thus, my friend, whose words, though in them there be something of compliment to myself, I repeat to you just as they are in his letter, that you may see he had the same success I promised you in my last.

In obedience to your commands, I herewith send you a copy of Mr. L— ‘s paper. The last paragraph, which you will find writ in my hand, is a transcript of part of a letter, writ lately to his correspondent here, one Mr. Burnet, who sent it me lately, with a copy of Mr. L —— — ‘s paper. Mr. Burnet has had it this year or two, but never communicated it to me, ‘till about a fortnight agone. Indeed Mr. Cunningham procured me a sight of it last summer, and he and I read it paragraph by paragraph over together, and he confessed to me, that some parts of it he did not understand; and I showed him in others, that Mr. L —— — ‘s opinion would not hold, who was perfectly of my mind. I mention Mr. Cunningham to you, in the case, because I think him an extraordinary man of parts and learning, and he is one that is known to Mr. L ——  — . To answer your freedom with the like, I must confess to you, that Mr. L —— — ‘s great name had raised in me an expectation which the sight of his paper did not answer, nor that discourse of his in the “Acta Eruditorum,” which he quotes, and I have since read, and had just the same thoughts of it, when I read it, as I find you have. From whence I only draw this inference, that even great parts will not master any subject without great thinking, and even the largest minds have but narrow swallows. Upon this occasion I cannot but again regret the loss of your company and assistance, by this great distance.

I have lately got a little leisure to think of some additions to my book, against the next edition, and within these few days have fallen upon a subject, that I know not how far it will lead me. I have written several pages on it, but the matter, the farther I go, opens the more upon me, and I cannot yet get sight of any end of it. The title of the chapter will be, “Of the Conduct of the Understanding,” which, if I shall pursue, as far as I imagine it will reach, and as it deserves, will, I conclude, make the largest chapter of my Essay. It is well for you, you are not near me; I should be always pestering you with my notions, and papers, and reveries. It would be a great happiness to have a man of thought to lay them before, and a friend that would deal candidly and freely.

I hope, ere this, you and your brother have received printed copies of what the doctor communicated to the Royal Society. I presume it is published before this time, though I have not seen it; for Dr. Sloane writ me word, some time since, that it would be speedily, and told me he would send it to you. And, if Mr. Churchill has taken that care he promised me, I hope you have also received my Letter to the bishop of Worcester, and that I shall soon receive your thoughts of it.

The business you proposed to Dr. S —— is generously designed, and well managed, and I very much wish it success. But will not Dr. S —— be persuaded to communicate to the world the observations he made in Turkey? The discourse I had with him satisfies me, they well deserve not to be lost, as all papers laid up in a study are. Methinks you should prevail with him to oblige his country.

Though my paper be done, yet I cannot close my letter till I have made some acknowledgments to you, for the many great marks you give me of a sincere affection, and an esteem extremely above what I can deserve, in yours of the 16th of March. Such a friend, procured me by my Essay, makes me more than amends for the many adversaries it has raised me. But, I think, nobody will be able to find any thing mischievous in it, but what you say, which I suspect, troubles some men; and I am not sorry for it, nor like my book the worse. He that follows truth impartially, seldom pleases any set of men; and I know not how a great many of those, who pretend to be spreaders of light and teachers of truth, would yet have men depend upon them for it, and take it rather upon their words than their own knowledge, just cooked and seasoned as they think fit. But it is time to release you after so long a trouble. I am perfectly,

Dear Sir,
Your most humble and most faithful servant,

John Locke.

REFLEXIONS DE MR. L ——  — SUR “L’ÉSSAI DE L’ENTENDEMENT HUMAIN” DE MONSIEUR LOCKE.

JE trouve tant de marques d’une penetration peu ordinaire dans ce que Mr. Locke nous a donné sur l’entendement de l’homme, & sur l’education, & je juge la matiere si importante, que j’ai crû ne pas mal employer le tems que je donnerois à une lecture si profitable; d’autant que j’ai fort medité moi-même sur ce qui regarde les fondemens de nos connoissances. C’est ce qui m’a fait mettre sur cette feüille quelques unes des remarques qui me sont venues en lisant son “essai de l’entendement.” De toutes les recherches il n’y en a point de plus importantes, puisque c’est la clef de toutes les autres.

Le premier livre regarde principalement les principes qu’on dit être néz avec nous. Mr. Locke ne les admet pas, non plus que les idées inées. Il a eu sans doute de grandes raisons de s’opposer en cela aux préjugez ordinaires, car on abuse extrêmement du nom d’idées & de principes. Les philosophes vulgaires se font des principes à leur phantasie, & les Cartesiens, qui font profession de plus d’exactitude, ne laissent pas de faire leur retrenchement des idées prétendües, de l’étendüe de la matiere, & de l’ame; voulant s’éxempter par-la de la nécessité de prouver ce qu’ils avancent; sous prétexte que ceux qui méditeront les idées, y trouveront la même chose qu’eux, c’est-à-dire, que ceux qui s’accoûtumeront à leur jargon & à leur maniere de penser, auront les mêmes préventions, ce qui est très-véritable. Mon opinion est donc qu’on ne doit rien prendre pour principe primitif, si non les expériences & l’axiôme de l’identicité ou (ce qui est la même chose) de la contradiction, qui est primitif, puisqu’ autrement il n’y auroit point de difference entre la verité & la fausseté; & toutes les recherches cesseroient d’abord, s’il étoit indifferent de dire oüi ou non. On ne sauroit donc s’empêcher de supposer ce principe, dès qu’on veut raisonner. Toutes les autres veritez sont prouvables, & j’estime extrêmement la methode d’Euclide, qui sans s’arrêter à ce qu’on croiroit être assez prouvé par les prétendües idées, a demontré (par exemple) que dans une triangle un côté est toûjours moindre que les deux autres ensemble. Cependant Euclide a eu raison de prendre quelques axiômes pour accordés, non pas comme s’ils étoient véritablement primitifs & indémonstrables, mais parce qu’il se seroit trop arrêté, s’il n’avoit voulu venir aux conclusions qu’après une discussion éxacte des principes: ainsi il a jugé à propos de se contenter d’avoir poussé les preuves, jusqu’à ce petit nombre de propositions, en sorte qu’on peut dire que si elles sont vraies, tout ce qu’il dit l’est aussi. Il a laissé à d’autres le soin, de démontrer ces principes mêmes, qui d’ailleurs sont déja justifiées par les expériences. Mais c’est dequoi on ne se contente point en ces matieres: c’est pourquoi Apollonius, Proclus, & autres, ont pris la peine de démontrer quelques uns des axiômes d’Euclide. Cette maniere doit être imitée des philosophes, pour venir enfin à quelques établissemens, quand ils ne seroient que provisionels; de la maniere que je viens de dire. Quant aux idées j’en ai donné quelque éclaircissement dans un petit écrit imprimé dans les actes des sçavans de Leipzig au mois de Novembre, 1684, , qui est intitulé, “Meditationes de cognitione, veritate, & ideis,” & j’aurois souhaité que Mr. Locke l’eut vû & éxaminé, car je suis des plus dociles, & rien n’est plus propre à avancer nos pensées que les considerations & les remarques des personnes de mérite, lorsqu’elles sont faites avec attention & avec sincerité. Je dirai seulement ici, que les idées vraies ou réeles sont celles dont on est assûré que l’éxécution est possible, les autres sont douteuses ou (en cas de preuve de l’impossibilité) chimériques. Or la possibilité des idées se prouve tant à priori par des démonstrations, en se servant de la possibilité d’autres idées plus simples, qu’à posteriori par les expériences, car ce qui est ne sçauroit manquer d’être possible: mais les idées primitives sont celles dont la possibilité est indémonstrable, & qui en effet ne sont autre chose que les attributs de Dieu. Pour ce qui est de la question, “s’il y a des idées & des véritez créez avec nous;” je ne trouve point absolument nécessaire pour les commencemens, ni pour la pratique de l’art de penser, de la décider, soit qu’elles nous viennent toutes de déhors, ou qu’elles viennent de nous, on raisonnera juste pourvû qu’on garde ce que j’ai dit cidessus & qu’on precede avec ordre & sans prévention. La question de “l’origine de nos idées & de nos maximes” n’est pas préliminaire en philosophie, & il faut avoir fait de grands progrès pour la bien résoudre. Je crois cependant pouvoir dire que nos idées (même celles de choses sensibles) viennent de notre propre fonds, dont on pourra mieux juger parce que j’ai publié touchant la nature & la communication des substances & ce qu’on appelle “l’union de l’ame avec le corps,” car j’ai trouvé que ces choses n’avoient pas été bien prises. Je ne suis nullement pour la tabula rasa d’Aristote, & il y a quelque chose de solide dans ce que Platon appelloit la reminiscence. Il y a même quelque chose de plus, car nous n’avons pas seulement une reminiscence de toutes nos pensées; passées; mais encore un pressentiment de toutes nos pensées futures. Il est vrai que c’est confusément & sans les distinguer, à peu près comme lorsque j’entends le bruit de la mer, j’entends celui de toutes les vagues en particulier qui composent le bruit total; quoique ce soit sans discerner une vague de l’autre. Et il est vrai dans un certain sens que j’ai expliqué, que non seulement nos idées, mais encore nos sentimens naissent de nôtre propre fonds, & que l’ame est plus indépendante qu’on ne pense, quoiqu’il soit toûjours vrai que rien ne se passe en elle qui ne soit déterminé.

Dans le livre ii. qui vient au détail des idées, j’avouë que les raisons de Mons. Locke pour prouver que l’ame est quelquefois sans penser à rien, ne me paroissent pas convainquantes; si ce n’est qu’il donne le nom de pensés aux seules perceptions assez notables pour être distinguées & retenuës. Je tiens que l’ame & même le corps n’est jamais sans action, & que l’ame n’est jamais sans quelque perception. Même en dormant on a quelques sentimens confus & sombres du lieu où l’on est & d’autres choses. Mais quand l’expérience ne le confirmeroit pas je crois qu’il y en a démonstration. C’est à peu près comme on ne sçauroit prouver absolument pas les expériences s’il n’y a point de vuide dans l’espace & s’il n’y a point de repos dans la matiere. Et cependant ces sortes de questions me paroissent décidées démonstrativement, aussi bien qu’à Mr. Locke; je demeure d’accord de la différence qu’il met avec beaucoup de raison entre la matiere & l’espace. Mais, pour ce qui est du vuide plusieurs personnes habiles l’ont crû. Monsieur Locke est de ce nombre, j’en étois presque persuadé moi-même, mais j’en suis revenu depuis longtems. Et l’incomparable Monsieur Huygens, qui étoit aussi pour le vuide, et pour les atômes, commença à faire réflexion sur mes raisons, comme ses lettres le pouvent témoigner. La preuve du vuide prise du mouvement, dont Mr. Locke se sert, suppose que le corps est originairement dur, & qu’il est composé d’un certain nombre de parties inflexibles. Car en ce cas il seroit vrai, quelque nombre fini d’atômes qu’on pourroit prendre, que le mouvement ne sçauroit avoir lieu sans vuide, mais toutes les parties de la matiere sont divisibles & pliables. Il y a encore quelques autres choses dans ce second livre qui m’arrêtent, par éxemple, lorsqu’il est dit, cha. que l’infinité ne se doit attribuer qu’à l’espace, au tems, & aux nombres. Je crois avec Mr. Locke qu’à proprement parler on peut dire qu’il n’y a point d’espace, de tems, ni de nombre, qui soit infini, mais qu’il est seulement vrai que plus grand que soit une espace, ou tems, ou bien un nombre, il y a toûjours un autre plus grand que lui sans fin, & qu’ainsi le véritable infini ne se trouve point dans un tout composé de parties. Cependant il ne laisse pas de se trouver ailleurs, savoir dans l’absolu, qui est sans parties & qui a influence sur les choses composées, parce qu’elles résultent de la limitation de l’absolu. Donc l’infini positif n’étant autre chose que l’absolu, on peut dire qu’il y a en ce sens une idée positive de l’infini, & qu’elle est antérieure à celle du fini. Au reste en rejettant un infini composé on ne rejette point ce que les géométres démontrent “de seriebus infinitis,” & particulierement l’excellent Mr. Newton. Quant à ce qui est dit cha. “de ideis adæquatis,” il est permit de donner aux termes la signification qu’on trouve à propos. Cependant sans blamer le sens de Mr. Locke je mets un degré dans les idées selon lequelle j’appelle adequate celle où il n’y a plus rien à expliquer. Or toutes les idées des qualitez sensibles, comme de la lumiere, couleur, chaleur, n’êtant point de cette nature, je ne les compte point parmi les adequates, aussi n’est-ce point par ellesmêmes, ni à priori, mais par l’expérience que nous en sçavons la réalite, ou la possibilité.

Il y a encore bien de bonnes choses dans le livre iii. où il est traite des mots ou termes. Il est très-vrai qu’on ne sçauroit tout définir, & que les qualitez sensibles n’ont point de définition nominale, & on les peut appeller primitives en ce sens-la. Mais elles ne laissent pas de pouvoir recevoir une définition réelle. J’ai montré la différence de ses deux sortes de définitions dans la méditation citée ci-dessus. La définition nominale explique le nom par les marques de la choses; mais la definition réelle fait connoître à priori la possibilité du défini. Au reste j’applaudis fort à la doctrine de Mons. Locke touchant la demonstrabilité des veritez morales.

Le iv. ou dernier livre, où il s’agit de la connoissance de la verité, montre l’usage de ce qui vient d’être dit. J’y trouve (aussi bien que dans les livres précédens) une infinité de belles reflexions. De faire là-dessus les remarques convenables, ce seroit faire un livre aussi grand que l’ouvrage même. Il me semble que les axiômes y sont un peu moins considerés qu’ils ne méritent de l’être. C’est apparemment parce qu’excepté ceux des mathematiciens on n’en trouve guere ordinairement, qui soient importans & solides: tâché de rémedier à ce défaut. Je ne méprise pas les propositions identiques, & j’ai trouvé qu’elles ont un grand usage même dans l’analyse. Il est très-vrai, que nous connoissons nôtre existence par une intuition immediate & celle de Dieu par démonstration, & qu’une masse de matiere, dont les parties sont sans perception, ne sçauroit faire un tout qui pense. Je ne méprise point l’argument inventé, il y a quelques siécles, par Ansclme, qui prouve que l’être parfait doit exister; quoique je trouve qu’il manque quelque chose à cet argument, parce qu’il suppose que l’être parfait est possible. Car si ce seul point se démonstre encore, la démonstration toute entiere sera entierement achevé. Quant à la connoissance des autres choses il est fort bien dit, que la seule expérience ne suffit pas pour avancer assez en physique. Un esprit pénétrant tirera plus de conséquences de quelques expériences assez ordinaires qu’un autre ne sçauroit tirer des plus choisies, outre qu’il y a un art d’expérimenter & d’interroger, pour ainsi dire, la nature. Cependant il est toujours vrai qu’on ne sçauroit avancer dans le detail de la physique qu’à mesure qu’on a des expériences. Mons. Locke est de l’opinion des plusieurs habiles hommes, qui tiennent que la forme des logiciens est de peu d’usage. Je serois quasi d’un autre sentiment: & j’ai trouvé souvent que les paralogismes même dans les mathématiques sont des manquemens de la forme. M. Huygens a fait la même remarque. Il y auroit bien à dire là-dessus; & plusieurs choses excellentes sont méprisées parce qu’on n’en fait pas l’usage dont elles sont capables. Nous sommes portez à mépriser ce que nous avons appris dans les écoles. Il est vrai que nous y apprenons bien des inutilitez, mais il est bon de faire la fonction della crusca, c’est à dire, de séparer le bon du mauvais. Mr. Locke le peut faire autant que qui que ce soit; & de plus il nous donne des pensées considerables de son propre crû. Il n’est pas seulement essayeur, mais il est encore transmutateur, par l’augmentation qu’il donne du bon métail. S’il continuoit d’en faire present au public, nous lui en serions fort redevables.

Je voudrois que Mons. Locke eut dit son sentiment à Mons. Cunningham sur mes remarques, ou que Mons. Cunningham voulut nous le dire librement. Car je ne suis pas de ceux qui sont entêtez, & la raison peut tout sur moi. Mais les affaires de négoce détournent Mons. Locke de ces pensées, car cette matiere de négoce est de très grande etendu & même fort subtile & demimathematique, &c.

Locke

May 3, 1697

Oates

Molyneux

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

Dear Sir,

Oates,

May 3, 1697.

THOUGH the honour you do me, in the value you put upon my shadow, be a fresh mark of that friendship which is so great an happiness to me, yet I shall never consider my picture in the same house with you, without great regret at my so far distance from you myself. But I will not continue to importune you with my complaints of that kind; it is an advantage greater than I could have hoped, to have the conversation of such a friend, though with the sea between; and the remaining little scantling of my life would be too happy, if I had you in my neighbourhood.

I am glad to hear that the gentleman you mention, in yours of the sixth of the last month, does me the favour to speak well of me on that side the water; I never deserved other of him, but that he should always have done so on this. If his exceeding great value of himself do not deprive the world of that usefulness, that his parts, if rightly conducted, might be of, I shall be very glad. He went from London, as I heard afterwards, soon after I left it, the last time. But he did me not the favour to give me a visit whilst I was there, nor to let me know of his intended journey to you; if he had, it is possible I might have writ by him to you, which I am now not sorry he did not. I always value men of parts and learning, and think I cannot do too much in procuring them friends and assistance. But there may happen occasions that may make one stop one’s hand. And it is the hopes young men give of what use they will make of their parts, which is to me the encouragement of being concerned for them. But, if vanity increases with age, I always fear whither it will lead a man. I say this to you, because you are my friend, for whom I have no reserves, and think I ought to talk freely where you inquire, and possibly may be concerned; but I say it to you alone, and desire it may go no farther. For the man I wish very well, and could give you, if it needed, proofs that I do so. And therefore I desire you to be kind to him; but I must leave it to your prudence, in what way, and how far. If his carriage with you gives you the promises of a steady useful man, I know you will be forward enough of yourself, and I shall be very glad of it. For it will be his fault alone if he prove not a very valuable man, and have not you for his friend.

But I have something to say to you of another man. Mons. Le Clerc, in a letter I received from him, writes thus:

“Mons. C — me disoit dernierement que s’il trouvoit occasion d’entrer dans une maison de condition en qualité de precepteur, il seroit ravi d’en profiter. C’est un fort honnête homme, & qui seroit bien capable de s’acquitter de cet emploi. Il ne sçait l’anglois que par les livres, c’est-a-dire, qu’il l’entend lorsqu’il le lit, mais qu’il ne le sçauroit parler non plus que moi faute d’habitude. Si quelque un de vos amis auroit besoin de precepteur, & qu’il lui donnât de quoi s’entretenir, il ne sçauroit trouver d’homme plus sage & plus réglé, outre qu’il sçait beaucoup de choses utiles pour un emploi comme celui-là, les belles lettres, l’histoire,” &c.

This Mr. C — is he that translated my book of Education, upon which occasion I came to have some acquaintance with him by letters, and he seems a very ingenious man; and Mr. Le Clerc has often, before any thing of this, spoken of him to me with commendation and esteem. He has since translated “The Lady’s Religion,” and “The Reasonableness of Christianity,” into French. You may easily guess why I put this into my letter to you, after what you said concerning Mr. Le Clerc in your last letter but one.

You are willing, I see, to make my little presents to you more and greater than they are. Amongst the books that Mr. Churchill sent you, you are beholden to me (since you will call it so) but for one; and to that the bishop of Worcester, I hear, has an answer in the press, which will be out this week. So that I perceive this controversy is a matter of serious moment beyond what I could have thought. This benefit I shall be sure to get by it, either to be confirmed in my opinion, or be convinced of some errours, which I shall presently reform, in my Essay, and so make it the better for it. For I have no opinions that I am fond of. Truth, I hope, I always shall be fond of, and so ready to embrace, and with so much joy, that I shall own it to the world, and thank him that does me the favour. So that I am never afraid of any thing writ against me, unless it be the wasting of my time, when it is not writ closely in pursuit of truth, and truth only.

In my last to you, I sent you a copy of Mr. L — — ‘s paper; I have this writ me out of Holland concerning it:

“Mr. L —— , mathématicien de Hannover ayant oüi dire, qu’on traduisoit vôtre ouvrage, et qu’on l’alloit imprimer, a envoyé ici à un de mes amis ce jugement qu’il en fait, comme pour la mettre à la tête. Cependant il a été bien aise qu’on vous le communicât. Il m’a été remis entre les mains pour cela. On m’a dit mille biens de ce mathématicien. Il y a long tems que magna et præclara minatur, sans rien produre que quelque démonstrations détachées. Je crois neanmoins qu’il ne vous entend pas, et je doute qu’il s’entende bien lui-même.”

I see you and I, and this gentleman, agree pretty well concerning the man; and this sort of fiddling makes me hardly avoid thinking, that he is not that very great man as has been talked of him. His paper was in England a year, or more, before it was communicated to me, and I imagine you will think he need not make such a great stir with it.

My Essay, you see, is translating into French, and it is by the same Mr. Coste above-mentioned. But this need not hinder Mr. Burridge in what he designed; for Mr. Coste goes on exceedingly slowly, as I am told.

You see how forward I am to importune you with all my little concerns. But this would be nothing to what I should do, if I were nearer you. I should then be talking to you de quolibet ente, and consulting you about a thousand whimsies that come sometimes into my thoughts. But with all this, I unfeignedly am,

Dear Sir,
Your most faithful humble servant,

John Locke.

The poem that was sent you by Mr. Churchill, amongst the other books, I believe will please you: there are some noble parts in it.

Will. Molyneux

May 15, 1697

Dublin

Locke

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Dublin,

May 15, 1697.

My most honoured Friend,

NOTHING could excuse my keeping your kind letter of April 10th so long by me unanswered, but an unexpected and melancholy accident that has lately befallen a dear sister of mine, who, on the 24th of last month, lost her husband, the lord bishop of Meath, a learned and worthy prelate. Our whole family has so deeply partaken in this trouble, that we have been all under a great concern; but more particularly myself, who am intrusted by the good bishop with the disposal of some of his affairs. This has, of late, so taken me up, that I had not time to take the satisfaction of writing to you; but the hurry of that business being somewhat abated, I resume the pleasure of kissing your hands, and of assuring you, with what a deep sense of gratitude I receive the kindness you have done me with my lord chancellor Methwin. I hope we shall see his lordship soon here, for we understand he parts from London the 18th instant.

I am extremely obliged to you for the trouble you have been at in communicating to me Mons. L — — ‘s paper, and I am now sorry I ever put the task on you: for to speak freely to you, as I formerly did, I find nothing in this paper to make me alter the opinion I had of Mons. L — — ‘s performances this way. He is either very unhappy in expressing, or I am very dull in apprehending his thoughts. I do not know but some of the doubts he raises, concerning your Essay, may proceed from his unacquaintance with our language; and this makes me yet more earnest to procure the translation of your Essay; but Mr. Burridge, since he last arrived here, has been wholly employed in overtaking his business in the country, to which he is run much in arrear. He is chaplain to my lord chancellor Methwin, and on that account, I hope he will keep much in town, and then I shall ply him hard.

I will give you a thousand thanks for the present of your letter to the bishop of Worcester: but I need not give you my opinion of it, otherwise than as you find it in the following paragraph of a letter which I received concerning it, from a reverend prelate of this kingdom. (The present bishop of …. between ourselves.)

“I read Mr. Locke’s letter to the bishop of Worcester with great satisfaction, and am wholly of your opinion, that he has fairly laid the great bishop on his back; but it is with so much gentleness, as if he were afraid not only of hurting him, but even of spoiling or tumbling his cloaths. Indeed I cannot tell which I most admire, the great civility and good manners in his book, or the force and clearness of his reasonings. And I fancy the bishop will thank him privately, and trouble the world no more with this dispute.”

You see thereby my friend’s and my own opinion, of your book; and I can tell you farther, that all those whom I have yet conversed with in this place, concerning it, agree in the same judgment. And another (bishop too) told me, that “though your words were as smooth as oil, yet they cut like a two-edged sword.”

At the same time that Mr. Churchill sent me your Letter to the bishop, he sent me likewise the “Second Vindication of the Reasonableness of Christianity.” If you know the author thereof, (as I am apt to surmise you may) be pleased to let him know, that I think he has done Edwards too much honour in thinking him worth his notice; for so vile a poor wretch certainly never appeared in print. But, at the same time, tell him, that, as this Vindication contains a farther illustration of the divine truths in the Reasonableness of Christianity, he has the thanks of me, and of all fair candid men that I converse with about it.

In giving you the opinion we have here, of your letter to the bishop of Worcester, I have rather chosen to let you know, particularly, that of some of our bishops with whom I converse; for this rank, if any, might seem inclinable to favour their brother, could they do it with any show of justice. And yet, after all, I am told from London, that the bishop is hammering out an answer to you. Certainly some men think, or hope the world will think, that truth always goes with the last word.

You never write to me, that you do not raise new expectations in my longing mind of partaking your thoughts, on those noble subjects you are upon. Your chapter concerning the conduct of the understanding must needs be very sublime and spacious. Oh sir! never more mention to me our distance as your loss: it is my disadvantage! it is my unhappiness! I never before had such reason to deplore my hard fate, in being condemned to this prison of an island; but one day or other I will get loose, in spite of all the fetters and clogs that incumber me at present. But if you did but know in what a wood of business I am engaged, (by the greatest part whereof I reap no other advantage than the satisfaction of being seviceable to my friends,) you would pity me. But I hope soon to rid my hands of a great part of this trouble, and then I shall be at more liberty. Till which happy time, and for ever, I remain

Your most faithful friend, and most humble servant,

Will. Molyneux.

May 27, 1697

Dublin

Locke

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Honoured Dear Sir,

Dublin,

May 27, 1697.

THE hints you are pleased so friendly to communicate to me, in yours of the 3d instant, concerning Mr. T ——  — , are fresh marks of your kindness and confidence in me, and they perfectly agree with the apprehensions I had conceived of that gentleman. Truly, to be free, and without reserve to you, I do not think his management, since he came into this city, has been so prudent. He has raised against him the clamours of all parties; and this, not so much by his difference in opinion, as by his unseasonable way of discoursing, propagating, and maintaining it. Coffee-houses, and public tables, are not proper places for serious discourses relating to the most important truths. But when also a tincture of vanity appears in the whole course of a man’s conversation, it disgusts many that may otherwise have a due value for his parts and learning. I have known a gentleman in this town, that was a most strict socinian, and thought as much out of the common road as any man, and was also known so to do; but then his behaviour and discourse were attended with so much modesty, goodness, and prudence, that I never heard him publicly censured or clamoured against, neither was any man in danger of censure, by receiving his visits, or keeping him company. I am very loth to tell you how far it is otherwise with Mr. T —— in this place; but I am persuaded it may be for his advantage that you know it, and that you friendly admonish him for it, for his conduct hereafter. I do not think that any man can be dispensed with to dissemble the truth, and full persuasion of his mind, in religious truths, when duly called to it, and upon fitting occasions. But, I think, prudence may guide us in the choice of proper opportunities, that we may not run ourselves against rocks to no purpose, and inflame men against us unnecessarily. Mr. T —— also takes here a great liberty, on all occasions, to vouch your patronage and friendship, which makes many that rail at him, rail also at you. I believe you will not approve of this, as far as I am able to judge, by your shaking him off in your Letter to the Bishop of Worcester. But after all this, I look upon Mr. T —— as a very ingenious man, and I should be very glad of any opportunity of doing him service, to which I think myself indispensably bound by your recommendation. One thing more I had almost forgot to intimate to you, that all here are mightily at a loss in guessing what might be the occasion of T — — ‘s coming, at this time, into Ireland. He is known to be of no fortune or employ, and yet is observed to have a subsistence, but from whence it comes no one can tell certainly. These things, joined with his great forwardness in appearing in public, make people surmise a thousand fancies. If you could give me light into these matters, as far as it may help me in my own conduct, I should be much obliged to you.

By the books which Mr. Coste has translated, I perceive his inclinations would be extremely agreeable to mine, and I should be very happy could I give him, at present, any encouragement to come into my poor family. But I have a gentleman with me in the house, whose dependence is wholly upon me; and I cannot find fault with my little boy’s progress under him. When I formerly made inquiry from you about Mons. Le Clerc, I was in some prospect of providing for this gentleman whom I now have, by the favour of a good friend, who is since dead. So that, at present, having no opportunity of disposing him to his advantage, I cannot conveniently part with him. However, I do not know how soon it may be otherwise; and therefore be pleased, in the mean time, to let me know something farther of Mons. Coste; as whether he be a complete master of the Latin tongue, or other language; whether a mathematician, or given to experimental philosophy; what his age, and where educated: as to the belles lettres, l’histoire, &c. Mons. Le Clerc has mentioned them already in his character.

I am mightily pleased to find that some others have the same thoughts of Mons. L —— as you and I. His performances in mathematics have made all the world mistaken in him. But certainly, in other attempts, I am of your opinion, he no more understands himself, than others understand him.

Mr. Churchill favoured me with the present of sir R. Blackmore’s K. Arthur. I had Pr. Arthur before, and read it with admiration, which is not at all lessened by this second piece. All our English poets (except Milton) have been mere ballad-makers, in comparison to him. Upon the publication of his first poem, I intimated to him, through Mr. Churchill’s hands, how excellently I thought he might perform a philosophic poem, from many touches he gave in his Pr. Arthur, particularly from Mopas’s song. And, I perceive by his preface to K. Arthur, he has had the like intimations from others, but rejects them, as being an enemy to all philosophic hypotheses. Were I acquainted with sir R. Blackmore, I could assure him, (and, if you be so, I beseech you to tell him,) that I am as little an admirer of hypotheses as any men, and never proposed that thought to him, with a design that a philosophic poem should run on such a strain. “A natural history of the great and admirable phenomena of the universe,” is a subject, I think, may afford sublime thoughts in a poem; and so far, and no farther, would I desire a poem to extend.

You see I am carried beyond my designed bounds, by the mark on the other side this leaf. But as I am never weary of reading letters from you, so, I think, I am never tired of writing to you. However, it is time I relieve you, by subscribing myself entirely

Your most affectionate, and devoted servant,

Will. Molyneux.

John Locke

June 15, 1697

Oates

Molyneux

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

Dear Sir,

Oates,

June 15, 1697.

I HAVE the honour of your two obliging letters of the 15th and 27th of May, wherein I find the same mind, the same affection, and the same friendship, which you have so frankly, and so long, made me happy in. And, if I may guess by the paragraph which you transcribed out of your friend’s letter into yours of the 15th of May, I shall have reason to think your kindness to me is grown infectious, and that by it you fascinate your friends understandings, and corrupt their judgments in my favour. It is enough for me, in so unequal a match, if mighty truth can keep me from a shameful overthrow. If I can maintain my ground, it is enough, against so redoubtable an adversary; but victory I must not think of. I doubt not but you are convinced of that by this time, and you will see how silly a thing it is for an unskilled pigmy to enter the lists with a man at arms, versed in the use of his weapons.

My health, and businesses that I like as little as you do those you complain of, make me know what it is to want time. I often resolve not to trouble you any more with my complaints of the distance between us, and as often impertinently break that resolution. I never have any thoughts working in my head, or any new project start in my mind, but my wishes carry me immediately to you, and I desire to lay them before you. You may justly think this carries a pretty severe reflection on my country, or myself, that in it I have not a friend to communicate my thoughts with. I cannot much complain of want of friends to other purposes. But a man with whom one can freely seek truth, without any regard to old or new, fashionable or not fashionable, but truth merely for truth’s sake, is what is scarce to be found in an age; and such an one I take you to be. Do but think then what a pleasure, what an advantage it would be to me to have you by me, who have so much thought, so much clearness, so much penetration, all directed to the same aim which I propose to myself, in all the ramblings of my mind. I, on this occasion, mention only the wants that I daily feel, which make me not so often speak of the other advantages I should receive, from the communication of your own notions, as well as from the correction of mine. But, with this repining, I trouble you too much, and, for the favours I receive from you, thank you too little, and rejoice not enough in having such a friend, though at a distance.

As to the gentleman, to whom you think my friendly admonishments may be of advantage for his conduct hereafter, I must tell you, that he is a man to whom I never writ in my life, and, I think, I shall not now begin. And, as to his conduct, it is what I never so much as spoke to him of. This is a liberty to be only taken with friends and intimates, for whose conduct one is mightily concerned, and in whose affairs one interests himself. I cannot but wish well to all men of parts and learning, and be ready to afford them all the civilities and good offices in my power. But there must be other qualities to bring me to a friendship, and unite me in those stricter ties of concern. For I put a great deal of difference between those whom I thus receive into my heart and affection, and those whom I receive into my chamber, and do not treat there with a perfect strangeness. I perceive you think yourself under some obligation of peculiar respect to that person, upon the account of my recommendation to you; but certainly this comes from nothing but your over-great tenderness to oblige me. For, if I did recommend him, you will find it was only as a man of parts and learning, for his age, but without any intention that that should be of any other consequence, or lead you any farther, than the other qualities you should find in him, should recommend him to you. And therefore whatsoever you shall, or shall not do for him, I shall no way interest myself in. I know, of your own self, you are a good friend to those who deserve it of you; and for those that do not, I shall never blame your neglect of them. The occasion of his coming into Ireland now, I guess to be the hopes of some employment, now upon this change of hands there. I tell you, I guess, for he himself never told me any thing of it, nor so much as acquainted me with his intentions of going to Ireland, how much soever he vouches my patronage and friendship, as you are pleased to phrase it. And as to his subsistence, from whence that comes, I cannot tell. I should not have wasted so much of my conversation with you, on this subject, had you not told me it would oblige you to give you light in these matters, which I have done, as a friend to a friend, with a greater freedom than I should allow myself to talk to another.

I shall, when I see sir Rich. Blackmore, discourse him as you desire. There is, I with pleasure find, a strange harmony throughout between your thoughts and mine. I have always thought that laying down, and building upon hypotheses, has been one of the great hindrances of natural knowledge; and I see your notions agree with mine in it. And, though I have a great value for sir R. Blackmore, on several accounts, yet there is nothing has given me a greater esteem of him, than what he says about hypotheses in medicine, in his preface to King Arthur, which is an argument to me, that he understands the right method of practising physic; and it gives me great hopes he will improve it, since he keeps in the only way it is capable to be improved in; and has so publicly declared against the more easy, fashionable, and pleasing way of an hypothesis, which, I think, has done more to hinder the true art of Physic, which is the curing of diseases, than all other things put together; by making it learned, specious, and talkative, but ineffective to its great end, the health of mankind; as was visible in the practice of physic, in the hands of the illiterate Americans; and the learned physicians, that went thither out of Europe, stored with their hypotheses, borrowed from natural philosophy, which made them indeed great men, and admired in the schools; but in curing diseases, the poor Americans, who had escaped those splendid clogs, clearly out-went them. You cannot imagine how far a little observation, carefully made by a man not tied up to the four humours; or sal, sulphur, and mercury; or to acid and alcali, which has of late prevailed, will carry a man in the curing of diseases, though very stubborn and dangerous, and that with very little and common things, and almost no medicines at all. Of this I could, from my own experience, convince you, were we together but a little while. But my letter is too long already. When I am writing to you, the pleasure of talking to you makes me forget you are a man of business, and have your hands full. I beg your pardon for it. It is time to dismiss you. I am,

Dear Sir,
Your most affectionate, and
most faithful humble servant,

John Locke.

Will. Molyneux

July 26, 1697

Dublin

Molyneux

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Sir,

Dublin,

July 26, 1697.

THE latest favour I received from my ever honoured friend was of the 15th of June, and I have it before me, to acknowledge with all due gratitude. I was mightily surprised to see the “bishop of Worcester’s answer to your Letter;” I thought he would have let that matter fall, and have privately thanked you, and have said no more. This was the least I expected from him; for I think, indeed, he might have gone farther, and made his public acknowledgments to you. This had been like a man of ingenuity and candour: and by this he had been more valuable, in the opinion of all I converse with here, than by the shiftings, windings, and turnings, he uses in his last piece. You well observe the bishop has shown himself a man at his weapon; but I think him “Andabatarum more pugnare,” he winks as he fights. However, in the postscript he shows a sample of the old leaven, and must not let you go without coupling his observations on a socinian book, with his confutation of yours; as if there were something so agreeable between them, that they cannot be well separated. This is such an indirect practice, and seems such an invidious insinuation, that I cannot but give it the name of malice.

I am obliged to you for the confidence you put in me, by communicating your thoughts concerning Mr. T —— , more freely than you would do to every one. He has had his opposers here, as you will find by a book which I have sent to you by a gentleman’s servant, to be left for you at your lodging; wherein you will meet with a passage relating to yourself, which, though with decency, yet I fear will not redound much to the author’s advantage; for, with very great assurance, (an usual companion of ignorance) he undertakes to “demonstrate the immateriality of the soul,” and to show the falsity of your argumentation, wherein you assert, “that we have no proof, but that God may communicate a power of thinking to a certain system of matter.” But this is all but assertion and promise; we are so unhappy as yet to want this demonstration from this author, and I fear we shall ever want it from him; and I believe you will be of my opinion, when you read his book. The author is my acquaintance; but two things I shall never forgive in his book; the one is the foul language and opprobrious names he gives Mr. T —— ; the other is, upon several occasions, calling in the aid of the civil magistrate, and delivering Mr. T —— up to secular punishment. This, indeed, is a killing argument; but some will be apt to say, that where the strength of his reason failed him, there he flies to the strength of the sword. And this minds me of a business that was very surprising to many, even several prelates in this place, the presentment of some pernicious books, and their authors, by the grand jury of Middlesex. This is looked upon as a matter of dangerous consequence, to make our civil courts judges of religious doctrines; and no one knows, upon a change of affairs, whose turn it may be next to be condemned. But the example has been followed in our country; and Mr. T —— and his book have been presented here by a grand jury, not one of which (I am persuaded) ever read one leaf in “Christianity not mysterious.” Let the Sorbonne for ever now be silent; a learned grand jury, directed by as learned a judge, does the business much better. The dissenters here were the chief promoters of this matter; but, when I asked one of them, what if a violent church of England jury should present Mr. Baxter’s books as pernicious, and condemn them to the flames by the common executioner? he was sensible of the errour, and said, he wished it had never been done.

I must not forget to thank you for the countenance I have received from my lord chancellor Methwin, since his coming into Ireland. I know it is all owing to your, and your friends endeavours. My lord is a person from whom the kingdom expects very well, for hitherto his management has been very promising. Mr. Burridge is his chaplain, and expects very soon to be settled in a parish here in Dublin, and then he promises me to prosecute the Essay with vigour.

My brother gives you his most humble service. He is told, by Mr. Burridge, that you had sent him a book in medicine, but by what hand he could not inform him. He has such a value for every thing that comes from you, that he desired me to let you know that no such book came to his hands, or else he had not all this while deferred his acknowledgments.

I perceive you are so happy as to be acquainted with sir Richard Blackmore; he is an extraordinary person, and I admire his two prefaces as much as I do any parts of his books; the first, wherein he exposes the “licentiousness and immorality of our late poetry,” is incomparable; and the second, wherein he prosecutes the same subject, and delivers his thoughts concerning hypotheses, is no less judicious. And I am wholly of his opinion, relating to the latter. However, the “history and phenomena of nature” we may venture at; and this is what I propose to be the subject of a philosophic poem. Sir Richard Blackmore has exquisite touches of this kind dispersed in many places of his books; (to pass over Mopas’s song;) I’ll instance one particular, in the most profound speculations of Mr. Newton’s philosophy, thus curiously touched in King Arthur, Book IX. .

The constellations shine at his command,

He form’d their radiant orbs, and with his hand

He weigh’d, and put them off with such a force

As might preserve an everlasting course.

I doubt not but sir R. Blackmore, in these lines, had a regard to the proportionment of the projective motion to the “vis centripeta,” that keeps the planets in their continued courses.

I have by me some observations made by a judicious friend of mine, on both sir R. Blackmore’s poems; if they may be any ways acceptable to sir R. I shall send them to you; they are in the compass of a sheet of paper. And, were it proper, I should humbly desire you to procure for me, from sir R. the key to the persons names, in both his poems; most of the first I have already, and a great many in the second, but many I also want, which I should be very glad to understand. But if herein I desire any thing disagreeable, I beg sir Richard’s pardon, and desist.

Ever since you first mentioned to me, that Mons. Le Clerc might be enticed into Ireland by a moderate encouragement, it has sat grievous on my spirit, that it lay not in my power to procure for him what might be worth his acceptance. I should reckon it (next to your friendship) one of the greatest glories of my life, that I could be able any ways to contribute to transplanting him hither. The other day I ventured to mention it to a great prelate here, the bishop of —— . He was pleased to favour the proposal immediately, and gave me directions, that I should inquire whether Mons. Le Clerc would be willing to take orders in our church, and to submit to the oaths and injunctions hereof; and how far he is master of the English language. He told me, he doubted not but he might procure for him 150 or 200l. per annum, in some place of ease and retirement. Be pleased therefore, dear sir, to let me be informed in these particulars, and in whatever else you think requisite in managing this affair.

I have protracted this letter as if I had a design to kill you, by tiring you to death. I beg your excuse for it.

I am,
Dear Sir,
Your most affectionate humble servant,

Will. Molyneux.

John Locke

11 Sept. 1697

London

Molyneux

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

Dear Sir,

London,

11 Sept. 1697.

IF you have received my reply to the bishop, before this comes to your hand, I shall need say no more to the first paragraph of your obliging letter of the 20th of July. Mr. Churchill tells me, he has taken care you should have it with speed. I have ordered another to Mr. Burridge, who has, by his undertaking, some concernment now in my Essay. I am not delighted at all in controversy, and think I could spend my time to greater advantage to myself. But being attacked, as I am, and in a way that sufficiently justifies your remarks on it, I think every body will judge I had reason to defend myself; whether I have or no, so far as I have gone, the world must judge.

I think, with you, the dissenters were best consider, “that what is sauce for a goose, is sauce for a gander.” But they are a sort of men that will always be the same.

You thank me for what is owing to your own worth. Every one who knows you, will think (if he judges right) that he receives as much advantage as he gives by the countenance he shows you. However, I am obliged by your thanks to me; for, if I do not procure you as much good as you are capable of receiving from any one that comes to you from hence, it is my want of ability, and not want of will. My heart and inclination, wherein the friendship lies, will always be such, as I can presume will not displease you, in a man whom I am very sensible you love.

Here was, the last year, a book in physic published by a young lad not twenty, who had never seen the University. It was about the motion of the muscles, with as good an explication of it as any I have yet seen. I believe I might have spoke to Mr. Churchill to send your brother one of them for the sake of the author; (for as to the subject itself, I fear I shall never see it explained to my satisfaction:) whether he did it or no, I have not yet asked; but the book itself is not worth your brother’s inquiry or acknowledgment; though being written by such an author, made it a kind of curiosity. I should be very glad if I could do him here any service of greater importance. But I having now wholly laid by the study of physic, I know not what comes out new, or worth the reading, in that faculty. Pray give my humble service to your brother, and let me know whether he hath any children; for then I shall think myself obliged to send him one of the next edition of my book of Education, which, my bookseller tells me, is out of print; and I had much rather be at leisure to make some additions to that, and my Essay on Human Understanding, than be employed to defend myself against the groundless, and, as others think, trifling quarrel of the bishop. But his lordship is pleased to have it otherwise, and I must answer for myself as well as I can, till I have the good luck to be convinced.

I was not a little pleased to find what thoughts you had concerning hypotheses in physic. Though sir R. B.’s vein in poetry be what every body must allow him to have an extraordinary talent in, and though with you I exceedingly valued his first preface; yet I must own to you, there was nothing that I so much admired him for, as for what he says of hypotheses in his last. It seems to me so right, and is yet so much out of the way of the ordinary writers, and practitioners in that faculty, that it shows as great a strength and penetration of judgment, as his poetry has showed flights of fancy; and therefore I was very glad to find in you the same thoughts of it. And when he comes luckily in my way, I shall not forget your wishes, and shall acquaint him with the observations you mention. And the key you desire I shall send you, if it be fit to be asked of him, which I am at present in some doubt of.

Though I could myself answer many of your questions concerning Mons. Le Clerc; yet I have sent them to him himself, with the reason of them. I have not yet received his answer, the expectation whereof has delayed my writing to you for some time. In the mean time, till I hear from him, I thank you in his name and my own.

I shall be very glad to hear from you how the linen manufacture goes on, on that side the water, and what assistance the parliament there is like to give to it; for I wish prosperity to your country, and very particularly all manner of happiness to you. I am unfeignedly,

SIR,
Your most affectionate humble servant,

John Locke.

What I told you formerly of a storm coming against my book, proves no fiction. Besides what you will see I have taken notice of in my reply, Mr. Serjeant, a popish priest, whom you must needs have heard of, has bestowed a thick 8vo. upon my Essay, and Mr. Norris, as I hear, is writing hard against it. Shall I not be quite slain, think you, amongst so many notable combatants, and the Lord knows how many more to come?

Will. Molyneux

Sept. 11, 1697

Dublin

Locke

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Honoured Sir,

Dublin,

Sept. 11, 1697.

MY last to you was of July 20, since which time I have not had the happiness of a line from you. But I am satisfied you are better employed; and indeed, when I see daily what swarms of angry wasps do arise against you, (besides many which reach not our view in this place,) I wonder not that you should be so far engaged as to have little time to throw away on me. The other day I met with the last effort of Mr. Edwards’s malice; I do now heartily pity the poor wretch; he is certainly mad, and no more to be taken notice of hereafter, than the railings of Oliver’s porter in Bethlem. I have seen also a philosophical writer against you, of another strain, one J. S. that writes against all ideists; this gentleman, though civil, yet to me is absolutely unintelligible, so unfortunate I am. Who he is I know not, but should be glad to learn from you; and what you think, in general, of his book.

Mr. T —— is, at last, driven out of our kingdom; the poor gentleman, by his imprudent management, had raised such an universal outcry, that it was even dangerous for a man to have been known once to converse with him. This made all wary men of reputation decline seeing him; insomuch that at last he wanted a meal’s meat, (as I am told,) and none would admit him to their tables. The little stock of money which he brought into this country being exhausted, he fell to borrowing from any one that would lend him half a crown, and run in debt for his wigs, cloaths, and lodging, (as I am informed,) and last of all, to complete his hardships, the parliament fell on his book, voted it to be burnt by the common hangman, and ordered the author to be taken into custody of the serjeant at arms, and to be prosecuted by the attorney-general at law. Hereupon he is fled out of this kingdom, and none here knows where he has directed his course. I did believe you might be a stranger to these proceedings a great while, unless I had intimated them to you; and that is one of my designs in writing this to you.

I am here very happy in the friendship of an honourable person, Mr. Molesworth, who is an hearty admirer and acquaintance of yours. We never meet but we remember you; he sometimes comes into my house, and tells me, it is not to pay a visit to me, but to pay his devotion to your image that is in my dining-room.

I should be glad to hear farther from you, concerning Mons. Le Clerc and Mons. Coste, in relation to what I formerly writ to you concerning those gentlemen.

I am, SIR,
Your most obliged, humble servant,

Will. Molyneux.

Oct. 4, 1697

Dublin

Locke

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Honoured Sir,

Dublin,

Oct. 4, 1697.

I PERCEIVE we were each of us mindful of the other on the 11th of the last month, for of that date was your last to me, as you will find mine likewise to you bore the same.

You have already answered some of my impertinent inquiries in that letter; you tell me therein, who J. S. is that writes against you. I do not now wonder at the confusedness of his notions, or that they should be unintelligible to me. I should have much more admired, had they been otherwise. I expect nothing from Mr. Serjeant but what is abstruse in the highest degree.

I look for nothing else from Mr. Norris; I thought that gentleman had enough on it, in his first attempt on your Essay; but he is so over-run with father Malebranche, and Plato, that it is in vain to endeavour to set him right, and I give him up as an inconvincible enemy.

But, above all these, I should wonder at the bishop of Worcester’s obstinacy, did I not think that I partly know the reason thereof. He has been an old soldier in controversies, and has hitherto had the good luck of victory; but now in the latter end of his wars, to be laid on his back (as he thinks the world would certainly say, unless he has the last word) would wither all his former laurels, and lose his glory. Your reply to him is not yet come to hand; but I can wait with the more patience, because I am pretty well satisfied in the matter already.

I am very glad to understand that we are to expect another Edition of your Education, with additions. I never thought you writ too much on any subject whatever.

I have formerly written to you, to know farther concerning Mons. Coste, who translated some of your books into French. I fancy, by that gentleman’s inclinations to your works, he and I should agree very well. Pray let me know, whether to his Belles Lettres he has any skill in the mathematics, natural history, &c. as also what his circumstances are, as to his education, parentage, &c. For, according to these, I may judge whether I can give him any encouragement to come hither.

You had been troubled with this letter sooner, but that I waited for the enclosed, to satisfy your inquiry concerning our linen manufacture. You will find thereby, that we have framed a bill to be enacted for the encouragement thereof. This bill is now before the council of England, pursuant to our constitution of parliament. What alterations, additions, and amendments it may receive there, we know not; but I am apt to think you will have the consideration and modelling thereof at your committee of trade. We are very sensible, that the act we have drawn up (whereof the enclosed are the heads) is not so perfect and complete as it may be; but this we thought a fair beginning to so great an attempt, and that time must be given for a farther progress, and carrying it higher, by additional laws, as occasion may require. The woollen manufacture of England was not established at that high pitch, (to which now it is raised,) by any one law, or any one generation. It must be so with us in relation to our linen; but this, we hope, may be a fair step towards it: “Est aliquid prodire tenus, &c.”

James Hamilton of Tullymore, esq. is an indefatigable promoter of this design, and I may say indeed the whole scheme is owing to his contrivance. He is an hearty admirer of yours, and communicated to me the enclosed abstract purposely for your satisfaction; desiring me with it to give you his most humble service, and to request of you your thoughts concerning this matter, by the first leisure you can spare.

Whilst our house of commons were framing this bill, our lords justices communicated to us some papers which they had received from the lords justices of England, laid before them by your board. But these papers coming in a little too late, when we had just closed the bill, and a very little time before our last adjournment for three weeks; all we did with them was to remit them again to our lords justices and council, with the houses desire, that if their lordships should think fit to excerp any thing out of those papers, and add it to our act, whilst they had it before them, in order to be transmitted into England, their lordships might do therein as they pleased, and the house would agree to any such additions, when the act came before us transmitted in due form under the seal of England. Whether the lords justices will make any such additions out of those papers, I cannot yet tell; but I am sure there were many things in those papers that highly deserved to be put in execution.

My brother gives you his most humble service, and should be very proud of the present of your Education. For though he has yet only two daughters, yet he is in hopes of many sons; and the girls minds require as much framing as the boys, and by the same rules: and that I take to be the chief part of education. I am,

Yours most sincerely,

Will. Molyneux.

Oct. 28, 1697

Dublin

Locke

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Dublin,

Oct. 28, 1697.

My most honoured Friend,

IF men could destroy by a quill, as they say porcupines do, I should think your death not very far off. But whatever venom they mix with their ink against you, I hope it is not mortal; I am sure in my opinion it is not the least harmful or dangerous. Your Reply to the bishop of Worcester shows how vainly the mightiest champion spends his darts at you, and with what force and strength of reason you return them on their own heads. But notwithstanding this, I verily believe he will offer again at his weak efforts; for he that was so fully possessed of his own sufficiency, as to think he could deal with the first letter to him, will certainly never lay down the cudgels till his blood be about his ears: and if he thought himself obliged in honour to justify his first blunders, much more will he think himself so now, when he is thrown over head and ears in the mire. To pass by all the rest of your Reply, (wherein you have given him many a severe wound,) I think he is no-where so clearly and disgracefully foiled, as by the conversation between you and your friend concerning his notions of nature and person. But, above all, the consequence you draw from thence, of his being obliged to write against his own Vindication of the Trinity, must needs wound him to the heart; and indeed I do not see how it is possible for him to avoid the force of that blow, by all his art and cunning. Yet write he will, I am sure on it, and pour forth abundance of words; but so he may for ever. I envy not the place of his amanuensis.

But all this while I have forgot to return you my acknowledgments for the favour of your book. I am extremely obliged to you for remembering me amongst your other friends, whenever you are pleased to oblige the learned world with any of your happy thoughts. I had no sooner perused them, but they were snatched out of my hands by my lord chancellor, (so covetous are all men of whatever comes from you,) and he has them yet.

Amongst the other small craft that appears against you, I met with one J. H.’s State of England, in relation to coin and trade. I hear the author’s name is Hodges. He is much of a class in this particular, as Mr. Serjeant, in relation to your Essay, that is, both to me unintelligible.

The enclosed is a sample of what this place produces against you: I wish you may not say, that it resembles our mountains and bogs, in being barren and useless. I have ventured to send you my short answer thereto: for a longer I think it did not deserve. I have not seen the bishop since this has passed; but we are so good friends that this business will cause no anger between us. I am

Your most obliged and humble servant,

Will. Molyneux.

Oct. 26, 1697

Johnstown

Molyneux

BISHOP OF —— — ‘S LETTER TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

Sir,

Johnstown,

Oct. 26, 1697.

I HAVE met with Mr. Locke’s Reply to the bishop of Worcester, and have had leisure to look it over here. I meddle not with the controversy between them, but confess I am a little surprized at what I find and 96, where we have these words: “To talk of the certainty of faith, seems all one to me, as to talk of the knowledge of believing.” And, “When it is brought to certainty, faith is destroyed:” And, “Bring it to certainty, and it ceases to be faith.” And he in terms owns, , “With me to know and to be certain, is the same thing; what I know, that I am certain of; and what I am certain of, that I know.” And , “Knowledge I find in myself, and I conceive in others, consists in the perception of the agreement or disagreement of the immediate objects of the mind in thinking, which I call ideas.” And, , “Certainty consists in the perception of the agreement or disagreement of two ideas.” Now to me it seems, that according to Mr. Locke I cannot be said to know any thing except there be two ideas in my mind, and all the knowledge I have must be concerning the relation these two ideas have to one another, and that I can be certain of nothing else; which, in my opinion, excludes all certainty of sense and of single ideas, all certainty of consciousness, such as willing, believing, knowing, &c. and, as he confesses, all certainty of faith; and lastly, all certainty of remembrance, of what I have formerly demonstrated, as soon as I have forgot, or do not actually think of the demonstration. For I suppose you are well aware, that in demonstrating mathematical propositions, it is not always from actual perception of the agreement of ideas, that we assume other propositions formerly demonstrated to infer the conclusion, but from memory: and yet we do not think ourselves less certain on that account. If this be the importance of Mr. L.’s words, as it seems to me to be, then we are not certain of the acts of our mind; we are not certain of any thing that remains in our minds merely by the strength of our memory; and lastly, we are not certain of any proposition, though God and man witness the truth of it to us: and then judge how little certainty is left in the world, and how near this last comes to Mr. Toland’s proposition, that authority or testimony is only “a means of information, not a ground of persuasion.” For I must own, that I think I am only persuaded of the truth of a thing, in proportion to the certainty I have of it: and if knowledge and certainty be reciprocally the same, and consist in the perception of the agreement or disagreement of two ideas; where I do not perceive these, though God and man, nay the whole world should testify to me that they do agree or disagree, I cannot be certain of it, I must profess myself of another opinion; and I think I am as certain there was such a man as Mr. L. from the testimony of you and other circumstances, though I perceive no agreement or disagreement in this case between the two ideas, to convince me of his being; as that the three angles of a straight-lined triangle are equal to two right angles, where I actually perceive the agreement, or rather equality: or, that the area of a cyclois is equal to triple the generating circle, of which I am certain by memory, though I do not at present perceive the demonstration, or any agreement between the ideas of three circles and a cyclois, only remember that I once perceived it.

Let me farther add, that agreement and disagreement are metaphorical terms when applied to ideas; for agreement properly, I think, either signifies, first, a compact between two persons; or, secondly, two things fitting one another, as the two parts of a tally; or, thirdly, the likeness of two things, as of a pair of coach-horses; or, fourthly, the aptitude of two things to support or preserve one another. So several meats agree with the stomach; but I do not find, that in a proposition the ideas have an agreement in any of these senses; and I rather think the old way of expressing this matter ought to be retained. I learned in Smiglecius, that when the “species intelligibilis” of the predicate was the same with the species of the subject, the one might be affirmed of the other: and when the “medius terminus” was the same with the one extreme term in one of the premises, and the other extreme the same with it in the other of the premises, the one might be affirmed of the other in the conclusion, because of the old axiom: “Quæ sunt idem uni tertio, sunt idem inter se.” You may use the metaphorical term of agreement here instead of identity; but Mr. L. has told us, , That “metaphorical expressions (which seldom terminate in truth) should be as much as possible avoided, when men undertake to deliver clear and distinct apprehensions, and exact notions of things.”

I do find that men’s thoughts do not differ so much as their words, and that most men are of one mind, when they come to understand one another, and have the same views; and hence many controversies are only verbal. I doubt not but by my difference from Mr. L. in this matter may be of the same nature; and perhaps, if I had carefully read his book of Human Understanding, I might perceive it; but I have neither opportunity, leisure, or inclination to do so, and believe a great part of the world to be in the same circumstances with me; and I verily believe, that the expressions I have noted in his reply, will seem unwary to them as well as to me.

I do find he claims a liberty that will not be allowed him by all, , “to please himself in his terms,” so they be used constantly “in the same and a known sense.” I remember others have claimed the same liberty under the notion of making their own dictionary; but I reckon the changing a term, though I declare my sense, and forewarn the reader of it, to be a very great injury to the world; and to introduce a new one, where there is one altogether to signify the same thing, equally injurious; and that a man has only this liberty where he introduces a new thing, that has yet no name. And I believe you see my reasons for being of this opinion, and therefore shall not mention them. Let me only observe, that the want of this caution seems to me to have brought most of Mr. L.’s trouble on him. Words were indeed arbitrary signs of things in those that first imposed them, but they are not to us. When we use the best caution we can, we are apt to transgress in changing them; and when we do so out of weakness, we must ask pardon, but must not claim it as liberty, it being really a fault. A few minutes lying on my hands, has given you this trouble; and I know your kindness to Mr. L. will not make it ungrateful to you, whilst it assures you that I am

Your most affectionate humble servant.

I could never comprehend any necessity for a criterion of certainty to the understanding, any more than of one to the eye, to teach it when it sees. Let the eye be rightly disposed, and apply an object to it, if duly applied, it will force it to see: and so apply an object to an understanding duly qualified, and if the arguments or object be as they ought to be, they will force the understanding to assent, and remove all doubts. And I can no more tell, what is in the object, or arguments, that ascertains my understanding, than I can tell what it is in light, that makes me see. I must say, that the same God that ordered light to make me see, ordered truth, or rather certain objects, to ascertain my understanding; and I believe Mr. L. can hardly give any other reason why his agreement, &c. of ideas should cause certainty.

Will. Molyneux

Oct. 27, 1697

Dublin

MR. MOLYNEUX’S ANSWER TO THE BISHOP.

My Lord,

Dublin,

Oct. 27, 1697.

I AM extremely obliged to your lordship, that having a few minutes lying on your hands in your retirement from this town, you are pleased to bestow them on my friend and me. I should have acknowledged the favour more early, had your servant staid for an answer when he delivered yours to me; but he was gone out of my reach before I was aware of it.

And now, my lord, all the answer I shall trouble your lordship with at present is this, that your lordship is much in the right on it, that had you read Mr. Locke’s Essay of Human Understanding more carefully and throughout, you had never made the objections you raise against him in your letter to me; for your lordship would have found his fourth book abundantly satisfactory in the difficulties you propose, and particularly the 2d and 18th chapters of the fourth book, are a full answer to your lordship’s letter.

But your lordship says, you have neither opportunity, leisure, or inclination to read the Essay. My lord, I would not then have leisure or inclination to animadvert on a book, that I had not (if not inclination) at least leisure to read. This, with submission, I cannot but say is great partiality. If your lordship says, your letter relates to his reply to the bishop of Worcester; neither will this do, in my humble opinion; seeing your lordship seems to surmise (as indeed you guess rightly) that the Essay might have set you right in this matter. I am,

My Lord,
Your lordship’s most humble servant,

Will. Molyneux.

Dec. 18, 1697

Dublin

Locke

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Dear Sir,

Dublin,

Dec. 18, 1697.

IT is now above three months since I heard from you, your last being of Sept. 11. You will therefore excuse my impatience, if I can forbear no longer, and send this merely to know how you do. It is an anguishing thought to me, that you should be subject to the common frailties and fate of mankind; but it would be some alleviation to my trouble, that if you are ill, I should know the worst of it. This has so wholly taken up my mind at present, that I have no inclination to write one word more to you in this, but again to repeat my request to you, that you would let me know how you are; for till I know this, I am dissatisfied, I am extremely uneasy; but for ever shall be

Your most affectionate admirer,
and devoted servant,

Will. Molyneux.

John Locke

Jan. 10, 1697-8

Oates

Molyneux

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

Dear Sir,

Oates,

Jan. 10, 1697-8.

YOUR gentle and kind reproof of my silence, has greater marks of true friendship in it, than can be expressed in the most elaborate professions, or be sufficiently acknowledged by a man, who has not the opportunity nor ability to make those returns he would. Though I have had less health, and more business since I writ to you last than ever I had for so long together in my life; yet neither the one nor the other had kept me so long a truant, had not the concurrence of other causes, drilled me on from day to day, in a neglect of what I frequently purposed, and always thought myself obliged to do. Perhaps the listlessness my indisposition constantly kept me in, made me too easily hearken to such excuses; but the expectation of hearing every day from Mons. Le Clerc, that I might send you his answer, and the thoughts that I should be able to send your brother an account, that his curious treatise concerning the chafers in Ireland was printed, were at least the pretences that served to humour my laziness. Business kept me in town longer than was convenient for my health: all the day from my rising was commonly spent in that, and when I came home at night, my shortness of breath, and panting for want of it, made me ordinarily so uneasy, that I had no heart to do any thing: so that the usual diversion of my vacant hours forsook me, and reading itself was a burthen to me. In this estate I lingered along in town to December, till I betook myself to my wonted refuge, in the more favourable air and retirement of this place. That gave me presently relief against the constant oppression of my lungs, whilst I sit still: but I find such a weakness of them still remain, that if I stir ever so little, I am immediately out of breath, and the very dressing or undressing me is a labour that I am fain to rest after to recover my breath; and I have not been once out of my house since I came last hither. I wish nevertheless that you were here with me to see how well I am: for you would find, that, sitting by the fire’s side, I could bear my part in discoursing, laughing, and being merry with you, as well as ever I could in my life. If you were here (and, if wishes of more than one could bring you, you would be here to-day) you would find three or four in the parlour after dinner, who, you would say, passed their afternoons as agreeably and as jocundly as any people you have this good while met with. Do not therefore figure to yourself, that I am languishing away my last hours under an unsociable despondency and the weight of my infirmity. It is true, I do not count upon years of life to come; but I thank God I have not many uneasy hours here in the four-and-twenty; and if I can have the wit to keep myself out of the stifling air of London, I see no reason but, by the grace of God, I may get over this winter, and that terrible enemy of mine may use me no worse than the last did, which as severe, and as long as it was, let me yet see another summer.

What you say to me in yours of the 4th of October, concerning the bishop of W……, you will, I believe, be confirmed in, if his answer to my second letter, of which I shall say nothing to you yet, be got to you.

Mr. Coste is now in the house with me here, and is tutor to my lady Masham’s son. I need not, I think, answer your questions about his skill in mathematics and natural history: I think it is not much; but he is an ingenious man, and we like him very well for our purpose; and I have a particular obligation to you, for the reason why you inquired concerning him.

I come now to yours of the 28th of October, wherein you have found by this time, that you prophecied right concerning the bishop of W……, and if you can remember what you said therein, concerning abundance of words, you will not, I suppose, forbear smiling, when you read the first leaf of his last answer.

If there be not an evidence of sense and truth, which is apt and fitted to prevail on every human understanding, as far as it is open and unprejudiced; there is at least a harmony of understandings in some men, to whom sense and nonsense, truth and falsehood, appear equally in the respective discourses they meet with. This I find perfectly so between you and me, and it serves me to no small purpose to keep me in countenance. When I see a man disinterested as you are, a lover of truth as I know you to be, and one that has clearness and coherence enough of thought to make long mathematical, i. e. sure deductions, pronounce of J. H. and J. S.’s books, that they are unintelligible to you; I do not presently condemn myself of pride, prejudice, or a perfect want of understanding, for laying aside those authors, because I can find neither sense or coherence in them. If I could think that discourses and arguments to the understanding were like the several sorts of cates to different palates and stomachs, some nauseous and destructive to one, which are pleasant and restorative to another; I should no more think of books and study, and should think my time better employed at push-pin than in reading or writing. But I am convinced to the contrary: I know there is truth opposite to falsehood, that it may be found if people will, and is worth the seeking, and is not only the most valuable, but the pleasantest thing in the world. And therefore I am no more troubled and disturbed with all the dust that is raised against it, than I should be to see from the top of an high steeple, where I had clear air and sun-shine, a company of great boys or little boys (for it is all one) throw up dust in the air, which reached not me, but fell down in their own eyes.

Your answer to your friend the bishop was certainly a very fit and full one to what he had said, and I am obliged to you for it: but he nevertheless thought his objections so good, that I imagine he communicated them to my antagonist; for you will find the very same in his answer, and almost in the same words. But they will receive an answer at large in due time.

It will not be at all necessary to say any thing to you concerning the linen bill, which made so great a part of your letter of Oct. 4th, and was the whole business of that of Oct. 16th. You know (I believe) as well as I, what became of that bill. Pray return my humble thanks to Mr. Hamilton for his kind expressions concerning me, and for the favour he did me in thinking me any ways able to serve his country in that matter. I am so concerned for it, and zealous in it, that I desire you to assure him, and to believe yourself, that I will neglect no pains or interest of mine to promote it as far as I am able; and I think it a shame, that whilst Ireland is so capable to produce flax and hemp, and able to nourish the poor at so cheap a rate, and consequently to have their labour upon so easy terms, that so much money should go yearly out of the king’s dominions, to enrich foreigners, for those materials, and the manufactures made out of them, when his people of Ireland, by the advantage of their soil, situation, and plenty, might have every penny of it, if that business were but once put in the right way. I perceive by one of your letters, that you have seen the proposals for an act sent from hence. I would be very glad that you and Mr. Hamilton, or any other man, whom you know able, and a disinterested well-wisher of his country, would consider them together, and tell me whether you think that project will do, or wherein it is either impracticable or will fail, and what may be added or altered in it to make it effectual to that end. I know, to a man, a stranger to your country, as I am, many things may be overseen, which by reason of the circumstances of the place, or state of the people, may in practice have real difficulties. If there be any such in regard of that project, you will do me a favour to inform me of them. The short is, I mightily have it upon my heart to get the linen manufacture established in a flourishing way in your country. I am sufficiently sensible of the advantages it will be to you, and shall be doubly rejoiced in the success of it, if I should be so happy that you and I could be instrumental in it, and have the chief hand in forming any thing that might conduce to it. Employ your thoughts therefore I beseech you about it, and be assured what help I can give to it here shall be as readily and as carefully employed, as if you and I alone were to reap all the profit of it.

I have not yet heard a word from Mons. le Clerc, in answer to my inquiries, and the questions you asked, or else you had heard sooner from me. I must beg you to return my acknowledgments to Mr. Molesworth in the civilest language you can find, for the great compliment you sent me from him. If he could see my confusion as often as I read that part of your letter, that would express my sense of it better than any words I am master of. I can only say that I am his most humble servant, and I have been not a little troubled, that I could not meet with the opportunities I sought to improve the advantages I proposed to myself in an acquaintance with so ingenious and extraordinary a man as he is.

I read your brother’s treatise, which he did me the honour to put into my hands, with great pleasure, and thought it so unreasonable to rob the public of so grateful a present by any delay of mine, that I forthwith put it into Dr. Sloane’s hand to be published, and I expected to have seen it in print long ere this time. What has retarded it I have not yet heard from Dr. Sloane, who has not writ to me since I came into the country: but I make no doubt but he takes care of so curious a piece, and the world will have it speedily. I must depend on you, not only for excusing my silence to yourself, but I must be obliged to you to excuse me to your brother for not having written to him myself to thank him for the favour he did me. I hope ere long to find an opportunity to testify my respects to him more in form, which he would find I have in reality for him, if any occasion of that kind should come in my way. In the mean time I believe, if he saw the length of this letter, he would think it enough for one of a family to be persecuted by so voluminous a scribbler, and would be glad that I spared him. I am both his, and,

Dear Sir,
Your most affectionate,
and most humble servant,

John Locke.

Will. Molyneux

March 15, 1697-8

Dublin

Locke

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Dear Sir,

Dublin,

March 15, 1697-8.

IN the midst of my trouble for your long silence, soon after I had writ to two or three friends to inquire after your health, I was happily relieved by yours of last January the 10th from Oates. I am heartily concerned that you passed over the last winter with so much indisposition: but I rejoice with you that you have escaped it, and hope you will yet pass over many more. I could make to you great complaints likewise of my own late illness; but they are all drowned in this one, that I am hindered for a while in seeking a remedy for them. I fully purposed to be at the Bath this spring early, but I am disappointed at present, and cannot stir from hence till my lord chancellor Methwin return to this kingdom. It has pleased the young lord Woodstock, by directions from his majesty, to choose my lord chancellor Methwin, Mr. Van Homrigh, present lord mayor of this city, and myself, to be his guardians, and managers of his affairs in this kingdom. Nothing can be done without two of us; so I am tied by the leg. Were it only in my health that I am disappointed, I could the easier bear it; but I am delayed from embracing my dear friend, which is most grievous of all. Yet I hope it will be so but for a time; but if my lord chancellor comes over in any convenient season, I will certainly get loose. But this I cannot hope for till the parliament in England rises. I should be glad to know from you when that is expected; for indeed they bear very hard upon us in Ireland. How justly they can bind us without our consent and representatives, I leave the author of the Two Treatises of Government to consider. But of this I shall trouble you farther another time, for you will hear more hereafter.

I have seen the bishop of Worcester’s answer to your second letter. It is of a piece with the rest, and you know my thoughts of them already. I begin to be almost of old Hobbes’s opinion, that, were it men’s interest, they would question the truth of Euclid’s Elements, as now they contest almost as full evidences.

I am very glad Mons. Coste is so well settled as you tell me; I designed fully to invite him over hither; and if you know any other ingenious Frenchman of that sort, or any such hereafter comes to your knowledge, I should be very glad you would give me intimation thereof.

I had certainly answered that part of your letter relating to the linen manufacture, but that I daily expected to do it more effectually by Mr. Hamilton himself, who gave me hopes of his going into England, and was resolved personally to wait on you about it. He is master of the whole mystery (and that I cannot pretend to be) and would have discoursed you most satisfactorily concerning it. I promised him a letter to you whenever he goes over, which will now be very speedily, and then I doubt not but you will concert matters together much for the good of this poor kingdom.

My brother gives you his most humble service, and thanks you for the care you took about his discourse concerning chafers. We hear from Dr. Sloane that it is printed. I am

Your most humble servant,

Will. Molyneux.

John Locke

April 6, 1698

Oates

Molyneux

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

Dear Sir,

Oates,

April 6, 1698.

THERE is none of the letters that ever I received from you gave me so much trouble as your last of March 15. I was told that you resolved to come into England early in the spring, and lived in the hopes of it more than you can imagine. I do not mean that I had greater hopes of it than you can imagine; but it enlivened me, and contributed to the support of my spirits more than you can think. But your letter has quite dejected me again. The thing I above all things long for, is to see, and embrace, and have some discourse with you before I go out of this world. I meet with so few capable of truth, or worthy of a free conversation, such as becomes lovers of truth, that you cannot think it strange if I wish for some time with you, for the exposing, sifting, and rectifying of my thoughts. If they have gone any thing farther in the discovery of truth than what I have already published, it must be by your encouragement that I must go on to finish some things that I have already begun; and with you I hoped to discourse my other yet crude and imperfect thoughts, in which if there were any thing useful to mankind, if they were opened and deposited with you, I know them safe lodged for the advantage of truth some time or other. For I am in doubt whether it be fit for me to trouble the press with any new matter; or if I did, I look on my life as so near worn out, that it would be folly to hope to finish any thing of moment in the small remainder of it. I hoped therefore, as I said, to have seen you, and unravelled to you that which lying in the lump unexplicated in my mind, I scarce yet know what it is myself; for I have often had experience, that a man cannot well judge of his own notions, till either by setting them down in paper, or in discoursing them to a friend, he has drawn them out, and as it were spread them fairly before himself. As for writing, my ill health gives me little heart or opportunity for it; and of seeing you I begin now to despair. And that which very much adds to my affliction in the case is, that you neglect your own health on considerations, I am sure, that are not worth your health; for nothing, if expectations were certainties, can be worth it. I see no likelihood of the parliament’s rising yet this good while; and when they are up, who knows whether the man, you expect to relieve you, will come to you presently, or at all. You must therefore lay by that business for a while which detains you, or get some other body into it, if you will take that care of your health this summer which you designed, and it seems to require: and if you defer it till the next, who knows but your care of it may then come too late. There is nothing that we are such spendthrifts of as of health; we spare every thing sooner than that, though whatever we sacrifice it to is worth nothing without it. Pardon me the liberty I take with you: you have given me an interest in you; and it is a thing of too much value to me, to look coldly on, whilst you are running into any inconvenience or danger, and say nothing. If that could be any spur to you to hasten your journey hither, I would tell you I have an answer ready for the press, which I should be glad you should see first. It is too long: the plenty of matter of all sorts, which the gentleman affords me, is the cause of its too great length, though I have passed by many things worthy of remarks: but what may be spared of what there is, I would be glad should be blotted out by your hand. But this between us.

Amongst other things I would be glad to talk with you about before I die, is that which you suggest at the bottom of the first page of your letter. I am mightily concerned for the place meant in the question, you say you will ask the author of the treatise you mentioned, and wish extremely well to it; and would be very glad to be informed by you what would be best for it, and debate with you the ways to compose it. But this cannot be done by letters; the subject is of too great extent, the views too large, and the particulars too many to be so managed. Come therefore yourself, and come as well prepared in that matter as you can. But if you talk with others on that point there, mention not me to any body on that subject; only let you and I try what good we can do for those whom we wish well to. Great things have sometimes been brought about from small beginnings well laid together.

Pray present my most humble service to your brother; I should be glad of an opportunity to do him some service. That which he thanks me for, in my care about his discourse concerning the chafers, was a service to the public, and he owes me no thanks for it. I am,

Dear Sir,
Your faithful, and most humble servant,

John Locke.

Will. Molyneux

April 19, 1698

Dublin

Locke

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Dublin,

April 19, 1698.

Most honoured dear Sir,

I HAVE formerly had thoughts of coming into England, as I have told you on occasion of my health. But since the receipt of yours of April 6, which came to my hands but this morning, that consideration weighs but little with me. The desire of seeing and conversing with you, has drowned all other expectations from my journey, and now I am resolved to accomplish it, let what will come on it. Your persuasions and arguments I think have something in them of incantation: I am sure their charms are so powerful on me on all occasions, I can never resist them. I shall therefore embrace you, God willing, as soon as ever the parliament of England rises. I fix this period now, not so much in expectation of our chancellor’s arrival, as on another account. My dear friend must therefore know, that the consideration of what I mentioned in my last, from the incomparable author of the Treatise, &c. has moved me to put pen to paper, and commit some thoughts of mine on that subject to the press in a small 8vo. intitled, “The Case of Ireland’s being bound by Acts of Parliament in England stated.” This you’ll say is a nice subject, but I think I have treated it with that caution and submission, that it cannot justly give any offence; insomuch that I scruple not to put my name to it; and by advice of some good friends here, have presumed to dedicate it to his Majesty. I have ordered some of them to Mr. Churchill, to be presented to you and some of your friends; and they are now upon the road towards you. I have been very free in giving you my thoughts on your pieces; I should be extremely obliged to you for the like freedom on your side upon mine. I cannot pretend this to be an accomplished performance; it was done in haste, and intended to overtake the proceedings at Westminster; but it comes too late for that: what effect it may possibly have in time to come, God and the wise council of England only know; but were it again under my hands, I could considerably amend and add to it. But till I either see how the parliament at Westminster is pleased to take it, or till I see them risen, I do not think it adviseable for me to go on t’other side the water. Though I am not apprehensive of any mischief from them, yet God only knows what resentments captious men may take on such occasions.

My brother gives you his most respectful service: he has now ready a discourse on our giant’s causeway, which indeed is a stupendous natural rarity: he has addressed it to Dr. Lister; but you will soon see it in the transactions.

Mr. Burridge goes on now with some speed: I had lately an occasion of writing to Mr. Churchill, and I gave him an account of his progress. I hope the whole will be finished soon after Midsummer; and indeed in my opinion he performs it incomparably. I am,

Dear Sir,
Your most affectionate humble servant,

Will. Molyneux.

John Locke

July 9, 1698

London

Molyneux

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

Dear Sir,

London,

July 9, 1698.

I AM just come to London, where your former promise, and what Mr. Churchill since tells me, makes me hope to see you speedily. I long mightily to welcome you hither, and to remit, to that happy time, abundance that I may say to you. For I am,

Dear Sir,
Your most affectionate, humble servant,

John Locke.

Will. Molyneux

Sept. 20, 1698

Dublin

Locke

MR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Honoured dear Sir,

Dublin,

Sept. 20, 1698.

I ARRIVED here safely the 15th instant; and now that the ruffling and fatigue of my journey is a little over, I sit down to a task, which I must confess is the hardest I was ever under in my life; I mean, expressing my thanks to you suitable to the favours I received from you, and suitable to the inward sense I have of them in my mind. Were it possible for me to do either, I should in some measure be satisfied; but my inability of paying my debts, makes me ashamed to appear before my creditor. However, thus much, with the strictest sincerity, I will venture to assert to you, that I cannot recollect, through the whole course of my life, such signal instances of real friendship, as when I had the happiness of your company for five weeks together in London. It is with the greatest satisfaction imaginable that I recollect what then passed between us, and I reckon it the happiest scene of my whole life. That part thereof, especially, which I passed at Oates, has made such an agreeable impression on my mind, that nothing can be more pleasing. To all in that excellent family, I beseech you, give my most humble respects. It is my duty to make my acknowledgments there in a particular letter; but I beg of you to make my excuse for omitting it at this time, because I am a little pressed by some business that is thrown upon me since my arrival. To which also you are obliged for not being troubled at present with a more tedious letter from,

SIR,
Your most obliged,
and entirely affectionate friend and servant,

Will. Molyneux.

John Locke

Sept. 29, 1698

London

Molyneux

MR. LOCKE TO MR. MOLYNEUX.

Dear Sir,

London,

Sept. 29, 1698.

YOURS of the 20th has now discharged me from my daily employment of looking upon the weather-cock, and hearkening how loud the wind blowed. Though I do not like this distance, and such a ditch betwixt us, yet I am glad to hear that you are safe and sound on the other side the water. But pray speak not in so magnificent and courtly a style of what you received from me here. I lived with you, and treated you as my friend, and therefore used no ceremony, nor can receive any thanks but what I owe you doubly, both for your company, and the pains you were at to bestow that happiness on me. If you keep your word, and do me the same kindness again next year, I shall have reason to think you value me more than you say, though you say more than I can with modesty read.

I find you were beset with business when you writ your letter to me, and do not wonder at it; but yet, for all that, I cannot forgive your silence concerning your health and your son. My service to him, your brother, and Mr. Burridge, and do me the justice to believe, that I am, with a perfect affection,

Dear Sir,
Your most humble and most faithful servant,

John Locke.

October 27, 1698

Oates

Burridge

MR. LOCKE TO MR. BURRIDGE.

Sir,

Oates,

October 27, 1698.

YOU guessed not amiss, when you said, in the beginning of yours of the 13th instant, that you gave me the trouble of a letter; for I have received few letters in my life, the contents whereof have so much troubled and afflicted me, as that of yours. I parted with my excellent friend, when he went from England, with all the hopes and promises, to myself, of seeing him again, and enjoying him longer in the next spring. This was a satisfaction that helped me to bear our separation; and the short taste I had of him here, in this our first interview, I hoped would be made up in a longer conversation, which he promised me the next time: but it has served only to give me a greater sense of my loss, in an eternal farewell in this world. Your earlier acquaintance may have given you a longer knowledge of his virtue and excellent endowments; a fuller sight, or greater esteem of them, you could not have than I. His worth, and his friendship to me, made him an inestimable treasure, which I must regret the loss of, the little remainder of my life, without any hopes of repairing it any way. I should be glad, if what I owed the father could enable me to do any service to his son. He deserves it for his own sake (his father has more than once talked to me of him) as well as for his father’s. I desire you therefore to assure those who have the care of him, that if there be any thing wherein I, at this distance, may be any way serviceable to young Mr. Molyneux, they cannot do me a greater pleasure than to give me the opportunity to show, that my friendship died not with him.

Pray give my most humble service to Dr. Molyneux, and to his nephew. I am,

SIR,
Your most faithful and humble servant,

John Locke.

Tho. Molyneux

Aug. 27, 1692

Dublin

Locke

DR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Sir,

Dublin,

Aug. 27, 1692.

I AM very sensible of your great civility in remembering me upon so short an acquaintance as I had with you in Holland, so long time since; and I assure you, without any compliment, I reckon it amongst the most fortunate accidents of my life, my so luckily falling into your conversation, which was so candid, diverting, and instructive, that I still reap the benefit and satisfaction of it. Some years after I left you in Holland, upon my return for England, I contracted no small intimacy with Dr. Sydenham, on the account of having been known to you his much esteemed friend; and I found him so accurate an observer of diseases, so thoroughly skilled in all useful knowledge of his profession, and withal so communicative, that his acquaintance was a very great advantage to me: and all this I chiefly owe to you, Sir, besides the information of many useful truths, and a great deal of very pleasing entertainment I have met with, in the perusal of your lately published writings; so that, on many accounts, I must needs say, there are very few men in the world, to whom I can, with the like sincerity, profess myself to be, as I am,

Dear Sir,
Your most real friend,
and very humble and obliged servant,

Tho. Molyneux.

John Locke

Nov. 1, 1692

Oates

Molyneux

MR. LOCKE TO DR. MOLYNEUX.

Sir,

Oates,

Nov. 1, 1692.

THE indisposition of my health, which drove me out of London, and keeps me still in the country, must be an excuse for my so long silence. The very great civility you express to me in your letter, makes me hope your pardon for the slowness of my answer, whereby I hope you will not measure the esteem and respect I have for you. That your own distinguishing merit, amongst the rest of my countrymen I met with at Leyden, has so settled in me, that before the occasion your brother’s favour lately gave me to inquire after you, I often remembered you, and it was not without regret I considered you at a distance that allowed me not the hopes of renewing and improving my acquaintance with you. There being nothing I value so much, as ingenious knowing men, think it not strange that I laid old on the first opportunity to bring myself again into your thoughts. You must take it as an exercise of your goodness, drawn on you by your own merit; for, whatever satisfaction I gain to myself in having recovered you again, I can propose no advantage to you, in the offer of a very useless and infirm acquaintance, who can only boast that he very much esteems you.

That which I always thought of Dr. Sydenham living, I find the world allows him now he is dead, and that he deserved all that you say of him. I hope the age has many who will follow his example, and by the way of accurate practical observation, as he has so happily begun, enlarge the history of diseases, and improve the art of physic, and not by speculative hypotheses fill the world with useless, though pleasing visions. Something of this kind permit me to promise myself one day from your judicious pen. I know nothing that has so great an encouragement from mankind as this.

I beg you to present my most humble service to your brother, whom I forbear now to interrupt, in the midst of his parliamentary affairs, whereof I know a great part must fall to his share, with my thanks for the favour of his of the 15th of October, which lately found me out safe here. Let him know that I am exceedingly sensible of the obligation, and shall at large make my acknowledgments to him as soon as good manners will allow it. I am,

SIR,
Your most humble and most faithful servant,

John Locke.

Tho. Molyneux

Sept. 20, 1692

Dublin

Locke

DR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Sir,

Dublin,

Sept. 20, 1692.

I AM much concerned to hear you have your health no better, and on this occasion cannot but deplore the great losses the intellectual word in all ages has suffered, by the strongest and soundest minds possessing the most infirm and sickly bodies. Certainly there must be some very powerful cause for this in nature, or else we could not have so many instances, where the knife cuts the sheath, as the French materially express it: and if so, this must be reckoned among the many other inseparable miseries that attend human affairs.

I could wish the physician’s art were so powerful and perfect, as, in some measure, to prevent so great an evil; but we find where once nature, or the “Oeconomia Animalis” of the body, is so depraved, as not to cooperate with medicine, all remedies, and the courses of them, prove wholly ineffectual, or to very little purpose. But still the more imperfect physic is, so much the more is owing to those, who in the least improve so difficult a province, which certainly has been considerably advanced by some late English authors; and that puts me in mind to desire of you your thoughts, or what other learned physicians you converse with say, concerning Dr. Morton and his late Exercitations on Fevers. As for his general theory of them, I esteem it, as all others of this kind, a sort of mere waking dream, that men are strangely apt to fall into, when they think long of a subject, beginning quite at the wrong end; for by framing such conceits in their fancies, they vainly think to give their understandings light, whilst the things themselves are still, and perhaps ever must remain, in darkness.

In his first exercitation that treats of agues, I don’t find he has said any thing very material, or worth notice, that the world did not sufficiently know before, unless it were some histories of the irregular shapes and symptoms this distemper appears under, which I think may be very instructive to the physician, and of great ease and advantage to the sick.

But his practical remarks in his second exercitation about continuing and remitting fevers, if they be judiciously founded upon many and steady observations, so that they may safely pass into a rule, must certainly be of great moment in directing the management and cure of fevers. I confess my experience in this distemper as yet falls something too short for to determine positively, whether all his observations be real and well grounded; but, as far as I can judge at present, several of them do hold good.

I remember to have heard Dr. Morton was once a presbyterian preacher; and though he were, this does not make him a jot the less capable in above twenty years practice, to have carefully observed the accidents that naturally occur in the progress of a disease; and if he be but a true and judicious register, it is all I desire from him.

You see I have taken great freedom in giving a character according to my apprehensions of this author, but it is only to encourage you to use the same liberty; for if, at your leisure, you would let me know your own thoughts, or what other candid men say concerning him and his methods of cure, or any other useful tract that comes abroad, you will extremely oblige,

SIR,
Your most obedient humble servant,

Tho. Molyneux.

John Locke

Jan. 20, 1692-3

Oates

Molyneux

MR. LOCKE TO DR. MOLYNEUX.

Sir,

Oates,

Jan. 20, 1692-3.

I MUST acknowledge the care you take of my health, in a way wherein you so kindly apply to my mind; and if I could persuade myself that my weak constitution was owing to that strength of mind you ascribe to me, or accompanied with it, I should find therein, if not a remedy, yet a great relief against the infirmities of my body. However, I am not the less obliged to you for so friendly an application; and if the cordial you prescribe be not to be had (for I know none equal to a judicious and capacious mind) your kindness is not to be blamed, who I am confident wish me that satisfaction, or any thing else that could contribute to my health.

The doctor, concerning whom you inquire of me, had, I remember, when I lived in town, and conversed among the physicians there, a good reputation amongst those of his own faculty. I can say nothing of his late book of fevers, having not read it myself, nor heard it spoke of by others: but I perfectly agree with you concerning general theories, that they are, for the most part, but a sort of waking dreams, with which, when men have warmed their own heads, they pass into unquestionable truths, and then the ignorant world must be set right by them. Though this be, as you rightly observe, beginning at the wrong end, when men lay the foundation in their own fancies, and then endeavour to suit the phenomena of diseases, and the cure of them, to those fancies. I wonder that, after the pattern Dr. Sydenham has set them of a better way, men should return again to that romance way of physic. But I see it is easier and more natural, for men to build castles in the air, of their own, than to survey well those that are to be found standing. Nicely to observe the history of diseases in all their changes and circumstances, is a work of time, accurateness, attention, and judgment, and wherein if men, through prepossession or oscitancy, mistake, they may be convinced of their errour by unerring nature and matter of fact, which leaves less room for the subtlety and dispute of words, which serves very much instead of knowledge, in the learned world, where, methinks, wit and invention has much the preference to truth. Upon such grounds as are the established history of diseases, hypotheses might with less danger be erected, which I think are so far useful, as they serve as an art of memory to direct the physician in particular cases, but not to be relied on as foundations of reasoning, or verities to be contended for; they being, I think I may say all of them, suppositions taken up gratis, and will so remain, till we can discover how the natural functions of the body are performed, and by what alteration of the humours, or defects in the parts, they are hindered or disordered. To which purpose, I fear the Galenists four humours, or the chemists sal, sulphur, and mercury, or the late prevailing invention of acid and alcali, or whatever hereafter shall be substituted to these with new applause, will, upon examination, be found to be but so many learned empty sounds, with no precise determinate signification. What we know of the works of nature, especially in the constitution of health, and the operations of our own bodies, is only by the sensible effects, but not by any certainty we can have of the tools she uses, or the ways she works by. So that there is nothing left for a physician to do, but to observe well, and so, by analogy, argue to like cases, and thence make to himself rules of practice: and he that is this way most sagacious, will, I imagine, make the best physician, though he should entertain distinct hypotheses concerning distinct species of diseases, subservient to this end, that were inconsistent one with another; they being made use of in those several sorts of diseases, but as distinct arts of memory, in those cases. And I the rather say this, that they might be relied on only as artificial helps to a physician, and not as philosophical truths to a naturalist. But, sir, I run too far, and must beg your pardon for talking so freely on a subject you understand so much better than I do. I hoped the way of treating of diseases, which, with so much approbation, Dr. Sydenham had introduced into the world, would have beaten the other out, and turned men from visions and wrangling to observation, and endeavouring after settled practices in more diseases; such as I think he has given us in some. If my zeal for the saving men’s lives, and preserving their health (which is infinitely to be preferred to any speculations ever so fine in physic) has carried me too far, you will excuse it in one who wishes well to the practice of physic, though he meddles not with it. I wish you and your brother, and all yours, a very happy new-year, and am,

Sir,
Your most humble and faithful servant,

John Locke.

Tho. Molyneux

Nov. 4, 1693

Dublin

Locke

DR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Sir,

Dublin,

Nov. 4, 1693.

FOR a while I deferred making any return for the favour of your last letter, on the account I understood, by one of yours to my brother, that I was suddenly to expect another obligation from you by the receipt of your Treatise of Education, which yesterday first came to my hands; and now I return you my hearty thanks for both your kindnesses together, of which should I express the real thoughts I have, I should seem to run either into extravagant compliment, or gross flattery: but thus much I must needs say, that as your letter certainly contains, in short, the only true method for the prosecuting the curing part of the practice of physic, and the sure way of improving it; a matter of the chiefest good, in relation to men’s bodies; so your book of education lays down such rules for the breeding of youth as, if followed, must necessarily prove of the greatest advantage to the better part of man, the mind, by insensibly disposing it to an habitual exercise of what is virtuous and laudable, and the acquisition of all such knowledge as is necessary for one’s own good, or that of others whom we are to converse with. Whence I cannot but think, had those of our own countries but a thorough persuasion, and a right sense of the great benefit that redounds from a cheerful education, so as universally to put it in practice; without question, we should soon become a nation as remarkably different from the rest of the word, for the inward endowments of our minds, and the rectitude of our manners, as the negroes are from the rest of mankind, for their outward shape and colour of body. But this, I fear, is a happiness only to be wished for; however, he that makes it his endeavour to promote so great a good, by showing the certain way to it, if they will follow him, justly deserves the high esteem of all that know how to value a truly public spirit.

I hope, sir, you have your health better, and that we may suddenly have abroad your Essay of Human Understanding, with those farther additions and alterations you have some time since designed for the press: I am confident it is impatiently expected by all that are acquainted with your writings, and that peculiar clear manner of delivering truth you are so much master of, but by none more than,

Sir,
Your most faithful humble servant,

Tho. Molyneux.

Tho. Molyneux

Oct. 25, 1697

Dublin

Locke

DR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Sir,

Dublin,

Oct. 25, 1697.

I SHOULD oftener make acknowledgments to you for your favours, and express the great esteem I bear you, but that this barren place affords little else to say: and this I cannot think reason enough to trouble one so busy and usefully engaged as you always are. Yet I would not omit thanking you, by this worthy gentleman, Mr. Berrisford, your acquaintance, for a present of a book, I understand by my brother, you designed for me, though I was so unlucky as to miss of it; and also communicate to you the enclosed letter, which the bishop of Clogher was pleased (perhaps out of his too partial friendship) to tell me deserved to be made public, and desired me accordingly to transmit it to Dr. Sloane: but this I would not do, unless it have your approbation also; so that it is wholly at your disposal to do with it as you please, as is likewise,

Sir,
Your very affectionate friend,
and humble servant,

Tho. Molyneux.

John Locke

Oct. 27, 1698

Oates

Molyneux

MR. LOCKE TO DR. MOLYNEUX.

Sir,

Oates,

Oct. 27, 1698.

DEATH has, with a violent hand, hastily snatched from you a dear brother. I doubt not but, on this occasion, you need all the consolation can be given to one unexpectedly bereft of so worthy and near a relation. Whatever inclination I may have to alleviate your sorrow, I bear too great a share in the loss, and am too sensibly touched with it myself, to be in a condition to discourse you on this subject, or do any thing but mingle my tears with yours. I have lost, in your brother, not only an ingenious and learned acquaintance, that all the world esteemed; but an intimate and sincere friend, whom I truly loved, and by whom I was truly loved: and what a loss that is, those only can be sensible who know how valuable, and how scarce, a true friend is, and how far to be preferred to all other sorts of treasure. He has left a son, who I know was dear to him, and deserved to be so as much as was possible, for one of his age. I cannot think myself wholly incapacitated from paying some of the affection and service that was due from me to my dear friend, as long as he has a child, or a brother, in the world. If, therefore, there be any thing, at this distance, wherein I, in my little sphere, may be able to serve your nephew or you, I beg you, by the memory of our deceased friend, to let me know it, that you may see that one who loved him so well, cannot but be tenderly concerned for his son, nor be otherwise than I am,

Sir,
Your most humble, and
most affectionate servant,

John Locke.

Tho. Molyneux

Nov. 26, 1698

Dublin

Locke

DR. MOLYNEUX TO MR. LOCKE.

Sir,

Dublin,

Nov. 26, 1698.

AS you have a true sense of every thing, so you were very much in the right, when you tell me, in the letter you favoured me with of the 27th of last month, that I needed all the consolation could be given one that had lost so unexpectedly a dear and only brother. His death indeed has been a severe affliction to me; and though I have you, and many more, that bear a great share with me in my sorrow, yet this does no way alleviate it, but makes it fall the heavier upon me; for it doubles my grief to think what an unspeakable loss he must be to so near a relation, that is so much lamented by those that were only acquainted with him. I could not believe that mortality could have made so deep an impression on me, whose profession leads into so thorough a familiarity with it; but I find a passionate affection surmounts all this, and the “tecum obeam lubens,” though it was the expression of a poet, yet I am sensible was a very natural one, where we love extremely, and the Indians prove it no less in fact. Could any outward circumstance of his life have increased that brotherly affection I had for him, it must have been that he had so great a part in your friendship, who must be allowed to have a nice judgment in discerning the true characters and worth of men. He frequently, in his life-time, has expressed to me with great complacency of mind, how happy he thought himself in your acquaintance; and he spoke of you several times, during his short sickness, with great respect. With his own hand he has writ this clause in his will: “I give and bequeath to my excellent friend John Locke, esq. author of the Essay concerning Human Understanding, the sum of five pounds, to buy him a ring, in memory of the value and esteem I had for him.” This I shall take care to send you in a bill by Mr. Churchill’s hands, when he states the account as it stands between him and my brother. The only child he has left behind him is under my care and management. I shall endeavour to discharge this trust, with all the regard to my brother’s memory, and the advantage of his child, I can: but it grieves me to think, that I must surely fall very much short of that extraordinary application and prudence his father would have shown in his education; for he made it the chiefest, and indeed the only business of his life. I have made his little son as sensible as his tender age would allow, how much he is obliged to you, his father’s friend, for your earnest desire to serve him: I wish you may both prolong your lives so, as he may one day be more thankful and capable of your kindness, by profiting much from your good instructions and advice. And since you so earnestly press me, by the memory of your deceased friend, to let you know wherein you might oblige me, I will venture to break the bounds of modesty so far, as to tell you I should be extremely pleased to receive from yourself the last edition of your incomparable Essay of Human Understanding, and such other pieces of your works as you shall think fit; for all which, as I have a great esteem, so I should have a more particular regard coming from yourself, as a private memorial of my dear brother’s friend, and of a person for whom I have such an extraordinary value, as I shall ever be proud of owning myself,

Sir,
Your truly affectionate humble servant,

Tho. Molyneux.

John Locke

Jan. 25, 1698-9

Oates

Molyneux

MR. LOCKE TO DR. MOLYNEUX.

Sir,

Oates,

Jan. 25, 1698-9.

I HAVE been slower in returning you my thanks for the favour of your letter of the 26th of November, and the civilities you express to me in it, than perhaps I should have been. But the truth is, my thoughts never look towards Dublin now, without casting such a cloud upon my mind, and laying such a load of fresh sorrow on me for the loss of my dear friend, your brother, that I cannot without displeasure turn them that way; and when I do it I find myself very unfit for conversation and the entertainment of a friend. It is therefore not without pain that I bring myself to write you a scurvy letter. What there wants in it of expression, you must make up out of the esteem I have for the memory of our common friend; and I desire you not to think my respects to you less, because the loss of your brother makes me not able to speak them as I would.

Since you are pleased to put such a value on my trifles, I have given order to Mr. Churchill to send you my last reply to the bishop of Worcester, and the last edition of my treatise of Education, which came forth since Mr. Molyneux’s death. I send this with the more confidence to you, because your brother told me more than once that he followed the method I therein offer to the world, in the breeding of his son. I wish you may find it fit to be continued to him, and useful to you in his education; for I cannot but be mightily concerned for the son of such a father, and wish that he may grow up into that esteem and character which his father left behind him amongst all good men who knew him. As for my Essay concerning Human Understanding, it is now out of print, and if it were not, I think I should make you but an ill compliment in sending it you less perfect than I design it should be in the next edition, in which I shall make many additions to it: and when it is as perfect as I can make it, I know not whether in sending it you, I shall not load you with a troublesome and useless present. But since by desiring it you seem to promise me your acceptance, I shall as soon as it is re-printed take the liberty to thrust it into your study. I am,

Sir,
Your most humble and faithful servant,

John Locke.

John Locke

28 Sept. 1685

Cleve

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

CUM ante dies decem, ad amicum nostrum dom. Guenellonem scripsi, facilè credès quod te. V. C. non insalutatum præteriverim: verum mei officii, tuorumque beneficiorum ratio postulat à me aliam & salutandi & gratias agendi methodum, ne aut obitèr, aut negligentèr, id quod mihi maximè incumbit, agere videar. Præsertim cum Guenellonis nostri silentium me incertum reddat, an meæ ad ipsum pervenerint literæ, quas sane minime vellem intercidisse; ne vobis omnibus, quibus tot nominibus obstrictus sum, aut parum memor, aut parum gratus appaream, credatisque paucarum horarum intervallum ex animo meo tot tantorumque beneficiorum delevisse memoriam, quam nulla temporis diuturnitas unquam delere valebit. In iis etiam significavi quam humaniter tuus Vander Key me excepit, quam officiosè adjuvit, quo nomine hic tibi gratias iterum agendas suadet viri istius summa humanitas, quanquam illud parum est, si cum maximo beneficiorum tuorum cumulo conferatur. Dom. Veenium & optimam illius fœminam, quibus salutem verbis non facile reperio, cum nulla sint, quæ aut illorum beneficia, aut eas quas habeo & semper habebo gratias, æquare possint; tuis tamen rogo quibus potes verbis maxime ornes. Ut me hic ulterius pergentem detinuit valetudinis ratio ad dom. Guenellonem scripsi. Amœnitas loci, & si non desidia, saltem quietis amor, & molestiæ, quam in itinere perpessus sum, aversatio adhuc detinet. Deambulationes hic, quibus quotidie prægressum ulciscor otium, valde jucundæ sunt; sed longe jucundiores forent, si aliquot vestrum expatiandi haberem socios, quod tam mei quam vestri causâ continuo opto, præsertim sic favente cœlo: nec enim credo sanitati incommodum esset, præsertim dominæ Guenelloni, cujus infirmis pulmonibus & valetudini parum robustæ prodesset maxime, credo, hic serenus & liber aër. Quid agatur apud vos, præsertim nostrorum respectu, ad me perscribas rogo; præsertim me de tuâ amicorumque nostrorum valetudine certiorem facias. Sum

Cleve, 28 Sept.

1685.

Tui observantissimus,

J. Locke.

John Locke

3 October, 1685

Cleve

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

DUAS à te, vir amplissime, officii & benevolentiæ plenas hic accepi literas: nec ingratus tibi videbor, spero, si ad singula, prout oportet, non fuse respondeam, temporis angustiâ impeditus. Hoc unum enixè rogo ut des operam, ut de adventu comitis Pembrokiæ per aliquem tuorum amicorum Hagæ degentium certior fiam, transmisso ea de re, vel ad me, vel ad te, nuntio. Dux copiarum Britannicarum futurus huc adventat, si jam non adest, quotidie expectatur. Meâ multum interest, ut quam fieri potest maturè illius accessum cognoscam. Hoc cum dixero, satis scio te omnem curam operamque in eo locaturum, ut quam celerrime id mihi innotescat. De aliis alias, nam tabellarius discedit. Amicos meos, meo nomine, quam officiosissimè quæso, salutes. Vale, & me, ut facis, ama,

Cleve, 3 October,

1685.

Tui observantissimum,

J. Locke.

John Locke

6 Oct. 1685

Cleve

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

Vir Clarissime,

SI duabus tuis amicissimis epistolis parum, vel nihil, à me responsum est, id instanti tabellarii discessui imputes, rogo, nec credas me tam rebus meis intentum tuæ vero consuetudinis & jucundissimi juxta ac doctissimi sermonis negligentem, ut omnia de meis negotiis, de tuis gratissimis literis nihil dicerem, nisi gravis aliqua subesset causa, cur de adventu comitis Pembrokiæ, quam fieri potuit citissimè, certior fierem. Sed jam quo maximè propendet animus, ad te, vir optime, & scripta tua redeo, in quibus primo accuso amicitiam tuam de me & meritis meis tam magnificè, de vestris erga me officiis & beneficiis tam exilitèr, loquentem. Hi sunt, fateor, magnæ & non fictæ amicitiæ aliquando errores, de quibus ideo queror, ut mihi aliter de iisdem rebus sentienti ignoscas, & me credas amicitiæ & gratitudinis dictata sequi, cum in eâ persistam sententiâ, aliqua me apud vos accepisse beneficia, quibus respondere verbis nec possim, nec debeam. Et nisi vos omnes in re, contra quam par est, voluntati meæ obstare viderem, tuam ego hic opem implorarem, ut hanc mihi velles eximere ægritudinem, & tuâ autoritate, quâ plurimum apud præstantissimum Veenium polles, huic querelæ tam justæ finem imponeres. Si quod videris promittere, sed heu! longum abest, his in collibus & sylvarum umbrâ, tuâ frui daretur & amicorum nostrorum consuetudine, crederem ego specimen aliquod aurei rediisse sæculi. Nam virtus, benignitas, pax & fides in sylvis solum degebant, quibus in urbanorum hominum frequentiâ vix datur locus. Sic cecinerunt poetæ: an aliquid aliud nos docent historici, hoc tempore non est mihi inquirendi animus. Gaudeo fratrem tuum convaluisse, & sine graviore aliquo symptomate. Locum illum epistolæ tuæ, ubi scriptorum tuorum memineris, non sine mœrore legi; sentio quantum ex discessu meo fecerim jacturam, & voluptatis & eruditionis, quod non legerem reliqua tua scripta, ex quibus non minorem mihi lucem promitterem, quam ex jam lectis, multo cum fructu, percepissem. Si vis ut sincerè & apertè dicam, nullibi reperi opiniones magis dilucide propositas, argumentorum rationibus melius subnixas, à partium studiis longius remotas, & veritati per omnia magis conformes. Hoc me ex animo proferre dubitare non potes, cum me tam importunè, tam deditâ operâ, criticum tam paucis potuisse dentem malignum imprimere patet. Sed me miserum! magnam partem fructûs, quem ex istâ meâ criticâ severitate mihi proposui, perdidi. Plurima enim, quæ inter legendum notaveram, non tam tui corrigendi, quam mei informandi, feci animo, de quibus tecum ulterius inquirendum statueram. Non est igitur, quod mihi tanto ardelioni gratias agas; satis est, si vehementi nimis inquisitori, & culpandi ansas studiosè quærenti ignoscas. Quanquam non malè pictæ tabulæ indicium est, si quis cogatur in eâ quærere nævos. Utinam quæ ego meditor, eo essent scripta idiomate, ut tu poteris vices rependere, reperires te ulciscendi copiosam materiam. Quod scribis de critici critico facile credo; quam primum enim attigi istum undecimæ epistolæ locum, videbar mihi audire obstrepentium exclamationes, quasi de religione omnino actum esset, nôsti hujusmodi hominum mores, quo minus heterodoxum aliquid possint refellere, ne nihil in causâ Dei agere videantur, tanto magis clamoribus, incusationibus, calumniis insurgunt. Fateor argumentum istud modestè proponendum fuisse, & cautè tractandum, sed tamen ejusmodi est, ut mereatur tandem summâ cum acribiâ discuti. Si omnia, quæ in sacris libris continentur, pro theopneustis paritèr habenda, sine omni discretione, magna sane præbetur philosophis de fide & sinceritate nostra dubitandi ansa. Si è contrario quædam pro scriptis pure humanis habenda; ubi constabit scripturarum divina autoritas, sine quâ corruet religio christiana? quodnam erit criterium? quis modus? adeo ut in hâc questione, si quâ aliâ, maxime fundamentali, summâ cum cautione, prudentiâ, modestiâ agendum, præsertim ab eo cui, uti credo, jam non nimium favent ecclesiasticæ potestates & theologorum classes. Sed signa cecinerunt, & expectandus est conflictus. Ego, qui ubique solam quæro veritatem, eamque, quantum capere possum, sive inter orthodoxos reperio, sive heterodoxos, pariter amplector. Fateor aliqua esse in eo scripto, quæ mihi plenè non satisfaciunt, alia quibus respondere non possum; de illis ab authore libenter responsum acciperem, si commodum existimas, de his tuum quære judicium.

Ni fallor, author sæpius utitur contra apostolorum continuam inspirationem hoc argumento, quod scil. multa ab illis dicta invenimus, quæ sine auxilio spiritus sancti dici poterant; quod tamen concessum, contra divinam sacræ scripturæ autoritatem & ϑεοπνευςίαν nihil concludit. Asseritur in s. scripturâ constans per omnia & infallibilis veritas. Si quid autem dicit sanctus Paulus Act. xxiii. (V. 241,) quod cœlitus ipsi revelatum non erat, id nihil detrahit certitudini scripturæ, quandoquidem ejusmodi res esset, quam certò & infallibilitèr cognoscere potuit, sine revelatione divinâ. Quæ sensibus & certâ cognitione apostolis constabant, non opus erat revelatione, ut earum historia, ab apostolis tradita, pro indubitatâ haberetur. Itaque metuo ne homines suspicentur hoc argumentum potius quæsitum, quam è re natum.

Explicatio illius promissi Joan. xvi. 13. quam fusè tradit . nequaquam mihi videtur posse accommodari apostolo Paulo, si quis attentè legat illius historiam Act. ix. & seq. Unde enim ille evangelii hostis, &, ut ipse alicubi fatetur, ignarus, poterat tam cito devenire mysteriorum evangelii interpres & præco, sine inspiratione supernaturali & divinâ? V. Act. ix. 19, 20.

Hæc aliqua eorum, quæ mihi inter legendum parum satisfecerunt, alia fuerunt, quorum oblitus sum: sed quid ad hæc dicat author libenter scirem. Verum cum plurima alia sunt quæ videntur omnimodam s. scripturæ infallibilitatem & inspirationem in dubium vocare, quibus fateor me non posse respondere, enixè rogo ut quid ea de re sentias, mihi explicare non graveris: multa enim, quæ in libris canonicis occurrebant, jamdiu ante tractatûs hujus lectionem, dubium me & anxium, tenuerunt, & gratissimum mihi facies, si hunc mihi adimas scrupulum. Cum summâ, quæso, amicitiæ, gratitudinis & existimationis significatione hanc inclusam hospiti meo optimo tradas. Illiusque & tuam & Guenellonis fœminam, meo nomine salutes, reliquosque nostros omnes. Vale, & longas epistolas scribenti ignoscas, nam tecum loqui haud facile desisto.

Cleve, 6 Oct.

1685.

Tibi devotissimus,

J. Locke.

John Locke

11 Oct. 1686

Utrecht

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

QUANQUAM longo usu ad alia hujus vitæ incommoda occaluit aliquatenus mens mea, à consuetudine tamen tuâ, vir doctissime & amicorum optime, me divelli, sine magnâ animi ægritudine, pati non possum. Tu enim me eruditione tuâ instruere, judicio confirmare, consilio dirigere, & amicitiâ & comitate solari solebas, quotidianum curarum mearum perfugium: sed ita plerumque mecum agi solet, ut ubi & quibuscum esse maxime cupio, refragante fortunâ, rarò permissum sit. Devorandum igitur, ut potero, hujus absentiæ tædium, quod frequentibus tuis literis levare debes, jam præsertim dum tempus & otium tibi permittunt adversarii illi, qui domi suæ prælia tibi meditantur. Hoc te in quo jam sumus sæculo expectâsse non dubito. Si candidè, & ut veritatis amici argumentorum pondere tecum agant, tibi scio non displicebunt, qui veritatem amplecteris, undecunque venientem. Sin iracundè, veteratoriè, malignè, paucis placebunt, nisi sui similibus; quicquid demum acciderit, hoc certum est, quod tu illæsus, victorque abibis, quia veritatem, quæris, non victoriam. Sed ut verum fatear, ego à rixosis hujusmodi disputatoribus non multum expecto, qui in alienis convellendis, non suis adstruendis, quærunt gloriam. Artificis & laudem merentis est ædificare. Sed pugnaces hosce sibi & curis suis relinquamus. Si quid in B — placidius & liberalius reperisti, gaudeo: pacificorum vellem quotidiè augeri numerum, præsertim inter reformatos, inter quos nimium quotidiè seruntur lites. Inimicus homo facit hoc. Alterius sunt indolis amici, quibus hic, te favente, familiaritèr utor. Uterque Grævius salutem plurimam tibi dicit. Verrynium sæpius quæsitum nondum domi reperi; hujus septimanæ dies aliquot extra urbem transegit; cum domum redierit, non diu insalutatum permittam. Vale cum tuâ tuisque, & me ama

Utrecht, 11 Oct.

1686.

Tui studiosissimum,

J. Locke.

John Locke

Mar. 8. 1687

Rotterodami

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

Vir reverendissime, amicissime, colendissime,

SINE fati & ineluctabili prædestinationis vi experior in me ipso, quomodo peccandi initia quandam sensim afferunt secum peccandi necessitatem. Literis tuis amicissimis 9, & 14. Febr. datis respondendi, quam primum eas acceperam, ansam mihi eripuit rei alicujus agendæ importuna tum festinatio. Sed cum, peracto cum eo quocum mihi res erat negotio, jam decessus illius in Angliam mihi fecerit otium, satis ad literas scribendas vacare mihi videor, nondum tamen nactus sum eam, quâ aliàs usus sum, scribendi libertatem. In hoc silentii crimen rebus aliis impeditus, quasi inscius incidi miser, quod jam tempore auctum penè confirmat pudor. Sic delicta delictis cumulamus semel irretiti, & modesti pariter & pervicaces in vitiis suis indurescunt. Vides quo in statu jam sum, & nisi credere me vis omnia certa & immutabili necessitate evenire, negligentiæ huic meæ ignoscere debes, ut redeat mihi antiqua mea apud te parrhesia. De Germanâ patrum theologiâ idem tecum planè sentio. Maxima semper fuit, semperque erit Germanorum natio, & pauci sunt in tantâ scriptorum multitudine, qui non videntur eo sub aëre nati. Sed me hâc de re à tuâ opinione non esse alienum, non multum miraberis. Aliquid amplius fateor est, quod ego numeros tuos secretos notaverim, & quod tu hoc observaveris. Cave tibi & ignosce quamprimum silentio meo, ne loquacitate tibi magis sim molestus, vides me in secretiora tua penetrare. ‘Scire volunt secreta domus’ — & nôsti quod sequitur,— ‘atque inde timeri.’ Magicæ hæ metuendæ sunt artes nimis perspicaces, quibus ego non parum mihi placeo, quandoquidem ex tam jucundo tam laudabili enascuntur fonte, & id mihi testatum faciunt, quod ante omnia cupio. Scio jam mentem meam à tuâ harmonicâ quadâm sympathiâ regi planè & gubernari. Sic me orthodoxum semper fore certum est. O! utinam eodem modo & sciens fieri possem. Ut enim verum fatear, inscius tuis numeris usus sum, sed gaudeo me prodiisse tenus: vellem & in aliis rebus hoc mihi acciderit. Agnosco genium tuum, cui me ducendum totum libentur traderem. Gratias ago quam maximas, pro omni tuâ curâ & operâ, in literis, in libris, & aliis meis rebus locatâ. Utinam daretur & vices rependere. Vale, & me ama

18 Tui amantissimum,

Rotterodami,

Mar. 8. 16,) (87

5 J. Locke.

John Locke

16 Maij, 1687

Rotterodami

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

QUID illo facies homine, qui nec cantare par est, nec respondere paratus? Quid juvat libertate à te ipso concessâ uti, sine viribus, ad ea quæ decent præstanda, necessariis? Jucundissima tua, & floribus undique referta, epistola ad ea, quæ scribis, iterum iterumque legenda maxime invitat; ut vero calamum sumam, & aliquid meo more rescribam valde dehortatur & deterret. Etsi enim grati sit animi, argutis & facetis amici sermonibus aliquid respondere, imprudentis tamen est & parum pudici, ornatis incondita, urbanis agrestia, pretiosis vilia, vel in ipso literarum commercio reponere. Frustra igitur à te libertate donatus sum, munus sane in specie magnificum, sed nisi aliquid de tuo etiam impertire possis ingenio, plane inutile; frustra enim accusabis me tanquam in libertate tardum, cui tam parata & justa sit defensio hebetem non debere esse loquacem, nec decere χάλϰέα χϱύσειων, ut ut enim eo modo liber sim, parum certe videbor liberalis. Novi animum tuum novi ingenium, & quam paratus sis omnia, ab amicâ voluntate profecta, in bonam partem interpretari; hoc boni omnia consulentis non parva laus est sed male interim scribentis pessima excusatio. Ea tamen fiducia fretus, en te iterum compellare ausim, melioribus studiis vacantem; si qui in eo pecco, nolo incusare vim à fatis illatam, causam sane, si qua sit, omnium maxime improbam, sed te ipsum, qui ab omni vi & coactione longissime abes, tua humanitas, tua benevolentia, tui lepores cogunt ut agnoscam, & ut fatear me tibi gratias habere, etiamsi referre non possim. Si his conditionibus mecum agere velis, en tibi ad legendas tuas epistolas paratissimum & cupidissimum: ad meas rescribendas, etiamsi cupiam, tardum, & sane tam necessitate quam officio tardum. Tu cum ista excusatione uti non potes, & maturè scribas rogo, & abundè. Id ni facias, audies me graviter querentem, te non præstare & amico & egenti id quod potes, & id quod debes, quia potes. Si jam inciperem iniquo jure communem inter nos colere amicitiam, hæc jam proponere vix animum inducerem; sed cum hac lege à primordiis amicitiæ semper viximus, ut tu properè & cumulatè omnia officia benevolentiæ præstares, ego vel in agnoscendo parcus & lentus essem, pati jam debes mores meos quantumvis malos, vetustate jam confirmatos, in quibus nihil novum, nihil insolens reperies. Vides quocum tibi res est; in hâc tamen culpâ non prorsus ingratus videri vellem, si id in se aliquid gratitudinis habet, ut qui eam, quâ se destitutum fatetur, in te miratur & amplectitur virtutem: in ea quæro mihi patrocinium, quod mihimet præstare non possum. Sed de me satis, ad majora nunc venio tua, scil. typographo haud parum irascor quod tuum, tam utile, tam doctum opus adeo procrastinet, spero jam accedente sole operarum diligentia incalescit. De Episcopii etiam tractatu gaudeo: de alio quod postulas tecum coram agam, ut enim quod res est fatear, scripseram prius ad te, nisi speraveram antehac me Amstelodamum accessurum, ut jucundissimâ illic amicorum consuetudine fruerer, imprimis tuâ, sine quâ hi ipsi veris non amœnè transeunt dies. Vale, vir præstantissime, &, ut facis, me ama,

Rotterodami, 16 Maij,

1687.

Tui studiosissimum,

J. Locke.

John Locke

11 Sept. 1687

Rotterod.

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

NONNE satis tibi est, vir clarissime, Judæum vicisse, nisi eodem opere inter Christianos, tui amantissimum tibi etiam prorsus subjuges? Diversis fateor armis nos aggrederis, illum argumentis, me beneficiis obstrictum tenes, è quibus ille se vix credo expediet; ego certo de me pronunciare possum, me tibi semper obnoxium futurum. Quid enim rependam viro, cui non sufficit me suis cumulare beneficiis, nisi insuper me dignum reddere conetur, dum suas sibi laudes ipse detrahit, quibus me ornatum velit; & in earum partem mihi non debitam venire? Tu fateor amicâ tuâ urbanitate facilius me, quocunque velis, circumducere possis, quam ille alter sua quemquam metaphysica. Sed ne expectes tamen, ut unquam eo usque me deducas, ut concedam istam festinationem, quâ exemplar ad me primum omnium misisti, mihi quovis jure deberi. Totum hoc beneficium & festinationis & muneris tuæ benevolentiæ & amicitiæ acceptum refero. Tu forsan, prout tua est humanitas, aliquo modo æquum putâsti ei primo omnium donere, quem noveras debere ex jam degustato opere vehementissimè omnium expetere hanc dissertationem, & desiderare redintegratam sibi denuò legendi voluptatem. Hujusmodi meritum facile agnosco, nec cuiquam donare poteras hoc volumen, cui aquæ exoptatum, æque acceptum esse potuit, ac mihi. Triduum illud & amplius, uti mones, nemo videbit. Laudo ego istam tuam erga Judæum comitatem; quanquam, ni fallor, quando perlegerit, vix credet ille, sibi hoc munere tantum factum esse beneficium, ut gaudeat tam maturè hunc librum in manus suas pervenisse. De eo, quod in calce epistolæ adjicis brevi plura. Dolui te per triduum mihi tam prope tam proculque fuisse. Sed patientius ferendum, quod amicum habeam, quem plures amant. Optimam tuam uxorem, collegas, reliquosque amicos nostros, officiosissimè quæso meo nomine salutes. Vale, & me ama

Rotterod.

11 Sept.

1687.

Tui amantissimum,

John Locke.

23 Sept. 1687

Rotterodami

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

NIMIS severus profectò es, vir clarissime, tuorum erga amicos officiorum exactor, alienæ vero negligentiæ valde immemor, dum te cunctationis insimulas, apud hominem uti nôsti omnium mortalium maxime cunctatorem. Nolo igitur apud te obtinere axioma illud, quo ultimas tuas male auspicatus es, “nihil deterius amico cunctatore,” sive de te ipso cogites, sive (uti aliquando meliore jure evenire possit) de me. Ego enim lentus admodum, & tamen inter eos, qui amicitiam cum fide colunt, non ultimum mihi locum vendico. Si hoc aliquanto arrogantius dictum sit, tu ipse videas. Tu alienas laudes mihi tribuis, & si illis semel mihimet placeo, ubi tandem me sistam? Istud synagogæ decretum satis, ut mihi videtur, à Judæis astutè promulgatum, ut eorum hic hyperaspites aliquid habeat, quod aliis dicat, etiamsi nihil habeat quod tibi respondeat: è consulto hoc factum credo, ut salvo honore & quantum fieri possit causa, possit ex arenâ decedere; tua enim argumentandi methodus, an nasutulis quibusdam Christianis, & nihil nisi sua probantibus, placebit, nescio; vix credo placebit Judæis, qui ea se magis implicatos sentient, quam fieri solent ab iis, qui Christianam religionem ad suum modulum exigentes, vix in ea reperirent, quod solidè Judæis opponere possent. Ego à quo librum tuum primum accepi (nam ita me cumulas, ut distinctione opus sit) tam incommodâ usus sum valetudine, ut illius lectioni vacare adhuc non potuerim. Sed jam indies convalescens, spero me non diu cariturum eâ voluptate. Interim gratias tibi ago quam maximas, & jam spero credes mihi satisfactum duplici hoc tributo, quod illud Judæi scriptum, sive characteres respicias, sive latinitatem, plane barbarum, olim perlegerim; nam de tuo si quid dicas, cogitare debes & profiteri, quantum ego per te profecerim. Ita enim, si verum dicere liceat, se res habet. Sed nolo ulterius ea de re tecum contendere, ne tertium mihi librum mittas. Literas D. Clerici, quas tuis inclusas memoras, nuspiam reperio; spero eas Amstelodami repertum iri & brevi me accepturum. Illum, tuam, tuos, nostros, quæso meo nomine salutes, & me ames, vir amplissime,

Rotterodami, 23 Sept.

1687.

Tui amantissimum,

J. Locke.

John Locke

20 Oct. 1687

Rotterod.

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

INTER cardiaca, & uti nostri vocant, restaurantia, nihil tam efficax reperio quam amicorum benevolentiam. Tuis ultimis literis me maximè recreatum sentio. Jam diu prioribus tuis humanitatis plenis respondissem, si quid certum de valetudine meâ pronunciare ausus fuissem; subinde enim, cum, me jam sanum salvumque credideram, recidivam passus, inter spem morbumque diu versatus, distuli ad te literas dare, donec certo aliquot dierum experimento me prorsus convaluisse confiderem. Hæc cunctatio ultimas tuas amicitiæ plenas tibi expressit literas, & mihi attulit remedium utilius eo & jucundius, quod mihi a Dno Veenio per Helmontium misisti, summa cum cura & festinatione: quanquam frustra, famula enim per negligentiam eversa phiola inclusum effudit liquorem. Sed jam spero non amplius opus erit remediis, quamvis subinde lævia quædam sentio symptomata, quæ spero non recrudescentis mali esse minas, sed abeuntis reliquias. Hæc ad te sigillatim scribere non vereor, quia de valetudine mea ita solicitus es, ut alio modo tuæ humanitati magis gratè respondere non possim. Gaudeo vehementer te pauco sanguine redemisse quod tibi impendebat malum. Spero te ea cautione & maturè semper usurum: quamprimum aliquam sentis gravitatem corporis, præsertim capitis vel ventriculi, ad venæsectionem tibi statim confugiendum. Hoc ni facias, de te sano magis metuendum erit, quam de me ægroto. Nos valetudinarii quoddam genus sumus hypocritarum, qui eo non proficiscimur, quo sæpius videmur tendere. Multum, tibi, collegis, cæterisque amicis Amstelodamensibus debeo, quibus mea sanitas ita cordi est; nec sperare possum vitam mihi satis diuturnam fore, ut tantam benevolentiam, tuam vero imprimis, prout res meretur, possim agnoscere; hoc velim tibi persuasum habeas me, quantulus quantulus sum, totum tuum esse. Salutes, quæso, quam humillimè, meo nomine, Veeniosque, Guenellosque, & collegas, omnes, illisque dicas mihi eos tam eximios esse medicos, ut magis mihi prosint illorum vota, quam aliorum remedia. Lectissimam tuam fœminam, quam officiosissime etiam salutes. Vale, & ego ut valeam, uti facis, me amando pergeface.

Rotterod.

20 Oct.

1687.

Tui, cum amore, observantissimus,

J. Locke.

John Locke

30 Nov. 1617

Rotterod.

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

CUM nihil adeo corporis sanitatem foveat & restauret, ac animi tranquillitas, non dubitare potes quin jucundissimæ tuæ literæ, amoris & benevolentiæ tuæ testes, in hac, in qua diu versatus sum, infirma mutabilique valetudine, mihi maximo fuerint solatio. Aliorum medicamentorum me sæpe pertæsum, reficiebant illa tua semper grata, semper suavissima, & cum alia nauseabundus respuerem, salutifera illa sale tuo Attico condita appetentius semper desideravi. Cave igitur ut credas te mihi epistolis tuis creâsse molestiam, nisi simul credere velis ingratam fore convalescentiam, cujus tu amore, cura, studio tuo maximus fuisti fautor, nec destiterunt tantæ amicitiæ indicia decumbentem me aliquando erigere. Si aliquanto tardius hæc cum gratiarum actione agnosco, nôsti hominem, nec expectare debes morbum me expeditiorem reddidisse. Quanquam, si hæc tibi justa satis videri possit causa, aliquantulum procrastinavi, ut confirmatæ sanitatis nuncium tibi possem mittere, & mihi tecum gratulari convalescentiam, quæ tibi adeo curæ & cordi fuit. Doleo Orobium nobis tam cito ereptum, non quod in eo amiseris triumphi ornamentum, scio enim te, modo veritas vincat, de vincendi gloria parum esse solicitum, quamvis in illo vivente aliqua veritatis confessio non displicuisset: sed destinaveram in proximis ad te literis petere exactum eorum quæ in inquisitione passus est historiam. Ad hoc me impulit narratio cujusdam Galli, quæ nuper prodiit de iis, quæ ipse, etsi Catholicus, passus est ab inquisitoribus Lusitanis, in Goâ Indiæ. Quæ à Judæo nostro confirmari omnia, vel superari posse, facile crediderim. Quandoquidem vero ille jam ad silentes migraverit, rogo ut tu quicquid istius rei tenes memoriâ, velis chartis consignare, ne intercidat quantum nobis restat methodi istius evangelicæ testimonium. Doleo me non interfuisse collegarum convivio, non quod ostreis caruerim, in hujusmodi enim conventibus nihil mihi minus placet quam pars taciturna, & ejusmodi convivarum sermo aliquid magis sapidum & jucundius salsum habet, quam ipsa ostrea Gaurana. Salutes eos, quæso, meo nomine, uti & optimam tuam fœminam, totamque Veenii & Guenellonis familiam. Ante duas vel tres septimanas ad Dm le Clerc scripsi, unaque chartas aliquas misi; an recte acceperit aveo scire, jam enim istis rebus vacare incipio: ipsum meo etiam nomine salutes.

Vale, & ut ipse valeam, amando & scribendo effice,

Rotterod.

30 Nov.

1617.

Tui studiosissimus,

J. Locke.

John Locke

22 Jun. 1688

Rotterod.

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

Vir spectatissime,

QUANTUMVIS obfirmato animo minas meas non expavescis, senties tamen aliquando, datâ occasione, quid sit irritâsse crabronem, in eo enim genere, merito numerari possit provocatusque iratusque amicus. Nondum vidi acta illa Lipsiensia, ubi tu coram sisteris, sed euge; jam salva res est, incepi, de istius operis merito pretioque aliquomodo dubitare, quod nemo ex systematicis illis reperiret in eo tractatu quod displiceret, nihil enim argumenti aut boni aut novi deberet continere, nec quod supra vulgus saperet, si vulgo placeret. Sed jam vapulans laudo, nec vibices metuo. Benignior his pædagogis si non voluntas, saltem vis est, quam ut eorum virgæ vulnera vel cicatrices relinquant. Conditiones subscriptionum plus semel in Angliam misi, sed hactenus responsi nihil accepi: ego data occasione iterum & ad alios mittam, quo successu nescio: hæc enim & hujusmodi, nisi præsto adsis & hæsitantes impellas, immemores moneas, plerumque negliguntur. Quod de Judæo narras, valde placet: brevi habebitis, spero, quæ sufficient ad justum volumen, in quo sanctitas officii ad plenum depicta, omnium oculos animosque in sui admirationem arripiat Dolendum plane esset tot et tanta sanctitatis exempla in tenebris latere; prodeant tandem in lucem, ut quibus fundamentis stabilitur & propagatur fides, tandem innotescat. De MS. codice ego nihil dico, ante biduum ea de re scripsit ad te Furleius noster. Inde conjicio te aliquando Wetstenium convenire, eaque occasione has inclusas illi tradendas ad te mittere ausim. Scripsi ad illum ante quindecim dies, aliquosque misi ad illum libros, aliosque postulavi, & festinatò ad me mittendos, sed nihil audio, nihil respondet. Eoque magis silentium ejus me solicitum habet, quod simul miseram duo volumina Garcilassi de la Vega Do Veenio (cum epistola, quam ad eum scripsi) reddenda, quæ olim ab eo mutuo acceperam. Salutes illum, rogo, meo nomine reliquosque collegas. Vale, vir amicissime, & me ama, ut facis,

Rotterod.

22 Jun.

1688.

Tui studiosissimum,

J. Locke.

John Locke

30 Julii. 1688

Rotterod.

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

Vir spectatissime,

SIVE iratum me sive gratum existimari vellem, sentio me jam nimis diu tacuisse. Amicum amico respondisse, crabronem irritanti vindictam retulisse citius opportuit. Sed ego nescio qua ingenii tarditate nec amici nec inimici partes recte ago. An tibi hoc modo placere possim nescio, me Slado nostro (si cum eo ita agerem) valde displiciturum sat scio, qui hujusmodi lentulos æquo animo ferre non potest. Editionem MS. de quo cum Wetstenio transigebas, dolendum plane est non procedere, & metuo, si jam non procedat illius impressio, ne intereat tam luculentum historiæ monumentum; quod sane multis, quæ jam omnium manibus versantur, libris longe anteferendum existimo. Multa cum voluptate legi Clerici nostri Tentamen, ut ipse vocat, de antiqua Hebræorum poesi: non parum lucis inde affulsurum psalmis, reliquisque quæ in S. S. extant scriptis metricis, minime dubito. Totum psalmorum librum, sibi ita restitutum, edi optarem: incites illum rogo, ut quantum, per alia negotia liceat, hoc opus festinet. Cuidam meo amico in literis. Hebræis versatissimo cum hox dixissem, credere non potuit; exemplo persuasus jam credet. Plura habui dicenda, sed adventus amici ex Anglia hic me interpellat, adeo ut in aliud tempus sint rejicienda. Vale & me ama

Rotterod.

30 Julii.

1688.

Tui studiosissimum,

J. Locke.

John Locke

24 Nov. 1688

Rotterod.

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

FAMULUS meus, Amstelodamum res suas agens profecturus, meam non prius rogavit veniam quam instaret decessus, adeo ut ad te scribendi tempus non dabatur. Doleo profecto adeo labefactatam in familia tua valetudinem. De morbo & curatione illius absens nihil audeo pronunciare, nec quidem opus est; cum tamen amicos doctosque paratos tibi habeas medicos. Unum tamen permitte ut moneam, si, uti sperare videris, erumpant tandem variolæ, velim ut in medicamentis assumendis & stragulorum operimentis caveatur regimen calidius, unde in sanguine excitatur fervor, non sine magno ægroti malo & discrimine. Hoc vel invito extorsit mihi meus in te tuosque amor, & expertus loquor. Tuorum valetudo eo spero in statu est, ut de aliis loqui liceat, præsertim tibi haud ingratis. Furleius noster principi ante decessum adfuit, & coram allocutus est, ut illius opem contra persecutionem hac in provincia, si unquam alias, certe jam intempestive cœptam, efflagitaret. Rem ita ursit, ut placuerit principi epistolam scribere Bailivio de Kenmerland, qui Foecke Floris ministrum ecclesiæ Mennonitarum jusserat ex autoritate synodi, intra octiduum solum vertere, & ea ex ditione exire, ni mallet carcere includi. Historiam istius Foecke Floris ex aliis, quam ex me, melius cognosces. Furleio enim nostro ante hanc causam ne de facie quidem notus. Sed communem christianorum rem in ejus libertate agi ratus, causam illius prono animo suscepit, & strenue egit; si enim abfuisset παῤῥησία, nihil promovisset. Hujus epistolæ sufflamine repressum audio in præsens persecutorum fervorem. Si quid de hac re amplius inter Mennonitas vestros tibi innotuerit, fac nos certiores. Vale, vir optime, cum integra tua familia: sic animitus opto,

Rotterod.

24 Nov.

1688.

Tui studiosissimus,

J. Locke.

John Locke

16 Feb. 1689

Rotterod.

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

QUOD imprimis hinc decedens desideravi, ut scil. te, vir amplissime, reliquosque amicos Amstelodamenses amplecti daretur, in eo omnia quasi deditâ operâ mihi maxime adversari videntur. Primo glacies & festinatio, deinde in ipso, itinere pluvia intercepit. Die enim sabbati ultimo hinc Hagam profecturum, ut tibi nobilem fœminam ad Amstelodamum etiam cogitantem compellarem, imber satis violentus me Delphos transeuntem perfuit quod incommodum Hagæ etiam passus sum. Ita totus madidus accessi ad illam, quæ nocturnum illud iter, quo ad vos ea nocte perrecturus eram, tanquam sanitati meæ nimis periculosum non dissuasit solum sed & prohibuit. Sic pluvia illa quæ jam à duobus mensibus pene unica, quasi designato, unius dieculæ vobiscum spem, qua hinc gestiens decessi, prorsus abstulit. In aula omnia tam parata ad abitum, tam moræ impatientia inveni, ut primo favente vento principem classem conscensurum nemo dubitet. Istud destinatum iter ad vos incepi, non tam vento, quam principis religioni confisus, quam vix credidi die dominica velle iter ingredi, etiamsi ventus orientalis invitaret; sed jam nihil aliud expectatur, quam ventus navigationi idoneus, quo simul ad naves convolandum erit. Heri vesperi huc redii, & quamdiu hic languescendum set nescio; hoc certo scio, nihil molestius esse quam ad fastidium usque laborare otio, & tamen ad id, quod maxime velles, tempus non suppetere. Quam vellem mihi dare apud vos horam unam, vel alteram! Vultus, sermo, amplexus amicorum nescio quid habent, quo se explere anima mea anxie desiderat. Quo vos in me sitis animo, quo ego in vos nullum credo est dubium, nec augeri posset mutua nostrûm amicitia valedicentium alloquio; opto tamen videre, dextras jungere, ac me iterum vobis totum tradere, cujus totus sum. Hoc si mihi jam non concessum fuerit, alias spero futurum: non enim de me tam male ominor, ut nullam credam fore diem, quæ nos iterum conjungat. Multa sunt, quæ hanc navigandi occasionem non mihi omittendam suadent: amicorum expectatio, res meæ privatæ jam per aliquot annos neglectæ, piratarum frequentia, & parum tutus alias transitus, & nobilissimæ fœminæ, sive cura, sive amicitia, qua cum iturus sum. Velim hoc tibi persuadeas, me hic aliam patriam reperisse & pene dixeram parentes. Quod enim in illo nomine carissimum est, benevolentiam, amorem, charitatem, quæ ad conciliandos homines conjungendosque fortiora sanguine habent vincula, apud vos abunde expertus sum. Habeo hic amicos semper mihi colendos, imo & invisendos, si res & dies patiatur. Hoc certò scio, quod decedo cum animo revertendi, ut cum illis solidum aliquando et illibatum capiam gaudium, quorum humanitate effectum est, ut à meis absens, & in communi omnium mœrore nullam sentirem animi ægritudinem. Te quod attinet (vir omnium optime, amicissime, dilectissime) cum tuam cogito doctrinam, animum, mores, candorem, suavitatem, amicitiam, satis in te uno reperi (ut cæteros taceam) quo mihi semper gratulari potero optime locatam & fructuosissimam aliquot annorum apud vos moram: nec scio an aliquod mea vita tempus æque jucundum habitura sit, certe magis proficuum nondum habuit. Deus O. M. te omni felicitatum genere cumulatum, familiam, patriam incolumes conservet & custodiat, ut diu sis ecclesiæ omnibus bonis utilis. De meo erga te animo qualis jam sit, qualis futurus sit, nihil addam, cum meum spero amorem non magis mihi notum & certum esse quam tibi, cujus in me amicitiam tot beneficiis testatam habeo, ut quicquid de ea literis tuis jucundissimis dicas, jam jam penitus persuaso facile persuadebis. Optimæ tuæ uxori liberisque, Veeniis, Guenellonisque omnibus plurimam salutem dicas; te mihi apud illos advocatum & patronum relinquo, ne quid gravius statuant in hominem tot beneficiis, devinctum, si non fugientem, minus urbane certe, quam oportuit, valedicentem. Sed ita sunt fere res humanæ, ut nihil præter voluntatem in nostra sit potestate, ea totus ad eos feror, ea singulos amplector, quæ mihi nunquam ad beneficiorum memoriam, ad grati animi confessionem defutura est. Vale, vir colendissime, & me, ut facis, ama

Rotterod.

16 Feb.

1689.

Tui in perpetuum amantissimum,

J. Locke.

John Locke

12 March, 1689

London

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

VEREOR ne nomine negligentiæ tibi suspectus sim, quod tam diuturno utor silentio, quod nec tuis meritis, nec meæ voluntati nec nostræ denique amicitiæ omnino convenit. Scias velim me cum solo non animum mutâsse qui tibi idem qui olim est, & ubicunque terrarum fuero, idem futurus est amoris & reverentiæ plenus. Sed à meo in patriam reditu, amicorum vel invisentium, vel visendorum consuetudo, vel rerum mearum hinc inde dispersarum ad præsentem usum quærendi, & colligendi labor, vel aliqualis ad remp. (absit verbo invidia) si non accessio, saltem ne privatum otium publicis negotiis commutarem, cura & excusatio, & quod gravissimum omnium est, maligno hujus urbis fumo labefactata valetudo ita me occupatum tenuit, ut vix momentum mihi vacui temporis relictum fuerit, ex quo primum huc appulerim. Prima, qua in terram descendi, hora, ad Dm Guenellonem, festidante calamo & vernacula lingua, inter salutantium turbam scripsi, ut per eum te, cæterosque amicos meos Amstelodamenses, salutarem. Quicquid enim lætum jucundumque hic reperi me monuit aliquid illic relictum esse, quod non cum minore voluptate recordarer, quam quo hic oculis usurparem. Burnetus episcopus Salisburiensis designatur. In parliamento de tolerantia jam agi cœptum est sub duplice titulo, Comprehensio scil. & Indulgentia. Prima ecclesiæ promœria extendenda significat, ut ablata cæremoniarum parte plures comprehendat. Altera tolerantiam significat eorum qui, oblatis conditionibus ecclesiæ Anglicanæ, se unire vel nolunt vel non possunt. Quam laxa vel stricta hæc futura sint, vix dum scio, hoc saltem sentio, clerum episcopalem his aliisque rebus, quæ hic aguntur, non multum favere, an cum suo vel reip. commodo, ipsi videant. De solutione, de qua ad te ante discessum scripsi, expecto à te aliquid quotidie. Vale, & me, ut facis, ama

London

12 March,

1689.

Tui amantissimum,

J. Locke.

John Locke

6 Jun. 1689

London

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

Vir doctissime,

TOLERANTIAM apud nos jam tandem lege stabilitam te ante hæc audiisse, nullus dubito. Non ea forsan latitudine, qua tu et tui similes, veri et sine ambitione vel invidia christiani, optarent. Sed aliquid est prodire tenus. His initiis jacta spero sunt libertatis & pacis fundamenta quibus stabilienda olim erit Christi ecclesia. Nulli à cultu suo penitus excluduntur, nec pœnis objiciuntur, nisi Romani, si modo juramentum fidelitatis præstare velint, & renunciare transubstantiationi & quibusdam dogmatibus ecclesiæ Romanæ. De juramento autem quakeris dispensatum est; nec illis obtrusa fuisset malo exemplo, illa quam in lege videbis confessio fidei, si aliqui eorum istam fidei confessionem non obtulissent, quod imprudens factum multi inter illos & cordatiores valde dolent. Gratias tibi ago pro exemplaribus tractatus de tolerantio, & pace ecclesiastica, quæ mihi misisti, compacta recte accepi, incompacta nondum ad manus meas pervenerunt. In vertendo de tolerantia libello aliquem Anglum jam jam occupatum intelligo. Opinionem illam pacis & probitatis fotricem ubique obtinere optarem. Acta inquisitionis jam pene descripta gaudeo, uti spero brevi proditura, opus utile & expectatum. Legem de tolerantia sancitam ad Dm le Clerc misi, quo interprete intelliges quousque extenditur hæc libertas. Vale & me ama

London

6 Jun.

1689.

Tui amantissimum,

J. Locke.

John Locke

18 Jun. 1691

Oates

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

PRIORES tuas intercidisse valde doleo, nihil enim à te proficisci potest quod mihi, uti convenit, non sit valde carum. Novissimas tuas 29 Maii datas, amore & benevolentia usitata plenas, accepisse lætor, quod tuæ tuorumque valetudinis me certiorem faciunt. Scti Officii historiam oscitantia bibliopolæ in ipso partu ita hærere doleo. Prolegomena tua Da Cudwortha & ego valde probamus, & capitum indicem, quem tam amice promittis, avide expectamus, ut ista sciagraphia operis tui structuram prælibemus, interim optantes, ut quam citissime integrum volumen Christiano orbi maxime proficuum, & pene dixeram hoc tempore necessarium, prodeat. Illic enim fons omnis persecutionis, sub prætextu religionis, illic fundamentum tyrannidis ecclesiasticæ, quam minores sectæ eo exemplo animatæ prædicant, affectantque. Sed quo tendat, quas tragœdias ubique quando parum adoleverit, editura sit, eo in speculo, qui sibi oculos non eruunt, facile videbunt. Eus lectionem sibi & utilissimam & jucundissimam fore spondet Da Cudwortha, quæ paternæ benignitatis hæres omnem de rebus religionis persecutionem maximè aversatur. Gratulatur sibi se in partem amicitiæ, qua patrem amplexus es, successisse; te officiosissime salutat, plurimum æstimat & veneratur, unumque hoc dolet, quod non utatur lingua utrique communi, ut ex commercio literarum amicitiæ & eruditionis tuæ, quem optaret, fructum perciperet.

Historiam tuam de surda loquente duplici exemplo hic apud nos confirmare possum. Duo juvenes, utrique surdi, quorum alter à doctore Wallis, celebri illo Oxonii matheseos professore, alter à doctore Holder theologo edoctus, loquelæ usum didicit. Utrumque juvenem novi, & verba proferentem audivi, distincte satis & articulate, tonus solum vocis parum erat ingratus, & inharmonicus. De altero quid factum sit nescio, alter adhuc vivit, legendi scribendique peritus, & à quo illum primo loquentem audivi (viginti enim & plures sunt anni) uxorem duxit pater-familias. Vir est ex generosa prosapia nec diu est à quo illum viderim. Uxori liberisque tuis, Veeniis Guenellonisque & collegis nostris plurimam salutem meo nomine dicas. Vale, vir amplissime, & me, ut facis, ama

Oates,

18 Jun. 1691.

Tui amantissimum,

J. Locke.

John Locke

14 Nov. 1691

London

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

QUOD grandem tibi jamdiu destinaveram epistolam ideo accepisti nullam. Quæsivi vacuum aliquod mihi tempus dari, ut tecum liberius & fusius colloqui possem, & gratias agere pro ultima tua & amicissima epistola, cui jamdudum responsum oportuit. Sed nescio quam rerum etiam non mearum importunitate ita mihi omne otium sublatum est, ut ne propriis quidem & domesticis negotiis vacare licuerit. Cave autem credas me publicis negotiis implicitum; nec valetudo, nec vires, nec rerum agendarum imperitia id patiuntur. Et cum mecum repetam, quid à tribus jam mensibus adeo impeditus egerim, incantamenti instar videtur, ut quisque dies afferret negotiorum onus aliorum ex aliis nascentium, quæ nec sciens prævideram, nec cupiens evitare poteram.

Indicem librorum & capitum historiæ Scti Officii, Domina Cudwortha & ego, legimus simul, magna cum voluptate. Hæc prælibatio magnum excitavit in utroque integri operis desiderium, quod jam sub prælo esse cum gaudio, à quodam Scoto, non ita pridem ex vestra Batavia redeunte, accepi. Bonis cum avibus procedat opus christiano orbi imprimis utile. Hospes mea, tyrannidi ecclesiasticæ inimicissima, sæpe mihi laudat ingenium & consilium tuum, laboremque huic operi tam opportune impensum; creditque frustra de religionis reformatione & evangelii propagatione tantum undique strepitum moveri, dum tyrannis in ecclesia, vis in rebus religionis (uti passim mos est) aliis sub nominibus, utcunque speciosis, obtinet & laudatur. Quid tandem factum est cum Dre isto theologo, qui tam mira docuit de angelis, in libro suo, de spirituum existentia? an non expertus est fratrum suorum, pro religione, pro veritate, pro orthodoxia, zelum? mirum, si impune evadat. Apud nos prælum, quod video, nihil pene parturit, quod alieni cives scire, aut legere multum desiderabunt. Ita obstrepunt undique arma, ut musarum voces vix audiantur. Imo lis ipsa theologica jam consopita magnam in partem conquiescit, utinam cum animarum & partium concordia. Sed ea spes vana est, nec tam facile componuntur theologorum controversiæ. Bene est, si incertas aliquando ferant inducias: ut mutua charitate sanentur penitus quis expectabit? Magna mihi apud te excusatione opus est, ut tam diuturno silentio ignoscas. Id tibi persuadeas velim, hoc non alicui voluntatis alienationi, non decrescenti & minus fervidæ amicitiæ tribuendum: te ut semper maxime æstimo, amo, amplector, semperque amabo. Fac itidem ut facis, & me ama.

London

14 Nov.

1691.

Tui studiosissimum,

J. Locke.

John Locke

29 Feb. 1692

Oates

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

SI ex literarum tarditate de amicitia mea judicaveris, metuo ne me suspiceris ad officia nimis ignavum, à quo me profiteor, cum res postulat, longè alienum. In hoc literarum commercio, si qua utor libertate, id plerumque evenit, cum ad eos scribendum sit, quibus benevolentiam amicitiamque meam, re potius quam verbis, testatam fore mihi in animo est. Hoc an tu probaveris nescio; ita ego tibi persuasum velim. Nemo enim omnium, qui te magis suspicit, æstimat, diligit, quam ego: id nunc facio & semper faciam.

Non placet Wetstenii in edenda Sancti Officii historia cunctatio; hoc unicum in ea mora placet, quod te identidem relegente & sub incudem sæpius revocante, limatiorem perfectioremque habebimus. Hoc unum ut te moneam, jam occurrit, scil. alterum hujusmodi volumen, duodecim circiter ab hinc annis, Monspessulis extitisse, ab hoc distinctum; duo enim illic tunc erant hujusmodi volumina.

Zelus theologicus, uti video, semper & ubique idem est, eodemque modo procedit: quid tandem devenit paradoxorum ille de angelis auctor, scire cupio; si evasit, mirum est, quanquam eò res inclinare videbatur, quo tempore scripsisti, favente etiam Amstelodamensium prædicatorum desidia, vix tamen veniam ei datam credo. Hujusmodi orthodoxiæ propugnatores non solent errantibus ignoscere. Presbyteriani in Scotia quid agant, mallem ex aliis quam ex me scires. Zelus illic in frigido isto aere per antiperistasin incalescere videtur. Satis fervide disciplinæ suæ operam dant, an satis prudenter, an satis modeste, ipsi videant. Sed ubi causa Dei agitur, ut nôsti, & ejus ecclesiæ, quid sibi theologi non putant licere, autoritatem suam soli Deo acceptam referentes. Dm le Cene semel vidi Londini, sed semel tantum, idque obiter, apud nobilissimum Boyleum, adeo ut sermocinandi locus non esset, de rebus illius, vel amicis Amstelodamensibus; ab eo tempore parum Londini commoratus sum, valetudini rure vacans, pulmones enim non ferunt fumum urbis. Episcopum illum, cui Dm le Cene commendasti, credo pacis ecclesiasticæ sincere studiosum. Solicitus sum de valetudine Veenii nostri, angusto est pectore, et metuo pulmonibus ejus, metuo etiam ne praxi continuæ jam à multis annis assuetus, rure otio intabescat. Opto illi diuturnam & validam, jucundamque senectam, multum illi debeo, quod semper gratus agnoscam. Recte facis quod persecutionem religionis ergo in pontificiis solum damnas. Si quam inter christianos sectam seligas, cujus crudelitatem insecteris, à reliquis laudaberis, quanquam persecutio ubique eadem est & plane pontificia. Quælibet enim ecclesia sibi verbis arrogat Orthodoxiam, re infallibilitatem. Da Cudwortha te omni humanitate & æstimatione resalutat. Saluta quæso uxorem, familiamque tuam, Veenium, Guenellonem, omnemque istam stirpem officiosissime, meo nomine. Vale, Vir colendissime, & me, ut facis, ama,

Oates, 29 Feb.

1692.

Tui amantissimum,

J. Locke.

De miraculis post Apostolorum tempora certiorem fieri cupio. Non ego satis versatis in historia ecclesiastica, ut quid de iis statuam, nôrim. Rogo igitur obnixè, nam mea interest scire, an post apostolorum tempora edita fuerint, in ecclesia christiana, miracula, quibus auctoribus & qua fide memoriæ tradita, quam frequentia, & an ad Constantini imperium, vel diutius, duraverint, & quis fuit ille Thaumaturgus, et quid ab eo actum est, cujus tam speciosa appellatio ad nos pervenit. Non quæro miraculorum, quæ in scriptoribus ecclesiasticis memorantur, catalogum: sed an constat, ex fide dignis historicis, fuisse vera miracula, an raro vel sæpius edita, & quamdiu donum illud ecclesiæ concessum.

John Locke

30 Jun. 1692

London

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

AB acceptis tuis 27 Junii datis, ad urbem accedens hodie primum archiepiscopum conveni. Quamprimum tuum audivit nomen, agnovit acceptam à te contra Judæum disputationem, excusavit silentium, quod ob valetudinem, oculorum debilitatem, & alia quæ intervenerunt impedimenta, integram nondum perlegerat. Laudavit maxime illud opus, unà cum authore, & gratias, quas nondum egit, se habere agnovit. Historiam Sancti Officii jam valde opportunam judicavit. Capitum indicem summa cum voluptate & approbatione perlegit, & cum tuum de dedicatione consilium aperuissem, ea verborum urbanitate & honore, eo vultu accepit; ut, si adfuisses, hoc sibi non ingratum fore certus esses. Mitte igitur quamprimum dedicationem, novi viri modestiam, & laudo consilium tuum, quod prælectam ab eo prius velis quam editam. Illi monstrabo, quod scio honori ducet, & si quid mutandum videtur, indicabo. Interim dixit se habere librum, Lusitaniæ editum, de quodam actu Inquisitionis in Lusitania, in cujus exordio occurrunt paparum bullæ, aliaque diplomata, quibus potestas Sancti Officii concessa & stabilita est, accuratius collecta. Nomen authoris non retinebat memoria, & liber ipse, illius bibliotheca nondum in ordinem redacta, ab ipso quæsitus, non repertus est. Volumen est, ut aiunt, in 8vo. Brevi ipsum iterum revisam, eam curam cuidam domesticorum mandabit, ut ante reditum meum præsto sit liber. Tunc tibi nomen authoris præscribam, & si nondum videris ipsum librum, tibi mutuo commodabit reverendissimus archiepiscopus. Grævium, Guenellonem, Veeniosque omnes meo nomine saluta Clerico nostro, quem officiossime saluto, ante aliquot septimanas, an menses dicam, scripsi; an pervenerint ad illum literæ meæ, ignoro; nam ab isto tempore nihil ab eo accepi. Hoc quæso illi indices, ne me tarditatis, si mea interciderit epistola, suspicetur. Fœminam tuam dilectissimam liberosque summo cum affectu saluto. Vale, vir dignissime, &, ut facis, me ama,

London

30 Jun.

1692.

Tui studiosissimum,

J. Locke.

John Locke

28 Nov. 1692

Oates

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

DE adventu librorum tuorum certior factus, qua potui festinatione Londinum me contuli, ut quæ tu de iis jusseras præsens curarem. Archiepiscopus quamprimum accesseram, maximas se tibi gratias habere professus est, opus sibi perplacere, seque à libri tui lectione, hoc etiam tempore negotiis maximis occupatissimo, abstinere non posse: sed magnam ejus partem summa cum voluptate ex quo accepit, percurrisse. Verum quo animo accepit, legit, laudavit, tunc demum rectius intelliges ex ipsius verbis, cum ad te destinatas literas scribere vacaverit. Episcopus Salisburiensis multa & his similia mihi dixit, & se adeo detentum immersumque esse argumento libri tui (quo historiam inquisitionis, ultra quam expectari poterat, dilucidam accuratamque tradidisti) ut ad te scribere, donec totum pervolverit, non potuerit; se interim gratias tibi amplissimas reddere. Comes Pembrokiensis multa de te cum laude, & pro munere tuo per me gratias agi jussit, donec ipse sua manu agnoscet acceptissimum à te beneficium. Bathoniensem & Wellensem episcopum in domo procerum quæsivi, sed non aderat: cumque extra urbem habitet, hora una vel altera à meo hospitio, eum in tam brevi mora convenire non poteram. Tuum autem librum illi traditum, uti reliquis omnibus, certo scio. Cæterum curavi ut Dus Clarke communis noster amicus eum adeat, ut excuset librum incompactum à te missum, quod ego reliquis quibus opus fuit feci, quanquam non omnino opus fuit. Mireris jam merito cur ego, qui non minus meo, quam horum virorum, nomine, gratias agere deberem, tantus cessator essem, ubi festinandum potius esset, ut neglecta proprioris loci commoditate, rus huc commigrarem, antequam ad te darem literas. Dicam quod res est; sanus urbem adii, sed unius dieculæ mora adeo mihi mutata est valetudo, ut respirare vix potuerim. Ingravescebat quotidie malum, & tam cito me urbe expulit, ut neglecta maxima rerum illic agendarum parte aufugere necesse esset.

Librum tuum huc mecum attuli, ut tuo beneficio Dna. Cudwortha & ego habeamus hac hyeme noctes Atticas, quas nihil tam augere poterat, quam authoris præsentia, & quos secum semper adfert, sales Attici. Ego huc die Saturni reversus sum; hodie libri tui lectionem inchoandam, qua spe, qua voluptate, facile dijudicare potes, sed credas velim quas tibi habeo gratias non esse minores. Ex tuis 10 Octob. datis, quamprimum mihi innotuit quot & quibus huc destinaveras exemplaria, egi cum hospite meo & bibliopola Smith ut singula singulis quam ocissime traderentur, antequam liber uspiam apud nos prostaret venalis, quod diligentissime factum est; nec ea in parte interiit aliqua tam eximii & tam opportuni operas gratia. Sed quid tandem statuendum est de MS. codice autographo, quod ego in tutissimo aliquo loco inter archiva reponendum suaderem, ut in perpetuum . . . . effrontes adversarios faciat fidem. Quinam vero is sit locus tutissimus libentur tecum inquirerem.

Episcopii vitam tua manu æternitati consecrandam gaudeo: sed qua lingua? cum enim præfigendam eam concionibus illius Belgicis (ut reor) jam prodituris, metuo ne illius quoque historia prodeat, etiam in lingua mihi minus familiari. Gratulor tamen erudito orbi hæc tam docti tam eximii viri monumenta, cujus omnes lucubrationes ab interitu conservandæ.

Jam apud nos prodiit Joannes Malela Antiochenus, quem diu & anxie petivit amicus meus Toinardus. Rogo igitur ut cum Wetstenio agas, ut quamprimum aliqua illius libri exemplaria ad illius manus pervenerint (quod scio maturius futurum, quam si ego unum hinc ad eum Amstelodamum mittere vellem) unum ad Toinardum quam citissime transmittendum curabit, pretiumque meis rationibus adscribat, quod ego solvam. Malela author est nec magni nominis nec fidei. Sed in dubio aliquo chronologico se lucem inde mutuaturum speravit Toinardus, & cupio ego maxime illius inservire desiderio; igitur rogo ut hanc rem cures ut mihi gratissimam.

De Palinodia, quam scripsisti, in novissimis tuis 7 Nov. gratias ago maximas. Eodem tenore & ubique proceditur. Habeo enim de Gallis apud nos, quod possit ferre secundas, imo quod superat omnibus bene trutinatis. Sed de his alias si cupias, jam enim nimis turgescit pagina.

Clerico nostro ante 15, Guenelloni ante 10 dies scripsi. Spero jam omnia pacata & amice composita in ista familia, cui omnino omnia bona opto. Hos cæterosque meos omnes, imprimis optimam tuam uxorem liberosque, quæso, meo nomine officiosissime salutes, & me, ut facis, ama,

Oates, 28 Nov.

1692.

Tui amantissimum,

J. Locke.

John Locke

10 Jan. 1692-3

London

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

QUAMPRIMUM ad urbem accessi nudiustertius, reverendissimus archiepiscopus me ad se vocari curavit, & ut conveni, de te & libro tuo multa cum laude præfatus, tandem dixit se ad te scripsisse negotiorum multitudine hactenus impeditus, paratamque epistolam sigillo muniens mihi in manus tradidit, ut inscriptione, illo dictante, mea manu exarata, tibi transmittendam curarem, quod libens suscepi. Insuper mihi tradidit libellum concionum nuper à se editarum, ut etiam ad te illum transmitterem, quod itidem diligenter curabo, & quamprimum hinc ad vos proficiscentem quempiam invenero ei tradam ad te perferendum. Hactenus de archiepiscopi mandatis. Ad me quod attinet multas tibi & habeo & refero gratias pro ea, quam ex historiæ tuæ lectione percepi voluptate. Illud credo exhausisti argumentum; certe illud mysterium iniquitatis mundo palam exposuisti, è tenebris in lucem protractum. Multarum rerum importuno impeditus interventu nondum integram perlegi, post brevem ac in urbe moram rus reversurus, pergam porro ut satisfaciam ei quod in me excitâsti desiderio. Novissimis tuis literis mihi pro more gratissimis responsum, hac in charta expectare non debes. Festinans ad urbem eas rure reliqui, illuc cum rediero, ad otii & quietis recessus, opportunior dabitur tecum colloquendi occasio, hic vix respirandi mihi conceditur facultas. Interim amicitiam humanitatemque tuam consuetam agnosco. Te maximo cum affectu saluto, tuosque omnes, imprimis dilectissimam conjugem, liberosque Veenios, Guenellonesque nostros, omniaque tibi prospera & felicia precor. Vale & me, ut facis, ama,

London

10 Jan.

1692-3.

Tui amantissimum,

J. Locke.

John Locke

10 Nov. 1693

London

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

JUSTE meum à te reprehendi silentium libens fateor nec si severiore manu delinquentem correxisses, queri possim. Etsi enim pudet me adeo tardum fuisse ad officia, ut non nisi bis monitus excitarer: gaudeo tamen me tanti apud te fuisse, ut me primis vocibus male respondentem, iterum tentandum arbitrareris: excusatione valetudinis, quam ipse tibi pro me suggessisti, uti non possum. Gratias enim Deo, ex quo ad te ultimas dedi, recte satis pro more meo valui, nec tamen sine omni causa à scribendo abstinui. Maximam partem libri tui summa cum voluptate perlegeram, progredi mihi in animo erat, et ad finem usque pervolvere, ut de toto opere, à capite ad calcem perspecto, eas quas possem gratias laudesque redderem. Non multum aberam à fine libri, & pauca illa capita, quæ mihi restabant legenda, spem quotidie fecerunt, intra paucos dies potuisse absolvi. Sed sic negotiorum & invisentium series, dum nova & inexpectata continuato ordine se invicem exciperent, me de die in diem protraxerunt & adhuc protraxissent, nisi novissimæ tuæ tam amica objurgatione, labentis temporis immemorem, primisque cogitationibus indormientem excitâssent. En habes fatentem reum, negligentem agnosco; sed eo consilio, eo animo negligentem, quem culpare vix possis: aut si qua fuerit culpa, ei spei toties deceptæ forte fuit (amicitiæ certe non fuit) quam eandem, quæ erga te semper fuit, nec minime, dum ego tacerem, siluisse profiteri gestio. Historia tua inquisitionis, ut de ea parte quam legi libri pronuntiem, mihi maxime placet: ordine, methodo, perspicuitate, testium fide mihi plane videtur opus absolutissimum, nec video, quid in eo desiderari possit. Et ab omnibus quotquot consulere contigit, maxime laudatur. Clericum nostrum nullas à me jam a pluribus hebdomadis (ut scribis) accepisse doleo; scripsi enim ad eum, ante duos circiter menses, iis inclusas à Comite Pembrokiensi ad illum misi literas, quas intercidisse vereor, quandoquidem Dus Clericus in novissimis suis 11 Septemb. datis de iis ne verbum quidem. Me illum de Spenceri obitu monuisse recte memini, & credo ea in epistola, quandoquidem tu id hactenus ignorare videris. Bibliorum Castellionis editionem, qualem tu narras, apud vos designari valde lætor, & viris literatis apud nos gratum acceptumque fore opus, non dubito: Post diuturnam rusticationem nuperus meus in urbem reditus nondum mihi concessit plurimorum doctorum colloquia; prout datur occasio, alios consulam, quamvis vix credi potest elegantem editionem, tam elegantis versionis, notis etiam aliisque scriptis eo spectantibus tam docti viri ornatam, non omnibus non placituram. Filiam tuam dilectissimam, quam febre continua laborâsse scripseras, tibi suisque sanam salvamque restitutam spero, reliquos tuos nostrosque recte valere gaudeo. Eos omnes, quotquot sunt, meo nomine, rogo, quam officiosissime salutes, quibus diuturnam sanitatem & prospera omnia largiatur Deus optimus maximus; te imprimis sospiter. Vale, & ut facis perge me amare,

London

10 Nov.

1693.

Tui amantissimum,

J. Locke.

John Locke

13 Jan. 1694

Oates

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

QUALEM te, Vir spectatissime, semper crediderim, talem re ipsa experior, ad omnia infucatæ amicitiæ officia natum, qui non solum pronus in beneficia bene merendi, nullam prætermittis occasionem, sed, quod difficilius est, eadem facilitate ignoscis amicorum delictis, qua alii offensiones objurgant. Diuturnum meum silentium graviori reprehensione dignum, simulas tardas tandem à me literas acceperis, quasi prima vocula penitus deletum condonas. Agnosco beneficium candoremque illum tuum, quo tuis, quo omnibus gratus, in quo me tuto repono: dum non ex literis amicitiam meam æstimas, nec silentio imminutam suspectus fueris. Id enim tibi persuasum vellem, tempus mihi & verba deesse posse, amicitiam, qua te amplector, qua semper amplexurus sum, mihi deesse vel labefactari nunquam posse.

In historia tua inquisitionis, ex quo novissime ad te dedi literas, non magnos progressus feci, quotidianis negotiis hactenus impeditus. Quod si ex duobus primis libris, quos summa cum voluptate perlegi, de duobus reliquis judicare licet, nihil potest esse in eo genere perfectius, nec ad perfectum illius tribunalis cognitionem aliquid desiderari potest. Laudo studium tuum, quod plerisque in locis ipsa authorum verba citaveris, etsi nihil contineant quod tu breviore & elegantiore stylo exprimere non potuisses, si lectori placere unica esset cura. Sed cum quo genere hominum tibi res est, recte tecum reputâsti, & eorum crimina, fraudes & sævitia ex eorum ipsorum ore optime discenda; vix enim credi poterant, si ab extraneo vel adversario afferrentur. Quæ autem ex aliis hauseris authoribus tam sero, ut editioni inseri suis apte in locis non potuerint, tuique in marginibus libri adscripseris, ea si nimis longa non sint, ut tibi nimiam transcribendi creent molestiam, si mihi per otium excerpta transmittere velis, gratissimum mihi facies, ut meum etiam librum iis ornem, & suis omnibus numeris perfectum habeam, ut nihil desit huic mysterio iniquitatis revelando. Literas tuas, per Hibernum illum transmissas, ille suis manibus rus huc ad me profectus mihi tradidit. Talem illum reperio, qualem tu descripseris, nec desunt hic tantæ spei fautores. Editionem illam Castellionis, quam meditantur elegantem, libens viderem, & nostratibus gratam fore, nullus dubito. Quod de harmonia evangelica doctissimi mei Toinardi ad me scribis, de editione illius ego quidem nunquam cogitavi, nec quod amplius est, unquam cogitabo, nisi ut ipsum authorem ad opus suum luce dignissimum edendum, qua data occasione, & quantum possum, impellam & instigem. Non quod ego hunc thesaurum literaro orbi invideam; ego summa ope, donec commercio literarum uti licuit, editionem ejus semper efflagitavi. Sed non ea (ut mihi visum est) fide mihi concreditum est hoc exemplar, ut ego harmoniam hanc, illo inscio aut inconsulto, typis mandarem. Si mihi integrum esset, statim sub prælo mitterem, sed dum ille vivit, aut aliunde à suis spes est proditurum, nulla quantivis pretii mercede è meis manibus in publicum elabi patiar. Nuper prodiit hic liber, quem Toinardo gratissimum fore scio. Si reperire possis viam, qua ad illum transmitti potest, mihi feceris acceptissimum beneficium. Liber quem ad illum mittere vellem, est Joannes Mallela Antiochenus, Oxonii non ita pridem editus. Si occasionem mittendi reperias, emptum apud vos librum, sive compactum, sive incompactum, prout commodissimum erit vecturæ, quæso ad illum mittas, à Monsieur Toinard à Orléans. Gaudio Veenium nostrum sanum salvumque in urbem & ad praxin rediisse. Vir, qui in artis suæ exercitatione à juventute usque consenuerat, continui tædio otii, credo, languesceret. Illum & Guenellonem nostrum uxoresque cum tota familia, quæso meo nomine officiocissime salutes. Pacem, concordiam, & amicitiam inter eos stabilitam spero, omnia fausta, uti par est, illis & tibi tuisque opto. Salutes etiam rogo optimam fœminam tuam, liberosque, quos sanos salvosque tibi Deus diu conservet. Vale, vir humanissime, &, ut facis, me ama,

Oates, 13 Jan.

1694.

Tui amantissimum,

J. Locke.

John Locke

26 Oct. 1694

Oates

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

Vir colendissime,

ETSI meam in scribendo tarditatem prorsus excusare nequeam, me tamen eo processisse negligentiæ, ut per totos novem menses te insalutatum præterirem nolim credas. Diuturnum nimis silentium haud invitus fateor, quod cum nec literarum tuarum satietas, nec imminuta erga te voluntas mea effecerit, facilem apud te veniam inventurum spero. Puduit sane ad te iterum scribere, antequam, opere tuo penitus perlecto, meam de eo sententiam sive potius gratulationem potuerim prescribere. Quantum voluptatis, quantum lucis ex accurata tua inquisitionis historia perceperim, vix dicere possum. Ita scripta est, ut decet historiam scribi, ubi non ad fastum aut delectationem inventa, vel ornata res est, quo facilius incautis lectoribus fucum faciat, sed omnia authorum fide & documentorum testimoniis rata & suffulta sunt: adeo ut quorum maxime interest redarguere, ne hiscere quidem audeant. Opus illud tenebrarum & occultas nefandæ crudelitatis artes in tam claram lucem ex latibulis suis protraxisti, ut si qua restarent in istis ecclesiæ, sive potius Antichristi, satellitibus, humanitatis vestigia, puderet illos tandem tam iniqui, tam horrendi tribunalis, ubi omne jus, fas, & justitia susque deque habetur. Verum si hæc opprobria, quæ refelli non possunt, nihil illos moveant, reformatis saltem & ex sævissimo hoc ergastulo ereptis, animos addet, contra tam inhumanam tyrannidem, quacunque specie sive religionis sive concordiæ, irrepere iterum conantem. Ea est disputantium sæpe contentio, ea argumentorum subtilitas & longa series, ut-non sit uniuscujusque se argutis & fallaciis innodatum expedire, & de summa controversiæ judicare. Si quis vero è plebe indoctus tuam perlegat historiam, sentiat statim illic certe deesse religionem, charitatem, justitiam, ubi violata æquitatis regula, omnique juris dicendi per orbem terrarum methodo, tam inhumana, tam crudelia perpetrantur, & ab evangelii genio remotissima: ideoque dignum opus existimo, quod in cujusque gentis linguam vulgarem traducatur, tam distincta enim & exacta methodo omnia tradidisti, & testibus exceptione majoribus confirmâsti, ut nihil in eo desiderari videatur, quod vulgus erudiat, literatos instruat, omnesque stabiliat. Si quid forte tibi, uti mones, occurrat, ad hoc argumentum pertinens, ex libris ante editam historiam tuam non visis, rogo ut per otium, si non sit nimis operosum, ad me velis transmittere; omnia enim huc facentia in librum tuum ad marginem, aptis in locis adscripta, conjicere animus est, uti nuper ex itinerario in orientem hoc quod sequitur excerptum, paginæ 276. libri tui inserui:

Le St. Office, ce redoutable tribunal fameux par ses injustices, & ses cruautés, regne ici [à Malthe] plus tyranniquement qu’à Rome même, & on m’a fait cent funestes recits, donc je vous épargnerai la tristesse, seulement vous dirai-je, que les confesseurs, qui par tout ailleurs sont tenus de garder le secret sur peine de feu, sont ici dans l’obligation de les réveler toutes les fois qu’il s’agit d’un cas d’inquisition, quoiqu’ils ne l’avoüent pas, car ce seroit le moyen d’empêcher les gens de se confesser: mais c’est une chose qu’on sçait pourtant bien. Cependant pour en ôter tout soupçon, on demeure quelquefois un an ou deux sans dire mot après quoi l’Inquisiteur envoye prendre un homme, & lui demande s’il sçait bien pourquoi il l’a fait saisir, alors c’est à lui de se ressouvenir de tout ce qu’il jamais avoir dit; que si malheureusement la memoire ne lui fournit pas, ou que le délit, dont il est coupable, ait été si secret que le seul confesseur en ait eu connoissance, & que se reposant ladessus il ne veuille pas avoüer c’est fait de cet hommelà, on l’étrangle dans la prison, & puis quelque tems après on dit à ses parens qu’il n’est pas besoin de lui porter manger. Heureux sont ceux qui ne sont point assuejettis à ce joug. Du Mont nouveau voyage au Levant 158/475. imprimé en 12° à la Haye, 1695.

Quas minatus es prolixiores literas avide expecto, & si sic ulciscaris silentium meum, quomodo remuneraberis diligentiam? Theologiam tuam tam brevi iterum prodituram gaudeo, pauca in ea emendanda facile crediderim; quanta quanta addideris, ex eodem erunt fonte, & augebunt apud lectores pretium. In magna æstimatione apud ecclesiæ Anglicanæ theologos scio. Quid in posterum futurum sit, nescio, audio enim nonnullos Calvinismum amplexuros, & prædestinationem (sic inter illos convenit) palam scriptis propugnaturos. Quot & quales in partes suas pertrahet nova hæc paucorum & adhuc privata societas, nondum conjicere licet. Latent omnia & secreto peraguntur, & si ex auctoribus, quorum nomina mihi amicus quidam secreto in aurem dixit, rem metiri libeat, non credo longe evasurum, nisi aliunde oriatur hoc consilium, aliosque habeat fautores. Si quid ultra privata aliquot inter se colloquia producat, hoc nonnullorum molimen dies indicabit, & tunc quid velint, quo tendant, rectius judicabimus. Sed hæc hactenus. Dolet certe tantam inter nos loci esse intercapedinem: si vicinus essem, haberes me consultorem quotidie ostia tua pulsantem. Pauci admodum sunt limati judicii homines, quibuscum poteris liberè de speculationibus quibuscunque, multo minus de rebus religionis disserere. Deest mutua charitas, deest candor, & ut suæ quisque ignorantiæ velum obtendat, non facile dat veniam alienæ. Nec dubia quæcunque licet proponere, nisi paratus venias te totum illis tradere, & in verba jurare, vel censuris onustus hæreticus abire. Non hoc de meipso queror, tanquam aliquid passus ab iniquo amicorum judicio; sed tamen jucundum est in proximo habere, quem de maximis minimisque aperte & audacter consulas. Libri mei de Intellectu Humano secunda editio distrahitur, celerius quam credere possem, nec adhuc invenit dissertatio illa, utcunque heterodoxa, oppugnatorem. Utinam eo esset sermone conscripta, ut tuo uti, de universis eo in opere contentis, judicio liceret. Urgent aliqui versionem, quærit traductorem bibliopola, & sperat brevi repertum iri, nam mihi non vacat. Vix per valetudinem & succrescentia quotidie negotia licuit mihi, nisi lento gradu & intercisis temporibus, tuam perlegere historiam, quanquam legendi voluptas me vix patiebatur ingressum avelli. Bibliopola efflagitat, tamen, ut versionem recensere velim, ut si qua à meo sensu aberraverit corrigam, quod sane vix recusare possum. Sed quid his te tædio prolixioris epistolæ jam fatigatum detineo? Vale, &, ut facis, me ama,

Oates, 26 Oct.

1694.

Tui amantissimum,

J. Locke.

Philippus à Limborch

12 Dec. 1694

Amstelod.

Joanni Locke

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

MAGNA cum voluptate tuas accepi & legi: etsi enim affectum erga me tuum nullatenus fuisse imminutum plene persuasus essem, nihilominus, post tam diuturnum silentium, literas tuas videre non potuit non esse gratissimum. Historiam meam inquisitionis calculo tuo probari, est quod mihi gratulor. Scio judicium tuum esse candidum ac limatissimum. In præconiis vero quæ addis agnosco propensissimum tuum erga me affectum, qui omnia quæ probas vero majora tibi repræsentavit. Ego veritati litare studui, & tribunal illud ita exhibere, prout ipsi doctores pontificii, imo inquisitores id nobis depingunt. Scio quidem, quando sparsim in ipsorum libris procedendi modus describitur, & fucatis coloribus palliatur, non ita patere ejus injustitiam & fœditatem, quam quando omnia simul inter se connexa nude, sine fuco, omnium oculis exponuntur. Non crediderim quenquam, ne quidem ex acerrimis inquisitionis patronis, me malæ fidei insimilaturum; et si quis id ausit, statim autorum, quorum nomina margini passim adscripsi, testimoniis redargui poterit. Sed quam dispari fato libri prodeunt? Tu historiam meam dignam judicas, quæ in cujusque gentis linguam vernaculam traducatur. Romæ vero, 19 die Maii, hujus anni, edicto cardinalium, in tota rep. christiana inquisitorum generalium, condemnata est, ejusque lectio severissime prohibita, sub pœnis in indice librorum prohibitorum contentis. Decretum hoc, quo & alii libri condemnantur, triduo post, videl. 22 Maii, fuit publicatum & affixum ad valvas basilicæ principis apostolorum, palatii S. Officii, & in acie campi Floræ, ac aliis locis solitis & consuetis urbis. Sed mitiorem sententiam quis ab inquisitione expectet, contra historiam, quæ artes ac crudelitates ipsius, quas occultas omnibusque ignotas esse cupit, à tenebris erutas, palam totius mundi oculis exponit, tribunalque hoc non sanctitate venerandum, sed injustitia, crudelitate, fraudibus, & imposturis execrandum exhibet? Aliter enim, si vere describatur, exhiberi nequit. Quæ ego ex aliis autoribus, quos postmodum mihi videre contigit, annotavi, & quæ in posterum in aliis, qui forte mihi ostendentur, reperiam, libentissime ad te mittam. Vidi quæ ex itinerario Du Mont annotâsti, quæ optime illo quem designâsti loco margini historiæ meæ adscribi possunt. Sed, ut ingenue dicam, valde dubito, an narratio illius vera sit. Malæ fidei ipsum neutiquam accuso: sed fieri facile potest, ut peregrinatores, non diu in regione aliqua commorantes, incidant in homines legum & consuetudinum patriarum non admodum peritos, nonnunquam etiam mendaces, ex quorum ore quædam veritati minus consentanea, sine accuratiore investigatione, annotant. Qualia multa in itinerariis eorum, qui patriæ nostræ mores & consuetudines describunt, observavi. Ratio dubitandi est: quia video omnes doctores pontificios, necnon omnia decreta ecclesiastica solicite admodum urgere, arcana confessionis non esse patefacienda; imo ne hæresin quidem sub sigillo confessionis revelatam; solummodo sacerdotibus injungunt, ne hæresin confesso absolutionem impertiantur, sed omnibus quas possunt rationibus hortentur, ut in judicio coram inquisitoribus juridice confiteatur. Scio quidem, non omnia quæ legibus præcipiuntur, exacte in praxi inquisitionis observari, & sub specioso confessionis non revelandæ prætextu, simpliciores inescari posse, ut ingenue, etiam quæ inquisitoribus ignota sunt, confiteantur, quæ à sacerdotibus porro inquisitoribus revelari possunt, neque à tali impostura tribunalis illius sanctitatem abhorrere credo; attamen, quia omnes ipsorum constitutiones, instructiones & leges, omnia illius ecclesiæ decreta contrarium præcipiunt, non id affirmare ausim, nisi autor sit probatus, cujus nec peritia nec fides in dubium vocari queat. Quare loco, quem mihi suggessisti, ex itinerario Du Mont, addi posset, si vera sit illius narratio, exinde evidenter liquere inquisitorum praxin sæpe adversari inquisitionis instructionibus & legibus: inquisitoresque unice tantum spectare, qua ratione miseros captivos per fas & nefas decipiant, atque ita, fraudibus irretitos, misera morte perdant. Post hasce scriptas, tristis me de subita optimi Archiepiscopi Cantuariensis morte nuntius non leviter perculit. Destinaveram ipsi Theologiæ meæ Christianæ exemplar; pridie autem, antequam tradi potuerit, mortuus est. Ecclesiæ reformatæ tanto patrono, tam prudenti, perito, pacis amantissimo antistiti orbatæ, statum doleo. Utinam Deus, qui potens est etiam è lapidibus Abrahæ filios excitare, alium nobis substituat, illi si non parem, quod vix sperare ausim, tamen vestigia ejus, quantum fieri potest, proxime prementem! Ille tibi & dominæ Masham vitam ad seros usque annos producat. Vale, & me, ut facis, amare non desine,

Amstelod.

12 Dec.

1694.

Tui amantissimum,

P. à Limborch

John Locke

11 Dec. 1694

London

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

LIBRUM tuum à bibliopola, & epistolam tuam 12 datam, recte accepi, utrumque gratissimum, & quia tuam, & quia à te. Epistolam tuam, à capite ad calcem, summa cum voluptate perlegi, gratulorque filiæ tuæ nuperæ talem illi obtigisse patrem, cui nec mens defuit, nec viscera. Qualis inde fuit nonnullorum animus christiano homini esset mirandum, nisi inter hujusmodi zelotas christianæ religionis diu versatus essem. Sed ubique ejusdem farinæ homines reperire est, qui an salutem quærant animarum, an evangelio quæstum faciant, judicent alii; ego quod doleam, quod indignor, hic, illic, undique video. Theologiam tuam Christianam, quamprimum otium nactus fuero, diligentius perscrutabor; his enim jam fere studiis mihi vacandum censeo, tantoque impensius me tibi vicinum jam opto, quod erepto nobis magno illo & candido veritatis indagatore (ut cæteras illius virtutes taceam) vix jam habeo, quem de dubiis theologicis libere possum consulere. Quantum virum respublica Anglicana, quantum columen ecclesia reformata amiserit, alii judicabunt. Ego certe à multis annis stabilem, candidum, sincerum, summo meo cum damno & desiderio, amisi amicum, Tillotson. V. Birch’s Life of him, . 1. ed.

Addenda tua ad Historiam Inquisitionis, quamprimum rus rediero, locis suis inseram, novum amicitiæ tuæ monumentum. Recte mones de excerptis ex itinerario Du Mont. Nec enim ut reliqui tui scriptores (qua usus es cautione) pro teste citari potest, tum quia reformatus, tum quia peregrinus. Ego vero illius verba non inidonea judicabam, quæ fidem facerent isti, quæ ex tota pontificiorum œconomia enascitur; illos scil. quicquid præ se ferant, non omissuros tantam rei suæ bene gerendæ & hæreseos extirpandæ occasionem, quæ ex confessionibus possit oriri: nec aliter confessiones tacitas esse, si quid habeant momenti, quam ut laicis, & quibus non opus esset, non evulgarentur. Hæc ego raptim inter urbis negotia & laborantium pulmonum anhelitus, ut scires tua munera, quibus me tam magnifice cumulâsti, ad me salva pervenisse. Si ita silentium meum ulciscaris, dubitari possit, an non commodum fuerit peccare: scias enim velim de tuis epistolis, quod de Ciceronis orationibus jure dici posse, optimam esse quæ longissima est. Die Veneris novissimo ad urbem appuli, in hospitio meo inveni literas Clerici nostri 7 datas, quibus brevi responsurus sum; interim rogo, ut illum Guenellonemque nostrum meo nomine salutes; utrique gratias agam pro epistolis mea manu, ubi otium & solatium ruris nactus fuero, hic enim laborant pulmones, nec longam in urbe patietur valetudo mea moram. Uxorem tuam dilectissimam liberosque, Veenium nostrum optimamque uxorem illius saluto & Grævium Ultrajectensem, cui ego debeo epistolam, & illius humanitati nondum respondisse pudet. Vale, & perge, ut facis, me amare,

London

11 Dec.

1694.

Tui amantissimum,

J. Locke.

Philippus à Limborch

26 Apr. 1695

Amstelod.

Joanni Locke

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

ULTIMAM meam epistolam recte ad manus tuas pervenisse gaudeo. Autographum sententiarum inquisitionis Tholosanæ Romani in manus meas incidisse mirantur: quod N. N. sacerdos quidam ab episcopo Hollandiæ ad ipsum missus, ut libri possessorem ex ipso resciscat, affirmavit. N. N. imprudenter me eum à Furlæo accepisse respondit; verum alium ejus esse possessorem, cujus nomen ignorabat; aiebatque librum à te olim visum Monspeliis. Ego dixi N. N. librum à te in Gallia visum alium esse ab hoc. Addit ille, sacerdotem, rogâsse, ut ex me nomen possessoris exquirat, Respondi ego, me nomen illius ignorare, illud semel me ex fratre ipsius audivisse, sed penitus illius oblitum esse: & licet scirem inconsultum esse illud sacerdoti indicare; quia hoc tam solicite inquiri judicem, ut possessore detecto, ingenti pretio exemplar hoc sibi redimant, ac Romam mittant, ut ita occasionem habeant me falsi accusandi. Idem sibi videri aiebat. Addidi ego, optâsse me, ut nomen Furlæi non indicâsset: sed quoniam vox emissa reverti nequit, nihil, ulterius esse aperiendum: sed paucis tantum respondendum me possessoris nomen ignorare. Hoc in se suscepit, sed non recte servavit; nam ex fratre suo postea nomen hoc rescivit, & proculdubio sacerdoti indicavit. Nam à me rogatus, se nescire ait, an indicaverit; affirmare se non posse, nec quod indicaverit nec quod non indicaverit. Hoc certum est, nomen sacerdoti innotuisse, quia alius postea Furlæum, ad quem hæc scripseram, accessit, & possessorem nominavit, prout tibi Furlæus scripsit. Spero librum à te jam emptum, ac Furlæum illius esse possessorem. Ita omnes illorum conatus irriti erunt. Laudo ego Furlæi prudentiam, quod à sacerdote testimonium de libri authenteia exegerit, & sacerdotis candorem, qui id tamen luculenter dedit. Interim si forte exemplar ipsum nacti fuissent, & Roman misissent, non video quâ ratione volumen, quod edidi, supposititium dicere possent. Adeo enim ævum illud barbarum redolet, historiasque singulares illius temporis refert, ut tale quid à quoquam nunc temporis fingi minime queat. Præstat tamen id in manibus non esse illorum, quorum interest mysteria hæc iniquitatis tegi, & coram sole non propalari. Vides hic duo adhuc additamenta ad Historiam Inquisitionis epistolæ huic adscripta, quæ, si operæ pretium videatur, reliquis junges. Lutheranus quidam professor Kiloniensis, contra theologiam meam Christianam, exercitationes Anti-Limborchianas edidit. Ita Romæ & in Germania vapulo. Librum satis, ut audio, crassum nondum vidi: sed in Actis Lipsiensibus ejus compendium legi. Verum in ejusmodi antagonistam ego calamum non stringam. Non pugnant illi homines, quantum ex Actis illis mihi colligere licet, pro veritate; sed pro recepta opinione, decretis humanis, & autoritate ecclesiastica. Orthodoxiæ illis norma est consensus cum doctrina Lutherana. Contra tales frustra disputatur. Non enim operæ pretium est, ut inquiramus quid ecclesia Lutherana doceat, quod ex libris & decretis illius ecclesiæ satis notum est, sed, an illius doctrina vera sit, & à scriptoribus divinis dictata. Ita papatum ubique reperimus, & sub specioso orthodoxiæ conversandæ prætextu propria dominatio stabilitur. Sic orthodoxia semper penes potentiorem erit, veritasque alia erit Romæ, alia Genevæ, alia Wittenbergæ. Hæc incommoda vitari nequeunt, si humana placita orthodoxiæ ϰϱιτήϱιον sunt. Quæ in illis exercitationibus maxime odiosa occurrunt, Lipsienses accurate annotârunt. Observavi hanc in illis malignitatem dicam, an inconsultum zelum; quod si in autoribus, quos recenset, quædam reperiantur aut convitia aut inclementius in Remonstrantes dicta, ea solicite indicare soleant, verbisque odiosissimis exprimere. Nescio quo suo facto Remonstrantes inimicitiam eorum in se provocaverint, nisi forsan liberiore veritatis inquisitione, & dissentientium fraterna tolerantia. In ipsos enim calamum nunquam strinximus, neque ego in eos scribam, aut me à criminationibus eorum purgabo; non enim me illis purgatum dabo, nisi me aliis, quibus jam placeo, ingratum reddam. Itaque silentio & contemptu illos ulciscar. Sed aliud quid est quod te velim. Marcus Teuto in gratiam reverendissimi Bathoniensis ac Wellensis in se suscepit versionem vitæ Episcopii, à me conscriptæ, in linguam Latinam. Varia ego citavi ex epistolis ecclesiasticis præstantium ac eruditorum virorum, & ex actis Remonstrantium synodalibus, quæ cum à me è Latino in Belgicum sermonem translata sint, ipse è Belgico in Latinum vertere non debet, sed prout in ipsis libris Latine leguntur, exhibere. Destitutum autem se illis queritur, nec usquam se eos reperire posse. Non dubito quin in multorum Anglorum bibliothecis reperiantur. Si tua opera eos habere possit à quopiam, magnum illi non tantum facies laboris compendium, sed & versionem efficies & meliorem & gratiorem. Ego, si quid hac in parte illi prodesse queas, mihi prestitum agnoscam. Vale, vir amplissime, mihique dilectissime,

Amstelod.

26 Apr.

1695.

Tui amantissimus,

P. à Limborch.

John Locke

10 Maii, 1695

Oates

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

QUAMPRIMUM ego novissimas tuas 26 Aprilis datas acceperam, statim Londinum scripsi, & quantum in me est curavi, ut libri, quos ad opus suum desiderat Marcus ille noster, sicubi reperiri possint, ei suppeditentur. Eo diutius responsum distuli, ut quid in hoc & altero illo negotio Tholosano factum sit, certiorem te facerem; sed nec D’Aranda, nec alter, cujus curæ librorum perquisitionem commisi, hactenus quicquam rescripserant, sed ex eorum silentio nolim ego male ominari.

De autographo, an Furleii jam sit, rectius ex ipso quam ex me cognosces: non quod ego negligens ea in re vel otiosus fuerim procurator: sed cum per valetudinem Londinum ea tempestate adire non auderem, totum negotium amico nostrûm communi commisi, viro prudenti & sedulo, cui scirem rem cordi fore; & ne mora circuitu literarum per manus meas transeuntium officeret, post primum quod ab amico Londinensi accepi responsum, quo intellexi illum omnem navaturum operam, ut rem transigeret, monui ut recte ad Furleium scriberet, ut ex illo resciret quod scitu ad rem recte perficiendam adhuc opus esset. Hoc ab eo factum nullus dubito: si quid amplius à me præstari possit, omnem operam, curam, industriam me in eo locaturum pro certo habeas.

Quod de Oxoniensibus nostris dicis, quanquam nihil fando audiverim, facile crediderim: quod Kiloniensem adversarium negligis, laudo; quodque ab aliis inter se dissentientibus vapulas tanto magis æstimo, veritatis enim sinceris, & incorruptis authoribus sic fieri solet. Pro Theologia tua Christiana jam denuo a me tibi reddendæ sunt gratiæ, non quod bibliothecam volumine, sed me scientia auxerit. Hac enim hyeme, in quo consisteret fides christiana, diligenter apud me cogitando, ex ipsis scripturæ s. fontibus hauriendum duxi, semotis quibuscunque sectarum & systematum opinionibus, & orthodoxiis. Ex intenta & accurata N. Testamenti lectione novi fœderis status & evangelii doctrina mihi apparuit, ut mihi videbatur meridiana luce clarior, nec quid & fides christiana dubitari posse, sincero evangelii lectori, mihi persuasissimum est. Ideoque cogitata mea in chartam conjeci, ut ea melius partium inter se convenientiam, & harmoniam, & fundamenta, quibus inniterentur, sedate & per otium contemplarer. Cum omnia in hoc meo symbolo sana, & verbo divino ubique conformia videbantur, theologos consulendos duxi (reformatos videlicet) ut quid illi de fide senserint, viderem. Calvinum adii, Turretinum, aliosque, quos ita id argumentum tractâsse fateri cogor, ut quid dicant, quid velint, capere nequaquam possim; adeo dissona mihi in illis omnia videntur à sensu & simplicitate evangelica, ut illorum scripta intelligere, nedum cum sacro codice reconciliare, non valeam. Tandem spe meliore tuam in manus cepi theologiam, nec sine summo gaudio legi, cap. viii. lib. v. quo intellexi aliquem reperiri theologum, cui ego non plane essem hæreticus. Ut in libro tuo legendo ultra pergerem, nondum satis vacui temporis nactus sum. Nihil mihi optatius esse possit, quam te videre, & te coram, quæ commentatus sum, legere & explicare, ut limato & incorrupto judicio subjicerentur. Hæc tibi in aurem dicta sunto, nam me hoc trâctasse argumentum tibi soli communicatum volo. Saluto Veenios, Guenellones tuamque imprimis familiam. Vale, &, ut facis, me ama,

Oates, 10 Maii,

1695.

Tui amantissimum,

J Locke.

Philippus à Limborch

1696

Amstelod.

Joanni Locke

JOANNI LOCKE, PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

UTRI nostrum diuturnum ac pertinax illud silentium imputandum sit, ignoro. Importunus sim, si à te, negotiis publicis occupatissimo, ad singulas meas responsum efflagitem, aut silentium tuum silentio ulciscar. Amicitia sincera rigorem illum adversatur, neque epistolarum æquali numero, sed fide ac charitate mutua constat. Interim dulcissimo consuetudinis nostræ fructu jam ultra annum carui. Ultimæ enim tuæ, quibus me respondisse memini, decimo Maii die anni præcedentis scriptæ sunt. Salutem mihi à te aliquoties dixerunt D. D. Clericus & Guenellonus, & literas mihi à te brevi scribendas nuntiârunt, quas tamen hactenus frustra expectavi; hoc autem negotiorum tuorum, quibus obrutus es, frequentiæ unice adscribendum duco. Aliquoties tibi scribere gestii; sed veritus sum, ne importunior scriptio ab amico occupatissimo responsum minus tempestivum extorquere videretur. Nunc vero, cum munus tibi honoratissimum, à primoribus Angliæ demandatum esse, constans ad nos fama pertulit: silentium abrumpendum censui, ut dignitatem hanc non tam tibi, quam Angliæ, gratuler, quæ in collegio amplissimo, una cum summis regni proceribus, te assessorem habet, cujus consilia omnia prudentia, fide, candore ac sinceritate diriguntur, & communi civium saluti unice destinantur. Deus vitam tibi largiatur longævam, consiliisque tuis successum, quem merentur, concedat. Ego hic occupatus vivo; & tamen vix quicquam promoveo, non aliter ac si otio desidioso torperem. Arminii scripta inedita me occupatum tenent: promisi ego bibliopolæ Germano, me ea paraturum ad editionem; sed in scriptis ejus relegendis, ob characterum exilitatem & ductum lectu neutiquam commodum, tantam reperio difficultatem, ut nisi tanti viri memoria, & non exigua, quam inde ad publicum rediturum video utilitas, ingrati laboris molestiam levaret, jam operæ promissæ pœnituisset. Hoc opus ubi edidero, nullis amplius posthumis aliorum operibus edendis me fatigabo. Oculorum acies sæpissime intendenda est, ut characteres exiles, & vetustate multis in locis ferme evanescentes legantur. Ita multum temporis impendo, non tamen eo cum fructu, qui temporis diuturnitatem compensare possit. Sed quoniam alea jacta est, pergendum est. Prodibunt de novo prælectiones in Jonam & Malachiam, quibus annectitur disputatio contra Judæos, in posteriorem ad Thessalonicenses, in secundum & tertium caput Apocalypseos; & disputatio contra cardinalem Perronium: quæ cum opusculis antehac editis justum conficient volumen. Præmiset D. Casper Brantius prolixiorem vitæ Arminii historiam, quæ multa hactenus exteris ignota continebit. Prodiit nuper apud nos tractatus Anglici, “quod Religio Christiana, qualis nobis est repræsentata in scriptura sacra, sit summe rationalis,” versio Gallica. Illius autorem volunt multi esse amicum meum. Ego respondeo, mihi nihil de eo constare; & cum autor, quisquis ille sit, latere vult, nostrum non esse conjecturis, ut plurimum fallacibus, indulgere. Ego summa cum voluptate lectioni illius incumbo, & in præcipuo (quod toto libro, de fidei christianæ objecto tractat) argumento illi prorsus assentior. Hoc recte precepto, gravissimas ac acerbissimas in ecclesia christiana disputationes feliciter componi posse puto; saltem ecclesiæ, non obstante opinionum diversitate, pacem facili negotio posse restitui: ea enim quæ nunc à plerisque ut unicum ferme christianismi fundamentum urgentur, objecto fidei non comprehendi planum fiet. Quod unicum anathematismis, schismatibus, & odiis tollendis remedium est. Ego, ut videas me attente tractatum hunc legere, omniaque argumenta exacte ponderare, non possum, quin tibi observationem quandam indicem, quæ licet forte non magni videri posset esse momenti, tamen argumento autoris, quo utitur, pondus aliquod afferre potest. Cap. iv, autor ad suæ sententiæ stabilimentum adducit locum ex 2 epist. Joan. ver. 7, quem optime ab ipso allegatum judicio: verum versio Gallica ita eum exhibet, ut, me judice, non exacte exprimat sensum, qui in Græco extat, quique sententiam autoris validius confirmat. Qua ratione eum Anglice expresserit autor, ignoro. Gallice autem ita extat: “Que plusieurs imposteurs se sont élevez dans la monde, lesquels ne confessent point, que Jesus, le Messie, soit venu en chair:” quæ sensum hunc continere videntur, quod impostores hi non confessi sunt, quod Jesus, qui est Messias, venerit in carne, Græcus autem textus ita habet: Ὁτι πολλοὶ πλάνοι εἰσῆλθον εἰς τὸν ϰόσμον, οἱ μὴ ὁμολογȣ͂ντες Ἰησȣν Χριϛὸν ἐρχόμενον ἐν σαρϰί. Quæ posteriora verba ego verto, non, qui non confitentur Jesum, qui est Christus seu Messias, in carne venisse; sed, qui non confitentur Jesum Messiam, qui in carne venit: non enim est infinitivus in Græco, sed participium. Hic sensus est longe alius, & autoris hujus scopo multo accommodatior. Priore enim sensu hæc esse impostorum falsa doctrina arguitur, quod non confiteantur Jesum, qui est Messias, in carne venisse. Inde sequeretur quod qui confitetur Jesum, de quo Joannes affirmat quod sit Messias (vox enim Χϱιϛὸς, per appositionem, hoc sensu est legenda) in carne venisse, maneat in doctrina Christi, ut est ver. 9. Atqui multi, qui non credebant Jesum esse Messiam, credebant tamen Jesum, qui Messias est, in carne venisse. Si posteriore sensu vertantur, tum sensus est, impostores non confiteri Jesum Christum, qui in carne venit; hoc est, non confiteri, quod ille Jesus, qui in carne venit, sit Messias. Confiteri enim Jesum Messiam, est, confiteri quod Jesus sit Messias, seque illius discipulum profiteri; juxta Matth. x. 32. Illum autem Jesum, quem confiteri oportet, describit Joannes, quod sit ille qui in carne venit, & inter Judæos versatus est. Inde sequitur, quod ille in doctrina Christi maneat, qui confitetur quod Jesus, qui in carne venit, sit Messias. Et hæc est sincera fidei in Christum confessio. Eundem esse sensum puto, 1 Joan. iv. 2, 3. ubi similiter non reperitur infinitivus, sed participium ἐληλυθότα. Non est quidem hæc observatio tanti in hoc negotio, facit tamen ad genuinam textus Græci intelligentiam, & autoris instituto favet. In aliis autem disputationibus, quæ cum Mennonitis nostratibus instituuntur, maximi est usus. Sed tempus est ut abrumpam. Vides tibi cum homine loquace rem esse, qui cum literis suis te compellat, calamo imperare non potest. Vale, vir amplissime, & feliciter age.

Amstelod..

 . . . .

1696.

Tui observantissimus,

P. à Limborch.

John Locke

3 Sept. 1696

London

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

SI omnes in religione eo uterentur candore, quo tu usus es in amicitia, non majorem offensionem inter dissentientes parerent argumenta, quam inter nos nuper peperit diuturnum nimis silentium. Si epistolarum reciprocationem æstimem, an tua major taciturnitas, an mea, dicere non ausim, credo me ea ex parte peccâsse. Ea vero utcunque se res habeat, tu certe humanitate tua & ignoscendo prior effecisti, ut culpa omnino mea sit, eoque magis probrosam mihi sentio, quod tu & levissima quidem reprehensione abstinuisti; negotiorum excusatione, qua pro me apud te usus es, aliquid momenti erga alium habere potuisset, certe tibi me eo nomine excusatum nolim, addere etiam poteram valetudinem, tota præterita hyeme valde incommodam. Sed nec hoc quidem, quo minus tam charo, tam fido amico scriberem, impedimento esse non debuit. Visrem ipsam ut tibi scriberem, semper quæro tempus omnino vacuum, animumque ab aliis curis & cogitationibus liberum; hoc cum raro accidit ita ad voluntatem, ut non ad aliud & magis opportunum tempus rejiciam, de die in diem differendo annus elabitur, & tandem pudor culpæ superveniens tardiorem reddit. Si hoc ignaviæ latebram dicas, non recuso; hoc certo scio imminutæ amicitiæ, vel mutatæ voluntatis non esse crimen; & forsan ut omnia fatear, non expeditus linguæ Latinæ usus fastidium menti non bene se explicanti oggerit. Sed tua amicitia & benevolentia, vir amplissime, omnia superat. Gratulationem tuam, eo, quo tu scripsisti animo, id est, amicissimo, accipio: sed quid tandem mihi, senectutis & valetudinis onere succumbenti, cum negotiorum publicorum tumultu? Secessus mihi jam quærendus esset, & vel annis vel studiis meis quies. Hoc, si mihi credas, & magis aveo, & mihi magis accommodatum credo, sed nescio quo fato, quod alius ambitiose & frustra quærit, alii vel inscio, vel etiam detrectanti tribuitur. Viri istius magni scripta inedita, tua opera proditura, gratulor reipub. christianæ. De libro Anglicano in linguam Gallicam verso, cujus lectioni, cum ad me scripseras, incubuisti, idem tecum sentio, contentionum & schismatum radices evellit, quantum id potest religionis christianæ veritas & fundamentum, si id auctor recte explicuerit, ut mihi videtur; cum vero totum perlegeris, & tuam & aliorum de tractatu illo sententiam scire vellem. Theologis nostris tam confirmistis, quam non-conformistis, displicere audio; reliqui (ut fit) probant, improbantve, prout suo vel alieno innituntur judicio. Quod monuisti de loco Joannis tecum sentio: idem est in versione nostra, quem in Gallica observâsti, error; sed ad rem facit, verum appositè magis textus Græcus, quem tu rectissime, ut mihi videtur, interpretaris. Vale, vir amplissime, & me ama,

London

3 Sept.

1696.

Tui amantissimum,

J. Locke.

Philippus à Limborch

26 Martii, 1697

Amstelod.

Joanni Locke

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

CITIUS tuis, decimo quinto demum Octobris die mihi redditis, respondissem, verum quoniam judicium meum de tractatu Anglicano in linguam Gallicam verso petiisti, tempus à reliquis curis vacuum quæsivi, ut tractatum illum elegantissimum uno tenore perlegere, omniaque illo contenta considerare & expendere possem. Maxime mihi opportunum videbatur tempus hoc hibernum, quo ab exercitiis academicis feriari solemus; sed & illud frigore suo acutissimo non leviter impetum scribendi remoratum est. Legi totum tractatum à capite ad calcem: nec unicâ lectione contentus, eum relegi. Interim huc perlatus est actorum Lipsiensium mensis October, quo compendium tractatus illius, pro doctorum illorum more, nobis exhibetur. Primo aiunt autoris illius Pockii nomen esse dici (credo eos incerto rumori temere fidem adhibuisse, & in nomine una aberrâsse litera) tum compendio quod confecere, omnia, quibus aliquam autori invidiam conflari posse putant, sedulo enumerant, ut systematum theologicorum contemptum ulcisci velle videantur. Extollunt magnifice Joannem Edvardum, quod præclare hactenus in Anglia contra Socinianam hæresin variis scriptis militaverit, librumque ediderit meditationum quarundam de causis & occasione atheismi, hodierni præsertim sæculi; in quo passim autoris hujus anonymi sententias, ut periculosas & à socinianismo ac atheismo non alienas, perstrinxit. Subjungunt hisce compendium duorum scriptorum, quorum alterum brevis pro tractatu illo est apologia: alterum Joannis Edvardi, titulo, “Socinianism unmasked.” Tu illos tractatus rectius me nôsti. Videntur dolere, quod meditationes Edvardi ipsis ad manum non fuerint; alias & illarum compendium habuissemus. Systemo theologiæ me scripsisse nôsti: non tamen eo in pretio apud me systemata sunt, ut non hunc exiguum tractatum multis systematibus præferam; imo plus veræ theologiæ ex illo, quam ex operosis multorum systematibus hausisse me ingenue profiteor. Sed vero theologiam autor ille tradit nimis facilem, nimis laxam, quæ salutem angustis humanorum decretorum vinculis alligatam minime cupit; nec orthodoxiam ex sectarum confessionibus, sed solo verbo divino arcessit. Hoc crimen est, quod socinianismi & atheismi infami convitio à doctoribus systematicis traduci meretur: non aliter ac si, qui humana placita religiose adorare recusant, eo ipso omnem religionem ejurare censendi essent. Ego autoris in hoc tractatu scopum summopere laudo; scopum suum feliciter assecutum esse, solideque ipsum, quod intendit, probâsse judico. Imprimis placent miho duo: methodus accurata historiæ evangelicæ, quam cap. ix. tradit, & per quam varia loca in evangeliis, in speciem obscura, feliciter admodum interpretatur: & perspicua illa deductio argumentorum, quibus ostendit, cur D. Jesus Christus, in terris degens, non expressis verbis docuerit se esse Messiam. Hæc autori huic peculiaria sunt, ipsiusque judicium ingeniique perspicaciam clarè demonstrant. In iis autem plurima sunt, quibus præcipium libri sui argumentum, quod est, fidem, quod Jesus sit Christus, eam esse, per quam justificamur, luculenter confirmat. Habes hic judicium meum de tractatu hoc, quem & tertio relegere statui. Petis autem ut, si quædam in illius lectione observarem, tibi scriberem. Ego in tractatu adeo eximio vix quicquam, quod tibi proponi meretur, observavi: ita sibi penitus me habet assentientem, ut exigua sint, quæ observaverim, quæque principali ipsius scopo nihil officiunt, & quæ forsitan à me non plene intellecta sunt. Quia vero judicium meum requiris, ego hæc, qualiacunque, tibi expendenda propono; non quia alicujus pretii sunt, sed ut morem geram tuæ voluntati. Statim in initio autor dicit, super lapsu Adami fundatam esse doctrinam de redemptione. Equidem certum est, lapsum Adami à doctrinâ de redemptione non excludi; attamen & propria cujusque nostrûm peccata ab ea secludenda non sunt. Plurimorum doctorum sententia est, Dominum Jesum nos liberâsse è miseria, in quam per Adami peccatum incidimus, & in eundem felicitatis statum, quem in Adamo amissimus, restituisse. Ego puto illos exiliter nimium de immenso Christi beneficio sentire, ipsumque ex multis peccatis, ut Apostolus, Rom. v, loquitur, nos liberâsse, & ad statum multo feliciorem, vitam nempe æternam in cœlis perduxisse. Huic addo: quod ibidem dicatur, Adamum per peccatum amisisse immortalitem, & factum esse mortalem. Si immortalitas autori huic significet, quod Adamus si non peccâsset, moriturus non fuisset, & mortalitas, quod per peccatum necessitatem moriendi contraxerit; verissimam ejus sententiam judico. Si vero immortalitas, ut vox illa proprie sonat, illi significet moriendi impossibilitatem, non recte dici puto Adamum fuisse creatum immortalem. Ego sententiam meam plenius explicui in theologia mea Christiana, lib. ii. cap 24. Verum hæc immortalitas, hoc est, immunitas à morte, alterius plane est generis quam immortalitas Dei: sicut & mortalitas, seu moriendi potentia, multum differt à morte, seu moriendi necessitate. Quare etiam minus commode mihi dictum videtur, , quod Adami immortalitas sit imago Dei, ad quam conditus est: & licet concederetur, alibi immortalitatem vocari imaginem Dei; non tamen exinde sequeretur, quando Adamus ad imaginem Dei conditus dicitur, illam imaginem esse immortalitatem; non enim necesse est, omnia quæ alibi scriptura imagine Dei designat, ea comprehensa esse, quando hominem ad imaginem Dei conditum dicit: sufficit eximiam quandum in homine esse qualitatem, respectu cujus imaginem Dei referre dici possit. Inter alia loca video, , citari ad Rom. cap. viii. 29, ubi dicimur, à Deo præcogniti & prædestinati “ut simus conformes imagini filii ejus, ut ipse sit primogenitus inter multos fratres.” Putat autor illa imagine, cui conformes esse debemus, designari immortalitatem & vitam æternam. Ego autem non tam vitam æternam, quam modum ad vitam æternam perveniendi, quo fideles Christi similes esse debent, hic significari credo, nimirum per crucem & afflictiones: quam imaginem Dominus discipulis indicat, Luc. xxiv. 26. “nonne oportuit Christum ista pati atque intrare in gloriam suam?” Hanc explicationem totius capitis series evincit: jam enim, v. 17, dixerat “hæredes sumus Dei, cohæredes autem Christi, siquidem cum ipso patimur, ut una cum ipso glorificemur.” Eaque occasione multus est, ut fideles hortetur ad crucem & afflictiones evangelii causa sustinendas, inter alia, argumento à voluntate divina petito, quod per crucem nos ad salutem velit perducere: & ne id ipsis absonum videatur, Deum, quos diligit, tot dura in hoc mundo immittere, exemplum illis Christi proponit, cujus imagini ut sint conformes. Deus eos prædestinavit, & consequenter ad crucem ferendam vocavit: & in sequentibus porro ostendit, illas afflictiones non posse ipsos separare ab amore Dei, quo ipsos in Christo complectitur. Hinc & scriptura passim aliis inculcat, nos gloriæ Christi fore consortes, si & cum ipso crucem sustinuerimus, 2 Tim. ii. 11, 12. & præsertim. Heb. ii. 10. “Decebat ut ipse, propter quem sunt omnia, & per quem sunt omnia, multos filios in gloriam adducendo, principem salutis ipsorum per afflictiones consecraret.” Et hoc potissimum argumento fideles ad constantem persecutionum tolerantiam horatur, 1 Pet. iv. 12, 13. Heb. xii. 1, 2, 3. Hanc credo esse imaginem Christi, cui ut conformes simus Deum nos prædestinâsse ait apostolus, Rom. viii. 29. consentaneè iis quæ leguntur, Act. xiv. 22. 2 Tim. iii. 12. Page 246, ait autor sibi non occurrere, quod D. Jesus ipse sibi tribuat titulum sacerdotis, aut mentionem faciat ullius rei, quæ ad sacerdotium refertur. Munus Christi sacerdotale in apostolorum epistolis, & præcipue in epistola ad Hebræos nobis plenius esse descriptum, manifestum est; nec negari potest D. Jesum nusquam in evangeliis sibi sacerdotis titulum tribuere. Attamen negandum non videtur, quod sibi alicubi actionem sacerdotalem tribuat: diserte enim ait, se “animam suam λύτϱον ἀντὶ πολλῶν daturum,” Matth. xx. 28. Sanguinem suum vocat sanguinem novi “fœderis, qui pro multis effunditur, in remissionem peccatorum.” Matth. xxvi. 28. Negare non possumus hunc esse actum, qui ad sacerdotium respectum habet. Quare fortasse præstitisset id præteriisse, neque hominibus calumniandi occasionem quærentibus quicquam suppeditâsse, quod cum specie aliqua carpere posse videatur. Præter hæc, in tractatu hoc, quædam mihi occurrere videntur, quæ vix inter se conciliari possunt, nisi forte autor mentem suam plenius explicet. Pag. 13, ait, Dum Adam pulsus sit è paradiso terestri, omnisque ejus posteritas ea propter nascatur extra hunc deliciarum locum; inde naturaliter sequi debet, omnes homines morituros, & in æternum sub potentia mortis mansuros, atque ita penitus fore perditos; ex eo statu autem omnes per Christum liberatos docet, & quidem per legem fidei, quam postea fuse ostendit evangelio contineri. Hæc meo judicio vere dicuntur: verum non satis capio, quomodo cum his bene concilientur, quæ leguntur, pag. 250 & 266, quod qui justi sunt non indigent gratia, sed jus habent ad arborem vitæ. Illi enim quatenus Adami posteri, etiam sub potentia mortis æternum manere debent: quomodo ergo per suam justitiam jus possunt acquirere ad arborem vitæ, ita ut nulla gratia indigeant? cum antea docuerat, omnes ex illo statu necessariæ mortis liberatos, & quidem per legem fidei: unde sequi videtur, liberationem illam non posse fieri, nisi per legem fidei. Ergo non per perfectam legis operum obedientiam: nam è miseria liberare gratiæ est, quam lex operum excludit. Tum nec cum principio isto commode satis conciliare possum, quod autor dicit, qua ratione illi, qui de Christo nihil quicquam inaudiverunt, salvari possint. Si enim per Adamum necessariæ ac æternæ morti sunt obnoxii, è qua per solam legem fidei beneficio Christi liberentur, non videtur illis sufficere posse, quod lumine naturæ aliquas fidei illius, quod Deus sit misericors, scintillas habeant; sed per illam fidei legem, quam Deus salutis obtinendæ conditionem statuit, servari debere videntur. Video doctores systematicos hic multum offendi: atque ideo neque acquiescere illis quinque fructibus, quos D. Jesum adventu suo in mundum hominibus contulisse docet autor. Ego in doctorum systematicorum gratiam nihil in veritatis præjudicium docendum judico; & si quid illi præter rationem carpant, indignationem eorum spernendam censeo: sed considerandum, an non majus quid dici possit & oporteat, quod ipsis licet non satisfaciat, minus tamen forsan offendet, & meo judicio plenius rei veritatem exhibet. Video fructus quidem indicari prophetici ac regii muneris Christi, nullos vero sacerdotalis. Quid si ergo hic addatur muneris sacerdotalis fructus; quod mundus Deo sit reconciliatus, adeo ut nunc per Christum omnibus omnino hominibus remedium paratum sit è miseria sua in quam occasione peccati Adami, propriisque peccatis inciderunt, emergendi & salutem æternam consequendi? Hoc posito, puto explicari posse, qua ratione, salvis principiis ante positis, ii, qui de Christo nihil no fando quidem audiverunt, per Christum salvari possint. Nempe quod Deus illis qui (ut autor hic ait, pag. 292) instinctu luminis naturæ ad gratiam & misericordiam ejus confugiunt, delictorumque resipiscentiam agunt, eorumque veniam supplices petunt, gratiam per Christum impetratam applicet, ipsisque propter Christum remissionem peccatorum & justitiam imputet. Atque ita beneficium, quod ubi Christus prædicatus est, non nisi per directam in Christum fidem, obtineri potest, illi sine directa in Christum, ipsis non prædicatum, fide consequantur per gratiosam imputationem divinam; qui favores & beneficia sua latius extendere potest, quam promissorum verba ferunt. Ut ita omnium salus in sacrificio Christi propitiatorio fundetur. Puto hæc non multum à sententia hujus autoris differre, & iis, quæ evangelio continentur, consentanea esse. Ultimum caput per omnia amplector: omnia credenda & observanda ut salutem consequamur evangeliis & actiis contineri, credo; nullumque novum articulum in epistolis apostolicis superaddi; quæ alii novos fidei articulos urgent, non novi articuli sunt, sed aut magis dilucidæ articulorum jam antea traditorum explanationes; aut doctrinæ antea traditæ ab objectionibus præcipue Judæorum vindicationes, cujus illustre nobis documentum præbet epistola ad Romanos. Hæc sunt paucula illa, quæ mihi inter legendum occurrerunt, quæque tibi expendenda propono. Fortasse autoris mentem per omnia non plene assecutus sum. Verum exigua hæc sunt, & extra principalem autoris scopum, quem argumentis omni exceptione majoribus eum probâsse judico, adeo ut me sibi habeat penitus assentientem. Imprimis laudo, quod tam candide & ingenue, nec minus solide, demonstret recipiscentiæ & bonorum operum necessitatem, & per legem fidei non penitus esse abolitam legem operum, sed mitigatam. Ego illorum hominum theologiam non capio, qui fidem, quo nobis merita Christi applicamus, etiam ante ullum resipiscentiæ actum, nos coram Deo justificare docent. Hac enim persuasione imbuti, facile, mediis in sceleribus, homines incauti sibi justitiam & salutem adscribunt, modo in se fiduciam minime vacillantem deprehendant. Et doctores improvidi hanc temerariam confidentiam alunt, dum hominibus impiis & sceleratis, modo circa vitæ finem fiduciam in Christi meritis firmam profiteantur, salutem sine ulla hæsitatione addicere non verentur: Hujus generis exemplum in nostra civitate recens, quod oblivione obliterari non debet, commemorabo. Præterita æstate ancilla quædam, ut heri sui ædes spoliare posset, noctu eas incendit. Mortis damnata fidem suam in Christi meritis verbis emphaticis, coram ministro verbi divini, qui morituræ adfuit, prolixe professa est: Ille sceleratæ non tantum indubiam salutis spem fecit, sed & postridie pro concione illius fidem prolixe populo commendavit, adeo quidem, ut dicere non veritus sit, se, sola ignominia excepta, talem sibi vitæ exitum optare; multis applaudentibus, aliis vero (non Remonstrantibus modo, sed & contra-Remonstrantibus) non sine indignatione talem Encomiasten cum suo encomio reprehendentibus. Verum tandem manum de tabula. Tu pro solita tua benevolentia prolixitati meæ ignosces. Vale, vir amplissime, mihique semper venerande.

Amstelod.

26 Martii,

1697.

Tui amantissimus,

P. à Limborch.

John Locke

4 Mar. 1696-7

Oates

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

Inter negotia publica & privatam valetudinem tam parum mihi conceditur otii literarii, ut sperem diuturnum meum silentium, non ex imminuta omnino in te voluntate aut amicitia ortum, tibi, quæ tua est in amicos lenitas, excusatum fore. An tu mihi egove tibi novissime literas dederim, quærere nolo. Satis egomet mihi culpandus videor, quod tam diu careo fractu suavissimæ tuæ consuetudinis, & magnus mihi dolendusque in curriculo vitæ meæ hiatus apparet, qui destitutus literarum inter nos commercio, vacuus ea voluptate fuit, quæ maxima cum sit, ex benevolentia solum mutuisque amicorum sermonibus percipitur. Præteritam hyemem cura infirmæ sanitatis rure totam absumpsit. Nisi quod negotia nonnulla importuna subinde irrepentia totum, id, quicquid erat temporis, quod amicis destinaveram invito abriperent. Adeo ut non in tuo solum, sed & multorum mihi amicissimorum ære alieno sim, nec quomodo me redimam scio, si taciturnitas mea nomine negligentiæ suspecta sit. Tu, scio, humanior es quam ut eo me condemnari velis crimine. Quanquam enim tardior aliquando mihi in respondendo calamus, animus tamen nunquam deficit, & si quando hac utor libertate, erga eos solum utor, quibuscum non solummodo vitam civilem, sed intimam solidamque amicitiam mihi colendam propono, quibus multum me scio debere, & quibus insuper cupio me plurimum debere. Ego nuper Londinum profectus post octidui incommodam & anhelosam moram præpropero reditu huc me recipere coactus sum. Hæc pulmonum imbecillitas me brevi spero restituet pristino otio. Valetudinario seni quid restat præter vota pro patria? Naturæ & imbecillitati cedendum est. Hoc mihi si concedatur, libri & literæ, amicorumque interrupta vel impedita commercia, optima illa senectutis oblectamenta, redibunt. Quid enim in republica literaria agatur, civili implicato vix scire vacat. Apud nos sane disceptationibus & rixis maximam partem impenditur scripturientium atramentum. Si disputantium fervor solo veritatis amore accenderetur, laudanda esset litigantium industria & contentio; sed non ita semper tractantur argumenta, ut ea ad veritatem stabiliendam elucidandamve quæsita, credere possis. In mea de Intellectu Humano dissertatione jam tandem aliquid repertum est non ita sanum, idque à viris haud infimi subsellii reprehensum. Si quid ego eorum argumentis edoctus reprehensione dignum reperirem, gratus agnoscerem, & haud invitus corrigerem. Id cum non sit, rationem mihi reddendam censeo, cur non mutaverim sententiam, cum nihil reperiam in ea à veritate alienum. Hæc mea defensio aliquam partem præteritæ hyemis, prout tulit valetudo, occupatam habuit. Sed quid ego te moror nostris nugis? Quid tu illic, vosque alii, studiis utilioribus intenti agatis, aveo scire. Næ ego iniquus officiorum exactor, si à te festinatas postulem literas in scribendo ipse tantus cessator. Verum tu scio id facies ne nimis serio mihi irasci videaris. Vale, vir optime, &, ut facis, me ama,

Oates, 4 Mar.

1696-7.

Tui studiosissimum,

J Locke.

Philippus à Limborch

8 Oct. 1697

Amstelod.

Joanni Locke

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

MENSE Martio scripsi tibi epistolam satis prolixam. Hâc æstate cum viris aliquot primariis sermonem de variis habui: inter alia incidit sermo de tractatu, de quo, in superioribus meis, judicium meum scripsi. Omnes eum summopere laudabant. Unus vero titulum sibi non satis placere affirmabat; tanquam nimis exilem pro dignitate materiæ, quæ toto libro tractatur. Autoris hujus longe diversum aiebat fuisse institutum à plerorumque scriptorum consuetudine, qui exigui pretii libris titulos magnificos præfigere solent: hunc autem libro magnifico exilem præfixisse titulum. Oportuisse titulum aliquatenus respondisse dignitati operis, ut & ille posset lectores allicere. Alius vir (idem qui tibi antehac Sladum nostrum commendatum esse voluit, quod tibi soli dictum velim) se bis tractatum illum perlegisse aiebat: laudabat illum summopere, autoremque fidei christianæ objectum, quod præcipuum totius libri argumentum est, solidissime probâsse affirmabat; unum desiderabat; nim. quod autor am statim ab initio vulgarem de peccato originis sententiam rejecerit ac refutaverit, potuisse autorem, intacta illa sententia, nihilominus præcipuum tractatus sui argumentum adstruere: nunc multos, quorum mentibus alte sententia illa incedit, lecto libri initio, antequam ad principale ejus argumentum accedant offendi, atque ita præjudicium contra autorem concipere, ut sequentia non ea animi serenitate quæ requiritur, legant, sicque alieniores reddi: cum potius ipsorum benevolentia captanda fuisset, ut judicio integro expendant sententiam, veram quidem, sed communi theologorum appetitui minus consentaneam; qui omnes ferme fidei christianæ aliquid de suo admixtum cupiunt; quasi ea suo cœtui peculiaris sit, & alii ab illa excludantur. Qui error ut ipsorum animis eruatur, alliciendi potius sunt, quam assertione alicujus dogmatis sibi minus probati alienandi. Candide tibi scribo quid viri hi desideraverint. Hac occasione, ut fieri solet, sermo ad alia deflexit, & quidem quibus argumentis solidissime unitas Dei probetur. Idem ille vir primarius affirmabat, se argumenta quædam irrefragabilia requirere, quibus probetur ens æternum, seu per se existens, seu undiquaque perfectum, esse tantum unum. Desiderabat quædam in argumentis Hugonis Grotii, libro primo de Veritate Religionis Christianæ. Addebat, audivisse se tractatum tuum de Intellectu Humano in linguam Gallicam verti; multum se tribuere judicio tuo, ac summopere versionem illam desiderare. Quæsivit ex me, num in illo tractatu etiam unitatem entis à se existentis adstruxisses? Ego me ignorare respondi, qui tractatum, utpote lingua mihi ignota conscriptum, nunquam legerim. Voluit itaque tibi serio per me commendari, ut si in tractatu quo quæstionem hanc intactam reliqueris, illius adstructione tractatum augere velis, unitatemque entis independentis solide adstruere. Manifestum videtur ens independens, quod omnem in se complectitur perfectionem, unicum tantum esse: ille tamen hoc ita probari cupiebat, ut argumentum nulla parte laboraret. Ante triduum aurem mihi vellicari jussit, & à me quæri, an jam ad te scripsissem, & aliquod à te responsum accepissem. Non credideram ipsum id tam enixe voluisse; sed quia video rem hanc ipsi cordi esse, scriptionem meam ulterius differendam minime statui. Rogo, si id negotia tua permittant ut mihi responsum scribas, quod ipsi prælegere possim, ita tamen temperara tua scriptione, ut minime subolere ipsi possit, me tibi ipsum aliquatenus indicâsse; posses ita respondere, quasi ego tibi scripserim, viros quosdam eruditos de hac materia disserentes, ex ipsis aliquem, qui te magni æstimat, de ea tuum voluisse audire judicium, & ut quæstionem hanc in tuo de Intellectu Humano tractatu expenderes desiderâsse. Vides quam aperte tecum agam, & quid ab amicitia tua expectare ausim. Hagam Comitis nuper excurri; salutavi honoratissimum Comitem Pembrokiensem, & per integram horam varios cum ipso, etiam de rebus theologicis, sermones habui. Virum in tam excelsa dignitate constitutum tantum in rebus sacris studium posuisse summopere miror. Ita sermonibus ejus afficiebar, ut vix per semihoram ipsi adfuisse mihi visus sim, cum tamen ab eo digressus integram horam esse elapsam deprehenderim. Ego viro illi excellentissimo longævam vitam precor, ut regni Anglicani negotia ipsius auspiciis feliciter administrentur: tibi vero valetudinem prosperam, ut cogitata tua orbi erudito communicare possis. Vale, amplissime vir, & salveat plurimum Domina Masham. Salutant te uxor mea & filia.

Amstelod.

8 Oct.

1697.

Tui amantissimus,

P. à Limborch

John Locke

29 Oct. 1697

Londres

Joanni Locke

LETTRE DE MR. LOCKE À MR. LIMBORCH.

Monsieur,

SI mon nom est venu à la connoissance de ces habiles gens avec qui vous entretenez quelquefois, & s’ils daignent parler de mes écrits dans les conversations que vous avez avec eux, c’est une faveur dont je vous suis entierement redevable. La bonne opinion que vous avez d’une personne que vous voulez bien honorer de votre amitié les a prévenüe en ma faveur. Je souhaiterois que mon Essai concernant l’Entendement fut écrit dans une langue que ces excellens hommes pûssent entendre, car par le jugement éxact & sincere qu’ils porteroient de mon ouvrage, je pourrois compter surement sur ce qu’il y a de vrai ou de faux, & sur qu’il peut y avoir de tolerable. Il y a sept ans que ce livre a été publié. La premiere & la seconde édition ont eû le bonheur d’être generalement bien réçuës: mais la dernier n’a pas eû le même advantage. Après un silence de cinq ou six années on commence d’y découvrir je ne sçai quelles fautes dont on ne s’étoit point apperçu auparavant; & ce qu’il y a de singulier, on prétend trouver matiere à des controverses de religion dans cet ouvrage, ou je n’ai eû dessein de traiter que des questions de pure spéculation philosophique. J’avois resolu de faire quelques additions, dont j’ai déja composé quelques-unes qui sont assez amples, & qui auroient pû paroître en leur place dans la quatrième édition que le libraire se dispose à faire. Et j’aurois volontiers satisfait à votre desir, ou au desir d’aucun de vos amis en y inferant les preuves de l’unité de Dieu qui se presentent à mon esprit. Car je suis enclin à croire que l’unité de Dieu peut être aussi évidemment démontrée que son existence; & qu’elle peut être établie sur des preuves qui ne laisseront aucun sujet d’en douter. Mais j’aime la paix, & il y a des gens dans le monde qui aiment si fort les criailleries & les vaines contestations, que je doute si je dois leur fournir de nouveaux sujets de dispute.

Les remarques que vous me dites que d’habiles gens on fait sur le “Reasonableness of Christianity, &c.” sont sans doute fort justes, & il est vrai que plusieurs lecteurs ont été choquez de certaines pensées qu’on voit au commencement de ce livre, lesquelles ne s’accordent pas tout-a-fait avec des doctrines communément reçuës. Mais sur cela je suis obligé de renvoyer ces messieurs aux deux défenses que l’auteur a fait de son ouvrage. Car ayant publié ce petit livre, comme il le dit lui-même, principalement afin de convaincre ceux qui doutent de la religion chrêtienne, il semble qu’il a été conduit à traiter ces matieres malgré lui; car pour rendre son livre utile aux déïstes, il ne pouvoit point se taire entierement sur ces articles, auxquels ils s’aheurtent des qu’ils veulent entrer dans l’éxamen de la religion chrêtienne. Je suis,

Londres, 29 Oct.

1697.

Monsieur,
Vôtre très-humble
& très-obéïssant serviteur,

J. Locke.

John Locke

Vir amplissime,

Ne mireris quod lingua Gallica responsum à me sit acceptissimis tuis Latinis 8. hujus mensis mihi scriptis, liceat mihi me tibi excusare & negotiorum multitudine, quæ otium negat, & linguæ Latinæ dissuetudine, quæ expedite scribere prohibet. Hanc meam epistolam aliis vel prælegendam vel monstrandam ex tuis colligo: virorum præcellentium censuræ styli negligentia me objicere minime decorum judicavi. Quicquid enim tua vel humanitas vel amicitia in me excusare solet, aliis vel nauseam vel certe non condonandam molestiam creare potest. Scripsi igitur quod dicendum habui lingua vernacula festinatim, Galloque in suam linguam vertendam tradidi. Ex quo exorta est inter episcopum Wigorniensem (qui me quæsita causa aggressus est) & me disputatio: gens theologorum togata in librum meum mire excitatur, laudataque hactenus dissertatio illa tota jam scatet erroribus (vel saltem continui latentia errorum vel scepseos fundamenta) pia doctorum virorum cura nunc demum detegendis. Ad unitatem Dei quod attinet, Grotii, fateor, in loco à te citato argumenta non abunde satisfaciunt. Putasne tamen quempiam, qui Deum agnoscit, posse dubitare numen illud esse unicum? Ego sane nunquam dubitavi; etiamsi, fateor, mihi ex hac occasione cogitandi videtur altius aliquanto elevandam esse mentem, & à communi philosophandi ratione segregandam, si quis id philosophice, vel, si ita dicam, physice probare velit; sed hoc tibi soli dictum sit. Uxorem tuam dilectissimam liberosque officiosissime saluto.

Philippus à Limborch

Joanni Locke

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

GRATISSIMAS tuas 29 Octobris scriptas recte accepi, viroque magnifico, cujus potissimum rogatu ad te scripsi, prælegi. Res ipsa, de qua quæritur, à nemine sano in dubium vocari posse videtur; ipsa enim deitatis notio unitatem involvit, nec permittit, ut illa pluribus communis credi possit. Quare, me judice, nemo, qui attente secum considerat, quid voce Dei intelligamus, pluritatem Deorum asserere potest. Quia tamen eam ab ethnicis asseri videmus, and contra eos scripturæ autoritate pugnari non potest, rationibus è natura petitis convincendi sunt. Quare ejusmodi requirit argumenta vir magnificus, quibus solide demonstretur ens independens & perfectum unicum tantum esse posse. Ex solide adstructa essentiæ divinæ unitate porro facili negotio omnia attributa divina, nostrumque tam erga Deum, quam proximum officium deduci posse certissimus est. Cartesium dicit unitatem illam non probâsse, sed præsuppo suisse. Ipse sibi demonstrationem scripsit, sed eam aiebat subtiliorem esse. Et quia multum tuo tribuit judicio, tua argumenta avidissime videre desiderat. Prælegi illi epistolam tuam: gaudebat, quod in ea affirmes te id præstare posse: tanto enixius jam argumenta tua desiderat. Dolebat tibi litem temere motam: quoniam autem, ne fortasse novis litibus & suspicionibus præter tuam intentionem vel minimam præbeas ansam, publico scripto argumenta tua proferre gravaris, rogat ut ea privatim ad me scribas, sub promisso silentii: ille hæc evulgare minime intendit, sed ad propriam suam instructionem, & in veritate confirmationem requirit. Duobus præter illum viris, intima mihi amicitia conjunctis, qui priori nostræ conversationi interfuerunt, D. de Hartoge Fisci Hollandici advocato, & D. advocato Van den Ende, & præter illos, nulli omnino mortalium ea communicabuntur, nisi fortasse & D. Clerico ea prælegi permittas, quod tui arbitrii est, ipso enim ignaro hæc omnia ad te scribo. Rem facturus es & viro magnifico maximopere gratam: & quod fidis solummodo amicis, & quidem paucis adeo, concreditur, cujusque nullum à me cuiquam apographum dabitur, id dispalescere non potest. Quinimo, ut tanto honestius apographum denegare queam, suaserim ut id in epistola tua enixe à me stipuleris. Nolim ego te genti togatæ, tanquam scepseos fundamenta jacientem, magis suspectum fieri: plerosque illorum alieno judicio, tanquam nervis alienis mobile lignum, præcipites in laudem ac vituperium immerentium rapi certus sum. Cum tuas legerem, lepida mihi incidit Thomæ Mori in sua Utopia fabella. Refert is, cum Raphael Hythlodæus, coram Cardinale Archiepiscopo Cantuariensi doctissime de republica disseruisset, legis quendam peritum commoto capite, & labiis distortis quicquid dixerat improbâsse; ac statim omnes, qui aderant, pedibus in jurisperiti illius ivisse sententiam. Cum vero Cardinalis Hythlodæi sententiam probabat, mox quæ ipso narrante contempserant omnes, eadem neminem non certatim laudibus esse prosecutum. Simile quid tractatui tuo evenit, qui antea integro sexennio communi applauso acceptus fuit, nunc insurgente contra te magni nominis episcopo totus erroribus scatet & latentia continet scepseos fundamenta. Ita solet theologorum vulgus non ex suo sed alieno sapere cerebro. Verum talium judicio epistola tua nequam exponetur. Quod vero linguæ Latinæ dissuetudinem prætexis, quæ expedite scribere prohibet, plane me in ruborem dedit. Quale itaque tuum de me judicium esse censebo, cujus stylus cum tuo comparatus plane sordet? Epistolæ tuæ omnes, etiam veloci calamo scriptæ, sunt non tantum puræ & tersæ, sed & vividæ ac elegantes: quæ si tibi displiceant, quid de meis judices non difficile mihi est colligere. Nihilominus amicitia tua fretus, confidenter quicquid in calamum venit tibi scribo, benignitatis tuæ, quæ defectus meos boni consulere novit, plane securus: in posterum vero, si ea excusatione uti pergas, timidiorem me in scribendo facies. Excusationem itaque hanc minime admitti posse facile vides. Si vero negotia tua tardius nobis concedant responsum, nolim nimia festinatione graviora negligas, sed tempus ad scribendum eligas minus occupatum. Quicquid & quandocunque scripseris, gratissimum erit: interim si cito des, his te dedisse gratus agnoscam. Dedit mihi hebdomade proxime elapsa D. Clericus tuum, de Educatione liberorum, tractatum, in linguam Belgicam versum; pro quo dono magnifico summas tibi ago gratias. Uxor & filia eum attente legunt: ego, ubi illæ satiatæ fuerint, integrum quod & ipsis commendo, à capite ad calcem perlegam. Salutari te quam officiosissime jussit vir magnificus. Vale, vir amplissime.

Tui amantissimum,

P. à Limborch.

John Locke

11 Martii, 1698

Amstelod.

Joanni Locke

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

HAC occasione mitto tibi quædam ex Paulo Servita excerpta, quæ Historiæ Inquisitionis inseri possunt. Ego autores, quos nunc evolvo, majore cum applicatione ad materiam inquisitionis lego, quam antehac, & si quid, quod ad majorem illius illustrationem facere possit, occurrat, illud excerpere soleo, & historiam meam locupletiorem reddere. Tu, si velis, aliis à me antehac ad te missis & hæc adjungere poteris. Quæ mihi ante triennium ex itinerario Du Mont suppeditâsti, ea quanto magis considero, tanto magis historiæ meæ inserenda judico. Licet enim leges pontificiæ secretum confessionis revelari vetent, multa tamen in favorem fidei funt legibus prohibita; quas sancivisse videntur eum tantum in finem, ut simpliciores iis irretiti facilius caperentur. Itaque non tantum inquisitionis leges, sed præcipue gesta acta illius, quæ cum legibus sæpissime adversa fronte pugnant, consideranda censeo. Unum hoc expendi meretur, quod du Mont ait, confessarios Melitenses obligatos esse inquisitoribus revelare quicquid ipsis in secreta confessione negotium fidei spectans confitentur homines. Secretas illas confessiones inquisitoribus revelari nullus dubito; legem de ea revelanda extare credere vix possum: fortasse confessariis hoc viva voce mandatur, licet nulla hujusmodi lex extet. Quibus accedit, quod sit homo reformatus, & peregrinus, qui inter peregrinandum hoc ex quorundum incolarum sermonibus hausit; quorum relationes quandoque valde esse incertas, imo falsas, ex itinerariis, quibus Belgium describitur, sæpius ipse deprehendi. Quare considerandum, quomodo ejusmodi cavillationes pontificiorum solide retundi possint. Quicquid vero hujus sit, digna mihi hæc narratio videtur, quæ historiæ meæ inseratur, si scriptoris alicujus pontificiis non suspecti autoritate confirmari posset. Si quæ talia tibi inter legendum plura occurrunt, rogo ut & mihi ea impertiri velis.

Scripsi, ante duos aut tres menses, virum quendam eximium argumenta tua de unitate divina videndi desiderio teneri. Ego aperte & rotunde tecum agere volui, & quod mihi in mandatis datum erat celare non potui. Nolui ego graviora tua negotia interturbare, aut aliquid tibi molestiæ creare. Scio, si ab animo ac negotiis tuis impetrare possis, argumenta tua viro magnifico fore gratissima, maximi enim & acumen & judicium tuum facit. Si vero negotia tua tempus attentæ ejusmodi meditationi, & diffusiori paulum scriptioni requisitum, tibi non concedant, aut aliquam inde tibi forte creandam molestiam verearis (de quo tamen te securum esse jubeo) ego à te monitus viro magnifico, prout potero, te excusatum reddam: velim tamen eo in casu excusationis rationes à te mihi suppeditari; malim autem, ut, si sine incommodo, aut incommodi metu possis, te viro magnifico gratiam hanc facere, ut materiam hanc, quam jamdiu animo volvit, tua opera explanatiorem habeat. Vale, vir amplissime.

9 Tui amantissimus,

Amstelod.

11 Martii, 16)(98

3 P. à Limborch.

John Locke

Apr. 1698

Amstelod.

Joanni Locke

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

DOCTISSIMAS tuas literas 21 Februarii datas Martii 21 die recte accepi. Paucis id eadem die literis per filium meum tibi tradendis significavi. Attente tuas cum D. Clerico relegi. Ita judicamus argumentis invictis te unitatem essentiæ divinæ adstruxisse, nihilque in argumentatione tua desiderari. Verum nondum viro magnifico eas ostendendas censuimus, nisi sententia tua proprius explorata. Est enim aliquid quod mihi imputandum credo, qui viri magnifici mentem non plene tibi aperuerim. Quantum ex ipsius sermonibus percepi, agnoscit ille quidem evidens satis esse, unum tantum hujus universi esse rectorem: sed argumentum desiderat, quo probetur ens, cujus existentia est necessaria, tantum posse esse unum; & quidem ut id argumentum à necessitate existentiæ desumatur, & à priori (ut in scholis loquuntur) non à posteriori concludat, hoc est, ex natura necessariæ existentiæ probetur eam pluribus non posse esse communem. Narrabat enim, se cum aliis de materia hac disserentem, dixisse, quod si tale ens existat, præter Deum unicum à quo nos dependemus; illud ens minime nos spectare, quia ab eo non dependemus; atque hoc nobis sufficere, ut Deum unum toto corde amemus & colamus. Sed tum disquirendum, an tale ens necessario existens possit esse, præter Deum necessario existentem, à quo nos dependemus. Si quid itaque ut viri magnifici curiositati plene satisfiat addendum putes, illud expectabo: interim literas tuas solicite asservabo, ac nulli ostendam. Vale, vir amplissime, & si quid in toto hoc negotio à me per imprudentiam forte peccatum sit, benignus ignosce.

1 Tui amantissimus,

Amstelod. Kal.

Apr. 16)(98

19 P. à Limborch.

John Locke

2 Avril, 1698

Oates

Joanni Locke

LETTRE DE MR. LOCKE À MR. LIMBORCH.

Monsieur,

LA question que vous m’avez proposée, vient de la part d’une personne d’un genie si vaste, & d’un si profonde capacité, que je suis confus de l’honneur qu’il me fait de deferer si fort à mon jugement dans une occasion, où il lui seroit plus avantageux & plus sure de s’en rapporter à lui-même. Je ne sçai quelle opinion vous avez pû lui donner de moi, séduit par l’amitié que vous me portez; mais une chose dont je suis fort assûré, c’est que, si je ne consultois que ma propre reputation, j’eviterois d’exposer mes foibles pensées devant une personne d’un si grand jugement, & que je ne me hazarderois pas à regarder cet article comme une question à prouyer: bien des gens étant peut être d’avis qu’il vaut mieux le recevoir en qualité de maxime, parce que, selon eux, il est mieux établi sur les fondemens ordinaires que si l’on tâchoit de l’expliquer par des spéculations & des raisonnemens auxquels tout le monde n’est par accoutumé. Mais je sçais que la personne, par qui je crois que cette question vous a été proposée, a l’esprit autrement tourné. Sa candeur & sa probité égalent sa science & ses autres grandes qualitez. S’il ne trouve pas mes raisons assez claires ou assez convainçantes, il ne sera pour cela porté à condamner aussitôt mon intention, ni à mal juger de moi sous prétexte que mes preuves ne sont pas aussi bonnes qu’il l’auroit souhaité. Enfin, moins il trouvera de satisfaction des mes raisonnemens, plus il sera obligé de me pardonner, parce que, quelque convaincu que je sois de ma foiblesse, je n’ai pas laisse d’obéïr à ses ordres. J’écris donc simplement parce que vous le voulez l’un & l’autre; & je veux bien, Monsieur, que vous fassiez voir s’il vous plâit ma lettre à cette excellent homme, & aux autres personnes, qui se trouverent dans vôtre conference. Mais c’est aux conditions suivantes: La premiere, que ces Messieurs me promettront de m’apprendre librement & sincerement leur pensées sur ce qui je dis; la seconde, que vous ne donnerez aucune copie de ce que je vous écris à qui que ce soit, mais que vous me promettrez de jetter cette lettre au feu quand je vous prierai de la faire. A quoi je serois bien aise que vous eussiez la bonté d’ajouter une troisième condition, c’est, que ces Messieurs me feront l’honneur de me communiquer les raisons sur lesquelles ils établissent eux-mêmes l’unité de Dieu.

La question dont vous me parlez, se réduit à ceci, “Comment l’unité de Dieu peut être prouvée?” ou en d’autres termes, “Comment on peut prouver qu’il n’y a qu’un Dieu.”

Pour resoudre cette question il est nécessaire de sçavoir, avant que de venir aux preuves de l’unité de Dieu, ce qu’on entend par le mot de Dieu. L’idée ordinaire, & à ce que je crois, la véritable idée qu’ont de Dieu, ceux qui reconnoissent son existence, c’est, qu’il est “un Etre infini, éternel, incorporel & tout parfait.” Or cette idée une fois reconnüe, il me semble fort aisé d’en déduire l’unité de Dieu. En effet un être qui est tout parfait, ou pour ainsi dire, parfaitement parfait, ne peut être qu’unique, parce qu’un être tout parfait ne sçauroit manquer d’aucun des attributs, perfections, ou dégrez des perfections, qu’il lui importe plus de posséder, que d’en être privé. Car autrement il s’en faudroit d’autant qu’il ne fut entierement parfait. Par éxemple, avoir du pouvoir est une plus grande perfection, que de n’en avoir point; avoir plus de pouvoir est une plus grande perfection, que d’en avoir moins; & avoir tout pouvoir (ce qui est être tout puissant) c’est une plus grande perfection que de ne l’avoir pas tout. Cela posé; deux êtres tout puissans sont incompatibles; parce qu’on est obligé de supposer que l’un doit vouloir necessairement ce que l’autre veut; & en ce cas-là, l’un des deux, dont la volonté est necessairement déterminée par la volonté de l’autre, n’est pas libre, & n’a pas, par conséquent, cette perfectionlà: car il est mieux d’être libre, que d’être soumis à la détermination de la volonté d’un autre. Que s’ils ne sont pas tous deux réduits à la necessité de vouloir toûjours la même chose, alors l’un peut vouloir faire ce que l’autre ne voudroit pas qui fut fait, auquel cas la volonté de l’un prévaudra sur la volonté de l’autre, & ain celui des deux, dont la puissance ne sauroit seconder la volonté, n’est pas tout-puissant; car il ne peut pas faire autant que l’autre. Donc l’un des deux n’est pas tout-puissant. Donc il n’y a, ni ne sauroit y avoir deux tout-puissans, ni par conséquent deux Dieux.

Par la même idée de perfection nous venons à connoître, que Dieu est omniscient. Or dans la supposition de deux êtres distincts, qui ont un pouvoir & une volonté distincte, c’est une imperfection de ne pouvoir pas cacher ces pensées à l’autre. Mais si l’un des deux cache ses pensées à l’autre, cet autre n’est pas omniscient, car non seulement il ne connoit pas tout ce qui peut être connu, mais il ne connoit pas même ce qu’un autre connoit.

On peut dire la même chose de la toute-presence de Dieu: il vaut mieux qu’il soit par tout dans l’étenduë infinie de l’espace, que d’être exclus de quelque partie de cet espace, car s’il est exclu de quelque endroit, il ne peut pas y operer, ni savoir ce qu’on y fait, & par conséquent il n’est ni tout-puissant ni omniscient.

Que si pour anéantir les raisonnemens que je viens de faire, on dit que les deux Dieux qu’on suppose; ou les deux cent mille (car par la même raison qu’il peut y en avoir deux il y en peut avoir deux millions, parce qu’on n’a plus aucun moyen d’en limiter le nombre) si l’on oppose, dis-je, que plusieurs Dieux ont une parfaite toute-puissance qui soit éxactement la même, qu’ils ont aussi la même connoissance, la même volonté, & qu’ils existent également dans le même lieu, c’est seulement multiplier le même être, mais dans le fonds & dans la verité de la chose on ne fait que réduire une pluralité supposée à une véritable unité. Car de supposer deux êtres intelligens, qui connoissent, veulent & font incessamment la même chose, & qui n’ont pas une existence separée, c’est supposer en paroles une pluralité, mais poser effectivement une simple unité. Car être inséparablement uni par l’entendement, par la volonté, par l’action, & par le lieu; c’est être autant uni qu’un être intelligent peut-être uni à lui-même, & par conséquent, supposer que là, où il y a une telle union, il peut y avoir deux êtres, c’est supposer une division sans division, & une chose divisée d’avec elle-même.

Je me suis hazardé à vous écrire mes réflexions sur ce sujet, comme elles se sont presentées à mon esprit, sans les ranger dans un certain ordre qui pourroit servir peut-être à les mettre dans un plus grand jour, si on leur donnoit un peu plus d’étenduë. Mais ceci doit paroître devant des personnes d’une si grand pénétration, que ce seroit les amuser inutilement que développer davantage mes pénsées. Telles qu’elles sont je vous prie de m’en écrire votre opinion & celle de ces Messieurs, afin que celon le jugement que vous en ferez, je puisse, pour ma propre satisfaction, les éxaminer de nouveau, & leur donner plus de force (ce que ma mauvaise santé & le peu de loisir qui me reste, ne me permettent pas de faire presentement) ou bien les abandonner tout-à-fait comme ne pouvant être d’aucun usage. Je suis,

Oates, 2 Avril,

1698.

Monsieur,
Vôtre très-humble
& très-obéïssant serviteur,

John Locke.

Philippus à Limborch

16 Maii. 1698

Amstelod.

Joanni Locke

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

LITERAS tuas postremas recte mihi fuisse traditas jam intellexeris. Statim eas viro magnifico prælegi: verum quia tunc occupatior erat, aliud designavit tempus magis opportunum prolixiori colloquio, quod materiæ gravitas mereri videtur. Paucis itaque abhinc diebus me denuo ad se vocavit; iterumque epistolam tuam legimus. Probat argumenta tua, supposita illa, quam adhibes, Dei definitione; ens enim undiquaque perfectum, seu, quod eodem redit, omnes in se complectens perfectiones, non nisi unum esse posse manifestum est. Verum ille quærit argumentum, non ex definitione Dei desumptum, sed ex ipsa ratione naturali, & per quod deducamur in definitionem Dei. Hac nempe methodo instituit demonstrationem suam. I. Datur ens æternum, independens, necessitate naturæ suæ existens, & sibi ipsi sufficiens. II. Ens tale est tantum unum, & plura istiusmodi entia esse nequeunt. III. Illud ens, quia est unicum, omnes in se complectitur perfectiones; atque hoc ens est Deus. Primam propositionem ait vir magnificus te in tractatu tuo de intellectu Humano egregie abstruxisse, iisdem plane argumentis, quibus ipse in demonstratione sua usus est, adeo ut suas cogitationes in argumentatione tua expressas viderit. Tanto enixius secundam propositionem à te probatam videre desiderat: qua solide probata, tertia nullo negotio ex duabus prioribus deduci potest. Secundam ait, omnes theologos ac philosophos, quin & ipsum Cartesium, non probare, sed præsupponere. Non dubito, quin mihi omnem suam argumentationem communicaturus sit; credo autem non id facturum, antequam tua argumenta viderit; ut tuas cogitationes, quas ipse es meditatus cum suis conferre possit. Verum hic ambigere quis possit, an non propositionum harum ordo mutari, & quæ nunc secunda est, tertia, & quæ nunc tertia est, secunda esse debeat: hoc est, an non, quando probatum est, dari ens æternum, independens, sibi ipsi sufficiens, exinde possit porro probari, illud in se omnes complecti perfectiones; quia fieri nequit, ut enti æterno, independenti, sibique sufficienti ulla perfectio desit: atque ita probato, ens illud omnes in se complecti perfectiones, porro inferatur illud ens tantum esse unum. Verum huic methodo hæc objicitur difficultas, quod deprehendamus esse duas naturas tota essentia diversas (loquor terminis eorum, qui hanc movent difficultatem) cogitationem, & extensionem: supposito dari cogitationem æternam, & independentem, à qua ego dependeo, statuere-quis possit etiam esse extensionem seu materiam æternam sibi ipsi sufficientem, & à cogitatione æterna minime dependentem? sic statuerentur duo entia æterna: & tamen ex positione materiæ æternæ & independentis minime sequeretur, eam in se complecti omnes perfectiones. Quare primo probandum videtur, ens æternum & independens esse tantum unum, antequam omnes in se complecti perfectiones probari possit.

Quod si secunda propositio, ens independens esse tantum unum, non possit probari, nihil religioni, seu necessitati ens illud unice colendi, decedere videtur: quia ego totus ab illo uno ente, quod me produxit, dependeo: illi ergo soli sum obligatus, illud ex toto corde, tota anima diligere, illiusque præceptis per omnia obedire debeo. Si præter illud ens aliud forte existat, quia ab eo non dependeo, illud neutiquam me spectat, neque ego ullam ad id relationem habeo, neque id ullam in me operationem exserere potest. Imo neutrum horum entium de altero ullam notitiam habere, aut ullam in alterum operationem edere posset. Quoniam enim sibi ipsi est sufficiens, ergo nec per alterius positionem, aut remotionem, ullam acquirere potest majorem perfectionem, aut de sua perfectione quicquam amittere; alias sibi non esset sufficiens. Licet itaque veritatis scrutatori summopere gratum sit, evidenter demonstrare posse, ens independens esse tantum unum: si tamen forte contingat, illud evidenter demonstrari non posse, nihil tamen religionis necessitati & perfectioni propterea decessurum videtur, quoniam ens, à quo ego dependeo, est tantum unum. Hæc fuit sermonum viri magnifici summa; quantum ego mentem ejus percepi.

Ego argumentationis tuæ filum, in tractatu tuo de Intellectu Humano, non legi. Probâsse te, ens aliquod esse à quo dependes, illudque ens esse æternum & sibi ipsi sufficiens, nullus dubito. Argumentum, quo id probatur, evidens est & clarum. Verum, an ibidem probaveris, te ab uno ente tantum dependere, neque fieri posse ut à pluribus dependeas, ignoro. Argumentatio viri magnifici quidem infert, me ab ente æterno dependere: sed nondum vidi ab ipso probatum ab uno tantum ente me dependere: quod tamen spectat primam propositionem. Nam in secunda ponitur, præter illud ens æternum à quo ego dependeo, aliud nullum esse ens æternum. Itaque similiter hic præsupponi videtur, me ab uno tantum ente dependere, saltem id nondum distincte probatum audivi: quod tamen primo probandum videtur, antequam ad probationem propositionis secundæ procedatur. Tum & dispiciendum, an quidem ratio permittat, supponi materiam æternam ac sibi sufficientem; si enim ens sibi sufficiens & æternum, necessario sit omni modo perfectum; sequitur, materiam, quæ iners est substantia, omni motu ac vita destituta, non posse concipi æternam ac sibi sufficientem.

Voluit vir magnificus, ut tibi distinctius, qualem desideret probationem, præscriberem: verbis suis te quam officiosissime salutari jussit; pro suscepto in sui gratiam labore gratias agit: dolet valetudinem tuam afflictam; & si ea minus permittat subtilioribus indulgere cogitationibus, minime cupit ut te fatiges meditationibus, tibi ob valetudinem afflictiorem molestis, aut valetudini noxiis. Precatur interim tibi valetudinem firmam ac vegetam; & si ea permittat, ut de propositionis secundæ, prout nunc à me ex mente illius proposita est, judicium tuum scribas, rem facies ipsi gratissimam. Tu ipse judicabis de illius methodo, & quid rescribendum sit. Hoc unum addo, ipsum, lecta tua epistola, nullum illius apographum petiisse; sed conditionibus, quas stipularis, acquievisse: & si petiisset, ego modeste negâssem; verum ea est humanitate, ut hoc à me flagitare noluerit. Verum tandem tempus est manum de tabula tollere. Vale, vir amplissime.

Amstelod.

16 Maii.

1698.

Tui amantissimus,

P. à Limborch.

John Locke

21 Mai, 1698

Oates

Joanni Locke

LETTRE DE MR. LOCKE À MR. LIMBORCH.

Monsieur,

SI ma santé ne me permettoit pas de satisfaire commodément l’envie que j’ai d’éxécuter les ordres de ce grand homme qui reçoit si favorablement mes réflections, toutes médiocres qu’elles sont, il est pourtant vrai que je ne saurois la sacrifier pour une meilleure occasion que celle qui me porte à examiner le sujet où il m’a engagé, & qui me fournit le moyen de lui faire voir combien je suis prêt à lui obêïr. Mais je ne prétens pas qu’en cette rencontre il me soit obligé d’un tel sacrifice; car si je ne hazarde point ma réputation auprès de lui, je suis fort assuré que ma santé ne sera point intéressée par ce que je vais écrire. Ayant à faire à un homme qui raisonne si nettement, & qui a si bien approfondi cette matiere, je n’aurai pas besoin de parler beaucoup pour me faire entendre. Son extreme penetration lui fera sentir d’abord le fondement de la preuve que je vais proposer, de sorte que, sans qu’il soit nécessaire que je m’engage dans de longues déductions, il pourra juger si elle est bien ou mal fondée.

Je ne puis m’empêcher de remarquer l’exactitude de son jugement par rapport à l’ordre qu’il a donné à ses propositions, & il est vrai comme il l’a fort bien remarqué qu’en mettant la troisième à la place de la seconde, les Théologiens, les Philosophes, & Descartes lui-même, supposent l’unité de Dieu, sans la prouver.

Si par la question qui me fuit d’abord proposée, j’eusse compris comme je fais présentement, quel étoit le but de cet habile homme, je n’aurois pas envoyé la réponse que je vous ai envoyé, mais une beaucoup plus courte & plus conforme à l’ordre de la nature & de la raison, où chaque chose paroit dans son meilleur jour.

Je crois que quicunque réfléchira sur soi-même, connoîtra évidemment sans en pouvoir douter le moins du monde, qu’il y a eu de toute éternité un être intelligent. Je crois encore qu’il est évident à tout homme qui pense, qu’il y a aussi un être infini. Or je dis qu’il ne peut y avoir qu’un être infini, & que cet être infini doit être aussi l’être éternel; parce que, ce qui est infini doit avoir été infini de toute éternité, car aucuns additions faites dans le tems, ne sauroient rendre une chose infinie, si elle ne l’est pas en elle-même, & par elle-même, de toute éternité. Telle étant la nature de l’infini qu’on n’en peut rien ôter, & qu’on n’y peut rien ajouter. D’où il s’ensuit, que l’infini ne sauroit être séparé en plus d’un, ni être qu’un.

C’est-là, selon moi, une preuve à priori, que l’être éternel independent n’est qu’un: & si nous y joignons l’idée de toutes les perfections possibles, nous avons alors l’idée d’un Dieu éternel, infini, omniscient, & tout-puissant, &c.

Si ce raisonnement s’accorde avec les notions de l’excellent homme, qui doit le voir, j’en serai extrêmement satisfait. Et s’il ne s’en accommode pas, je regarderai comme une grande faveur s’il veut bien me communiquer sa preuve, que je tiendrai secrete, ou que je communiquerai comme venant de sa part, selon qu’il le jugera à propos. Je vous prie de l’assurer de mes trèshumbles respects. Je suis, &c.

Oates,

21 Mai, 1698.

J. Locke.

Philippus à Limborch

Jul. 1698

Amstelod. Cal.

Joanni Locke

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

Vir amicissime,

VIRO magnifico postremas tuas ostendi; illo pro labore rogatu suo à te suscepto maximas agit gratias: non tamen in tua argumentatione acquiescit. Methodus illius primo loco probat, dari ens aliquod per se existens ac sibi sufficiens: deinde, illud ens esse tantum unum: tertio, illud ens in se complecti omnes perfectiones, ac proinde esse Deum. Tu vero in tua argumentatione præsupponis, omni homini attente meditanti, evidens esse dari ens infinitum, cui nihil addi aut demi potest, atque id idem ipsi est ac supponere, dari ens undiquaque perfectum: quæ est tertia ipsius thesis; adeo ut ex præsupposita illius thesi tertia probes secundam: cum secunda prius probari debeat antiquam ex illa possit concludi tertii. Hæc fuit causa cur ego tibi considerandum dederim, an non ordo illius mutari debeat, & quæ illius tertia est non debeat esse secunda thesis: verum ut argumentatio procedat, non deberet ea thesis præsupponi, sed ex prima thesi probari: aut si illius methodus placeat, deberet prius ex eo, quod sit ens æternum ac sibi sufficiens, probari illud esse unum; & hoc probato porro exinde deduci illud esse infinitum, seu undiquaque perfectum. Argumentationem suam mihi nondum communicavit: an communicaturus sit, valde dubito. Idem ipsum qui te scrupulus retinet: metuit iniquas theologorum censuras, qui omnia è schola sua non hausta, atro carbone notare, ac infami exosissimarum hæresium nomenclatura traducere solent. Tentabo tamen, an prolixiore colloquio, quod mecum instituere velle dixit, aliquatenus elicere possim, quod scripto tradere gravatur. Vale, vir amplissime,

Amstelod. Cal.

Jul.

1698.

Tui amantissimus,

P. à Limborch.

Philippus à Limborch

12 Sept. 1698

Amstelod.

Joanni Locke

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

POST ultimum meum cum viro magnifico colloquium nulla ipsum conveniendi occasio fuit: aliquandiu febricula laboravit. Colloquium habui cum quodam illius amico, qui inter alia dixit, minime sibi probari viri magnifici argumentationem, qua contendit, si supponamus dari cogitationem, per se existentem, & præterea extensionem, seu materiam, quod neutra ullam alterius possit habere cognitionem: extensionem quidem (aiebat) nullam habituram cognitionem cogitationis; fieri autem non posse, quin cogitatio cognitionem sit habitura extensionis: quia cum cogitatio per se existat, sibique sit sufficiens, etiam est infinita; ac proinde vi infinitæ suæ cogitationis necessario cognoscit extensionem existentem. Sed cum regererem, virum magnificum improbare methodum, qua enti per se existenti sibique sufficienti probantur inesse alia attributa, antequam probatum sit illud esse tantum unicum; respondebat necessario de tali ente debere affirmari illud esse infinitum, sed in sua natura; cogitationem quidem esse infinitæ scientiæ; materiam infinitæ extensionis, si quidem per se existat. Sed inde sequi colligebam, etiam alia attributa posse probari: probata enim infinitate etiam probari posse alia illi inesse, sine quibus infinitas concipi nequit. Quod non negavit. Atque ita mecum sentire videbatur unitatem ejusmodi entis tali methodo frustra quæri, sed oportere thesin secundam esse tertiam. Crediderim ego virum magnificum hanc sibi investigandæ veritati præscripsisse methodum, & cum ipse, quæ sibi satisfaciant, argumenta invenire nequeat, ea apud alios quærere. Difficile mihi videtur probatu, ens necessitate naturæ suæ existens esse tantum unum, antequam ex necessaria existentia, alia, quæ eam necessario comitantur, attributa deduxeris. Si vir magnificus ea habeat, operæ pretium foret ea erudito orbi communicare.

Nuper professor Vander Weeyen tractatulum quendam Rittangeliæ edidit, illique prolixam ac virulentam contra D. Clericum præfixit præfationem, qua explicationem initii evangelii Joannis à D. Clerico editam, refutare conatur. Ego æquitatem & judicium in illo scripto desidero. In fine etiam contra me insurgit, verum paucis, quia in Theologia mea Christiana scripsi Burmanum pleraque, quæ in sua Synopsi Theologiæ habet de omnipotentia divina, descripsisse ex Spinosæ Cogitatis Metaphysicis. Ille non negat, sed contendit Burmannum propterea non esse Spinosistam, quod ego nusquam scripsi. Neuter nostrûm tam inepto scriptori quicquam reponet. Dediante paucas hebdomadas N. N. literas ad te perferendas; verum ille adhuc Roterodami commoratur: vir est eruditus, & moribus probatis. Non tu ex eorum es genere, qui viri, non per omnia tecum in religione sentientis alloquium horreas. Ille quando advenerit, de statu nostro plura dicere poterit. Hac hebdomade D. Guenellonus me tuis verbis salutavit, quodque postremis meis literis nondum responderis excusavit. Gratissimæ mihi semper sunt literæ tuæ, & quanto crebriores tanto gratiores; sed non sum importunus adeo exactor, ut cum meliorum laborum dispendio eas à te flagitem. Scio responsi tarditatem non oblivioni mei, sed negotiis, quibus obrueris, adscribendam. Spem fecit Guenellonus nonnullam profectionis tuæ instante hyeme in Galliam, & reditus tui in Angliam per Hollandiam nostram. Si id confirmandæ valetudini inservire queat, opto summis votis, ut iter hoc perficias, ut tui post tam diuturnam absentiam videndi & amplectendi, & fortasse ultimum valedicendi occasio detur. Vale.

Amstelod.

12 Sept.

1698.

Tui amantissimus,

P. à Limborch.

John Locke

4 Octob. 1698

London

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

London

4 Octob. 1698.

ROGO ut magnificum virum meo nomine adeas, dicasque me magnopere rogare ut suam methodum, qua unitatem entis per se existentis sibique sufficientis adstruit, mihi indicare velit: quandoquidem mea ea de re argumentandi ratio ipsi non penitus satisfaciat. Nollem ego in re tanti momenti, falso vel fallaci innixus fundamento, mihimet imponere. Si quid stabilius, si quid rectius noverit, ut candidus impertiri velit, enixè rogito. Si tectum, si tacitum velit, pro me meoque silentio spondeas. Sin tantum beneficium orbi non invideat, in proxima, quæ jam instat, libri mei editione palam faciam, agnito, si libet, vel velato auctore.

Cartesianorum, quam in epistola tua reperio loquendi formulam, nullatenus capio. Quid enim sibi velit cogitatio infinita, plane me fugit. Nullo enim modo mihi in animum inducere possum cogitationem per se existere, sed rem, vel substantiam, cogitantem, eamque esse, de qua affirmari possit esse vel finitam vel infinitam. Qui aliter loqui amant, nescio quid obscuri vel fraudulenti sub tam dubia locutione continere mihi videntur, & omnia tenebris involvere: vel saltem quod sentiant clare & dilucide enuntiare non audere, faventes nimium hypothesi non undique sanæ. Sed de hoc forsan alias, quando majus suppetet otium.

Quod de professore Vauder Weeyen scribis non miror. Istius farinæ homines sic solent, nec aliter possunt; recte facitis quod negligitis.

Literas tuas, quæ Roterodami hærent, avide expecto, & virum illum cui eas ad me perferendas tradidisti. Ex tua commendatione mihi erit gratissimus. Viros probos fovendos colendosque semper existimavi. Ignoscant alii meis erroribus; nemini propter opinionum diversitatem bellum indico, ignarus ego & fallibilis homuncio. Evangelicus sum ego christianus, non papista.

Hucusque scripseram die supra notato, quo autem die epistolam hanc finiri permissum est, infra videbis.

Quod velim cum me christianum Evangelicum, vel si mavis orthodoxum, non papistam dico, paucis accipe. Inter christiani nominis professores duos ego tantum agnosco classes, evangelicos & papistas. Hos, qui tanquam infallibiles dominium sibi arrogant id aliorum conscientias: i llos, qui quærentes unice veritatem, illam & sibi & aliis, argumentis solum rationibusque persuasam volunt; aliorum erroribus faciles, suæ imbecillitatis haud immemores: veniam fragilitati & ignorantiæ humanæ dantes petentesque vicissim.

Hyens jam ingravescens & pulmonibus meis infesta me brevi urbe expellet; & abitum suadet invalescens tussis & anhelitus. Iter in Galliam dudum propositum languescere videtur: quid fiet nescio, ubicunque fuero totus ubique tuus sum. Saluto uxorem tuam optimam liberosque amicosque nostros communes, Veenios, Guenellones, Clericos. Accepi nuper à Do Guenellone epistolam, 3 Octobris datam, pro qua nunc per te gratias reddere cupio, ipsi prima data occasione responsurus. Vale, vir amicissime, & me ama

18 Octob.

Tui amantissimum,

J. Locke.

Philippus à Limborch

9 Dec. 1698

Amstelod.

Joanni Locke

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

Amplissime Vir,

QUOD literis tuis hactenus non responderim valetudo minus prospera in causa fuit. Aliquot hebdomadibus febricula laboravi, accessere dolores colici acres admodum ac vehementes. Tandem benignitate divina convalui & ad intermissa studia reversus sum.

Cartesianam illam loquendi formulam ego tecum non capio; cogitationem enim per se existentem non percipio, sed quidem substantiam cogitantem: verum ne sententiam suam minus candide proponi querantur, iisdem, quibus illi eam explicant, verbis uti, necesse habui: ego autem quando me explico, ita loqui non soleo.

Quæ de christianis evangelicis & papistis disseris, optima sunt & verissima. Ego utramque classem in omnibus christianorum sectis reperiri credo. Nullum enim cœtum ita prorsus corruptum mihi persuadeo, ut nemo in tanto numero sit evangelicus; licet enim cœtus ipse professionem edat papismi, nonnullos tamen in eo latere credo evangelicos, quibus dominatus ille in aliorum conscientias displicet, ac dissentientibus salutem abjudicare religio est. Rursus licet cœtus evangelicam charitatem profiteatur, non adeo in omnibus & per omnia purgatum, sperare ausim, quin & degeneres aliquot in eo reperiantur, qui professionis suæ obliti, tyrannidem animo fovent, libertatemque sentiendi, quam sibi cupiunt, aliis invident. Ita ubique zizania tritico permixta in hoc sæculo habebimus. Evangelicos ego, quocunque in cœtu sunt, amo ac fraterna charitate complector. Papistas, licet ejusdem mecum cœtus membra, tanquam spurios Christianos considero, nec genuina esse corporis Christi membra agnosco, utpote charitate, ex qua discipulos suos agnosci vult Christus, destitutos.

Bibliopolæ Churchill tradetur fasciculus, quem ad te mittet, complectens Historiam Inquisitionis, quam cum epistola addita Francisco Cudworth Masham tradi velim: addidi tria defensionis meæ contra Joannem Vander Weeyen exemplaria, quorum unum tibi, alterum Francisco, tertium Do Coste destinavi. Adversarius meus se reformatum vocat: an evangelicus, an vero papista sit, tu dijudicabis. Amicorum hortatui obsecutus sum; verum bonas meas horas melioribus studiis destinavi, nec facile me istiusmodi scriptis inde denuo avelli patiar. Ut scias quo respiciam, quando de spatiis imaginariis ultra polos loquor, adscribam lineas aliquot ex tractatu quodam Weeyeni contra Spanhemium, quibus Spanhemio geographiæ ignorantiam objicit, ipseo adeo rudis, ut discrimen inter gradus longitudinis & latitudinis prorsus ignoret. Hæc sunt ejus verba:a “Ridere in calce si lubeat, lege quæso Dissertat. Histor. . Americæ longitudinem protendit [Spanhemius] ultra 180 gradus. Forte pars ejus in spatiis imaginariis collocanda erit! cum hactenus ab uno polo ad alium non ultra 180 gradus ponant geographi. Arcticæ & antarcticæ terræ partibus nullus jam locus erit, ubi America ultra polos ignorantissime protenditur. Cave credas [Spanhemio] adeo crasse philosophanti, cum ad mathesin ventum est.” Monitus ab amico, rescisso hoc folio, aliud substituit: sed libellus jam toto Belgio dispersus erat, & in omnium officinis prostabat. Vide cum quali heroë mihi res sit. Hyemem hanc sine gravi incommodo ruri ut transigas voveo. Domino ac Dominæ Masham, totique familiæ officiosissimam à nobis dicas salutem. Uxor ac filia te plurimum salutant, imprimis ego.

Amstelod.

9 Dec.

1698.

Tui amantissimus,

P. à Limborch.

Philippus à Limborch

23 Junii, 1699

Amstelod.

Joanni Locke

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

Amplissime Vir,

LITERAS tuas vir eruditissimus fideliter mihi ante duos circiter menses tradidit. Edidit Weeyenus dissolutionem defensionis meæ, verum adeo dissolutam, maledicam, & nihil an principale argumentum facientem, ut sponte evanitura sit. Ego nolo mihi cum tam impotenti adversatio quicquam negotii esse. Ut exiguum aliquod specimen tibi referam, carpit quod dixi indolem, qua à litibus abhorreo, mihi esse innatam; atque propterea me criminatur, quod glorier de propriis meis viribus, se vero omnia gratiæ divinæ adscribere jactat, idque duabus aut tribus primis foliis plus sexies repetit: talis farinæ totus est liber. Si dixissem me natura esse propensum ad odium Dei & proximi, fuissem illi orthodoxus. Hanc sibi indolem naturalem agnoscit: actiones vero ejus ostendunt, regenerationem (quam sibi tribuit) admodum esse imperfectam, partemque irregenitam multum prædominari regenitæ. D. Clericus edidit Gallice sua Parrhasiana, in quibus de variis disserit, & paucis etiam hunc hominem perstringit: verum accuratiorem illius refutationem Latinam brevi editurus est. Prodiit etiam alterius docti viri tractatus, quem tibi in Anglia ostendit. Quænam de illo aliorum futura sint judicia brevi audiemus. Multa supponit tanquam certa, quæ mihi incertissima sunt, aliis falsa habebuntur.

Legi nuper Camdeni Historiam Angliæ sub Elizabetha, in cujus parte II. anno 1579, hæc verba reperi: “Execranda Matthæi Hammonti impietas, quæ in Deum Christumque ejus, Norwici, hoc tempore debacchata est, & cum illius vivicomburio, ut spero, extincta, oblivione potius est obruenda, quam memoranda.” Velim Camdenus paulo distinctius impietatem illam indicâsset, ut de criminis, quod tam horrendo supplicio vindicatum fuit, atrocitate constare possit. Scimus innoxios quandoque errores à theologis blasphemias & impietates execrandas vocari, ut crudelitati, qua in dissentientes sæviunt, prætextum quærant. Frustra ego hactenus in autoribus, qui mihi ad manum sunt, exactiorem hujus Hammonti historiam quæsivi: non dubito tamen, quin ea in scriptoribus Anglis reperiri possit. Si sine tuo incommodo explicatiorem illius narrationem mihi suppeditare queas, rem feceris mihi longè gratissimam. Plura illius generis collegi, quæ in ordinem redigere statui, non ut alios traducam, sed ut omnes à sævitia in dissentientes, quantum in me, deterream. Guenellonus noster plurimam tibi salutem scribi jussit. Literas traditurus est nobili Muscovitæ ad te perferendas, qui propediem hinc in Anglicam trajiciet, quod tibi significari voluit. Salutant te ac Dominum & Dominam Masham totamque familiam uxor ac liberi: Francisci Masham epistola mihi perplacet, sed jam non est respondendi otium: à tali indole egregia quævis expecto. Nominatim illi, ut & Do Coste salutem dices à me

Amstelod.

23 Junii,

1699.

Tui amantissimo,

P. à Limborch.

Philippus à Limborch

3 August. 1699

Amstelod.

Joanni Locke

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

LITERAS meas, circa mensis Junii finem scriptas, fideliter tibi esse traditas nullus dubito. Indicavit mihi D. Clericus sibi à te missum D. Allix tractatum Anglicum, quo probare contendit, Paraphrastas Judæos æternam filii Dei generationem agnovisse. Nuperrime hic prodiit tractatus ante plures annos, ut præfatio habet, & argumentum libri clare ostendit, ab autore ignoto scriptus, qui duos scriptores Rittangelium & Voisinum, idem quod de Allix asserentes, impugnat. Commodâ mihi, per nautam mihi notum oblata occasione exemplar illius ad bibliopolam Churchill tibi porro tradendum mitto, ut hujus cum tractatu D. Allix collatione instituta, de tota controversia judices. Ego non video causæ principali aliquod creari periculum, etiamsi argumento hoc, ex Judæorum scriptis deprompto, propugnari non posset; nec ego tali argumento, in disputatione contra Judæos, multum tribuere ausim. Alia sunt majoris momenti, & quæ fortius stringunt: verum hoc sine occultæ cum fidei hostibus conspirationis suspicione affirmari non patiuntur orthodoxiæ, semel decretis humanis definitæ, jurati vindices, quibus piaculum est vel unum argumentum, licet elumbe ac stramineum, modo à zelotis adhiberi solitum, omittere, aut de illius evidentia ac robore vel minimum dubitare.

Adfuere mihi nuper aliquot præstantissimi Angli, de quibus, an tibi noti sint, ignoro. Omnes mihi narraverunt T — quendam, juvenem Hibernum, & ut audio, non magnifice de s. scripturæ divinitate sentientem, aliquoties gloriatum de honore, sibi ab aliquot viris eruditis in patria nostra exhibito: inter alia etiam amicitiam ac familiaritatem mecum contractam jactare. Miror quid hominem, nunquam mihi visum, quique ater an albus sit ignoro, moveat, falso jactare familiaria mecum habita colloquia. Quoniam autem justam mihi causam præbet suspicandi, similia eum de nostra amicitia in Anglia disseminaturum, hac occasione, id scribere tibi consultum duxi: ut si quid simile jactet rumorem illum falsi coarguere queas. Antehac de D. Clerici amicitia multum gloriatus est: ipsum hunc bis convenit, sed semel in alienis ædibus: verum ita à Clerico exceptus est, ut de consensu illius secum minime gloriari queat. Sub prælo jam habet D. Clericus aliquot epistolas, quibus se contra criminationes Cavei, Weeyeni, aliorumque defendit. Semel hoc labore defungi cupit, ideoque pluribus simul respondet. Vitam Episcopii à Marco Teute in Latinum sermonem versam relegi: quædam emendavi: omnia autem si emendare cupiam, res magni esset laboris: addidi etiam quædam, quibus Historia nostra exteris plenius paulo explicatur: verum quoniam non Remonstrantismi, sed solummodo vitæ Episcopii Historiam conscripsi, intra cancellos rerum ab ipso Episcopio gestarum continere me debui. Fortasse versio illa, qualiscunque sit, brevi prælo subjicietur. Vale, vir amplissime: salutem dices Dominæ Masham totique familiæ, à me, uxore, & filia, qui omnes tibi salutem precantur.

Amstelod.

3 August.

1699.

Tui amantissimus,

P. à Limborch.

John Locke

5 Sept. 1699

London

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH, JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

NUDIUSTERTIUS tractatum contra Rittangelium, quem mihi misisti, accepi. Benigne mecum actum erit, si hoc nomine mihi ignoscas tarditatem responsi ad literas tuas, tertio Augusti datas. Nondum mihi vacui temporis satis datum est, ut Allixi librum hoc de argumento aggrederer, qui mirus plerisque primo auditu visus est, quod trinitatis doctrinam è synagoga haurire præ se fert. Accingam me quamprimum jam per otium liceat ad utriusque lectionem; multi enim, ut audio, apud nos dictitant quæstionem hanc, prius non intellectam, jam primum in lucem produxisse Allixium, & suis fundamentis innixam mundo obtulisse. Quas partes hac in controversia habent Judæi, perpensis utrinque argumentis jam videbimus.

Hibernum quem nominas, vanæ hujusmodi gloriolæ avidum, ex aliis audivi: si de te tuaque amicitia aliquid jactitet apud communes amicos familiaresque meos, quam omnino tibi ignotus sit, ex me scient.

Criminationes hujusmodi adversariorum, quibuscum res est Domino Clerico, an negligendæ, an refutandæ, haud facile est statuere. Quidam enim non aliud quærunt nisi calumniandi rixandique ansam. Non dubito quin amicus noster satis habet quod respondeat. Ego sane laudo tuum consilium, qui placide juxta ac solide refutaveris quæ contra te maligne scripserat Weeyenus. De controversiarum, quæ me aliquamdiu exercuerunt, eventu, etiamsi non multum habeam quod querar, piget tamen pœnitetque tantum temporis mihi suffuratum, quod aliis studiis majore cum fructu poterat impendi. Si quæ novæ oriantur vellicationes, eas in posterum mihi negligendas censeo.

Vitam Episcopii latinitate donatam lubens viderim; Belgica enim lingua non satis mihi nota, ut quam tu edideris legere possim. Non dubito quin multa contineat scitu & jucunda & utilia, sive mores privatos respicias, sive rerum eo tempore gestarum historiam.

Hactenus ad tuas 3 Augusti datas, sed qua excusatione utar, cum respicio ad antiquiores, scilicet mense Junio scriptas? Si delictum consuetudine delinquendi defendi possit, habeo quod dicam: nôsti tarditatem meam hoc in genere. Fac ut soles, & inveterascentem in me delinquendi morem tu consuetudine ignoscendi vincas.

Cum in novissimis tuis de viro magnifico ne verbum quidem, amici tui opinionem pronus amplector. Operose ab aliis quærit, non quod domi habet, sed quod nusquam adhuc reperire potuit, & quod forsan reperiri possit.

Tractatus viri docti, quem in Angliæ videram, apud vos editus, nondum ad manus meas pervenit: de fundamentis quibus tanquam certissimis superstructum censuit, minime mihi satisfecit, cum de iis coram disceptavimus.

Exactiorem Hammonti historiam quæsivi, nondum autem reperi quenquam, qui eam mihi explicatius tradere possit, vel scriptorem aliquem indicare in quo eam reperire licet. Non tamen desistam. Laudo enim consilium tuum in colligendis hujusmodi exemplis.

Guenelloni nostri literas, quas me expectare jusseras, nondum vidi, nec nobilem Muscovitam, cui tradendæ erant ad me perferendæ. Quo infortunio hoc acciderit, nondum scio. Doleo interim mihi ablatam occasionem testandi, quam paratus essem inservire peregrino, à tam caro amico adventanti. Illum uxoremque ipsius, socerumque ejus Veenium nostrum, officiosissime meo nomine quæso salutes: imprimis autem uxorem liberosque tuos. Vale, & me, ut facis, ama

London

5 Sept.

1699.

Tui amantissimum,

J. Locke.

Philippus à Limborch

2 Oct. 1699

Amstelod.

Joanni Locke

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

LICET nihil mihi literis tuis gratius sit, absit tamen, ut amicum plurimis ac gravissimis distractum negotiis, ad singulis meis respondendum constringi cupiam. Amicitia arithmeticam illam scribendi & respondendi proportionem non requirit, sed in prompto ac benevolo amici animo acquiescit, & bene secum actum credit, quotiescunque amicus aliquam à gravioribus curis respirationem nactus, vel tantillum temporis, epistolio, licet breviori, impendit. Ego ex tuis te recte valere lætus intellexi: Deus hanc tibi diu continuet valetudinem. Anonymi librum contra Rittangelium recte ad manus tuas pervenisse gaudeo. Ubi eum legeris & cum Allixii libro contuleris, rem mihi facies maximopere gratam, si vel tribus lineis judicium tuum de utroque ad me scribas.

D. Clerici epistolæ criticæ, quibus pluribus qui calamum in ipsum strinxerunt, simul respondet, brevi lucem videbunt. Adversarios habet parum candidos, & eorum quosdam imperitos admodum ac indoctos; præsertim illum qui ipsum & me non provocatus invasit. Homo ille omnium imperitus de omnibus judicium pronuntiat, quæque minime intelligit magno cum supercilio carpit. Contra Clericum scribit, Philonem à Spencero vocari fabularum sterquilinium: verum quod Spencerus scribit de fictitio antiquitatum biblicarum libro, Philoni falsò tributo, quique nusquam in Philonis operibus exstat, ille de genuino Philone dicta putat. Et hic heros, adeo in Philone hospes, Clericum malæ fidei in Philone citando accusare audet. Me sibi seditionem objicere putat, quando triumphum in spatiis imaginariis agere jubeo, innumerabili ex fœcunda gente Meneni turba currum faustis acclamationibus prosequente: ignarus fœcundam gentem Meneni non seditiosos, sed stolidos, quorum magna ubique copia est, designare. Clerico contra talem adversarium similem, quanquam non adeo gloriosum, propter adversarii exiguam eruditionem, eventum, qualem tu nuper omnium judicio consecutus es, prævideo. Scripsit de eo nuperrime ad me doctus quidem Anglus, qui me præterito anno vidit, his verbis: “Non dubito quin jamdudum audivisti de indubitata victoria, quam amicus tuus D. Locke retulit de episcopo Vigorniensi, in ejus responsione ultima ad objectiones episcopi, contra librum de intellectu Humano. Episcopus eam vidit, nec multo post mortuus est. Sed etiamsi diutius vixisset, vix credo eum responsurum fuisse: omnia enim istic adeo ad vivum demonstrantur, ut nullus locus contradictioni relinquatur.”

Exactiorem Hammonti historiam quærendo nolo multum te fatiges: si absque tuo incommodo eam mihi suppeditare potuisses, gratum fuisset. Credidi ego lingua Anglica exstare historias ecclesiasticas, in quibus hoc hæretici adeo horrendi exemplum prætermissum neutiquam est. Ejusmodi enim orthodoxiæ de hæresibus triumphos zelotæ, in suis historiis, magnifice deprædicare solent. Sed quoniam illud exemplum tibi obvium non est, ego brevi illa Camdeni narratione contentus ero. Episcopii vitam jam paucas intra hebdomadas prælo subjiciendam credo, quoniam ingens, quod sub prælo habebat typographus, opus jam jam in lucem proditurum est, ut jam illius præla hujus opusculi editione occupari possint.

De magnifico viro nihil jam audio, nihil etiam ab ipso responsi expecto. Videtur aliquatenus congressum meum vitare, fortasse quia me responsum flagitaturum credit: verum ego statui eum amplius non urgere, ne responsum, quod declinet, flagitando importunus videar.

Me Guenelloni, quæ de eo scripsisti, prælegisse testes sunt literæ ipsius, quibus has inclusas voluit. Ipse de nobili illo Muscovita pluribus ad te scribit. Salutem quam officiosissime à nobis dices Dominæ Masham totique familiæ. Salutant te uxor & liberi, imprimis ego.

Amstelod.

2 Oct.

1699.

Tui amantissimus,

P. à Limborch.

John Locke

7 Octob. 1699

London

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

QUOD à me petiisti, quærendo apud veterem historicum tandem inveni. En tibi igitur Hammonti crimen & vivicomburium.

Matthæus Hammont aratrorum faber ex vico Hetharset, tribus milliaribus à Norwico distante, reus factus coram episcopo Norwicensi accusatus, quod negaverat Christum salvatorem nostrum. Comparenti in judicio objectum est, quod sequentes propositiones hæreticas publicâsset, nempe quod Novum Testamentum & evangelium Christi pura stultitia erat, inventum humanum, & mera fabula. Quod homo in gratiam restituitur sola misericordia divina, sine ope sanguinis, mortis, & passionis Christi. Insuper, quod Christus non est Deus, nec salvator mundi, sed merus homo, peccator, & idolum abominandum; & quod omnes, qui illum colunt, sunt idololatræ abominandi. Item, quod Christus non resurrexit à morte ad vitam, potestate suæ divinitatis, neque in cœlum ascendit. Item, quod Spiritus sanctus non est Deus, nec quidem omnino est. Item, quod baptismus in ecclesia Dei non est necessarius, nec usus sacramenti corporis & sanguinis Christi. Propter quas hæreses condemnatus est in consistorio, episcopo sententiam pronunciante, 13 die Aprilis 1579, & deinde traditus vicecomiti Norwicensi. Et quia verba blasphemiæ (non recitanda) locutus fuerat contra reginam aliosque è concilio reginæ sanctiore, condemnatus est à judice Norwicensi Windamo, & prætore Norwicensi Roberto Wood, ut ei amputarentur auriculæ, quod factum est in foro Norwicensi 13 Maii, & postea 12 ejusdem mensis vivicomburium passus est, in fossa castelli Norwicensis.

Hactenus Hollinshead ad annum 21 Elizabethæ. Huic simile exemplum reperio in eodem historico, ad annum Elizabethæ 25. Verba authoris hæc sunt:

18 Die Septembris anno 1583, Johannes Lewes, hæreticus obstinatus, qui negavit deitatem Christi, & professus plures alias detestandas hæreses, quales fere erant prædecessoris sui Hammonti, combustus est Norwici.

Lubet etiam duo alia exempla ejusmodi ex alio autore suggerere, quæ tibi etiam forte usui esse possunt in eo, quod præ manibus habes, argumento. Primum est vivicomburium Bartholomæi Legatt Londinensis, anno 1611, & Jacobi primi 9, ob varios errores, hæreses, & blasphema dogmata asserta & publicata, præcipue in his tredecim positionibus sequentibus. Nempe quod symbolum dictum Nicænum, illudque alterum Athanasii, non continent veram professionem fidei christianæ: vel quod ille ipse non vult profiteri suam fidem secundum illa symbola Quod Christus non est de Deo Deus genitus, non factus: sed & genitus & factus. Quod nullæ sunt in Deitate personæ. Quod Christus non fuit Deus ab æterno, sed incipit esse Deus, quando carnem assumpsit ex virgine Maria. Quod Mundus non fuit factus per Christum. Quod apostoli docent Christum esse merum hominem. Quod in Deo nulla sit generatio nisi creaturarum. Quod hæc assertio, Deus factus est homo, contraria est fidei regulæ & blasphemia enormis. Quod Christus non fuit ante plenitudinem temporis, nisi promissione. Quod Christus non fuit aliter Deus quam unctus Deus. Quod Christus non fuit in forma Die æqualis Deo, i. e. in substantia Dei, sed in justitia & dando salutem. Quod Christus deitate sua nulla operatus est miracula. Quod preces Christo non sunt offerendæ.

Hic Bartholomæus Legatt ab episcopo Londinensi, assistentibus consentientibusque aliis reverendis episcopis, doctisque clericis, hæreseos condemnatus est, & brachio sæculari traditus, & deinde igni commissus & combustus in West-Smithfield Londini.

Eodem supplicio affectus est Edvardus Wightman, in civitate Lichfield, anno 1611, ab episcopo Coventriæ & Lichfield, hæreseos damnatus, ob has sequentes opiniones:

Quod non est trinitas personarum, patris, filii, & spiritûs sancti, in unitate Deitatis.

Quod Jesus Christus non est verus, naturalis filius Dei, Deus perfectus, & ejusdem substantiæ, æternitatis, & majestatis cum patre, respectu deitatis suæ.

Quod Jesus Christus est homo solummodo, & mera creatura, & non Deus simul & homo in una persona.

Quod salvator noster Christus non sibi sumpsit carnem humanam ex substantia virginis Mariæ matris suæ; & quod promissio illa, “Semen mulieris conteret caput serpentis,” non adimpleta erat in Christo.

Quod persona spiritus sancti non est Deus, coæqualis, coessentialis cum patre & filio.

Quod tria symbola, sc. Apostolorum, Nicænum, & Athanasii, continent hæresin Nicolaïtarum.

Quod ille, nempe Eduardus Wightman, est propheta ille, cujus mentio facta est xviii. Deuteron. his verbis: “Suscitabo illis prophetam,” &c. Et quod verba Isaiæ, “Ego solus torcular calcavi,” & Lucæ, “Cujus ventilabrum in manu ejus,” pertinent proprie & personaliter eidem dicto Eduardo Wightman.

Quod ille, nempe Wightman, est persona illa spiritus sancti, cujus mentio facta est in scriptura, & paracletus ille, de quo loquitur Joannes, c. xvi. evangelii sui.

Quod verba salvatoris nostri Christi, de peccato blasphemiæ contra spiritum sanctum, de sua persona intelligenda sunt.

Quod Elias ille venturus, de quo loquitur Malach. c. iv. suam personam designat.

Quod anima æque ac corpus dormit in somno primæ mortis, & est mortalis, respectu somni primæ mortis, uti corpus; & quod anima servatoris nostri Jesu Christi in illo somno mortis dormivit, æque ac corpus ejus.

Quod animæ sanctorum defunctorum non sunt membra, quæ possident ecclesiam triumphantem in cœlo.

Quod Pædobaptismus est ritus abominandus.

Quod celebratio cœnæ dominicæ in elementis panis & vini in ecclesia esse non debet; neque baptismi in elemento aquæ, uti nunc in ecclesia Anglicana usus obtinet. Sed baptismus in aqua administrari debet solis adultis à paganismo ad fidem conversis.

Quod Deus ordinavit & misit illum, scil. Eduardum Wightman ad exequendum suam partem operis salutis mundi, ut sua doctrina suisque monitis mundum liberaret ab hæresi Nicolaïtarum, ut Christus ordinatus fuit & missus ad mundum servandum, & à peccato liberandum morte sua, & Deo reconciliandum.

Quod Christiana religio non integra, sed pars solum illius prædicatur & admittitur in ecclesia Anglicana.

Hæc ex lingua Anglicana nimis fidus interpres, verbatim pene, neglecta latinitatis elegantia & sermonis proprietate, transtuli, ut dogmata illa hæretica & capitalia, quæ supplicium illud meruerunt, tibi, ut apud nos memoriæ mandantur, perfecte innotescerent. Si qua alia hujus generis exempla apud nos extant, si cupias, ex nostra historia eruam & ad te mittam.

Dum hæc præ manibus haberem, allata mihi est gratissima tua 2. hujus mensis scripta epistola, adjunctis duabus aliis. Sentio te eundem semper quem fueras, facilem, dulcemque amicis.

Quamprimum per otium licebit Allixii & Anonymi libros mihi perlegendos proponam, nec oscitanter. Quandoquidem in eo cardine summan quæstionis versari creditum est. Gaudeo D. Clerici Epistolas Criticas propediem prodituras; ut brevi confossis adversariis in pace vacet studiis melioribus. Controversiarum enim tædium ingens, fructus exiguus. De magnifico viro idem quod tu plane sentio, nec ultra fatigandum censeo. Guenellonis epistolæ amicæ brevi respondebo. Hos ambos interim rogo officiosissime meo nomine salutes, ut et uxorem tuam et filiam; Dominam Guenellonem, Veeneumque, reliquosque amicos nostros communes. Vale, &, ut facis, me ama

London

7 Octob.

1699.

Tui amantissimum,

J. Locke.

Philippus à Limborch

6 Nov. 1699

Amstelod.

Joanni Locke

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

Amplissime vir,

PRO labore, quem meo rogatu suscepisti, maximas tibi habeo gratias. Gaudeo me ex literis tuis didicisse, quæ episcoporum illius temporis judicio horrenda illa crimina fuerint, non nisi atrocissimo ignis supplicio luenda. Video quandoque unum idemque dogma diversis verbis enuntiari, atque ita, quod uno comprehendi poterat articulo, in plures distendi, proculdubio ut plurium hæresium reatus tam atroci supplicio prætexi possit. Malim dogmata ipsis eorum, qui ea professi fuerint, verbis legere expressa; sic certus forem, me non legere consequentias, sed ipsa dogmata, eaque non terminis odiosis concepta, forte in alienum sensum detorta, sed ipsis autorum verbis nude & candide enuntiata, nihilque continentia, nisi quod ipse, cujus causa agitur, pro suo agnoscit. Quando autem procedendi modum video, ad sancti tribunalis instar omnia exacte esse conformata, non sine dolore, agnosco. Bartholomæi Legatt, supplicium, verum suppresso illius nomine, laudat Casaubonus, in epistola dedicatoria in Exercit. ad Baronium. Wightmani supplicium paucis narrat Gilbertus Clerke, in Antinicænismo contra Bullum, . Utriusque autem latius describit Gerardus Croesius Historiæ Quakerianæ, lib. iii. . Verum licet non penitus illorum suppliciorum ignarus sim, rem mihi fecisti longe gratissimam, quod pleniorem hæresium ipsis attributarum historiam miseris: multa hactenus mihi ignorata, & scopo meo apprime inservientia, me docuisti. Verum unum est quod desidero, nomen autoris ex quo historiam Legatti & Wightmani habes: illud enim in epistola tua non reperio. Tum & leviculum erratum, fortasse calami festinatione, commissum est. Ais Hammonto auriculas amputatas in foro Norwicensi, 13 Maii, & postea 12 ejusdem mensis illum vivicomburium passum. Atqui dies duodecimus antecedit decimum tertium. Præter hæc supplicia legi in Burneti Historia Reform. Eccl. Engl. ad annum 1549, sub Eduardo VI. vivicomburium Johannæ Bocheræ, seu Johannæ de Kent, & Georgii Van Pare, utrumque satis distincte descriptum: itaque nihil est quod hic desidero.

Verum in Mennonitarum scriptis, ad annum 1575, reperio sub Elizabetha, sævam, contra Mennonitas è Belgio profugos, excitatam persecutionem. Narrant nimirum, cœtus suos in Anglia fuisse disturbatos, aliquot suorum in carcerem conjectos, quorum quinque, post varias disputationes & comminationes mortis, ad professionem religionis reformatæ adacti sunt: qui nihilominus in cœmeterio Divi Pauli publico spectaculo fuere expositi, singulorumque humero rogus fuit impositus, quod designabatur ignis supplicium fuisse meritos. Quatuordecim mulieres navibus sunt impositæ, juvenis quidam currui alligatus flagris cæsus, unaque cum mulieribus regno exire jussus, intentata pœna mortis si redirent. Quinque viri in squalido ac profundo carcere detenti sunt, quorum unus in carcere diem suum obiit. Ministri Belgicarum & Gallicarum ecclesiarum Londini reliquos quatuor in suam sententiam pellicere conabantur. Tandem Julii die 22, duo maximi natu, Johannes Petri & Henricus Terwoord, eodem in loco, in quo antehac reformatis ignis supplicium irrogatum fuit, vivi combusti & in cineres redacti sunt, &c. Historiam hanc satis distincte, multisque circumstantiis vestitam narrant Mennonitæ. De hisce nihil prorsus scribit Camdenus: solummodo ad annum 1560, refert Elizabetham anabaptistas & id genus hæreticos, qui in maritima Angliæ oppida ex transmarinis regionibus, specie declinandæ persecutionis, convolârant, & sectarum virus in Anglia sparserant, è regno intra viginti dies excedere imperâsse, sive illi indigenæ sive exteri, sub pœna incarcerationis & bonorum amissionis. Velim scire, si levi labore fieri possit, an quæ de supplicio hoc narrant scriptores Angli consentanea sint illis, quæ hic ex Mennonitarum scriptis excerpsi. Talia in reformationis opprobrium cedunt. Mihi enim perinde christianæ charitati adversari videtur tribunal de fide, sive id prope Tiberim, sive Lemanum, sive Thamesin constituatur: eadem quippe exercetur crudelitas, licet alio in loco & ab aliis hominibus. Et ut nostrate proverbio dicitur, “Idem est monachus, sed alio indutus cucullo.” Judicium tuum de Allixii & Anonymi libro audire gestio. In hoc argumento quæstionis cardinem verti a vestratibus credi miror. Ego nihil causæ principali contra Judæos deesse credo, etiamsi hoc argumento destituatur. D. Clerici Epistolæ Criticæ nondum prodeunt; propediem vero eas expectamus. Vale, vir amplissime,

Amstelod.

6 Nov.

1699.

Tui amantissimus,

P. à Limborch.

John Locke

6 Jan. 1700

Oates

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

RECTE quidem mones, vir amplissime, errore festinantis calami transpositi sunt characteres numerales, & 12 scriptum pro 21: nam 21 Maii Hammontus passus est vivicomburium. Quereris insuper, idque non sine causa, quod nomen auctoris, ex quo historiam Legatti & Wightmani hausi, omiserim. Id autem negligentia non factum mea est. Libellus prostat Anglicè, cui titulus, “The history of the first fourteen years of king James;” i. e. Historia quatuordecim primorum annorum Jacobi regis. Autor nomen suum tacuit. Huic libello annectitur ad finem tractatulus, cui titulus, “A true relation of the commissions and warrants for the condemnation and burning of Bartholomew Legatt and Edward Wightman, the one in West-Smithfield, the other in Litchfield, in the year 1611, signed with king James’s own hand.”

De Mennonitis quod quæris, nondum aliquid ex nostris historicis eruere mihi contigit, quod tibi satisfaciat, vel lucem afferat: forsan quia idonei hic rure non ad manus sint scriptores, quos consulam. Ne tamen tibi in tam desiderato opere quicquam, quod in me est, opis tibi desit, id negotii dedi ingenuo doctoque amico, ut si qua opera reperire possit, inter autores nostros, illius rei monumenta, id totum quicquid est, excerptum ad me transmittere velit. Quamprimum aliqua testimonia, ad rem tuam facientia, mihi oblata fuerint, tibi confestim transmittenda curabo.

Allixii librum, quamprimum proditt, coëmi, animo legendi, sed otiose hactenus præ manibus jacuit, nec dum, sive per valetudinem, sive per alias avocationes, legere licuit; spero propediem pinguius & fructuosius otium. Quid de eo audias interim mihi dicas. Quidam apud nos valde paradoxam credunt, doctrinam trinitatis Judæis tribuere, & stabilimentum istius dogmatis è synagoga petere. Alii è contra dictitant, hoc jugulum causæ esse; & hoc fundamento stabiliri orthodoxiam & everti omnia unitariorum argumenta. Quid ipsa res doceat, aveo videre, opem enim in hac causa à Judæis & Rabbinis olim non expectavi. Sed lux semper gratissima, undecunque affulgeat.

Domina Masham reliquique es hac familia te plurimum salvere jubent. Nosque omnes tibi tuisque omnibus felicem annum exoptamus. Vale, vir optime, &, ut facis, me ama

Oates, 6 Jan.

1700.

Tui amantissimum,

J. Locke.

Veenium, Guenellonem, Clericum, reliquosque nostros, quæso meo nomine officiosissime salutes, quibus omnibus felicem hujus sæculi exitum & futuri introitum opto.

Philippus à Limborch

11 Maii, 1700

Amstelod.

Joanni Locke

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

QUOD hactenus ad amicissimas tuas siluerim, ulla tui oblivione factum credas nolim. Multa responsum distulere; præcipue quidem tristis ille casus tibi satis notus, & mœror inde contractus. Ego ad studia, hoc infelici casu multum languentia, reversus sum; recuperata jam sanitate, quæ valde afflicta fuit. Relegi epistolam tuam; video nihil eam continere quod promptum responsum flagitet; attamen benevolus tuus affectus, quo propositum meum promovere contendis, citius merebatur responsum: tu autem tarditatem facile condonabis mœrori meo.

De Bilibra hic apud nos altum est silentium. Verum vidi reverendissimum episcopum Bathoniensem & Wellensem, in præfatione tertiæ partis contra Judæos, eam breviter & generatim oppugnâsse. Ego velim genuinum statum controversiæ ingenue ac terminis minime ambiguis proponi, & argumenta candide ac solide in utramque partem expendi, quod prolixiorem tractatum & animum non studio partium abreptum, sed veritatis sincere studiosum, requirit. Prodiit hac hyeme liber Gallice scriptus, cui autor titulum præfixit, “Le Platonisme dévoilé.” Autorem jam obiisse præfatio docet. Dicitur in Anglia scriptus, indeque huc missus, ut in lucem edatur. Quamvis eruditus sit tractatus, multis displiciturum credo: & licet ego discrepantes de religione sententias, sine ulla erga autores indignatione, investigare soleo, non possum tamen dissimulare, aculeatos ipsius sarcasmos in materia sacra mihi quam maxime displicere: licet enim credere posset, adversarios, quos oppugnat, illos meruisse; materiæ tamen quam tractat majestas cohibere eum debuisset, ne hic quicquam gravitati christianæ adversum immisceret. Tum & prudentiæ fuit, mordacibus ejusmodi sarcasmis adversariorum contra se ac suos indignationem, alias satis acrem, non magis exacerbare. Audio plura illius exemplaria in Angliam esse missa; quare à te visum esse nullus dubito.

Burmanni filios, dehortantibus nequicquam amicis, contra me tractatum scripsisse aiunt, eumque jam sub prælo esse, ac brevi proditurum. Weeyenum habuere continuum instigatorem, qui cum Burmannum purgare non potuit, illius filios in me concitavit, ut ipsi, sub specioso defendendi patris prætextu, inanem in se ac inglorium laborem susciperent: non enim verba parentis sui, nec Spinosæ, è libris editis eradere possunt; neque inficiari eadem esse quæ in Spinosa, & parentis sui synopsi Theologiæ leguntur verba. Quæstio facti est, quæ, prolatis ex utroque autore testimoniis, in dubium vocari nequit. Ego talia scripta maxima animi serenitate contemnere possum. Vale, vir amplissime. Salveat Domina Masham cum tota familia. Omnes mei te salutant.

Amstelod.

11 Maii,

1700.

Tui amantissimus,

P. à Limborch.

Philippus à Limborch

20 Julii, 1700

Amstelod.

Joanni Locke

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

Amplissime vir,

ANTE hebdomadas aliquot, tuo nomine, mihi datus est præstantissimus tuus de Intellectu Humano liber, in linguam Gallicam versus. Pro eximio illo dono grates tibi, quas possum maximas, ago. Nondum eum legere potui; verum nunc instant feriæ meæ, quibus ejus lectionem destinavi. Materiæ enim, quæ in illo tractatur, gravitas ac varietas, quam ex capitum indice, didici, summam animi attentionem, & continuatam minimeque interruptam lectionem requirit. Itaque tempus, quo à quotidianis negotiis immunitatem habeo, illi impendam, ut tanto majore meo cum fructu eum evolvam.

Legi in novellis nostratibus, quod & D. Clericus literis tuis confirmavit, te ob ætatem ingravescentem & valetudinem minus firmam, honoratissimi muneris, ante aliquot annos tibi demandati, dimissionem obtinuisse. Equidem institutum tuum minime improbare possum, quinimo laude dignum censeo, quod extremos vitæ tuæ dies, procul à strepitu politico, quieti, studiis ac meditationibus sacris consecrare quam negotiis honestis quidem, attamen nihil ultra vitæ hujus tranquillitatem spectantibus, implicatos habere malueris. Hanc tibi quietem ex animo gratulor, Deumque precor, ut senectutem tuam eximiis, quibus vera paratur felicitas, donis magis magisque exornet, ac quicquid corpusculi viribus decedit, vivaciore mentis acie & spiritus robore compenset.

Tandem prodiit contra me Burmannorum Pietas, is libri titulus est, mole ingens, verbosus, contumeliosis plurimis declamationibus & invectivis refertus. Illi per D. Crucium, fratrem suum uterinum, à civitate Leidensi in collegium rerum maritimarum deputatum, mihi pietatis suæ exemplar tradi voluerunt. Legi illam, sed cum nausea; & nisi in me scriptus fuisset liber, lectionem absolvere non potuissem. Illi in eo summis verbis probare nituntur, parentem suum à me Spinosismi accusatum; & eum prolixe excusare contendunt. Ægerrime ferunt, parenti suo à me ascribi imprudentiam, & quod sine judicio. Spinosam secutus sit. Aiunt parentem suum hæc ex Spinosa cum judicio exscripsisse, ut mere Cartesiana; Spinosam enim in eo libro suam doctrinam nec aperte inculcâsse, nec tecte insinuâsse, sed sola Cartesii dogmata tradidisse. Verum ego non credo Cartesianos hæc quatuor pro suis agnituros. 1. Tota natura naturata non est, nisi unicum ens. 2. Possibilitas & contingentia non sunt affectiones rerum, sed intellectus nostri defectus. 3. Si homines clarè totum ordinem naturæ intelligerent, omnia æque necessaria reperirent, ac omnia illa, quæ in mathesi tractantur. 4. De extraordinaria Dei potentia, qua miracula facit, non immerito valde dubitari posse: quæ tamen omnia in illo Spinosæ libro disertis verbis reperiuntur. Sarcasmis plurimis in parallelismum inter Spinosæ & Burmanni verba ludunt; verum nihil in eo reprehendere, aut falsi arguere possunt. Ego illi libro nihil reponam, præsertim cum ob molem suam non distrahatur & à nemine legatur:

“Versiculos in me narratur scribere Cinna:

Non scribit, cujus carmina nemo legit.”

Idem mihi cum Martiale dicere licet. Addo, quod quicunque meam contra Weeyenum defensionem legerit, nova defensione non indigebit: qui eam legere non vult, illi nec decem apologis satisfecero. Vale, vir amplissime,

Amstelod.

20 Julii,

1700.

Tui amantissimus,

P. à Limborch.

Philippus à Limborch

30 Octob. 1700

Amstelod.

Joanni Locke

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

Amplissime Vir,

HAC æstate binas ad te literas dedi, quas ad manus tuas pervenisse spero. Dolerem si aberrâssent. Nunc ad te mitto vitam Episcopii, ante plures annos, uti nôsti, à me lingua Belgica scriptam, & præfixam concionibus aliquot Episcopii, quarum exemplar illo tempore ad te misi. Quoniam nunc Latino sermone prodit, à nostro Marco Teute, cum in Anglia esset versa, illius ad te duo mitto exemplaria, quorum alterum filio Dominæ Masham trades, alterum ut benigno à me recipias vultu, rogo. Videbis ibi specimen aliquod persecutionis in patria nostra, libertatis asylo institutæ; unde quomodo erga integras ecclesias, & ingenuos veritatis confessores, passim sævitum fuerit, facile colliges. Utinam & hodie omnes hanc sævitiam detestentur! verum qua nunc fruimur, quietem, non moderatioribus ecclesiastarum consiliis, sed magistratûs prudentiæ & benignitati debemus; quæ nisi igneum illorum zelum compesceret, eadem hodie, nos quæ olim majores nostros procella obrueret. Jam magnam libri tui eruditissimi partem maxima cum voluptate legi. Omnia mihi mirifice placent. Verum quoniam non tantam linguæ Gallicæ quam Latinæ cognitionem habeo, aliquando ut vim phrasium Gallicarum intelligam, atque mentem tuam distincte percipiam, bis terve quædam mihi relegenda sunt; quod lectionem mihi aliquanto tardiorem reddit; verum molestiam hanc dilucida veritatis explicatione, argumentorumque quibus eam abstruis pondere, abunde compensas. Quando ad finem pervenero, caput xxi. de la puissance, ubi prolixe de voluntate ac hominis libertate in volendo disseris, relegam: quædam enim ibi habeas nova, quæ attentum requirunt lectorem. Ego totum ubi perlegero, candide meum tibi judicium scribam. Verum vix credo in quoquam à te dissensurum, adeo omnia, quæ legi, mihi probantur. Vale, vir amplissime, & salve à me ac meis: salutem etiam officiosissimam dices D. Masham totique familiæ.

Amstelod.

30 Octob.

1700.

Tui amantissimus,

P. à Limborch.

Philippus à Limborch

18 Feb. 1701

Amstelod.

Joanni Locke

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

Amplissime Vir,

PRÆLEGIT mihi hisce diebus Guenellonus noster epistolam tuam, quæ te cum asthmate graviter conflictari nuntiabat. Equidem valetudinem tuam afflictam ex animo doleo, eamque tibi firmiorem precor. Sed non sine admiratione ex literis tuis intellexi, te binas tantum hoc anno à me accepisse; cum circa finem mensis Octobris tertias scripserim, quibus addidi duo vitæ Episcopii, à Marco Teute latinitate donatæ, exemplaria, unum tibi, alterum Francisco Cudworth Masham, una cum literis ad ipsum, quæ jamdudum tibi reddita nullus dubitabam. Fasciculus quatuor comprehendebat exemplaria, quorum reliqua duo destinata erant rev. Episcopis Salisburiensi, ac Bathoniensi & Wellensi. Doleo interim etiam epistolam aberrâsse, in qua scripsi magnam me libri tui partem legisse, omniaque maximopere mihi probari. Postea retulit mihi amicus, se Cartesii quosdam sequaces, à quibus aliquot ex prioribus capitibus lecta erant, convenisse; illis maxime displicuisse duo, quæ ego verissima duco; nullas videlicet dari ideas innatas, & animam non esse nudam cogitationem. Verum quid aliud à Cartesii sequace expectes? Alios audivi magnopere librum tuum laudantes, & sententiæ tuæ applaudentes. Ego summa delectatione illum legi, & etiamnum lectionem illius continuo. Verum quoniam non tam exactam linguæ Gallicæ cognitionem habeo, ut phraseon quarundam Gallicarum vim prima lectione assequar, præsertim in materia subtili & ardua, cogor nonnunquam, ut distincte mentem tuam percipiam, lectionem aliquoties repetere. Gratissimum foret, si librum tuum latinitate donatum conspicere quandoque daretur; tum facilius quæ scripsisti intelligerem, & fortasse de quibusdam, quæ de libertate hominis in volendo scripsisti, tecum conferrem. Valde quæ ibi scribis mihi probantur: video te terminos aliquot obscuros aut ambiguos in illa materia elucidâsse; sed nescio an ubique mentem tuam perceperim: relegam integrum caput, & si quid occurrat ad quod hæsito, ingenue ac rotunde ad te scribam, plane persuasus dilucida tua explicatione, omnem (si quæ sit) obscuritatem disparituram. Sed & ingenue tibi confiteor, mœrorem sæpe meditationes meas, quas studiis consecravi, turbare. Verum dabit Deus his quoque finem. Ego ut honesta & non inutili occupatione mœroris mei tædium diluam, incepi commentariam in Acta Apostolorum conscribere, sed noxa quadam ratione ac methodo. Criticos egerunt Grotius aliique, quorum laboribus mea diligentia nihil addere potest. Itaque omissa critica, aliam mihi interpretandi methodum præscripsi; ut ex historia apostolorum, variisque illius circumstantiis, ac præsertim eorum concionibus, religionis christianæ veritatem ac divinitatem asseram, & qua methodo apostoli contra Judæos eam adstruxerint, ostendam. In hisce explicandis prolixior paulo sum: reliqua huc non spectantia obiter tantum attingo. Quibus alia contra Judæos disputandi methodus placet, meum laborem non probatum iri, facile prævideo. Sed veritati litandum est; & apostolos duces sequi præstat, quam homines affectibus ac præjudiciis nimium indulgentes. Vale, vir amplissime. Deus pristinam tibi restituat sanitatem, ut, quoad vivis, egregiis tuis laboribus publico inservire possis. Salutant te quam officiosissime uxor mea liberique. Salutem à nobis dices Dominæ Masham totique familiæ.

Amstelod.

18 Feb.

1701.

Tui amantissimus,

P. à Limborch.

John Locke

22 Feb. 1700-1

Oates

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

Vir colendissime,

Ex ultimis tuis 18 præsentis Februarii datis, probe sentio, quam firma, quam immutabilis sit tua erga me amicitia, cum, tribus ante missis ad me silentem literis, quartas addere non dedignatus es, sine reprehensione ulla tantæ & tam criminosæ taciturnitatis. Ignoscis video, ideoque valetudinis incommoda non causabor. Penultimas tuas cum fasciculo librorum vel amissas, vel in itinere male hærentes, maxime doleo, quod crediderim te sensum tuum de libro meo, jam tum, cum scriberes, perlecto liberius explicuisse. Quod de iis, quæ de libertate hominis in volendo scripserim, aliquantum hæsitas, non miror. Totum illud argumentum in prima editione penitus omittendum censui; sed noluerunt amici, quicquid ego de rei ipsius & novitate & subtilitate contra afferrem, ne lectores, aliis assueti ratiocinationibus, non probe perspecto ubique animi mei sensu, offenderentur; & ea, quæ in isto parergo commentatus sum, vel tanquam novatoris paradoxa, vel tanquam inconsulte errantis sphalmata, negligerent, si non plane condemnarent. Nec me eventus penitus fefellit, cum plures inter amicos familiaresque meos, de hoc una subjecto, mecum seruere sermones, quam de omnibus reliquis totius libri capitibus. Fateor adhuc neminem fuisse cui scrupulum, quo detinebatur, non exemi, si modo dabatur otium sensim & pedetentim integram materiam à capite ad calcem mecum perpendendi: quod quidem rei veritati, non meæ quantulæcunque mediocritati tribuendum censeo. Quod si tibi nova recensione, ut promittis, recurrenti aliqua objicienda occurrunt, persuasum tibi sit nihil acceptius mihi fore, quam errores meos amica manu detegi, eoque ipso evelli: non enim famæ, nec opinioni, sed veritati soli litandum censeo. Quicquid demum fuerit, disputationes nostras in unam eandemque sententiam terminatum iri pro certo habeo, cum utrique unam eandemque illibatam veritatem studiose quærimus.

Gaudeo te commentarium in Acta Apostolorum meditari, & ejusmodi interpretandi methodum, quæ non hæreat in criticis observationibus & verborum cortice. Nullibi magis apparet, ut mihi videtur, scopus geniusque religionis christianæ, quam in ea historia. Quid enim magis genuinum sincerumque evangelii sensum nobis indicare possit, quam primæ illæ apostolorum prædicationes, quibus infideles, tam Gentiles quam Judæos, ad fidem Christi convertebant?

Ad priores tuas ut aliquando veniam; laudo consilium tuum quod Burmannorum Pietati minime respondendum censueris; hujusmodi vitiligantium opprobria omnino contemnenda.

Prælum nostrum in fermento est, nec quicquam pene prodire videmus præter disputationes politicas ecclesiasticasque. Quorsum tandem res evadet nescio. Quod minatur turbo video: exitum non video. Tranquillitat i quantum possum studeo. Deus optimus maximus ecclesiarum reformatarum & totius Europæ libertatem conservet: sic precatur

Tui observantissimus,

Oates, 22 Feb.

1700-1.

J. Locke.

Philippus à Limborch

30 Mart. 1701

Amstelod.

Joanni Locke

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

Amplissime vir,

NUPER Transisalani rigoris in causa religionis minime excusandi exemplum præbuere vere detestandum. Quidam minister Mennonita jam ante annos quindecim synodo suspectus fuit Socinianismi, & illius hæreseos coram ordinibus Transisalanis à ministris ecclesiæ publicæ accusatus. Itaque à muneris sui functione suspensus fuit, adeo ut integro circiter biennio ecclesia illius publico religionis exercitio caruerit. Post longam actionem, cum ministri accusationem suam probare non possent, ipse ad ecclesiam suam fuit remissus, eique injunctum, ut sibi à dogmatibus Socinianis docendis caveret, sub pœna arbitraria. Ille ante triennium libellum edidit exigui admodum pretii, quo unionem inter omnes Christianorum sectas suadet, etiam cum Socinianis: qua occasione imprudentius quædam pro Socinianis scripsit; & alicubi quædam occurrunt aculeata in gentem togatam. Libellus hic si contemptus fuisset, vix invenisset lectores: verum scis gentem illam sacram vel minima injuria facile irritari. Itaque denuo delatus fuit ad satrapam dictrictus Vollenho, à deputatis classis Vollenho, qui exhibito libello supplice petunt, ut hic homo, qui non tantum Socinianas hæreticas opiniones clam & palam docuit, sed etiam audacissime edidit, & sparsit, iisque intolerandos sarcasmos ac blasphemias admiscuit, ab ipso satrapa compellatur coram proxima synodo libellum hunc palam revocare, & pœnitentiam ob commissa testari: ut libellus hic flammis tradatur, ac in tota provincia vetetur vendi, ac supprimatur: impensæ quas classis ob hanc causam sustinere debuit ab ipso restituantur, ipseque propter crimen commissum pœna arbitraria afficiatur. Satrapa petitioni huic annuit hominemque ad synodum ablegat. Synodus illi offert quinque articulos subscribendos, quibus continebatur confessio, quod contra mandatum ordinum libellum istum edidisset, quod ipsum inobedientiæ illius pœniteret, quod omnia libelli sui exemplaria esset suppressurus; aliaque quibus ipse subscribere recusavit. Instabant aliqui ex ministris, imo obtestabantur ut subscriberet: verum ille constanter recusavit. Postea dicitur compertum fuisse, illos id adeo ardenter cupivisse, ut haberent reum confitentem, & sic propria sua confessione arbitrariæ pœnæ obnoxium. Hæc gesta sunt media æstate anni cireverse-c-sc ireverse-c-scc xc ix. Proximo Januario anni sequentis à satrapa in carcerem est conjectus, & post longam novem vel decem mensium incarcerationem tandem sententia judicis homini pauperi, tenui victu, & diuturno carceris squalore emaciato, mulcta irrogatur centum ducatorum argenteorum, qui conficiunt libras vestras stirlingas circiter triginta, nec dimittendus à carcere pronunciatur, nisi soluta pecunia. Ille cum solvendo non esset, utpote pauper, in tetrum, fœtidum, ac tenebrosum carcerem subterraneum detruditur; ubi postquam duabus hebdomadibus pane & aqua vitam toleravit, tandem aliud ipsi mandatum exhibetur mense Novembri proxime elapso, quo ipse errores libello ipsius contentos disseminare prohibetur, sub pœna si secus fecerit catastæ & exilii, sine ulla ulteriore forma processus: atque ita è carcere dimittitur. Nunc miser ad extremam inopiam redactus est: omni illius divendita supellectile, quæ tamen neutiquam explere potuit mulctam in quam condemnatus eret. Non possum excusare illius imprudentiam: verum nec possum quin detester hanc sævitiam, præsertim quando in extensione sententiæ leges imperatoriæ ex codice adferuntur, ut fulcra ac fundamenta, quibus dura hæc sententia innititur. Sic sensim ad detestandum illud inquisitionis tribunal relabimur.

Relegi magna cum attentione cap. xxi. lib. ii. tractatus tui de Intellectu Humano. Expendi voces ac phrases, quas in materia hac controversa adhibes. Puto me jam plene mentem tuam percepisse, à qua ego non dissentio. § 6, optime doces, intellectum & voluntatem non esse duas facultates revera ab anima distinctas, sed mentem ipsam humanam immediate per se ipsam intelligere & velle. Inde infers non recte voluntatem dici liberam, sed hominem: recte etiam meo judicio definis libertatem. Verum quando dicis, § 24, libertatem consistere in potentia agendi & non agendi, & quidem in eo solo: non puto id te restringere ad solas actiones externas, sed & extendere ad internas, seu cogitationes nostras; illæ enim, non minus quam actiones externæ, subjectæ sunt arbitrio nostro: idque consentaneum est iis, quæ in sequentibus capitis illius scribis. Porro jam inquiris, quod præcipuum est, quid sit illud, quod hominem ad hoc aut illud agendum movet? Ego hactenus ita me explicui; bonum jucundum, seu voluptatem esse id, quod hominem allicit, illique oppositum dolorem esse malum, quod homo aversatur; adeoque quodcunque homo vult, id ab eo considerari ut jucundum, quod vero aversatur & fuit, ut molestum. Non negas tu illud, quinimo id etiam urges, § 41, & seqq. Verum ut distinctius ostendas, qua ratione voluptas aut dolor hominem moveat, doces, § 29, & seqq. voluntatem determinari ab inquietudine, quam homo in se experitur, aut ex præsentia doloris, aut ex absentia boni, seu voluptatis, in qua vel totam, vel saltem partem suæ beatitudinis collocat; quamdiu enim homo in statu suo acquiescit, nullam illius mutationem quærit, sed solummodo quando in statu suo non acquiescit, seu quandum inquietudinem, sive ex præsentia doloris, sive ex absentia voluptatis, quam ut felicitatis suæ partem considerat, in se sentit. In his facile tibi assentior. Inde recte deducis, bonum in nobis excitare desiderium, non tamen inde sequi majus bonum semper in nobis majus desiderium excitare. Quod verissimum est, & tu recte probas. Unde porro deducis, libertatem hominis in eo consistere, quod possit suspendere impletionem cujuscunque desiderii sui, plenamque habeat libertatem unum post aliud considerandi, objecta eorum examinandi, eaque ab omni parte observandi, ac inter se comparandi, antequam se determinet ad agendum. Et hoc tecum agnosco. Inde jam infers, indifferentiam, quæ non possit determinari per ultimum judicium, quod homo sert, de bono, et malo cujus electionem sequendam credit, esse summam naturæ intelligentis imperfectionem. In Remonstrantium scriptis sæpe vox indifferentia occurrit, quando de libertate hominis agitur: verum ea nunquam à nobis hoc sensu accipitur, quod posito illo ultimo judicio, in quo proprie actus volitionis consistit, nihilominus hominis potentia agendi sit indifferens, & per voluntatem non determinetur: sed, quod ante illud voluntatis decretum homo libertatem habet se in hanc vel illam partem determinandi, & non ad unum tantum oppositorum determinatus est: accedente autem voluntatis decreto, seu volendi actu, indifferentia illa tollitur, & potentia ad agendum aut non agendum determinatur. Et hic etiam puto nos consentire. Reliqua capitis iis, quæ jam recensita sunt, magis illustrandis ac confirmandis inserviunt. Puto me hic sententiam tuam de libertate hominis recte percepisse. Nec est quod illi quicquam opponam: imo quædam distinctius, & clarioribus, quam hactenus à nostris factum est, terminis ac phrasibus posse exprimi didici. Si non bene perceperim, aut si quid omiserim, quod ut sententia tua plene percipiatur, omitti non debuit, rogo ut me erroris admoneas: nolim enim in sententiæ tuæ explicatione, quam, prout eam percepi etiam meam esse agnosco, à mente tua aberrare. Si in quibusdam dissentimus, quod ego ignoro, amice tecum conferre gestio, ut exiguus, qui forte restare posset, dissensus tollatur. Plures tecum de hoc capite contulisse non miror. Materia est intricata & diversis philosophorum ac theologorum sententiis semper agitata. Primus, meo judicio, Episcopius in tractatu de Libero Arbitrio, & contra Cameronem, eam clarius explicuit, ostenditque intellectum & voluntatem non esse duas facultates revera inter se & ab anima distinctas, uti hactenus in scholis creditum fuit, sed animam immediate per seipsam intelligere ac velle. Porro licet non iisdem tecum vocibus ac phrasibus utatur, in summa tamen rei, quantum ego percipio, est consensus. Gratias interim tibi ago, quod multa me libri tui editione docueris. Ego eum iteratò evolvere statui; secunda enim lectione multo distinctius eum intelligo. Deum precor ut diu te nobis incolumem ac prospera fruentem valetudine conservet. Uxor ac filia te salutant. Salveat quam officiosissime à me, uxore & filia, Domina Masham ejusque liberi. Vale.

Amstelod.

30 Mart.

1701.

Tui amantissimus,

P. à Limborch.

John Locke

21 Maii, 1701

Oates

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

MAGNO honori mihi esse duco, quod tu tantum lucubrationibus meis tribuas, ut in iis perlegendis bonas tuas horas locare velis: & eas tibi veritatis amatori non displicuisse gaudeo. Cum ego libertatem consistere dico, § 24. cap. xxi. lib. ii. in potentia agendi & non agendi, nequaquam id restringo ad solas actiones externas, uti constat ex § 8, 38, aliisque illius capitis locis: de hoc igitur inter nos convenit. Quando vero dicis, quod “quicquid homo vult ab eo considerari, ut jucundum,” metuo ne voluntatem cum desiderio confundas. Quod à plerisque factum video, qui hoc argumentum tractant, non sine magno veritatis, vel saltem perspicuitatis, incommodo. Desiderium fertur in jucundum, fateor; sed voluntas fertur solum in actiones nostras, & ibi terminatur. Sed quia voluntas raro agit, nisi ducente desiderio, ideo pro uno eodemque actu plerumque sumuntur, cum toto cœlo, distent, § 30, 40. Cupido enim passio est mota à bono absente. Volitio autem actus voluntatis, vel animæ, imperium excercentis in potentias hominis operatrices. Hæ duæ operationes animæ, scil. illa qua cupit aliquid, & illa qua determinat, vel imperat, aliquid agendum, nisi distinguantur probe, nihil dilucidè, ut mihi videtur, de humana voluntate statui potest: ideòque spero ignosces mihi, quod de ista loquendi forma te monitum velim, cum de summa rei à me omnino non dissentias. In usu vocis “indifferentia,” quod à vestris differam, non mirum est, cum in his scribendis nec aliorum placita secutus sum, nec vel scripta omnino consuluerim, sed quæ res ipsæ me, quantum indagatione & meditatione assequi poteram, docuerint, ea verbis quam potui aptissimis explicuerim. De terminorum igitur usu nulla inter nos erit disputatio, modo de re ipsa constet. Quamvis, ut libere dicam, ista antecedens indifferentia hominis, qua homo, ante determinationem sive decretum voluntatis, supponitur libertatem habere se determinandi ad alterutram partem oppositorum, non omnino mihi videtur spectare ad quæstionem de libertate; quæ libertas unice consistit in potentia agendi, vel non agendi, secundum determinationem voluntatis. Disputare autem, an homo, ante ultimum judicium intellectûs, libertatem habet se determinandi ad alterutrum oppositorum, mihi videtur omnino de nihilo, sive de re impossibili, disputatio. Quis enim rogaret, vel quorsum attinet rogare, an homo potest ad alterutram partem oppositorum se determinare in statu, in quo se non potest omnino determinare? Nam, ante judicium intellectûs, non potest se omnino determinare, ideoque frustra quæritur, an in illo statu libertatem habet se determinandi in alterutram, ubi in neutram omnino partem potest se determinare. Ideòque omnes illæ lites, quæ agitantur de libertate se in alterutram partem determinandi, ante judicium intellectûs, mihi videntur (ignoscas fatenti) nullo modo pertinare ad quæstionem de libertate: quæ ne supponi quidem debet, nec potest, in statu in quo manifestum est quod homo, ut agens liberum, non potest agere; cum libertas, ut dixi, consistat in sola potentia agendi, vel non agendi, consequenter & congrue ad determinationem voluntatis. Ita autem sæpe usu venit. Disputantium fervor & partium studium rebus per se claris nubem & caliginem obducunt, dum undique conquisitis laqueis alter alterum innodare & absurdis involvere conatur. Vides quam libere tecum agam, eandem à te libertatem vicissim expectans; si enim tu meæ, vel ego tuæ opinioni assentior, perinde est veritatem quærentibus, dummodo illius potior habetur sententia quæ verior, & in ea consentiamus. In aliis libri mei partibus, dum percurras, si quid minus recte dictum, vel cogitatum invenias, moneri imo & redargui à te cupio. Vale, vir optime, & me, ut facis, ama

Oates, 21 Maii,

1701.

Tui amantissimum,

J. Locke.

John Locke

1 Jun. 1701

Oates

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

EODEM die quo nuperrime ad te mane scripsi, literas tuas 27 Maii datas vesperi accepi. Vitam Episcopii summa cum voluptate perlegi. Historia placet, res gestæ plane displicent. Doleo sane reformatos tam propere mores pontificios, de quibus tam graviter questi sunt, imitatos. Sed scire juvat quod cognitum laudare non possis. Inquisitionem, quæ in Ecclesia Romana lentius succrevit, uno quasi nixu inceptam & pene perfectam hic conspicere mihi videor. An has protestantium inter se inimicitias & mutuas persecutiones jam castigaturus sit Deus, nescio: hoc saltem credo, theologorum ambitiosa dissidia, & invicem dominandi in fratres cupido, orbem reformatum antiquis hostibus denuo obruendum objecit, & in tantum periculum adduxit. Avertat Deus O. M. omen, nec ad persecutionem tam proclives animos persecutione catholica puniat. Unum est, quod in libro tuo desidero, nempe articulos illos quinque Remonstrantium, quorum tam frequens est mentio. Hos vel quod in propera lectione non observatos præterierim, vel quod eos historiæ tuæ non inseruisti, ignorare me fateor. Rogo igitur ut mihi indicare velis ubi eas legere possim; magnam enim lucem, ut mihi videtur, præbebunt causam Remonstrantium penitus cognoscere cupienti: nam iterum, credo, perlegam hanc tuam historiam. Maximas pro hoc dono gratias ago. Vive diu utilis religioni christianæ. Vale, & me ama

Oates, 1 Jun.

1701.

Tui amantissimum,

J. Locke.

Philippus à Limborch

19 Julii, 1701

Amstelod.

Joanni Locke

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

Amplissime vir,

VITAM Episcopii tibi, summi judicii viro, non displicuisse est quod mihi gratuler. Multa exteris ignota ibi esse præterita, quia nobis notissima, nullus dubito. Quinque autem articulos nostros quorum decidendorum causa synodus Dordracena convocata fuit, nulli ignotos credebam. In explicatione sententiæ Arminii, , in vita Episcopii ego eos brevi in compendio exhibui. Extant autem in Remonstrantia ordinibus Hollandiæ cireverse-c-sc ireverse-c-scc x oblata, quam reperies in epistolis præstantium virorum à me editis, no cxlv. , vel in historia quinquarticulana Petri Heilini Anglica, cap. v. . Si altera vitæ Episcopii editio aliquando prodeat, possem illi quinque illos articulos aliaque quædam non sine Episcopio gesta, aut ipsum ipsiusve consanguineos spectantia, hic illic inserere, quæ ad historiæ nostræ cognitionem penitiorem, haud exigui futura sunt momenti. Continuavit Brantius noster senior historiam usque ad finem anni cireverse-c-sc ireverse-c-scc xxiii, in qua gravis illa contra nostros persecutio exacte describitur; verum illa hactenus lucem non adspexit; & præ metu ne edatur, synodus Hollandica jam ab aliquot annis deputatis suis in mandatis dedit, ut solicite invigilent, ne illa alicubi imprimatur. Nolunt enim mysteria illa iniquitatis revelari. Utinam historiam suam continuâsset ad annum usque cireverse-c-sc ireverse-c-scc xxxii, quo persecutioni ubique ferme in patria nostra finis est impositus, nobisque palam in cœtus religiosos convenire non fuit prohibitum. Ex illius lectione deprehendere posses veritatem dicti cujusdam monachi, quod Marnixius refert in epistola ad Casparum Verheiden, inter epist. selectas à Belgis vel ad Belgas, anno 1617, à Baudio & Heinsio editas, cent. ii. epist. 51. “Haud æque diu reformatorum ollam calefactam fuisse, atque illorum quos tantopere incesserunt: videre se plane, antequam per sæculorum intervallum labatur, parem utrobique imperii ecclesiastici fore rationem.” Scripta est hæc epistola ult. Mart. 1577.

Legi, relegi, & serio expendi quæ de libertate scribis; sed non deprehendi illum inter nos esse consensum, quem, lecto illo “de Potentia” capite, credidi. Quia uterque unice veritatem quærimus, paulo distinctius terminos quibus usus sum explicabo, & si qui aptiores sint, illis lubens utar; amo enim perspicuitatem; & in veritatis inquisitione omnem verborum ambiguitatem, quantum fieri potest, vitandam judico. Putas non recte dici nos velle jucundum, illud esse desiderium, non voluntatem. Desiderium enim ferri in bonum absens; volitionem autem esse actum voluntatis vel animæ imperium exercentis in potentias hominis operatrices. Facile ego hoc discrimen admitto, & ut, perspicuitatis causa, unicuique verbo suam tribuamus significationem, utile esse existimo. Verum ego puto nos duo velle, finem & media quæ ad finem ducunt. Multa desideramus, quæ tamen non volumus. Est enim desiderium aliud completum, aliud incompletum; sicut & voluptas alia est completa, alia incompleta, quam barbaro vocabulo in scholis vocant velleïtatem, qua designamus non quid homo proprie velit, sed quid vellet. Prudentis est ex multis desiderabilius illud eligere, sibique omnium suarum actionum finem proponere, quod undequaque est perfectum, & in quo concurrunt omnes rationes, quæ rem desiderabilem faciunt. Atqui illa electio non fit sine determinatione voluntatis, qua homo discernit hoc bonum, quod omnibus aliis præferendum judicat, sibi omnium suarum actionum finem proponere. Ita ego credidi recte posse dici hominis voluntatem in bonum ferri, idque bonum semper ab ipso apprehendi, ut jucundum. Si vero credas actionem, qua ferimur in bonum illud, improprie dici voluntatem, sed debere appellari desiderium, quia fertur in bonum absens, de termino non contendam, modo de illius significatione constet. Ut ergo omnibus ambiguitas vitetur, dicamus desiderium ferri in bonum, voluntatem dirigere actiones. Sed caveamus ne quævis desideria confundamus, & desideria completa distinguamus ab incompletis, qua velleïtates, voce in scholis usitata, appellari solent. Si vero aliud aptius vocabulum indicare possis, eo lubens utar, ut omnis, quantum fieri potest, obscuritas & ambiguitas in sermone nostra vitetur.

Quod attinet vocem “indifferentia,” certum est nostros ea non raro esse in hac materia usos: verum eam non adeo deperimus, quin si commodior nobis offeratur eam repudiaturi simus: eoque magis, quia videmus philosophos Cartesianos ea sensu à nostro plane alieno uti: illis enim indifferentia est fluctuatio judicii: quando mens, ex rationum pro utraque parte æquilibrio, incerta est, quid sibi eligendum sit. Nobis vero indifferentia est vis illa animæ, qua, positis omnibus ad agendum requisitis, potest agere vel non agere. Verum, in tota hac de libertate disputatione, video sæpe ludi verbis ambiguis, aut saltem in ambiguum sensum detortis. Optandum foret omnia verba eodem significatu ab omnibus accipi; multæ inanes disceptationes & λογομαχίαι vitari possent. Nunc quoniam in significatione verborum convenire non possumus, necesse est ut quisque explicet, quo significatu unaquaque voce, de qua contenditur, utatur. Circa rem ipsam video nos dissentire. Dicis, “Ista antecedens indifferentia, qua homo ante determinationem, sive decretum voluntatis, supponitur libertatem habere se determinandi ad alterutram partem oppositorum, non omnino mihi videtur spectare ad quæstionem de libertate; quia libertas unice consistit in potentia agendi, vel non agendi, secundum determinationem voluntatis.” Mihi plane contrarium videtur, libertatem unice consistere in potentia, qua homo actionem volendi potest determinare vel non determinare: & si eam homo ante voluntatis determinationem non habet quod non sit liber, neque ullus status concipi possit, in quo liber dici queat. Quia enim voluntas actionum nostrarum domina est, easque pro arbitrio moderatur, si determinatio voluntatis non sit libera, nec in actionibus nostris ulla erit libertas, quia actiones nostræ voluntatis determinationem necessario sequuntur. Quare vix capio quid velis, cum dicis ante ultimum judicium intellectûs homo non potest se omnino determinare. Verum antequam hic sententiam meam explicem, quid per ultimum judicium intellectûs significetur, propius explicandum est, ne hic propter ambiguitatem vocis, in oratione nostra sit obscuritas. Communiter ultimum intellectus judicium vocant, quo homo discernit quid sibi faciendum sit, idque vocant ultimum judicium practicum intellectûs: verum hoc judicium non est tam actus intellectûs quam voluntatis, vel saltem actus mixtus, ad cujus complementum voluntas concurrit. Judicium autem quod solius intellectus actus est, non ulterius procedit, quam hoc oportet facere, hoc oportet omittere. Ulterius si procedat, intercedit aliqua actio voluntatis. Quæ duo tamen à multis confunduntur. Jam mea est sententia hominem, quando recte rationi consentaneè agit, semper velle, quod intellectus judicat oportere fieri: posse tamen etiam contra rationem agere, & voluntatem in contrariam partem determinare: quin &, antequam intellectus post accuratum rationum examen judicaverit quid facere oporteat, posse bruto impetu agere non quod rationi consentaneum est, sed quod concupiscentia, dictat. Hic si homo non habet libertatem se determinandi, aut non determinandi, & actionem suam suspendendi, videre nequeo, in quo libertas consistat. Eandem tuam esse putabam sententiam, idque colligebam ex § 47. capitis supra nominati, ubi inter alia ais, “Animam, quæ habet potentiam suspendendi impletionem cujuscunque desiderii sui, sicuti evidenter patet per experientiam, consequenter, etiam habere libertatem ea successive unum post alterum considerandi, eorum objecta examinandi, ea ex omni parte observandi, & inter se comparandi; & in hoc consistere libertatem hominis: omnemque erroris & vitiorum originem inde arcessis, quod præcipitemus judicium, voluntatemque nostram cito nimis determinemus, & actioni nos accingamus, antequam bene examinaverimus quid agere nos oporteat.” Hæc, aliaque quæ ibi addis, verissima esse judico; iisque plane assentior. Verum hæc cum iis, quæ epistola scribis, “quod homo, ante judicium intellectûs, se non potest omnino determinare,” conciliare non possum. Fortasse mentem tuam non bene percepi. Rogo itaque, si grave non sit, ut ostendas, qua ratione hæc inter se conciliare debeam, & distinctius quod ego non plene percepi, explices. Nulli opinioni, nedum phrasi aut voci, ita sum addictus, quin meliora monstranti cedere paratus sim: veritatem enim unice quæro, quam si invenero, de errore triumphabo.

Hæc scripseram, cum ad me exemplar Latinum tractatus tui de Intellectu Humano affertur; pro quo eximio dono, ego summas tibi habeo ac ago gratias. Statui illud à capite ad calcem perlegere, & cum elegantissima versione Gallica conferre, quæ proculdubio Latinæ nonnunquam lucem fœnerabitur: & quando integrum, tractatum perlegero, candide tibi judicium meum scribam, non quia necesse est, sed quia id à me exigis, idque ego tibi petenti me debere agnosco. Verum quantum ex Gallicæ versionis lectione percepi, me sententiæ tuæ approbatorem habebis: si vero ad quædam hæsitavero, ea tibi candide indicabo, ut pleniorem eorum explicationem ex te eliciam. Deum precor ut tibi vitam ac vires continuet, ut egregiis tuis laboribus orbi literato porro prodesse possis. Salutant te uxor ac filia. Salutem a nobis officiosissimam dices dominæ Masham totique familiæ. Vale.

Amstelod.

19 Julii,

1701.

Tui amantissimus,

P. à Limborch.

John Locke

12 Aug. 1701

Oates

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

QUOD omnis obscuritas & ambiguitas in verborum usu sit vitanda tecum plane sentio; verum liceat mihi adjicere, quod hoc sæpe non sit etiam à volentibus evitare obscuritatem. Ideæ, quæ observantur hominum mentibus, præsertim eorum, qui veritatem attentiùs quærunt, multo plures sunt quam voces cujusvis linguæ, quæ ad eas exprimendas paratæ sunt. Hinc fit, quod homines (quibus integrum non est nova vocabula, quoties opus est ad novas ideas significandas, ad libitum procudere) eadem voce, pro diversis ideis, præsertim si cognatæ sint, identidem utuntur: unde oritur non raro sermonis obscuritas & incertus sensus, quando ad præcisiones accuratas veniendum est, quo non solum audientium sed & ipsorum etiam loquentium mentes implicantur. Inter alia quæ proposui, lib. iii. cap. xi. huic malo remedia, illud mihi præcipuum videtur, sc. ut diligenter colligamus omnes simplices ideas, quæ ingrediuntur compositionem cujuslibet ideæ complexæ, cujus nomen usurpamus, easque eidem voci affixas sedulo in animo teneamus. V. g. in argumento, quod præ manibus habemus, si voluntas significat potentiam, quam homo habet incipiendi, sistendi, vel vitandi aliquam actionem mentis vel corporis sui, ut ego fusius explicui, lib. ii. cap. xxi. § 5, &c. in quo tu etiam acquiescere videris: si hæc, inquam, sit idea, quam vox voluntas significat, eamque præsentem in animo habemus, quando de voluntate loquamur, nihil certius esse potest, quam quod voluntas terminatur solummodo in actionibus nostris, nec potest ulterius extendi ad rem aliquam aliam, nec ferri in bonum remotum & absens. Adeoque si contendis voluntatem ferri in bonum, ut finem, recedis ab ea idea, quam huic voci assignavimus, aliamque substituis; unde fit quod tu & ego diversas res designamus, quando de voluntate loquimur, nec omnino possumus inter nos de voluntate disserentes quicquam proficere, donec tu ideam indices cujus apud te vox voluntas signum est, ut de sensu vocis, i. e. de re, de qua disserimus, conveniamus.

Distinctio de desiderio completo & incompleto, sive de voluntate completa & incompleta, quam affers, nihil mihi videtur argumentum tuum juvare. Sive enim aliquod sit incompletum desiderium, vel incompleta voluntas, quod sane dubito id nunquam efficiet ut sit verum, quod voluntas fertur in bonum. Dico me dubitare an aliqua potest esse incompleta volitio; voluntas enim hic, ni fallor, sumitur pro actu voluntatis, i. e. pro volitione. Volitionem inefficacem facile agnosco, ut cum paralyticus manum paralysi solutam movere velit, inefficax fateor & sine successu est ista volitio, sed non incompleta. Actus enim volendi hoc in casu æque completus est, ac olim, quando manus volitioni obsequebatur. Itidem desiderium alicujus propositi boni, quod propter majus bonum incompatibile prosequi negligimus, non est incompletum desiderium, nec incompleta voluntas, sed desiderium completum brevi terminatum, eo usque non procedens, ut nos impellat ad volendum actiones, quibus obtineri possit illud bonum, in quod ferebatur breve illud desiderium: nec incompleta dici potest voluntas, ubi nulla omnino est volitio, etiamsi scholæ velleïtatem appellare ament. Quod si breve illud desiderium eousque procedat, ut nos ad volendum aliquam actionem excitet, voluntas illa non est incompleta, sed completus actus volendi, etiamsi omissa ulteriore inefficax sit ad obtinendum bonum propositum quod cessante desiderio negligitur. In his & hujusmodi mentis actionibus adeo celeres sunt motus animi, & inter se conjuncti, ut non mirum sit, quod sæpe, uti fit, confundantur, quæ attentius consideranti distinguenda sunt, ut recte conceptus nostros formemus. Vis libere dicam, quid hac de re sentio. Homo fertur in bonum absens, sive finem. Multis simul intellectui obversantibus bonis non surbordinatis nec consistentibus, homo unum, neglectis aliis, sibi proponit ut finem, i. e. ut prosequendum; hoc facit voluntarie, adeoque voluntas fertur in illam actionem mentis, qua unum præ reliquis sibi proponit, ut finem, & in ea actione terminatur, eodem modo quo terminatur in computatione, quando vult numerare, vel in motione pedum, quando vult ambulare. Ob hanc voluntariam propositionem istius boni, ut finis, fateor non raro dicitur vulgo, quod voluntas fertur in eum finem vel in id bonum, an proprie & ut philosophicam decet ἀϰϱίϐειαν, tu judices.

Quanta sit vis consuetudinis in usu verborum, quæ irrepit subinde nobis insciis, patet, ut mihi videtur, in iis quæ in epistola tua sequuntur. In priore epistola libens & aperte mecum consentire videris, quod actiones sunt agentium sive substantiarum, & non potentiarum sive facultatum: & tamen hic usitata loquendi forma te abduci pateris, dicisque “quod voluntas est actionum nostrarum domina, easque pro arbitrio moderatur,” & similia passim, in toto illo epistolæ tuæ paragrapho; quod ni fecisses, nulla arbitror mihi tecum lis esset. Hoc non dico, quod adeo delicatulus sim, ut hujusmodi loquendi formulas nullo in loco pati possim: earum usus in sermone familiari, si recte intelligantur, non omnino vituperandus. Quando vero in disceptationibus philosophicis pro fundamentis argumentorum, quasi iis inniteretur rerum veritas, omnino rejiciendæ sunt metaphoricæ & tralatitiæ hujusmodi locutiones, ne nos in errorem inducant: resque ipsæ, uti revera sunt, propriis & non figuratis vocabulis exprimendæ: v. g. dicere, “quod voluntas sit actionum nostrarum domina, easque pro arbitrio moderatur,” & inde arguere, quod “nisi voluntas sit libera, nulla erit in homine libertas,” est, ut mihi videtur, ex vi metaphoræ illius nos in errorem conjicere. “Libertas, apud me, est potestas hominis agendi vel non agendi secundum suam voluntatem;” scilicet si homo potest agere hoc, si vult agere hoc; & abstinere, è contra, ab agendo hoc, quando vult abstinere ab agendo hoc, eo in casu liber est homo. Hanc esse veram libertatis notionem videtur mihi constare, ex iis quæ à me dicta sunt § 8. & seqq. Quæ si vera sit, inde omnino sequitur libertatem nullo modo competere voluntati, uti monstravi § 14. Imo inde sequitur, quod illa antecedens indifferentia, antedecretum voluntatis, nullo modo, ut dixi, pertinet ad quæstionem de libertate. Si enim libertas sit potentia agendi actionem, quam vult homo, & vicissim abstinendi ab eadem actione, si ab ea homo vult abstinere: quid facit, rogo, ista antecedens indifferentia ad libertatem, quæ est potentia agendi vel non agendi, consequenter ad voluntatis determinationem?

Quandoquidem vero inciderit quæstio, de ista vestra antecedente indifferentia, cui vos omnem inniti libertatem contenditis, de ea liceat mihi paulo distinctius inquirere. Hæc indifferentia definitur à te, “vis animi, qua, positis omnibus ad agendum requisitis, potest agere vel non agere.” Jam hic rogo, an intellectus, judicium, vel cogitatio, sit unum ex requisitis ad agendum?

Si dicas quod intellectus, judicium, vel cogitatio, sit unum ex requisitis ad agendum, vestra antecedens indifferentia nunquam efficiet, ut voluntas sit libera (quamvis eum in finem, ut inde adstrui possit voluntatis libertas, excogitata & introducta videtur) quia, ut dixi, aliqua actione semel intellectui proposita, voluntas non est in statu, in quo potest agere vel non agere (in quo, ut mihi videtur, consistit libertas) necessario debet agere; nec potest abstinere ab agendo, i. e. à volendo, actionem illam scilicet, vel illius omissionem. Imo vero voluntas, eo in statu, non est indifferens ad alterutram partem oppositorum, nempe actionem propositam, vel ejus omissionem, quia determinatur à præcedente intellectus judicio, actionem illam vel ejus omissionem præferente.

Si dicas quod intellectus, judicium, sive cogitatio, non sit unum ex requisitis ad agendum: videas, quæso, dum hominem hoc modo liberum reddere velis, an non agentem cæcum plane efficis; & ut liberum facias ab eo intellectum removes, sine quo nec esse, nec supponi potest libertas ulla. Ad res enim cogitatione & intellectu destitutas, nulla omnino attinet libertas. Perpende igitur, quæso, & tecum cogita, an libertas hominis recte fundari potest in ejusmodi statu, qui excludit cogitationem, redditque lapidem æque capacem libertatis; an illa indifferentia pertinere potest ad quæstionem de libertate, quæ seposita cogitatione nullum locum in subjecto relinquit libertati.

Hæc omnia ita se habent ex mea libertatis notione, quam fusius traditam invenies § 8, 13. Quod si tu alium isti voci sensum tribuas, forsan hæ omnes evanescent difficultates. Sed tunc rogandus es, ut tuam libertatis definitionem ad me mittas, si de diversis rebus, sub eodem nomine disserentes, nolumus sine fructu disputare.

Ex his, quæ supra dixi, mihi constare videtur, quod libertas nullatenus consistit in indifferentia hominis, sed solummodo in potentia agendi, vel non agendi, prout volumus. Exemplo forsan res clarior erit. Homo, v. g. amat vinum, judicat sibi bonum esse, ex voluntate sua bibit: nulla hic indifferentia est, & tamen libera prorsus est hæc actio, quia, si modo mutaverit voluntatem, potest abstinere. Contra, homo vinum nec amat, nec aversatur, nec judicat sibi bonum aut malum esse; supponamus quantamlibet hominis indifferentiam: ex voluntate abstinet à vino in carcere, ubi vinum non permittitur. Hæc actio, nempe abstinentia à potione vini, est voluntaria fateor, sed non est libera: quoniam homo ille, si mutet voluntatem, vinum tamen in eo casu bibere non potest. Vides igitur quod indifferentia potest esse sine libertate, & libertas sine indifferentia, & actio voluntaria sine utraque. Hæc me res ipsæ per se planæ docere videntur. Imo vero res ipsæ melius forsan & simplicius nos docerent multa, si scholarum subtilitas in procudendis facultatibus distinctionibus, aliisque speciosis inventis mira acuta, non obducerat sæpe rebus in se claris operosam & doctam obscuritatem.

Dicis porro, quod, “Libertas consistit in potentia, qua homo actionem volendi potest determinare, vel non determinare.” Si, per actionem volendi determinare vel non determinare, significas velle aut non velle: libertas in eo consistere non potest: quia aliqua actione homini proposita, homo non potest abstinere à volitione, debet necessario velle aut actionem illam propositam, aut abstinentiam ab ista actione; quamtumvis levis & instantanea præcedat mentis cogitatio, semper & necessario sequitur actus volendi, quo actio proposita vel eligitur vel negligitur: & ita voluntas, præcedente cogitatione, semper determinatur ad agendum, i. e. ad volendum scil. existentiam, vel non existentiam, actionis propositæ. Quod si per “potentiam, qua homo actionem volendi potest determinare, vel non determinare,” significas potentiam quicquid temere volendi, vel sine prævia cogitatione, vel contra intellectus judicium, uti sequentia verba videntur innuere, ubi dicis, “nisi determinatio voluntatis sit libera, & loqueris de bruto impetu:” libertas in hujusmodi potentia non potest consistere. Quia, ut dixi, libertas supponit cogitationem. Ubi enim nulla est cogitatio, nulla esse potest libertas, uti fusius explicui § 8. & 9. Porro libertas non potest consistere in potentia determinandi actionem volendi contra judicium intellectus, quia homo non habet hujusmodi potentiam. Actio enim volendi hoc aut illud, semper sequitur judicium intellectûs, quo homo judicat pro hic & nunc hoc esse melius. Ex quo facile est intelligere, quid velim, cum dico, ante ultimum judicium intellectûs homo non potest omnio se determinare: hocque facile conciliare possis cum iis, quæ citas ex § 47, de suspensione impletionis cujuscunque desiderii, si modo memineris, quod ante unamquamque volitionem præcedit semper judicium aliquod intellectûs de re agenda; judiciumque illud, quod immediate præcedit volitionem, sive actum volendi, est eo in casu ultimum judicium intellectûs. Quod te in diversum abripuit mihi videtur hoc esse, nempe, quod ultimum judicium intellectûs videris confundere cum maturo & recto judicio, si recte capio sensum istius sententiæ, ubi hæc verba lego: “Intellectus post accuratum rationum examen judicaverit, quid facere oporteat,” &c. Sed id non est ultimum judicium, de quo ego loquor. Loquor ego de eo judicio, quod in omni volitione immediate præcedit volitionem, quod revera est ultimum judicium, sive bene expensum sit & matura deliberatione recoctum, sive extemporaneum & subito impetu enatum, & æque voluntatem determinat, sive sit, sive non sit rationi consentaneum.

Si meum sensum in his satis recte & clare exposui, non apparebit tibi, credo, hæc telegenti tanta inter nos opinionum distantia, quantum credidisti: pro certo habeo nos, veritatem utrinque sincere quærentes, non posse diu de rebus ipsis dissentire, quanquam loquendi formulæ videantur nonnunquam in diversum abire. Sed de rebus ipsis cogitantibus facile erit phraseologiæ nebulas discutere, ex quibus fere oriuntur inter veritatis amatores omnes controversiæ.

En prolixiore epistola tibi explicationem sententiæ meæ poscenti, ut potui, morem gessi. Ignoscas, rogo, quod toties citaverim librum meum; hoc feci brevitatis causa, ne hic in epistola ea rescriberem, quæ in libro impresso melius legeres.

De duabus versionibus monere te convenit, ut sicubi inter se dissentients reperias de sensu meo ex Gallica dijudices. Illam enim mihi auctor totam perlegit, & ubi à sensu meo aberrare deprehendi, correxit. Latinam nondum mihi legere contigit. Valetudo & negotia non satis otii concesserunt. Vale, &, ut facis, me ama

Oates, 12 Aug.

1701.

Tui amantissimum,

J. Locke.

Postquam, quæ supra habentur, scripseram, mihi venit in mentem non incommodum fore, si aliquid libro meo insererem, ad elucidandam indifferentiæ naturam, in qua consistit libertas, in gratam eorum, qui indifferentiam hoc in argumento tanti faciunt, ut illa ablata vel omissa nihil recte vel clare statu de libertate posse existimant. En igitur quæ § 71. subjungenda censui. Ego Anglice scripsi: Gallice vertit D. Coste; adeoque, si probas, Gallicæ versioni libri mei inserere possis.

Liv. II. Chap. XXI. § 71, après ces mots, “par son propre jugement,” ajoutez ce qui suit.

“Je sçai que certaines gens font consister la liberté dans une certaine Indifference de l’homme, antecedente à la determination de sa volonté. Je souhaiterois que ceux qui font tant de fonds sur cette indifference antecedente, comme ils parlent, nous eussent dit nettement si cette indifference qu’ils supposent, précede la pensée & le jugement de l’entendement aussi bien que le decret de la volonté; car il est bien malaisé de la placer entre ces deux termes, je veux dire immediatement après le jugement de l’entendement, & devant la détermination de la volonté parce que la détermination de la volonté suit immediatement le jugement de l’entendement: & d’ailleurs, placer la liberté dans une indifference, qui précede la pensée & le jugement de l’ entendement, c’est, ce me semble, faire consister la liberté dans un état de tenebres, où, nous ne pouvons ni voir ni dire ce que c’est: c’est du moins la placer dans un sujet incapable de liberté, nul agent n’étant jugé capable de liberté qu’en consequence de la pensée, & du jugement qu’on reconnoit en lui. Comme je ne suis pas délicat en matiere d’expressions, je consens à dire avec ceux qui aiment à parler ainsi, que la liberté est placée dans l’indifference: mais c’est dans une sorte d’indifference qui reste aprés le jugement de l’entendement, & même aprés la determination de la volonté: ce qui n’est pas une indifference de l’homme (car aprés que l’homme a une fois jugé ce qu’il est meilleur de faire ou de ne pas faire, il n’est plus indifferent) mais une indifference des puissances actives ou operatives de l’homme, lesquelles demeurant tout autant capables d’agir ou de ne pas agir aprés, qu’avant le decret de la volonté, sont dans un état qu’on peut appeller, si l’on veut, indifference: & aussi loin que s’étend cette indifference, jusques-là l’homme est libre, & pas au delà. Par exemple, j’ai la puissance de mouvoir ma main, ou de la laisser en repos: cette faculté operative est indifferente au mouvement & au repos de ma main: je suis donc libre à cet égard. Ma volonté vient à déterminer cette puissance operative au repos, je suis encore libre, parce que l’indifference de cette puissance operative qui est en moi, d’agir ou de ne pas agir, reste encore; la puissance de mouvoir ma main n’étant nullement diminué par la determination de ma volonté, qui à present ordonne le repos; l’indifference de cette puissance à agir ou ne pas agir, est justement telle qu’elle etoit auparavant, comme il paroit si la volonté veut en faire l’epreuve en ordonnant le contraire. Mais si pendant que ma main est en repos, elle vient à être saisie d’une soudaine paralysie, l’indifference de cette puissance operative est detruite, & ma liberté avec elle: je n’ai plus de liberté à cet égard, mais je suis dans la nécessité de laisser ma main en repos. D’un autre côté, si ma main est mise en mouvement par une convulsion, l’indifference de cette faculté operative s’évanouït; & en ce cas-là ma liberté est detruite; car je me trouve dans la nécessité de laisser mouvoir ma main. J’ai ajouté ceci pour faire voir dans quelle sorte d’indifference il me paroit que la liberté consiste précisement, & qu’elle ne peut consister dans aucune autre, réelle ou imaginaire.”

Philippus à Limborch

11 Oct. 1701

Amstelod.

Joanni Locke

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

Amplissime vir,

QUOD tantum mea causa laborem susceperis, ut prolixiori epistola sententiam tuam mihi distinctius explicare non fueris gravatus, maximas tibi habeo gratias: legi, relegi, expendi epistolam tuam magna cum attentione. Quanto exactius eam expendo, tanto magis observare videor, nos tam sententiis, quam phrasibus ac loquendi modis dicrepare, & quandoque diversas ideas iisdem, nonnunquam easdem ideas diversis vocibus designare. Respondissem citius, verum consulto responsum distuli, donec integrum tuum tractatum perlegissem. Eo jam perlecto, & cum epistola tua collato, magis magisque observare videor, omnem, qui inter nos apparet dissensum, non tam circa rem ipsam, quam circa voces, ac divertam ejusdem rei explicandæ rationem occupari. Quia vero non ubique phrasium mearum sensum recte percepisse videris, & ut, quicquid fortasse adhuc inter nos restat dissensus, paucis & in compendio comprehendi possit, primo sensum vocum ac phrasium, quibus usus sum, quanta possum perspicuitate explicabo: deinde phrasibus claris & ambiguitati non obnoxiis sententiam meam quanta possum brevitate exponam. Tandem inquiram in quibus consentiamus, & quis adhuc remaneat dissensus; utrumne ille in re ipsa, an vero in vocibus ac phrasibus, & diversa rem quam inquirimus explicandi ratione consistat. Ita puto, si fortasse nondum per omnia idem sentiamus, brevi omnem dissensum sublatum iri, nec veritatem sincere eam quærentibus diu absconditam fore.

Significationem voluntatis, quod sit “potentia, quam homo habet incipiendi, sistendi, vel vitandi aliquam actionem mentis, vel corporis,” ego tecum agnosco, & ab ea non recedam: à voluntate etiam distinguo desiderium, quo ferimur in bonum absens, neque id unquam sub notione voluntatis comprehendam. Agnosco hic me minus exacte locutum, & desiderium à voluntate esse distinguendum. Quod dixi, voluntatem etiam ferri in finem, nihil aliud volui, nisi quod tu ipse in epistola tua dicis: “Multis simul intellectui obversantibus bonis non subordinatis nec consistentibus, hominem unum, neglectis aliis, sibi proponere ut finem, & ut prosequendum: hoc facit voluntarie.” Hæc ergo electio est actio voluntatis: quando hanc sibi electionem fecit homo, desiderio suo fertur in bonum illud quod sibi elegit; & voluntate sua dirigit actiones suas, quibus se bonum desideratum consecuturum credit.

Vox “libertas” mihi designat dominium, quod homo habet in actionem suam: quo nempe, positis omnibus ad agendum requisitis, potest agere & non agere: qui non est actionis suæ dominus, seu agere non potest quod vult, non est liber. Verum ego puto hoc ad omnes hominis actiones, sine ulla exceptione, extendi, tam ad internas actiones mentis, quam externas corporis, adeo ut etiam actio volendi, quæ est interna mentis actio, sit libera. Quando autem dixi voluntatem esse actionum nostrarum dominam, nihil aliud volui, nisi, actiones nostras externas dirigi à volitione nostra, adeo ut faciamus quæ volumus, & non faciamus quæ nolumus, nisi intercedat cohibitio, aut coactio: utraque enim illa libertatem destruit. Semel declaravi credere me animum, seu mentem immediate, absque ullis intermediis facultatibus, intelligere & velle: per intellectum itaque & voluntatem, quotiescunque iis vocibus utor, aliud non intelligo nisi potentiam seu facultatem ipsius animæ, qua elicit actionem intelligendi ac volendi, & quam actionem anima immediate exercet. Et hanc significationem te etiam admittere puto.

Superest ut dicam de “indifferentia.” De qua primo præmoneo, eam non esse nostram, uti tu credis, id est, à nobis inventam, aut ita à nobis adscitam, ut pro ea tanquam necessario in hac quætione usurpanda contendamus, Nihil minus. Nos diu illa voce usi non fuimus: libertatem definientes, eam ordinarie vocavimus dominium quod homo in actionem suam habet. In disputatione autem contra illos theologos, qui intellectum ac voluntatem statuunt duas esse facultates, realiter & ab anima & à se invicem distinctas, quarum una tantum intelligit, nihil autem vult, altera tantum vult, nihil autem intelligit, hanc illorum sententiam hoc argumento oppugnavimus: quod per eam aut omnis libertas tollatur, aut omnis actio hominis reddatur bruta ac irrationalis. Aut enim voluntas determinatur ab intellectu, adeo ut necessario velit quod intellectus illi præscribit: atqui tum omnis actio necessaria est, quia omnis actio intellectûs est necessaria: aut non determinatur ab intellectu, sed seipsam determinat: atqui tum omnis actio voluntatis est bruta & irrationalis; quia supponitur voluntatem nihil intelligere, sed solummodo velle. Hujus argumenti ictum ut evitent, responderunt, radicem libertatis esse in intellectu; quia in intellectu est indifferentia, qua potest quodcunque objectum, quod sibi offertur, apprehendere & dijudicare. Responderunt nostri, eam esse tantum indifferentiam passivam, qualis est in oculo, qui etiam quævis objecta sibi occurrentia potest videre, eorumque imagines recipere; quem tamen nemo propterea dixerit libere videre; quia non potest, quin quod sibi videndum proponitur videat: sicut non potest intellectus, quin quod sibi clare proponitur comprehendat; aut dubitet de eo, pro quo utrinque æque graves militant rationes. Si vero libertas quæratur in indifferentia, oportere eam esse activam, qua homo dominium habet in suam actionem. Exinde, quoniam alii vocem “indifferentiæ” adhibuerunt, nos ut omnem in disputando ambiguitatem vitaremus, distinctionis causa addidimus vocem “activæ,” diximusque libertatem consistere in indifferentia activa, eamque residere in voluntate. Vides ergo, nos non pro hac voce velle decertare, nec eam à nobis esse excogitatam: sed nos vocem ab aliis usurpatam explicuisse, & additione vocis activæ significationem illius explanatiorem reddidisse. Interim non nego, nos postea, quandoque etiam illa in scriptis nostris esse usos, quia juxta explicationem nostram accepta, commodissima visa fuit, & idem significare cum phrasi antea à nobis usurpata, dominium in actiones nostras. Idque etiam constat ex definitione hujus indifferentiæ, quam in præcedente mea epistola dedi; quod sit vis illa animi, qua positis omnibus ad agendum requisitis potest agere vel non agere: quod mihi aliud nihil est, quam quod homo dominium habet in actionem suam, ut possit, prout ipsi placuerit, vel agere, vel non agere. Itaque inter omnia ad agendum requisita vel maxime colloco intellectus judicium, quod præcedere debet; alias volendi actio mere esset irrationalis. Quando autem dico, quod “possit agere & non agere,” mens mea non est, quod simul possit agere & non agere; aut nec agere nec non agere, seu nec velle nec non velle: hoc enim contradictorium est; sed quod potentia ad neutrum sit determinata, ac proinde ex duobus oppositis possit eligere quodcunque ipsi libitum fuerit; imo ubi jam se determinavit ad agendum, quod actionem suam sistere possit, & se rursus in partem oppositam determinare. Hoc est quod dominium habet in suam actionem. Ubi hoc non potest, non est liber. Sic recte mones, eum, qui volens in carcere à vino abstinet, non libere abstinere, quia non habet facultatem vinum bibendi: nec qui volens in carcere manet, libere manere, quia non habet facultatem exeundi. Sed vero alia est ratio actionum internarum, quæ sola mente perficiuntur. Ad illarum libertatem, nihil requiritur, nisi libera determinatio voluntatis. Sic qui in carcere concupiscit alterius uxorem, eaque turpi concupiscentia se oblectat, eamque in animo fovet, libere concupiscit & peccat, licet ea concupiscentia intra solam delectationem morosam, uti scholastici loquuntur, consistat; ideoque ad ejus consummationem ipse externus adulterii actus non requiritur. Per “brutum impetum,” non intelligo actionem voluntatis sine ulla præcedente cogitatione; sic enim conciperem non hominem; sed præcipitatam actionem, ante debitum & accuratum illius examen: sicuti videmus multos homines vehementi affectu sæpe abripi, ut hoc aut illud agere velint, antequam omnes actionis circumstantia, rationesque ac argumenta, quibus ad eam incitari, aut ab ea deterreri possint, rite consideraverint. Hanc ergo tribuo libertatem homini, ut quando actio ipsi proposita est, possit vel præcipitare judicium, vel mature omnes actionis circumstantias examinare, atque ita vel bruto impetu, vel prævio, maturo, ac deliberato consilio agere: ejusque libertatis unumquemque sibi esse conscium credo. Nec hoc omittendum per “indifferentiam,” me non intelligere statum, in quo homo, quasi in æquilibrio est constitutus, nec in unam partem magis propendet, quam in alteram; talis enim status indifferentiæ circa actiones morales in nullo homine reperitur: semper in unam partem magis propendemus quam in aliam, in actionibus præsertim moralibus, prout vel affectibus agimur, aut consuetudo ac habitus nos erga virtutem aut vitia proniores reddidit: sed statum, in quo homo potentiam habet se determinandi in quamcunque oppositorum partem velit: licet enim magis sit propensus in unam partem quam in alteram, non tamen dominium in actionem suam amisit, sed in alteram partem etiam se determinare potest: Verum quia vox “indifferentia” accipi potest pro statu, quo homo in neutram partem inclinat, sed plane in æquilibrio est constitutus, licet ille sensus directæ explicationi nostræ adversetur, ad omnem vitandam amphibologiam, à voce illa abstinebo.

“Ultimum intellectûs judicium” ego non confundo cum maturo & recto judicio; sed ibi distinguo ultimum judicium, quod sit vel maturum & rectum, vel pravum & præcipitatum, quod ibi vocavi brutum impetum, quia illud magis sequitur vehementem concupiscentiam carnalem, quam ductum rationis: utrumque est ultimum judicium, quando immediate actionem volendi antecedit, & inter illud actionemque volendi nullum aliud judicium intermedium est.

Ita explicatis terminis quibus usus sum, jam quanta possum brevitate & perspicuitate sententiam meam proponam. Eam his thesibus comprehendo.

Homo est agens liberum, & habet dominium in actiones suas, illas vel faciendi, vel omittendi.

Intellectus & voluntas non sunt duæ facultates realiter ab anima hominis & à se invicem distinctæ; sed anima per suam essentiam immediate intelligit & vult.

Homo nihil vult aut facit, nisi desiderio boni, aut sensu molestiæ ex absentia boni desiderati excitatus.

Actum volendi antecedit actus intelligendi, quo homo judicium fert de actione sua.

Judicium illud vel est prudens, post adhibitum maturum rationum ab utraque parte militantium examen; vel est præcipitatum, & ab affectu magis quam ratione dictatum.

Judicium hoc, quatenus est merus intelligendi actus, non procedit ultra suasionem, hoc est eligbile, seu hoc consentaneum est eligere, hoc consentaneum est rejicere: aut inter eligibilia hoc magis, hoc minus est eligibile; inter fugienda hoc magis, hoc minus oportet fugere.

Judicium, quo homo decernit hoc est faciendum, est ipsa volitio; vel ad minimum, actus mixtus ex intellectione & volitione, & ad cujus consummationem actus volendi concurrit.

Actus intelligendi, quatenus est merus intelligendi actus, est necessarius, & nititur momento rationum ab homine perceptarum.

Actus volendi liber est, habetque homo dominium in illum, ac facultatem eum vel eliciendi, vel non eliciendi. Si quæ ergo libertas in judicio est, ea procedit non ab actu intelligendi sed volendi.

Actionum internarum, quæ sola mente perficiuntur, libertas consistit in libera mentis determinatione, qua actionem volendi vel elicere potest, vel cohibere. Ad libertatem vero actionum externarum, ad quarum consummationem concurrere debent membra externa, etiam requiritur ut homo habeat facultatem sive potentiam faciendi quod vult, et omittendi, seu non faciendi, quod non vult; sive liberum & non impeditum membrorum externorum usum.

Ita paucis explicata sententia mea, videamus nunc in quibus conveniamus, & quis inter nos supersit dissensus. Quando epistolam tuam confero cum lib. ii. cap. xxi. de potentia, videor mihi posse dicere, nos in quinque primis thesibus consentire, nec de iis inter nos ullum esse dissensum. De ultima etiam nulla est inter nos controversia, nisi forte quod tu libertatem in sola potentia faciendi quo volumus, & non faciendi quod nolumus, collocare videris, cum ego eam etiam ad ipsius voluntatis determinationem, seu volitionis actum extendam. De quo mox. Utroque etiam pollice amplector quod in epistola tua scribis, quod homo fertur in bonum absens, sive finem; & quod multis simul intellectui observantibus bonis non subordinatis nec consistentibus, homo unum, neglectis aliis, sibi proponit ut finem, id est, ut prosequendum: & hoc facit voluntarie: ideoque voluntas fertur in illam actionem mentis, qua unum præ reliquis sibi proponit, ut finem: & in ea actione terminatur: eam autem voluntatis actionem sequitur desiderium finis. Hactenus ergo consentimus. Videamus quousque in reliquis consentiamus & quis supersit dissensus.

Primo, non videmur convenire in definitione libertatis. Sic enim dicis: “Libertas apud me est potestas hominis agendi, vel non agendi, secundum suam voluntatem.” Quæ definitio mihi angusta nimis esse videtur: & si ea agnoscatur, tum certum est, libertatem nullo modo competere voluntati: sicut certum est, animam nunquam posse esse sine cogitatione, si vera sit definitio, anima est cogitatio. Imo si hæc genuina sit definitio, libertatis, fieri posset ut libertas consisteret cum summa necessitate. Ut mox ostendam. Ego autem puto libertatem esse dominium, quod homo habet in quamcunque suam actionem, eamque extendi non tantum ad actiones, quas facit secundum suam voluntatem, sed & ad ipsum volendi actum, su voltionem.

Quod sextam & septimam thesin attinet, nescio quousque in illis consentiamus, aut quis de illis inter nos sit dissensus. In postrema mea epistola idem jam affirmavi: verum tu nullam in tua epistola illius mentionem facis: itaque incertus sum quousque his mecum sentias. Mihi evidens videtur, hominem judicium suum determinare, quia vult acquiescere rationibus quas expendit: suspendere autem judicium suum, quia nondum vult acquiescere, sed rationes aut exactius expendere, aut an sint plures, quibus judicium ejus inclinare possit, inquirere. Atque ita determinationem ultimi judicii, quo homo decernit hoc est eligendum, aut faciendum, si non totam, maximam saltem partem, esse actionem volendi.

Octava thesis, qua statuo, omnem actum intellectus, quatenus merus intelligendi actus est, esse necessarium, nescio an inter nos controversa sit. Illam enim expresse asserere videris, lib. iv. cap. xiii. § 2. & cap. xx. § 16. At ea distinctius paulum explicanda est, ut pateat, an aliquis de ea sit dissensus. Hic ergo observa, quod res, quas intellectus percipit, sunt vel meræ theoreticæ, vel practicæ. Circa veritates theoreticas actio intellectus necessaria prorsus est: proposita veritate clara & evidenti, intellectus necessario assentitur seu homo necessario eam percipit, illique assensum præbet; propositis argumentis verisimilibus tantum, homo necessariò opinatur: propositis utrinque argumentis æqualis ponderis, homo, seu intellectus, necessario dubitat: omnesque hæ intelligendi actiones nituntur momento rationum ab homine perceptarum. Circa veritates practicas actio intelligendi, quatenus mera intelligendi actio est, & nulla intercedit actio volendi, etiam necessaria est: pro rationum enim momento, quas intellectus expendit, judicat quid convenientius, quid minus conveniens, quid ex usu sit facere, vel non facere. Hoc judicium ducit quidem voluntatem, verum eam non plene determinat: est enim illud imperium tantum suasionis, cui voluntas potest non obtemperare, seu homo potest aliud velle: determinatio autem procedit à voluntate, qua homo decernit hoc est faciendum, eaque determinatio fit vel juxta suasionem intellectus, & tunc est rationalis; vel fieri potest contra eam, & tunc est irrationalis, hoc esti, procedit ab affectu carnali, & suasioni intellectus neutiquam auscultat: vel etiam potest esse præceps & temeraria, ita ut maturum judicium antevertat. Hic videmur dissentire: dicis enim “hominem non habere potentiam determinandi actionem volendi contra judicium intellectus: actio enim volendi hoc, aut illud, semper sequitur judicium intellectus, quo homo judicat hoc & nunc illud esse melius.” Idem etiam videris affirmare in fine § 71. dicti capitis. Sed tamen, quando hæc confero cum definitione voluntatis in tua epistola, quod sit “potentia, quam homo habet incipiendi, sistendi, vel vitandi aliquam actionem mentis, vel corporis,” & cum § 47. cap. xxi. & aliquot anteced. & seqq. dubito, an multum dissentiamus, & an non magis diversitas sit in modo explicandi, quam in re ipsa. Omnino enim mihi videris illic agnoscere libertatem quandam in judicando. Dicis enim illic, “liberum esse menti appetitionum suarum objecta considerare, eas introspicere penitus, & utrum præponderet, trutina diligenter examinare. In hoc libertas hominis consistit:” & quæ ibi porro egregia habes. Addis mox: “indultam nobis potestatem voluntatem revocandi, à prosecutione hujus aut illius appetitionis. Hoc mihi videtur fons esse omnis libertatis,” &c. Ex. iis enim liquere videtur, libertatem etiam versari in judicio formando, imo ibi esse libertatis fontem. Unde colligo libertatem (juxta tuam explicationem) non solummodo consistere in potentia faciendi quod volumus: sed etiam ante volitionis actum, imo ante judicium de actione sua, hominem esse liberum, & libertatem suam exercere. Solummodo discrimen inter nos esset, an judicium ultimum, quo discernitur, non hoc convenit facere, sed hoc est faciendum, sit actio intelligendi mera; an vero ad id etiam concurrat actio volendi? &, an libertas resideat in actione intelligendi, an volendi? sive, an id quod in judicio, quo hominis actio determinatur, liberum est, resideat in intellectione, an volitione? Si in eo consistat discrimen, puto facile sententias nostras conciliari posse: quamvis enim mihi perspicuum videatur, libertatem residere in actione volendi, nihilque esse liberum, quin sit etiam voluntarium; non tamen hic tantopere videmur posse dissentire, quin facile ad consensum reducamur. Cum enim uterque statuamus, intellectum & voluntatem non esse duas potentias realiter ab anima, & à se invicem distinctas; sed hominem seu animam, immediate per suam essentiam intelligere ac velle; satis convenimus, quando uterque agnoscimus judicium hominis ultimum libere determinari: quando enim adest potentia faciendi quod ultimum illud judicium libere à nobis determinatum dictat, non faciendi, seu omittendi, quod ultimo illo judicio non esse faciendum decernitur, homo plena fruitur libertate; solummodo controvertitur, an illud judicium, quod homo libere format, & quo actiones ejus determinantur, sit actio intellectus an voluntatis? Si disquireretur, solummodo utra explicatio cum philosophica ἀϰϱιϐειχ melius conciliari posset, in re ipsa autem foret consensus. Si vero dicamus, omnem actionem intellectus esse necessariam, & ultimum illud judicium practicum esse merum intellectus actum, ac per illud voluntatem determinari; non video, quomodo ulla in homine reliqua sit libertas. Actiones enim omnes determinantur à voluntate, nisi homo aut cohibeatur quo minus facere possit quod vult, aut cogatur facere quod non vult; cohibitio enim & coactio, ut recte observas, repugnant libertati, & quando nostri juris sumus, semper facimus quod volumus. Si autem voluntas determinatur ab intellectu, & intellectus actio sit necessaria, omnia erunt necessaria: nam à principio necessario, hoc est, judicio intellectus, determinatur voluntas; à voluntate actiones: itaque homo ad actiones suas determinatus est; & licet potentiam habeat faciendi quod vult, & non faciendi quod non vult; potentia tamen illa, per antecedentem voluntatis determinationem ad unum determinata est. Atque sic mera in actionibus hominis regnaret necessitas. Prolixior paulo fui; sed prolixitatem, ut perspicue mentem meam explicarem, evitare vix potui. Si alicubi mentem tuam non recte, aut non plene, percepi, aut me à veritate aberrare credis, ut me libere moneas & instruas, rogo: veritatem enim unice sector. Et quoniam nunc plenius mentem meam explicui, brevius, quicquid tibi non probetur, indicare posses. Ut vero plenius sententiam nostram percipias, suaderem ut legas brevem Episcopii tractatum de Libero Arbitrio, qui extat in vol. i. part ii. . operum ejus; & epistolam illius, qua judicium suum profert de loco quodam ethices non edito; quæ est ireverse-c-sclv. inter epistolas nostras ecclesiasticas & theologicas. Reliqua libri tui mihi valde probantur, multumque me ex illius lectione profecisse gratus agnosco. Lectionem ejus repetere statui. Verum versio Gallica multum Latinæ præstat; eam ego subinde consulo, quando Latina obscurior est, sive interpretis sive typographi culpa. Quæ epistolæ tuæ inclusa sunt errata, & additamentum de indifferentia, nescio an in privatum meum usum miseris, an vero ut imprimantur. Verum ego puto se sententiam nostram de indifferentia non recte percepisse, ideoque eam in hac epistola plenius & distinctius explicui. Sed tandem manum de tabula. Vale, vir amplissime. Uxor & filia te plurimum salvere jubent. Salutem a nobis officiocissimam dices D. Masham totique familiæ.

Amstelod.

11 Oct.

1701.

Tui amantissimus,

P. à Limborch.

John Locke

19 Nov. 1701

Oates

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

GRATISSIMAM epistolam tuam, 11 Oct. datam, legi relegique, & (te auctore) perlegi Episcopii tractatum de Libero Arbitrio. Non tam magnifice de me sentio, ut audeam in tantorum virorum scriptis quicquam reprehendere; fateor tamen nonnulla & in illius dissertatione & in tua epistola occurrere, quæ, si coram tibi adessem, explicari à te peroptarem, ut melius perspicere possem, quomodo inter se & cum rei veritate consistere possint. Sed si singula, quæ in hoc argumento, in aliorum scriptis, suboriri possunt, dubia persequi velim, & pensiculatius ad trutinam revocare, in volumen abiret epistola: nec meum est aliorum opiniones convellere (quarum ignarus in scribendo nec aliorum sententiam fugi, nec autoritatem secutus sum) sed solum mea cogitata, quantam ex rebus ipsis perspicere possum, rebus ipsis conformare. Hæc causa esse potest quod, inconsultis auctoribus, & mea mecum meditatus terminis & loquendi formulis hoc in subjecto familiaribus non sum usus. Hoc mihi ignoscendum postulo. Nec Episcopii acutissimi, cujus memoria summa apud me in veneratione est, mentionem hic fecissem, nici te suasore tractatum ejus de Libero Arbitrio perlegissem, quem tuum fecisti, tuamque per omnia sententiam continere mihi notum fecisses.

Hæc à me prefanda erant, ne forsan videar aliorum scripta, qui me in hoc argumento præcesserunt, insolenter nimis negligere, vel non satis eorum autoritati tribuere: quod à meo animo, & à mea mediocritate, & est, & esse debet, remotissimum. Fateor, ego non sector nomina, sed ubique veritati litans, eamque quacunque ducit unice sequor: ideoque gratias tibi ago maximas, quod me, ubi errâsse existimas, in viam reducere conaris.

Primum & præcipuum, quod in novissima hac tua epistola culpare videris, est mea definitio libertatis, quam dicis “nimis esse angustam.” An tua laxior est quam illa, quam ego lib. ii. cap. xxi. § 8. & 12. tradidi, tum videbimus, cum tu illam proferes. Nam quod dicis “libertatem esse dominium, quod homo habet in quamcunque suam actionem,” hoc mihi non videtur esse definitio libertatis, quam nihil aliud dicit nisi hominem habere dominium in actiones suas quod habet; quod huc tantum redit, libertatem esse libertatem, quam homo habet in quamcunque suam actionem; quo evenire potest, ut nulla omnino sit hominis libertas: scis enim esse aliquos, qui negant hominem ullum in actiones suas habere dominium, sed omnia præstituto & ineluctabili duci fato. Quod si dicas te supponere hominem habere dominium in actiones suas, & in eo consistere libertatem; tunc rogo, quid sit dominium hominis in actiones suas? Dominium enim, sive sit vox tralatitia, sive ob aliquam aliam causam, mihi videtur æque, si non magis obscura quam vox Libertas ideoque non minis eget definitione. Et sic pergam rogando, donec perventum erit ad simplices ideas, ex quibus conflatur idea libertatis.

Video ex hac tua epistola, quanta sit vis consuetudinis, & qua constantia non cogitantibus etiam & invitis irrepit. Fateris & candide fateris, voluntatem esse animæ facultatem, & facultates non esse agentes: & tamen, ut alia omittam, hoc dicis, “si mea definitio libertatis agnoscatur, certum est libertatem nullo modo competere voluntati.” Voluntati enim nullo modo competere potest libertas, nisi pro agente agnoscatur. Quippe agentium solummodo est libertas. Scio te Episcopii exemplo posse teipsum excusare, qui in principio dissertationis suæ strenue rejiciens facultatem operationis, subinde tamen relabitur in argumentationes, quibus supponuntur agentes: permitte tamen ut amice moneam, nisi hoc maxime caveas, multum in hac materia tibi facesses negotium, & tenebras sæpissime tibi offundes.

Ad reliqua, de quibus dubitare videris, ne in longitudinem molemque nimiam extendatur responsio, rectius me & compendiosius satisfacturum credo, si aliquas hic illic capiti xxi. inseram explicationes, quibus animi mei sensum negligentius forsan, vel obscurius traditum, clariorem reddam, adeo ut festinanti etiam, uti fit, lectori in posterum pateat, modo quæ tradita sunt memoria tenere non dedignetur. Hæc cum tu attente perlegeris, & cum reliquis, quæ in isto capite exposui, contuleris, plene tibi satisfactum iri spero. Quod si quæ postea tibi, remanserint dubia, & aliqua restant, quæ vel obscura nimis, quorum te fugit sensus, vel parum veritati congrua, quibus assensum præbere non potes, moneas rogo, ut aut te auctore corrigam, aut ulterius explicando, veritatem, sua propria luce nitentem tibi ante oculos ponam.

Si qua sunt in epistola tua, ad quæ non satis distincte responsum à me credas, ignoscas rogo valetudini parum firmæ, quæ languidiorem me & ad scribendum minus aptum reddit. Quanquam spero ex annexis explicationibus, ex quibus mentem meam percipies, perspicuum tibi fore quid ad singulas dubitationes tuas respondi possit. Vale, vir optime, &, ut facis, me ama

Tui studiosissimum,

Oates, 19 Nov.

1701.

J. Locke.

Philippus à Limborch

3 Jan. 1702

Amstelod.

Joanni Locke

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

Vir Amplissime,

QUOD lectionem tractatus Episcopii de Libero Arbitrio tibi commendaverim, id eo fine non feci, ut viri illius auctoritate contra te utar; nihil minus: scio enim in sincera veritatis inquisitione nullam valere auctoritatem humanam, sed tantum momenta rationum, quibus veritas adstruitur. Nec ego, licet Episcopii sententiam approbem, vellem illius auctoritate constringi, ut omnia, etiam quæ, salva principali veritate, in dubium vocari possunt, admittam, nedum phrasibus ac loquendi formulis ab ipso usurpatis alligari me patiar. Sed illius legendi tibi auctor fui, ut ex illo cognosceres, nos jam a multo tempore renuntiâsse illi sententiæ, quæ statuit animam intermediis facultatibus agere; sed asseruisse tecum animam immediate per seipsam intelligere ac velle. Unde cognoscere posses, quando communem loquendi usum secuti utimur vocibus intellectus ac voluntatis, non iis non intelligere facultates realiter ab anima distinctas; sed ipsas intelligendi ac volendi actiones, quas anima immediate ex seipsa elicit. Hoc ego etiam brevioribus verbis significatum dedi, in Theologia mea Christiana, lib. ii. cap. xxiii. § 1, 2. Itaque si per incogitantiam, ex inveterata consuetudine, mihi forte exciderit voluntatem esse liberam, rogo ut id meo sensu accipias, ac si dixissem actio volendi est libera, seu homo in elicienda actione volendi est liber; ac proinde pro verbis meis, si tua libertatis definitio agnoscatur, “certum est libertatem nullo modo competere voluntati,” hæc substituas, “certum est actionem volendi neutiquam esse liberam, seu hominem non libere velle.” Gratias interim tibi ago, quod inconsideratam hanc meam locutionem mihi indicaveris: ego annitar ut in posterum omnem ambiguam locutionem vitem, & ab insolita loquendi consuetudine non abripiar; ne nulla in verbis meis sit obscuritas.

Libertatem ego definivi per dominium in actiones; quia vox dominii tibi explicatione indigere videtur, simplicius dico libertatem esse facultatem hominis actionem suam vel eliciendi, vel non eliciendi: qui alterutrum tantum potest, non est liber. Per actionem autem ego intelligo actionem quamcunque, etiam actiones internas intelligendi ac volendi: circa quascunque actiones non habet homo hanc facultatem eas vel eliciendi, vel non eliciendi, sed alterutrum tantum potest, hæ non sunt liberæ: & quia illi hanc facultatem tribuo circa actiones volendi, ideo eas liberas voco: quando hac facultate homo destitutus est, libere nec vult, nec velle potest.

Unitam facultas esset coram tecum de omnibus his disserendi, & ex ore tuo pleniorem omnium, circa quæ hæsito, explanationem audiendi; meamque sententiam, ac loquendi phrases distincte explicandi; non dubito, quin felicius totam hanc quæstionem terminare possemus. Nunc etiam circa ea, quæ explicationis gratia addidisti, hæsito, an statuas judicium illud, quo formato, non amplius in homine libertas est non volendi, sit actio mera intelligendi, eaque intelligendi actio sit libera vel necessaria: si in ea elicienda hominem liberum agnoscas, non video quis inter nos, quoad summam rei, maneat dissensus. Sed coram possemus hæc distinctius & exactius expendere; idque maxime percuperem, ut uterque in hac materia, quanta fieri potest perspicuitate, nos explicemus & difficultatibus hinc inde oborientibus occurramus. Nunc quoniam utriusque ætas id neutiquam permittit, quæ misisti, semper, quando de hac materia ago, consulam, ne aut ipse errem, aut aliis inconsiderata loquendi ratione errendi occasionem præbeam. Vale, vir amplissime. Salutant te uxor ac filia, omnesque prosperam tibi precamur valetudinem. Generoso Domino Masham gratulamur continuatam dignitatem: illi, ut & Dominæ Masham totique familiæ, ut annus hic ex voto fluat precamur.

Amstelod.

3 Jan.

1702.

Tui amantissimus,

P. à Limborch.

John Locke

28 Sept. 1702

Oates

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

DE valetudine satis constanti quod scribis, maxime lætor, & quod palpitatio illa cordis molesta amplius non fuerit, gaudeo. Quæ ad sanitatem tuendam faciunt tam recte & prudenter moderaris, ut sperem te diu ab illo aliisque morbis tutum & sospitem futurum: præcipue si dictæ mediocritati venæ sectionem, si plethoram vel sentias vel metuas, quotiescunque inde malum ingruit, addere velis.

Nunc demum, si placet, ad diu intermissa studia redeamus. Habeo jam præ manibus literas tuas 3 Januarii datas, in quibus videris mihi dubitare, an ego statuam hominem esse in volendo vel in intelligendo liberum; ita enim quæstionem tuam interpretor: etiam tu rogas, an actio volendi vel intelligendi sit libera? ad quam quæstionem sic respondeo.

Generaliter, nempe quod mea sententia homo in omni actione tam volendi quam intelligendi liber est, si ab actione illa volendi aut intelligendi potuit abstinuisse; si non, non.

Specialius, quod voluntatem, aliqui sunt casus in quibus homo non potest non velle, & in omnibus istis volendi actibus homo non est liber, quia non potest non agere. In cæteris, ubi potuit velle, vel non velle, liber est.

Quod actus intelligendi, in ista voce intelligendi suspicor latere amphiboliam; nam significare potest actionem cogitandi de aliquo subjecto, & in isto sensu homo plerumque liber est in istiusmodi actionibus intellectus. V. g. possum cogitare de peccato Adami, vel inde amovere cogitationem meam ad urbem Romam, vel ad artem bellicam præsentis sæculi. In quibus omnibus & hujusmodi aliis infinitis, liber sum, quia pro libitu meo possum de hoc vel illo cogitare, vel non cogitare; vel actus intelligendi potest sumi pro ea actione, qua percipio aliquid esse verum, & in hac actione intelligendi, v. g. quod tres anguli trianguli sunt æquales duobus rectis, homo non est liber, quia excussa demonstratione non potest non hoc intelligere. Homo potest plerumque non aperire oculos, vel non advertere aciem oculorum ad hoc vel illud objectum, verum apertis & conversis ad solem vel lunam oculis, necessario videt & splendorem & figuram quæ se offert intuitui videndam. Quod de oculis dixi ad intellectum transferre licet. Par utrinque est ratio. Sed de his hactenus. Si satisfactum tibi sit gaudeo. Sin dubia restent, utere libertate tua, ego paratus sum & in his & in omnibus, quantum in me est, tibi obtemperare.

Oates, 28 Sept.

1702.

Tui studiosissimus,

J. Locke.

Philippus à Limborch

27 Octob. 1702

Amstelod.

Joanni Locke

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

MULTIS me obruis beneficiis, quorum memoriam nulla unquam eluet ætas. Ego hactenus Dei gratia bene valeo: ante septem circiter hebdomadas plethoram mihi molestam sensi, sine tamen gravi cordis palpitatione: quare venæ sectionem adhibui, atque ita omnis illa molestia evanuit.

Quæ de libertate hominis in actione intelligendi ac volendi scribis, tecum verissima agnosco; nimirum in omnibus actionibus, à quibus homo potuit abstinuisse, esse liberum: minime vero, si abstinuisse non potuit.

Similiter, quosdam esse casus, in quibus homo non potest non velle, & non agere; quia facultate non agendi destitutus est. Sed vero in omnibus actibus obedientiæ ab ipso præstandis, & ob quos non præstitos pœnæ reus fit, liberum credo, neque quemquam posse reum pœnæ fieri, ob non præstitum actum sibi minime possibilem, aut ob præstitum sibi inevitabilem: nihil enim homini magis liberum esse debet, quam id ob quod pœnæ reus redditur.

Hominem esse liberum, ut contemplationem vel cogitationem suam ab uno objecto avertat & in aliud dirigat, atque hoc respectu in actionibus intellectus liberum dici posse, tecum agnosco. Verum hæc actio, si accurate loqui velimus, proprie est actio volendi, non intelligendi: avertit enim homo cogitationes suas ab uno objecto, & in aliud dirigit, quia non vult priores cogitationes continuare, & quia vult novas inchoare. Quod vero actionem intelligendi attinet, qua homo aliquid percipit esse verum, eam recte dicis non esse liberam: idque locum habet tam in percipiendis iis, quæ philosophi per solam intelligentiam cognosci dicunt; ut, bis duo sunt quatuor; idem non potest simul esse & non esse, &c. quam illis, quæ excussa demonstratione cognosci, optime dicis; videl. tres angulos trianguli esse æquales duobus rectis. Idem etiam locum habere censeo in aliis intelligendi actionibus, quando res est obscura aut dubia, & nullæ sunt rationes eam evidenter probantes, aut pro utraque sententia rationes sunt æqualis ponderis; tum enim homo necessario aut suspensus est, aut dubitat, aut leviter tantum assentitur, ita tamen ut falli posse se credat. Adeo ut intelligendi actio accommodata sit rationibus ac argumentis, quorum pondere in hanc aut illam partem inclinatur. Qualia plurima sunt in vita humana. Et actio illa intelligendi non mutatur, quamdiu non accedunt novæ rationes, aut rationum, quibus rei veritas innititur, clarior & evidentior perceptio. Non nego tamen in ejusmodi cognitione inevidenti fieri posse, quin & sæpius contingere, ut nulla accedente nova luce, aut magis distincta perceptione, homo aut eliciat plenum assensum, aut opinionem suam mutet: verum illa mutatio judicii aut assensus, non procedit ab actione aliqua intelligendi, sed velendi: quia nimirum homo, licet nova ratione minime illustratus, judicium suum in alteram partem inclinare vult. Scimus affectus nostros valde inclinare judicium nostrum: itaque indulgendo affectui cuipiam, qui me in alteram partem impellit, eo etiam judicium & assensum meum inclinare possum. Atque ita judicium hoc meum erit actio mixta, partim intelligendi, partem volendi: quatenus intelligendi est actio, seu rem percipit, est necessaria: verum quicquid in judicio liberum est, procedit ab actione volendi: quatenus scilicit ego rationibus allatis acquiescere volo, ut judicium feram. Qualem actionem mixtam ego etiam credo fidem nostram esse, prout explicui in Theol. mea Christ. lib. v. cap. ix. § 21, 22, 23. ibique plenius ostendo, quomodo actio intelligendi & volendi in fide christiana concurrunt: solummodo ex inveterata loquendi consuetudine, usus sum vocibus intellectus & voluntatis, quibus actiones intelligendi & volendi designo, juxta ea quæ jam declaraveram lib. ii. cap. xxiii. § 1, 2. Hæc sic distincte consideranda existimo: verum nolim ego multum contendere, utrum illa libertas etiam sit decenda inesse actioni intelligendi, dummodo constet hominem in actione illa liberum esse: & hominem libere ab una cogitatione se convertere in alteram. Distinctione tamen hac adhibita puto rem dilucidius explicari. Et sic etiam similitudo tua ab oculis desumpta plenius applicatur: quod enim homo non aperiat oculos, aut oculorum aciem non advertat, hoc facit, quia ita vult: oculi autem quando aperiuntur & in objectum diriguntur, illud quale se oculis repræsentat, necessario conspiciunt: si in debita distantia oculis objiciatur, etiam necessario distincte videtur: si nimis remotum sit, distincte videri non potest; neque homo libertatem habet procurandi ut objectum in tali distantia ipsi distincte appareat: sed si distincte contemplari velit, libertatem habet propius accedendi. In his puto nos consentire, atque ita in summa rei nullum esse dissensum, licet forsitan in modo explicandi aliqua discrepantia sit. Vale, vir amplissime, & salve ab uxore, filia, & me

Amstelod.

27 Octob.

1702.

Tui amantissimo,

P. à Limborch.

Philippus à Limborch

Jun. 21, 1704

Amstelod.

Joanni Locke

JOANNI LOCKE PHILIPPUS À LIMBORCH, S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

POSTQUAM afflicta tua valetudo, præsertim in extrema senectute, nos admodum de te solicitos habuit, tandem gratior paulo nuntius nos recreavit calore æstatis, qui tamen nunc apud nos calornem verum non excedit, te nonnihil respirare, & meliuscule te habere. Utinam firmam tibi valetudinem concedat benignum numen, ut quos vitæ tuæ adjicere dignabitur dies iis, quibus te consecrâsti, studiis impendas, & donec hujus vitæ usura frueris, doctissimis tuis lucubrationibus, orbi christiano inservire possis! Quæ tu concordiæ christianæ jecisti femina, licet nunc ab ingratis conculcentur, gratæ posteritati fructus suos ferent. Quod licet mens mihi certo præsagiat, nihilominus, quando servilia plurimorum, & pro auctoritate humana decertantia ingenia considero, ægre sperare licet, eos depositis præjudiciis & affectibus, animo puro ac sincero momenta rationum, quibus veritas nititur ponderaturos, ac uni veritati candide cessuros. Etiam reformatos, qui sese opponendo patui nullo se humana auctoritate constringi velle, aut posse, protestati sunt, nimium humanæ auctoritati tribuere, scriptaque humana majore quam par est in veneratione habere, actus singulis trienniis in patria nostra repetitus, & cujus solennem repetitionem novellæ nostrates paucas ante hebdomadas nobis retulerunt, argumentum est omni exceptione majus: cujus quoniam nunc recens memoria est, quia illius narrationem tibi non ingratam fore confido, licet res ipsa maxime displiceat, eam distinctius & cum præcipuis circumstantiis describam. Jam anno cireverse-c-sc ireverse-c-scc xxv. Ordines Generales decreverunt, ut singulis trienniis acta authentica synodi Dordracenæ, quæ Hagæ asservantur, à deputatis ordinum & ecclesiarum inspiciantur: postquam deinde anno cireverse-c-sc ireverse-c-scc xxxvii. prodiit nova bibliorum versio, jussu ejusdem synodi adornata, illius etiam exemplar, a translatoribus, & revisoribus, hunc in finem Lugdunum evocatis, ultimo correctum, quod Lugduni Batavorum asservatur, inspici solet. Redeunte itaque quolibet triennio deputati synodorum Hollandiæ Australis & Borealis cœtum convocant, ex omnium provinciarum ecclesiis, necnon ex ecclesia Walonica. Hi patres conscripti, ubi convenere, præsidi Ordinum Generalium adventum fratrum indicant: precibus à pastore loci, si cœtus membrum sit, habitis, & literis credentialibus lectis, præses & scriba eliguntur. Præcedentis cœtus acta præleguntur: exinde deputati cœtus ad Ordines Generales mittuntur, ut scriptorum synodalium visionem petant, & ut aliquos è collegio suo ad eam deputent, locum & tempus statuant, quin & per epistolam consules Lugdunenses præmoneant, & collegii regentem, unius clavis custodem, ut adsit, quando Lugdunum convenient ad inspiciendum autographa versionis. His peractis, certa à deputatis Ordinum constituta hora, comparent in Ordinum Generalium camera; primo funduntur preces, quibus Deo gratiæ aguntur, quod ecclesiam reformatam à variis erroribus purgaverit, quod synodum ipsis concesserit, cujus acta authentica in præcedente cœtu adhuc incorrupta conspexerunt; & quoniam nunc convenerunt ut ea denuo inspiciant, oratur Deus ut gratiam hanc ipsis concedat, ut integra æque ac incorrupta ab ipsis conspiciantur, perinde uti ante triennium conspecta fuere. Postquam scripta inspecta sunt, gratiæ Deo pro tanto beneficio aguntur, idque depositum denuo tutelæ divinæ committitur, ut in proximo cœtu æque sincerum atque incorruptum reperiatur prout nunc deponitur. Postridie Lugdunum proficiscuntur, et à magistratu in curiam adsciti authentica versionis inspiciunt. Hæc inspectio similibus precibus inchoatur ac finitur. Exin lauto excipiuntur convivio, in quo à præside cœtus & scriba deputatis Ordinum & magistratus Lugdunensis gratiæ aguntur. Hagam reversi in actis scribunt, scripta illis integra adhuc, & à vermibus, tinea & muribus inviolata esse reperta: atque ita cœtui finis imponitur. Hæc est illa triennalis solennitas, visioni scriptorum synodalium destinata, quam paulo distinctius, variisque circumstantiis vestitam tibi scribere volui, ut, quanta veneratione synodæ illius famosæ reliquiæ hic asserventur, cognoscas. Hæc ego excerpsi ex narratione cujusdam ministri, qui ipse cœtus illius membrum fuit, scripta inspexit, & in quorundam amicorum gratiam hanc historiolam scripto consignavit. Cui etiam consonant aliorum qui solennitati illi interfuerunt relationes. Non credo Romæ tanta cum veneratione tantisque sumptibus acta concilii Tridentini inspici. Ridenda hæc forent, si quorundum privatorum inconsiderato zelo agerentur; nunc, quia auctoritate publica fiunt, dolenda sunt. Quid Gallica synodus nuperrime contra D. Clerici versionem Gallicam Novi Testamenti ejusque notas decreverit, quam frivolæ illius sint criminationes, quam plene brevi scripto edito eas D. Clericus refutaverit, ipse tibi aut jam scripsit, aut brevi, ut credo, scripturus est. Hæc similiaque quando considero, bonæ conscientiæ studio acquiescendum, & neglectis hominum iniquorum molitionibus, veritati ac paci indefesso studio unice litandum, laborumque nostrorum benedictionem à solo Deo, qui è tenebris lucem eruere potest, expectandum esse certus sum. Illius te tutelæ commendo; illum oro, ut omnia tibi largiatur fausta ac salutaria, necnon honoratissimæ in qua vivis familiæ. Salutant te, Dominum ac Dominam Masham, una cum dignissima filia ac filio, uxor ac filia. Salutem etiam à me dices D° Coste.

Amstelod.

Jun. 21,

1704.

Tui amantissimus,

P. à Limborch.

John Locke

4 August, 1704

Oates

Joannes Locke

PHILIPPO À LIMBORCH JOANNES LOCKE, S. P. D.

Vir amplissime,

PUDET me sane tam diuturni silentii, nec ab infirma & plane fracta valetudine satis excusatum credo, etiamsi admixta etiam aliqua tui reverentia me à scribendo aliquantulum detinuit, satis ex ipso morbo desidiosum. Quorsum enim attinet te eruditioribus sermonibus aptum & commerciis literarum docto liberoque animo dignis, ægrotantis querelis, laboriosisque verbis anhelum scriptorem redolentibus fatigare? juvat tamen experiri amicitiam tuam, veterem amicum, etiamsi senio & morbo mutilum, ad sepulchrum usque prosequi. Nihil sane jucundius, nec est, quod magis animum debilem & languescentem refocillat, quam constans & vegeta amicorum benevolentia; magnum perfugium humanæ fragilitatis, in quo reperitur magna pars voluptatis, cum reliqua plane insipida sunt & frustra solicitantur. Gratissimæ igitur mihi fuerunt epistolæ tuæ benevolentiæ & amicitiæ plenæ, nec quantum ex illis solatii perceperim ex taciturnitate mea, sed ex voluptate quam profiteor judicare debes. Ea enim infirmi corporis morbus est, hoc sentientis grati & animi testimonium.

Etiamsi servilium ingeniorum, humana venerantium, exempla cumulate satis mihi obtulit longa dies, nec melior omnino mihi spes est de futuro; donec placuerit Deo optimo maximo ex misericordia sua, secundo filii sui adventu, restaurare ecclesiam; maxime tamen mihi placuit historia ista, quam in novissimis tuis perscripsisti. Actus ille triennalis, cum omni suo apparatu partim ridiculo, partim superstitioso, habet in se quod & stomachum & splenem moveat: certe cum omnibus suis circumstantiis ita graphice depictus conservari debet, etiam ubi commode fieri potest typis mandari, & in publicum prodire, ut quod privatim obtinet, oculis hominum obversetur, & pudefiant qui sic sacris illudunt, Deique nomen sacrosanctum, placitis inventisque suis, audacter præfigunt. Vitam tibi in utilitatem religioni longam validamque, & in usum familiæ & amicorum tuorum animitùs precor, uti & omnia prospera tibi tuisque. Optimam tuam fœminam filiamque, reliquosque amicos nostros, meo nomine, rogo officiosissime salutes. Hæc tota familia te tuosque salutat. Vale, vir amplissime, & me ama

Oates, 4 August,

1704.

Tui amantissimum,

J. Locke.

A COLLECTION OF SEVERAL PIECES OF MR. JOHN LOCKE.

PUBLISHED BY MR. DESMAIZEAUX,

UNDER THE DIRECTION OF ANTHONY COLLINS, ESQ.

JOHN LOCKE

MARCH 23, 1719

HUGH WROTTESLEY

TO HUGH WROTTESLEY, ESQUIRE.

SIR,

HAVING met with several of Mr. Locke’s works, which were never printed, I thought myself obliged to impart them to the public, together with some pieces of that illustrious writer, which had indeed been published before, but without his name to them, and were grown very scarce. The value you have for every thing that was written by Mr. Locke, and your esteem for some of his friends concerned in this collection, emboldens me to offer it to you; and I flatter myself that you will favour it with your acceptance.

The first piece in this collection, contains “The Fundamental Constitutions of Carolina.” You know, sir, that Charles II. made a grant of that country by letters patents, bearing date March 24th, 1663, to the duke of Albemarle, the earl of Clarendon, the earl of Craven, the lord Berkley of Stratton, the lord Ashley, sir George Carteret, sir William Berkley, and sir John Colleton; who thereupon became proprietors of that colony. My lord Ashley, afterwards so well known by the title of earl of Shaftesbury, was distinguished by an exquisite judgment, an uncommon penetration, and a deep insight into civil affairs. The other proprietors desired him to draw up the laws necessary for the establishment of their new colony; to which he the more readily consented, because he relied on the assistance of Mr. Locke, who had the good fortune to gain his friendship and confidence.

My lord Ashley well knew, that our philosopher had a peculiar right to a work of this nature. He called to his mind so many ancient philosophers, who had been legislators, and who, on this very account, had statues erected to them. And indeed, sir, if we consider on the one hand, that a philosopher makes Man his particular study, knows the reach of his mind, and the springs of his passions, in fine, his good and bad qualities; and that on the other hand, not being biassed by any motives of self-interest, he hath nothing in view but the general good of mankind; it will be granted, that nobody is better qualified than such an one, not only to civilize a barbarous people, but to prevent the inconveniences and disorders which even the most polite nations are apt to fall into. In this respect it is, that the philosopher hath the advantage over the courtier, or what we call the politician. For this latter, being accustomed to study the genius and inclinations of men for his own ends only, and to make his own advantage of them; it is impossible he should entirely overcome the force of custom, and the tyranny of prejudice, when the concerns of the public, and the welfare of society, are under deliberation. But the philosopher considers things in general, and as they really are in themselves. He examines the most difficult and important points of government, with the same accuracy, and the same disposition of mind, as his other philosophical speculations. And therefore as all his views are more extensive and impartial, they must needs be more beneficial and secure.

But though some may be of opinion, that in matters of state, the politician ought to have the preference of the philosopher, this will not in the least diminish the value of the Fundamental Constitutions of Carolina; since not only a philosopher, but a politician of the first rank, was concerned therein. No man is more capable of judging of the excellence of such constitutions, than yourself, sir, who not only have acquired a complete knowledge of our laws, but studied them as a philosopher, by looking for the motives and foundations of them, in the very nature of mankind.

For the rest, you have here those constitutions, printed from Mr. Locke’s copy, wherein are several amendments made with his own hand. He had presented it, as a work of his, to one of his friends, who was pleased to communicate it to me.

The second piece in this collection is, “A Letter from a Person of Quality, to his Friend in the Country.” It gives an account of the debates and resolutions of the house of lords, in April and May, 1675, concerning a bill, intitled, “An act to prevent the dangers, which may arise from persons disaffected to the government.” By that bill, which was brought in by the court-party, all such as enjoyed any beneficial office or employment, civil or military, to which was afterwards added, privy counsellors, justices of the peace, and members of parliament, were, under a penalty, to take the oath, and make the declaration and abhorrence following: “I A. B. do declare, that it is not lawful, upon any pretence whatsoever, to take up arms against the king; and that I do abhor that traitorous position, of taking arms by his authority against his person; or against those that are commissioned by him, in pursuance of such commission; and I do swear, that I will not, at any time, endeavour the alteration of the government, either in church or state. So help me God.”

Such of the lords as had no dependence upon the court, and were distinguished by the name of country-lords, looked upon this bill as a step the court was making to introduce arbitrary power; and they opposed it so vigorously, that the debate lasted five several days, before it was committed to a committee of the whole house; and afterwards it took up sixteen or seventeen whole days; the house sitting many times till eight or nine of the clock at night, and sometimes till midnight. However after several alterations, which they were forced to make, it passed the committee; but a contest then arising between the two houses, concerning their privileges, they were so inflamed against each other, that the king thought it adviseable to prorogue the parliament, so that the bill was never reported from the committee to the house.

The debates occasioned by that bill, failed not to make a great noise throughout the whole kingdom; and because there were but few persons duly apprized thereof, and every body spoke of it as they stood affected: my lord Shaftesbury, who was at the head of the country-party, thought it necessary to publish an exact relation of every thing that had passed upon that occasion; in order, not only to open the people’s eyes upon the secret views of the court, but to do justice to the country lords, and thereby to secure to them the continuance of the affection and attachment of such as were of the same opinion with themselves, which was the most considerable part of the nation. But though this lord had all the faculties of an orator; yet not having time to exercise himself in the art of writing, he desired Mr. Locke to draw up this relation; which he did under his lordship’s inspection, and only committed to writing what my lord Shaftesbury did in a manner dictate to him. Accordingly you will find in it a great many strokes, which could proceed from nobody but my lord Shaftesbury himself; and among others, the characters and eulogiums of such lords as had signalized themselves in the cause of public liberty.

This letter was privately printed soon afterwards; and the court was so incensed at it, that, at the next meeting of the parliament, towards the end of the year 1675, the court-party, who still kept the ascendant in the house of lords, ordered it to be burnt by the common hangman. “The particular relation of this debate, says the ingenious Mr. Marvel, which lasted many days with great eagerness on both sides, and the reasons but on one, was, in the next session, burnt by order of the lords, but the sparks of it will eternally fly in their adversaries facesa.”

This piece was grown very scarce. It is true it was inserted, in the year 1689, in the first volume of the State Tracts; but in such a manner, that it had been far better not to have reprinted it at all. And, indeed, among numbers of lesser faults, there are several whole periods left out; and many places appear to be designedly falsified. It is likely all this was occasioned by the compiler’s making use of the first printed copy that fell into his hands; without giving himself the trouble to look out for more exact ones. That I might not be guilty of the same fault, I have sought after all the editions I could possibly hear of; and have luckily met two printed in the year 1675, both pretty exact, though one is more so than the other. I have collated them with each other, and with that contained in the State Tracts. In short, that this piece might appear to the best advantage, I have taken the same care as if I had been to publish some Greek or Latin author from ancient manuscripts. And truly when a man undertakes to republish a work that is out of print, and which deserves to be made more easy to be come at, be it either ancient or modern, it is the same thing; the public is equally abused, if, instead of restoring it according to the best editions, and in the most correct manner that is possible, the editor gives it from the first copy he chances to light upon, without troubling himself whether that copy be defective or not.

The third piece in this collection consists of “Remarks upon some of Mr. Norris’s Books, wherein he asserts Father Malebranche’s Opinion, of our seeing all Things in God.” It is in a manner the sequel of a much larger discourse, printed in the year 1706, among the “Posthumous Works of Mr. Locke.” Our author had resolved to give that subject a thorough examination; and this small piece is but a sketch, containing some cursory reflections, which he had thrown together, in reading over some of Mr. Norris’s books. Accordingly, I find these words in his manucsript, written before those Remarks; “Some other thoughts, which I set down, as they came in my way, in a hasty perusal of some of Mr. Norris’s writings, to be better digested, when I shall have leisure to make an end of this argument.” And at the end of them, he hath added these words: “the finishing of these hasty thoughts must be deferred to another season.” But though this small piece is far from being perfected, it however contains many important reflections; and therefore, I was of opinion it deserved to be published; and I hope, sir, you will not disapprove my inserting it in this collection.

It is followed here by the “Elements of Natural Philosophyb.” Mr. Locke had composed, or rather dictated, these Elements for the use of a young gentleman, whose education he had very much at heart. It is an abstract or summary of whatever is most material in natural philosophy; which Mr. Locke did afterwards explain more at large to that young gentleman. The same is practised in the universities, where, you know, it is customary for the professors to dictate such abridgments, to serve for the subject and rule of their lectures. And therefore this small tract is far from being what Mr. Locke would have made it, had he written upon that matter professedly, and designed to make it a complete work.

However, as the generality of men expect every thing should be perfect, that proceeds from such a writer as Mr. Locke, and do not enter into the occasions or designs which he proposed to himself in writing; I own that some persons, very good judges, whom I have taken the liberty to consult about the impression of some pieces in this collection, were of opinion that this little treatise had better been left out, for fear every reader should not make the proper allowances, and lest the memory of Mr. Locke should suffer by it. I yielded to their opinion; and was resolved to lay that piece aside. But being informed that there were several other copies of it abroad, which it was impossible to suppress, or hinder from falling, one time or other, into the hands of the printers, maimed and disfigured, as is too often the case on such occasions; I was obliged to take other measures; and I the more easily determined to publish it, because I could give it more complete, more correct, and in better order, than can possibly be pretended to, by the copies above mentioned.

After all, I may take upon me to say, that, in its kind, this piece is no way to be despised. We wanted such a work in English; and it would not have been an easy matter to find any other person, who could have comprehended so many things in so few words, and in so clear and distinct a manner. Great use may be made of it in the instruction of young gentlemen, as it was originally designed by Mr. Locke. And persons even of riper years may improve by it; either by recalling ideas that had slipt out of their memory; or by informing themselves of several things, which were unknown to them.

To this treatise are subjoined, “Some Thoughts concerning Reading and Study for a Gentlemanc.” Mr. Locke having one day, in conversation, discoursed upon the method that a young gentleman should take in his reading, and study; one of the company was so well pleased with it, that he desired him to dictate to him the substance of what he had been speaking; which Mr. Locke immediately did. This is one of the usual conversations of Mr. Locke, reduced into writing: from whence you may judge, sir, how agreeable and advantageous it was to converse with that great man.

Mr. Locke not only points out the sciences that a gentleman ought to study, whether as a private man, or one in a public capacity; but likewise directs to such books as treat of those sciences, and which, in his opinion, are the properest for that end. As you have acquired, sir, in Italy, the most refined taste for the politer arts, and have added that study to those Mr. Locke here recommends to a gentleman; you will perhaps wonder, that he says nothing of painting, sculpture, architecture, and other arts of this kind, which make an accomplished gentleman. But I desire you would consider, that there are but few persons in possession of the means necessary for attaining this sort of knowledge; and that Mr. Locke is speaking here of what may suit the circumstances of the generality of people. Besides he was very far from imagining, that an extemporary advice, which he was giving by his fire-side, would ever be exposed to common view. However, I presume to think, that after you have perused it, you will be of opinion it was not unworthy to be made public.

But among the works of Mr. Locke, contained in this volume, I do not know that any will afford you more pleasure than his Letters. Some of them are written upon weighty subjects; and are upon that very account exceeding valuable. Others are what Mr. Locke wrote out of the country to one of his friends in London, about private business. In these one would expect nothing but what was common and customary; but a subject so simple, and vulgar in itself, changes, as it were, its very nature, when managed by Mr. Locke; and becomes something considerable and of moment, by the turn and manner in which he expresses the sentiments of affection and gratitude he hath for his friend. And indeed, though true friendship be founded upon esteem; yet we may say, if friendship goes no farther, there is something in it austere, not to say dry, and rustic. But there is a certain agreeable and complaisant way of showing this esteem, wherein consists the greatest charm of friendship; as it is what supports it, and adds force and vigour to it. Now this is Mr. Locke’s peculiar talent; and it is impossible that a person of your nice taste should not be sensibly touched with the respectful, endearing, and affectionate manner in which he writes here to his friend; and which he still repeats with new graces. It is a pattern of urbanity, politeness, and gaiety. For our old philosopher hath nothing morose, nor uneasy. Whenever he speaks of his infirmities, it is by way of pleasantry, or that he may have an opportunity of saying some obliging thing to his friend.

The last piece in this collection contains the “Rules of a Society, which met once a Week for their Improvement in useful Knowledge, aad the promoting of Truth and Christian Charity.” Mr. Locke took a delight in forming such societies, wherever he made any stay. He had established one at Amsterdam in 1687, of which Mr. Limborch, and Mr. le Clerc, were members. He settled this club at London soon after the Revolution; and drew up the rules you will find here. But his design in doing this, was not only to pass away time in an agreeable conversation of two or three hours; he had views far more solid and sublime. As there is nothing that more obstructs the advancement of truth, and the progress of real christianity, than a certain narrow spirit, which leads men to cantonise themselves, if I may so speak, and to break into small bodies, which at last grow into so many factions; Mr. Locke, zealous for the general good of mankind, would have gladly inspired them with sentiments of a higher and more extensive nature, and united those whom the spirit of prejudice or party had kept asunder. This is what continually employed his thoughts. He never loses sight of it throughout his works. Nay, it is the principal subject of them. But he did not confine himself to bare speculation; and he formed the society above mentioned with a design to render, as much as lay in his power, such a desirable union practicable. This appears from the disposition of mind he requires in those, who were to be members of it; and especially by the declaration they were obliged to subscribe, “that by their becoming of that society, they proposed to themselves an improvement in useful knowledge, and the promoting of truth and christian charity.”

But you will find, sir, the same mind, the same genius, not only in this small piece, but in all others in this collection. Mr. Locke every-where discovers a sincere love of truth, and an invincible aversion to whatever may do it the least wrong. To the quality of a great philosopher, he every-where joins that of a true christian. You see him full of love, respect, and admiration, for the christian religion. And thereby he furnishes us with the strongest presumption, that can be imagined, for the truth as well as excellency of that holy institution. For this is not the approbation of a vulgar mind, who is still fettered by the prejudices of infancy; it is the suffrage of a wit, a superior genius, who has laboured all his life to guard against error; who, in several important points, departed from the common opinion; and made christianity his study, without taking it upon trust. It is, doubtless, a great advantage, not to say an honour, for a doctrine to be embraced and countenanced by such a man. But let us return to our collection.

To make it more useful, I have added notes to illustrate certain passages, which suppose the knowledge of some facts that may be unknown to the reader, or which would not readily occur to his memory; and therefore these notes are merely historical. I pretend neither to approve nor disapprove the particulars they contain. I only act the part of an historian. There is but one of them that can be looked upon as critical; and even that is only intended to settle a matter of fact, misrepresented by a late historian. These notes are not very numerous; and I do not know but the fear of swelling them too much may have made me suppress some, which would not have been wholly useless.

As for what concerns the impression itself, in order to make it more beautiful, I have been obliged to recede, in several respects, from our usual way of printing; which, if I am allowed to speak freely, is extremely vicious. It is a matter of wonder, that in such a country as this, where there is so much encouragement for printing, there should prevail a sort of Gothic taste, which deforms our English impressions, and makes them not a little ridiculous. For can any thing be more absurd, than so many capital letters, that are not only prefixed to all noun substantives, but also often to adjectives, pronouns, particles, and even to verbs? And what shall we say of that odd mixture of italic, which, instead of helping the reader to distinguish matters the more clearly, does only perplex him; and breeds a confusion shocking to the eye? But you are not to be informed, sir, you, who every day enrich your library with books of the finest editions, that none of these faults were ever committed by the printers, who have been eminent in their art. Surely, if the authors on the one hand, and the readers on the other, would oppose this barbarism, it would be no difficult matter to restore a just taste, and a beautiful way of printing.

To the pieces already mentioned, I have prefixed the character of Mr. Locke, at the request of some of his friends; as you will see by the letter before it, which was sent to me together with that character.

These, sir, are all the pieces, which make up this volume. Why may I not, at the same time that I offer it to you, unfold to the view of the public so many perfections, which a too severe and scrupulous modesty conceals from it! Why may I not make known the rare endowments of your mind, as well as the noble and generous sentiments of your heart! But I fear I have already too much presumed upon your goodness, by prefixing your name to this discourse. And after having been so bold, as not to consult you, upon a thing which you would never have permitted; I ought to account myself very fortunate, if, on consideration of my passing over your excellent qualities in profound silence, you are pleased to forgive the freedom I have taken; and will give me leave to declare to you and all the world, how sensible I am of the friendship you honour me with, and to assure you that I shall always be, with the greatest respect,

SIR,
Your most obedient,
and most humble servant,

March 23, 1719.

DES MAIZEAUX.

A TABLE OF THE PIECES CONTAINED IN THIS COLLECTION.

THE character of Mr. Locke, by Mr. Peter Coste.

The fundamental constitutions of Carolina.

A letter from a person of quality to his friend in the country; giving an account of the debates and resolutions of the house of lords, in April and May 1675, concerning a bill, intitled, “An act to prevent the dangers which may arise from persons disaffected to the government.”

Remarks upon some of Mr. Norris’s books, wherein he asserts F. Malebranche’s opinion of “our seeing all things in God.”

aElements of natural philosophy.

aSome thoughts concerning reading and study for a gentleman.

A letter to Mr. Oldenburg, secretary to the Royal Society.

Letters to Anthony Collins, Esq.

A letter to the Rev. Mr. Richard King.

A letter to    on Dr. Pococke.

Letters to the Rev. Mr. Richard King.

Rules of a society which met once a week, for their improvement in useful knowledge, and for the promoting of truth and christian charity.

THE CHARACTER OF MR. LOCKE; BY MR. PETER COSTE:

WITH A LETTER RELATING TO THAT CHARACTER, AND TO THE AUTHOR OF IT.

JOHN LOCKE

FEB. 4, 1720

LONDON

A LETTER TO MR.      .

SIR,

London,

Feb. 4, 1720.

BEING informed, that you design to publish several new pieces of Mr. Locke, I here send you, at the request of some of his friends, the translation of a letter, attempting his character, and containing several passages of his life and conversation; which you are desired to prefix before that collection.

The author of that letter is Mr. Peter Coste, who has translated into French Mr. Locke’s Thoughts concerning Education, his Reasonableness of Christianity, and Vindications thereof; with his principal work, the Essay concerning Human Understanding.

Mr. Coste lived in the same family with Mr. Locke, during the seven last years of that great man’s life; whereby he had all possible opportunities to know him.

The letter was written some time after Mr. Locke’s death; and appears to be the production of a man in raptures, and struck with the highest admiration of Mr. Locke’s virtue, capacity, and of the excellency of his writings; and under the deepest affliction for the loss of a person, to whom in his life-time he had paid the most profound respect, and for whom he had constantly expressed the greatest esteem, and that even in writings, whereof Mr. Locke did not know him to be the author.

And therefore Mr. Locke’s friends judge its publication necessary, not only, as they think it contains a just character of Mr. Locke, as far as it goes; but as it is a proper vindication of him against the said Mr. Coste, who in several writings, and in his common conversation throughout France, Holland, and England, has aspersed and blackened the memory of Mr. Locke, in those very respects, wherein he was his panegyrist before.

For, they conceive, the eulogium contained in the following letter must stand good, till Mr. Coste thinks fit either to deny his own experience, or to confess, that the same things, which he then thought praise-worthy, have since changed their nature. I am,

SIR,
Your most obedient humble servant,

John Locke

Dec. 10, 1704

London

Mr. Locke

A LETTER FROM A PERSON OF QUALITY TO HIS FRIEND IN THE COUNTRY

GIVING

An Account of the Debates and Resolutions of the House of Lords, in April and May, 1675, concerning a Bill, intitled, “An Act to prevent the Dangers which may arise from Persons disaffected to the Government.”

John Locke

SIR,

THIS session being ended, and the bill of test being finished at the committee of the whole house; I can now give you a perfect account of this state masterpiece. It was first hatched (as almost all the mischiefs of the world have hitherto been) amongst the great church-men; and is a project of several years standing, but found not ministers bold enough to go through with it, until these new ones, who, wanting a better bottom to support them, betook themselves wholly to this; which is no small undertaking, if you consider it in its whole extent.

First, To make a distinct party from the rest of the nation of the high episcopal men and the old cavaliers; who are to swallow the hopes of enjoying all the power and offices of the kingdom; being also tempted by the advantage they may receive from overthrowing the act of oblivion; and not a little rejoicing to think, how valiant they should prove, if they could get any to fight the old quarrel over again, now they are possessed of the arms, forts, and ammunition of the nation.

Next, they design to have the government of the church sworn to as unalterable: and so tacitly owned to be of divine right; which, though inconsistent with the oath of supremacy, yet the churchmen easily break through all obligations whatsoever, to attain this station, the advantage of which the prelate of Rome hath sufficiently taught the world.

Then, in requital to the crown, they declare the government absolute and arbitrary; and allow monarchy, as well as episcopacy, to be jure divino, and not to be bounded or limited by any human laws.

And to secure all this, they resolve to take away the power and opportunity of parliaments to alter any thing in church or state; only leave them as an instrument to raise money, and to pass such laws as the court and church shall have a mind to; the attempt of any other, how necessary soever, must be no less a crime than perjury.

And as the top-stone of the whole fabric, a pretence shall be taken from the jealousies they themselves have raised, and a real necessity from the smallness of their party, to increase and keep up a standing army; and then in due time the cavalier and churchman will be made greater fools, but as arrant slaves as the rest of the nation.

In order to this, the first step was made in the act for regulating corporations, wisely beginning that, in those lesser governments, which they meant afterwards to introduce upon the government of the nation; and making them swear to a declaration and belief of such propositions as they themselves afterwards, upon debate, were enforced to alter, and could not justify in those words; so that many of the wealthiest, worthiest, and soberest men, are still kept out of the magistracy of those places.

The next step was in the act of militia†, which went for most of the chiefest nobility, and gentry, being obliged as lords-lieutenants, deputy-lieutenants, &c. to swear to the same declaration and belief; with the addition only of these words, “in pursuance of such military commissions;” which makes the matter rather worse than better. Yet this went down smoothly, as an oath in fashion, a testimony of loyalty; and none adventuring freely to debate the matter, the humour of the age, like a strong tide, carries wise and good men down before it. This act is of a piece; for it establisheth a standing army by a law, and swears us into a military government.

Immediately after this, followeth the act of uniformity, by which all the clergy of England are obliged to subscribe, and declare what the corporations, nobility, and gentry had before sworn; but with this additional clause of the militia act omitted. This the clergy readily complied with; for you know, that sort of men are taught rather to obey than understand; and to use that learning they have, to justify, not to examine what their superiors command. And yet that Bartholomew-day was fatal to our church and religion, in throwing out a very great number of worthy, learned, pious, and orthodox divines, who could not come up to this, and other things in that act. And it is upon this occasion worth your knowledge, that so great was the zeal in carrying on this church affair, and so blind was the obedience required, that if you compute the time of the passing this act, with the time allowed for the clergy to subscribe the book of Common Prayer thereby established; you shall plainly find it could not be printed and distributed so, as one man in forty could have seen and read the book they did so perfectly assent and consent to.

But this matter was not complete until the five-mile act passed at Oxford, wherein they take an opportunity to introduce the oath in the terms they would have it†. This was then strongly opposed by the lord treasurer Southampton, lord Wharton, lord Ashley‡, and others; not only in the concern of those poor ministers that were so severely handled, but as it was in itself a most unlawful and unjustifiable oath. However, the zeal of that time against all non-conformists easily passed the act.

This act was seconded the same session at Oxford, by another bill in the house of commons, to have imposed that oath on the whole nation. And the providence, by which it was thrown out, was very remarkable; for Mr. Peregrine Bertie, being newly chosen, was that morning introduced into the house by his brother the now earl of Lindsey, and sir Thomas Osborn, now lord treasurer, who all three gave their votes against that bill; and the numbers were so even upon the division, that their three votes carried the question against it. But we owe that right to the earl of Lindsey, and the lord treasurer, as to acknowledge that they have since made ample satisfaction for whatever offence they gave either the church or court in that vote.

Thus our church became triumphant, and continued so for divers years; the dissenting protestant being the only enemy, and therefore only persecuted; whilst the papists remained undisturbed, being by the court thought loyal, and by our great bishops not dangerous; they differing only in doctrine and fundamentals; but, as to the government of the church, that was, in their religion, in its highest exaltation.

This dominion continued unto them, until the lord Clifford, a man of a daring and ambitious spirit, made his way to the chief ministry of affairs by other and far different measures; and took the opportunity of the war with Holland, the king was then engaged in, to propose the declaration of indulgence†, that the dissenters of all sorts, as well protestants as papists, might be at rest, and so a vast number of people not be made desperate at home, while the king was engaged with so potent an enemy abroad. This was no sooner proposed, but the earl of Shaftsbury, a man as daring, but more able, (though of principles and interest diametrically opposite to the other,) presently closed with it; and perhaps the opportunity I have had, by my conversation with them both; who were men of diversion, and of free and open discourses where they had a confidence; may give you more light into both their designs, and so by consequence the aims of their parties, than you will have from any other hand.

My lord Clifford did in express terms tell me one day in private discourse: “That the king, if he would be firm to himself, might settle what religion he pleased, and carry the government to what height he would. For if men were assured in the liberty of their conscience, and undisturbed in their properties, able and upright judges made in Westminster-hall, to judge the causes of meum and tuum; and if, on the other hand, the fort of Tilbury was finished to bridle the city; the fort of Plymouth to secure the west; and arms for 20,000 in each of these; and in Hull, for the northern parts; with some addition, which might be easily and undiscernibly made to the forces now on foot; there were none that would have either will, opportunity, or power to resist.” But he added withal, “he was so sincere in the maintenance of property and liberty of conscience, that if he had his will, though he should introduce a bishop of Durham (which was the instance he then made, that see being then vacant) of another religion; yet he would not disturb any of the church beside, but suffer them to die away, and not let his change (how hasty soever he was in it) overthrow either of those principles, and therefore desired he might be thought an honest man as to his part of the declaration, for he meant it really.”

The lord Shaftsbury (with whom I had more freedom) I with great assurance asked, “What he meant by the declaration? for it seemed to me (as I then told him) that it assumed a power to repeal and suspend all our laws, to destroy the church, to overthrow the protestant religion, and to tolerate popery.” He replied, all angry, “that he wondered at my objection, there being not one of these in the case. For the king assumed no power of repealing laws, or suspending them, contrary to the will of his parliament or people; and not to argue with me at that time the power of the king’s supremacy, which was of another nature than that he had in civils, and had been exercised without exception in this very case by his father, grandfather, and queen Elizabeth, under the great seal to foreign protestants, become subjects of England; not to instance in the suspending the execution of the two acts of navigation and trade, during both this, and the last Dutch war, in the same words, and upon the same necessity, and as yet without clamour, that ever we heard; but to pass by all that, this was certain, a government could not be supposed, whether monarchical, or of any other sort, without a standing supreme, executive power, fully enabled to mitigate, or wholly to suspend, the execution of any penal law, in the intervals of the legislative power; which when assembled, there was no doubt but, wherever there lies a negative in passing of a law, there the address or sense known of either of them to the contrary (as for instance of either of our two houses of parliament in England) ought to determine that indulgence, and restore the law to its full execution. For without this, the laws were to no purpose made, if the prince could annul them at pleasure; and so on the other hand, without a power always in being, of dispensing upon occasion, was to suppose a constitution extremely imperfect and impracticable; and to cure those with a legislative power always in being, is, when considered, no other than a perfect tyranny.

“As to the church, he conceived the declaration was extremely their interest; for the narrow bottom they had placed themselves upon, and the measures they had proceeded by, so contrary to the properties and liberties of the nation, must needs, in a short time, prove fatal to them; whereas this led them into another way, to live peaceably with the dissenting and differing protestants, both at home and abroad, and so by necessary and unavoidable consequences, to become the head of them all. For that place is due to the church of England, being in favour, and of nearest approach to the most powerful prince of that religion, and so always had it in their hands to be the intercessors and procurers of the greatest good and protection that party, throughout all christendom, can receive. And thus the archbishop of Canterbury might become, not only “alterius orbis,” but “alterius regionis papa;” and all this addition of honour and power attained without the least loss, or diminution of the church; it not being intended that one living, dignity, or preferment, should be given to any but those that were strictly conformable.

“As to the protestant religion, he told me plainly, it was for the preserving of that, and that only, that he heartily joined in the declaration; for, besides that, he thought it his duty to have care, in his place and station, of those he was convinced were the people of God, and feared him; though of different persuasions. He also knew nothing else but liberty and indulgence, that could possibly (as our case stood) secure the protestant religion in England; and he begged me to consider, if the church of England should attain to a rigid, blind, and undisputed conformity, and that power of our church should come into the hands of a popish prince; which was not a thing so impossible, or remote, as not to be apprehended; whether in such a case, would not all the arms and artillery of the government of the church be turned against the present religion of it? and should not all good protestants tremble to think what bishops such a prince was like to make, and whom those bishops would condemn for heretics, and that prince might burn. Whereas if this, which is now but a declaration, might ever, by the experience of it, gain the advantage of becoming an established law; the true protestant religion would still be kept up amongst the cities, towns, and trading places, and the worthiest and soberest (if not the greatest) part of the nobility, and gentry, and people.”

As for the toleration of popery, he said, “It was a pleasant objection, since he could confidently say, that the papists had no advantage in the least, by this declaration, that they did not as fully enjoy, and with less noise, by the favour of all the bishops. It was the vanity of the lord keeper, that they were named at all; for the whole advantage was to the dissenting protestants, which were the only men disturbed before. And yet he confessed to me, that it was his opinion, and always had been, that the papists ought to have no other pressure laid upon them, but to be made incapable of office, court or arms, and to pay so much as might bring them at least to a balance with the protestants, for those chargeable offices they are liable unto.”

And concluded with this, “That he desired me seriously to weigh, whether liberty and property were likely to be maintained long, in a country like ours, where trade is so absolutely necessary to the very being, as well as prosperity of it, and in this age of the world; if articles of faith, and matters of religion, should become the only accessible ways to our civil rights.”

Thus, Sir, you have perhaps a better account of the declaration, than you can receive from any other hand; and I could have wished it a longer continuance, and better reception than it had; for the bishops took so great offence at it, that they gave the alarm of popery through the whole nation, and by their emissaries the clergy, (who, by the contexture and subordination of their government, and their being posted in every parish, have the advantage of a quick dispersing their orders, and a sudden and universal insinuation of whatever they pleased,) raised such a cry, that those good and sober men, who had really long feared the increased countenance popery had hitherto received, began to believe the bishops were in earnest; their eyes opened, though late, and therefore joined in heartily with them; so that at the next meeting of parliament, the protestants interest was run so high, as an act came up from the commons to the house of lords in favour of the dissenting protestants, and had passed the lords, but for want of time. Besides, another excellent act passed the royal assent for the excluding all papists from office; in the opposition to which, the lord treasurer Clifford fell, and yet, to prevent his ruin, this session had the speedier end. Notwithstanding, the bishops attained their ends fully; the declaration being cancelled, and the great seal being broken off from it; the parliament having passed no act in favour of the dissenters, and yet the sense of both houses sufficiently declared against all indulgence, but by act of parliament. Having got this point, they used it at first with seeming moderation. There were no general directions given for persecuting the non-conformists; but here and there some of the most confiding justices were made use of, to try how they could revive the old persecution. For as yet, the zeal raised against the papists was so great, that the worthiest, and soberest, of the episcopal party, thought it necessary to unite with the dissenting protestants, and not to divide their party, when all their forces were little enough. In this posture the session of parliament, that began October 27, 1673, found matters; which being suddenly broken up, did nothing.

The next session, which began January 7, following†, the bishops continued their zeal against the papists, and seemed to carry on, in joining with the country lords, many excellent votes, in order to a bill, as in particular, that the princes of the blood-royal should all marry protestants, and many others; but their favour to dissenting protestants was gone, and they attempted a bargain with the country lords, with whom they then joined, not to promote any thing of that nature, except the bill for taking away assent and consent, and renouncing the covenant.

This session was no sooner ended, without doing any thing, but the whole clergy were instructed to declare, that there was now no more danger of the papists. The fanatic (for so they call the dissenting protestant) is again become the only dangerous enemy; and the bishops had found a Scotch lord, and two new ministers, or rather great officers of England, who were desperate and rash enough to put their master’s business upon so narrow and weak a bottom; and the old covenanter, Lauderdale†, is become the patron of the church, and has his coach and table filled with bishops. The keeper‡, and the treasurer, are of a just size to this affair; for it is a certain rule with the churchmen, to endure (as seldom as they can) in business, men abler than themselves. But his grace of Scotland was least to be excused, of the three; for having fallen from presbytery, protestant religion, and all principles of public good, and private friendship; and become the slave of Clifford, to carry on the ruin of all that he had professed to support; does now also quit even Clifford’s generous principles, and betake himself to a sort of men that never forgive any man the having once been in the right; and such men, who would do the worst of things by the worst of means, enslave their country, and betray them, under the mask of religion, which they have the public pay for, and the charge of; so seething the kid in the mother’s milk. Our statesmen and bishops being now as well agreed, as in old Laud’s time, on the same principles, with the same passion to attain their end; they, in the first place, give orders to the judges, in all their circuits, to quicken the execution of the laws against dissenters; a new declaration is published directly contrary to the former; most in words against the papists, but in the sense, and in the close, did fully serve against both; and, in the execution, it was plain who were meant. A commission, besides, comes down, directed to the principal gentlemen of each county, to seize the estates of both papists and fanatics, mentioned in a list annexed; wherein, by great misfortune, or skill, the names of papists of best quality and fortune (and so best known) were mistaken, and the commission rendered ineffectual as to them.

Besides this, the great ministers of state did, in their common public talk, assure the party, that all the places of profit, command, and trust, should only be given to the old cavaliers; no man that had served, or been of the contrary party, should be left in any of them. And a direction is issued to the great ministers before mentioned, and six or seven of the bishops, to meet at Lambeth-house, who were, like the lords of the articles in Scotland, to prepare their complete model for the ensuing session of parliament.

And now comes this memorable session of April 13, 1675, than which never any came with more expectation of the court, or dread and apprehension of the people. The officers, court-lords, and bishops, were clearly the major vote in the lords house; and they assured themselves to have the commons as much at their dispose, when they reckoned the number of the courtiers, officers, pensioners, increased by the addition of the church and cavalier party; besides the address they had made to men of the best quality there, by hopes of honour, great employment, and such things as would take. In a word, the French king’s ministers, who are the great chapmen of the world, did not out-do ours, at this time, and yet the over-ruling hand of God has blown upon their politics, and the nation is escaped this session, like a bird out of the snare of the fowler.

In this session, the bishops wholly laid aside their zeal against popery. The committee of the whole house for religion, which the country lords had caused to be set up again by the example of the former sessions, could hardly get, at any time, a day appointed for their sitting; and the main thing designed for a bill voted in the former session, viz. the marrying our princes to none but protestants, was rejected, and carried in the negative, by the unanimous votes of the bishops bench; for I must acquaint you, that our great prelates were so near an infallibility, that they were always found in this session of one mind in the lords house; yet the lay lords, not understanding from how excellent a principle this proceeded, commonly called them, for that reason, the dead weight. And they really proved so, in the following business; for the third day of this sessions, this bill of the test was brought into the lords house by the earl of Lindsey, lord high-chamberlain, a person of great quality, but in this imposed upon; and received its first reading, and appointment for the second, without much opposition; the country lords being desirous to observe what weight they put upon it, or how they designed to manage it.

At the second reading, the lord-keeper, and some other of the court-lords, recommended the bill to the house in set and elaborate speeches, the keeper calling it a moderate security to the church and crown; and that no honest man could refuse it; and whosoever did, gave great suspicion of dangerous and anti-monarchical principles. The other lords declaimed very much upon the rebellion of the late times; the great number of fanatics; the dangerous principles of rebellion still remaining; carrying the discourse on, as if they meant to trample down the act of oblivion, and all those whose securities depended on it. But the earl of Shaftsbury, and some other of the country lords, earnestly prest that the bill might be laid aside, and that they might not be engaged in the debate of it; or else that freedom they should be forced to use in the necessary defence of their opinion, and the preserving of their laws, rights, and liberties, which this bill would overthrow, might not be misconstrued. For there are many things that must be spoken upon the debate, both concerning church and state, that it was well known they had no mind to hear. Notwithstanding this, the great officers and bishops called out for the question of referring the bill to a committee; but the earl of Shaftsbury, a man of great abilities and knowledge in affairs, and one that, in all this variety of changes of this last age, was never known to be either bought or frighted out of his public principles, at large opened the mischievous and ill designs, and consequences of the bill; which, as it was brought in, required all officers of church and state, and all members of both houses of parliament, to take this oath following:

“I A. B. do declare, that it is not lawful, upon any pretence whatsoever, to take up arms against the king; and that I do abhor that traitorous position of taking arms by his authority, against his person, or against those that are commissioned by him in pursuance of such commission; and I do swear that I will not at any time endeavour the alteration of the government, either in church or state. So help me God.”

The earl of Shaftsbury, and other lords, spake with such convincing reason, that all the lords, who were at liberty from court engagements, resolved to oppose, to the uttermost, a bill of so dangerous consequence; and the debate lasted five several days before it was committed to a committee of the whole house; which hardly ever happened to any bill before. All this, and the following debates, were managed chiefly by the lords, whose names you will find to the following protestations; the first whereof was as followeth:

“We whose names are under-written, being peers of this realm, do, according to our rights, and the ancient usage of parliaments, declare, that the question having been put whether the bill, entitled, “An act to prevent the dangers which may arise from persons disaffected to the government,” doth so far intrench upon the privileges of this house, that it ought therefore to be cast out; it being resolved in the negative, we do humbly conceive, that any bill, which imposeth an oath upon the peers with a penalty, as this doth, that upon the refusal of that oath, they shall be made incapable of sitting and voting in this house; as it is a thing unprecedented in former times, so is it, in our humble opinion, the highest invasion of the liberties and privileges of the peerage, that possibly may be, and most destructive of the freedom which they ought to enjoy as members of parliament; because the privilege of sitting and voting in parliament is an honour they have by birth, and a right so inherent in them, and inseparable from them, as that nothing can take it away, but what by the law of the land must withal take away their lives, and corrupt their blood; upon which ground we do here enter our dissent from that vote, and our protestation against it:

BUCKINGHAM

WINCHESTER

BRIDGEWATER

SALISBURY

BEDFORD

MOHUN

DORSET

STAMFORD

AILSBURY

HALLIFAX

BRISTOL

DE LA MER

DENBIGH

EURE

PAGITT

SHAFTSBURY

HOLLES

CLARENDON

PETER

GREY ROLL

HOWARD of BERKS

SAY and SEAL

WHARTON.”

The next protestation was against the vote of committing the bill, in the words following:

“The question being put, whether the bill, entitled, An act to prevent the dangers which may arise from persons disaffected to the government,” should be committed; it being carried in the affirmative, and we, after several days debate, being in no measure satisfied, but still apprehending that this bill doth not only subvert the privileges and birth-right of the peers, by imposing an oath upon them with the penalty of losing their places in parliament, but also, as we humbly conceive, strike at the very root of government; it being necessary to all government to have freedom of votes and debates in those who have power to alter and make laws; and besides, the express words of this bill obliging every man to abjure all endeavours to alter the government in the church, without regard to any thing that rules of prudence in the government, or christian compassion to protestant dissenters, or the necessity of affairs at any time, shall or may require; upon these considerations, we humbly consider it to be of dangerous consequence to have any bill of this nature so much as committed, and do enter our dissents from that vote, and protestation against it:

BUCKINGHAM

CLARENDON

WINTON

STAMFORD

SALISBURY

SHAFTSBURY

DENBIGH

WHARTON

BRISTOL

MOHUN

HOWARD of BERKS

DE LA MER.”

Which protestation was no sooner entered and subscribed the next day, but the great officers and bishops raised a storm against the lords that had subscribed it; endeavouring not only some severe proceedings against their persons, if they had found the house would have born it, but also to have taken away the very liberty of entering protestations with reasons. But that was defended with so great ability, learning, and reason, by the Lord Holles, that they quitted the attempt; and the debate ran for some hours, either wholly to raze the protestation out of the books, or at least some part of it; the expression of “christian compassion to protestant dissenters,” being that which gave them most offence. But both these ways were so disagreeable to the honour and privilege of the house, and the latter to common sense and right; that they despaired of carrying it, and contented themselves with having voted, “that the reasons given, in the said protestation, did reflect upon the honour of the house, and were of dangerous consequence.” And I cannot here forbear to mention the worth and honour of that noble lord Holles, suitable to all his former life; that whilst the debate was at the height, and the protesting lords in danger of the Tower, he begged the house to give him leave to put his name to that protest, and take his fortune with those lords, because his sickness had forced him out of the house, the day before; so that, not being at the question, he could not, by the rules of the house sign it. This vote against those twelve lords begat the next day the following protestation, signed by one and twenty:

“Whereas it is the undoubted privilege of each peer in parliament, when a question is past contrary to his vote and judgment, to enter his protestation against it; and that, in pursuance thereof, the bill, entitled, An act to prevent the dangers which may arise from persons disaffected to the government,” being conceived by some lords to be of so dangerous a nature, as that it was not fit to receive the countenance of a commitment; those lords did protest against the commitment of the said bill; and, the house having taken exceptions at some expressions in their protestation, those lords, who were present at the debate, did all of them severally and voluntarily declare, that they had no intention to reflect upon any member, much less upon the whole house; which, as is humbly conceived, was more than in strictness did consist with that absolute freedom of protesting, which is inseparable from every member of this house, and was done by them merely out of their great respect to the house, and their earnest desire to give all satisfaction concerning themselves, and the clearness of their intentions; yet the house, not satisfied with this their declaration, but proceeding to a vote, “That the reasons given in the said protestation do reflect upon the honour of the house, and are of dangerous consequence; which is, in our humble opinion, a great discountenancing of the very liberty of protesting; we, whose names are underwritten, conceive ourselves and the whole house of peers extremely concerned that this great wound should be given (as we humbly apprehend) to so essential a privilege of the whole peerage of this realm, as their liberty of protesting; do now (according to our unquestionable right) make use of the same liberty to enter this our dissent from, and protestation against, the said vote:

BUCKS

DENBIGH

WINTON

BERKS

BEDFORD

CLARENDON

DORSET

AILSBURY

SALISBURY

SHAFTSBURY

BRIDGEWATER

SAY and SEAL

HALLIFAX

MOHUN

AUDLEY

HOLLES

FITZWALTER

DE LA MER

EURE

GREY ROLL.”

WHARTON

After this bill being committed to a committee of the whole house, the first thing insisted upon by the lords, against the bill, was, that there ought to be passed some previous votes to secure the rights of peerage, and privilege of parliament, before they entered upon the debate or amendments of such a bill as this. And at last two previous votes were obtained, which I need not here set down, because the next protestation had them both in terminis;

“Whereas upon the debate on the bill, entitled, An act to prevent the dangers which may arise from persons disaffected to the government,” it was ordered by the house of peers, the 30th of April last, that no oath should be imposed, by any bill or otherwise, upon the peers, with a penalty, in case of refusal, to lose their places, or votes in parliament, or liberty to debate therein: and whereas also, upon debate of the same, it was ordered, the third of this instant May, that there shall be nothing in this bill, which shall extend to deprive either of the houses of parliament, or any of their members, of their just, ancient freedom and privilege of debating any matter or business, which shall be propounded or debated in either of the said houses, or at any conference or committee of both, or either of the said houses of parliament; or touching the repeal, or alteration of any old, or preparing any new laws; or the redressing any public grievance; but that the said members of either of the said houses, and the assistants of the house of peers, and every of them, shall have the same freedom of speech, and all other privileges whatsoever, as they had before the making of this act; both which orders were passed as previous directions, unto the committee of the whole house, to whom the said bill was committed, to the end that nothing should remain in the said bill, which might any ways tend towards the depriving of either of the houses of parliament, or any of their members, of their ancient freedom of debates, or votes, or other privileges whatsoever; yet the house being pleased, upon the report from the committee, to pass a vote, That all persons who have, or shall have right to sit and vote in either house of parliament, should be added to the first enacted clause in the said bill, whereby an oath is to be imposed upon them as members of either house; which vote, we whose names are underwritten, being peers of the realm, do humbly conceive, is not agreeable to the said two previous orders; and it having been humbly offered and insisted upon by divers of us, that the proviso in the late act, entitled, “An act for preventing dangers that may happen from popish recusants,” might be added to the bill depending, whereby the peerage of every peer of this realm, and all their privileges, might be preserved in this bill, as fully as in the said late act; yet the house not pleasing to admit of the said proviso, but proceeding to the passing of the said vote; we do humbly, upon the grounds aforesaid, and according to our undoubted right, enter this our dissent from, and protestation against, the same:

BUCKS

DENBIGH

BEDFORD

DORSET

WINTON

SHAFTSBURY

SALISBURY

WHARTON

BERKS

EURE

BRIDGEWATER

DE LA MER

STAMFORD

PAGITT

CLARENDON

MOHUN.”

This was their last protestation; for, after this, they altered their method, and reported not the votes of the committee, and parts of the bill to the house, as they passed them; but took the same order as is observed in other bills, not to report unto the house, until they had gone through with the bill, and so report all the amendments together. This they thought a way of more dispatch, and which did prevent all protestations, until it came to the house; for the votes of a committee, though of the whole house, are not thought of that weight, as that there should be allowed the entering a dissent of them, or protestation against them.

The bill being read over at the committee, the lord keeper objected against the form of it, and desired that he might put it in another method; which was easily allowed him, that being not the dispute. But it was observable the hand of God was upon them in this whole affair; their chariot wheels were taken off, they drew heavily; a bill so long designed, prepared, and of that moment to all their affairs, had hardly a sensible composure.

The first part of the bill that was fallen upon, was, “whether there should be an oath at all in the bill;” and this was the only part the court-party defended with reason. For, the whole bill being to enjoin an oath, the house might reject it, but the committee was not to destroy it. Yet the lord Halifax did with that quickness, learning, and elegance, which are inseparable from all his discourses, make appear, that as there really was no security to any state by oaths; so also no private person, much less statesman, would ever order his affairs as relying on it: no man would ever sleep with open doors, or unlockt-up treasure or plate, should all the town be sworn not to rob; so that the use of multiplying oaths had been most commonly to exclude or disturb some honest conscientious men, who would never have prejudiced the government. It was also insisted on by that lord and others, that the oath, imposed by the bill, contained three clauses; the two former assertory, and the last promissory; and that it was worthy the consideration of the bishops, whether assertory oaths, which were properly appointed to give testimony of a matter of fact, whereof a man is capable to be fully assured by the evidence of his senses, be lawful to be made use of to confirm or invalidate doctrinal propositions; and whether that legislative power, which imposes such an oath, does not necessarily assume to itself an infallibility? And as for promissory oaths, it was desired that those learned prelates would consider the opinion of Grotius, “De jure belli & pacis,” who seems to make it plain, that those kind of oaths are forbidden by our Saviour Christ, Matt. v. 34, 37; and whether it would not become the fathers of the church, when they have well weighed that and other places of the New Testament, to be more tender in multiplying oaths, than hitherto the great men of the church have been? But the bishops carried the point, and an oath was ordered by the major vote.

The next thing in consideration, was about the persons that should be enjoined to take this oath; and those were to be “all such as enjoyed any beneficial office or employment, ecclesiastical, civil or military;” and no farther went the debate for some hours, until at last the lord-keeper rises up, and with an eloquent oration, desires to add privy-counsellors, justices of the peace, and members of both houses; the two former particularly mentioned only to usher in the latter, which was so directly against the two previous votes; the first of which was enrolled amongst the standing orders of the house, that it wanted a man of no less assurance in his eloquence to propose it. And he was driven hard, when he was forced to tell the house, that they were masters of their own orders, and interpretation of them.

The next consideration, at the committee, was the oath itself; and it was desired by the country lords that it might be clearly known, whether it were meant all for an oath, or some of it for a declaration, and some an oath? If the latter, then it was desired it might be distinctly parted; and that the declaratory part should be subscribed by itself, and not sworn. There was no small pains taken by the lord-keeper and the bishops to prove that the two first parts were only a declaration, and not an oath. And though it was replied, that to declare upon one’s oath, or to abhor upon one’s oath, is the same thing with, I do swear; yet there was some difficulty to obtain the dividing of them, and that the declaratory part should be only subscribed, and the rest sworn to.

The persons being determined, and this division agreed to; the next thing was the parts of the declaration; wherein the first was “I A. B. do declare, that it is not lawful, upon any pretence whatsoever, to take up arms against the king.” This was liable to great objections; for it was said, it might introduce a great change of government, to oblige all the men in great trust in England to declare that exact boundary and extent of the oath of allegiance, and enforce some things to be stated, that are much better involved in generals, and peradventure are not capable of another way of expression, without great wrong on the one side or the other. There is a law of 25th Edward III. that “arms shall not be taken up against the king, and that it is treason to do so;” and it is a very just and reasonable law. But it is an idle question at best, to ask, “whether arms in any case can be taken up against a lawful prince;” because it necessarily brings in the debate, in every man’s mind, how there can be a distinction then left between absolute and bounded monarchies, if monarchs have only the fear of God, and no fear of human resistance to restrain them. And it was further urged, that if the chance of human affairs in future ages should give the French king a just title and investiture in the crown of England, and he should avowedly own a design by force to change the religion, and make his government here as absolute as in France, by the extirpation of the nobility, gentry, and principal citizens of the protestant party; whether in such, or like cases, this declaration will be a service to the government, as it is now established. Nay, and it was farther said, that they overthrow the government, that propose to place any part of it above the fear of man. For in our English government, and all bounded monarchies, where the prince is not absolute, there every individual subject is under the fear of the king and his people; either for breaking the peace, or disturbing the common interest that every man hath in it; for if he invades the person or right of his prince, he invades his whole people, who have bound up in him, and derive from him all their liberty, property, and safety; as also the prince himself is under the fear of breaking that golden chain and contexture between him and his people, by making his interest contrary to that they justly and rightly claim. And therefore neither our ancestors, nor any other country free like ours, whilst they preserved their liberties, did ever suffer any mercenary or standing guards to their prince; but took care that his safety should be in them, as theirs was in him.

Though these were the objections to this head, yet they were but lightly touched, and not fully insisted upon, until the debate of the second head, where the scope of the design was opened clearer, and more distinct to every man’s capacity.

The second was, “And that I do abhor that traitorous position of taking arms by his authority against his person.” To this was objected, that if by this be meant an explanation of the oath of allegiance, to leave men without pretence to oppose where the individual person of the king is; then it was to be considered that the position, as it is here set down, is universal, and yet, in most cases, the position is not to be abhorred by honest or wise men. For there is but one case, and that never like to happen again, where this position is in danger to be traitorous, which was the case of the Long-parliament, made perpetual by the king’s own act, by which the government was perfectly altered, and made inconsistent with itself; but it is to be supposed the crown hath sufficient warning, and full power to prevent the falling again into that danger. But the other cases are many, and such as may every day occur, wherein this position is so far from traitorous, that it would prove both necessary and our duty. The famous instance of Henry VI, who being a soft and weak prince, when taken prisoner by his cousin Edward IV, that pretended to the crown, and the great earl of Warwick, was carried in their armies; gave what orders and commissions they pleased; and yet all those, that were loyal to him, adhered to his wife and son; fought in a pitched battle against him in person; and retook him. This was directly, “taking up arms against his person, and against those that were commissioned by him:” and yet to this day no man hath ever blamed them, or thought but that, if they had done otherwise, they had betrayed their prince. The great case of Charles VI. of France, who being of a weak and crazy brain, yet governed by himself, or rather by his wife, a woman of a passionate and heady humour, that hated her son the dauphin, a vigorous and brave prince, and passionately loved her daughter; so that she easily (being pressed by the victory of Henry V. of England) complied to settle the crown of France upon him, to marry her daughter to him, and own his right, contrary to the Salique law. This was directly opposed with arms and force by the dauphin and all good Frenchmen, even in his father’s life-time. A third instance is that of king James of blessed memory; who, when he was a child, was seized and taken prisoner, by those, who were justly thought no friends to his crown or safety. And if the case should be put, that a future king of England, of the same temper with Henry VI. or Charles VI. of France, should be taken prisoner by Spaniards, Dutch, or French, whose overgrowing power should give them thoughts of vast empire, and should, with the person and commission of the king, invade England for a conquest; were it not suitable to our loyalty to join with the son of that king, for the defence of his father’s crown and dignity, even against his person and commission? In all these and the like cases, it was not justified, but that the strict letter of the law might be otherwise construed; and when wisely considered, fit it should be so, yet that it was not safe either for the kingdom, or person of the king and his crown, that it should be in express words sworn against; for if we shall forswear all distinctions, which ill men have made ill use of, either in rebellion or heresy, we must extend the oath to all the particulars of divinity and politics. To this the aged bishop of Winchester replied, to take up arms, in such cases, is “not against, but for the person of the king;” but his lordship was told, that he might then as well, nay much better, have left it upon the old oath of allegiance, than made such a wide gap in this new declaration.

The third and last part of the declaration was, “or against those that are commissioned by him.” Here the mask was plainly plucked off, and arbitrary government appeared bare-faced, and a standing army to be established by act of parliament. For it was said by several of the lords, that, if whatever is by the king’s commission be not opposed by the king’s authority, then a standing army is law, whenever the king pleases; and yet the king’s commission was never thought sufficient to protect, or justify any man, where it is against his authority, which is the law. This allowed, alters the whole law of England, in the most essential and fundamental parts of it; and makes the whole law of property to become arbitrary, and without effect whenever the king pleases.

For instance, if in suit with a great favourite, a man recovers house and lands, and by course of law be put into possession by the sheriff; and afterwards a warrant is obtained by the interest of the person to command some soldiers of the standing army to take the possession, and deliver it back; in such a case, the man in possession may justify to defend himself, and killing those, who shall violently endeavour to enter his house. The party, whose house is invaded, “takes up arms by the king’s authority against those who are commissioned by him.” And it is the same case, if the soldiers had been commissioned to defend the house against the sheriff, when he first endeavoured to take possession according to law. Neither could any order or commission of the king’s put a stop to the sheriff, if he had done his duty in raising the whole force of that county to put the law in execution; neither can the court, from whom that order proceeds, (if they observe their oaths and duty,) put any stop to the execution of the law in such a case, by any command or commission from the king whatsoever; nay, all the guards and standing forces in England cannot be secured by any commission from being a direct riot and unlawful assembly, unless in time of open war and rebellion. And it is not out of the way to suppose, that if any king hereafter shall, contrary to the Petition of Right, demand and levy money by privy seal, or otherwise, and cause soldiers to enter and distrain for such-like illegal taxes; that in such a case any man may by law defend his house against them; and yet this is of the same nature with the former, and against the words of the declaration. These instances may seem somewhat rough, and not with the usual reverence towards the crown; but they alleged, they were to be excused, when all was concerned; and without speaking thus plain, it is refused to be understood; and, however happy we are now, either in the present prince, or those we have in prospect, yet the suppositions are not extravagant, when we consider kings are but men, and compassed with more temptations than others: and as the earl of Salisbury, who stood like a rock of nobility, and English principles, excellently replied to the lord-keeper, who was pleased to term them remote instances; that they would not hereafter prove so, when this declaration had made the practice of them justifiable.

These arguments enforced the lords for the bill, to a change of this part of the declaration; so that they agreed the second and third parts of it should run thus, “And I do abhor that traitorous position of taking arms by his authority against his person, or against those that are commissioned by him according to law, in time of rebellion or war, acting in pursuance of such commission.” Which mends the matter very little; for if they mean the king’s authority, and his lawful commission, to be two things, and such as are capable of opposition; then it is as dangerous to the liberties of the nation, as when it ran in the former words, and we are only cheated by new phrasing of it. But if they understand them to be one and the same thing, as really and truly they are; then we are only to abhor the treason of the position of taking arms by the king’s authority against the king’s authority, because it is nonsense and not practicable. And so they had done little but confessed, that all the clergy, and many other persons, have been forced, by former acts of this present parliament, to make this declaration in other words, that now are found so far from being justifiable, that they are directly contrary to Magna Charta, our properties, and the established law and government of the nation.

The next thing in course was the oath itself, against which the objection lay so plain and so strong at the first entrance, viz. That there was no care taken of the doctrine, but only the discipline of the church. The papists need not scruple the taking this oath; for episcopacy remains in its greatest lustre, though the popish religion was introduced; but the king’s supremacy is justled aside by this oath, and makes better room for an ecclesiastical one. Insomuch that, with this and much more, they were enforced to change their oath, and the next day bring it in as followeth:

“I do swear, that I will not endeavour to alter the protestant religion, or the government either of church or state.”

By this they thought they had salved all, and now began to call their oath, “A security for the protestant religion, and the only good design to prevent popery,” if we should have a popish prince. But the country lords wondered at their confidence in this, since they had never thought of it before; and had been, but the last preceding day of the debate, by pure shame, compelled to this addition. For it was not unknown to them, that some of the bishops themselves had told some of the Roman catholic lords of the house, that “care had been taken that it might be such an oath as might not bear upon them.” But let it be whatever they would have it, yet the country lords thought the addition was unreasonable, and of as dangerous consequence as the rest of the oath. And it was not to be wondered at, if the addition of the best things, wanting the authority of an express divine institution, should make an oath not to endeavour to alter, just so much worse by the addition. For, as the earl of Shaftsbury very well urged, that it is a far different thing to believe, or to be fully persuaded of the truth of the doctrine of our church, and to swear never to endeavour to alter; which last must be utterly unlawful, unless you place an infallibility either in the church or yourself; you being otherwise obliged to alter, whenever a clearer or better light comes to you. And he desired leave to ask, where are the boundaries, or where shall we find how much is meant by the protestant religion?

The lord-keeper, thinking he had now got an advantage, with his usual eloquence, desires, “that it might not be told in Gath, nor published in the streets of Askalon,” that a lord of so great parts and eminence, and professing himself for the church of England, should not know what is meant by the protestant religion! This was seconded with great pleasantness by divers of the lords the bishops. But the bishop of Winchester, and some others of them, were pleased to condescend to instruct that lord, that the protestant religion was comprehended in XXXIX articles, the liturgy, the catechism, the homilies, and the canons.

To this the earl of Shaftsbury replied, that he begged so much charity of them to believe, that he knew the protestant religion so well, and was so confirmed in it, that he hoped he should burn for the witness of it, if providence should call him to it. But he might perhaps think some things not necessary, that they accounted essential; nay, he might think some things not true, or agreeable to the scripture, that they might call doctrines of the church. Besides, when he was to swear “never to endeavour to alter,” it was certainly necessary to know “how far the just extent of this oath was.” But since they had told him that the protestant religion was in those five tracts; he had still to ask, whether they meant those whole tracts were the protestant religion; or only that the protestant religion was contained in all those, but that every part of these was not the protestant religion?

If they meant the former of these, then he was extremely in the dark to find the doctrine of predestination, in the 17th and 18th articles, to be owned by so few great doctors of the church, and to find the 19th article to define the church directly, as the independents do. Besides, the 20th article, stating the authority of the church is very dark; and either contradicts itself, or says nothing, or what is contrary to the known laws of the land. Besides several other things in the XXXIX articles have been preached and writ against, by men of great favour, power, and preferment, in the church.

He humbly conceived the liturgy was not so sacred, being made by men the other day, and thought to be more differing from the dissenting protestants, and less easy to be complied with, upon the advantage of a pretence well known unto us all, of making alterations as might the better unite us; instead whereof, there is scarce one alteration but widens the breach. And no ordination allowed by it here, (as it now stands last reformed in the act of uniformity,) but what is episcopal; insomuch that a popish priest is capable, when converted, of any church preferment, without re-ordination; but no protestant minister not episcopally ordained but is required to be re-ordained; as much as in us lies unchurching all the foreign protestants that have not bishops; though the contrary was both allowed and practised, from the beginning of the reformation till the time of that act, and several bishops made of such as were never ordained priests by bishops. Moreover, the uncharitableness of it was so much against the interest of the crown and church of England, (casting off the dependency of the whole protestant party abroad,) that it would have been bought by the pope and the French king at a vast sum of money; and it is difficult to conceive so great an advantage fell to them merely by chance, and without their help. So that he thought to endeavour to alter and restore the liturgy to what it was in queen Elizabeth’s days, might consist with his being a very good protestant.

As to the catechism, he really thought it might be mended; and durst declare to them, it was not well that there was not a better made.

For the homilies, he thought there might be a better book made; and the third homily, of “repairing and keeping clean of churches,” might be omitted.

What is yet stranger than all this, the canons of our church are directly the old popish canons, which are still in force, and no other; which will appear, if you turn to the stat. 25 Henry VIII. ca. confirmed and received by 1 Eliz. where all those canons are established, until an alteration should be made by the king, in pursuance of that act; which thing was attempted by Edward VI. but not perfected, and let alone ever since; for what reasons, the lords the bishops could best tell. And it was very hard to be obliged by oath “not to endeavour to alter either the English common-prayer-book, or the canon of the mass.”

But if they meant the latter, that the protestant religion is contained in all those, but that every part of those is not the protestant religion; then he apprehended it might be in the bishops power to declare “ex post facto,” what is the protestant religion or not, or else they must leave it to every man to judge for himself, what parts of those books are or are not; and then their oath had been much better let alone.

Much of this nature was said by that lord and others; and the great officers and bishops were so hard put to it, that they seemed willing and convinced to admit of an expedient.

The lord Wharton, an old and expert parliament-man, of eminent piety and abilities, besides a great friend to the protestant religion, and interest of England, offered as a cure to the whole oath, and what might make it pass in all the three parts of it, without any farther debate; the addition of these words, at the latter end of the oath, viz. “as the same is, or shall be established by act of parliament.” But this was not endured at all; when the lord Grey of Rolston, a worthy and true English lord, offered another expedient; which was the addition of these words, “by force or fraud,” to the beginning of the oath; and then it would run thus, “I do swear not to endeavour, by force or fraud, to alter.” This was also a cure that would have passed the whole oath, and seemed as if it would have carried the whole house; the duke of York, and bishop of Rochester, both seconding it; but the lord-treasurer, who had privately before consented to it, speaking against it, gave the word and sign to that party; and it being put to the question, the major vote answered all arguments, and the lord Grey’s proposition was laid aside.

Having thus carried the question, relying upon their strength of votes, taking advantage that those expedients that had been offered, extended to the whole oath, though but one of the three clauses in the oath had been debated, the other two not mentioned at all; they attempted strongly, at nine of the clock at night, to have the whole oath put to the question; and though it was resolutely opposed by the lord Mohun, a lord of great courage and resolution in the public interest, and one whose own personal merits, as well as his father’s, gave him a just title to the best favours of the court; yet they were not diverted, but by as great a disorder as ever was seen in that house, proceeding from the rage those unreasonable proceedings had caused in the country lords; they standing up together, and crying out with so loud a continued voice, adjourn, that when silence was obtained, fear did what reason could not do, cause the question to be put only upon the first clause, concerning the protestant religion, to which the bishops desired might be added, “as it is now established. And one of the eminentest of those who were for the bill, added the words, “by law.” So that, as it was passed, it ran, “I A. B. do swear, that I will not endeavour to alter the protestant religion, now by law established in the church of England.”

And here observe the words, “by law,” do directly take in the canons, though the bishops had never mentioned them.

And now comes the consideration of the latter part of the oath, which comprehends these two clauses, viz. “nor the government either in church or state,” wherein the church came first to be considered. And it was objected by the lords against the bill, that it was not agreeable to the king’s crown and dignity, to have his subjects sworn to the government of the church equally as to himself; that for the kings of England to swear to maintain the church, was a different thing from enjoining all his officers, and both his houses of parliament, to swear to them; it would be well understood, before the bill passed, what the “government of the church” (we are to swear to) is, and what the boundaries of it; whether it derives no power nor authority, nor the exercise of any power, authority, or function, but from the king, as head of the church, and from God, as through him, as all his other officers do.

For no church or religion can justify itself to the government, but the state religion, that owes an entire dependency on, and is but a branch of it; or the independent congregations, whilst they claim no other power but the exclusion of their own members from their particular communion; and endeavour not to set up a kingdom of Christ to their own use, in this world, whilst our saviour hath told us, that “his kingdom is not of it.” For otherwise there should be, “imperium in imperio,” and two distinct supreme powers inconsistent with each other in the same place, and over the same persons. The bishops alleged that priesthood, and the powers thereof, and the authorities belonging thereunto, were derived immediately from Christ, but that the licence of exercising that authority and power in any country, is derived from the civil magistrate. To which was replied, that it was a dangerous thing to secure, by oath and act of parliament, those in the exercise of an authority and power in the king’s country, and over his subjects, which being received from Christ himself, cannot be altered, or limited, by the king’s laws; and that this was directly to set the mitre above the crown. And it was farther offered, that this oath was the greatest attempt that had been made against the king’s supremacy since the reformation; for the king, in parliament, may alter, diminish, enlarge, or take away, any bishopric; he may take any part of a diocese, or whole diocese, and put them under deans, or other persons. For if this be not lawful, but that episcopacy should be “jure divino,” the maintaining the government, as it is now, is unlawful; since the deans of Hereford and Salisbury have very large tracts under their jurisdiction; and several parsons of parishes have episcopal jurisdiction; so that at best that government wants alteration, that is so imperfectly settled. The bishop of Winchester affirmed in this debate, several times, that there was no christian church before Calvin, that had not bishops; to which he was answered, that the Albigenses, a very numerous people, and the only visible known church of true believers, of some ages, had no bishops. It is very true what the bishop of Winchester replied, that they had some amongst them who alone had power to ordain; but that was only to commit that power to the wisest and gravest men amongst them, and to secure ill and unfit men from being admitted into the ministry; but they exercised no jurisdiction over the others.

And it was said by divers of the lords that they thought episcopal government best for the church, and most suitable for the monarchy; but they must say, with the lord of Southampton, upon the occasion of this oath in the parliament of Oxford, “I will not be sworn not to take away episcopacy;” there being nothing that is not of divine precept, but such circumstances may come in human affairs, as may render it not eligible by the best of men. And it was also said, that if episcopacy be to be received as by divine precept, the king’s supremacy is over-thrown; and so is also the opinion of the parliaments both in Edward the VIth, and queen Elizabeth’s time; and the constitution of our church ought to be altered, as hath been showed. But the church of Rome itself hath contradicted that opinion, when she hath made such vast tracts of ground, and great numbers of men, exempt from episcopal jurisdiction.

The lord Wharton, upon the bishops’ claim to a divine right, asked a very hard question, viz. “whether they then did not claim withal a power of excommunicating their prince?” which they evading to answer, and being pressed by some other lords, said, “they never had done it.” Upon which the lord Hallifax told them, that that might well be; for since the reformation they had hitherto had too great a dependence on the crown, to venture on that or any other offence to it.

And so the debate passed on to the third clause, which had the same exceptions against it with the two former, of being unbounded, how far any man might meddle, and how far not; and is of that extent, that it overthrew all parliaments, aud left them capable of nothing but giving money. For what is the business of parliaments, but the alteration, either by adding, or taking away, some part of the government, either in church or state? And every new act of parliament is an alteration; and what kind of government in church or state must that be, which I must swear, upon no alteration of time, emergency of affairs, nor variation of human things, never to endeavour to alter? Would it not be requisite that such a government should be given by God himself; and that with all the ceremony of thunder and lightning, and visible appearance to the whole people, which God vouchsafed to the children of Israel at Mount Sinai? And yet you shall no-where read that they were sworn to it by any oath like this; nay, on the contrary, the princes and the rulers, even those recorded for the best of them, did make several variations.

The lord Stafford, a nobleman of great honour and candour, but who had been all along for the bill, yet was so far convinced with the debate, that he freely declared, there ought to be an addition to the oath, for preserving the freedon of debates in parliament. This was strongly urged by the never to be forgotten earl of Bridgewater, who gave reputation and strength to this cause of England; as did also those worthy earls, Denbigh, Clarendon, and Ailsbury, men of great worth and honour. To salve all that was said by these and the other lords, the lord-keeper and the bishops urged, that there was a proviso, which fully preserved the privileges of parliament; and, upon farther inquiry, there appearing no such, but only a previous vote, as is before mentioned, they allowed that that previous vote should be drawn into a proviso, and added to the bill; and then, in their opinion, the exception to the oath for this cause was perfectly removed. But on the other side it was offered, that a positive absolute oath being taken, a proviso in the act could not dispense with it, without some reference in the body of the oath unto that proviso. But this also was utterly denied, until the next day, the debate going on upon other matters; the lord treasurer, whose authority easily obtained with the major-vote, reassumed what was mentioned in the debates of the preceding days, and allowed a reference to the proviso; so that it then passed in these words:

“I A. B. do swear, that I will not endeavour to alter the protestant religion now by law established in the church of England; nor the government of this kingdom in church or state, as it is now by law established; and I do take this oath according to the meaning of this act, and the proviso contained in the same. So help me God.”

There was a passage of the greatest observation in the whole debate, and which with most clearness showed what the great men and bishops aimed at; and should in order have come in before, but that it deserved so particular a consideration, that I thought best to place it here by itself; which was, that upon passing of the proviso for preserving the rights and privileges of parliaments, made out of the previous votes, it was excellently observed by the earl of Bolingbroke, a man of great ability and learning in the laws of the land, and perfectly stedfast in all good English principles; that though that proviso did preserve the freedom of debates and votes in parliaments, yet the oath remained, notwithstanding that proviso, upon all men, that shall take it as a prohibition, either by speech or writing, or address, to “endeavour any alteration in religion, church, or state:” nay, also upon the members of both houses otherwise than as they speak and vote in open parliaments or committees. For this oath takes away all private converse upon any such affairs even with one another. This was seconded by the lord De la Mer, whose name is well known, as also his worth, piety, and learning; I should mention his merits too, but I know not whether that be lawful, they lying yet unrewarded.

The lord Shaftsbury presently drew up some words for preserving the same rights, privileges, and freedoms, which men now enjoy by the laws established; so that by a side-wind he might not be deprived of the great liberty we enjoy as Englishmen; and desired those words might be inserted in that proviso before it passed. This was seconded by many of the fore-mentioned lords; and pressed upon those terms, that they desired not to countenance, or make in the least degree any thing lawful, that was not already so; but that they might not be deprived, by this dark way of proceeding, of that liberty, which was necessary to them as men, and without which parliaments would be rendered useless.

Upon this all the great officers showed themselves; nay, the duke of Lauderdale himself, though under the load of two addresses, opened his mouth, and together with the lord-keeper, and the lord treasurer, told the committee in plain terms; that they intended, and designed to prevent caballing and conspiracies against the government; that they knew no reason why any of the king’s officers should consult with parliament-men about parliament-business; and particularly mentioned those of the army, treasury, and navy. And when it was objected to them, that the greatest part of the most knowing gentry were either justices of the peace, or of the militia; and that this took away all converse, or discourse of any alteration, which was in truth of any business, in parliament; and that the officers of the navy and treasury might be best able to advise what should be fit in many cases; and that withal none of their lordships did offer any thing to salve the inconvenience of parliament-men being deprived of discoursing one with another, upon the matters that were before them; besides it must be again remembered, that nothing was herein desired to be countenanced, or made lawful, but to preserve that which is already law, and avowedly justified by it; for, without this addition to the proviso, the oath rendered parliaments but a snare, not a security, to the people; yet to all this was answered, sometimes with passion and high words, sometimes with jests and raillery, (the best they had,) and at the last the major-vote answered all objections, and laid aside the addition tendered.

There was another thing before the finishing of the oath, which I shall here also mention, which was an additional oath, tendered by the marquis of Winchester; who ought to have been mentioned in the first and chiefest place, for his conduct and support in the whole debate, being an expert parliament-man, and one, whose quality, parts, and fortune, and owning of good principles, concur to give him one of the greatest places in the esteem of good men. The additional oath tendered was as followeth:

“I do swear that I will never by threats, injunctions, promises, advantages, or invitation, by or from any person whatsoever, nor from the hopes or prospect of any gift, place, office, or benefit whatsoever; give my vote other than according to my opinion and conscience, as I shall be truly and really persuaded upon the debate of any business in parliament. So help me God.”

This oath was offered upon the occasion of swearing members of parliament; and upon this score only, that if any new oath was thought fit (which that noble lord declared his own judgment perfectly against) this certainly was (all considerations and circumstances taken in) most necessary to be a part; and the nature of it was not so strange, if they considered the judge’s oath, which was not much different from this. To this the lord-keeper seemed very averse, and declared in a very fine speech that it was a useless oath; for all gifts, places, and offices, were likeliest to come from the king; and no member of parliament in either house could do too much for the king, or be too much of his side; and that men might lawfully and worthily have in their prospect such offices or benefits from him. With this the lords against the bill were in no terms satisfied, but plainly spoke out, that men had been, might, and were likely to be, in either house, too much for the king, as they called it; and that whoever did endeavour to give more power to the king than the law and constitution of the government had given, especially if it tended to the introducing an absolute and arbitrary government, might justly be said to do too much for the king, and to be corrupted in his judgment by the prospect of advantages and rewards; though, when it is considered that every deviation of the crown towards absolute power, lessens the king in the love and affection of his people, making him become less in their interest; a wise prince will not think it a service done him.

And now remains only the last part of the bill, which is the penalty, different according to the qualifications of the persons: “all that are, or shall be privy counsellors, justices of the peace, or possessors of any beneficial office, ecclesiastical, civil, or military; are to take the oath, when summoned, upon pain of 500l. and being made incapable of bearing office; the members of both houses are not made incapable, but liable to the penalty of 500l. if they take it not.” Upon all which, the considerations of the debate were, that those officers, and members of both houses, are, of all the nation, the most dangerous to be sworn into a mistake, or change of the government; and that, as to the members of both houses, the penalty of 500l. was directly against the latter of the two previous votes; and although they had not applied the penalty of incapacity unto the members of both houses, because of the first previous vote in the case of the lords; neither durst they admit of a proposition made by some of themselves, that those that did not come up, and sit as members, should be liable to the taking the oath, or penalty, until they did so; yet their ends were not to be compassed without invading the latter previous vote, and, contrary to the rights and privileges of parliament, enforce them to swear, or pay 500l. every parliament. And this they carried through with so strong a resolution, that having experienced their misfortunes in replies for several hours, not one of the party could be provoked to speak one word.

Though, besides the former arguments, it was strongly urged, that this oath ought not to be put upon officers with a heavier penalty than the test was in the act of the immediate preceding session against the papists; by which any man might sit down with the loss of his office, without being in the danger of the penalty of 500l. And also that this act had a direct retrospect, which ought never to be in penal laws: for this act punishes men for having an office without taking this oath; which office, before this law pass, they may lawfully enjoy without it. Yet notwithstanding it provides not a power, in many cases, for them to part with it, before this oath overtake them. For the clause, “whoever is in office the 1st of September,” will not relieve a justice of the peace, who being once sworn, is not in his own power to be left out of commission. And so might be instanced in several other cases. As also the members of the house of commons were not in their own power to be unchosen; and as to the lords they were subjected by it to the meanest condition of mankind, if they could not enjoy their birthright, without playing tricks suitable to the humour of every age, and be enforced to swear to every fancy of the present times. Three years ago it was all liberty and indulgence, and now it is strict and rigid conformity; and what it may be, in some short time hereafter, without the spirit of prophesying, might be shrewdly guessed by a considering man.

This being answered with silence, the duke of Buckingham, whose quality, admirable wit, and unusual pains that he took all along in the debate against this bill, makes me mention him in this place, as general of the party, and coming last out of the field; made a speech late at night of eloquent and well-placed nonsense; showing how excellently well he could do both ways, and hoping that might do, when sense (which he often before used with the highest advantage of wit and reason) would not. But the earl of Winchelsea, readily apprehending the dialect, in a short reply put an end to the debate; and the major-vote, “ultima, ratio senatuum & conciliorum,” carried the question as the court and bishops would have it.

This was the last act of this tragi-comedy, which had taken up sixteen or seventeen whole days debate; the house sitting many times till eight or nine of the clock at night, and sometimes till midnight; but the business of privilege between the two houses† gave such an interruption, that this bill was never reported from the committee to the house.

I have mentioned to you divers lords, that were speakers, as it fell in the debate; but I have not distributed the arguments of the debate to every particular lord. Now you know the speakers, your curiosity may be satisfied, and the lords I am sure will not quarrel about the division. I must not forget to mention those great lords, Bedford, Devonshire, and Burlington, for the countenance and support they gave to the English interest. The earl of Bedford was so brave in it, that he joined in three of the protests; so also did the earl of Dorset; and the earl of Stamford, a young nobleman of great hopes; the lord viscount Say and Seal and the lord Pagitt in two; the lord Audley and the lord Fitzwalter in the third; and the lord Peter, a nobleman of great estate, and always true to the maintenance of liberty and property, in the first. And I should not have omitted the earl of Dorset, lord Audley, and the lord Peter, amongst the speakers; for I will assure you they did their parts excellently well. The lord viscount Hereford was a steady man among the country lords; so also was the lord Townshend, a man justly of great esteem and power in his own country, and amongst all those that well know him. The earl of Carnarvon ought not to be mentioned in the last place; for he came out of the country on purpose to oppose the bill, stuck very fast to the country party, and spoke many excellent things against it. I dare not mention the Roman catholic lords, and some others, for fear I hurt them; but thus much I shall say of the Roman catholic peers, that if they were safe in their estates, and yet kept out of office, their votes in that house would not be the most unsafe to England of any sort of men in it. As for the absent lords, the earl of Rutland, lord Sandys, lord Herbert of Cherbury, lord North, and lord Crew, ought to be mentioned with honour; having taken care their votes should maintain their own interest and opinions. But the earls of Exeter and Chesterfield, that gave no proxies this session; the lord Montague of Boughton, that gave his to the treasurer; and the lord Roberts his to the earl of Northampton; are not easily to be understood. If you ask after the earl of Carlisle, the lord viscount Falconberg, and the lord Berkley of Berkley-Castle, because you find them not mentioned amongst all their old friends; all I have to say is, that the earl of Carlisle stepped aside to receive his pension; the lord Berkley to dine with the lord-treasurer; but the lord viscount Falconberg, like the nobleman in the gospel, went away sorrowful, for he had a great office at court. But I despair not of giving you a better account of them next session, for it is not possible, when they consider, that Cromwell’s major-general, son-in-law, and friend, should think to find their accounts amongst men that set up on such a bottom.

Thus, sir, you see the standard of the new party is not yet set up, but must be the work of another session; though it be admirable to me, how the king can be induced to venture his affairs upon such weak counsels, and of so fatal consequences. For I believe it is the first time in the world, that ever it was thought adviseable, after fifteen years of the highest peace, quiet, and obedience, that ever was in any country, that there should be a pretence taken up, and a reviving of former miscarriages, especially after so many promises and declarations, as well as acts of oblivion, and so much merit of the offending party, in being the instruments of the king’s happy return; besides the putting so vast a number of the king’s subjects in utter despair of having their crimes ever forgotten. And it must be a great mistake in counsels, or worse, that there should be so much pains taken by the court to debase and bring low the house of peers, if a military government be not intended by some. For the power of the peerage, and a standing army, are like two buckets, in the proportion that one goes down, the other exactly goes up. And I refer you to the consideration of all the histories of ours, or any of our neighbour northern monarchies; whether standing forces, military and arbitrary government, came not plainly in by the same steps that the nobility were lessened; and whether, whenever they were in power and greatness, they permitted the least shadow of any of them. Our own country is a clear instance of it; for though the white rose and the red changed fortunes often, to the ruin, slaughter, and beheading the great men of the other side; yet nothing could enforce them to secure themselves by a standing force. But I cannot believe that the king himself will ever design any such thing; for he is not of a temper robust and laborious enough to deal with such a sort of men, or reap the advantages, if there be any, of such a government. And I think he can hardly have forgot the treatment his father received from the officers of his army, both at Oxford and Newark; it was an hard, but almost an even choice, to be the parliament’s prisoner, or their slave; but I am sure the greatest prosperity of his arms could have brought him to no happier condition, than our king his son has before him, whenever he pleases. However, this may be said for the honour of this session, that there is no prince in Christendom hath, at a greater expence of money, maintained for two months space a nobler or more useful dispute of the politics, mystery, and secrets of government, both in church and state, than this hath been; of which noble design no part is owing to any of the country lords, for several of them begged, at the first entrance into the debate, that they might not be engaged in such disputes as would unavoidably produce divers things to be said, which they were willing to let alone. But I must bear them witness, and so will you, having read this; that they did their parts in it, when it came to it, and spoke plain, like old English lords.

I shall conclude with what, upon the whole matter, is most worthy your consideration, that the design is “to declare us first into another government more absolute and arbitrary than the oath of allegiance, or old law, knew;” and then “make us swear unto it,” as it is so established. And less than this the bishops could not offer in requital to the crown for parting with its supremacy, and suffering them to be sworn to be equal with itself. Archbishop Laud was the first founder of this device. In his canons of 1640, you shall find an oath very like this, and a declaratory canon preceding, “that monarchy is of divine righta;” which was also affirmed in this debate by our reverend prelates, and is owned in print by no less men than archbishop Usher, and bishop Sandersona; and I am afraid it is the avowed opinion of much the greater part of our dignified clergy. If so, I am sure they are the most dangerous sort of men alive to our English government; and it is the first thing ought to be looked into, and strictly examined by our parliaments. It is the leaven that corrupts the whole lump. For if that be true, I am sure monarchy is not to be bounded by human laws; and the 8th chapter of 1 Samuel will prove (as many of our divines would have it) the great charter of the royal prerogative; and our “Magna Charta;” that says, “Our kings may not take our fields, our vineyards, our corn, and our sheep,” is not in force, but void and null; because against divine institution. And you have the riddle out, why the clergy are so ready to take themselves, and to impose upon others, such kind of oaths as these. They have placed themselves and their possessions upon a better and surer bottom (as they think) than “Magna Charta”; and so have no more need of, or concern for it. Nay, what is worse, they have trucked away the rights and liberties of the people, in this and all other countries, wherever they have had opportunity; that they might be owned by the prince to be “jure divino,” maintained in that pretension by that absolute power and force they have contributed so much to put into his hands; and that priest and prince may, like Castor and Pollux, be worshipped together as divine, in the same temple, by us poor lay-subjects; and that sense and reason, law, properties, rights, and liberties, shall be understood, as the oracles of those deities shall interpret, or give signification to them; and never be made use of in the world to oppose the absolute and free will of either of them.

Sir, I have no more to say, but beg your pardon for this tedious trouble, and that you will be very careful to whom you communicate any of this.

REMARKS UPON SOME OF MR. NORRIS’S BOOKS,

Wherein he asserts P. Malebranche’s Opinion of our seeing all Things in God.

John Locke

1693

Oates

There are some, who think they have given an account of the nature of ideas, by telling us, “we see them in Goda,” as if we understood, what ideas in the understanding of God are, better than when they are in our own understandings; or their nature were better known, when it is said, that “the immediate object of our understandings are the divine ideas, the omniform essence of God, partially represented or exhibitedb.” So that this now has made the matter clear, there can be no difficulty left, when we are told that our ideas are the divine ideas; and the “divine ideas the omniform essence of God.” For what the divine ideas are, we know as plainly, as we know what 1, 2, and 3, is; and it is a satisfactory explication of what our ideas are to tell us, they are no other than the divine ideas; and the divine essence is more familiar, and level to our knowledge, than any thing we think of. Besides, there can be no difficulty in understanding how the “divine ideas are God’s essence.”

I am complained of for not having “given an account of, or defined the nature of our ideasa.” By “giving an account of the nature of ideas,” is not meant, that I should make known to men their ideas; for I think nobody can imagine that any articulate sounds of mine, or any body else, can make known to another what his ideas, that is, what his perceptions are, better than what he himself knows and perceives them to be; which is enough for affirmations, or negations about them. By the “nature of ideas,” therefore, is meant here their causes and manner of production in the mind, i. e. in what alteration of the mind this perception consists; and as to that, I answer, no man can tell; for which I not only appeal to experience, which were enough, but shall add this reason, viz. because no man can give any account of any alteration made in any simple substance whatsoever; all the alteration we can conceive, being only of the alteration of compounded substances; and that only by a transposition of parts. Our ideas, say these men, are the “divine ideas, or the omniform essence of God,” which the mind sometimes sees, and sometimes not. Now I ask these men, what alteration is made in the mind upon seeing? for there lies the difficulty, which occasions the inquiry.

For what difference a man finds in himself, when he sees a marygold, and sees not a marygold, has no difficulty, and needs not be inquired after: he has the idea now, which he had not before. The difficulty is, what alteration is made in his mind; what changes that has in itself, when it sees what it did not see before, either the divine idea in the understanding of God, or, as the ignorant think, the marygold in the garden. Either supposition, as to this matter, is all one; for they are both things extrinsical to the mind, till it has that perception; and when it has it, I desire them to explain to me, what the alteration in the mind is, besides saying, as we vulgar do, it is having a perception, which it had not the moment before; which is only the difference between perceiving and not perceiving; a difference in matter of fact agreed on all hands; which, wherein it consists, is, for aught I see, unknown to one side as well as the other; only the one have the ingenuity to confess their ignorance; and the other pretend to be knowing.

P. Malebranche says, “God does all things by the simplest and shortest ways,” i. e. as it is interpreted in Mr. Norris’s Reason and Religion, “God never does any thing in vaina.” This will easily be granted them; but how will they reconcile to this principle of theirs, on which their whole system is built, the curious structure of the eye and ear; not to mention the other parts of the body? For if the perception of colours and sounds depended on nothing but the presence of the object affording an occasional cause to God Almighty to exhibit to the mind the idea of figures, colours, and sounds; all that nice and curious structure of those organs is wholly in vain: since the sun by day, and the stars by night, and the visible objects that surround us, and the beating of a drum, the talk of people, and the change made in the air by thunder; are as much present to a blind and deaf man, as to those who have their eyes and ears in the greatest perfection. He that understands optics ever so little, must needs admire the wonderful make of the eye, not only for the variety and neatness of the parts; but as suited to the nature of refraction, so as to paint the image of the object in the retina; which these men must confess to be all lost labour, if it contributes nothing at all, in the ordinary way of causes and effects, to the producing that idea in the mind. But that only the presence of the object gave occasion to God to show to the mind that idea in himself, which certainly is as present to one that has a gutta serena, as to the quicksightedest man living. But we do not know how, by any natural operation, this can produce an idea in the mind; and therefore (a good conclusion!) God, the author of nature, cannot this way produce it. As if it were impossible for the Almighty to produce any thing, but by ways we must conceive, and are able to comprehend; when he that is best satisfied of his omniscient understanding, and knows so well how God perceives, and man thinks, cannot explain the cohesion of parts in the lowest degree of created beings, unorganised bodies.

The perception of universals also proves that all beings are present to our minds; and that can only be by the presence of God, because all “created things are individualsa.” Are not all things that exist individuals? If so, then say not, all created, but all existing things are individuals; and if so, then the having any general idea proves not that we have all objects present to our minds. But this is for want of considering wherein universality consists; which is only in representation, abstracting from particulars. An idea of a circle, of an inch diameter, will represent, where, or whensoever existing, all the circles of an inch diameter; and that by abstracting from time and place. And it will also represent all circles of any bigness, by abstracting also from that particular bigness, and by retaining only the relation of equidistance of the circumference from the centre, in all the parts of it.

We have a “distinct idea of Godb,” whereby we clearly enough distinguish him from the creatures; but I fear it would be presumption for us to say, we have a clear idea of him, as he is in himself.

The argument, that “we have the idea of infinite, before the idea of finite, because we conceive infinite being, barely by conceiving being, without considering, whether it be finite or infinitec;” I shall leave to be considered, whether it is not a mistake, of priority of nature, for priority of conception.

“God made all things for himselfa;” therefore, we “see all things in him.” This is called demonstration. As if all things were as well made for God, and mankind had not as much reason to magnify him, if their perception of things were any other way than such an one of seeing them in him; as shows not God more than the other, and wherein not one of a million takes more notice of him, than those who think they perceive things, where they are, by their senses.

If God should create a mind, and give it the sun, suppose, for its idea, “or immediate object of knowledge, God would then make that mind for the sun, and not for himselfb.” This supposes, that those that see things in God, see at the same time God also, and thereby show that their minds are made for God, having him for the “immediate object of their knowledge.” But for this I must appeal to common experience, whether every one, as often as he sees any thing else, sees and perceives God in the case; or whether it be not true of men, who see other things every moment, that God is not in all their thoughts? Yet, says he, “when the mind sees his works, it sees him in some mannerc.” This some manner, is no manner at all to the purpose of being made only for God, for his idea, or for his immediate object of knowledge. A man bred up in the obscurity of a dungeon, where, by a dim and almost no light, he perceives the objects about him; it is true, he owes this idea to the light of the sun; but having never heard, nor thought of the sun, can one say that the idea of the sun is “his immediate object of knowledge,” or that therefore “his mind was made for the sun?” This is the case of a great part of mankind; and how many can we imagine of those, who have got some notion of God, either from tradition or reason; have an idea of him present in their minds as often as they think of any thing else?

But if our being made for God necessarily demonstrates that we should “see all things in him;” this, at last, will demonstrate, that we are not half made for him, since it is confessed by our author, that we see no other ideas in God, but those of number, extension, and essences; which are not half the ideas that take up men’s minds.

“The simple essences of things are nothing else but the divine essence itself, considered with his connotation, as variously representative, or exhibitive of things, and as variously imitable or participable by thema;” and this he tells us are ideasb. The meaning, I take it, of all this, put into plain intelligible words, is this; God has always a power to produce any thing that involves not a contradiction. He also knows what we can do. But what is all this to ideas in him, as real beings visible by us? God knew, from eternity, he could produce a pebble, a mushroom, and a man. Were these, which are distinct ideas, part of his simple essence? It seems then we know very well the essence of God, and use the word simple, which comprehends all sorts of variety, in a very proper way. But God knew he could produce such creatures; therefore, where shall we place those ideas he saw of them, but in his own essence? There these ideas existed “eminenter;” and so they are the essence of God. There are things themselves existed too “eminenter,” and therefore all the creatures, as they really exist, are the essence of God. For if finite real beings of one kind, as ideas are said to be, are the essence of the infinite God; other finite beings, as the creatures, may be also the essence of God. But after this rate we must talk, when we will allow ourselves to be ignorant of nothing; but will know even the knowledge of God, and the way of his understanding!

The “essences of things, or ideas existing in Godc.” There are many of them that exist in God; and so the simple essence of God has actually existing in it as great a variety of ideas as there are of creatures; all of them real beings, and distinct one from another. If it be said, this means, God can, and knows he can produce them; what doth this say more than every one says? If it doth say more, and shows us not this infinite number of real distinct beings in God, so as to be his very essence; what is this better than what those say, who make God to be nothing but the universe; though it be covered under unintelligible expressions of simplicity and variety, at the same time, in the essence of God? But those who would not be thought ignorant of any thing to attain it, make God like themselves; or else they could not talk as they do, of “the mind of God, and the ideas in the mind of God, exhibitive of all the whole possibility of beinga.”

It is “in the divine nature that these universal natures, which are the proper objects of science, are to be found. And consequently it is in God that we know all the truth which we knowb.” Doth any universal nature therefore exist? Or can any thing that exists any-where, or any-how, be any other than singular? I think it cannot be denied that God, having a power to produce ideas in us, can give that power to another: or, to express it otherwise, make any idea the effect of any operation on our bodies. This has no contradiction in it, and therefore is possible. But you will say, you conceive not the way how this is done. If you stand to that rule, that it cannot be done, because you conceive not the manner how it is brought to pass; you must deny that God can do this, because you cannot conceive the manner how he produces any idea in us. If visible objects are seen only by God’s exhibiting their ideas to our minds, on occasion of the presence of these objects, what hinders the Almighty from exhibiting their ideas to a blind man, to whom, being set before his face, and as near his eyes, and in as good a light as to one not blind, they are, according to this supposition, as much the occasional cause to one as the other? But yet under this equality of occasional causes, one has the idea, and the other not; and this constantly; which would give one reason to suspect something more than a presential occasional cause in the object.

Farther, if light striking upon the eyes be but the occasional cause of seeing; God, in making the eyes of so curious a structure, operates not by the simplest ways; for God could have produced visible ideas upon the occasion of light upon the eye-lids or fore-head.

Outward objects are not, when present, always occasional causes. He that has long continued in a room perfumed with sweet odours, ceases to smell, though the room be filled with those flowers; though, as often as after a little absence he returns again, he smells them afresh. He that comes out of bright sunshine into a room where the curtains are drawn, at first sees nothing in the room; though those who have been there some time, see him and every thing plainly. It is hard to account for either of these phenomena, by God’s producing these ideas upon the account of occasional causes. But by the production of ideas in the mind, by the operation of the object on the organs of sense, this difference is easy to be explained.

Whether the ideas of light and colours come in by the eyes, or no; it is all one as if they did; for those who have no eyes, never have them. And whether, or no, God has appointed that a certain modified motion of the fibres, or spirits in the optic nerve, should excite or produce, or cause them in us; call it what you please: it is all one as if it did; since where there is no such motion, there is no such perception or idea. For I hope they will not deny God the privilege to give such a power to motion, if he pleases. Yes, say they, they be the occasional, but not the efficient cause; for that they cannot be, because that is in effect to say, he has given this motion in the optic nerve a power to operate on himself, but cannot give it a power to operate on the mind of man; it may by this appointment operate on himself, the impassible infinite spirit, and put him in mind when he is to operate on the mind of man, and exhibit to it the idea which is in himself of any colour. The infinite eternal God is certainly the cause of all things, the fountain of all being and power. But, because all being was from him, can there be nothing but God himself? or, because all power was originally in him, can there be nothing of it communicated to his creatures? This is to set very narrow bounds to the power of God, and, by pretending to extend it, takes it away. For which (I beseech you, as we can comprehend) is the perfectest power; to make a machine, a watch, for example, that when the watchmaker has withdrawn his hands, shall go and strike by the fit contrivance of the parts; or else requires that whenever the hand by pointing to the hours, minds him of it, he should strike twelve upon the bell? No machine of God’s making can go of itself. Why? because the creatures have no power; can neither move themselves, nor any thing else. How then comes about all that we see? Do they do nothing? Yes, they are the occasional causes to God, why he should produce certain thoughts and motions in them. The creatures cannot produce any idea, any thought in man. How then comes he to perceive or think? God upon the occasion of some motion in the optic nerve, exhibits the colour of a marygold or a rose to his mind. How came that motion in his optic nerve? On occasion of the motion of some particles of light striking on the retina, God producing it, and so on. And so whatever a man thinks God produces the thought; let it be infidelity, murmuring, or blasphemy. The mind doth nothing; his mind is only the mirrour that receives the ideas that God exhibits to it, and just as God exhibits them; the man is altogether passive in the whole business of thinking.

A man cannot move his arm or his tongue; he has no power; only upon occasion, the man willing it, God moves it. The man wills, he doth something; or else God, upon the occasion of something, which he himself did before, produced this will, and this action in him. This is the hypothesis that clears doubts, and brings us at last to the religion of Hobbes and Spinosa by resolving all, even the thoughts and will of men, into an irresistible fatal necessity. For whether the original of it be from the continued motion of eternal all-doing matter, or from an omnipotent immaterial being which, having begun matter, and motion, continues it by the direction of occasions which he himself has also made; as to religion and morality, it is just the same thing. But we must know how every thing is brought to pass, and thus we have it resolved, without leaving any difficulty to perplex us. But perhaps it would better become us to acknowledge our ignorance, than to talk such things boldly of the Holy One of Israel, and condemn others for not daring to be as unmannerly as ourselves.

Ideas may be real beings, though not substances; as motion is a real being, though not a substance; and it seems probable that, in us, ideas depend on, and are some way or other the effect of motion: since they are so fleeting; it being, as I have elsewhere observed, so hard, and almost impossible, to keep in our minds the same unvaried idea, long together, unless when the object that produces it is present to the senses; from which the same motion that first produced it being continued, the idea itself may continue.

This therefore may be a sufficient excuse of the ignorance I have owned of what our ideas are, any farther than as they are perceptions we experiment in ourselves; and the dull unphilosophical way I have taken of examining their production, only so far as experience and observation lead me; wherein my dim sight went not beyond sensation and reflection.

Trutha lies only in propositions. The foundation of this truth is the relation that is between our ideas. The knowledge of truth is that perception of the relation between our ideas to be as it is expressed.

The immutability of essences lies in the same sounds, supposed to stand for the same ideas. These things consider, would have saved this learned discourse.

Whatever exists, whether in God, or out of God, is singulara.

If no proposition should be made, there would be no truth nor falsehood; though the same relations still subsisting between the same ideas, is a foundation of the immutability of truthb in the same propositions, whenever made.

What wonder is it that the same ideac should always be the same idea? For if the word triangle be supposed to have the same signification always, that is all this amounts to.

“I desire to knowd what things they are that God has prepared for them that love him.” Therefore I have some knowledge of them already, though they be such as “eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor have entered into the heart of man to conceive.”

If I “have all things actually present to my mind;” why do I not know all things distinctly?

He that considerse the force of such ways of speaking as these, “I desire it, pray give it me, she was afraid of the snake, and ran away trembling;” will easily conceive how the meaning of the words “desire” and “fear,” and so all those which stand for intellectual notions, may be taught by words of sensible significations.

This, however otherwise in experience, should be so on this hypothesis; v. g. the uniformity of the ideas, that different men have when they use such words as these, “glory, worship, religion,” are clear proofs that, “God exhibited to their minds that part of the ideal world, as is signified by that sign.”

Strange! that truth being, in any question, but one; the more we discover of it, the more uniform our judgment should be about itf.

This argues that the ground of it is the always immutable relations of the same ideas. Several ideas that we have once got acquainted with, we can revive; and so they are present to us when we please. But the knowledge of their relations, so as to know what we may affirm or deny of them, is not always present to our minds; but we often miss truth, even after study. But in many, and possibly not the fewest, we have neither the ideas, nor the truth, constantly, or so much as at all, present to our minds.

And I think I may without any disparagement to the author, doubt whether he ever had, or, with all his application, ever would have, the ideas of truth present to the mind, that Mr. Newton had in writing his book.

This sectiong supposes we are better acquainted with God’s understanding than our own. But this pretty argument would perhaps look as smilingly thus: We are like God in our understandings: he sees what he sees, by ideas in his own mind; therefore we see what we see, by ideas that are in our own minds.

These textsh do not prove that we shall “hereafter see all things in God.” There will be objects in a future state, and we shall have bodies and senses.

Is he, whilst we see through the veil of our mortal flesh here, intimately present to our minds?

To think of any thingi is to contemplate that precise idea. The idea of Being, in general, is the idea of Being abstracted from whatever may limit or determine it to any inferior species; so that he that thinks always of being in general, thinks never of any particular species of being; unless he can think of it with and without precision at the same time. But if he means, that he thinks of being in general, whenever he thinks of this or that particular being, or sort of being; then it is certain he may always think of being in general, till he can find out a way of thinking on nothing.

Being in general, is beingk abstracted from wisdom, goodness, power, and any particular sort of duration; and I have as true an idea of being, when these are excluded out of it, as when extension, place, solidity, and mobility, are excluded out of my idea. And therefore, if being in general, and God, be the same, I have a true idea of God, when I exclude out of it power, goodness, wisdom, and eternity.

As if there was no differencel between “man’s being his own light,” and “not seeing things in God.” Man may be enlightened by God, though it be not by “seeing all things in God.”

The finishing of these hasty thoughts must be deferred to another season.

Oates,

1693.

John Locke.

SEVERAL LETTERS TO ANHT. COLLINS, ESQ. AND OTHER PERSONS.

John Locke

Mr. Oldenburgh

A LETTER FROM MR. LOCKE TO MR. OLDENBURGH, CONCERNING A POISONOUS FISH ABOUT THE BAHAMA ISLANDS.

Sir,

I HEREWITH send you an account, I lately received from New Providence, one of the Bahama Islands, concerning a fish there; which is as followeth:

“I have not met with any rarities here, worth your acceptance, though I have been diligent in inquiring after them. Of those, which I have heard of, this seems most remarkable to me. The fish, which are here, are many of them poisonous, bringing a great pain on their joints who eat them, and continue for some short time; and at last, with two or three days itching, the pain is rubbed off. Those of the same species, size, shape, colour, taste, are, one of them poison; the other not in the least hurtful: and those that are, only to some of the company, The distemper to men never proves mortal. Dogs and cats sometimes eat their last. Men, who have once had that disease, upon the eating of fish, though it be those which are wholesome, the poisonous ferment in their body is revived thereby, and their pain increased.”

Thus far the ingenious person, from whom I had this relation, who having been but a very little while upon the island, when he writ this, could not send so perfect an account of this odd observation, as one could wish, or as I expect to receive from him, in answer to some queries I lately sent him by a ship bound thither. When his answer comes to my hand, if there be any thing in it, which may gratify your curiosity, I shall be glad of that or any other occasion to assure you that I am,

SIR, Your most humble servant,

John Locke.

4 May, 1703

Oates

Anthony Collins

A LETTER TO ANTHONY COLLINS, ESQ.

Sir,

Oates,

4 May, 1703.

NONE of your concerns are of indifference to me. You may from thence conclude I take part in your late great loss. But I consider you as a philosopher, and a christian; aud so spare you the trouble of reading from me, what your own thoughts will much better suggest to you.

You have exceedingly obliged me, in the books of yours that you have sent me, and those of mine you have been at so much trouble about. I received but just now the packet, wherein they and your obliging letter were; that must be my excuse for so tardy a return of my thanks.

I am overjoyed with an intimation I have received also, that gives me hopes of seeing you here the next week. You are a charitable good friend, and are resolved to make the decays and dregs of my life the pleasantest part of it. For I know nothing calls me so much back to a pleasant sense of enjoyment, and makes my days so gay and lively, as your good company. Come then, and multiply happy minutes upon, and rejoice here in the good you do me. For I am, with a perfect esteem and respect,

SIR,
Your most humble and most obedient servant,

John Locke.

3 June, 1703

Oates

Anthony Collins

TO THE SAME.

Sir,

Oates,

3 June, 1703.

IT is not enough to have heard from my cousin Kingm that you got safe to town, or from others that you were since well there. I am too much concerned in it, not to inquire of yourself, how you do. Besides that I owe you my thanks, for the greatest favour I can receive, the confirmation of your friendship, by the visit I lately received from you. If you knew what satisfaction I feel spread over my mind by it, you would take this acknowledgment as coming from something beyond civility; my heart goes with it, and that you may be sure of; and so useless a thing as I am have nothing else to offer you.

As a mark that I think we are past ceremony, I here send you a new bookn in quires, with a desire you will get it bound by your binder. In the parts of good binding, besides folding, beating, and sewing, will I count strong pasteboards, and as large margins as the paper will possibly afford; and, for lettering, I desire it should be upon the same leather blacked, and barely the name of the author, as, in this case, Vossius.

Pardon this liberty, and believe me with perfect sincerity and respect, &c.

John Locke

18 June, 1703

Oates

Anthony Collins

TO THE SAME.

Sir,

Oates,

18 June, 1703.

IT would be strange, if after all those marks of friendship and esteem I have received from you, in the little time I have had the honour of your acquaintance, I should quarrel with you; and should repay the continuance of your good offices, employed even in things beneath you, with grumbling at you; and yet this I can hardly forbear to do. Do not, I beseech you, take this to be altogether ill-nature, but a due estimate of what I enjoy in you. And, since upon just measures I count it the great treasure of my life, I cannot with patience hear you talk of condescension in me, when I stick not to waste your time in looking after the binding of my books. If you please let us live upon fairer terms; and when you oblige me, give me leave to be sensible of it. And pray remember, that there is one Mr. Collins, with whom, if I desire to live upon equal terms, it is not that I forget how much he is superiour to me, in many things wherein he will always have the precedency; but I assume it upon the account of that friendship that is between us; friendship levelling all inequalities between those whom it joins, that it may leave nothing that may keep them at a distance, and hinder a perfect union and enjoyment.

This is what I would be at with you; and were I not in earnest in it, out of a sincere love of you, I would not be so foolish to rob myself of the only way wherein I might pretend to enter the lists with you. I am old and useless, and out of the way; all the real services are then like to be on your side. In words, expressions, and acknowledgment, there might have been perhaps some room to have made some offers of holding up to you. But I desire that nothing of the court guise may mix in our conversation. Put not, I beseech you, any thing into your letters to make me forget how much I am obliged to you by the liberty you allow me to tell you that I am, &c.

John Locke

24 June, 1703

Oates

Anthony Collins

TO THE SAME.

Sir,

Oates,

24 June, 1703.

MR. BOLDo, who leaves us to-day, intends to see you; and I cannot forbear going, as far as I can, to make the third in the company. Would my health second my desires, not only my name, and a few words of friendship, should go with him to you; but I myself would get to horse; and had I nothing else to do in town, I should think it worth a longer journey than it is thither, to see and enjoy you. But I must submit to the restraints of old age, and expect that happiness from your charity.

It is but six days since, that I writ to you; and see here another letter. You are like to be troubled with me. If it be so, why do you make yourself beloved? Why do you make yourself so necessary to me? I thought myself pretty loose from the world, but I feel you begin to fasten me to it again. For you make my life, since I have had your friendship, much more valuable to me than it was before.

You thanked me in your last, for the employment I gave you; I wish I do not make you repent it; for you are likely to have my custom. I desire you would do me the favour to get me Dr. Barrow’s English works, bound as Vossius’s Etymologicum was. I am in no manner of haste for them, and therefore you may get them from your bookseller in quires, when you go to his shop upon any other occasion; and put them to your binder at leisure. I have them for my own use already; these are to give away to a young lady here in the country. When they are bound, I desire your binder would pack them up carefully, and cover them with paper enough to keep their corners and edges from being hurt in the carriage. For carriers are a sort of brutes, and declared enemies to books. I am, &c.

John Locke

9 July, 1703

Oates

Anthony Collins

TO THE SAME.

Sir,

Oates,

9 July, 1703.

YOURS, of the 30th of June, I received just now, and cannot forbear a moment to tell you, that if there were any thing in my last letter, that gave you an occasion, after having mentioned disguise, to say, you “have made use of no way to show your esteem of me, but still your heart went with it,” I am very sorry for it. For, however I might think the expressions in your letter above what I could deserve, yet my blaming your excess of civility to me tended not to any doubt of the sincerity of your affection. Had I not been secure of that, I could not have talked to you with the same freedom I did, nor have endeavoured to persuade you, that you were lodged so near my heart as you are. Though my friendship be of very little value, or use; yet being the best thing I have to give, I shall not forwardly bestow it, where I do not think there is worth and sincerity; and therefore, pray, pardon me the forwardness wherewith I throw my arms about your neck; and holding you so, tell you, you must not hope, by any thing that looks like compliment, to keep me at a civiler, and more fashionable distance.

You comply with me, I see, by the rest of your letter; and you bear with my treating you with the familiarity of an established friendship. You pretend you have got the advantage by it. I wish it may be so; for I should be very glad there were any thing, wherein I could be useful to you. Find it out, I beseech you; and tell me of it, with as little ceremony and scruple, as you see I use with you.

The New Testament, you mentionp, I shall be glad to see, since Mr. Bold has told you how desirous I was to see it. I have expected one of them from Holland ever since they have been out; and so I hope to restore it to you again in a few days.

The other book, you mentionedq, I have seen; and am so well satisfied, by his 5th section, what a doughty ‘squire he is like to prove in the rest, that I think not to trouble myself to look farther into him. He has there argued very weakly against his adversary, but very strongly against himself.

But this will be better entertainment for you when we meet, than matter for a letter, wherein I make it my business to assure you, that I am, &c.

John Locke

10 September, 1703

Oates

Anthony Collins

TO THE SAME.

Sir,

Oates,

10 September, 1703.

YOURS of the 7th, which I just now received, is the only letter I have a long time wished for, and the welcomest that could come; for I longed to hear that you were well, that you were returned, and that I might have the opportunity to return you my thanks for the books you sent me, which came safe; and to acknowledge my great obligations to you for one of the most villainous books, that, I think, ever was printedr. It is a present that I highly value. I had heard something of it, when a young man in the university; but possibly should never have seen this quintessence of railing, but for your kindness. It ought to be kept as the pattern and standard of that sort of writing, as the man he spends it upon, for that of good temper, and clear and strong arguing. I am, &c.

John Locke

1 October, 1703

Oates

Anthony Collins

TO THE SAME.

Sir,

Oates,

1 October, 1703.

YOU are a good man, and one may depend upon your promise. This makes me pass my days in comfortable hopes, when I remember you are not far off. I have your word for it, and that is better than city-security. But for fear villainous business should impertinently step in again, between you and your kind purposes to us here; give me leave to beg the favour of you, that if you write again, before I have the happiness to see you, you will do me the favour to send me a note of what you have laid out for me, that I may pay you that part of the debt I am able, of what I owe you, and may not have so much to interrupt the advantages I am to reap from your conversation, when you honour me with your company, as an apology to be made, if I am not out of your debt before we meet.

Doth Mr. Le Clerc’s New Testament make any noise amongst the men of letters or divinity in your town? The divines of Brandenburg or Cleve have got the king of Prussia to prohibit it in his dominions; and the Walloon divines in Holland are soliciting the same at the Hague, but it is thought will not prevails. I have not yet heard what are the exceptions made in particular, either by the one, or the other. If there be need of authentic interpreters of the word of God, what is the way to find them out? That is worth your thinking of, unless you would have every one interpret for himself; and what work would that make? Betwixt these two, find something if you can; for the world is in want of peace, which is much better than everlasting Billingsgate.

I thought not to have troubled you with hard questions, or any thing that should have required a serious thought, any farther than what day you should pitch on to come hither. But everlasting wrangilng, and calling of names, is so odious a thing, that you will pardon me, if it puts me out of temper a little. But I think of you, and some few such as you in the world, and that reconciles me to it; or else it would not be worth staying in an hour. I am, &c.

John Locke

Yorkshire

Lady Calverley

A LETTER TO THE LADY CALVERLEY IN YORKSHIRE.

Madam,

WHATEVER reason you have to look on me, as one of the slow men of London, you have this time given me an excuse for being so; for you cannot expect a quick answer to a letter, which took me up a good deal of time to get to the beginning of it. I turned and turned it on every side; looked at it again and again, at the top of every page; but could not get into the sense and secret of it, till I applied myself to the middle.

You, madam, who are acquainted with all the skill and methods of the ancients, have not, I suppose, taken up with this hieroglyphical way of writing for nothing; and since you were going to put into your letter things that might be the reward of the highest merit, you would, by this mystical intimation, put me into the way of virtue, to deserve them.

But whatever your ladyship intended, this is certain, that, in the best words in the world, you gave me the greatest humiliation imaginable. Had I as much vanity as a pert citizen, that sets up for a wit in his parish, you have said enough in your letter to content me; and if I could be swoln that way, you have taken a great deal of pains to blow me up, and make me the finest gaudy bubble in the world, as I am painted by your colours. I know the emperors of the East suffer not strangers to appear before them, till they are dressed up out of their own wardrobes; is it so too in the empire of wit? and must you cover me with your own embroidery, that I may be a fit object for your thoughts and conversation? This, madam, may suit your greatness, but doth not at all satisfy my ambition. He, who has once flattered himself with the hopes of your friendship, knows not the true value of things, if he can content himself with these splendid ornaments.

As soon as I had read your letter, I looked in my glass, felt my pulse, and sighed; for I found, in neither of those, the promises of thirty years to come. For at the rate I have hitherto advanced, and at the distance, I see, by this complimental way of treatment, I still am, I shall not have time enough in this world to get to you. I do not mean to the place where you now see the pole elevated, as you say, 54 degrees. A post-horse, or a coach, would quickly carry me thither. But when shall we be acquainted at this rate? Is that happiness reserved to be completed by the gossiping bowl, at your grand-daughter’s lying-in?

If I were sure that, when you leave this dirty place, I should meet you in the same star where you are to shine next, and that you would then admit me to your conversation, I might perhaps have a little more patience. But, methinks, it is much better to be sure of something, than to be put off to expectations of so much uncertainty. If there be different elevations of the pole here, that keep you at so great a distance from those who languish in your absence; who knows but, in the other world, there are different elevations of persons? And you, perhaps, will be out of sight, among the seraphims, while we are left behind in some dull planet. This the high flights of your elevated genius give us just augury of, whilst you are here. But yet, pray take not your place there before your time; nor keep not us poor mortals at a greater distance than you need. When you have granted me all the nearness that acquaintance and friendship can give, you have other advantages enough still to make me see how much I am beneath you. This will be only an enlargement of your goodness, without lessening the adoration due to your other excellencies.

You seem to have some thoughts of the town again. If the parliament, or the term, which draw some by the name and appearance of business; or if company, and music meetings, and other such entertainments, which have the attractions of pleasure and delight, were of any consideration with you; you would not have much to say for Yorkshire, at this time of the year. But these are no arguments to you, who carry your own satisfaction, and I know not how many worlds always about you. I would be glad you would think of putting all these up in a coach, and bringing them this way. For though you should be never the better; yet there be a great many here that would, and amongst them

The humblest of your ladyship’s servants,

John Locke.

October 29, 1703

Oates

Anthony Collins

A LETTER TO ANTHONY COLLINS, ESQ.

Sir,

Oates,

October 29, 1703.

YOU, in yours of the 21st, say a great many very kind things: and I believe all that you say; and yet I am not very well satisfied with you. And how then is it possible to please you? will you be ready to say. Think that I am as much pleased with your company, as much obliged by your conversation, as you are by mine; and you set me at rest, and I am the most satisfied man in the world. You complain of a great many defects; and that very complaint is the highest recommendation I could desire, to make me love and esteem you, and desire your friendship. And if I were now setting out in the world, I should think it my great happiness to have such a companion as you, who had a true relish of truth, would in earnest seek it with me, from whom I might receive it undisguised, and to whom I might communicate what I thought true freely.

Believe it, my good friend, to love truth, for truth’s sake, is the principal part of human perfection in this world, and the seed-plot of all other virtues; and if I mistake not, you have as much of it as ever I met with in any body. What then is there wanting to make you equal to the best; a friend for any one to be proud of? Would you have me take upon me, because I have the start of you in the number of years, and be supercilious, conceited, for having in a long ramble travelled some countries, which a young voyager has not yet had time to see, and from whence one may be sure he will bring larger collections of solid knowledge?

In good earnest, Sir, when I consider how much of my life has been trifled away in beaten tracts, where I vamped on with others, only to follow those that went before us; I cannot but think I have just as much reason to be proud, as if I had travelled all England, and (if you will) France too, only to acquaint myself with the roads, and be able to tell how the highways lie, wherein those of equipage, and even the herd too, travel.

Now, methinks, (and these are often old men’s dreams,) I see openings to truth, and direct paths leading to it; wherein a little industry and application would settle one’s mind with satisfaction, even in those matters which you mention, and leave no darkness or doubt, even with the most scrupulous. But this is at the end of my day, when my sun is setting. And though the prospect it has given me be what I would not, for any thing, be without; there is so much irresistible truth, beauty, and consistency, in it; yet it is for one of your age, I think I ought to say for yourself, to set about it, as a work you would put into order, and oblige the world with.

You see whither my just thoughts of you have led me; and that I shall have no quarrel with you, if you will cease to set me, as you do, on the higher ground, and to think that I have not as much pleasure and satisfaction from your company as you have from mine. If I were able to live in your neighbourhood in town, I should quickly convince you of that; and you escape being haunted by me only by being out of my reach. A little better acquaintance will let you see that, in the communication of truth, between those who receive it in the love of it, he that answers, is no less obliged, than he who asks the question; and therefore you owe me not those mighty thanks you send me, for having the good luck to say something that pleased you. If it were good seed, I am sure it was soon in good ground, and may expect great increase.

I think you have a familiar, ready to dispatch what you undertake for your friends. How is it possible else, you should so soon procure for me Kircher’s Concordance? “Show me the man, and I will show you his cause;” will hold now-a-days almost in all other cases, as well as that of πϱοσϰυνεῖνt; and yet they must be all thought lovers and promoters of truth. But my letter is too long already, to enter into so copious a subject.

I am, &c.

John Locke

Nov. 16, 1703

Oates

Anthony Collins

TO THE SAME.

Sir,

Oates,

Nov. 16, 1703.

IF I ask you, how you do; it is because I am concerned for your health. If I ask you, whether you have sent me any books since you went to town; it is not that I am in haste for them, but to know how the carrier uses me. And if I ask, whether you are of Lincoln’s-Inn; it is to know of what place you write yourself, which I desire you to tell me in your next, and what good new books there are. I am, &c.

John Locke

Nov. 17, 1703

Oates

Anthony Collins

TO THE SAME.

Sir,

Oates,

Nov. 17, 1703.

THE books I received from you to-night, with the kind letter accompanying them, far more valuable than the books, give matter of enlarging myself this evening. The common offices of friendship, that I constantly receive from you, in a very obliging manner, give me scope enough, and afford me large matter of acknowledgment. But when I think of you, I feel something of nearer concernment that touches me; and that noble principle of the love of truth, which possesses you, makes me almost forget those other obligations, which I should be very thankful for to another.

In good earnest, sir, you cannot think what a comfort it is to me to ahve found out such a man; and not only so, but I have the satisfaction that he is my friend. This gives a gusto to all the good things you say to me, in your letter. For though I cannot attribute them to myself, (for I know my own defects too well,) yet I am ready to persuade myself you mean as you say; and to confess the truth to you, I almost loathe to undeceive you, so much do I value your good opinion.

But to set it upon the right ground, you must know that I am a poor ignorant man, and, if I have any thing to boast of, it is that I sincerely love and seek truth, with indifferency whom it pleases or displeases. I take you to be of the same school, and so embrace you. And if it please God to afford me so much life as to see you again, I shall communicate to you some of my thoughts tending that way.

You need not make any apology for any book that is not yet come. I thank you for those you have sent me; they are more, I think, than I shall use; for the indisposition of my health has beaten me almost quite out of the use of books; and the growing uneasiness of my distempera makes me good for nothing. I am, &c.

John Locke

January 24, 1703-4

Oates

Anthony Collins

TO THE SAME.

Sir,

Oates,

January 24, 1703-4.

TILL your confidence in my friendship, and freedom with me, can preserve you from thinking you have need to make apologies for your silence, whenever you omit a post or two, when in your kind way of reckoning, you judge a letter to be due; you know me not so well as I could wish; nor am I so little burthensome to you as I desire. I could be pleased to hear from you every day; because the very thoughts of you, every day, afford me pleasure and satisfaction. But I beseech you to believe, that I measure not your kindness by your opportunities of writing; nor do suspect that your friendship flattens, whenever your pen lies a little still. The sincerity you profess, and I am convinced of, has charms in it, against all the little phantoms of ceremony. If it be not so, that true friendship sets one free from a scrupulous observance of all those little circumstances, I shall be able to give but a very ill account of myself to my friends; to whom, when I have given possession of my heart, I am less punctual in making of legs, and kissing my hand, than to other people to whom that out-side civility is all that belongs.

I received the three books you sent me. That which the author sent mea deserves my acknowledgment more ways than one; and I must beg you to return it. His demonstrations are so plain, that, if this were an age that followed reason, I should not doubt but his would prevail. But to be rational is so glorious a thing, that two-legged creatures generally content themselves with the title; but will not debase so excellent a faculty, about the conduct of so trivial a thing, as they make themselves.

There never was a man better suited to your wishes than I am. You take a pleasure in being troubled with my commissions; and I have no other way of commerce with you, but by such importunities. I can only say, that, were the tables changed, I should, being in your place, have the same satisfaction; and therefore confidently make use of your kind offer. I therefore beg the favour of you to get me Mr. Le Clerc’s “Harmony of the Evangelists” in English, bound very finely in calf, gilt, and lettered on the back, and gilt on the leaves. So also I would have Moliere’s works (of the best edition you can get them) bound. These books are for ladies; and therefore I would have them fine, and the leaves gilt as well as the back. Moliere of the Paris edition, I think is the best, if it can be got in London in quires. You see the liberty I take. I should be glad you could find out something for me to do for you here. I am perfectly, &c.

John Locke

Feb. 7, 1703-4

Oates

Anthony Collins

TO THE SAME.

Sir,

Oates,

Feb. 7, 1703-4.

IT is with regret I consider you so long in Essex, without enjoying you any part of the time. Essex, methinks, (pardon the extravagancy, extraordinary passions and cases excuse it,) when you are to go into it, should all be Oates; and your journey be no whither, but thither. But land and tenements say other things, whilst we have carcases that must be clothed and fed; and books, you know, the fodder of our understandings. cannot be had without them. What think you? are not those spirits in a fine state that need none of all this luggage; that live without ploughing and sowing; travel as easy as we wish; and inform themselves, not by a tiresome rummaging in the mistakes and jargon of pretenders to knowledge, but by looking into things themselves?

Sir, I forgot you had an estate in the country, a library in town, friends every-where, amongst which you are to while away, as pleasantly, I hope, as any one of this our planet, a large number of years (if my wishes may prevail) yet to come; and am got, I know not how, into remote visions, that help us not in our present state, though they show us something of a better. To return therefore to myself and you, I conclude, by this time, you are got to town again, and then, in a little time, I shall hear from you. I am, &c.

John Locke

Feb. 21, 1703-4

Oates

Anthony Collins

TO THE SAME.

Sir,

Oates,

Feb. 21, 1703-4.

I MUST acknowledge it as an effect of your zeal to serve me, that you have sent me Le Clerc’s Harmony, and Moliere’s works, by the Bishop-Stortford coach; and I return you my thanks as much as if it exactly answered my purpose. I ought not to think it strange, that you in town, amidst a hurry of business, should not keep precisely in mind my little affairs; when I here, where I have nothing to disturb my thoughts, do so often forget. When I wrote to you to do me the favour to get these books for me carefully bound, I think I made it my request to you, I am sure I intended it, to write word when they were done, and then I would acquaint you how they were to be disposed of; for the truth is, they were to be disposed of in town. But whether I only meant this, and said nothing; or you forgot it; the matter is not much. I expect to receive the books to-morrow, and shall do well enough with them.

I should not have taken notice of this to you at all, did I not intend it for an excuse for an ill-mannered thing, very necessary in business, which perhaps you will find me use with you for the future; which is, to repeat the little circumstances of business which are apt to be forgotten in every letter till the danger be over. This, if you observe to do, will prevent many cross accidents in your affairs; I assure it you upon experience.

I desire you to stop your hand a little, and forbear putting to the press the two discourses you mentiona. They are very touchy subjects at this time; and that good man, who is the author, may, for aught I know, be crippled by those, who will be sure to be offended at him, right or wrong. Remember what you say, a little lower in your letter, in the case of another friend of yours, “that in the way of reason they are not to be dealt with.”

It will be a kindness to get a particular account of those proceedingsa; but therein must be contained the day, the names of those present, and the very words of the order or resolution; and to learn, if you can, from whence it had its rise. When these particulars are obtained, it will be fit to consider what use to make of them. In the mean time I take what has been done, as a recommendation of that book to the world, as you do; and I conclude, when you and I meet next, we shall be merry upon the subject. For this is certain, that because some men wink, or turn away their heads, and will not see, others will not consent to have their eyes put out. I am, &c.

John Locke

Feb. 24, 1703-4

Oates

Anthony Collins

TO THE SAME.

Sir,

Oates,

Feb. 24, 1703-4.

YOU know me not yet as you ought, if you do not think I live with you with the same confidence I do with myself, and with the same sincerity of affection too. This makes me talk to you with the same freedom I think; which though it has not all the ceremony of good breeding, yet it makes amends with something more substantial, and is of better relish in the stomach. Believe it, therefore, that you need not trouble yourself with apologies for having sent the books hither. You have obliged me as much by it, as you could by any thing of that nature, which I had desired; neither need you be concerned for the future. It is convenient to make it a rule not to let one’s friends forget little circumstances, whereby such cross purposes sometimes happen; but when they do happen between friends, they are to be made matter of mirth.

The gentleman that writ you the letter, which you sent to me, is an extraordinary man, and the fittest in the world to go on with that inquiry. Pray, let him, at any rate, get the precise time, the persons present, and the minutes of the register taken of their proceedings; and this without noise, or seeming concern to have them, as much as may be; and I would beg you not to talk of this matter, till we have got the whole matter of fact, which will be a pleasant story, and of good use.

I wish the books, you mentioneda, were not gone to the press, and that they might not be printed; for when they are printed, I am sure they will get abroad; and then it will be too late to wish it had not been so. However, if the fates will have it so, and their printing cannot be avoided; yet, at least, let care be taken to conceal his name. I doubt not of his reasoning right, and making good his points; but what will that boot, if he and his family should be disturbed or diseased?

I shall, as you desire, send Moliere, and Le Clerc, back to you, by the first opportunity. I am, with perfect sincerity and respect, &c.

John Locke

28 February, 1703-4

Oates

Anthony Collins

TO THE SAME.

Sir,

Oates,

28 February, 1703-4.

I SAW the packet was exactly well made up, and I knew the books in it were well bound; whereupon I let it alone, and was likely to have sent it back to you unopened; but my good genius would not suffer me to lose a letter of yours in it, which I value more than all the books it accompanied. Since my last therefore to you, I opened the packet, and therein found yours of the 16th instant, which makes me love and value you, if it were possible, more than I did before: you having therein, in short, so well described, wherein the happiness of a rational creature in this world consists; though there are very few that make any other use of their half employed and undervalued reason, but to bandy against it. It is well as you observe, that they agree as ill with one another as they do with common sense. For when, by the influence of some prevailing head, they all lean one way; truth is sure to be borne down, and there is nothing so dangerous, as to make any inquiry after her; and to own her, for her own sake, is a most unpardonable crime.

You ask me how I like the binding of Moliere, and Le Clerc. You will wonder to hear me say, not at all; but you must take the other part of my answer, which is, nor do I dislike it. It is probable, that this yet doth not satisfy you, after you have taken such especial care with your binder, that they should be exactly well done. Know then, that upon moving the first book, having luckily espied your letter, I only just looked into it to see the Paris print of Moliere; and without so much as taking it out of the paper it was wrapped up in, cast my eye upon the cover, which looked very fine, and curiously done, and so put it up again, hasting to your letter. This was examining more than enough, of books whose binding you had told me you had taken care of; and more than enough, for a man who had your letter in his hand unopened.

Pray send me word what you think or hear of Dr. Pitt’s last booka. For as for the first of the other authors you mentionb, by what I have seen of him already, I can easily think his arguments not worth your reciting. And as for the other, though he has parts, yet that is not all which I require in an author I am covetous of, and expect to find satisfaction in.

Pray, forget not to write to your friend in Oxford, to the purpose I mentioned in my last to you. I am, &c.

John Locke

6 March, 1703-4

Oates

Anthony Collins

TO THE SAME.

Sir,

Oates,

6 March, 1703-4.

WERE you of Oxenford itself, bred under those sharp heads, which were for damning my book, because of its discouraging the staple commodity of the place; which in my time was called hogs-shearing, (which is, as I hear, given out for the cause of their decree); you could not be a more subtle disputant than you are. You do every thing that I desire of you, with the utmost care and concern; and because I understand and accept it so, you contend that you are the party obliged. This, I think, requires some of the most refined logic to make good; and if you will have me believe it, you must forbid me too to read my own book, and oblige me to take to my help more learned and scholastic notions. But the mischief is, I am too old to go to school again; and too resty now to study arts, however authorized, or wherever taught, to impose upon my own understanding. Let me therefore, if you please, be sensible of your kindness; and I give you leave to please yourself, with my interpreting them as I ought, as much as you think fit. For it would be hard in me to deny you so small a satisfaction, where I receive so great and real advantage.

To convince you, that you are not like to lose what you so much value, and is all you can expect in our commerce, I put into your hands a fresh opportunity of doing something for me, which I shall have reason to take well. I have this day sent back the bundle of books. I have taken what care I can to secure them from any harm, that might threaten them in the carriage. For I should be extremely vexed that books, so curiously finished by your care, should be in the least injured, or lose any thing of their perfect beauty, till they came to the hands, for whom they are designed.

You have you see by your kind offer drawn upon yourself a farther trouble with them, which was designed for my cousin King. But he setting out for the circuit to-morrow morning, I must beg you that may be my excuse for taking this liberty with you. Moliere’s works are for the countess of Peterborough, which I desire you to present to her from me, with the enclosed for her, and my most humble service. I am in truth, &c.

John Locke

13 March, 1703-4

Oates

Anthony Collins

TO THE SAME.

Sir,

Oates,

13 March, 1703-4.

IF the disputers of this world were but half so good at doing as you, the mart of logic and syllogisms would no doubt be the only place for the young fry “ad capiendum ingenii cultum;” (pardon, I beseech you, this scrap of Latin, my thoughts were in a place that authorises it, and one cannot chop logic half so well in unlearned modern vulgar languages.) But the traders in subtilty have not your way of recommending it, by turning it into substantial solidity, whereby you prevail so much on me, that I can scarce avoid being persuaded by you, that when I send you of a jaunt beyond Piccadilly, you are the person obliged, and I ought to expect thanks of you for it. Excuse me, I entreat you, if, for decency’s sake, I stop a little short of that; and let it satisfy you, that I believe, nay such is the power of your logic, that I cannot help believing, that you spare no pains for your friends, and that you take a pleasure in doing me kindness. All that remains for me to ask of you, is to do me this right in your turn, to believe I am not insensible of your favours, and know how to value such a friend.

Though you saw not my lady, when you delivered Moliere and my letter at her house; yet had you no message from her? Or did you not go in, or stay, when you heard she was indisposed?

Mr. Le Clerc’s Harmony is for Mr. Secretary Johnston’s lady. The book sent to his lodgings, with a note to inform him, that it is for his lady from me, will do the business; so that for this errand, I am glad your servant is sufficient without sending you; for you must give me leave sometimes on such occasions to be a little stingy, and sparing of my favours.

I perceive, by the enclosed you did me the favour to send me, that those worthy heads are not yet grown up to perfect infallibility. I am sorry however that their mighty thoughts wanted utterance. However, I would very gladly know the true matter of fact, and what was really proposed, resolved, or done; this, if possible, I would be assured of, that I might not be mistaken in what gratitude I ought to have.

You baulked my having the bishop of St. Asaph’sa sermon, by telling my cousin King, that I care not for sermons; and, at the same time, you send my lady plays. This has raised a dispute between her ladyship and me, which of us two it is, you think best of. Methinks you are of opinion, that my lady is well enough satisfied with the unreformed stage; but that I should be glad, that some things were reformed in the pulpit itself. The result is, that my lady thinks it necessary for you to come, and appease these broils you have raised in the family. I am, &c.

John Locke

21 March, 1703-4

Oates

Anthony Collins

TO THE SAME.

Sir,

Oates,

21 March, 1703-4.

GIVE me leave to tell you, sir, that you are mistaken in me. I am not a young lady, a beauty, and a fortune. And unless you thought me all this, and designed your addresses to me; how is it possible you should be afraid you acquitted not yourself well in my commission beyond Piccadilly? Your waiting in the parlour a quarter of an hour was more than any reasonable man could demand of you; and if either of us ought to be troubled in the case, it is I, because you did so much; and not you, because you did so little. But the reality of your friendship has so blended our concerns into one, that you will not permit me to observe, whether I do, or receive the favour, in what passes between us; and I am almost persuaded by you to believe, that sitting here by the fire I trudge up and down for you in London. Give me leave however to thank you, as if you had delivered Mr. Le Clerc’s Harmony to Mr. Secretary Johnston for me, and sent me the two bibles, which I received.

As for the rummaging over Mr. Norris’s late booka, I will be sworn, it is not I have done that; for however I may be mistaken in what passes without me, I am infallible in what passes in my own mind; and I am sure, the ideas that are put together in your letter out of him, were never so in my thoughts, till I saw them there. What did I say, “put ideas together?” I ask your pardon, it is “put words together without ideas;” just as I should suspect I did, if I should say you disparaged a very good straight ruler I had, if you told me it would not enable me to write sense, though it were very good and useful, to show me whether I writ straight or no.

Men of Mr. Norris’s way seem to me to decree, rather than to argue. They, against all evidence of sense and reason, decree brutes to be machines, only because their hypothesis requires it; and then with a like authority, suppose, as you rightly observe, what they should prove: viz. that whatsoever thinks, is immaterial. Cogitation, says Mr. Norris, “is more excellent than motion, or vegetation; and therefore must belong to another substance than that of matter, in the idea whereof, motion and vegetation are contained.” This latter part, I think, would be hard for him to prove, viz. “that motion and vegetation are contained in the idea of the substance of matter.” But to let that pass at present; I ask, whether if this way of arguing be good, it will not turn upon him thus: “If the idea of a spirit does not comprehend motion and vegetation; then they must belong to another substance than a spirit: and therefore are more excellent than cogitation, or the affections of a spirit.” For if its greater excellency proves any mode or affection to “belong to another substance;” will not its “belonging to another substance,” by the same rule, prove it to be more excellent? But this is only to deal with these men of logic and subtilty, in their own way, who use the term “excellent,” to prove a material question by, without having, as you remark, a clear and determined idea of what they mean by more or less excellent.

But not to waste your time, in playing with the arguments of men, that examine not strictly the meaning of the words they use; I will show you the fallacy whereby they impose on themselves; for such talkers commonly cozen themselves, as well as others. Cogitation, say they, “is not comprehended in the idea of extension and solidity;” for that is it which they mean, when they say, the “idea of matter:” from whence they conclude right, that “cogitation belongs not to extension or solidity; or is not included in either of them, or both together;” but this is not the consequence that they draw, but infer a conclusion that is not contained in the premises, and is quite besides them; as Mr. Norris, if he would make use of syllogism to its proper purpose, might see. Extension, and solidity, we have the ideas of; and see, that cogitation has no necessary connexion with them, nor has any consequential result from them; and therefore is not a proper affection of extension and solidity, nor doth naturally belong to them; but how doth it follow from hence, that it may not be made an affection of, or be annexed to that substance, which is vested with solidity and extension? Of this substance we have no idea that excludes cogitation, any more than solidity. Their conclusion, therefore, should be the exclusion of cogitation from the substance of matter, and not from the other affections of that substance. But they either overlook this, which is the true state of that argument, or else avoid to set it in its clear light; lest it show too plainly, that their great argument either proves nothing, or, if it doth, it is against them.

What you say about my Essay of Human Understanding, that nothing can be advanced against it, but upon the principle of innate ideas, is certainly so; and therefore all who do not argue against it, from innate ideas, in the sense I speak of innate ideas; though they make a noise against me, yet at last they so draw and twist their improper ways of speaking, which have the appearance and sound of contradiction to me, that at last they state the question so, as to leave no contradiction in it to my Essay; as you have observed in Mr. Leea, Mr. Lowdeb, and Mr. Norris in his late treatise. It is reward enough for the writing my book, to have the approbation of one such a reader as you are. You have done me and my book a great honour, in having bestowed so much of your thoughts upon it. You have a comprehensive knowledge of it, and do not stick in the incidents: which I find many people do; which, whether true or false, make nothing to the main design of the Essay, that lies in a little compass; and yet I hope, may be of great use to those who see and follow that plain and easy method of nature, to carry them the shortest and clearest way to knowledge. Pardon me this vanity; it was with a design of inquiring into the nature and powers of the understanding, that I writ it; and nothing but the hope that it might do some service to truth and knowledge, could excuse the publishing of it.

I know not, whether I ever showed you an occasional sketch of mine, about “seeing all things in God.” If I did not, if it please God I live to see you here again, I will show it youa; and some other things. If you will let me know before-hand, when you design us that favour; it will be an addition to it. I beg your pardon for holding you so long from better employment. I do not, you see, willingly quit your conversation. If you were nearer me, you would see it more, for I am, &c.

John Locke

3 April, 1704

Oates

Anthony Collins

TO THE SAME.

Sir,

Oates,

3 April, 1704.

IN good sooth, sir, you are an obstinate lover; there is no help for it, you must carry your point. Only give me leave to tell you, that I do not like the puling fit you fall into, at the lower end of the page; where you tell me, “I have given you an argument against presuming so far again upon the liberty I allow you.” That is to say, you may give me books, you may buy books for me, you may get books bound for me, you may trudge up and down with them on my errand to ladies; but my book you may not presume to read, use your judgment about, and talk to me freely of; though I know nobody that understands it so well, nor can give me better light concerning it. Away with this squeamishness, I beseech you; and be assured, that among the many good offices you daily do for me in London, there is none whereby I shall reap so much profit and pleasure, as your studying for me; and let us both, without scruple or reserve, help one another the best we can, in the way to truth and knowledge. And whenever you find me presume, that I know all that belongs to the subject of my own book, and disdain to receive light and instruction from another, though of much lower form than you; conclude that I am an arrant coxcomb, and know nothing at all.

You will see by the enclosed, that I can find business for you at Oxford, as well as at London. I have left it open, that you may read it before you seal and deliver it. In it you will see what he writ to me, on that affair. He is well acquainted with them in the university; and if he has not, may be prevailed on by you to fish out the bottom of that matter, and inform you in all the particulars of it. But you must not take his conjectures for matter of fact; but know his authors, for any matter of fact he affirms to you. You will think I intend to engage you in a thousand disputes with him; quite the contrary. You may avoid all dispute with him; if you will but say after him; though you put him upon things that show you question all he says.

If Mr. Wynne of Jesus-College, who epitomised my booka, be in the university, it is like you will see him, and talk to him of the matter. Pray, give him my service. But be sure, forget me not, with all manner of respect, to Mr. Wright, for whom I have, as I ought, a very peculiar esteem.

I hope you will be pleased with me: for you see I have cut out work for you; and that is all that is left for me to do, to oblige you. I am, &c.

John Locke

19 May, 1704

Oates

Anthony Collins

TO THE SAME.

Dear Sir,

Oates,

19 May, 1704.

NOTHING works so steadily and effectually as friendship. Had I hired a man to have gone to town in my business, and paid him well, my commissions would not have been so soon, nor so well dispatched, as I find, by yours of the 16th, they have been by you. You speak of my affairs, and act in them with such an air of interest and satisfaction, that I can hardly avoid thinking, that I oblige you with employing you in them. It is no small advantage to me, to have found such a friend, at the last scene of my life; when I am good for nothing, and am grown so useless, that I cannot but be sure that, in every good office you do me, you can propose to yourself no other advantage but the pleasure of doing it.

Every one here finds himself obliged, by your late good company. As for myself, if you had not convinced me by a sensible experiment, I could not have believed I could have had so many happy days together. I shall always pray that yours may be multiplied. Could I, in the least, contribute any thing thereunto, I should think myself happy in this poor decaying state of my health; which, though it affords me little in this world to enjoy, yet I find the charms of your company make me not feel the want of strength, or breath, or any thing else.

The bishop of Glocester came hither the day you went from hence, and in no very good state of health. I find two groaning people make but an uncomfortable concert. He returned yesterday, and went away in somewhat a better state. I hope he got well to town.

Enjoy your health, and youth, whilst you have it, to all the advantages and improvements of an innocent and pleasant life; remembering that merciless old age is in pursuit of you, and when it overtakes you, will not fail, some way or other, to impair the enjoyments both of body and mind. You know how apt I am to preach. I believe it is one of the diseases of old age. But my friends will forgive me, when I have nothing to persuade them to, but that they should endeavour to be as happy as it is possible for them to be; and to you I have no more to say, but that you go on in the course you are in. I reflect often upon it, with a secret joy, that you promised I should, in a short time, see you again. You are very good, and I dare not press you. But I cannot but remember how well I passed my time, when you were here. I am, &c.

John Locke

25 May, 1704

Oates

Anthony Collins

TO THE SAME.

Dear Sir,

Oates,

25 May, 1704.

WHEN you come to my age, you will know that, with us old fellows, convenient always carries it before ornamental. And I would have as much of the free air when I go abroad in ita, as is possible. Only I ask whether those, which fall back, so as to give as free a prospect behind as before, be as easily managed, and brought over you again, in case of need, as in a shower; as one that falls back, upon two standing corner pillars? And next, whether that which falls back so well, doth, when it is drawn up over you, come so far over your head, when it is erected, as to shelter it from the dew, without shutting you up from the free open air? For I think sometimes in the evening of a warm day to sit abroad in it, to take the fresco; but would have a canopy over my head, to keep the dew off. If this be so, I am plainly, and without balancing, for that which falls flattest. One question more, and I have done. Pray what place is there for a footman in any of them? Most of my time being spent in sitting, I desire special care may be taken, in making the seat broad enough, and the two cushions soft, plump, and thick enough.

You know I have great liking to be canonical; but I little thought, that you, of all others, was the man to make me so. I shall love it the better for your sake; and wish that canonical were ready, that you might have the handselling of it hither speedily. If I did not take you for myself, as you have taught me to do, I should not be thus free with you. Count me in your turn all yourself, except my age and infirmities, those I desire to keep to myself; all the rest of me is yours.

John Locke

26 May, 1704

Oates

Anthony Collins

TO THE SAME.

Dear Sir,

Oates,

26 May, 1704.

MY letter yesterday went away without an answer to one of your demands; and that was, whether I would have any brass on the harness? To which, give me leave to tell you, that, in my whole life, I have been constantly against any thing that makes a show; no maxim being more agreeable to my condition and temper, than “qui bene latuit bene vixit.” I like to have things substantially good of their kind, and useful, and handsomely made, and fitly adapted to their uses; for, if either were necessary, I had rather be taken notice of for something that is fashionably gaudy, than ridiculously uncouth, or for its poorness and meanness remarkable. Therefore, if you please, let the harness, and all the whole accoutrements be of as good materials, and as handsomely made and put together as may be; but for ornaments of brass, or any such thing, I desire it may be spared.

One question more comes into my mind to ask you, and that is, whether the back of those, that fall down so flat, are so made that, when it is up, one may lean and loll against it at one’s ease, as in a coach or a chariot; for I am grown a very lazy fellow, and have now three easy chairs to lean and loll in, and would not be without that relief in my chaise.

You see I am as nice as a young fond girl, that is coming into the world, with a face and a fortune, as she presumes, to command it. Let not this, however, deter you; for I shall not be so hard to be pleased. For what you do will be as if I did it myself. I am, &c.

John Locke

29 May, 1704

Oates

Anthony Collins

TO THE SAME.

Dear Sir,

Oates,

29 May, 1704.

HOW should I value the chaise you take so much ains about, if I could hope I could have your company with me abroad in it, every two or three days. However, it wears the signature of your friendship, and so will always have something in it to please me.

I know not whether it be worth while to clog it with any thing, to make a place for a footman. That must, I suppose, make it bigger and heavier, which I would avoid; and I think, upon the whole matter, there will be no great need of it. But when I hear from you again, I shall know that. In the mean time, all the rest, I think, is resolved; for, I suppose of course, you will choose a cloth for the lining of a dust colour; that is the proper colour for such a priest as you mention in your letter.

If poor Psalmanassar be really a convert from paganism (which I would be glad to be assured of); he has very ill luck, not to herd any-where among the variety of sorts that are among us. But I think it so, that the parties are more for doing one another harm, than for doing any body good. I am, &c.

John Locke

9 June, 1704

Oates

Anthony Collins

TO THE SAME.

Dear Sir,

Oates,

9 June, 1704.

I MIGHT number my days (and it is a pleasant sort of almanac) by the kindnesses I receive from you. Your packet I received, and have reason to thank you for all the particulars in it; however, you thought fit to prepare me for being disappointed, in the binding my Greek Testament. There is nothing in it that offends me, but the running of his paring knife too deep into the margin; a knavish and intolerable fault in all our English book-binders.

Books seem to me to be pestilent things, and infect all that trade in them; that is, all but one sort of men, with something very perverse and brutal. Printers, binders, sellers, and others that make a trade and gain out of them; have universally so odd a turn and corruption of mind, that they have a way of dealing peculiar to themselves, and not conformed to the good of society, and that general fairness that cements mankind.

Whether it be, that these instruments of truth and knowledge will not bear being subjected to any thing but those noble ends, without revenging themselves on those who meddle with them to any other purpose, and prostitute them to mean and misbecoming designs; I will not inquire. The matter of fact, I think, you will find true; and there we will leave it to those who sully themselves with printer’s ink, till they wholly expunge all the candour that nature gives, and become the worst sort of black cattle.

John Locke

June 29, 1704

Oates

Anthony Collins

TO THE SAME.

Dear Sir,

Oates,

June 29, 1704.

IF the chaise you have had so much trouble about gives me as much satisfaction afterwards, as it will in the first service I shall receive from it; the conquerors of the world will not ride in their triumphant chariots with more pleasure, than I shall in my little tumbrel. It will bring me what I prefer to glory. For, methinks, he understands but little of the true sweetness of life, that doth not more relish the conversation of a worthy and ingenuous friend in retirement, than the noise and rout of the crowd in the streets, with all their acclamations and huzzas. I long, therefore, that the machine should be dispatched; and expect it as greedily as a hungry merchant doth a ship from the East-Indies, which is to bring him a rich cargo. I hope the coachmaker doth not live far from you; for if he be a slow man of London, I would have him quickened once a day, that he may make as much haste as if the satisfaction of two lovers depended on his dispatch. In the mean time, give me leave to desire you to bestow some of your spare hours on the epistles to the Corinthians, and to try whether you can find them intelligible or no. You will easily guess the reason of thisa; and when I have you here, I hope to convince you it will not be lost labour; only permit me to tell you, you must read them with something more than an ordinary application.

The samples you have sent meb, I must conclude, from the abilities of the author, to be very excellent. But what shall I be the better for the most exact and best proportioned picture that ever was drawn, if I have not eyes to see the correspondence of the parts? I confess the lines are too subtile for me, and my dull sight cannot perceive their connections. I am not envious, and therefore shall not be troubled, if others find themselves instructed with so extraordinary and sublime a way of reasoning. I am content with my own mediocrity. And though I call the thinking faculty in me, mind; yet I cannot, because of that name, equal it in any thing to that infinite and incomprehensible being, which, for want of right and distinct conceptions, is called mind also, or the eternal mind. I endeavour to make the best use I can of every thing; and therefore, though I am in despair to be the wiser for these learned instructions; yet I hope I shall be the merrier for them, when you and I take an air in the calash together. I am, &c.

John Locke

July 23, 1704

Oates

Anthony Collins

TO THE SAME.

Dear Sir,

Oates,

July 23, 1704.

THE gentlemen you speak of, have a great deal of reason to be pleased with the Discoursec you mention; there being nothing ever writ in their strain and way more perfectly than it is; and it may stand for a pattern to those that have a mind to excel in their admirable use of language and method of talking; if, at least, there be any need of a pattern to those, who so naturally, and by a peculiar genius of their own, fall into that, which the profane illiterate vulgar, poor wretches, are strangers to, and cannot imitate. But more of this to make us merry, when the chaise brings us together.

I now every moment wish the chaise done; not out of any impatience I am for the machine, but for the man; the man, I say, that is to come in it. A man, that has not his fellow; and, to all that, loves me. If I regret my old age, it is you that make me, and call me back to the world just as I was leaving it, and leaving it as a place that has very little valuable in it; but who would not be glad to spend some years with you? Make haste, therefore, and let me engross what of you I can. I am, &c.

John Locke

August 2, 1704

Oates

Anthony Collins

TO THE SAME.

Dear Sir,

Oates,

August 2, 1704.

THOUGH I cannot, by writing, make you a surer title to myself than you have already; yet I cannot forbear to acknowledge, under my hand and seal, the great sense I have of the late favour you did me. Whether that, or any thing else, will be able to add any duration to my mouldering carcase, I cannot say; but this I am sure, your company and kindness have added to the length of my life, which, in my way of measuring, doth not lie in counting of minutes, but tasting of enjoyments. I wish the continuance and increase of yours, without stint, and am, &c.

John Locke

August 11, 1704

Oates

Anthony Collins

TO THE SAME.

Dear Sir,

Oates,

August 11, 1704.

KIND and good-natured friends do, like you, bestow their favours, and thank those that receive them. I was never more obliged, nor better entertained, than by your company here; and you heap upon me your acknowledgments, as if I had made a journey to London for your sake, and there done you I know not how many courtesies. This, however, has the effect you could wish upon me. I believe all that you would have me. And since one naturally loves as well those that one has done good to, as those whom one has received good from; I leave it to you, to manage the account as you please. So the affection and good-will between us doth but increase, whose hands lay most fuel on the fire, that warms us both, I shall not be nicely solicitous; since I am sure you cannot impute to me more than I really wish, but at the same time know that wishing in me is all, for I can do just nothing. Make no apologies to me, I beseech you, for what you said to me about the digressiona. It is no more, but what I find other people agree with you in; and it would afford as much diversion as any hunting you could imagine, had I strength and breadth enough to pursue the chace.

But of this we may, perhaps, have better opportunity to talk, when I see you next. For this I tell you beforehand, I must not have you be under any restraint to speak to me, whatever you think fit for me to do; whether I am of the same mind or no. The use of a friend is to persuade us to the right, not to suppose always that we are in it. I am, &c.

John Locke

August 16, 1704

Oates

Anthony Collins

TO THE SAME.

Dear Sir,

Oates,

August 16, 1704.

WHICH way soever I turn myself, I meet on all sides your friendship, in all manner of shapes, and upon all sorts of occasions, besetting me. Were I as averse, as I am pleased, with my happiness in your kindness; I must, however, yield to so powerful and constant attacksa. But it is past that time of day. I have long since surrendered myself to you. And I am as certainly in your coach, as count Tallard in the duke of Marlborough’s, to be disposed as you please; only with this difference, that he was a prisoner of war against his will; I am your captive, by the soft, but stronger, force of your irresistible obligations, and with the consent and joy of my own mind.

Judge then, whether I am willing my shadow should be in possession of one with whom my heart is; and to whom all that I am, had I any thing besides my heart, worth the presenting, doth belong. Sir Godfrey, I doubt not, will make it very like. If it were possible for his pencil to make a speaking picture, it should tell you every day how much I love and esteem you; and how pleased I am to be, so much as in effigy, near a person with whom I should be glad to spend an age to come. I am, &c.

John Locke

September 11, 1704

Oates

Anthony Collins

TO THE SAME.

Dear Sir,

Oates,

September 11, 1704.

HE that has any thing to do with you, must own that friendship is the natural product of your constitution; and your soul, a noble soil, is enriched with the two most valuable qualities of human nature, truth and friendship. What a treasure have I then in such a friend, with whom I can converse, and be enlightened about the highest speculations! When one hears you upon the principles of knowledge, or the foundations of government, one would hardly imagine your thoughts ever descended to a brush, or a curry-comb, or other such trumpery of life; and yet, if one employ you but to get a pair of shoe-buckles, you are as ready and dexterous at it, as if the whole business of your life had been with nothing but shoe-buckles.

As to my lady’s picture, pray, in the first place, see it, and tell me how you like it. In the next place, pray get Sir Godfrey to write upon it, on the back-side, lady Masham, 1704; and on the back-side of mine, John Locke, 1704. This he did on Mr. Molyneux’s and mine, the last he drew; and this is necessary to be done, or else the pictures of private persons are lost in two or three generations; and so the picture loses of its value, it being not known whom it was made to represent.

John Locke

October 1, 1704

Oates

Anthony Collins

TO THE SAME.

Dear Sir,

Oates,

October 1, 1704.

TO complete the satisfaction I have lately had here, there has been nothing wanting but your company. The coming of his father-in-lawa, joined with the straitness of the lodging in this house, hindered me from having my cousin King and you together; and so cut off one part of the enjoyment, which you know is very valuable to me. I must leave it to your kindness and charity, to make up this loss to me. How far the good company I have had here has been able to raise me into a forgetfulness of the decays of age, and the uneasiness of my indisposition, my cousin King is judge. But this I believe he will assure you, that my infirmities prevail so fast on me, that, unless you make haste hither, I may lose the satisfaction of ever seeing again a man, that I value in the first rank of those that I leave behind meb.

John Locke

August 23, 1704

Oates

Anthony Collins

TO THE SAME. [DIRECTED THUS:]

For ANTHONY COLLINS, Esq.

To be delivered to him after my decease.

Dear Sir,

Oates,

August 23, 1704.

BY my will, you will see that I had some kindness for    . And I knew no better way to take care of him, than to put him, and what I designed for him, into your hands and management. The knowledge I have of your virtue, of all kinds, secures the trust which, by your permission, I have placed in you; and the peculiar esteem and love I have observed in the young man for you, will dispose him to be ruled and influenced by you, so that of that I need say nothing.

But there is one thing, which it is necessary for me to recommend to your especial care and memory     

May you live long and happy in the enjoyment of health, freedom, content, and all those blessings which providence has bestowed on you, and your virtue entitles you to. I know you loved me living, and will preserve my memory now I am dead. All the use to be made of it is, that this life is a scene of vanity, that soon passes away; and affords no solid satisfaction, but in the consciousness of doing well, and in the hopes of another life. This is what I can say upon experience; and what you will find to be true, when you come to make up the account. Adieu; I leave my best wishes with you.

John Locke.

July 23, 1703

Oates

Mr. Richard King

A LETTER TO THE REVEREND MR. RICHARD KING.

Sir,

Oates,

July 23, 1703.

I CANNOT but think myself beholden to any occasion that procures me the honour of a letter from you. I return my acknowledgments for those great expressions of civility, and marks of friendship, I received in yours of the 8th instant; and wish I had the opportunity to show the esteem I have of your merit, and the sense of your kindness to me, in any real service.

The desire of your friend, in the enclosed letter you sent me, is what of myself I am inclined to satisfy; and am only sorry, that so copious a subject has lost, in my bad memory, so much of what heretofore I could have said concerning that great and good man, of whom he inquiresa. Time, I daily find, blots out apace the little stock of my mind, and has disabled me from furnishing all that I would willingly contribute, to the memory of that learned man. But give me leave to assure you, that I have not known a fitter person than he, to be preserved as an example, and proposed to the imitation of men of letters. I therefore wish well to your friend’s design, though my mite be all I have been able to contribute to it.

I wish you all happiness, and am, with a very particular respect,

SIR,
Your most humble servant,

John Locke.

July 23, 1703

Oates

A LETTER TO   

Sir,

Oates,

July 23, 1703.

I HAVE so great a veneration for the memory of that excellent man, whose life you tell me you are writingb, that when I set myself to recollect what memoirs I can (in answer to your desire) furnish you with; I am ashamed I have so little in particular to say, on a subject that afforded so much. For I conclude you so well acquainted with his learning and virtue, that I suppose it would be superfluous to trouble you on those heads. However, give me leave not to be wholly silent upon this occasion. So extraordinary an example, in so degenerate an age, deserves, for the rarity, and, as I was going to say, for the incredibility of it, the attestation of all that knew him, and considered his worth.

The christian world is a witness of his great learning, that the works he published would not suffer to be concealed. Nor could his devotion and piety lie hid, and be unobserved in a college; where his constant and regular assisting at the cathedral service, never interrupted by sharpness of weather, and scarce restrained by downright want of health, showed the temper and disposition of his mind.

But his other virtues and excellent qualities, had so strong and close a covering of modesty and unaffected humility; that, though they shone the brighter to those who had the opportunities to be more intimately acquainted with him, and eyes to discern and distinguish solidity from show, and esteem virtue that sought not reputation; yet they were the less taken notice, and talked of, by the generality of those to whom he was not wholly unknown. Not that he was at all close and reserved; but, on the contrary, the readiest to communicate to any one that consulted him.

Indeed he was not forward to talk, nor ever would be the leading man in the discourse, though it were on a subject that he understood better than any of the company; and would often content himself to sit still and hear others debate matters which he himself was more a master of. He had often the silence of a learner, where he had the knowledge of a master; and that not with a design, as is often, that the ignorance any one betrayed might give him the opportunity to display his own knowledge, with the more lustre and advantage, to their shame; or censure them when they were gone. For these arts of triumph and ostentation, frequently practised by men of skill and ability, were utterly unknown to him. It was very seldom that he contradicted any one; or if it were necessary at any time to inform any one better, who was in a mistake, it was in so soft and gentle a manner, that it had nothing of the air of dispute or correction, and seemed to have little of opposition in it. I never heard him say any thing that put any one that was present the least out of countenance; nor ever censure, or so much as speak diminishingly, of any one that was absent.

He was a man of no irregular appetites. If he indulged any one too much, it was that of study, which his wife would often complain of, (and, I think, not without reason,) that a due consideration of his age and health could not make him abate.

Though he was a man of the greatest temperance in himself, and the farthest from ostentation and vanity in his way of living; yet he was of a liberal mind, and given to hospitality; which considering the smallness of his preferments, and the numerous family of children he had to provide for, might be thought to have out-done those who made more noise and show.

His name, which was in great esteem beyond sea, and that deservedly, drew on him visits from all foreigners of learning, who came to Oxford, to see that university. They never failed to be highly satisfied with his great knowledge and civility, which was not always without expence.

Though at the restoration of king Charles, when preferment rained down upon some men’s heads, his merits were so overlooked or forgotten, that he was barely restored to what was his before, without receiving any new preferment then, or at any time after; yet I never heard him take any the least notice of it, or make the least complaint in a case that would have grated sorely on some men’s patience, and have filled their mouths with murmuring, and their lives with discontent. But he was always unaffectedly cheerful; no marks of any thing that lay heavy at his heart, for his being neglected, ever broke from him. He was so far from having any displeasure lie concealed there, that whenever any expressions of dissatisfaction, for what they thought hard usage, broke from others in his presence, he always diverted the discourse; and if it were any body with whom he thought he might take that liberty, he silenced it with visible marks of dislike.

Though he was not, as I said, a forward, much less an assuming talker; yet he was the farthest in the world from being sullen or morose. He would talk very freely, and very well, of all parts of learning, besides that wherein he was known to excel. But this was not all; he could discourse very well of other things. He was not unacquainted with the world, though he made no show of it.

His backwardness to meddle in other people’s matters, or to enter into debates, where names and persons were brought upon the stage, and judgments and censure were hardly avoided; concealed his abilities, in matters of business and conduct, from most people. But yet I can truly say, that I knew not any one in that university, whom I would more willingly consult, in any affair that required consideration, nor whose opinion I thought it better worth the hearing than his, if he could be drawn to enter into it, and give his advice.

Though in company he never used himself, nor willingly heard from others, any personal reflections on other men, though set off with a sharpness that usually tickles, and by most men is mistaken for the best, if not the only seasoning of pleasant conversation; yet he would often bear his part in innocent mirth, and, by some apposite and diverting story, continue and heighten the good-humour.

I shall give you an instance of it in a story of his, which on this occasion comes to my mind; and I tell it you not as belonging to his life, but that it may give you some part of his character; which, possibly, the very serious temper of this good man may be apt to make men oversee. The story was this: There was at Corpus Christi college, when he was a young man there, a proper fellow, with a long grey beard, that was porter of the college. A waggish fellow-commoner of the house would be often handling and stroking this grey beard, and jestingly told the porter, he would, one of these days, fetch it off. The porter, who took his beard for the great ornament that added grace and authority to his person, could scarce hear the mention, in jest, of his beard being cut off, with any patience. However, he could not escape the mortal agony that such a loss would cause him. The fatal hour came; and see what happened. The young gentleman, as the porter was standing at the college-gate, with other people about him, took hold of his beard with his left hand, and with a pair of scissars, which he had ready in his right, did that execution, that the porter and by-standers heard the cutting of scissars, and saw a handful of grey hairs fall to the ground. The porter, on that sight, in the utmost rage, ran immediately away to the president of the college; and there, with a loud and lamentable outcry, desired justice to be done on the gentleman-commoner, for the great indignity and injury he had received from him. The president demanding what harm the other had done, the porter replied, an affront never to be forgiven; he had cut off his beard. The president, not without laughing, told him that his barber was a bungler, and that therefore he would do him that justice, that he should have nothing for his pains, having done his work so negligently; for he had left him, for aught he could see, after all his cutting, the largest and most reverend beard in the town. The porter, scarce able to believe what he said, put up his hand to his chin, on which he found as full a grown beard as ever. Out of countenance for his complaint for want of a beard, he sneaked away, and would not show his face for some time after.

The contrivance of the young gentleman was innocent and ingenious. He had provided a handful of white horse-hair, which he cut, under the covert of the other’s beard, and so let it drop; which the testy fellow, without any farther examination, concluded to be of his own growth; and so, with open mouth, drew on himself every one’s laughter; which could not be refused to such sad complaints, and so reverend a beard.

Speaking of the expedite way of justice in Turkey, he told this pleasant story; whereof he was an eye-witness at Aleppo. A fellow, who was carrying about bread to sell, at the turn of a street spying the cadee coming towards him, set down his basket of bread, and betook himself to his heels. The cadee coming on, and finding the basket of bread in his way, bid some of his under officers weigh it; (for he always goes attended, for present execution of any fault he shall meet with;) who finding it as it should be, left it, and went on. The fellow watching, at the corner of the street, what would become of his bread; when he found all was safe, returned to his basket. The by-standers asked him why he ran away, his bread being weight? That was more than I knew, says he; for though it be not mine, but I sell it for another; yet if it had been less than weight, and taken upon me, I should have been drubbed.

Many things of this nature, worth notice, would often drop from him in conversation; which would inform the world of several particularities; concerning that country and people, among whom he spent several years. You will pardon me, if on the sudden my bad memory cannot, after such a distance of time, recollect more of them. Neither perhaps had this now occurred, had I not, on an occasion that revived it in my memory some time since by telling it to others, refreshed it in my own thoughts.

I know not whether you find amongst the papers of his, that are, as you say, put into your hands, any Arabic proverbs, translated by him. He has told me that he had a collection of 3000, as I remember; and that they were for the most part very good. He had, as he intimated, some thoughts of translating them, and adding some notes, where they were necessary to clear any obscurities; but whether he ever did any thing in it before he died, I have not heard. But to return to what I can call to mind, and recover of him.

I do not remember that, in all my conversation with him, I ever saw him once angry, or to be so far provoked as to change colour or countenance, or tone of voice. Displeasing actions and accidents would sometimes occur; there is no help for that; but nothing of that kind moved him, that I saw, to any passionate words; much less to chiding or clamour. His life appeared to me one constant calm.

How great his patience was in his long and dangerous lameness (wherein there were very terrible and painful operations) you have, no doubt, learnt from others. I happened to be absent from Oxford most of that time; but I have heard, and believed it, that it was suitable to the other parts of his life.

To conclude, I can say of him, what few men can say of any friend of theirs, nor I of any other of my acquaintance; that I do not remember I ever saw in him any one action that I did, or could in my own mind blame, or thought amiss in him.

Sir, if I had been put upon this task soon after his death, I might possibly have sent you a paper better furnished than this is, and with particularities fitter for your purpose, to fill up the character of so good and extraordinary a man, and so exemplary a life. The esteem and honour I have still for him would not suffer me to say nothing; though my decaying bad memory did ill second my desire to obey your commands. Pray accept this, as a mark of my willingness, and believe that I am

Your most humble servant,

John Locke.

25 Aug. 1703

Oates

Mr. Richard King

A LETTER TO THE REVEREND MR. RICHARD KING.

Sir,

Oates,

25 Aug. 1703.

YOURS of the 4th instant I received; and though I am conscious I do not deserve those advantageous things, which your civility says of me in it; yet give me leave to assure you, that the offers of my service to you, which you are pleased to take notice of, is that part, which I shall not fail to make good on all occasions.

You ask me, “what is the shortest and surest way, for a young gentleman to attain a true knowledge of the christian religion, in the full and just extent of it?” For so I understand your question; if I have mistaken in it, you must set me right. And to this I have a short and plain answer: “Let him study the holy scripture, especially the New Testament.” Therein are contained the words of eternal life. It has God for its author; salvation for its end; and truth, without any mixture of errour, for its matter. So that it is a wonder to me, how any one professing christianity, that would seriously set himself to know his religion, should be in doubt where to employ his search, and lay out his pains for his information; when he knows a book, where it is all contained, pure and entire; and whither, at last, every one must have recourse, to verify that of it, which he finds any-where else.

Your other question, which I think I may call two or three, will require a larger answer.

As to morality, which, I take it, is the first in those things you enquire after; that is best to be found in the book that I have already commended to you. But because you may perhaps think that the better to observe those rules, a little warning may not be inconvenient, and some method of ranging them be useful for the memory; I recommend to you the “Whole Duty of Man,” as a methodical system; and if you desire a larger view of the parts of morality, I know not where you will find them so well and distinctly explained, and so strongly enforced, as in the practical divines of the church of England. The sermons of Dr. Barrow, archbishop Tillotson, and Dr. Whichcote, are masterpieces in this kind; not to name abundance of others, who excel on that subject. If you have a mind to see how far human reason advanced in the discovery of morality, you will have a good specimen of it in “Tully’s offices;” unless you have a mind to look farther back into the source from whence he drew his rules; and then you must consult Aristotle, and the other Greek philosophers.

Though prudence be reckoned among the cardinal virtues, yet I do not remember any professed treatise of morality, where it is treated in its full extent, and with that accuracy that it ought. For which possibly this may be a reason, that every imprudent action does not make a man culpable “in foro conscientiæ.” The business of morality I look upon to be the avoiding of crimes; of prudence, inconveniencies, the foundation whereof lies in knowing men and manners. History teaches this best, next to experience; which is the only effectual way to get a knowledge of the world. As to the rules of prudence in the conduct of common life, though there be several that have employed their pens therein; yet those writers have their eyes so fixed on convenience, that they sometimes lose the sight of virtue; and do not take care to keep themselves always clear from the borders of dishonesty, whilst they are tracing out what they take to be, sometimes, the securest way to success; most of those that I have seen on this subject having, as it seemed to me, something of this defect. So that I know none that I can confidently recommend to your young gentleman, but the son of Sirach.

To “complete a man in the practice of human offices,” (for to that tend your inquiries,) there is one thing more required; which, though it be ordinarily considered, as distinct both from virtue and prudence, yet I think it so nearly allied to them, that he will scarce keep himself from slips in both, who is without it. That, which I mean, is good breeding. The school, for a young gentleman to learn it in, is the conversation of those who are well-bred.

As to the last part of your inquiry, which is after “books that will give an insight into the constitution of the government, and real interest of his country;” to proceed orderly in this, I think the foundation should be laid in inquiring into the ground and nature of civil society; and how it is formed into different models of government; and what are the several species of it. Aristotle is allowed a master in this science, and few enter upon the consideration of government, without reading his “Politics.” Hereunto should be added, true notions of laws in general; and property, the subject matter about which laws are made. He, that would acquaint himself with the former of these, should thoroughly study the judicious Hooker’s first book of “Ecclesiastical Polity.” And property I have nowhere found more clearly explained, than in a book intitled, “Two Treatises of Government.” But not to load your young gentleman with too many books on this subject, which require more meditation than reading; give me leave to recommend to him Puffendorf’s little Treatise, “De Officio Hominis & Civis.”

To get an insight into the particular constitution of the government of his own country, will require a little more reading; unless he will content himself with such a superficial knowledge of it as is contained in Chamberlayne’s “State of England:” or Smith “De Republica Anglicana.” Your inquiry manifestly looks farther than that; and to attain such a knowledge of it, as becomes a gentleman of England to have, to the purposes that you mention, I think he should read our ancient lawyers; such as Bracton, “Fleta,” “The Mirror of Justice,” &c. which our cousin Kinga can better direct you to, than I; joining with them the “History of England under the Normans,” and so continuing it down quite to our times; reading it always in those authors who lived nearest those times; their names you will find, and characters often, in Mr. Tyrrel’s “History of England.” To which if there be added a serious consideration of the laws made in each reign, and how far any of them influenced the constitution; all these together will give him a full insight into what you desire.

As to the interest of any country, that, it is manifest, lies in its prosperity and security. Plenty of well employed people, and riches within, and good alliances abroad, make its strength. But the ways of attaining these comprehend all the arts of peace and war; the management of trade; the employment of the poor; and all those other things that belong to the administration of the public; which are so many, so various, and so changeable, according to the mutable state of men, and things, in this world; that it is not strange, if a very small part of this consists in book-learning. He, that would know it, must have eyes open upon the present state of affairs; and from thence take his measures of what is good, or prejudicial, to the interest of his country.

You see how ready I am to obey your commands, though in matters wherein I am sensible of my own ignorance. I am so little acquainted with books, especially on these subjects relating to politics, that you must forgive, if perhaps I have not named to you the best in every kind. And you must take it as a mark of my readiness to serve you, that I have ventured so far out of what lay in my way of reading, in the days that I had leisure to converse with books. The knowledge of the bible and the business of his calling, is enough for an ordinary man; a gentleman ought to go farther.

Those of this place return their service and thanks, for the honour of your remembrance.

I am, &c.

John Locke

Mr. Richard King

TO THE SAME.

Dear Sir,

I AM sorry to find, that the question, which was the most material, and my mind was most upon, was answered so little to your satisfaction, that you are fain to ask it again. Since therefore you ask me a second time, “what is the best method to study religion?” I must ask you, “what religion you mean?” For if it be, as I understood you before, the “christian religion in its full extent and purity;” I can make you no other answer but what I did, viz. that “the only way to attain a certain knowledge of that, is the study of the holy scripture.” And my reason is, because the christian religion is a revelation from God Almighty, which is contained in the bible; and so all the knowledge we can have of it must be derived from thence. “But if you ask, which is the best way to get the knowledge of the Romish, Lutheran, or reformed religion, of this or that particular church, &c.” each whereof intitles itself to be the true christian religion, with some kind of exclusion or diminution to the rest; that will not be hard to tell you. But then it is plain that the books, that best teach you any one of these, do most remove you from all the rest; and in this way of studying, you pitch upon one as the right, before you know it to be so: whereas that choice should be the result of your study of the christian religion, in the sacred scriptures. And the method I have proposed would, I presume, bring you the surest way to that church, which, I imagine, you already think most conformable to the word of God.

I find the letter you last honoured me with contains a new question, and that a very material one, viz. “what is the best way of interpreting the sacred scripture?” Taking “interpreting” to mean “understanding,” I think the best way for understanding the scripture, or the New Testament, (for of that the question will here be in the first place,) is to read it assiduously and diligently; and, if it can be, in the original. I do not mean, to read every day some certain number of chapters, as is usual; but to read it so, as to study and consider, and not to leave till you are satisfied that you have got the true meaning.

To this purpose, it will be necessary to take the assistance of interpreters and commentators; such as are those called the critics, and Pool’s “Synopsis Criticorum;” Dr. Hammond on the New Testament, and Dr. Whitby, &c.

I should not think it convenient to multiply books of this kind, were there any one that I could direct you to, that was infallible. But you will not think it strange, if I tell you, that after all, you must make use of your own judgment; when you consider that it is and always will be, impossible to find any expositor, whom you can blind-fold rely upon, and cannot be mistaken in following. Such a resignation as that is due to the holy scriptures alone; which were dictated by the infallible spirit of God.

Such writings also as Mr. Mede’s and Dr. Lightfoot’s are very much conducing to lead us into a true sense of the sacred scriptures.

As to the method of reading them, order requires that the four Evangelists should, in the first place, be well studied, and thoroughly understood. They all treating of the same subject do give great light to one another; and, I think, may, with the greatest advantage, be read in harmony. To this purpose, Monsieur Le Clerc’s, or Mr. Whiston’s “Harmony of the four Evangelists,” will be of use, and save a great deal of time and trouble, in turning the bible. They are now both in English, and Le Clerc’s has a paraphrase. But if you would read the Evangelists in the original, Mr. Le Clerc’s edition of his “Harmony” in Greek and Latin will be the best.

If you find that, by this method, you advance in the knowledge of the gospel; when you have laid a foundation there to your satisfaction, it will not be hard to add what may help you forwards, in the study of other parts of the New Testament.

But I have troubled you too much already, for which I beg your pardon; and am, &c.

John Locke

20 January, 1703-4

Oates

Mr. Richard King

TO THE SAME.

Sir,

Oates,

20 January, 1703-4.

THE small acknowledgments I was able to make, for the honour of your visit, and enjoyment of your company here, left the debt on my side, and deserve not the notice you are pleased to take of them.

In your obliging letter of the 13th, you do me favours, and you thank me too. If you intend by this a perfect acquisition of so inconsiderable a thing as I am, your worth and virtue dispose me to be as much at your service as you please; I wish I found any thing in myself that might promise you any usefulness from me. That defect I shall endeavour to make up the best I can, with a perfect esteem, and a readiness of will; which must supply the want of abilities of doing.

I thank you for the printed paper you sent mea, and am very glad to see such a spirit raised, for the support and enlargement of religion. Protestants, I think, are as much concerned now, as ever, to be vigorous in their joint endeavours for the maintenance of the reformation. I wish all, that call themselves so, may be prevailed with by those, whom your paper intimates, to imitate the zeal, and pursue the principles of those great and pious men, who were instrumental to bring us out of Roman darkness and bondage. I heartily pray for good success on all such endeavours.

If I may guess at the intention of the society, by the only man you let me know of it, I may be confident that the glory of God, and the propagation of true religion, is the only aim of it. May God eminently prosper all endeavours that way, and increase the number of those who seriously lay it to heart.

Sir Francisb, my lady, and the rest of this family, return you their humble service. I am, &c.

RULES OF A SOCIETY.

Which met once a week, for their improvement in useful knowledge, and for the promoting of truth and christian charity.

THAT it begin at six in the evening, and end at eight; unless a majority of two thirds present are inclined to continue it longer.

That no person be admitted into this society, without the suffrage of two thirds of the parties present, after the person, desiring such admission, hath subscribed to the rules contained in this paper, and answered in the affirmative to the following questions;

Whether he loves all men, of what profession or religion soever?

Whether he thinks no person ought to be harmed in his body, name, or goods, for mere speculative opinions, or his external way of worship?

Whether he loves and seeks truth for truth’s sake; and will endeavour impartially to find and receive it himself, and to communicate it to others?

That no person be admitted occasionally, without a good testimony from some of the society that knows him, and he answering in the affirmative to the above-mentioned questions.

That every member in his course, if he please, be moderator; (and the course here meant, is that of their sirnames, according to the alphabet;) whose care must be to keep good order, to propose the question to be debated, recite what may have been said to it already, briefly deliver the sense of the question, and keep the parties close to it; or, if he please, he may name one to be moderator for him. The question for the ensuing conference to be always agreed, before the company departs.

That no person or opinion be unhandsomely reflected on; but every member behave himself with all the temper, judgment, modesty, and discretion he is master of.

That every member place himself to the left hand of the moderator, in order, as he happens to come in; and in his turn speak as plainly, distinctly, and concisely as he can to the question proposed, directing his discourse to the moderator.

That no more than one person speak at once; and none object, till it come to his turn to speak.

That, the question having gone round, if the time will permit, and the company pleases, it may be discoursed again in the same order; and no weighty question to be quitted, till a majority of two-thirds be satisfied, and are willing to proceed to a new one. That when a controversy is not thought, by two-thirds of the company, likely to be ended in a convenient time; then those two-thirds may dismiss it, and, if they please, another question may be proposed. That two-thirds of the company may adjourn the ordinary subject in question, for good and sufficient reasons.

That no question be proposed, that is contrary to religion, civil government, or good manners; unless it be agreed to debate such question, merely and only the better to confute it.

We whose names are here under-written, proposing to ourselves an improvement in useful knowledge, and the promoting of truth and christian charity, by our becoming of this society, do hereby declare our approbation of, and consent to, the rules before written.

John Locke

30 Dec. 1702

Oates

Mrs. Cockburn

A LETTER TO MRS. COCKBURN.

Madam,

THERE was nothing more public than the obligation I received from you, nor any thing more concealed than the person I was obliged to. This is a generosity above the strain of this groveling age, and like that of superior spirits, who assist without showing themselves. I used my best endeavours to draw from you by your bookseller the confession of your name, for want whereof I could, whilst you kept yourself under that reserve, no more address myself directly to you with good manners, than I could have pulled off your mask by force, in a place where you were resolved to conceal yourself. Had not this been so, the bearer hereof would not the first time have come to you without a letter from me to acknowledge the favour you had done me. You not affording me an opportunity for that, I designed to make you some small acknowledgment, in a way that chance had opened to me, without your consent. But this gentleman transgressed my order in two main points of it. The one was in delaying it so long. The other was in naming me to you, and talking of matters which he had no commission from me to mention. What he deserves from you for it, must be left to your mercy. For I cannot in earnest be angry with him for procuring me, without any guilt of mine, an opportunity to own you for my protectress, which is the greatest honour my Essay could have procured me. Give me leave therefore to assure you, that as the rest of the world take notice of the strength and clearness of your reasoning, so I cannot but be extremely sensible that it was employed in my defence. You have herein not only vanquished my adversary, but reduced me also absolutely under your power, and left no desires more strong in me than those of meeting with some opportunity to assure you with what respect and submission I am, Madam,

Your most humble,
and most obedient servant,

Oates,

30 Dec. 1702.

J. Locke.

John Locke

16 May, 1699

Oates

Mr. Samuel Bold

A LETTER FROM MR. LOCKE TO MR. SAMUEL BOLD.

Sir,

Oates,

16 May, 1699.

YOURS of the 11th of April I received not till the last week. I suppose Mr. Churchill staid it till that discourse wherein you have been pleased to defend my Essay was printed, that they might come together, though neither of them need a companion to recommend it to me. Your reasonings are so strong and just, and your friendship to me so visible, that every thing must be welcome to me that comes from your pen, let it be of what kind soever. I promise myself that to all those who are willing to open their eyes and to enlarge their minds to a true knowledge of things, this little treatise of yours will be greatly acceptable and useful; and for those who will shut their eyes for fear they should see more than others have seen before them, or rather for fear they should make use of them, and not blindly and lazily follow the sayings of others; what can be done to them? They are to be let alone to join in the cry of the herd they have placed themselves in, and take that for applause which is nothing but the noise that of course they make to one another, which way ever they are going: so that the greatness of it is no manner of proof that they are in the right. — I say not this because it is a discourse wherein you favour any opinions of mine, (for I take care not to be deceived by the reasonings of my friends,) but I say it from those who are strangers to you, and who own themselves to have received light and conviction from the clearness and closeness of your reasonings, and that in a matter at first sight very abstruse and remote from ordinary conceptions. — There is nothing that would more rejoice me than to have you for my neighbour. The advantages that you promise yourself from mine, I should receive from your conversation. The impartial lovers and searchers of truth are a great deal fewer than one could wish or imagine. It is a rare thing to find any one to whom one can communicate one’s thoughts freely, and from whom one may expect a careful examination and impartial judgment of them. To be learned in the lump by other men’s thoughts, and to be in the right by saying after others, is the much easier and quicker way; but how a rational man that should inquire and know for himself, can content himself with a faith or religion taken upon trust, or with such a servile submission of his understanding, as to admit all and nothing else but what fashion makes at present passable amongst some men, is to me astonishing. I do not wonder that concerning many points you should have different apprehensions from what you meet with in authors; with a free mind, that unbiassedly pursues truth, it cannot be otherwise; 1st, because all authors did not write unbiassedly for truth’s sake; and, 2dly, because there are scarce any two men that have perfectly the same views of the same thing till they come with attention, and perhaps mutual assistance, to examine it. A consideration that makes conversation with the living much more desirable and useful than consulting the dead, would the living but be inquisitive after truth, apply their thoughts with attention to the gaining of it, and be indifferent with whom it was found, so they could but find it. The first requisite to the profiting by books is not to judge of opinions by the authority of the writers. None have the right of dictating but God himself, and that because he is truth itself. All others have a right to be followed as far as I have, and no farther, i. e. as far as the evidence of what they say convinces, and of that my own understanding alone must be judge for me, and nothing else. If we made our own eyes our own guides, admitted or rejected opinions only by the evidence of reason, we should neither embrace nor refuse any tenet, because we find it published by another, of what name or character soever he was.

You say you lose many things because they slip from you. I have had experience of that myself, but for that my lord Bacon has provided a sure remedy. For, as I remember, he advises somewhere never to go without pen and ink, or something to write with, and to be sure not to neglect to write down all thoughts of moment that come into the mind. I must own I have omitted it often, and often repented it. The thoughts that come often unsought, and, as it were, drop into the mind, are commonly the most valuable of any we have, and therefore should be secured, because they seldom return again.

You say also that you lose many things, because your own thoughts are not steady and strong enough to follow and pursue them to a just issue. Give me leave to think that herein you mistake yourself, and your own abilities. Write down your thoughts upon any point as far as you have at any time pursued them, and go on with them again some other time, when you find your mind disposed to it, and so till you have carried them as far as you can, and you will be convinced that, if you have lost any, it has not been for want of strength of mind to bring them to an issue, but for want of memory to retain a long train of reasonings which the mind, having once beat out, is loth to be at the pains to go over again, and so the connexion and train having slipped the memory, the pursuit stops, and the reasoning is neglected before it comes to the last conclusion. If you have not tried it, you cannot imagine the difference there is in studying with and without a pen in your hand. Your ideas, if the connexions of them that you have traced be set down, so that, without the pains of recollecting them in your memory, you can take an easy view of them again, will lead you farther than you could expect. Try, and tell me if it be not so. I say not this that I should not be glad to have any conversation with you, upon any points you shall employ your thoughts about. Propose what you have of this kind freely, and do not suspect it will interfere with any of my affairs. Know that besides the pleasure it is to converse with a thinking man, and a lover of truth, I shall profit by it more than you. This you would see by the frequency of my visits, if you were within the reach of them.

That which I think of Deut. xii. 15. is this, that the reason why it is said, as the roebuck and the hart, is, because, Lev. xvii. to prevent idolatry in offering the blood to other gods, they were commanded to kill all the cattle that they ate at the door of the Tabernacle, as a peace-offering, and sprinkle the blood on the altar. But wild beasts that were clean might be eaten, though their blood were not offered to God, ver. 13, because being commonly killed before they were taken, their blood could not be sprinkled on the altar, and therefore it sufficed in such cases to pour out their blood whereever they were killed, and cover it with dust, and for the same reason, when the camp was broken up, wherein the whole people was in the neighbourhood of the Tabernacle, during their 40 years passage from Egypt to Canaan, and the people were scattered in their habitations through all the Land of Promise, those who were too far off from the Temple were excused (Deut. xii. 21, 22.) from killing their tame cattle at Jerusalem and sprinkling their blood on the altar. No more was required of them than was required in killing a roebuck, or any other clean wild beast: they were only to pour out the blood, and cover it with dust, and so they might eat of the flesh.

These are my thoughts concerning that passage. What you say about critics and critical interpretations, particularly of the holy scriptures, is not only in my opinion very true, but of great use to be observed on reading learned commentators, who not seldom make it their business to show in what sense a word has been used by other authors; whereas the proper business of a commentator is barely to show in what sense it was used by the author in that place; which in the scripture we have reason to conclude was most commonly in the ordinary vulgar sense of that word or phrase known in that time, because the books were writ, as you justly observe, and adapted to the people. If the critics had observed this, we should have had in their works less ostentation, and more truth, and a great deal of the darkness and doubtfulness now spread upon the scriptures had been avoided. I have had a late proof of this in myself, who have lately found in some large passages of scripture a sense quite different from what I understood it in before, and from what I find in commentators; and yet it appears so clear to me, that when I see you next I shall dare to appeal to you in it. But I read the word of God without prepossession or bias, and come to it with a resolution to take my sense from it, and not with a design to bring it to the sense of my system. How much that had made men wind and twist and pull the text in all the several sects of christians, I need not tell you. I desire to take my religion from the scriptures, and then whether it suits or suits not any other denomination, I am not much concerned; for I think at the last day it will not be inquired whether I were of the church of England, or church of Geneva, but whether I sought and embraced the truth in the love of it. The proofs I have set down in my book, of one infinite, independent, eternal Being, satisfied me; and the gentleman that desired others, and pretended that the next proposition to that of the existence of a self-sufficient, independent Being, should be this, that such a Being is but one, and that he could prove it antecedent to his attributes, v. g. of infinity, omnipotence, &c. I am pretty well satisfied, pretended to what he had not, and therefore trouble not myself any farther about that matter. As to what you say upon this occasion, I agree with you, that the ideas of the modes and actions of substances are usually in our minds before the idea of substance itself; but in this I differ from you, that I do not think the ideas of the operations of things are antecedent to the ideas of their existence, for they must exist before they can any way affect us, or make us sensible of their operations, and we must suppose them to be before they operate. My essay is going to be printed again: I wish you were near me, that I might shew you the several alterations and additions I have made, before they go to the press.

The warm weather that begins now with us makes me hope I shall now speedily get to town; if any business draws you thither this summer, I hope you will order it so that I may have a good share of your company. Nobody values it more than I do; and I have a great many things to talk with you. I am, Sir,

Your most affectionate,
and most humble Servant,

For Mr. Samuel Bold, at Steeple.

J. Locke.

John Locke

April 24, 1696

Oates

Dear Coll,

Oates,

April 24, 1696.

I SEE by the temper the country is in, (and I doubt not but there are those who will blow the coal,) that if London does not set them a good example, the act will be broken through, and clipping will be continued upon us. — I am sure the trade goes on as brisk as ever; a company was lately taken at or about Ware. Somebody ready, as soon as the day comes, to arrest a goldsmith that refused to pay money according to the law, would spoil the trick, especially if several of them were made examples. — If clipped money once get but currency in London amongst those blades, but for the first week after the 4th of May, I look upon it as irretrievable, but if it be stopped there, the rest of the kingdom will fall into it, especially if receiving clipped money by weight be introduced. These are at present my thoughts, which I trouble those with who I know are able to make use of them, if they may be of any. Duty and service from all here.

I am, dear Col, &c.

J. Locke.

John Locke

Dec. 8, 1670

Dr. Fell

LORD ASHLEY TO DR. FELL.

Sir,

Dec. 8, 1670.

YOU are well acquainted with the kindnesse I have great reason to have to Mr. Locke, in whose behalf I had prevailed with the duke of Ormond for his assistance towards the attaining his doctor’s degree, at the reception of the prince of Aurange; and I am apt to think the instance of your chancellor, and the relation he has to me, would not have been denied by the university. But Mr. Locke understanding the provost of Eaton declared himself, and you, dissatisfied with it, has importuned me to give him leave to decline it, which, upon conference with my worthy friend the bishop of Rochester, I have donne, and returned his grace’s letter, though my lord bishop of Rochester can tell you I could not but complain to him, that your chapter had not been so kinde to me, in Mr. Locke’s affairs, as I thought I might justly expect, considering him a member of their house, having done both my life and family that service I owne from him, and I being of that quality I am under his Majestie, under which title only I pretend to any favour from them. All that I request now, of you and them, is, that since he will not allow me to doe him this kindnesse, you will give me leave to bespeake your favour for the next faculty place, and that a more powerful hand may not take it from him. I rely very much on my lord Rochester’s mediation, and your own kindnesse to me, that may induce you to believe, that an obligation will not be absolutely cast away on,

SIR,
Your affectionate friend and servant.

John Locke

Dec. 9, 1704

Temple

My Lord,

I DOUBT not but your lordship hath before this time heard of the death of Mr. Locke, who was in the full possession of his reason and understanding to the last minute of his life; he hath made me his executor, by means whereof his writings are come to my hands, amongst which I find three or four sheets of memoirs of your grandfather’s life, with an epitaph on your grandfather. Mr. Locke designed, if he had lived longer, to have gone on farther with those memoirs. I beg your lordship’s pardon that I have not acquainted your lordship herewith sooner; but Mr. Locke happening to dye in the term, I had not leisure to look into his concerns, beyond what was absolutely necessary, till within these few days. These papers properly belong to your lordship, and I thought it my duty to acquaint your lordship therewith, and shall dispose of them as your lordship shall direct.

I am, with all sincerity,
Your Lordship’s most dutiful,
and affectionate servant,

Peter King.

Inner Temple,

Dec. 9, 1704.

The Poetry

The site of Dorset Court, Channel Row (now Canon Row, behind Westminster Underground station) — Locke’s London home

THE POEMS OF JOHN LOCKE

CONTENTS

A POEM IN LATIN AND ENGLISH DEDICATED TO CROMWELL

ON THE MARRIAGE OF KING CHARLES II WITH THE INFANTA OF PORTUGAL

IN TRACTATUM DE FEBRIBUS D. D. SYDENHAM

John Locke by John Smith, 1721

A POEM IN LATIN AND ENGLISH DEDICATED TO CROMWELL

Locke wrote this epigram at Christchurch, to which college he repaired in the year 1651, and whence he underwent that memorable expulsion concerning which Mr Fox observes, that it indicated some instinctive sagacity in the government of the time, which pointed out to them, even before he had made himself known to the world, the man who was destined to be the most successful adversary of superstition and tyranny. None of our Sovereigns have, like Cromwell, been honoured with poetical panegyrics by four such eminent authors as Milton, Dryden, Waller, and Locke.

Pax regit Augusti, quem vicit Julius orbem;
  Ille sago factus clarior, ille toga.
Hos sua Roma vocat magnos, et numina credit:
  Hic quod sit mundi victor, et ille quies.
Tu bellum et pacem populis das, unus utrisque
  Major es: ipse orbem vincis, et ipse regis.
Non hominem e cœlo missum te credimus, unus
  Sic poteras binos qui superare Deos?

A peaceful sway the great Augustus bore,
O’er what great Julius gain’d by arms before.
Julius was all with martial trophies crown’d,
Augustus for his peaceful arts renown’d.
Rome calls them great, and makes them deities;
That for his valour, this for his policies.
Thou, mighty prince, than both art greater far,
Who rule in peace that world you gain’d in war.
You sure from heaven a perfect hero fell,
Who thus alone two pagan gods excel.

ON THE MARRIAGE OF KING CHARLES II WITH THE INFANTA OF PORTUGAL

From 1662. Domiduca Oxomensis (Oxford, 1662), sig. B 2V-3V — Locke’s poem is among 126 in this volume. See Letter 134. In this year King Charles II married Catherine of Braganza. The poem displays some of the characteristic sentiments of Restoration royalism, exhibited also in the Tracts on Government.

Crowns, Scepters, Thrones, and the whole state of Kings
With all the Pompe and Majesty it brings,
May give a luster to each outward part,
But cannot reach the soule, and warme the heart;
Such flames have no abode beneath the skies,
But in those little Heavens, a Princesse eyes.
Kings are Gods here, but yet as ’tis above,
There is no heaven where there is no Love.

  When the first Man without a Rival stood
Possest of all, and all like him was good:
Heaven thought that All imperfect, till beside
‘T had made another Self, and given a Bride:
Empire, and Innocence were there; but yet
’Twas EVE made Man, and Paradise compleat.
So whatever Fruit our Eden can afford
Of Peace, or Glory to its mighty Lord,
Tho loyal Hearts labour to make his State,
As are their Wishes, or his Virtues great;
And the unruly brutish Herd doth pay
Due Homage, and again learn to obey:
Yet all our belt Endeavours for his Bliss,
Do perfect our own Happiness, not his.

  That Work is Yours (Great Q U E E N) and that to You
We leave, which three whole Kingdoms could not do:
’Tis you must crown, and fill that Heart, the Fates
Meant the Controuler of the Western States.
A Heart so fram’d as if ‘twere made, and fit
Only for you, and all the World for it;
Whereof you could at distance make a Prize,
Without the common Method of the Eyes.
So rules great JOVE with Flames, whose Influence
Works without Aid or Notice of the Sense.

  When on your CHARLES, from Home and Throne exil’d,
Fortune still frown’d, and all the Ladies smil’d;
Unmov’d with both, a direct Path he knew
To tread, to hidden Happiness and You.
So the, skill’d Pilot, when the Waves engage
To fink the Ship that plays upon their Rage;
If dark and threatning Clouds his Pole-star hide,
Regards not all that mine in Heaven beside;
A steddy Course by that Star lately steers,
Which no where, whilst the Tempest lasts, appears.

  He saw, and flighted all the rest; but You
Were th’ undiscover’d World, his rich Peru,
Stor’d with those Mines of worth, which yet retain
The Golden Age, or bring it back again.
’Tis want of Worth calls for a cautious Eye
To scan each part, and Blemishes descry.
He’s fondly nice, that would be loth to come,
Unless h’had seen it, to Elysium.
He search’d the World, and view’d it every part,
But found all these too little for his Heart:
Two things, alone remain’d hid from his View
Could make him fully happy, Heaven and You:
Like Heaven you come, with Ravishments of Bliss,
Desir’d unknown, at once seen, and made his.

IN TRACTATUM DE FEBRIBUS D. D. SYDENHAM

Febriles aestus, victumque ardoribus orbem
  Flevit, non tantis par medicina malis.
Quum post mille artes, mediae tentamina curae,
  Ardet adhuc febris; nec velit arte regi.
Praeda sumus flammis; solum hoc speramus ab igne,
  Ut restet paucus, quern capit urna, cinis.
Dum quaerit medicus febris causamque, modumque,
  Flammarum et tenebras, et sine luce faces;
Quas tractat patitur flammas, et febre calescens,
  Corruit ipse suis victima rapta focis.
Qui tardos potuit morbos, artusque trementes,
  Sistere, febrili se videt igne rapi.
Sic faber exesos Ailsit tibicine muros;
  Dum trahit antiquas lenta ruina domos.
Sed si flamma vorax miseras incenderit aedes,
  Unica flagrantes tunc sepelire salus,
Fit fuga, tectonicas nemo tunc invocat artes;
  Cum perit artificis non minus usta domus.
Se tandem Sydenham febrisque scholaeque furori
  Opponens, morbi quaerit, et artis opem.
Non temere incusat tectae putredinis ignes;
  Nec fictus, febres qui fovet, humor erit.
Non bilem ille movet, nulla hic pituita; Salutis
  Quae spes, si fallax ardeat intus aqua?
Nec doctas magno rixas ostentat hiatu,
  Quis ipsis major febribus ardor inest.
Innocuas placide corpus jubet urere flammas,
  Et justo rapidos temperat igne focos.
Quid febrim exstinguat, varius quid postulat usus,
  Solari aegrotos, qua potes arte, docet
Hactenus Ipsa suum timuit natura calorem,
  Dum aepe incerto, quo calet, igne perit:
Dum reparat tacitos male provida sanguinis ignes,
  Praelusit busto, fit calor iste rogus.
Jam secura suas foveant praecordia flammas,
  Quem natura negat, dat medicina modum.
Nec solum faciles compescit sanguinis aestus,
  Dum dubia est inter spemque metumque salus;
Sed fatale malum domuit, quodque astra malignum
  Credimus, iratam vel genuisse Stygem.
Extorsit Lachesi cultros, petisque venenum
  Abetulit, et tantos non sinit esse metus.
Quis tandem arte nova domitam mitescere pestem
  Credat, et antiquas ponere posse minas?
Post tot mille neces, cumulataque funera busto,
  Victa jacet, parvo vulnere, dira lues.
Aetheriae quanquam spargunt contagia flammae,
  Quicquid inest istis ignibus, ignis erit.

The Biographies

John Locke by Godfrey Kneller, 1697

THE LIFE OF JOHN LOCKE by Pierre des Maizeaux

MR. JOHN LOCKE was the son of John Locke, of Pensford, a market-town in Somersetshire, five miles from Bristol, by Ann his wife, daughter of Edmund Keen, alias Ken, of Wrington, tanner. He was born at Wrington, another market-town in the same county. John Locke, the father, was first a clerk only to a neighbouring justice of the peace, Francis Baber, of Chew Magna, but by col. Alexander Popham, whose seat was at Huntstreet, hard by Pensford, advanced to a captain in the parliament’s service. After the restoration he practised as an attorney, and was clerk of the sewers in Somersetshire. This John the father was son of Nicholas Locke, of Sutton Wick, in the parish of Chew Magna, but a younger brother of the Lockes of Charon Court in Dorsetshire. The late Mr. Locke’s age is not to be found in the registers of Wrington, which is the parish church of Pensford; which gave umbrage to a report that his mother intending to lie in at Wrington, with her friends, was surprised in her way thither, and putting into a little house, was delivered there. Mr. Locke had one younger brother, an attorney, married, but died issueless, of a consumption. By the interest of col. Popham, our author was admitted a scholar at Westminster, and thence elected to Christ-Church in Oxon. He took the degree of bachelor of arts in 1655, and that of master in 1658. But though he made considerable progress in the usual course of studies at that time, yet he often said, that what he had learned there was of little use to him, to enlighten and enlarge his mind. The first books which gave him a relish for the study of philosophy, were the writings of Des Cartes: for though he did not always approve of that author’s sentiments, he found that he wrote with great perspicuity. After some time he applied himself very closely to the study of medicine; not with any design of practising as a physician, but principally for the benefit of his own constitution, which was but weak. And we find he gained such esteem for his skill, even among the most learned of the faculty of his time, that Dr. Thomas Sydenham, in his book intitled, ‘Observationes medicæ circa morborum acutorum historiam et curationem,’ gives him an high encomium in these words: ‘You know,’ says he, ‘likewise how much my method has been approved of by a person, who has examined it to the bottom, and who is our common friend; I mean Mr. John Locke, who, if we consider his genius, and penetrating and exact judgment, or the purity of his morals, has scarce any superiour, and few equals, now living.’ Hence he was very often saluted by his acquaintance with the title, though he never took the degree, of doctor of medicine. In the year 1664, sir William Swan being appointed envoy from the English court to the elector of Brandenburgh, and some other German princes, Mr. Locke attended him in the quality of his secretary: but returning to England again within the year, he applied himself with great vigour to his studies, and particularly to that of natural philosophy. While he was at Oxford in 1666, he became acquainted with the lord Ashley, afterward earl of Shaftesbury. The occasion of their acquaintance was this. Lord Ashley, by a fall, had hurt his breast in such a manner, that there was an abscess formed in it under his stomach. He was advised to drink the mineral waters at Astrop, which engaged him to write to Dr. Thomas, a physician of Oxford, to procure a quantity of those waters, which might be ready against his arrival. Dr. Thomas being obliged to be absent from Oxford at that time, desired his friend Mr. Locke to execute this commission. But it happened, that the waters not being ready the day after the lord Ashley’s arrival, through the fault of the person who had been sent for them, Mr. Locke was obliged to wait on his lordship to make an excuse for it. Lord Ashley received him with great civility, according to his usual manner, and was satisfied with his excuses. Upon his rising to go away, his lordship, who had already received great pleasure from his conversation, detained him to supper, and engaged him to dine with him the next day, and even to drink the waters, that he might have the more of his company. When his lordship left Oxford to go to Sunning-Hill, where he drank the waters, he made Mr. Locke promise to come thither, as he did in the summer of the year 1667. Lord Ashley afterward returned, and obliged him to promise that he would come and lodge at his house. Mr. Locke went thither, and though he had never practised physic, his lordship confided intirely in his advice, with regard to the operation which was to be performed by opening the abscess in his breast; which saved his life, though it never closed. After this cure, his lordship entertained so great an esteem for Mr. Locke, that though he had experienced his great skill in medicine, yet he regarded this as the least of his qualifications. He advised him to turn his thoughts another way, and would not suffer him to practise medicine out of his house, except among some of his particular friends. He urged him to apply himself to the study of political and religious matters, in which Mr. Locke made so great a progress, that lord Ashley began to consult him upon all occasions. By his acquaintance with this lord, our author was introduced to the conversation of some of the most eminent persons of that age: such as, Villiers duke of Buckingham, the lord Hallifax, and other noblemen of the greatest wit and parts, who were all charmed with his conversation. The liberty which Mr. Locke took with men of that rank, had something in it very suitable to his character. One day, three or four of these lords having met at lord Ashley’s when Mr. Locke was there, after some compliments, cards were brought in, before scarce any conversation had passed between them. Mr. Locke looked upon them for some time, while they were at play: and taking his pocket-book, began to write with great attention. One of the lords observing him, asked him what he was writing? ‘My lord,’ says he, ‘I am endeavouring to profit, as far as I am able, in your company; for having waited with impatience for the honour of being in an assembly of the greatest geniuses of this age, and at last having obtained the good fortune, I thought I could not do better than write down your conversation; and indeed I have set down the substance of what hath been said for this hour or two.’ Mr. Locke had no occasion to read much of this conversation; those noble persons saw the ridicule of it, and diverted themselves with improving the jest. They quitted their play, and entering into rational discourse, spent the rest of their time in a manner more suitable to their character.

In 1668 our author attended the earl and countess of Northumberland into France; but did not continue there long, because the earl dying in his journey to Rome, the countess, whom he had left in France with Mr. Locke, came back to England sooner than was at first designed. Mr. Locke, upon his return to his native country, lived as before, at the lord Ashley’s, who was then chancellor of the exchequer, but made frequent visits to Oxford, for consulting books in the prosecution of his studies, and keeping the changes of the air. While he was at the lord Ashley’s, he inspected the education of that lord’s only son, who was then about sixteen years of age. This province he executed with great care, and to the full satisfaction of his noble patron. The young lord being of a weakly constitution, his father thought to marry him betimes, lest the family should be extinct by his death. He was too young, and had too little experience, to choose a wife for himself; and lord Ashley having the highest opinion of Mr. Locke’s judgment, and the greatest confidence in his integrity, desired that he would make a suitable choice for his son. This, it must be owned, was no easy province; for though lord Ashley did not require a great fortune for his son, yet he would have him marry a lady of a good family, an agreeable temper, and a fine person; and above all a lady of good education, and of good understanding, whose conduct would be very different from that of the generality of court-ladies. Notwithstanding all these difficulties, our author undertook the business, and acquitted himself in it happily. From this marriage sprung seven children, all of them healthy. The eldest son, afterward the noble author of the Characteristics, was committed to the care of Mr. Locke in his education. Here was a great genius, and a great master to direct and guide it, and the success was every way equal to what might be expected. It is said, that this noble author always spoke of Mr. Locke with the highest esteem, and manifested on all occasions a grateful sense of his obligations to him: but there are some passages in his works, in which he speaks of Mr. Locke’s philosophy with great severity.

In 1670, and the year following, our author began to form the plan of his ‘Essay on Human Understanding,’ at the earnest request of Mr. Tyrrell, Dr. Thomas, and some other friends, who met frequently in his chamber to converse together on philosophical subjects; but his employments and avocations prevented him from finishing it then — About this time, it is supposed, he was made a fellow of the Royal Society.

In 1672, his great patron Lord Ashley was created earl of Shaftesbury, and lord high chancellor of England; and appointed him secretary of the presentation to benefices; which place he held till the end of the year 1673, when his lordship resigned the great seal. Mr. Locke, to whom the earl had communicated his most secret affairs, was disgraced together with him: and assisted the earl in publishing some treatises, which were designed to excite the people to watch the conduct of the Roman catholics, and to oppose the arbitrary designs of the court.

In 1675 he travelled into France, on account of his health. At Montpelier he staid a considerable time; and there his first acquaintance arose with Mr. Herbert, afterward Earl of Pembroke, to whom he dedicated his ‘Essay on Human Understanding,’ having the highest respect for that noble lord. From Montpelier he went to Paris, where he contracted a friendship with Mr. Justel, whose house was at that time the place of resort for men of letters: and there he saw Mr. Guenelon, the famous physician of Amsterdam, who read lectures in anatomy with great applause. He became acquainted likewise with Mr. Toignard, who favoured him with a copy of his ‘Harmonia Evangelica,’ when there were no more than five or six copies of it complete. The earl of Shaftesbury being restored to favour at court, and made president of the council in 1679, thought proper to send for Mr. Locke to London. But that nobleman did not continue long in his post; for refusing to comply with the designs of the court, which aimed at the establishment of popery and arbitrary power, fresh crimes were laid to his charge, and he was sent to the Tower. When the earl obtained his discharge from that place, he retired to Holland; and Mr. Locke not thinking himself safe in England, followed his noble patron thither, who died soon after. During our author’s stay in Holland, he renewed his acquaintance with Mr. Guenelon, who introduced him to many learned persons of Amsterdam. Here Mr. Locke contracted a friendship with Mr. Limborch, professor of divinity among the remonstrants, and the most learned Mr. Le Clerc, which he cultivated after his return into England, and continued to the end of his life.

During his residence in Holland, he was accused at court of having writ certain tracts against the government, which were afterward discovered to be written by another person, and upon that suspicion he was deprived of his place of student of Christ-Church.

‘Being observed,’ (says the very unfair writer of his article in Biographia Britannica) ‘to join in company with several English malecontents at the Hague, this conduct was communicated by our resident there to the earl of Sunderland, then secretary of state; who acquainting the king therewith, his majesty ordered the proper methods to be taken for expelling him from the college, and application to be made for that purpose to bish. Fell, the dean: in obedience to this command, the necessary information was given by his lordship, who at the same time wrote to our author, to appear and answer for himself, on the first of January ensuing: but immediately receiving an express command to turn him out, was obliged to comply therewith, and accordingly Mr. Locke was removed from his student’s place on the sixteenth of Nov. 1684.’ — But in order to a more complete view of these iniquitous proceedings, it may not be improper to annex the several letters between lord Sunderland and bp. Fell on the occasion, from Dr. Birch’s papers in the Museum. The first from lord Sunderland runs thus: ‘Whitehall, Nov. 6, 1684. The king having been given to understand that one Locke, who belonged to the late earl of Shaftesbury, and has, upon several occasions, behaved himself very factiously against the government, is a student of Christ-Church; his majesty commands me to signify to your lordship, that he would have him removed from being a student, and that, in order thereunto, your lordship would let him know the method of doing it,’ &c. The bishop answered, Nov. 8, 1684. ‘To the right hon. the earl of Sunderland, principal secretary of state: right honourable, I have received the honour of your lordship’s letter, wherein you are pleased to inquire concerning Mr. Locke’s being a student of this house, of which I have this account to render: that he being, as your lordship is truly informed, a person who was much trusted by the late earl of Shaftesbury, and who is suspected to be ill affected to the government, I have for divers years had an eye upon him; but so close has his guard been on himself, that after several strict inquiries, I may confidently affirm, there is not any man in the college, however familiar with him, who had heard him speak a word either against or so much as concerning the government; and although very frequently, both in public and private, discourses have been purposely introduced to the disparagement of his master, the earl of Shaftesbury, his party and designs; he could never be provoked to take any notice, or discover in word or look the least concern. So that I believe there is not a man in the world so much master of taciturnity and passion. He has here a physician’s place, which frees him from the exercise of the college, and the obligation which others have to residence in it, and he is now abroad for want of health; but notwithstanding this, I have summoned him to return home, which is done with this prospect, that if he comes not back, he will be liable to expulsion for contumacy; and if he does, he will be answerable to the law for that which he shall be found to have done amiss. It being probable that, though he may have been thus cautious here where he knew himself suspected, he has laid himself more open at London, where a general liberty of speaking was used, and where the execrable designs against his majesty and government were managed and pursued. If he don’t return by the first of January, which is the time limited to him, I shall be enabled of course to proceed against him to expulsion. But if this method seems not effectual or speedy enough, and his majesty, our founder and visitor, shall please to command his immediate remove, upon the receipt thereof, directed to the dean and chapter, it shall accordingly be executed, by your lordship’s,’ &c. Lord Sunderland’s second letter to the bishop of Oxon: ‘My lord, having communicated your lordship’s of the 8th to his majesty, he has thought fit to direct me to send you the inclosed concerning his commands for the immediate expulsion of Mr. Locke.’ The inclosed warrant, addressed to the dean and chapter, Nov. 12, ‘Whereas we have received information of the factious and disloyal behaviour of Locke, one of the students of that our college; we have thought fit hereby to signify our will and pleasure to you, that you forthwith remove him from his student’s place, and deprive him of all rights and advantages thereunto belonging, for which this shall be your warrant. And so we bid you heartily farewell. Given at our court of Whitehall, the 11th day of Nov. 1684. By his majesty’s command, Sunderland.’ The bishop answered thus: Nov. 16, ‘Right honourable, I hold myself bound to signify to your lordship, that his majesty’s command for the expulsion of Mr. Locke from this college is fully executed.’ The last letter from lord Sunderland to the bishop of Oxon: ‘I have your lordship’s of the 16th, and have acquainted his majesty therewith, who is well satisfied with the college’s ready obedience to his commands for the expulsion of Mr. Locke.’

With regard to bishop Fell’s conduct on this occasion, Dr. Birch observes, that notwithstanding his many good qualities, he was capable of some excesses in cases where the interest of party could bias him. Life of Tillotson, , first edition. What has been urged on the bishop’s side as rather favouring Mr. Locke, seems only to prove that all he acted against him might be done with some degree of reluctance; but yet notwithstanding the respect and kindness which he bore toward Mr. Locke, bishop Fell, it seems, on the clearest conviction of his inoffensiveness, under so many trials, had no thoughts of serving him so far as to run the least hazard of suffering for him, or with him. His candour towards Mr. Locke on a former occasion, when application was making for his being admitted to a doctor’s degree at Oxon, on a visit from the prince of Orange, will appear sufficiently from lord Shaftesbury’s letter to the said Dr. Fell, annexed in Vol. ix. , of this edition.

After the death of king Charles II. Mr. William Penn, who had known our author at the university, used his interest with king James to procure a pardon for him; and would have obtained it, if Mr. Locke had not answered, that he had no occasion for a pardon, since he had not been guilty of any crime.

In the year 1685, when the duke of Monmouth and his party were making preparations in Holland for his unfortunate enterprize, the English envoy at the Hague had orders to demand Mr. Locke and eighty-three other persons to be delivered up by the states-general: upon which he lay concealed to the year following.

During this concealment, our author wrote his ‘Letter of Toleration,’ in Latin, in 1685; which was printed in duodecimo, at Gouda, 1689, under the following title, ‘Epistola de Tolerantia; ad Clarissimum Virum, t. a. r. p. t. o. l. a. [Theologiæ apud Remonstrantes Professorem, Tyrannidis Osorem, Limburgium, Amstelodamensem:] scripta a p. a. p. o. i. l. a.’ [Pacis Amico, Persecutionis Osore, Joanne Lockio, Anglo.]

At Amsterdam he formed a weekly assembly, consisting of Mr. Limborch, Mr. Le Clerc, and others, for conversation upon important subjects, and had drawn up in Latin some rules to be observed by them; but these conferences were much interrupted by the frequent changes he was forced to make of the places of his residence.

Our author’s great work, the ‘Essay concerning Human Understanding,’ he had been employed about for some years, and he finished it in Holland about the end of the year 1687. He made an abridgment of it himself, which his friend Mr. Le Clerc translated into French, and inserted in one of his ‘Bibliotheques.’ This abridgment was so highly approved of by all persons of understanding, and sincere lovers of truth, that they expressed the strongest desire to see the whole work.

About the same time, as Le Clerc informs us, he made several extracts of books, as that of Boyle on Specific Medicines, which is inserted in the second volume of Bibliotheque Universelle; and some others in the following volume.

At length the happy revolution in 1688, effected by the courage and good conduct of the prince of Orange, opened a way for Mr. Locke’s return into his own country; whither he came in the fleet which conveyed the princess of Orange. And upon the restoration of public liberty, he thought it proper to assert his own private rights. He endeavoured therefore to procure his restoration to his place of student of Christ-Church; not that he designed to return thither, but only that it might appear from thence, that he had been unjustly deprived of it. But when he found, that the college could not be prevailed on to dispossess the person who had been elected in his room, and that they would only admit him as a supernumerary student, he desisted from his claim.

He was now at full liberty to pursue his speculations, and accordingly, in the year 1689, he published his ‘Essay on Human Understanding.’ This work, which has made our author’s name immortal, and which does honour to our country, gave great offence to many people at the first publication. It was proposed at a meeting of the heads of houses of the university of Oxford, to censure and discourage the reading of it; and after various debates among themselves, it was concluded, that each head of an house should endeavour to prevent its being read in his college. The reason of this is obvious; Mr. Locke had let in more light upon the minds of men than was consistent with the dark designs of some persons.

In the same year Mr. Locke also published his ‘Two Treatises on Government;’ in which he fully vindicated the principles upon which the revolution was founded, and entirely overturned all the doctrines of slavery.

His writings had now procured him such high esteem, and he had merited so much of the government, that it would have been easy for him to have obtained a very considerable post; but he contented himself with that of commissioner of appeals, worth about 2001. per ann. He was offered to go abroad in a public character, and it was left to his choice whether he would be envoy at the court of the emperor, the elector of Brandenbourg, or any other, where he thought the air most suitable to him; but he declined it on account of his ill health.

About this time the public coin was very bad, having been so much clipped, and no care used to remedy it, that it wanted above a third of its due value. The effect of this was, that the people thought themselves a great deal richer than indeed they were: for though the coin was not raised in its value by public authority, it was put off in trade for above a third part more than it weighed. Mr. Locke had observed this disorder ever since his return to England; and he frequently spoke of it, that some measures might be taken to prevent it. — He said, ‘that the nation was in greater danger from a secret unobserved abuse, than from all those other evils of which persons were so generally apprehensive; and that if care was not taken to rectify the coin, that irregularity alone would prove fatal to us, though we should succeed in every thing else.’ One day, when he seemed very much disturbed about this matter, some persons rallied him as if he tormented himself with a groundless fear: he answered, ‘that persons might laugh if they pleased, but they would find in a very short time, that if care was not taken, we should want money in England to buy bread.’ And accordingly there were such disorders on this account, that the parliament took the matter into the most serious consideration. To assist the great men at the head of affairs, who are not always the best judges, to form a right understanding of this matter, and to excite them to rectify this shameful abuse, Mr. Locke published a little treatise, intitled, ‘Some Considerations of the Consequence of the lowering of the Interest, and raising the Value of Money;’ in which there are many nice and curious observations on both those subjects, as well as on trade in general. This treatise was shortly followed by two more upon the same subject, in which he obviated all objections, and confuted all his opposers.

He fully showed to the world by these discourses, that he was able to reason on trade and business, as on the most abstract parts of science; and that he was none of those philosophers, who spend their lives in search of truths merely speculative, and who by their ignorance of those things which concern the public good, are incapable of serving their country. These writings recommended him to the notice of the greatest persons, with whom he used to converse very freely. He held weekly conferences with the earl of Pembroke, then lord keeper of the privy seal; and when the air of London began to affect his lungs, he went for some days to the earl of Peterborough’s seat near Fulham, where he always met with the most friendly reception: but he was obliged afterward entirely to leave London, at least all the winter season, and to go to a greater distance. He had made frequent visits at different times to sir Francis Masham’s, at Oates, in Essex; where he found the air so good, so agreeable to his constitution, and the society so delightful, that he was easily prevailed with to become one of the family, and to settle there during his life. He was received upon his own terms, that he might have his intire liberty, and look upon himself as at his own house. Here he applied himself to his studies as much as his weak health would allow, being seldom absent, because the air of London grew more and more troublesome to him. He came to town only in the summer for three or four months, and if he returned to Oates any thing indisposed, the air of that place soon recovered him.

In 1693 he published his ‘Thoughts concerning the Education of Children,’ which he improved considerably afterward.

In 1695 Mr. Locke published his treatise of ‘The Reasonableness of Christianity, as delivered in the Scriptures:’ written, it is said, in order to promote the scheme which king William III. had much at heart, of a comprehension with the dissenters. In this he has proved, that the christian religion, as delivered in the scriptures, and free from all corrupt mixtures, is the most reasonable institution in the world. This book was attacked by an ignorant, but zealous divine, Dr. Edwards, in a very rude and scurrilous manner. Mr. Locke answered Edwards, and defended his answer with such strength of reason, that he might justly have expected from his adversary a public acknowledgment of his errour, if he had not been one of those writers who have no more shame than reason in them. Mr. Locke was also obliged to Mr. Bold, a worthy and pious clergyman, for vindicating his principles against the cavils of Edwards.

Some time before this, Mr. Toland published a book, intitled, ‘Christianity not mysterious,’ in which he endeavoured to prove, that there is nothing in the ‘christian religion, not only contrary to reason, but even nothing above it.’ Mr. Toland, in explaining some of his notions, used several arguments from Mr. Locke’s ‘Essay on Human Understanding.’ Some unitarians also about this time published several treatises, in which they affirmed, that there was nothing in the christian religion but what was rational and intelligible; and Mr. Locke having asserted in his writings, that revelation delivers nothing contrary to reason; these things engaged Dr. Stillingfleet, the learned bishop of Worcester, to publish a treatise in which he endeavoured to defend the doctrine of the trinity, against Mr. Toland and the unitarians. In this treatise the bishop opposed some of Mr. Locke’s principles, judging them heretical, and favouring the above-mentioned writers. Mr. Locke answered him, and the bishop replied the same year. This reply was confuted, by a second letter of Mr. Locke’s, which drew a second answer from the bishop in 1698; and Mr. Locke again replied in a third letter, wherein he treated more largely of ‘the certainty of reason by ideas, of the certainty of faith, of the resurrection of the same body, and the immateriality of the soul.’ He showed the perfect agreement of his principles with the christian religion, and that he had advanced nothing which had the least tendency to scepticism, which the bishop had very ignorantly charged him with. But the bishop dying some time after this, the dispute ended. In this controversy every body admired the strength of Mr. Locke’s reasoning, his great clearness and exactness, both in explaining his own notions and principles, and confuting those of his adversary: nor were men of understanding less surprised, that so learned a man as the bishop should engage in a controversy, wherein he had all the disadvantages possible; for he was by no means able to maintain his opinions against Mr. Locke, whose reasoning he neither understood, nor the thing itself about which he disputed. This learned bishop had spent the greatest part of his time in the study of ecclesiastical antiquities, and reading a prodigious number of books, but was no great philosopher; nor had he ever accustomed himself to that close way of thinking and reasoning, in which Mr. Locke did so highly excel. However, though our philosopher had so great a victory over the bishop, and had reason to complain of the bishop’s unjust charges against him, and for his writing on subjects of which he was so grossly ignorant; yet he did not make an insolent triumph over his ignorance, but in the confutation of his errours treated him with great respect. He shows, indeed, that the bishop did not understand the subject he wrote about, and that he was very incorrect and inaccurate in his expressions; but he rather insinuates this by producing the bishop’s own words, and leaving his readers to judge, than reflects on him for it. In short, never was a controversy managed with so much art and skill on one side; nor, on the other, so unjustly, confusedly, or so little to the credit of the author. Time, which is the best judge of things, has abundantly manifested this. The bishop’s writings on that subject, like all those of our author’s adversaries, are neglected and buried in oblivion; but his own will live for ever.

In 1695 Mr. Locke was appointed one of the commissioners of trade and plantations, a place worth 1000l. per annum. The duties of this post he discharged with much care and diligence, and with universal approbation. He continued in it till the year 1700, when upon the increase of his asthmatic disorder, he was forced to resign it.

He acquainted no person with his design of leaving that place till he had given up his commission into the king’s own hand. The king was very unwilling to dismiss him, and told our author, that he would be well pleased with his continuance in that office, though he should give little or no attendance; for that he did not desire him to stay in town one day to the hurt of his health. But Mr. Locke told the king, that he could not in conscience hold a place to which such a salary was annexed, without discharging the duties of it; and therefore he begged leave to resign it. King William had a great esteem for our author, and would sometimes send for him to discourse on public affairs, and to know his sentiments of things. Mr. Locke once told the king very plainly, that if the universities were not reformed, and other principles taught there, than had been formerly inculcated, they would either destroy him, or some of his successors, or both.

He had a great knowledge of the world, and was prudent without cunning, easy, affable, and condescending without any mean complaisance. If there was any thing he could not bear, it was ill manners, and a rude behaviour. This was ever ungrateful to him, unless when he perceived that it proceeded from ignorance; but when it was the effect of pride, ill-nature, or brutality, he detested it. He looked on civility not only as a duty of humanity, but of christianity; and he thought that it ought to be more pressed and urged upon men than it commonly is. He recommended on this occasion a treatise in the moral Essays, written by the gentlemen of Port Royal, ‘concerning the means of preserving peace among men,’ and was a great admirer of Dr. Whichcote’s sermons on the subject. He was exact to his word, and religiously performed whatever he promised. He was very scrupulous of giving recommendations of persons whom he did not well know, and would by no means commend those whom he thought not to deserve it. If he was told that his recommendation had not produced the effect expected, he would say, ‘the reason of that was because he never deceived any person by saying more than he knew; that he never passed his word for any but such as he believed would answer the character he gave of them; and that if he should do otherwise, his recommendations would be worth nothing.’

He was naturally very active, and employed himself as much as his health would permit. Sometimes he diverted himself with working in the garden, which he well understood. He loved walking, but not being able to walk much, through the disorder of his lungs, he used to ride out after dinner; and when he could not bear a horse, he went in a chaise. He always chose to have company with him, though it were but a child, for he took pleasure in talking with children of a good education. His bad health was a disturbance to none but himself; and any person might be with him without any other concern than that of seeing him suffer. He did not differ from others in his diet, but only in that his usual drink was nothing but water; and he thought that was the means, under God, of lengthening his life. To this he also thought the preservation of his sight was in a great measure owing, for he could read by candle-light all sorts of books to the last, if they were not of a very small print, without the use of spectacles. He had no other distemper but his asthma, except a deafness for about six months, which he lamented in a letter to one of his friends, telling him, ‘he thought it better to be blind than deaf, as it deprived him of all conversation.’

The last fourteen or fifteen years of his life, he spent chiefly at Oates, seldom coming to town; and during this agreeable retirement, he applied himself to the study of the scriptures.

In 1704 our author’s strength began to fail more than ever in the beginning of the summer; a season which for several years had restored him some degrees of strength. His weakness made him apprehend his death was near. He often spoke of it himself, but always with great composure, though he omitted none of the precautions which his skill in medicine could suggest, in order to prolong his life. At length his legs began to swell; and that swelling increasing every day, his strength diminished visibly. He then saw how short a time he had to live, and prepared to quit this world, with a deep sense of the manifold blessings of God to him, which he took delight in recounting to his friends, and full of a sincere resignation to the divine will, and of firm hopes in his promises of a future life. For some weeks, as he was not able to walk, he was carried about the house in a chair. The day before his death, lady Masham being alone with him, and sitting by his bed, he exhorted her, to regard this world only as a state of preparation for a better; and added, that he had lived long enough, and thanked God for having passed his life so happily, but that this life appeared to him a mere vanity. He had no sleep that night, but resolved to try to rise next morning, as he did. He was carried into his study, and placed in an easy chair, where he slept a considerable while at different times. Seeming to be a little refreshed, he would be dressed as he used to be. He then desired lady Masham, who was reading the psalms low, while he was dressing, to read aloud: she did so, and he appeared very attentive, till the approach of death preventing him, he desired her to break off, and a few minutes after expired, on October 28, 1704, in the seventy-third year of his age. He was interred in the church-yard of High Lever, in Essex, and the following inscription, placed against the church-wall, was written by himself:

‘Siste viator, Hic juxta situs est Joannes Locke. Si qualis fuerit rogas, mediocritate sua contentum se vixisse respondet. Literis innutritus, eousque profecit, ut veritati unice litaret. Hoc ex scriptis illius disce; quæ, quod de eo reliquum est, majori fide tibi exhibebunt, quam epitaphii suspecta elogia. Virtutes si quas habuit, minores sane quam sibi laudi, tibi in exemplum proponeret. Vitia una sepeliantur. Morum exemplum si quæras, in evangelio habes; vitiorum utinam nusquam: mortalitatis, certe, quod prosit, hic et ubique.’

Natum An. Dni. 1632, Aug. 29°.

Mortuum 1704, Oct. 28°.

Memorat hac tabula

Brevi et ipsa peritura.

Thus died this great and most excellent philosopher, who, after he had bestowed many years in matters of science and speculation, happily turned his thoughts to the study of the scriptures, which he carefully examined with the same liberty he had used in the study of the other sciences.

There is no occasion to attempt a panegyric on our author. His writings are now well known, and valued, and will last as long as the English language. Some account of these has been given in the editor’s preface, and a farther description of them occurs in Des Maizeaux’s dedication, towards the middle of our last vol. His character, by P. Coste, is likewise delivered at large in the same place, and need not be repeated here, as it inadvertently was in a former edition.

JOHN LOCKE by Leslie Stephen

From ‘Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900, Volume 34’

JOHN LOCKE (1632–1704), philosopher, son of John Locke (1606–1661), was born 29 Aug. 1632, at Wrington, Somerset, about ten miles from Bristol, in the house of his mother’s brother. He had one brother, Thomas, born 9 Aug. 1637. His mother, Agnes Keene (b. 1597), was niece of Elizabeth Keene, second wife of his grandfather, Nicholas Locke. Nicholas, who died in 1648, is described as ‘of Sutton Wick, in the parish of Chew Magna, clothier.’ He had previously lived at Pensford, six miles from Bristol, on the Shepton Mallet road. He had a house called Beluton, close to Pensford, but in Publow parish, which before his death was occupied by his son John. He left his house and a good fortune to John, who became an attorney, was clerk to the justices of the peace for the county, and agent to Alexander Popham, one of the justices, whose estates were in the neighbourhood. On the outbreak of the civil war Popham became colonel of a parliamentary regiment of horse, and Locke one of his captains. The regiment, after doing some service at Bristol and Exeter, was apparently broken up at Waller’s defeat at Roundway Down (13 July 1643). Locke lost money by the troubles, and ultimately left to his son less than he had inherited. After leaving the army he again settled down as a lawyer. His wife, of whom the younger Locke speaks as ‘a very pious woman and affectionate mother,’ is not mentioned after the birth of her second child. The elder Locke was rather stern during his son’s infancy, but relaxed as the lad grew, ‘lived perfectly with him as a friend,’ and solemnly ‘begged his pardon for having once struck him in his boyhood. The younger Locke was sent to Westminster, probably in 1646, ‘and placed on the foundation in 1647,through the interest of his father’s friend, Popham, who had been elected to the Long parliament for Bath, in October 1645. The school was then managed by a parliamentary committee, Busby was head-master, and Dryden and South were among Locke’s schoolfellows. At Whitsuntide 1652 Locke was elected to a junior studentship at Christ Church, and was matriculated 27 Nov. following. John Owen [q. v.] was then dean of Christ Church and vice-chancellor. Locke’s tutor was Thomas Cole (1627?-1697) [q. v.] In 1654 Locke contributed a Latin and an English poem to the ‘Musæ Oxonienses,’ ‘Ἐλαιοφορία,’ a collection of complimentary verses, edited by Owen, in honour of the peace with the Dutch. He became B.A. on 14 Feb. 1655-6, and M.A. on 29 June 1658.

Locke, like his predecessor Hobbes and all the rising thinkers of his own day, was repelled by the Aristotelian philosophy then dominant at Oxford. He is reported as saying (Spence, Anecdotes, ) that his aversion to the scholastic disputation led him to spend much of his first years in reading romances. Lady Masham also heard that he was not a ‘very hard student,’ and preferred cultivating the acquaintance of ‘pleasant and witty men.’ She also states that his first relish for philosophy was due to his study of Descartes (Fox Bourne, i. 62), then becoming the leader of European thought. He had to attend the lectures of Wallis on geometry, and of Seth Ward upon astronomy. He long afterwards spoke with enthusiasm of the orientalist Pococke, who, though a staunch royalist, was allowed to retain the professorships of Hebrew and of Arabic (letter of 28 July 1703, first published in ‘Collection’ of 1720). Locke never became a mathematician or an orientalist, but he made acquaintance with the group of scientific men who met at Oxford before the Restoration and afterwards formed the Royal Society. With Boyle, who settled at Oxford in 1654 and became, with Wilkins, a centre of the scientific circles, he formed a lifelong friendship. Most of Locke’s friends had royalist sympathies, and in spite of his early training he had become alienated from the puritan dogmatism. He heartily welcomed the Restoration in the belief that a return to constitutional government would be favourable to political and religious freedom.

Locke’s father died 13 Feb. 1660-1, leaving his property between his sons John and Thomas. Upon Thomas’s death from consumption soon afterwards John probably inherited the whole. Seven years later it seems that he was receiving 73l. 6s. 10d. a year from his tenants at Pensford (ib. i. 82). He continued to reside at Oxford, where he had some pupils in 1661-3. He was appointed Greek lecturer at Christmas 1660, lecturer on rhetoric at Christmas 1662, and censor of moral philosophy at Christmas 1663, each appointment being for the following year. A testimonial to his good character from the dean and canons is dated 4 Oct. 1663. Fifty-five of the senior studentships out of sixty were tenable only by men in holy orders or preparing to take orders. Locke appears to have had some intentions of becoming a clergyman, but a letter written in 1666 (King, i. 52) declares that he had refused some very advantageous offers of preferment on the grounds that he doubted his fitness for the position, that he would not be contented with ‘being undermost, possibly middlemost, of his profession,’ and would not commit himself to an irrevocable step, for which, moreover, his previous studies had not prepared him. He had (Wood, Life and Times, Oxford Hist. Soc., i. 472) attended in 1663 the lectures of Peter Stahl, a chemist who had been brought to Oxford by Boyle in 1659. He must also have studied medicine, to which he soon devoted himself.

Locke’s determination to remain a layman was probably due in part to the development of his opinions. His views may be inferred from some essays written between 1660 and 1667, preserved in the Shaftesbury papers. The most remarkable are an ‘Essay on the Roman Commonwealth,’ written about the time of the Restoration, and an ‘Essay concerning Toleration,’ written in 1667. (The ‘Essay upon Toleration’ is given at length by Mr. Fox Bourne, with full accounts of the other fragments, i. 147-94.) Locke, like all his ablest contemporaries, had been deeply impressed by the many calamities due to the religious discords of the time. Like Hobbes, he traced the evil to the authority of an independent priesthood, and sought for a remedy in the supremacy of the state. His ideal was the Roman constitution established (as he imagined) by Numa, in which the priests were absolutely dependent upon the state, and ‘only two articles of faith’ — belief in the goodness of the gods, and the merit of a moral life, made obligatory. Unlike Hobbes, however, he would limit the power of the magistrate to functions clearly necessary for the preservation of peace. All religions should be tolerated except atheism, which struck at all morality, and Catholicism, which was in principle intolerant, and claimed powers for the spiritual authority inconsistent with the supremacy of the state. To these opinions Locke adhered through life. He was thus in favour of an established church, but with the widest practicable comprehension. He therefore welcomed the restoration of the establishment so long as comprehension seemed probable, but was alienated by the speedy development of the policy of enforced conformity. Before finally deciding upon his career Locke had a chance of entering the public service. Sir William Godolphin (1634? — 1696) [q. v.] had been his contemporary at Westminster and Christ Church, and was now secretary to Arlington. It was probably through Godolphin’s interest that Locke was appointed secretary to Sir Walter Vane, who was sent on a mission to the elector of Brandenburg at the end of 1665. The elector was disposed to ally himself with Holland, then at war with England, in order to establish his claims to the duchy of Cleve. The mission was intended to secure his neutrality or alliance. Locke was with Vane at Cleve during December 1665 and January 1665-6, returning to England in February. He wrote some humorous letters describing the convivialities and the scholastic disputations of the natives, but the mission came to little result. Upon his return he was invited to join a mission to Spain, in which Godolphin acted as secretary to Sandwich. After some hesitation he declined the offer, though he might, he said, be giving up his one chance of ‘making himself.’ He decided to settle at Oxford and devote himself to medical and scientific studies. Letters to Boyle from Cleve, and during a visit to Somerset in the spring of 1666, contain various references to scientific investigations. On 23 Nov. 1668 he was elected a fellow of the Royal Society, and though he never took a very active part in its proceedings, he occasionally served on committees and on the council (Birch, Royal Society, ii. 323, iii. 59, 61, 64, 69, 112). He began to practise as a physician in co-operation with David Thomas, an old college friend (Fox Bourne, i. 60, 133, 249). For some unexplained reason he did not take the medical degrees, and a letter from Clarendon, then chancellor of the university, of 3 Nov. 1666, requesting that he might be allowed to accumulate the M.B. and M.D. degrees, was not obeyed. On 14 Nov. following he obtained a dispensation, signed by the secretary of state, William Morris, enabling him to hold his studentship without taking orders. It is probable that some prejudice of the Oxford high churchmen prevented his obtaining the degree, although he must still have had some influence at court. In 1670 his patron, Ashley, obtained a request from the Duke of Ormonde, then chancellor, for the M.D. degree; but Locke, finding that it would be opposed, withdrew the application (ib. i. 210). In 1674 Locke took the M.B. degree; and in January 1674-5 was transferred to one of the two medical studentships, but he never graduated as doctor (i. 330). Ashley, afterwards the first earl of Shaftesbury, had made Locke’s acquaintance at Oxford in July 1666. Locke, at the request of his partner, Thomas, had procured some medicinal water from Astrop for Ashley, who was on a visit to his son at Oxford. A congeniality of opinions favoured the development of a rapid and lasting friendship between two of the ablest men of the time. Locke accompanied Ashley to Sunninghill, where there were other fashionable waters, and soon afterwards accepted an invitation to become a member of Ashley’s family. He was accordingly settled at Exeter House in the Strand, Ashley’s town residence, by the summer of 1667.

Locke’s first services to Ashley were medical. In 1668 he performed an operation for an internal abscess, from which Ashley suffered, and kept the wound open by a silver tube, frequently mentioned by the satirists of the day. Ashley, according to the statement of his grandson, prevented Locke from practising as a physician outside of his own family; but the notes of a few cases which he attended are preserved in the British Museum. He had formed a close friendship with Thomas Sydenham [q.v.], whom he consulted in Ashley’s case. He accompanied Sydenham on visits to some of his patients; he wrote a Latin poem, prefixed to the second edition (1668) of Sydenham’s work on fevers; and composed a preface and dedication (never used, but preserved in the Shaftesbury papers) for an intended work of Sydenham upon smallpox. Sydenham, in the preface to the third edition of his work upon fever (1676), refers to the approval of his method by Locke, to whom, he declares, no man of the time is superior in judgment and manners. Sydenham also took an interest in a medical work projected by Locke, of which a fragment, dated 1669, is preserved in the Shaftesbury papers (printed by Mr. Fox Bourne, i. 222-7). Locke’s philosophical tendencies appear in his denunciation of the futility of scholastic discussions in medicine, and his advocacy of the scientific appeal to experience, which Sydenham’s methods had illustrated. Locke occasionally acted as a physician in later years, but his time was now chiefly occupied by Ashley’s affairs. In 1669 he negotiated the marriage between Ashley’s son and Lady Dorothy Manners, and attended Lady Dorothy in her confinement when the third Lord Shaftesbury was born (26 Feb. 1670-1). He was treated as a valued and confidential friend by the whole family.

Ashley was one of the ‘lords’ proprietors of Carolina, under a patent granted in 1663. Some colonists were sent out in 1669, and a constitution drawn up for the government. The original draft, dated 21 June 1669, is in Locke’s handwriting in the Shaftesbury papers, and has been printed in the ‘Thirty-third Report of the Deputy-keeper of Public Records.’ It is printed as adopted by the proprietors in Locke’s works. The general scheme is aristocratic, and negro slavery permitted. There is, however, a remarkable provision, allowing any seven persons to form a church upon professing belief in God and in the duty of public worship. This provision expresses Locke’s opinions; but it does not appear how far he was responsible for the other provisions in a piece of constitution-mongering which never came into operation. Locke acted as secretary to the proprietors, and was much occupied by the business until the autumn of 1672.

In April 1672 Ashley was created Earl of Shaftesbury, and in November he became lord chancellor. He made Locke secretary of presentations, with a salary of 500l. a year. Locke had to attend to the church business coming under the chancellor’s control, and to appear with the chancellor on state occasions. When Shaftesbury delivered his famous ‘delenda est Carthago’ speech against Holland, Locke, as the third Lord Shaftesbury states, had to stand at his elbow with the written copy as prompter.

The council of trade was reconstructed, with Shaftesbury as president, in September 1672. Locke was at once employed in connection with it, and on 15 Oct. 1673 became secretary, on the death of Benjamin Worsley, with a salary of 500l., raised afterwards to 600l. a year, but never paid, as appears from a petition made by him in 1689. His duties in regard to all manner of colonial questions occupied him for the next two years. He seems to have had some thoughts of visiting America (Fox Bourne, i. 288), and he was a shareholder for some time in a company formed to settle the Bahamas. The council of trade was dissolved on 12 March 1674 — 5. Shaftesbury had been dismissed from office at the end of 1673, and Locke had no further prospects of official employment. Shaftesbury granted him an annuity of 100l. at seven years’ purchase (Christie, ii. 64) at the end of 1674, which, with his own property, enabled him to live in tolerable comfort. He was able to invest various sums by 1675, which proves that he must have had an income superior to his wants (ib. i. 431-2).

Besides his duties in office and as a confidential servant of Shaftesbury, Locke had various interests during these years. In September 1672 he paid a first visit to France, and after his return translated three of Nicole’s ‘Essais de Morale,’ which he presented to Lady Shnftesbury (edited by Thomas Hancock in 1828). A correspondence with an old college friend, William Allestree, who sent, him stories of witchcraft from Sweden, and other friends, showed his interest, in travel, or what would now be called anthropological studies (ib. i. 24, for his list of books upon the West Indies). At some date, probably about 1671 (as Lady Masham says), occurred the meeting of friends at his chamber, when a discussion suggested the first thought of his great book. His health was already weak. A friendly letter from Sydenham, probably at the end of 1674, advises him ‘to go to bed early and be very temperate and cautious. He resolved to go to Montpellier, then frequently visited by invalids, and in November 1675 asked leave of absence from the dean and canons of Christ Church.

Locke left London on 15 Nov. 1675, and travelled by Paris, Lyons, and Avignon to Montpellier, which he reached on Christmas day. He stayed at Montpellier, seldom leaving it except for a trip to Marseilles, Toulon, and Avignon in the spring of 1676, until March 1677. He then travelled by Bordeaux to Paris, which he reached 23 May 1677 (King, i. 131), after a delay on the road caused by a severe attack of ague. He had come to Paris in order to take charge, at the request of Shaftesbury, of a son of Sir John Hanks, one of Shaftesbury’s city friends. Locke stayed with his pupil in Paris for a year, and in June 1678 started for an intended visit to Rome. On reaching Montpellier in October he was alarmed by accounts of the state of the Alpine passes, and returned to Paris in November. He stayed there till April 1679, when he returned to England, where Shaftesbury again required his presence.

Locke’s letters (printed by Lord King) give some account of his occupations in France. He took a keen interest in a wide range of subjects. He wrote to Shaftesbury upon gardening, sending him choice plants, and writing an account of vine and olive growing (first published in 1766). He wrote to Boyle upon scientific instruments. He visited antiquities, and investigated the political mid other institutions of the country, attending a meeting of the states of Languedoc at Montpellier. He inquired into the rate of wages and condition of the labouring classes. At Montpellier he made the acquaintance of Thomas Herbert, afterwards eighth earl of Pembroke [q. v.], to whom he dedicated the ‘Essay.’ He was known to the ambassador at Paris, Ralph Montague, and his wife, the Countess of Northumberland. He attended the ambassadress in a severe attack, the French physicians having lost her confidence, and obtained an opinion on her case from Sydenham. He formed a warm friendship with Nicolas Thoynard, a man of scientific and linguistic attainments, author of a ‘Harmonic de l’Écriture sainte’ (not published till 1707), with whom he kept up an affectionate correspondence, now in the British Museum.

Shaftesbury, who had been in the Tower for a year from February 1677, had been made president of the privy council just before Locke’s return. He was dismissed in the following October, and threw himself into the violent courses which finally ended with his flight to Holland at the end of 1682. Locke was on his old terms of intimacy during this period. He was occasionally at Christ Church or visiting his old home in Somerset. During 1679 and 1680 he spent much of his time at Thanet House, now Shaftesbury’s London residence. He was employed to take lodgings for Shaftesbury at Oxford during the parliament which met there in March 1681, and it seems that he afterwards resided chiefly at Oxford, Shaftesbury having been again arrested, 2 July 1681. Locke during this period superintended the education of Shaftesbury’s grandson, afterwards the third earl, who was under the immediate charge of Miss Birch, and was much occupied in Shaftesbury’s business. It seems, however, to be clear that he was not privy to the plots in which Shaftesbury engaged. Although Locke was treated as a friend, and sympathised with Shaftesbury’s political opinions as opposed to popery and arbitrary government, it does not appear that he was at any time in a position to share the political intrigues of his patron. The letter in which Shaftesbury explained to Locke the history of the stop of the exchequer, implies, for example, that Locke knew nothing of the affair at the time (Christie, ii. 61-4). Locke solemnly declared that he was not the author of any of the pamphlets on behalf of Shaftesbury which had been attributed to him (ib. i. 261). Locke by residence at Christ Church chose the most unfavourable of all places for a plotter against church and king. It was, however, natural that he should be exposed to suspicion, and that anonymous pamphlets should be attributed to so able and attached a friend of an ‘Achitophel.’ He was, in fact, closely watched and accused at Christ Church of association with one of the agents in the Rye House plot (Prideaux, Letters, ).

Locke had been continuing his philosophical speculations, as appears from his notebooks. He had attended some of his friends as a physician. He made transcriptions of some of Sydenham’s notes (published as ‘Anecdota Sydenhamiana,’ by Dr. Greenhill, in 1845; see Fox Bourne, i. 454), and had been preparing his ‘Treatise on Government’ in 1681 or 1682. The growing suspicions, however, determined him to make his escape, and he left England in the autumn of 1683. He was soon in Holland, if he did not go thither directly, and was supposed, according to Lady Masham, to be the author of some pamphlets sent thence to England. On 6 Nov. 1684 Sunderland desired John Fell (1625-1686) [q. v.], the dean of Christ Church, to expel Locke from his studentship. Fell replied that although Locke had been closely watched ‘for divers years,’ no one in the college had heard him speak a word for or against the government. There was not, he said, in the world ‘such a master of taciturnity and passion.’ As Locke was absent on account of health, and, ‘as holding a physician’s place,’ not subject to the ordinary regulations, he could only summon him to return, and on refusal expel him for contumacy. The letter only produced a peremptory order (11 Nov. 1684) for Locke’s expulsion, and Fell reported on the 16th that it had been obeyed.

Locke by January 1684 was at Amsterdam, where he renewed an acquaintance made in Paris with Peter Guenellon, a physician of eminence. After a visit to Leyden and elsewhere in the autumn he returned to Amsterdam to find Fell’s summons. He soon gave up a first intention of obeying the summons, and passed some months at Utrecht. The move was due to his anxiety to avoid any appearance of complicity in Monmouth’s insurrection. (The Locke mentioned in the confession of Forde Grey [q. v.] of Werk as contributing to Monmouth’s expenses was an anabaptist, Nicholas Lock or Locke; see Macaulay, History, i. 546.) The English envoy to Holland on 17 May 1685 demanded the extradition of eighty-four plotters, including Locke. Locke returned from Utrecht to live in concealment at Amsterdam, in the house of Guenellon’s father-in-law, Dr. Keen. Meanwhile William Penn and Lord Pembroke applied to James II, who declared his disbelief in the reports against Locke, and offered to receive him. Locke, however, declined to be pardoned, as he had committed no crime (Le Clerc),and after a short visit to Cleve, where an offered asylum proved unsatisfactory, returned to Amsterdam, and lived in Keen’s house as ‘Dr. Van der Linden.’ A fresh demand in May 1686 for the surrender of Monmouth’s accomplices did not include Locke’s name. Locke was now able to give up his disguise, but stayed at Keen’s house, making another visit to Utrecht in the last part of 1686, till in February 1687 he settled at Rotterdam. Here he was near the Hague, and was intimate with Mordaunt, afterwards Earl of Peterborough, William’s chief adviser upon English affairs, He became known to William and Mary, who learnt to value him as he deserved. At Rottterdam he lived with the quaker merchant, Benjamin Furly [q. v.]

Locke was welcomed by a distinguished literary circle in Holland, and actively employed himself in writing. He was president of a little club, called ‘The Lantern,’ which met at Furly’s house to drink ‘mum’ and discuss philosophy. His chief friends were at, Amsterdam. He was especially intimate with Limborch, remonstrant professor at Amsterdam, and the author of ‘Theologia Christiana’ and ‘History of the Inquisition.’ They sympathised upon religious questions, and kept up an affectionate correspondence during Locke’s life. He also became known to Le Clerc, to whom Limborch introduced him in the winter of 1685-1686. Locke had been interested in Le Clerc’s answer to the Père Simon upon Old Testament criticism. Locke contributed some brief papers, including his well-known plan of a commonplace book, to Le Clerc’s new journal, the ‘Bibliothèque Universelle.’ The ‘Essay,’ which he had apparently begun about 1671 (King, Life of Locke, i. 10); had been taken up at intervals. He had worked upon it in France, and in 1679 spoke of it to Thoynard as ‘completed’ (Fox Bourne, ii. 97). This was probably a premature statement. Now, however, he brought it into order, and prepared an epitome which appeared in the ‘Bibliothèque Universelle’ for January 1687-8 as ‘Extrait d’un libre Anglais, qui n’est pas encore publié, intitulé, Essai Philosophique concernant l’entendement, où l’on montre quelle est l’étendue de nos connoissances certaines et la manière dont nous y parvenons; communiqué par M. Locke.’ Some copies, according to Le Clerc, were separately printed.

Upon the revolution Locke returned to England in company with Mary and Lady Mordaunt, sending a most affectionate farewell to Limborch. He landed at Greenwich 12 Feb. 1688-9. On 20 Feb. William III offered, through Mordaunt, to send Locke on a mission to the elector of Brandenburg. Locke declined this and other offers without hesitation on the ground of insufficient health. He consented, however, to become commissioner of appeals, with 200l. a year, abandoning his claims for his salary as secretary to the council of trade on account of the emptiness of the exchequer. He also abandoned a petition for his restoration to the Christ Church studentship, finding that it would disturb the society and displace his successor (ib. ii. 199). He held the commissionership of appeals till his death, when he was succeeded by Addison. The place was almost a sinecure, though it occasionally gave him some occupation (ib. ii. 345). He settled in Dorset Court, Channel Row, Westminster, soon after his return, and afterwards took some chambers in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, which he only occupied occasionally. He found the smoke of London unfavourable to his health, and from the spring of 1691 became domiciled at Oates, in the parish of High Laver, Essex. The owner was Sir Francis Masham, whose second wife was Damaris, daughter of Ralph Cudworth. Edward Clarke of Chipley in Somerset was a common friend of Locke and the Cudworths. A correspondence between Locke and Clarke from 1681 onwards, in which the Cudworths are frequently mentioned, is now in possession of Mr. Sanford of Nynehead, Taunton (see Fraser, p-2). Locke had been acquainted with Lady Masham, then unmarried, before his stay in Holland. The family now included her mother, her stepdaughter Esther, and her son Francis (b. 1686); and Locke was on the most affectionate terms with them all. He carried on a playful correspondence with Esther, whom he called his Laudabridis, from the romances which she occasionally read to him, and for the rest of his life lived among an attached domestic circle. Locke paid 20s. a week as board for himself and his servant, whose wages were 20s. a quarter. He kept his accounts most systematically (see ib. p-226, with some interesting extracts from the ‘Lovelace Papers’).

He now for the first time became a public author. The ‘Essay’ (of which the dedication is dated May 1689) appeared early in 1690. Locke received 30l. for the copyright of the first edition. The bookseller afterwards agreed to give him six bound copies of every subsequent edition, and ten shillings for every additional sheet (King, ii. 50). The bargain must have been remunerative to the publisher. A second edition was called for in August 1692; Locke’s alterations and the slowness of the press delayed its appearance till the autumn of 1694, when the additions were also printed separately. A third edition, almost a reprint of the second, appeared in June 1695; and a fourth, again carefully revised (with new chapters on the ‘Association of Ideas’ and ‘Enthusiasm’), in the autumn of 1699 (dated 1700). A fifth edition, with a few corrections by Locke, appeared posthumously in 1706. A French edition by Pierre Coste [q. v.] appeared at Amsterdam in 1700. A Latin translation by Richard Burridge, an Irish clergyman, begun in 1696, appeared in 1701. The ‘Essay’ had already been recommended for students at Trinity College, Dublin, by the provost, St. George Ashe [q. v.], in 1692; and an abridgment for the use of students was prepared by John Wynne, afterwards bishop of St. Asaph, with Locke’s approval, and published in 1696. The heads, of colleges at Oxford agreed in 1703 that tutors should not read it with their pupils (ib. i. 357-9). The prohibition seems to have acted only as an additional advertisement. These dates are sufficient to show that few of the works which have made epochs in philosophy have made their way so rapidly. Locke became at once the leading philosopher of the time. Other works of more immediate application confirmed his authority. In the autumn of 1685 Locke had addressed to Limborch a letter upon ‘Toleration,’ an expansion of his early ‘Essay’ (see above). His friend Tyrrell had urged him to publish in a letter dated 6 May 1687 (ib. i. 312), as appropriate to the political situation. It was, however, first published in Latin as ‘Epistola de Tolerantia’ in Holland, probably by Limborch, in the spring of 1689. An English translation by William Popple appeared in the same autumn, French and Dutch translations having been already issued. Locke was curiously anxious to preserve his anonymity upon this occasion, and his only angry letter to Limborch was caused by hearing that his friend had revealed the secret to two of his intimates (ib. ii. 206). Two further letters, in answer to attacks by Jonas Proast, followed in 1690 and 1692; and a fourth, begun in 1704, was interrupted by his death. His ‘Two Treatises of Government’ were published early in 1690. Locke says that they were the beginning and end of a discourse, of which the middle had been lost. The first is an attack upon Sir Robert Filmer [q. v.], whose ‘Patriarcha’ was published in 1680, and one or both of Locke’s treatises were probably written about that time. His own principles, he says, were fully vindicated bv William III. Locke’s theories, as expressed in these treatises and in the letters upon ‘Toleration,’ supplied the whigs with their political philosophy for the next century; and although both he and his followers were content with a partial application, they in fact laid the foundation of the more thoroughgoing doctrines of Bentham and the later radicals. In the spring of 1695 his friend Edward Clarke, M.P. for Taunton, read some notes upon the licensing acts at a conference between the houses of parliament, which are attributed to Locke. They led to the abandonment of the measure (King, i. 375-87; Fox Bourne, ii. 315-16. Macaulay, 1860, vii. 168 n., is unwilling to admit Locke’s authorship, except, as putting into shape the opinions of others. It is ascribed to Locke in the Craftsman of 20 Nov. 1731). Locke’s treatise upon the ‘Reasonableness of Christianity,’ published in 1695, was vehemently attacked, especially by John Edwards (1637–1716) [q. v.], to whom Locke replied in two Vindications’ (1695 and 1697). In this work he struck the keynote of the most popular theology of the eighteenth century as represented both by the deists and the latitudinarian divines. In theology, as in philosophy and politics, he was the teacher of many disciples who drew from his works conclusions from which he shrank, and his influence was the greater because he did not perceive the natural tendencies of his own theories.

Between these works appeared (1693) his excellent little treatise ‘On Education.’ It was the substance of some letters written from Holland in 1684 to his friend Edward Clarke. He had spoken of them to Thomas Molyneux, then studying medicine at Leyden and now a physician at Dublin. William Molyneux [q. v.], brother of Thomas, had sent to Locke a copy of his ‘Dioptrica Nova’ (1692), in which there was a warm encomium upon Locke’s ‘Essay.’ A correspondence began, and it was at the instance of Molyneux, who had heard from his brother of the letters to Clarke, and who had an only son now motherless, that the ‘Education’ was published. Molyneux during the rest of his life was Locke’s most enthusiastic disciple. He sent him many suggestions for improvements in the ‘Essay,’ and his affection was fully returned by his master.

The depreciation of the currency was now causing serious anxiety. At the end of 1691 Locke had written a letter to a member of parliament (no doubt Somers), in which he embodied some remarks written twenty years earlier upon lowering the rate of interest, and discussed also the currency question. In the first part he anticipated much that was long afterwards put with unanswerable force by Bentham. The currency question became more pressing. Locke and Newton were consulted by Somers and Montague (afterwards Lord Halifax). Locke wrote two pamphlets in 1695, the last of which, written at Somers’s request in answer to a pamphlet by William Lowndes [q. v.], secretary to the treasury, appeared in December. Locke showed conclusively the fallacy of the schemes proposed by Lowndes and others for an alteration of the standard, and the bill passed in April 1696 for the restoration of the coinage was in substantial accordance with his principles (see full account in Macaulay’s History). The soundness of his reasoning upon these questions gives Locke a permanent place among the founders of political economy, and he rendered at the time a great practical service.

A new council of trade was founded in the same spring, and Locke was appointed member with a salary of 1,000l a year by a patent dated 15 May 1696. Somers, who had been his friend since 1689 (at latest), and frequently consulted him since, probably recommended him for a post, to which his services fully entitled him. He hesitated to accept it on account of his now failing health, but when appointed discharged its duties energetically. It met thrice, and afterwards five times a week. From 1696 to 1700 Locke attended nearly all the meetings in the summer and autumn, and when confined to Oates during the other months was in constant communication with his colleagues. He was the most energetic member of the body. His health forced him to propose to resign in the winter of 1696-7, but he withdrew the request on Somers’s earnest remonstrance. Besides many investigations into questions of colonial trade Locke was especially interested in two proposed measures, for which he prepared elaborate plans. It was generally understood that the Irish were not to be allowed to compete with the English woollen trade, and Locke adopted this doctrine without question. He drew up, however, in 1696, a very careful plan for encouraging the manufacture of linen in Ireland (given in Fox Bourne, ii. 363-72). Nothing came of this scheme, which was superseded in 1698 by that of Louis Crommelin [q. v.] Locke consulted Molyneux on the plan, and when in 1698 Molyneux wrote his famous pamphlet against the English treatment of Ireland, he counted upon Locke’s sympathy. In 1697 Locke prepared another elaborate and curious scheme, also destined to be abortive, for a complete reform of the poor laws (ib. p-91). Vagabonds were to be more strictly restrained, and workhouses and schools for the employment of adults and children established in every parish. These schemes, which savour rather of state socialism than modern political economy, harmonised with the contemporary plans of two of Locke’s friends, Thomas Firmin [q. v.] and John Cary (d. 1720?) [q. v.]

Locke’s health, already weakened, seems to have been permanently injured by his obedience to a request of William III. He was suddenly summoned to town on a winter day, 23 Jan. 1697-8, to see the king. The king proposed to him some important employment, which his health forced him to decline. Mr. Fox Bourne suggests that he may have been requested to accompany the Duke of Portland’s embassy to France after the peace of Ryswick. This must be uncertain. Locke continued to serve on the commission till June 1700, when he resigned, refusing to retain an office of so much profit without being able to attend more frequently, although assured by the king that he might attend as little as he pleased. Locke’s official labours left little leisure for philosophy. He had, however, a sharp controversy with Stillingfleet, bishop of Worcester, in 1697. The deist Toland had published in 1696 his ‘Christianity not Mysterious.’ The book, which gave great offence, professed (with some reason) to be an application to theology of Locke’s philosophy. Stillingfleet, in a ‘Vindication of the Doctrine of the Trinity,’ attacked Locke and Toland as common adversaries. Locke, who was not a little irritated by Toland’s claim to philosophical affinity, replied to Stillingfleet with considerable asperity, and in answer to Stillingfleet’s rejoinders wrote two other replies in 1697 and 1699. They are of interest as illustrating points in Locke’s teaching. After resigning his post Locke lived at Gates, in gradually failing health. He wrote his ‘Paraphrases’ of St. Paul’s Epistles and one or two fragments, published after his death; but he had done his life’s work. His friend Molyneux saw him for the first time in 1698, and spent five weeks with him in London and at Oates, but died on 11 Oct. in the same year, to the profound sorrow of the survivor. Other friends were not wanting. Peter King [q. v.], afterwards lord chancellor, grandson of Locke’s uncle, Peter Locke, became almost an adopted child, and was in constant communication with him in the last years. Anthony Collins [q. v.], afterwards known by his deistical writings, made Locke’s acquaintance by 1703, and was on most affectionate terms with him till the end. A common friend of Locke and Collins was Samuel Bolde [q. v.], who had defended some of Locke’s work. In 1701 Locke was still able to give medical advice to some of his poor neighbours. In September 1704 he gives a most appetising order for dainties intended for a feast on occasion of King’s marriage. He was becoming very weak, though no failing of intellect or affections could be observed. Having long been unable to go to church, he received the sacrament at his house from the clergyman. Soon afterwards, on 27 Oct. 1704, he was unable to rise; but on the 28th he asked to be dressed. Lady Masham meanwhile read the psalms at his request. While she was reading he became restless, raised his hands to his eyes and died quietly. He was buried, as he had directed, with the least possible show, in the churchyard at High Laver. A Latin epitaph written by himself is placed on the church wall. The tomb was restored and enclosed in a railing by Christ Church in 1866. Locke left 4,555l. of personal property, besides books and some other objects. He left 3,000l. to Francis Masham; 100l. to the poor of High Laver, and 100l. to the poor of Publow and Pensford; besides legacies to Lady Masham and Collins. His books were divided between Francis Masham and Peter King. The books left to King and the manuscripts are now at Ockham, in possession of Lord Lovelace. His Somerset property was divided between King and Peter Stratton.

Kneller painted Locke’s portrait in 1697 for Molyneux and again in 1704 for Collins. Two early portraits are at Nynehead. A portrait by Kneller is at Christ Church, and one by Thomas Gibson (1680?-1751) [q. v.] in the Bodleian. Portraits by Kneller are also said to be at Hampton Court and Knole Park (see Thorne, Environs of London, p, 409).

Locke’s works are: 1. ‘Methode nouvelle de dresser des Recueils,’ in the ‘Bibliothèque Choisie,’ July 1686. English translations in 1697 and later as ‘A New Method of making Commonplace Books.’ 2. ‘Epistola de Tolerantia,’ 1689; English translation (by W. Popple) also in 1689. A ‘Second Letter concerning Toleration’ appeared in 1690, and a third in 1690, both signed ‘Philanthropus,’ and replying to attacks by Jonas Proast. The fragment of a fourth was first published in the ‘Posthumous Works,’ 1706. 3. ‘An Essay concerning Humane Understanding,’ 1690 (for early editions see above; twenty editions appeared by the end of the eighteenth century; the French translation appeared in 1700; the Latin in 1701; German translations in 1757, and edited by Tennemann, 1795-7). 4. ‘Two Treatises of Government. In the former the False Principles and Foundation of Sir R. Filmer and his followers are detected and overthrown: the latter is a Treatise concerning the true original extent and end of Civil Government,’ 1690. 5. ‘Some Considerations of the consequences of lowering the Interest and Raising the Value of Money in a Letter sent to a Member of Parliament in the Year 1691,’ 1692. 6. ‘Some Thoughts concerning Education,’ 1693; 14th edition in 1772; translated into French, German, and Italian. 7. ‘The Reasonableness of Christianity as delivered in the Scriptures,’ 1695. A ‘Vindication’ of this ‘from Mr. Edwards’s Reflections’ appeared in 1695, and a ‘Second Vindication’ in 1697. The ‘Exceptions of Mr. Edwards … examined’ (1695) has been erroneously attributed to Locke. 8. Short observations on a printed paper, entitled ‘For Encouraging the Coining Silver Money in England and Keeping it there.’ 9. ‘Further Considerations concerning Raising the Value of Money; wherein Mr. Lowndes’s arguments for it in his last “Report concerning the Amendment of the Silver Coin” are particularly examined,’ 1695. 10. ‘Letter to the Right Reverend Edward[Stillingfleet], Lord Bishop of Worcester, concerning some Passages relating to Mr. Locke’s “Essay of Human Understanding” in a late Discourse of his Lordship in Vindication of the Trinity,’ 1697. ‘Mr. Locke’s Reply to the Bishop of Worcester’s Answer to his Letter’ (with a postscript) appeared in 1697, and ‘Mr. Locke’s Reply to the Bishop’s Answer to his Second Letter’ in 1697. 11. ‘A Paraphrase and Notes on the Epistle of St. Paul to the Galatians, the first and second Epistles to the Corinthians, and the Epistles to the Romans and Ephesians,’ with an ‘Essay for the understanding of St. Paul’s Epistles by consulting St. Paul himself,’ appeared in six parts in 1705, 1706, and 1707. 12. ‘Posthumous Works,’ 1706, containing (1) ‘An Examination of Père Malebranche’s opinion of seeing all things in God’ (written about 1694-5); (2) ‘Of the Conduct of the Understanding’ (written about 1697 for a new chapter in the ‘Essay,’ separately published in 1762 and later); (3) ‘A Discourse of Miracles’ (written 1702-3); (4) ‘Fragment of Fourth Letter on Toleration;’ (5) ‘Memoirs relating to Shaftesbury;’ (6) ‘Plan of a Commonplace Book.’ 13. ‘Some Familiar Letters between Mr. Locke and several of his Friends,’ 1708. 14. ‘Remains’ (1714); one of Curll’s piratical collections of trifles, including a letter upon Pococke. 15. ‘A Collection of several pieces of Mr. John Locke, published by M. Des Maiseaux under the direction of Mr. Anthony Collins,’ 1720, containing (1) ‘The Fundamental Constitutions of Carolina’ (see above); (2) ‘Remarks upon some of Mr. Morris’s Books wherein he asserts Père Malebranche’s opinion,’ &c.; (3) ‘Elements of Natural Philosophy’ (published separately in 1750); (4) ‘Some Thoughts concerning Reading and Study for a Gentleman;’ (5) ‘Rules of a Society which met once a week for their Improvement in Useful Knowledge.’ Another set of rules for a society of ‘Pacific Christians’ is in King, ii. 63-7. 16. ‘Observations upon the Growth … of Vines and Olives … ,’ 1766 (edited by ‘G. S.’) 17. Discourses translated from Nicole’s ‘Essays,’ edited by Thomas Hancock, M.D., 1828 (see above). 18. ‘Original Letters of Locke, Algernon Sidney, and Lord Shaftesbury,’ by T. Forster, 1830. 19. ‘Anecdota Sydenhamiana,’ edited by Dr. Greenhill, from a manuscript in the Bodleian, 1844 and 1847. For Locke’s share see Fox Bourne, i. 454.

Locke (see above) implicitly denied the authorship of the ‘Letter from a Person of Quality … giving an account, of the Debates … in the House of Lords in April and May 1675;’ first given as his in the collection of 1720; ‘The History of Navigation,’ prefixed to the ‘Collection of Voyages’ published by Awnsham Churchill [q. v.] in 1704, was not by him. Both, however, are published in his ‘Works.’

The following have been ascribed to him, but are doubtful: 1. ‘Five Letters concerning the Inspiration of the Holy Scriptures’ (translated from Le Clerc), 1690. 2. ‘The History of our Saviour Jesus Christ related in the Words of Scripture,’ 1705 (arguments for his authorship in Gent. Mag. 1798, ). 3. ‘Select Moral Books of the Old Testament and Apocrypha Paraphrased,’ 1706. 4. ‘Discourse on the Love of God,’ in answer to Norris (also ascribed to Whitby). 5. ‘Right Method of Searching after Truth.’ 6. ‘Occasional Thoughts in reference to a Virtuous and Christian Life.’ 7. ‘A Commonplace Book in reference to the Holy Scriptures,’ 1697. 8. A version of ‘Æsop’s Fables,’ 1703.

In 1770 William Dodd [q. v.] published a ‘Commentary’ on the Bible, professedly founded upon papers of Locke. It seems that the bookseller had bought some papers from the Masham library, but they are said to have been written not by Locke but by Cudworth, and it is doubtful if Dodd even used these (Gent. Mag. 1788, pt. ii. , and Nichols, Lit. Anecd. ix. 276).

The first collective edition of Locke’s works appeared in 1714. A ‘Life’ by Bishop Edmund Law was prefixed to the 8th edition in 1777. Later editions appeared in 1791, 1801, 1822.

Locke’s authority as a philosopher was unrivalled in England during the first half of the eighteenth century, and retained great weight until the spread of Kantian doctrines. His masculine common sense, his modesty and love of truth have been universally acknowledged; and even his want of thoroughness and of logical consistency enabled him to reflect more fully the spirit of a period of compromise. His spiritual descendant, J. S. Mill, indicates his main achievement by calling him the ‘unquestioned founder of the analytic philosophy of mind’ (Mill, Logic, book i. chap, vi.) By fixing attention upon the problem of the necessary limits of thought and investigating the origin of ideas, his writings led to the characteristic method of his English successors, who substituted a scientific psychology for a transcendental metaphysic. His own position, however, was not consistent, and very different systems have been affiliated upon his teaching. His famous attack upon ‘innate ideas’ expressed his most characteristic tendency, and was generally regarded as victorious; but critics have not agreed as to what is precisely meant by ‘innate ideas,’ and Hamilton, for example, maintains that if Locke and Descartes, at whom he chiefly aimed, had both expressed themselves clearly, they would have been consistent with each other and with the truth (Reid, Works, ). Hume’s scepticism was the most famous application of Locke’s method; but Reid and his follower Dugald Stewart, while holding that the theory of ‘ideas’ accepted by Locke would logically lead to Hume, still hold that a sound philosophy can be constructed upon Locke’s method, and regard him as one of the great teachers (see e.g. Reid, Intellectual Powers, ch. ix., and Stewart, Philosophical Essays, Essay iii.) In France, Locke’s name is said to have been first made popular by Fontenelle. He was enthusiastically admired by Voltaire and by d’Alembert, Diderot, Helvetius, and their contemporaries. Condillac, his most conspicuous disciple in philosophy, gave to his teaching the exclusively sensational turn which Locke would have apparently disavowed. Condorcet and the ‘idéologues,’ Cabanis, Destutt de Tracy, and others, owed much to Locke during the revolutionary period (for many references to his influence with them see Les Idéologues, by Fr. Picavet, 1891). He was attacked as a source of the revolutionary views by De Maistre in the ‘Soirées de St. Pétersbourg,’ and by other reactionary writers: and criticised with great severity and probably much unfairness by Cousin as leader of the ‘eclectics.’ The English empirical school have continued to regard Locke as their founder, though they seem to have been more immediately influenced by his followers, Berkeley and Hume, and especially by David Hartley, as also in some respects by his predecessor Hobbes. Leibniz’s ‘Nouveaux essais sur l’entendement humain,’ the most remarkable contemporary criticism, written in 1704, was first published in 1765. Some short ‘Reflexions’ upon the ‘Essay’ written by Leibnitz were submitted to Locke in 1708, but are mentioned rather slightingly by him in his letters to Molyneux (22 Feb. and 10 April 1697). ‘Locke’s Writings and Philosophy Historically Considered and Vindicated from the Charge of Contributing to Hume’s Scepticism,’ by Edward Tagart (1855), is loose and discursive, but may suggest some comparisons. See also ‘The Intellectualism of Locke,’ by Thomas E. Webb (1857). For recent expositions see Dr. Thomas Fowler’s ‘Locke’ in Mr. John Morley’s ‘Men of Letters’ series; Professor Fraser’s ‘Locke’ in Blackwood’s ‘Philosophical Classics,’ and T. H. Green’s ‘Introduction’ to Hume’s ‘Philosophical Works.’

[The first life of Locke was the Éloge Historiqoe de feu M. Locke, by Le Clerc, which appeared in the Bibliothèque Choisie in 1705. This was founded in great part upon letters from the third Lord Shaftesbury (printed in Notes and Queries, 1st ser. iii. 97) and from Lady Masham. The original letters are in the Remonstrants’ Library at Amsterdam, and are printed in great part by Mr. Fox Bourne. A letter from P. Coste [q. v.] was printed in Bayle’s République des Lettres in 1705 and again in the collection of 1720. A Life, with little additional matter, was prefixed by Bishop Law to the 1777 edition of Locke’s works. The Life of John Locke, with Extracts from his Correspondence, Journals, and Commonplace Books, by Lord King, appeared in 1829 and (with some additions) in 2 vols. 8vo, 1830 (again, in Bohn’s Library, 1858). The fullest account is the Life of John Locke, by H. R. Fox Bourne, 2 vols. 8vo, 1876. Mr. Fox Bourne has thoroughly examined all the printed authorities, besides several manuscript collections, especially the Shaftesbury papers, now in the Record Office; the papers in the British Museum, including Locke’s correspondence with Thoynard, a journal for 1678, and a memorandum-book of Locke’s father, with some entries by himself, and papers in the Remonstrants’ Library, the Bodleian, and elsewhere. A large collection of papers is in possession of Lord Lovelace, the descendant of Locke’s cousin, the Lord-chancellor King, and another in possession of Mr. Sanford of Nynehead, Taunton, representative of Locke’s friend, Edward Clarke of Chipley, Somerset. Extracts from these are given by Professor Fraser. See also Welch’s Alumni Westm. ; Grenville’s Locke and Oxford; Boyle’s Works, 1772, v. 655-684 (register of weather), vi. 535-44, 620; Prideaux’s Letters (Camden Soc.). 34, 94, 115. 129, 131, 134, 139,142, 182; Wood’s Athenæ(Bliss), iv. 638; Christie’s Life of Shaftesbury.]

L. S.

All Saints, High Laver, Harlow, Essex — Locke’s final resting place

Locke’s tomb