Rethinking Liberal Political Thought: John Locke, Religious Forms of Reasoning, and Institutional Participation in Democratic Discourse Matthew R

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2011 Rethinking Liberal Political Thought: John Locke, Religious Forms of Reasoning, and Institutional Participation in Democratic Discourse Matthew R. Hagele

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COLLEGE OF ARTS AND SCIENCES

RETHINKING LIBERAL POLITICAL THOUGHT: JOHN LOCKE, RELIGIOUS FORMS OF

REASONING, AND INSTITUTIONAL PARTICIPATION IN DEMOCRATIC DISCOURSE

MATTHEW R. HAGELE

A Dissertation submitted to the Department of Religion in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy

Degree Awarded: Fall Semester, 2011

Matthew R. Hagele defended this dissertation on September 19, 2011.

The members of the supervisory committee were:

John Kelsay Professor Directing Dissertation

Michael Ruse University Representative

Sumner B. Twiss Committee Member

Martin Kavka Committee Member

Sarah Irving Committee Member

The Graduate School has verified and approved the above-named committee members, and certifies that the dissertation has been approved in accordance with university requirements.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This dissertation represents simply one moment in a journey for the search for wisdom that has marked my life for many years and will continue to mark my life for years to come. Many individuals, communities, and institutions have played significant roles in the chapter of my journey that culminates with this dissertation. At the most practical level, I am grateful to the Department of Religion at Florida State University for its financial support during my years of graduate study, both in the form of tuition waivers and research and teaching assistantships, the latter of which afforded me invaluable exposure to the life of an academic that awaits me. I am also appreciative of Kirkwood Community College for hiring an ABD candidate for a faculty position, providing further assistance—as well as continued teaching experience—as I completed the final portions of this project. The search for wisdom often demands a great deal of solitude, and yet as I reflect on this journey, I cannot imagine progress without the many educators that have shaped my academic life. My years at Wheaton were marked by professors who instilled within me the inherent value of gaining insight into the world in which we live. From anthropology to philosophy, sociology to theology, literature to the study of world religions, I was fortunate to have my thirst for knowledge nurtured by brilliant guides, many of whom became dear friends as well as mentors. My journey continued at Florida State University, where I was again met with excellent professors. John Kelsay, director of this dissertation, provided constant guidance throughout my years of graduate study, showing great patience as my own interests developed, and always expressing confidence in my abilities. Sumner B. Twiss not only contributed to this dissertation as a committee member but also worked closely with me during my years as editorial assistant for the Journal of Religious Ethics, which greatly expanded my familiarity not only with the subject matter but also with the academy of scholars. Martin Kavka, another committee member, was a source of great encouragement from my first days as a graduate student to the completion of this dissertation. Along with David Kangas, Martin nurtured my love for philosophy through the close reading and lively discussion of ideas that he brought to life in his seminars. Sarah Irving provided an invaluable historical perspective on the dissertation committee, pushing me to emphasize the significance of contextualization throughout the pages

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that follow. And Michael Ruse was the ideal university representative, pressing me to think about the larger issues in and implications of my project. Beyond these committee members, I am also thankful for the tutelage of John Corrigan and Aline Kalbian through many seminars that refined my understanding of and approach to the study of religion. Finally, my years at Florida State would not have been complete without the many graduate students, with whom I shared this portion of my journey, so I am grateful for Ben, Betsy, Christy, Dustin, Gabe, James, Jeff, John, Richard, Rosemary, Shannon, Tamara, and many others for their contribution to my own intellectual development. As I reflect on the last many years of my life, I am perhaps most thankful for the friendships that I will take with me. From faculty to fellow students to our office administrator, Susan, I cherish the relationships that were formed and will endure. While the formal education that I have received is an invaluable part of this journey, it is difficult to imagine the journey at all without the love of my family, so I am happy to say thank you to those who have prepared me for any achievements I may ever experience and who continue to stand by me through the ups and downs of life. While the qualities and lessons could be multiplied again and again, I choose just one example to offer my special thanks to the members of my family: to my mother, for her love of teaching; to my father, for his attention to detail; to my brother, for paving the way; to my sister-in-law, for her thoughtfulness; to my nephews and niece, for the hope they inspire; to my grandma, for her gratitude for what ultimately matters; to my grandpa, for his wisdom; to my aunts, uncles, cousins and their families, for their support. Last but not least is a special thanks to my best friend and four-legged companion, Caden, who, particularly during the completion of this dissertation, has meant more to me than he—and probably most people—will ever understand. By experiencing his love, faithfulness, joy, and compassion, I know that I will learn many of life‟s most important lessons from him for as long as he travels this journey with me.

TABLE OF CONTENTS ABSTRACT ...... vi INTRODUCTION ...... 1 A COMPREHENSIVE VISION: DEMOCRACY, LIBERALISM, AND RELIGION ...... 8 1. Four Responses to the Project ...... 8 2. Rawlsian Liberals ...... 10 3. New Traditionalists ...... 16 4. Non-liberal Democrats ...... 19 5. Non-Lockean Liberal Democrats ...... 52 LOCKE‟S EARLY POLITICAL VISION: ARGUMENTS AGAINST RELIGIOUS TOLERATION ...... 62 1. Introduction ...... 62 2. The Religious “Storm” of Locke‟s Early Years ...... 64 3. Shelter from the Storm: Two Tracts on Government ...... 71 4. Locke‟s Two Tracts and Liberal Democracy ...... 98 LOCKE‟S SHIFT TO LIBERALISM: ARGUMENTS FOR RELIGIOUS TOLERATION ...... 100 1. Introduction ...... 100 2. The Context of the Shift ...... 101 3. An Essay Concerning Toleration ...... 105 4. Writings on Toleration between the Essay and the Letters ...... 122 5. A Letter Concerning Toleration ...... 130 6. Proast and the Second, Third, and Fourth Letters ...... 142 7. Locke‟s Mature Writings on Toleration and Liberal Democracy ...... 165 ETHICS IN THE ESSAY: REASON, REVELATION, AND MORAL BELIEF ...... 167 1. Introduction ...... 167 2. An Essay Concerning Human Understanding...... 168 3. Locke‟s Essay and Liberal Democracy ...... 198 MORAL REASONING IN THE REASONABLENESS: SCRIPTURE, EXAMINATION, AND INSTITUTIONS ...... 200 1. Introduction ...... 200 2. The Reasonableness of Christianity ...... 200 3. Institutional Participation ...... 224 4. Locke‟s Reasonableness and Liberal Democracy ...... 233 CONCLUSION ...... 235 REFERENCES ...... 238 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH ...... 246

ABSTRACT

Engaging with the many questions surrounding the proper relationship between religion and politics in a liberal democratic state, this dissertation focuses on the contribution that can be made by rethinking the tradition of liberal political thought. I explore the political vision of John Locke, which I argue grounds the possibility of incorporating religious forms of reasoning into the public sphere of democratic discourse. Distinguishing my comprehensive interpretation of Lockean liberalism from the views of significant twentieth- and twenty-first-century thinkers— whom I describe as either Rawlsian liberals, new traditionalists, non-liberal democrats, or non- Lockean liberal democrats—I discuss three conditions that are present in Locke, which make possible a form of democratic political participation that promotes the use of religious reasons in civil discourse. First, through his mature position on religious toleration, Locke constructs a civic environment in which citizens have the liberty to hold a diversity of religious beliefs and to make these beliefs public in religious practice. Second, according to Locke‟s views on moral epistemology, religious belief that is grounded in revelation can be entitled to supplement practical reason in order to give individuals fuller and clearer knowledge of, and motivation for obedience to, the moral law. Because Locke views political philosophy as a subset of moral philosophy, I extend the argument to conclude that Locke creates a role for the use of religious beliefs in one‟s determination of political matters. Third, I contend that Locke views religious communities as serving an expressive, political function by mediating individuals‟ interests to the larger sphere of public discourse. In this way, religious communities can be described as vehicles for citizenship. This claim for the political role of religious institutions moves beyond a mere allowance of religious reasoning in the public sphere to a specification of concrete ways in which this participation is to occur.

INTRODUCTION

Kennedy and Catholicism. Bush and evangelicalism. Obama and liberation theology. Radical Islam. Radical Christianity. Scriptural arguments against abortion. Biblical defenses of the legalization of gay marriage. Despite the blood and ink that has been spilled in order to define the proper relationship between religion and politics, the topic remains a source of heated debate, particularly in the context of American political discourse.1 Whether concerning the religious persuasion of elected officials, the political aspirations of religious communities, or the use of religious forms of reasoning in public dialogue, there is little consensus among citizens about the role of religion in politics. Some insist that the founding principles of the United States defend a necessary connection between religion—and even certain forms of religion—and the political identity of the nation. Others contend that the guiding maxims of America require the absolute removal of religion from politics in order to protect the freedom of all citizens from religious oppression. Still others, perhaps the vast majority, are willing to accept the presence of religion in certain instances of political life but remain convinced that boundaries must exist in order to avoid the dangers that result when religion becomes too involved in politics. To offer my own perspective on this contentious issue, I turn to the work of John Locke, which I argue presents us with a defense of the use of religious forms of reasoning in liberal democratic discourse. Using a historical figure to debate contemporary issues requires a significant deal of caution. As A. John Simmons argues, in his discussion of The Lockean Theory of Rights, “Much of what Locke takes for granted will be questioned or denied by a modern reader; many arguments, acceptable in his day, are not acceptable in ours. Nor can we even hope to appreciate the content or meaning of many of Locke‟s claims without appreciating first the political and philosophical climate to which Locke responded.” He continues, however, “But to take Locke as first and foremost a philosopher is to suggest that the gulf between us and Locke is not unbridgeable, that his work need not be taken to be only of purely historical interest to us. It is to claim a continuity across time in the project of moral and political philosophy; it is to assert that Locke‟s questions and Locke‟s reasons overlap in important and productive ways

1 Philip Quinn writes, “Politics and religion are a dangerous mixture; combining them, even in academic discussion, risks generating more heat than light” (1995, 35). 1

2 our own questions and reasons” (1992, 9).2 If such a continuity can be found, there are few thinkers worth discussing more than Locke. Nicholas Wolterstorff contends that Locke, rather than Descartes, is “the first great modern philosopher” (1996, 233). “Only when we come to Locke,” Wolterstorff claims, “does the self occupy the center stage” (1996, 232). With specific reference to the political, Peter Laslett describes Locke as “the recognized point of departure for liberalism” (1988, 90). Rather than simply offering my own perspective on the relationship between religion and politics in liberal democratic discourse, therefore, I seek a historically and philosophically grounded perspective, influenced by one of the most foundational figures in the traditions of modern philosophy and liberal political thought. Before discussing the structure of the project, the approach taken must be addressed. The presentation of Locke that follows is based on a comprehensive reading of his writings on the subjects of politics, philosophy, and religion. Such an approach has not been frequently chosen in the history of studying Locke. Instead, it is commonplace to compartmentalize his many works into particular categories, thereby also compartmentalizing Locke himself into particular identities. For example, Locke the political theorist composed the writings on toleration and the Two Treatises of Government, Locke the philosopher wrote the Essay Concerning Human Understanding, Locke the religious believer penned The Reasonableness of Christianity, and so on. Much of this approach is based on the academic context in which many readers are introduced to Locke. If one majors in political science, the skills necessary to grasp Locke‟s philosophical works may not have been developed, forcing one into the compartmentalization approach. The same could be said for the philosophy and religious studies majors. As these students become scholars of Locke, they continue to limit themselves to those aspects of Locke‟s thought with which they are familiar and for which their education has prepared them. Perhaps more interesting is that even among those capable of reading Locke in a more comprehensive manner, some have thought the task misguided. Laslett, for example, in his discussion of the relationship between the Essay and Two Treatises, writes, “It is natural that posterity should have chosen to look upon the philosophical and the political work as

2 Simmons‟s position, which I share, would clearly not be accepted by all. John Dunn, for example, writes, “I simply cannot conceive of constructing an analysis of any issue in contemporary political theory around the affirmation or negation of anything which Locke says about political matters” (1969, x). For the softening of his position, see Dunn 1990. Jeremy Waldron, however, responding to reviews of his work on Locke‟s notion of equality, describes Locke‟s writings “not just as the site for historical excavation, but as a force to be reckoned with even in modern discussions of equality” (2005, 495).

3 complementary. But Locke himself…was perfectly willing, indeed very anxious, that they should be seen apart” (1988, 83). Emphasizing what he sees as inconsistencies in the two works—particularly in their respective treatments of natural law—Laslett continues, Empirical medicine, rather than philosophy, seems to be the model for the man who sets out to comment on political matters. Locke the doctor rather than Locke the epistemologist is the man we should have in mind when we read his work on Government. To call it “political philosophy,” to think of him as a “political philosopher,” is inappropriate. He was, rather, the writer of a work of intuition, insight and imagination, if not of profound originality, who was also a theorist of knowledge…. It is pointless to look upon his work as an integrated body of speculation and generalization, with a general philosophy at its centre and as its architectural framework [1988, 86, 87].3 Again, Locke is given identities that must be kept separate when approaching his thought, even by those who have the ability to thoughtfully read his writings on a variety of topics. While Laslett‟s compartmentalization approach is shared by many Locke scholars, there are others who have found great benefit in reading at least his political and epistemological writings together. Richard Ashcraft, for example, has argued that the Essay is a work of moral philosophy, primarily focused on “practical action,” leading to an obvious connection with the political vision expressed in the Treatises (1987, 234).4 He concludes that there is great “support for the argument that there is a congruency between the two works concerning the nature of practical action as a form of ethical conduct and as a means to provide for the conveniences of

3 Laslett later questions whether the inconsistencies and the compartmentalization of Locke are “over-emphasized” (1988, 90). The entire discussion, seemingly conflating philosophy with epistemology at times, missing fundamental distinctions in Locke‟s work at others, ends up being more confused than he wishes to see Locke‟s own corpus. Waldron writes, “Peter Laslett‟s insistence that the Treatises are not to be read in light of the Essay or related systematically to Locke‟s epistemology, and that we are to read these two books as though their different contexts meant they were written in effect by different authors, was based on the slenderest evidence of textual inconsistency. And it was exaggerated by a refusal to look beneath the surface of apparent inconsistency using the very philosophical tools that Laslett was advising his students to put aside” (2005, 498-99). See also Waldron 2002, 50-51. 4 Ashcraft writes, “That an individual thinks in such a compartmentalized manner that what he writes on philosophy is wholly separable from what he affirms in his political writings is an extremely implausible assumption…. And since Locke spent at least a decade of his life working simultaneously on the Essay and the Two Treatises, often recording notes he used in both works in the same journal on the same day, it does not seem worthwhile in his case even to pursue the theoretical plausibility of such a viewpoint” (1987, 232). In an earlier work, Ashcraft contends, “It is true that [Locke] is the author of one of the great classics of philosophy, the Essay Concerning Human Understanding, and that he spent ten years of his early life at Oxford. These two facts have sometimes been run together in order to create a picture of Locke as an Oxford don, a philosopher who also happened to write about politics, economics, education, and religion. This picture is historically false. The twenty-five years between Locke‟s leaving Oxford and the publication of the Essay are filled with the drama, intrigues, and dangers of political life” (1986, 79). For specific examples of Ashcraft‟s argument that Locke‟s writings on epistemology and religion cannot be easily separated from his political vision, see Ashcraft 1986, 106, 127.

4 life” (1987, 238). Finding other reasons for Locke‟s desire to keep these two specific works separated following their publication, these scholars argue that there is much that can be gained by looking not only at those aspects of Locke‟s epistemology that cohere with his political thought, but also with those areas where apparent disagreement is found. While many scholars have discovered benefits in reading Locke‟s epistemology when discussing his vision for political existence, fewer have also incorporated Locke‟s writings on religion.5 John C. Higgins-Biddle notes, “Modern interest in Locke has concentrated on those aspects of his work that have been most influential—his philosophy and political theory. To a lesser extent he has also been treated as an educator, physician, and economist. Although several recent works have called attention to the importance of his religious thought, little effort has been expended on this facet of his interest.” Higgins-Biddle, offering support for the comprehensive reading of Locke that I promote, continues, “Yet Locke‟s views on these now distinct disciplines were intricately interwoven, so that his religious thought cannot be accurately understood apart from his work as a philosopher, political theorist, and exponent of toleration” (1999a, vii). If Higgins-Biddle is right about the significance of religion for the entirety of Locke‟s work, and I believe he is, we cannot possibly hope to comprehend Lockean liberalism without paying particularly close attention to Locke‟s religious thought. As a result, both the religious structure of Locke‟s political and philosophical writings, as well his writings focused more specifically on religion and their significance for his understanding of politics and philosophy, will be central to my presentation of Locke in relation to the use of religious forms of reasoning in political discourse. With my comprehensive reading, therefore, I would endorse the conclusion reached by John W. Yolton and Jean S. Yolton, with the addition of religious thought to the list: “The total result may even be a system in the sense that philosophy of man, theory of knowledge, and ethical and political doctrines are interrelated” (1989, 3). Emphasizing the religious structure of Locke‟s thought, however, leads to an additional point to be made about the overall purpose of the project. While I do indeed believe that we can learn much from Locke, which can lead to positive changes in our understanding of contemporary political discourse, I am not arguing that we must accept all of Locke‟s specific positions concerning the political. Nor am I arguing that we must accept the precise forms of reasoning used by Locke to reach his political conclusions. A simple imitation of Locke‟s vision

5 For a discussion of the increased interest in religious aspects of Locke‟s thought, see Sigmund 2005.

5 will not provide the quick fix for which so many seem to be searching. As we journey through Locke‟s vision, we will encounter many instances where Locke‟s positions would need to be altered, extended, or even negated in order to be compatible with the ultimate vision of the political that I endorse. Simply because the Lockean vision cannot be accepted in toto, however, does not mean that Locke has no use for the issues facing us today. Throughout this project, I will often be passing over questions of agreement or disagreement with particular matters in order to understand how Locke‟s thought can be useful for us today. Rather than debating the necessity of religious foundations for an issue such as equality, for example, I want to uncover the benefits that can be gained from Locke‟s defense of religious liberty.6 In this way, Locke‟s vision, while not providing an example to be followed in every detail, will open up a way of defending the use of religious forms of reasoning in political discourse that is grounded in the historical and philosophical tradition of liberal and democratic political practice. Before turning specifically to Locke, I begin in chapter one with a discussion of possible objections to my project. For many, the objection will be centered on my position that religious arguments can be defended and promoted in a liberal understanding of discourse. Paul Weithman, for example, argues, “It is a shibboleth of contemporary American political analysis that religion and liberalism are mutually antagonistic” (1997, 1). As Weithman writes, “A formidable obstacle faces attempts to reconceive the standard view that philosophical liberals think religion a threat to political stability.” One reason for the obstacle, Weithman continues, is the fact that “so many philosophical liberals seem to endorse” a radical silencing of religious forms of reasoning in liberal decision making and discourse (1997, 3). Arguing against Rawlsian liberals, new traditionalists, and non-liberal democrats, I join Weithman in the effort to proclaim a version of political liberalism that fosters the presence of diverse voices in the public sphere, including voices influenced by religious beliefs and practices. I also note the objections that would be raised by non-Lockean liberal democrats, thinkers who would agree with my presentation of liberalism but would place Locke among the liberals who silence, rather than promote, diversity in public discourse.

6 For his part, Waldron is not convinced that abandoning religious foundations to many political principles will prove beneficial. Again focusing on the concept of equality, he writes, “Equality cannot do its work unless it is accepted among those whom it consecrates as equals. Locke believed this general acceptance was impossible apart from the principle‟s foundation in religious teaching. We believe otherwise. Locke, I suspect, would have thought we were taking a risk. And I am afraid it is not entirely clear, given our experience of a world and a century in which politics and public reason have cut loose from these foundations, that his cautions and suspicions were unjustified” (2002, 243).

As I turn my attention to Locke, I focus on three conditions that are necessary in seeing Locke as a defender and promoter of the use of religious forms of reasoning in political discourse. First, we must find a foundational support for religious toleration. Only if competing religious beliefs and practices are tolerated can there even be a possibility of using these religious commitments in the public sphere. Second, individuals must be justified in using their religious beliefs and practices in forming conclusions about political matters. Only if private faith can legitimately influence decisions made about public matters can we truly accept the presence of religious forms of reasoning in civil discourse. Third, there must be a concrete way in which citizens are able to mediate the religiously informed political conclusions to the realm of public exchange. Only if religious believers are provided a vehicle for the expression of their voices can we effectively promote the use of religious arguments in political dialogue. Chapters two and three are devoted to the first necessary condition, the issue of religious toleration. Rather than turning immediately to Locke‟s Letters on Toleration, I begin in chapter two with Locke‟s earliest writings on the subject, the Two Tracts on Government. Instead of offering a liberal defense of religious freedom, the Two Tracts present an anti-liberal position in favor of the government‟s ability to impose religious beliefs and practices on citizens. Understanding the arguments against a liberal notion of religious toleration that were convincing to Locke for a time will shed light on the shift that occurs in Locke‟s thought in the 1660s. In chapter three, I turn to Locke‟s mature writings on religious toleration, beginning with his Essay Concerning Toleration, written in 1667. In this work, Locke provides many of the arguments that will be forever seen as foundational to the tradition of liberal political thought. Locke‟s perspective on religious toleration remains largely unchanged through the composition of the Two Treatises, the Letters, and many other writings on the topic. Focusing on the freedom of individual conscience and the limited ends of the state, Locke defends the right of citizens to hold a variety of religious beliefs and to engage in a variety of religious practices. In the following chapters, I turn to the second necessary condition, the justification of the use of religious forms of reasoning in the formation of political conclusions. In this discussion, I treat specifically the Essay Concerning Human Understanding and The Reasonableness of Christianity in chapters four and five respectively. Focusing on the moral law, I highlight a fundamental distinction in Locke‟s thought between the theoretical possibility of reaching certain knowledge of moral obligation through a rational demonstration of ethics, and the actual

7 limitations that keep humans from finding such knowledge. It is precisely at the limits of knowledge that Locke turns to revelation. For a variety of reasons, neither the uneducated nor the philosopher has been able to discover and obey the moral law through the use of reason alone. As a result, moral conclusions are most often limited to the realm of opinion rather than that of knowledge. As humans seek to form moral opinion, Locke turns to the revelation provided by God, the Creator of the moral law. Revelation not only presents the moral law in a way that can be understood by all people; it also carries with it the authority that grounds the human obligation to follow its precepts. Because Locke understands politics as a subset of ethics, the religious forms of reasoning that are grounded in revelation become justified in the process of reaching conclusions about political matters. After using the Reasonableness to further support the justification of the use of religious forms of reasoning in forming political conclusions, I end chapter five with the third necessary condition, a way in which individual interests can be mediated to the larger sphere of public discourse. Following the emphasis on institutional participation in the work of Sheldon Wolin and Jeffrey Stout, I highlight Locke‟s discussion of religious communities. While Locke is often focused on the individual, particularly when it comes to religious matters, I argue that he is also aware of the need for individuals to come together in order to form a community of shared interests. The emphasis that these communities place on issues of morality clearly connects them to the political, and their egalitarian structure protects the right of every member‟s voice to be heard as the organization plays its role in public discourse. Through his defense of religious toleration, his justification of revelation as a source of authority in the formation of moral belief, and his promotion of religious community, I argue that Locke provides the necessary conditions for my vision of political participation in a liberal democracy. It is a vision marked by diversity, civic virtue, and active involvement by each and every citizen with a voice yearning to be heard in the realm of political discourse.

CHAPTER ONE A COMPREHENSIVE VISION: DEMOCRACY, LIBERALISM, AND RELIGION

1. Four Responses to the Project I expect many readers to be sympathetic with various aspects of this project. After all, many contemporary Americans would express support for democracy; others may be proud of the tradition of political liberalism that undergirds our nation‟s political identity; still others would value the work of Locke as influential in the development of American politics; and there will also be those who wish to see a greater acceptance of religious forms of reasoning in the public sphere.1 Despite the support for individual aspects of this project, I do not anticipate a great deal of initial support for the project in its entirety. Instead, most readers will express doubt with one or more parts of the concept that is central to my position: “Lockean liberal democracy that supports the presence of religious reasons in political discourse.” In this chapter, we will look at a variety of possible responses to this project, each of which will disagree with at least one part of the overall picture of political identity and discourse being presented. I call the first group of readers Rawlsian liberals. While these readers will initially value the significance I attach to Lockean liberal democracy—both in the formation and the continued development of American political identity—they will disagree with my reading of the Lockean liberal democratic tradition, a reading that argues for the tradition‟s inclusive position concerning religious voices in public discourse. These liberals offer arguments for the exclusion of religious forms of reasoning in political dialogue. Unless certain conditions are met, the presence of religion in liberal politics, they claim, threatens the very foundations of political liberalism and democratic discourse. I follow Stout in naming the second group of readers new traditionalists. These figures will welcome the call for religious reasoning in the realm of politics; however,

1 I follow Stout‟s understanding of the public sphere throughout my discussion of political discourse. He argues that we ought not to think of the public sphere as a place. Rather, “One is addressing the public whenever one addresses people as citizens. In a modern democracy, this is not something one does in one place or all at once. Wherever two or three citizens are gathered whom one might address as citizens, as persons jointly responsible for the common good, one is in a potentially public setting…. A private communication, in contrast, would either not pertain to matters of concern to the people as a whole, or involve an expectation of confidentiality” (2004, 113). This understanding of public political discourse would not exclude more official acts of political participation—such as speaking at a town hall meeting or working for a political campaign—but it would not be limited to such acts.

8 9 they will doubt that this form of discourse is possible in a liberal democracy, including the one that is grounded in the work of Locke and that frames American politics. As a result, they would not show initial support for a project that promotes Lockean liberal democracy. Because Stout and others have offered convincing criticisms of both Rawlsian liberals and new traditionalists, I devote most of this chapter to two further groups that will initially doubt the success of my vision of political discourse. The readers in the first group, which includes Stout himself, are non-liberal democrats. These thinkers offer a very similar picture of political practice to the one that I present in this project. They value democratic forms of political order, and they argue that religious forms of reasoning ought to be welcomed and encouraged in the political participation of citizens living in a religiously diverse nation such as the United States. Nevertheless, non-liberal democrats seem to agree with Rawlsian liberals and new traditionalists when they argue that the tradition of political liberalism, particularly the forms of liberal political thought that descend from the work of Locke, cannot foster a form of democracy that values an active role for religious voices in the public sphere. I refer to the final group of readers that I discuss as non-Lockean liberal democrats. Of all the groups, this group is closest to my own position. Along with the new traditionalists and non-liberal democrats, they argue that religious believers must be encouraged to make known their religious reasons in democratic discourse. However, the non-Lockean liberal democrats also argue for the relevance of the tradition of liberal political thought for the continued strength of democracy. That is, while the non-liberal democrats seek to divorce democracy from liberalism, the non-Lockean liberal democrats caution against such a move. They insist that the liberal political tradition is vital for the preservation and promotion of the kind of democracy that they—and the non-liberal democrats—wish to defend. Despite this significant degree of agreement between my own position and that of the non-Lockean liberal democrats, there remains an obstacle in finding full support from these thinkers. While they accept the importance of the liberal tradition in grounding a democracy that values the presence of religious forms of reasoning in political discourse, they doubt that Locke can be seen as central to the reading of political liberalism that is needed. Instead, other liberal thinkers must be found who will challenge the work of Locke, in order to present a competing version of liberalism. By discussing these various groups of political thinkers and their potential responses to the vision of political discourse that I present, the significance and controversy of this project

10 will become apparent. This discussion will also set the stage for my presentation of Locke as the founder of the liberal political tradition, a tradition which I argue ought to provide the framework of the political identity of contemporary American democracy. It is this Lockean liberal democratic tradition that is also able to ground the possibility of supporting religious forms of reasoning in the public sphere. Each aspect of this comprehensive vision of political discourse is vital to providing a solution to the current confusion concerning the role of religion in contemporary political discourse.

2. Rawlsian Liberals Leaving out the implications for religious reasoning in democratic discourse, many readers might view a project that seeks to defend and promote Lockean liberal democracy as preaching to the choir. After all, these readers think, liberal democracy is the form of political governance that has been practiced in the United States for more than two hundred years. The story is well rehearsed. It begins with Locke as the founder of liberalism, the forerunner of modern democracy. Locke was vital in achieving and justifying the Glorious Revolution of 1688, in which King James II was overthrown and a new spirit of individualism, the protection of private property, and a defense of religious—at least Protestant—toleration were ushered into the political scene as bedrocks of personal freedom. While the events of the late seventeenth century were large steps in the right direction, the story continues, it was left for the figures of the French Revolution and the Founding Fathers of the United States to more fully realize the implications of early liberal political thought in the formation and development of what we now know as liberal democracy, a system of governance that is of the people, by the people, and for the people. Later thinkers carried the liberal tradition even closer to its ideals. One of the most important figures of the twentieth century, according to these readers, is John Rawls. Rawls took up the torch of the liberal political tradition that began with Locke, making crucial additions and clarifications about the nature of liberal discourse and the purposes of liberal government. In this way, Lockean liberalism provided the guiding principles that are brought to fruition when joined with the Rawlsian liberal-democratic ideals of public reason, overlapping consensus, and justice as fairness. To these Rawlsian liberals, liberal democracy is recognized as the way in which Americans summarize the story of their own political tradition.

The problem that these thinkers will initially have with my project, therefore, is not associated with the defense of the liberal democratic tradition that finds its foundation in the work of Locke. Instead, the issue that distinguishes the Rawlsian liberal position from my own concerns my claim about the proper relationship between religious forms of reasoning and political discourse within the Lockean liberal democratic tradition.2 The most typical—and most moderate—Rawlsian liberal response to this issue is that religious forms of reasoning are not appropriate on their own in political discussions. Stout writes, “Rawls‟s political liberalism holds that religious premises may be used in democratic deliberation and debate of essential matters, but only if they are eventually supplemented by reasoning that appeals to a free-standing conception of justice” (2004, 92).3 While it may, on this moderate account, be acceptable to use religious arguments in a religious citizen‟s initial attempt at forming political judgments, these religious arguments eventually must be “redeemed,” in Stout‟s interpretation of Rawlsian liberalism, by non-religious arguments.4 One contemporary Rawlsian liberal that defends this form of liberalism is Robert Audi. Again, Audi is presenting a moderate form of Rawlsian liberalism. This moderation is evident even in Audi‟s basic perspective on the relationship between the liberal political tradition and

2 Kent Greenawalt writes, “During my youth, I took it for granted that one‟s religious commitments and understandings would matter for one‟s life, including one‟s life as a citizen, and that liberal democracy was a system of governance that warranted support” (1988, vii). Upon his initial reading of Rawls‟s A Theory of Justice, he admits that he “did not realize the extent to which acceptance of its basic premises would exclude religious perceptions from the political sphere” (1988, viii). 3 It is significant that I am speaking of the form of liberalism marked by interpreters of Rawls, because there are other liberal arguments that lead to various degrees of silencing of religious diversity that do not find their immediate grounding in the work of Rawls. For example, Stout also discusses the liberalism of Richard Rorty, comparing it to Rawlsian liberalism on the topic of political discourse. Whereas the contractarian approach of Rawls presents a “moralistic” restraint on religious voices in public discourse, the pragmatic perspective of Rorty argues for a strategic restraint (2004, 85): “Rorty‟s pragmatic liberalism holds that introducing religious premises into political argument is more or less guaranteed to break off the discussion and therefore best avoided” (2004, 92; see Rorty 1994/1999). While Rorty‟s liberalism may lead to a similar—or perhaps even greater—exclusion of religious voices from public debate, it is based less on Rawlsian notions of justice as fairness and public reason, and more on the pragmatic effects of competing forms of discourse. While I am most interested in the Rawlsian form of liberalism because of the assumption that Rawls inherits the liberal thought of Locke, I will return to Rorty‟s pragmatic liberalism in my discussion of Stout‟s pragmatic democracy below. 4 It is also important to note that Rawls himself nuanced his position on religious reasoning in political discourse throughout his career. Stout speaks of Rawls‟s “unqualified” position in which “our reasoning in the public forum should appeal strictly to ideals and principles that no reasonable person could reasonably reject” (2004, 65). In this version, “using religious premises in our reasoning on basic political issues conflicts with the ideal of public reason as originally stated by Rawls” (2004, 68). What Stout calls Rawls‟s “amended” position is the one that I have presented here. In Stout‟s words, quoting Rawls, “[Rawls‟s] amended view is that reasonable comprehensive doctrines, including religious doctrines, „may be introduced in public reason at any time, provided that in due course public reasons, given by a reasonable political conception, are presented sufficient to support whatever the comprehensive doctrines are introduced to support‟” (2004, 68; see Rawls 1993, li-lii).

12 religion, as well as in his identification of democracy with liberalism. He writes, “A liberal democracy, conceived as a free and democratic society, must protect religious liberty” (1997, 2).5 While Audi‟s greatest concern is with the government‟s relationship to religion—a relationship that Audi marks by the libertarian, equalitarian, and neutrality principles (1997, 4)— he also discusses the relationship between the religious beliefs of individual citizens in a liberal democracy and political discourse. He notes, “In a society that is complex, pluralistic, and so, inevitably, somewhat divided, civic virtue implies trying to take reasonable positions on important issues, voting, discussing problems with others, and more. Civic virtue in a liberal democracy implies a degree of responsible political participation” (1997, 16). The key term in this passage is “reasonable.” For Audi and other Rawlsian liberals, the very fact of pluralism requires citizens to take positions based on reasonable arguments and, in turn, to offer reasonable arguments to others when trying to persuade them to take those positions themselves. But what does it mean to take reasonable positions or to offer reasonable arguments? Audi answers this question by commenting, “As advocates for laws and public policies, then, and especially for those that are coercive, virtuous citizens will seek grounds of a kind that any rational adult citizen can endorse as sufficient for the purpose” (1997, 17). For religious believers in liberal democracies, this commitment to reasonableness means that religious forms of reasoning cannot be solely relied upon when trying to make one‟s positions known in public discourse. Audi refers to this requirement as the principle of secular rationale, which says that “one has a prima facie obligation not to advocate or support any law or public policy that restricts human conduct, unless one has, and is willing to offer, adequate secular reason for this advocacy or support (say for one‟s vote)” (1997, 25). In other words, this moderate Rawlsian liberal position allows religious believers to make sense of their political positions in religious terms, and it also allows these citizens to support these positions using religious forms of reasoning. They must, however, be able and willing to supplement these religious reasons with what Audi refers to as an “adequate secular reason.” The latter would be a reason that could be endorsed by any rational adult citizen of a liberal democracy and “whose normative force, i.e., its status as a prima facie justificatory element, does not evidentially depend on the existence of God (or on denying it) or on theological considerations, or on the pronouncements of a person or institution qua religious authority” (1997, 26). Requiring

5 Unless otherwise noted, the citations throughout the discussion of Audi refer to Audi and Wolterstorff 1997.

13 religious believers to supplement their religious reasons with secular reasons constrains the way in which these individuals can participate in democratic discourse. The “limited restrictions of religious expression” that the principle of secular rationale places on religious believers, Audi argues, are “protections of liberty for others.” He continues, “Liberalism‟s constraints of some are liberations for others, and are intended for the benefit of all” (1997, 28). Demanding that religious citizens offer secular reasons along with their own religious reasons for a variety of political positions, according to Audi, is what secures the liberty of all in a liberal democracy.6 In addition to citing the benefits that the principle of secular rationale provides for all citizens, Audi defends the principle by arguing that it does not actually ask much of religious believers, particularly those committed to monotheism. According to Audi, these believers should be able to “embody a commitment to theo-ethical equilibrium—a rational integration between religious deliverances and insights and, on the other hand, secular ethical considerations” (1997, 21). In other words, Audi simply assumes that belief in a God who is the source of reason as well as the object of faith should translate into correspondence between religious and secular reasons. He writes, “If, given God‟s omniscience, omnipotence, and omnibenevolence, there is as much reason to expect alignment between religiously well- grounded and secularly well-grounded moral standards as I have suggested, then following the principle of secular rationale may be reasonably expected not to put a religious person (at least in the tradition of standard Western theism) into disequilibrium except where there is an error” (1997, 27).7 Audi makes a crucial move beyond his principle of secular rationale, which places conditions on the support one must give for one‟s positions in political discourse, when he introduces his principle of secular motivation. This principle states that “one has a (prima facie)

6 Weithman, who sees Audi as accurately following in the footsteps of Rawls, notes that Audi‟s position—termed “liberalism of reasoned respect”—is not that “religious values” must be supplemented because of the possibility of “social and political instability.” Instead, the Rawlsian liberal believes that “appealing to those values in public political argument might undermine the conditions necessary for the pursuit of basic justice” (1997, 4, 5). Wolterstorff notes that he sees no “cogency” in the argument that religion must be silenced because of the danger it can bring to society. He writes, “I think that if I had been living in the seventeenth century, I would have found it cogent. But I live in the twentieth century” (1997, 167). 7 Audi writes, “My suggestion, then, is that mature, rational religious people living in circumstances like those of a contemporary liberal democracy will seek at least a measure of reflective equilibrium among their beliefs and attitudes grounded in religious sources of obligation and, in some cases, among those and beliefs and attitudes which they hold or find plausible, that they take to be grounded in secular sources. Roughly, this effort is a search for a cognitive balance in which the elements in question—chiefly one‟s beliefs, attitudes, and desires—are mutually consistent and, so far as possible, mutually supportive. The more rational we are, and the more complicated the moral issues we face, the wider is likely to be the equilibrium we seek” (Audi 1997, 46).

14 obligation to abstain from advocacy or support of a law or public policy that restricts human conduct, unless one is sufficiently motivated by (normatively) adequate secular reason” (1997, 29). In explaining what it would mean for a citizen to be sufficiently motivated by adequate secular reason, Audi presents two conditions: “(a) this set of reasons explains one‟s action and (b) one would act on it even if, other things remaining equal, one‟s reasons were eliminated” (1997, 29). In other words, in Audi‟s moderate form of Rawlsian liberalism, it is not enough to require that religious citizens be able to supplement their religious forms of reasoning with secular reasons when trying to persuade others of their political positions; they must also be sufficiently motivated by the secular reasons themselves. Despite the restrictions placed on religious believers as a result of these two principles, Audi is right to insist that the vision of political discourse that he has presented is indeed a moderate form of Rawlsian liberalism. Unlike the more extreme versions, Audi‟s liberalism allows citizens to offer religious reasons in political discourse and to be personally motivated by these reasons. Further, “The rationale and motivation principles even allow a virtuous citizen‟s judging the religious reasons in question to be more important than the secular ones, or being more strongly motivated by them, or both; this is perfectly consistent with one‟s being sufficiently motivated by adequate secular reason” (1997, 52). Religion is not excluded from the realm of politics. It can still play a central role in the political convictions and behaviors of citizens in a liberal democracy. Audi‟s only condition is that religious forms of reasoning be adequately supplemented by non-religious reasons.8 While significant, this condition does allow Audi to remain a moderate Rawlsian liberal. He argues, “I differ from writers who (like Rawls) substantially restrict reliance on „comprehensive views‟ by citizens…. My position allows…that comprehensive views…may figure crucially both evidentially and motivationally, and both in general public discussion and in advocacy and support of laws and public policies, provided (evidentially) adequate secular reasons play a sufficiently important role” (1997, 35). While the Rawlsian liberal position—in both extreme and moderate forms—remains prominent in discussions about political discourse, an increasing amount of criticism of this position has been voiced in recent decades. Each of the three groups discussed next in this

8 Part of this requirement, it seems, comes from Audi‟s emphasis on “fallibilism about one‟s conception of one‟s religious obligations.” He insists that “an attitude of fallibilism…[is] appropriate to mature, rational practitioners of a religion for which, as is typical, there are multiple, independent, and sometimes unclear or ambiguous sources of authority regarding human conduct” (Audi 1997, 47).

15 chapter has offered its own perspective on why Rawlsian liberalism should not be followed. The new traditionalists argue that even the moderate forms of Rawlsian liberalism place unfair restrictions on religious citizens; they also focus on the need for religion in a society that seeks virtue. The non-liberal democrats and the non-Lockean liberal democrats agree with the new traditionalists that religious liberty is at odds with Rawslian liberal principles, such as those offered by Audi. These groups also argue that Rawlsian liberals are wrong in claiming the determinative benefits of restricting reliance on religious forms of reasoning in the public sphere. For Stout, Wolterstorff, and others, the benefits of allowing all citizens to fully participate in political discussion—even if some citizens cannot get beyond their religious reasons for supporting particular positions—far outweigh the concerns that Rawlsian liberals have about the presence of religion in politics. Before turning to these groups, however, I want to offer an additional criticism of the Rawlsian position defended by Audi, a criticism that is only briefly mentioned in the work of the thinkers discussed below, but one that is central in the comprehensive presentation of Locke that I offer in following chapters. It is focused on Audi‟s discussion of theo-ethical equilibrium. Again, Audi claims, “In religious traditions that recognize God as omniscient, omnipotent, and omnibenevolent, there is good reason to expect that one can, by and large, achieve an equilibrium between religious and secular considerations in relation to major moral and sociopolitical principles crucial for guiding civic life in a free society” (1997, 54). The significance of this concept to Audi‟s entire perspective on the relationship between religious forms of reasoning and political discourse is evident in his use of theo-ethical equilibrium in the final sentences of this particular work: “To achieve such equilibrium, and to realize civic virtue, is to contribute to the liberty, mutual respect, and cooperative exchange of ideas that best nourishes both religious practice and moral conduct. Perhaps it is also part of the civic realization of the injunction of beneficence: the injunction to love one‟s neighbor as oneself” (1997, 55). My concern with this discussion is with the expectation of achieving theo-ethical equilibrium. Audi seems to take it for granted that monotheistic religious believers automatically assume the possibility—and even likelihood—of reaching such equilibrium. While this may be the case for some of these believers, I would contend that it is not true for those Christian citizens who follow Augustinian, Lutheran, Calvinist, or Niebuhrian traditions of teachings on

16 the human condition—to name just a few. Augustine posits a radical change in circumstances for those who live outside the gates of Eden. Martin Luther and John Calvin desperately and consistently depend on the grace of God as a result of their recognition of sin‟s power over the human condition. Reinhold Niebuhr is famous for emphasizing the reality and force of sin‟s presence in the fallen world in which we live. While all of these theologians, and the many Christians who follow in their footsteps, would agree that theo-ethical equilibrium is the desired norm for God‟s creation, they would persistently insist that such equilibrium has been made much more difficult—if not theoretically and/or practically impossible—for post-lapsarian humans. Audi‟s unsupported assumption that Christians and other monotheistic religious believers should be able to achieve such equilibrium simply is not consistent with the way in which many of these believers understand the reality of their own condition.9 Therefore, using theo-ethical equilibrium as the cornerstone for why the principles of secular rationale and secular motivation ought to be—and in this case, the ought implies a can—followed by religious believers may turn out to be an impassible obstacle for the religious citizen‟s acceptance of Audi‟s moderate Rawlsian liberal position.10

3. New Traditionalists In Stout‟s discussion of new traditionalism in Democracy and Tradition, he focuses on the work of Stanley Hauerwas, Alasdair MacIntyre, and John Milbank. For our purposes, there are three critical features of new traditionalism. First, new traditionalists do in fact agree with the story of American political identity offered by the Rawlsian liberals. In Stout‟s words, “Hauerwas and his allies accept the descriptive component of contractarian liberalism. That is, they take this form of liberalism at face value as an accurate account of what the ethical life of modern democracy involves” (2004, 77). In other words, new traditionalism accepts that American political life is grounded in the liberal tradition that finds its most prominent qualities

9 When Audi writes, therefore, “If I am right about the prospects for achieving theo-ethical equilibrium, then a civic voice is available, in part through adherence to the principle of secular motivation, to most rational religious people without compromise of their basic religious commitments,” I argue that many religious citizens would challenge his premise, thereby complicating his conclusions (Audi 1997, 61). 10 Of the authors discussed below, Wolterstorff makes the most explicit mention of the criticism, although it plays no central role in his primary critique of Audi‟s position. He argues that this vision of theo-ethical equilibrium thinks only “in terms of creation, not at all in terms of fallenness. We do not exist in a pristine state. We all live east of Eden. We, one and all, are all mucked up, not only in our actions but in our beliefs on moral matters. Though God may indeed have provided paths, we have all, like sheep, gone astray” (1997, 164).

17 in the work of Rawls. For Hauerwas, the most important aspect of this tradition is its description of proper political discourse, in which liberal democracy follows Rawls in seeking to silence diversity, particularly religious diversity, using instead the language of public reason. In this way, the new traditionalists believe that historical liberalism is synonymous with the privatization of religion that marks ideological secularism. This leads to the second critical feature of new traditionalism. While accepting the Rawlsian liberal story as the proper reading of the political tradition of liberal democracy, the new traditionalists do not want to defend or promote liberal democracy as beneficial for the development of a virtuous society. Instead, they argue that liberal democracy, particularly in its silencing of religious reasoning in political discourse, has contributed to the loss of virtue in contemporary societies. Liberal democracy, in this view, is a large part of the problem when discussing the ills of human existence, not, as the liberals would have it, part of the solution to these ills. Hauerwas, MacIntyre, and others view the form of political discourse promoted by liberal democracy as harmful in its exclusion of religious voices from the public sphere.11 In Stout‟s rendition, new traditionalism is a “[reaction] against an exclusionary definition of the democratic community” (2004, 43). For example, Stout discusses MacIntyre‟s “profound discontent with liberal society,” as well as the latter‟s “unsympathetic caricature” of the liberal tradition (2004, 120, 127). Stout also connects Rawlsian liberalism to the secular state that Milbank believes has created a world “in which the theological is either discredited or turned into a harmless leisure-time activity of private commitment” (2004, 92). Speaking of Hauerwas, Stout writes, “„Liberal society,‟ „the secular,‟ and „democracy‟ become his names for what the world has become in an age of fragmentation after the demise of virtue and tradition…. Liberalism, according to Hauerwas, is a secularist ideology that masks a discriminatory program for policing what religious people can say in public” (2004, 147, 76). Finally, Stout mentions Richard John Neuhaus‟s argument that secularist liberalism has demanded “a religious

11 It is this aspect of liberalism that must be emphasized when speaking of the new traditionalists‟ criticism of this form of the political. Stout is right to note that other lines of reasoning are used, most importantly MacIntyre‟s claim that the liberal democratic project is antitraditionalist in nature (see Stout 2004, 118). I discuss this criticism of liberal democracy, as well as Stout‟s attempt to avoid this criticism in his own rethought vision of democracy, in section four below. Nevertheless, the new traditionalist argument that is most forceful against liberalism, and one that we will see Stout accept, concerns the liberal attempt to silence diversity in the public sphere, thereby requiring religious believers to follow certain liberal rules when expressing their faith. This criticism can be heard in the following words of Hauerwas that Stout provides from A Better Hope. Hauerwas writes that his “problem has never been with political liberals…but rather with the widespread assumption shared by many Christians that political liberalism ought to shape the agenda, if not the very life, of the church” (2000, 9; see Stout 2004, 140).

18 evacuation of the public sphere” (2004, 92). According to the new traditionalists, therefore, the Rawlsian liberal position that sees religion as a problem for political discourse, which can only be addressed by requiring that religious forms of reasoning be kept out of the public sphere, is a damaging view that cannot be defended or promoted by those who desire a virtuous society. The final feature of new traditionalism to emphasize concerns what its leading figures seek to do in light of the harmful tradition of liberal democracy that defines the landscape of political discourse. Because the new traditionalists accept the Rawlsian story as accurate in describing liberal democracy, it is clear that they will not seek to transform the current state of the public sphere through immanent criticism. That is, they will not attempt to transform the liberal political tradition from within, by recasting the liberal story. This is where the new traditionalist will doubt the purpose of my project. While showing initial support for my insistence that religious forms of reasoning are appropriate for political discourse, they will present initial criticism of the attempt to ground this role for religion in the tradition of liberal political thought, marked by Locke, Rawls, or any other liberal thinker. Therefore, if the new traditionalists desire a new form of political discourse, it would seem that they would need to offer another viable option for the political that would both deal with the facts of religious pluralism and allow religious forms of reasoning into the public sphere. This would entail attempting to replace the liberal political identity of American public discourse with something new. This, too, however, would require a great deal of political activity, and while the new traditionalists vigorously criticize liberal democracy, they do not want to challenge this tradition through active, explicitly political participation. As long as liberal democracy reigns over contemporary political discourse, the new traditionalists will not— indeed, cannot—fully engage as active citizens. Stout rightly asks, “Why should one identify with the democratic process of reason-exchange if the norms implicit in that process are what the contractarians [Rawls, for example] say they are?” (2004, 75). Because the new traditionalists simply accept liberal democracy as the given form of the political culture in America, new traditionalism becomes, in Stout‟s words, a “politically debilitating [form] of separatism and cultural alienation” (2004, 43). Taking on Hauerwas directly, Stout continues, “It is true that Hauerwas sometimes writes as if no such total rejection of American society is necessary just now. But he underestimates the extent to which his heavy-handed use of the term „liberalism‟ as an all-purpose critical instrument continually reinforces the impression that total rejection is in

19 fact required” (2004, 148). And later, comparing Hauerwas‟s criticism of liberalism to Karl Barth‟s rejection of Nazism, “Hauerwas utters his „No!‟ to liberalism, but there is little in his work that resembles Barth‟s active commitment to democracy and socialist reform” (2004, 155). Indeed, Hauerwas leaves us with little more than his “one-sidedly negative polemic against liberal society” (2004, 155).12 Therefore, the voice of the new traditionalists will be one of reactionary disapproval of liberal democracy, and, as Stout reminds us, their voice is heard by an increasingly large segment of the American citizenry. But their voice, despite the rigor of its critique, will not lead to political actions that seek to create a form of political discourse that avoids the problems of Rawlsian liberalism that the new traditionalists so forcefully highlight.

4. Non-liberal Democrats Thinkers in the second group of readers that will offer a perspective on this project that differs from the Rawlsian liberals are the non-liberal democrats. In this group, I place most prominently Wolin and Stout. In their own unique ways, they agree with the criticism of liberalism offered by the new traditionalists. Their own position, however, is not to jettison active citizenry in contemporary political discourse; instead, they wish to redefine the basic framework of such political participation so as to convince the new traditionalists that pluralism is a good thing for contemporary politics, and that there is a form of democracy that can allow for diversity, including religious diversity, in the public sphere. Rather than accepting that the Rawlsian liberal position is the only way in which the political sphere can operate, non-liberal democrats attempt to show the flaws in Rawlsian liberalism, putting forth their own visions of democracy as providing a superior set of beliefs and practices for a just and virtuous form of the political. The danger occurs, however, when thinkers such as Wolin and Stout abandon the liberal political tradition altogether. While there is much to commend about non-liberal democrats‟ views of participatory democratic discourse, I argue that liberalism, while misinterpreted by the Rawlsian liberals, has basic principles that are critical to the tradition of

12 Stout notes that Hauerwas himself speaks of his “polemic against theological and political liberalism” (Hauerwas 1995, 224 n. 32; see Stout 2004, 156). Stout is correct, however, to note, “What Hauerwas does not face with sufficient candor is the fact that his desire to reduce all opponents to a single figure, „the liberal,‟ gives him an interest in ignoring the details of what the targets of his critique actually say and do” (2004, 156). Part of the significance of the current project is to show the new traditionalists that the story of liberal democracy needs to be told, and listened to, again. As I will argue in section four below, my project desires to retell the story of liberal democracy to Stout as well.

American political thought and to the form of democracy that the non-liberal democrats wish to promote. In other words, simply discarding the liberal aspect of liberal democracy, as the non- liberal democrats do, leads to the forfeiture of a vital element to the story of democratic citizenry that these thinkers desire to see continually actualized. As a result, while the non-liberal democrats do much to bridge the gap between the new traditionalists and democratic discourse, their project ends up creating an equally disturbing gap between defenders of historical liberalism and the non-liberal democrats‟ own version of the political. Because I see the non-liberal democrats as offering such an attractive vision of political participation, while nevertheless distancing themselves from the liberal tradition that I argue provides the best framework within which democratic discourse ought to be situated, it is worthwhile to go into greater depth in describing the project of these thinkers, their perspective on political liberalism, and the gap that is created by this perspective between liberals and non- liberal democrats. It is this gap that will create the initial concern for my project in the minds of non-liberal democrats. While supporting the call for the inclusion of religious forms of reasoning in public discourse and the connection made between this form of political action and the democratic tradition, the non-liberal democrat will be highly skeptical of my argument that the liberal political tradition can—and must—also be part of this comprehensive vision of political participation. My project is an attempt to bridge the gap between liberalism and democracy by rethinking the liberal tradition in such a way that can contribute to and complete the visions of the political that non-liberal democrats promote. In the discussion of non-liberal democrats that follows, I begin with Wolin‟s form of participatory democracy, noting specifically his emphasis on institutionalization, his criticism of the liberal political tradition, and his shift away from large-scale institutionalization in more recent years. I then turn to Stout‟s pragmatic vision of democratic discourse, focusing on his discussion of civic virtue, his perspective on historical liberalism, and his presentation of organizations that can promote the practice of democracy.

4.1 Wolin’s Conception of Genuine Democracy In order to understand why Wolin argues that genuine democracy is the best form of political expression,13 it is necessary to grasp the way in which he defines the basic concepts of his discourse. To begin, Wolin defines politics as “the legitimized and public contestation…over access to the resources available to the public authorities of the collectivity” (1996a, 31). He argues that “politics is continuous, ceaseless, and endless” (1996a, 31). Competition of interests is a mainstay of communal existence. The political, according to Wolin, is marked by the way in which this contestation is resolved. It is the realm of thought and activity that offers isolated individuals the ability to find order in the midst of their own unique, and oftentimes conflicting, interests. He writes, “I shall take the political to be an expression of the idea that a free society composed of diversities can nonetheless enjoy moments of commonality when, through public deliberations, collective power is used to promote or protect the well-being of the collectivity” (1996a, 31).14 In contrast to the sustained nature of politics, Wolin argues, “the political is episodic, rare” (1996a, 31). The political is the realm of thought concerned with the way in which individuals form communities that can try to continually experience the moments of shared interests being made manifest.15 Wolin writes, “It is seen in the basic belief of theorists that political rule is concerned with those general interests shared by all the members of the community” (2004, 11). It is this commonality that serves as the foundation of the order that the political seeks to ensure (2004, 11). This is why “the greatness of [Plato‟s] achievement was to

13 It is significant that democracy is a political expression, not a political structure. I believe that Wolin has always believed that genuine democracy cannot be thought of as a political structure that can exist in any sort of sustained actuality. Of course, his more recent work has more strongly emphasized the distinction, especially in relation to the uniqueness of later stages of Western political thought: “Democracy in the late modern world cannot be a complete political system, and given the awesome potentialities of modern forms of power and what they exact of the social and natural world, it ought not to be hoped or striven for” (Wolin 1996a, 42-43). Instead, it can only be, in George Kateb‟s description of Wolin‟s views, “a moment or an episode, a fugitive or evanescent occurrence” (2001, 39). Nicholas Xenos refers to Wolin‟s appreciation of “feudalism‟s suspension between anarchy and order” and its appearance “en un moment” to signify Wolin‟s theorization of democracy as “unfamiliar, unsettling, boundary denying…unsustainable, episodic, unpredictable, and rare” (2001, 30, 34). I think this is largely why Wolin‟s history of Western political thought is more an attempt to find glimpses of democratic expression rather than sustained democratic arguments. His notion of fugitive democracy will be further discussed below. 14 Elsewhere, he notes, “By politicalness I mean our capacity for developing into beings who know and value what it means to participate in and be responsible for the care and improvement of our common and collective life. To be political is not identical with being a part of government or being associated with a political party. These are structured roles, and typically they are highly bureaucratized. For these reasons, they are opposed to the authentically political” (1989, 139). 15 Nietzsche, according to Wolin, was “radically anti-political” precisely because the political stood for “values capable of being widely shared” (2004, 460). Any attempt at finding shared values would lead to the destruction of the Few who Nietzsche believed must create values (2004, 474).

22 point out that in order to think in a truly political way, one had to consider society as a systematic whole” (2004, 31). Only when society was viewed as a system of interrelation and continuity could anything like the political make sense.16 This emphasis on commonality foreshadows Wolin‟s later distinction between difference and diversity. While the latter can exist with the underlying commonality that is required by the political, the former undercuts the possibility of the concern for collectivity that marks the political moment. William Connolly writes, “Wolin‟s anxiety is that the postmodern focus on „difference‟ adds another obstacle to democratic action on behalf of common needs” (2001, 15). However, how is it that this commonality in the midst of conflict is reached? For Wolin, the created nature of political philosophies is based largely on the “institutionalized practices” of societies (2004, 7). These practices are what allow for the “public deliberations” that mark Wolin‟s definition of the political. Individuals come together to form a community based on shared interests by allowing their own voices to be heard through the vehicle of institutions and the practices in which these institutions engage.17 As Wolin quotes Karl Popper, “What we need is not so much good men as good institutions” (Popper 1989, 344; see Wolin 2004, 500). Or as Stout summarizes Wolin‟s position, “The condition of our political culture reflects the condition of our institutions” (2007, 16; 2010, 253). Only institutions can serve to check the temptation of the state to gain totalizing power over isolated individuals. Therefore, according to Wolin, the political must include institutionalization as the foundation of the phenomena about which political philosophy seeks to make “meaningful assertions” (2004, 8). The commonality that removes the disconnectedness of isolated individuals, and therefore is a condition for the political, is made possible only when individual interests, desires, wishes, and the like are expressed to the larger public not by individuals, but by institutions that speak on behalf of

16 Plato‟s downfall, however, was that he “may have exaggerated the possibilities of a society‟s achieving systematic unity” (2004, 31). In other words, Plato envisioned a political order that left behind the conflicts that necessarily mark politics. It was a paradox of the political (order) without politics (conflict). What Wolin calls “inverted totalitarianism” makes the opposite mistake: “It is all politics all of the time but a politics largely untempered by the political” (2008, 66). 17 Along with its denial of a this-worldly, temporal utopia of conflict-free existence (2004, 115), this emphasis on achieving a sense of solidarity by focusing on a shared interest was a great achievement of early Christianity and helped to revitalize Western political thought, according to Wolin. The Christian community was able to actively participate in the larger society as a result of its own institutionally-shared beliefs and practices that united its members (2004, 114-15, 125, 87).

23 individuals.18 Yet what are these institutions that voice the interests of individuals in a public manner? On one level, Wolin is simply speaking of more and less localized forms of government. He writes, “An American is a citizen, not only of a nation, but of a neighborhood, locality, county, and state. These entities have institutional roots and participatory traditions older than the Constitution” (2004, 603). Yet on another level, it seems that Wolin‟s idea of institutions is quite similar to the local organizations in John Dewey‟s democratic vision: “By „local‟ Dewey had in mind groups or associations, not governmental jurisdictions such as counties, villages, or townships” (2004, 514). The question for political philosophy, therefore, is focused on the ways in which the institutions of societies can best protect and promote the moments of expressed commonality that are necessary for prosperous living in the midst of the ever-present conflicts between voices of competing interests. In Wolin‟s own words, “The problem [for political philosophy] is…how can we gain the necessary knowledge of politics to enable us to act wisely in a context of conflict, ambiguity, and change?” (2004, 40). The key answer that Wolin gives to what it means “to act wisely” in such a context is to open up the space for active participation. Wolin claims, “Participation is the basic method for establishing areas of agreement or political consensus” (2004, 57). In order to promote commonality in the midst of conflict—agreement in the midst of disagreement—individuals must be free to express their own interests through participation.19 Arguing against the shortcomings of Thomas Hobbes, Wolin writes, “The stuff of power was not to be found in the passively acquiescent subject but in the „engaged‟ citizen, the citizen with a capacity for public involvement and an ability to identify himself with his governors through

18 Making individual interests public is vital to the vision of collectivity presented by Wolin. “In large measure,” he notes, “collective identity is created by and perpetuated through public discourse” (1989, 9). 19 Importantly, though, this does not mean that every individual can express her own private needs and wishes in a private manner. Rather, one must voice one‟s interests and aspirations in a public manner (2004, 56). This is again why institutions are necessary in Wolin‟s picture of the ideal political environment in order to mediate private desires into the public sphere of shared interests. While Luther “understood that religious reforms could not be undertaken in utter disregard of political considerations,” his religious thought was driven by “the compulsion to erase and level all that interfered with the right relationship between God and man,” including religious organization (Wolin 1956, 26, 30). Therefore, his major flaw, according to Wolin, was “his failure to appreciate the importance of institutions…. At moments of political and social crisis, he was unable to appeal to any effective religious organization to act as mediator” (2004, 145-46; see also 1956, 29). Again, “[Luther‟s] obsession with religious simplicity caused him to ignore the role of religious institutions as political restraints…. The political relationship, like the religious, was a personalized rather than an institutionalized one” (1956, 40-41). It was Calvin who restored the need for ecclesiastical institutionalism in Protestant thought, and therefore allowed for a more robust account of participation than either the monarchical structure of the medieval Catholic church or the anti-institutional nature of Luther‟s church (2004, 153, 171). For more on Luther‟s impact on political thought, see Skinner 1978, 3-108. For Calvin‟s impact, see Skinner 1978, 189-348.

24 active support” (2004, 246). Therefore, it is institutional participation that will best solve the problem of political philosophy and achieve the task of “[nurturing] the civic conscience of society” (2004, 606). However, what sort of political structure will produce the best form of institutional participation? It is Wolin‟s own belief that democracy is the political arrangement that best serves this purpose. Genuine democracy‟s emphasis on equality insures that the interests of one citizen cannot be arbitrarily prioritized over those of another.20 Its emphasis on pluralism defeats any attempt by the powerful to stifle the voices of those who have interests that may conflict with the status quo.21 And finally, its emphasis on freedom protects the right of every citizen of the community to not only have, but to voice his interests—through his own unique institutions—in order to create a society in which conflicts can be openly discussed and resolved for the sake of greater commonality.22 This voicing of conflicting interests that is protected and promoted in democracy is the participation that Wolin feels will make genuine consensus possible23—where

20 One must remember that this and other features of Wolinian democracy are not found in sustained political structures that we may refer to as democratic. However, Wolin does believe that these democratic features can be experienced in the episodic appearances of fugitive democracy. While these appearances are fleeting, they remain of ultimate significance in ensuring the survival of a community of engaged citizens. Indeed, “Democracy is a political moment, perhaps the political moment, when the political is remembered and re-created” (Wolin 1996a, 43). 21 According to Wolin, this emphasis on pluralism sets democracy apart from liberalism, the latter of which—in its Rawlsian form—attempts to “homogenize…[the] citizenry politically by relegating their differences to „the social‟” (2004, 548). This leads Rawls to an “aversion to conflict,” which denies to the political the vitality that comes by means of conflicting voices of institutional participation (2004, 550). It is significant that Wolin does not read Rawls‟s “original position” as denying differences; instead, he believes it denies these differences active engagement in the political realm. At one point, Rawls argues for the existence of “a diversity of doctrines and the plurality of conflicting, and indeed incommensurable, conceptions of the good affirmed by the members of existing democratic societies” (1985, 225). He qualifies this statement, however, by noting that the religious/associational/philosophical “points of view are not to be introduced into political discussion” (1985, 231). Waldron argues that Rawls offers “an overly narrow conception of the matrix of public reason” that leads to an “overly cautious approach” to political creativity (1993, 837-38). Whether Rawls‟s restriction is meant only for discussions about “the principles which are to regulate the institutions of the basic structure itself,” understood as the most constitutional of principles, would require a more detailed discussion of Rawls‟s development of the original position, public reason, and overlapping consensus (see Rawls 1985, 1987, 1989, 1993). For Connolly‟s reworking of the overlapping consensus, in which “partisans bring selective dimensions of their religious, ethnic, sensual, gender, and moral sensibilities into public engagements whenever the issue makes it pertinent to do so,” see Connolly 1999, 92. 22 More recently, Wolin continues to echo these themes: “If democracy is about participating in self-government, its first requirement is a supportive culture, a complex of beliefs, values, and practices that nurture equality, cooperation, and freedom” (2008, 260-61). 23 Whereas democracy assigns participation as the “principle agent of equality,” liberalism—again perhaps best represented by Rawls—views policy as this fundamental principle in its expanding role of administration (2004, 536). This is evident in Wolin‟s review of Rawls‟s Political Liberalism: “Liberalism…locates the true expression of political identity not in the vitality of local institutions but in the constitution” (1996b, 98). I return to Wolin‟s critique of Rawls shortly.

25 values are “capable of being widely shared” (2004, 460)—and therefore will allow a community to be ordered in the midst of competitive interests. Speaking of every individual citizen, he writes, “To become a democrat is to change one‟s self, to learn how to act collectively, as a demos. It requires that the individual go „public‟ and thereby help to constitute a „public‟ and an „open‟ politics, in principle accessible for all to take part in it” (2008, 289). To go “public” does not require a silencing of diversity or the withdrawal of one‟s honest path to political conclusions, even if this path makes use of religious forms of reasoning. Every individual, Wolin believes, must have the freedom to express her own uniqueness in the public sphere of political discourse. In this way, democracy is the answer to the problem of the political. And yet, it is not an answer that will somehow take humanity beyond the political—the realm marked by the conflicts of politics. Instead, the on-going discourse—the political is radically dynamic for Wolin—marked by conflict and resolution is the primary shared interest in genuinely democratic societies.24 It is not the means to a conflict-free utopia; rather, this type of institutionalized participatory discourse about and continual resolution and re-awakening of conflicts represent the end of democratic political philosophy.25 As Wolin later writes, “Democracy is about the continuing self-fashioning of the demos” (1996b, 98).26 In this process of the political, democracy itself can never be made permanent; it cannot be institutionalized.

24 Not to place him in the camp of genuine democracy, but, according to Wolin, “The upshot of Machiavelli‟s argument was to recast the notion of political unity in accordance with the new picture of political society as a diagram of interest-propelled forces. For if the nature of political society was such that its unity presupposed rather than excluded the jarring effects of interest groups, then unity was the resultant of the satisfaction of conflicting interests” (2004, 209). Wolin clearly sees an admirably realist picture of politics and the political in Machiavelli‟s depiction of unity in the midst of the constant resolution of conflicting interests—even if the underlying commonality of society is “glaringly absent” in Machiavelli (2004, 215). Wolin also values the way in which Machiavelli turned to institutions—substituting for the prince—in order to satisfy the competing interests in society (2004, 211). Another interesting figure in Wolin‟s search for democracy is Montesquieu, who, according to Wolin, “adopted the idea that inherited rights and aristocratic institutions formed a natural barrier to absolutism, but he expanded it to include a complex array of local institutions and local bodies of law and custom.” The diversity represented in these institutions include that related to “moral beliefs, religious customs, local practices, class structures, economic systems, and geography” (1989, 131). 25 Active participation is once again vital to democratic practice. Wolin contends, “Unlike the democratic citizen, who, through the experiences of participation, grows into a political being, the voter is akin to a response system engineered by public opinion surveys” (2008, 189). Citizenship, for Wolin, is not a passive duty, and democracy is only effective when true citizens are formed in the constant process of institutional participation. He later argues, “The democratization of politics remains merely formal without the democratization of the self. Democratization is not about being „left alone,‟ but about becoming a self that sees the values of common involvements and endeavors and finds in them a source of self-fulfillment” (2008, 289). 26 Again, Plato‟s error was in viewing the conflicts of politics as fundamentally “symptoms of an unhealthy society…. Hence the task of philosophy and of ruling was to rid the community of politics” (2004, 39). The Stoics made the same error, according to Wolin: “The Stoic commitment was towards a society which lay outside politics” (2004, 73).

Referring to a pivotal democratic moment in the history of America—the “agitation of the 1760s against British taxation and trade policies”—Wolin writes, “If a demos were to form, it would have to act from outside and against the system. Consequently demotic action tended to be „informal,‟ improvised, and spontaneous—what can be called „fugitive democracy‟” (2008, 254). Democracy, as the constant practice of creating the political in the midst of politics, will always be fugitive—a glimpse into the commonality that can be found in the noise of competing interests. As a result, citizens can never assume that they live in a democracy (2008, 23). Democracy, in its clearest sense, is not a form of government; instead, it is a practice, marked by the moments of equality, pluralism, and freedom that seeks to resolve the ever-changing, ever- evolving conflicts of politics.27

4.2 Wolin’s Criticism of Lockean Liberalism “Political philosophy is not an essence with an eternal nature. It is, instead, a complex activity which is best understood by analyzing the many ways that the acknowledged masters have practiced it” (2004, 3). In Politics and Vision, Wolin‟s goal in describing and evaluating the history of Western political thought is not simply to criticize all the theorists who did not put forth a Wolinian form of genuine democracy as the answer to the political problem; rather, he attempts to find those moments in the theories of nearly all thinkers where aspects of genuine democracy can be located, while at the same time highlighting the areas where democracy is seemingly abandoned and/or defeated in these same theories. Wolin‟s discussion of liberal thinkers is most focused on the work of Locke, as well as the way in which Lockean liberal thought developed, particularly in the work of Rawls. Wolin sets up his discussion of liberalism by clarifying the controversy between political philosophy and social science. According to Wolin, modern social science seeks the decline of the distinctively political in its very methodology. “When modern social science asserts that political phenomena are to be explained by resolving them into sociological, psychological, or economic components, it is saying that there are no distinctively political phenomena and hence no special set of problems” (2004, 258). The best way to understand political institutions and beliefs, for the social scientist, is to get “„behind‟ them to the „underlying‟ social processes

27 “Authentic democracy,” Stout writes in his explanation of Wolin‟s position, “is an essentially fugitive, marginal affair, an episodic upsurge of idealism around the edges of institutions and practices that masquerade as democratic” (2010, 253).

27 which dictate the shape of things political” (2004, 258).28 At this point, “society” becomes the concept that is pitted against the political for most ideologies that adhere to the beliefs of modern social science. One such ideology, as the story goes, was liberalism. Economists who were identified with liberalism began to identify the political with “a narrow set of institutions labeled „government‟” (2004, 261). While these institutions depended on coercion in order to achieve order,29 the model of society that was presented by the classical liberal economists of the eighteenth century was one in which each individual had a natural role to play in the division of labor, and no coercion—only inducement, which was therefore non- political—was necessary to cause the individual to fulfill this role, and therefore to make society perform as an ordered system. Social harmony could be achieved apart from structures of power and authority. Wolin traces the advent of this anti-political conception of society presented by the classical economists, as well as modern liberalism more generally, to Locke. However, Wolin is not convinced that this is the whole story of the impact of Locke‟s thought. That is, while he does present a connection between Lockean and later forms of anti-political liberalism, he also argues that these later forms of liberalism were “filtered through classical economics and exposed to the philosophies of David Hume and Adam Smith” (2004, 263). Therefore, Wolin seeks to show that while Locke did lead to anti-political forms of liberalism, there are moments in Locke‟s writings that seem to call not only for an insistence on the distinctively political, but also for the political problem and its answer that Wolin presents—namely, order in the midst of conflict and genuine democracy. I return to his positive evaluation of Locke when I discuss Wolin‟s reading of The Reasonableness of Christianity in chapter five. As for how Locke led to anti-political liberalism, we must begin with Wolin and Locke‟s discussion of the state of nature. Hobbes saw the state of nature as one of “unrestrained naturalism” that had to be assisted by the artificial restraints of the political structure in order to become society. The political was constructed in order to achieve a sense of harmony for

28 Despite his many failures—most importantly, the way in which the relinquishing of individual power to absolute sovereignty defeats any robust notion of conflict, and therefore, institutional participation—Hobbes‟s great achievement, according to Wolin, is his insistence upon the distinctively political—“the authority whose unique office it was to superintend the whole and to exert directive control over other forms of activity; the obligations which rested on those who accepted membership; and the system of common rules governing publicly significant behavior” (2004, 259). Quentin Skinner argues that the distinctively political was “lost to view” with Augustine. The recovery of Aristotle was necessary for the “re-emergence of the idea that political philosophy constitutes an independent discipline worthy of study in its own right” (1978, 349). 29 Wolin argues that the “equating of government with physical compulsion” became “part of the liberal outlook” (2004, 280).

28 individuals seeking to live in community. In contrast, Locke asserted that the state of nature itself was a state of perfect freedom and equality, with authority held equally by all members of the ideal state of nature. However, the perfect state of nature became corrupt, which resulted in the fallen state of nature, marked by “inconveniences” (see Two Treatises II.4-15).30 This fall— marked most centrally by anxiety—necessitated a conception of the political that demanded division into smaller groups, as well as a certain amount of authority in order to diminish the anxiety of fallen humanity. Only a society that maintained these elements of government could keep from entering the state of war in which there is no agreement among its members to live by a common law (see Two Treatises II.19). Accordingly, in Wolin‟s reading, the political is given only a negative function in this theory, namely, the easing of anxiety through the preservation of property (see Two Treatises II.123).31 Coupled with Wolin‟s claim that liberalism did not in fact put forth existential man as a predominantly rationally-governed creature, this leads to the thesis that objective political judgments were impossible for liberal thought (2004, 297).32 In itself, the political was not capable of any dramatic achievement of conflict resolution through rational arrangements. Rather, the political stood only as a bulwark against the threats to secure existence, marked most notably by private property. The fact that the political served a negative function does not in itself conflict with Wolin‟s vision of the political. Indeed, the political does serve to keep a certain amount of peace in the midst of competing interests. However, this is only one aspect of the political. Wolin insists on a more significant and positive function for the political, namely, its role of opening up a space for the emergence of the commonality of engaged citizens. The negative function by itself would restrict this type of engagement and the commonality that it means to foster. This

30 All citations from the Two Treatises of Government will provide treatise and paragraph numbers. I use the edition of the text edited by Laslett (see Locke 1679-81/1988). 31 Not surprisingly, Wolin emphasizes the economic aspect of the Lockean notion of property. He writes, “While property was a right for Locke and was intimately connected with personhood, it also had a deep economic structure” (1989, 41). As a result, the institutions that emerge with the move from the state of nature remain fundamentally interested in the “economic involvements” of individuals (1989, 42). Dunn speaks of the institutions that make up the political in Locke‟s shift from the state of nature to civil society as “allocative and coercive.” While Dunn also highlights that these institutions are meant to provide a sense of trust to anxious individuals, the positive function of a Wolinian institution—the mediating of private interests—is not discussed (1990, 24). It will be made clear that I believe that this positive function of the political can be found in liberalism, even in the work of Locke. 32 See Wolin 2008, 27 for his discussion of the “Cold War liberal,” influenced by the “notoriously pessimistic” theology of Reinhold Niebuhr, who furthers the divide between liberalism and democracy by downplaying the rational possibilities for goodness in human nature. Not surprisingly, Wolin also sees an impact on institutions during this time period: “Throughout the 1950s there was a steady erosion in the power of various nongovernmental groups and institutions” (2008, 34).

29 criticism of liberalism becomes even more pronounced in Wolin‟s treatment of “Rawlsian democracy,” which he insists might be likened to a hermetically sealed condition of deliberation that allows rationality to rule by suppressing certain topics and historical grievances and excluding diverse languages of protest from public councils. Inadvertently, the limitations of Rawlsian reason are exposed: it cannot make sense of, much less function within, a setting of sharp conflicts, whether doctrinal, economic, political, or rhetorical [Wolin 1996b, 102].33 Rawls‟s tendency to suppress certain voices of interest from the sphere of political deliberation ultimately serves only to convert “differences from a threat to an accomplice to stability, co-opting them so that in the end they are eviscerated, absorbed into a consensus that requires smoothing off the rough, possibly irrational edges of differences” (Wolin 1996b, 103).34 Like Plato and the Stoics, liberalism tries to move beyond the conflicts of politics35—unlike Plato and the Stoics, liberals attempt this move by suppression rather than resolution—and succeeds only in giving up the positive function of the political, the ability to find moments of commonality that emerge from the active participation of engaged citizens. Wolin writes of this unintended consequence of liberal political thought in connection with Rawls:

33 He later makes the same argument in reference to contract theory, which creates an individual whose “identity is…derived from a universal status…. He is not a bearer of particularized identities of, say, race, color, gender, community, or creed” (1989, 37). Once again thinking of Rawls, he continues, “Twentieth-century writers are not much better. They may stipulate „veils of ignorance‟ as a condition of contract, but in the presence of distinctions of color and gender that stipulation strikes one as incoherent” (1989, 38). Turning to Locke, Wolin insists that even when difference is only “temporarily suspended,” the abolition of diversity is “the modern liberal solution to the problem of justice” (1989, 39). Ashcraft focuses on the economic aspect of Wolin‟s criticism of Locke: “For Wolin…Locke is chiefly responsible for undermining the importance of the political realm. In place of a moral community that gives meaning to political interaction, Locke substitutes a society held together by nothing more than a clash of socio-economic interests” (1987, 264). 34 Waldron sees this suppression as a logical consequence of Rawls‟s insistence on public reason: “We will all be silenced if we are to say nothing or appeal to no consideration in politics unless we are sure that the view is „common knowledge‟” (1993, 840). Jean Elshtain argues that the silencing of religious voices in political discourse becomes an effort to “depluralize in the name of democratizing” (1997, 253). 35 Hauerwas emphasizes this aspect of Wolin‟s criticism of Rawls, relating the desire to move beyond politics with the suppression of identity: “That Rawls represents for Wolin the denial of politics is but a correlative of Rawls‟s ahistorical account of political life. From Wolin‟s point of view, Rawls is the final outworking of the contractarian tradition which was from the beginning the attempts to deny history, particularity, and difference” (2005-06, 8). Wolin sees this reasoning present in many theories that were inspired by the Lockean conception of society, including “the bizarre theories of the Utopian Socialists, such as Fourier and Owen; in the managerial or technocratic society depicted by Saint-Simon; and finally, in the Marxist-Leninist conception of the „withering away of the state‟” (2004, 281). At the same time, however, he argues that this optimism was not at the foundation of liberalism. Instead, Lockean man is driven by sober uneasiness and anxiety (2004, 290-91). For example, the fallen state of nature included the sexual drive of humanity, which only ended—cruelly—in “setting man at war with his own nature” (2004, 284). Offspring simply created more people that limited nature‟s resources. This anxiety over the constraints of nature is what led to Locke‟s despair over the “opportunities for large-scale action of a truly creative kind” (2004, 285).

Admittedly, Rawls is thinking about the agenda of constitutional matters, but the effect of insulating constitutional conflicts is to encourage the stigmatization of the politics with which real pluralism is concerned. The result is the construction of two realms: an ideal “political” realm in which order, stability, and cooperation result from the congruent reasonableness of comprehensive doctrines, and a politics in which a century of laws, amendments to the constitution, and rhetoric of democratic equality have left the majority of the powerless substantially where they always have been and left unresolved as well the embarrassment of explaining away the anomalous presence of the powerless many in a democracy [1996b, 107-8]. While liberal democratic thought pushes the rhetoric of homogeneity, it actually supports a structure of inequality.36 With the political no longer bringing about glimpses of unity through participatory discourse, liberalism posits the society itself as “a self-activating unity capable of generating a common will” that would maintain a political order to ensure harmony (2004, 276). In this way, “[Locke] conceived the majority independently of political processes and institutions; a force that supplied dynamic direction to society but one that originated outside political processes and institutions” (2004, 277).37 Political authority was always first and foremost dependent upon the ultimate authority of an impersonal, spontaneous, passionate, non-institutionalized, non- politicized, self-subsistent “society.”38 That is, as soon as the “near absolute homogeneity” of Locke‟s state of nature—homogeneity that “turns out to have been the suspension of heterogeneity” (Wolin 1996a, 41)—was faced with diversity, “distinctions of property, class,

36 Interestingly, when criticizing “the official version of postmodernity,” Wolin argues, “It rejects the liberal version of modernity, especially in its emphasis on equality” (1989, 59). Perhaps Wolin is simply highlighting the gap between the ideals of early liberalism and the results of later attempts to create liberal states. Finding concrete implications of Locke‟s work is meant to bridge this gap in contemporary political discourse. 37 Oddly, the issue of institutions distinguishes what Wolin calls the “democratic primitivism” of Luther from the “liberal-democratic tradition” of Locke. The former “exhibits a deep impatience with all intermediary, representative institutions” (1956, 42). This would seem to suggest that Lockean liberalism values the role of such institutions. However, Wolin seems to be making a distinction between institutions that would actually engage the diverse voices of citizens in public discourse, and the centralized institutions of government that are valued in liberalism, the most crucial of which are the constitution—which “regulates the amount of democratic politics that is let in”—and the Presidency, “the cruelest symbol of the impotence of the demos” (1996a, 34). Connolly also highlights “the dominance of the corporate sector” as a decisive obstacle to Wolin‟s vision of democracy (2001, 14). 38 The argument that Locke places no value on institutions will be called into question by my discussion of his treatise on Christianity and other works, leading me to challenge Wolin‟s wholesale rejection of liberalism and to argue that liberal thought need not lead to the abandonment of institutional participation in public discourse. Dunn recognizes the room for institutionalized politics in Locke‟s thought when he writes: “It is God who constitutes the order of law which instructs men in their duties at all points in the world. But the duties are made actual, converted from hypothetical aesthetic aspirations to effective sanctions for conduct, by the institutions of political communities” (1969, 15; my emphasis).

31 religion, gender, race, ethnicity, or language are blacked out…. What homogeneity makes possible is a species of power based upon non-differentiation” (Wolin 1996a, 40).39 In Rawls‟s form of liberalism, the impersonal nature of the society “creates cultural pressures to restrain…individualism.” Wolin continues, “Citizens are thus being pressed toward conformity” rather than led to expressions of commonality in personalized participation (1996b, 104).40 Connolly echoes this distinction between conformity and community when he writes, “[Wolin] contends that the political has become diffused into a series of corporate, constitutional, organizational estates that pull politics away from a common set of concerns” (2001, 8).41 The move to abstraction that results from Rawls‟s liberal conformity “preclude[s], without argument, participatory democracy as a serious alternative” precisely because it precludes the possibility of the political to serve its positive function of finding true commonality in the midst of the conflicts of politics (Wolin 1996b, 119). It is clear why Wolin, with his emphasis on the necessity of institutional participation and public (diverse) contestation, views liberal political philosophy—both in moments of Locke and in later developments of liberalism, most notably in the work of modern economists and Rawls—as a “blow to the distinctive role of the political order” (2004, 277).

39 In an essay on Democracy in America, Wolin quotes Tocqueville‟s self-description as “a liberal of a new kind.” Wolin then explains this new form of liberalism: “He meant that, unlike many contemporary liberals, he was not committed to perpetuating the antireligious and anticlerical attitudes of the Enlightenment; and, unlike some continental liberals, he was inclined toward an accommodation with democracy, although not at the expense of individual freedom or property rights” (1989, 72). While I am not sure why “accommodation with democracy” would require Tocqueville to abandon “individual freedom or property rights,” it is significant that Wolin seems to agree with the fact that Tocqueville was somewhat outside the established liberal tradition. As will become clear, I would argue that Tocqueville‟s “new kind” of liberalism—at least in its more positive views of religion and its connection to democracy—may not be so new after all; many of its aspects may be found in the work of Locke. 40 In an essay about the role of the founding principles of America, Wolin writes, “The inherent danger is that the identity given to the collectivity by those who exercise power will reflect the needs of power rather than the political possibilities of a complex collectivity; it will be a collectivity devoted to consolidating unum rather than to encouraging plures” (1989, 13). Wolin discusses the homogenizing tendency of the Constitution in 1989, 82-99. 41 Connolly also recognizes Wolin‟s version of liberalism when he writes, “Modern secularism…either ignores this [visceral] register [of subjectivity and intersubjectivity] or disparages it. It does so in the name of a public sphere in which reason, morality, and tolerance flourish. By doing so it forfeits some of the very resources needed to foster a generous pluralism” (1999, 3). Referring specifically to Rawlsian secular liberalism, Connolly writes that its “tactic for taming conflict” is to “dredge out of public life as much cultural density and depth as possible so that muddy „metaphysical‟ and „religious‟ differences don‟t flow into the pure water of public reason, procedure, and justice” (1999, 23).

4.3 Wolin’s Shift and Stout’s Criticism Wolin‟s appreciation of institutional participation is a fundamental aspect of Politics and Vision. It might appear odd, then, that Stout has more recently criticized Wolin for his lack of hope in the efficacy of organizations in promoting democratic practices. Stout‟s criticism uncovers a significant shift in Wolin‟s understanding of the relationship between institutions and democratic participation. The shift, I believe, is largely due to Wolin‟s continued disdain for the liberal political tradition. That is, Wolin seems worried that institutions influenced by liberalism will inevitably lead to the greatest dangers of the liberal tradition: homogenization and non- participation. These dangers are precisely what have always led Wolin to the rejection of the compatibility between genuine democracy and the large-scale governmental and corporate institutions that he believes mark the liberal tradition. In his critique of Dewey‟s political thought, for example, Wolin writes, “Dewey‟s lukewarm appreciation of the institutions that were usually praised as the embodiments of democracy was typically accompanied by a critical examination of the theorists, primarily British, who had exaggerated the value of central governmental institutions and contributed to the fetishes of individualism, self-interest, and the free market” (2004, 512; my emphasis). Wolin is critical of Rawls when the liberal thinker defines “the basic structure of reality” as the way the main institutions of a society “fit together into one unified system of social cooperation from one generation to the next” (Rawls 1993, 11; see Wolin 1996b, 115). Wolin would clearly join Dewey in criticizing the attempt of the central government to dominate the political.42 This attempt, after all, would necessarily defeat Wolin‟s insistence upon the necessity of both more localized governmental as well as non-governmental institutions that assist in making private interests known in a public manner. In fact, the centralization of power would lead to the kind of totalization that would make impossible a participatory democracy where conflicting interests were free to be voiced. The shift uncovered by Stout‟s criticism is that Wolin‟s worry about large-scale governmental and corporate institutions has now been extended to large-scale institutions of any kind.43 In other words, Wolin seems increasingly convinced that all large-scale institutions—not

42 More recently, Wolin writes, “One cannot point to any national institution(s) that can accurately be described as democratic” (2008, 105). Because his notion of fugitive democracy would already preclude this as a possibility, I think he is really arguing that government institutions now lack the possibility of fostering even moments of true democracy. 43 It must be noted that the expanded edition of Politics and Vision was published after many of the works that will show Wolin‟s shifting views of institutionalized politics. Rather than a decisive change in his position, therefore,

33 just those marked by government bureaucracy and economic corporations—will fall prey to the dangers of liberalism. What kind of institution, then, can avoid the ills of liberalism and continue to foster democratic participation? Perhaps a clue can be discovered by looking at the aspects that Wolin seems to cherish in the clearest example he presents of fugitive democracy. This ideal image of fugitive democracy is found in the American counter-culture movement of the 1960s. Fitting well with the theoretical image of genuine democracy that Wolin presents in Part One of Politics and Vision, Wolin describes the movement as “democratic,” “egalitarian,” and “participatory.” However, he also highlights the fact that this political community was “local in origin” (2004, 522).44 While effective institutions had to represent individuals, it did not seem vital that the institutions themselves be marked by local origination in Wolin‟s earlier picture of genuine democracy. Indeed, in his critique of Luther, the major problem in the reformer‟s thought was that “he failed to show [Christian values‟] viability in dealing with problems other than those located at the elementary level of the household and the neighborhood. The Christian ethic might well be applicable at the intimate, personal level, and yet be quite irrelevant for the relationships created by a complicated political order” (Wolin 1956, 41). Wolin desired institutional ethical teachings to be relevant on a large enough scale to engage with the complexities of the political order. In his discussion of the 1960s movement, however, it is seemingly crucial that the movement be local in origin in order to attack the concentration of power in the centralized government that was characteristic of the neo-liberal state. Finally, one of the attributes of the anti-war movement in particular that Wolin most praises is its “adamant” rejection of “hierarchical forms of leadership” (2004, 523). Again, this critique of hierarchy in the leadership of institutions did not seem vital to Wolin‟s earlier depiction of genuine democracy. Indeed, the key aspect of Calvin‟s Christian institutionalism was not that it was anti-hierarchical, but that it was anti-monarchical (2004, 158).45 Any group

there may simply be conflict in Wolin‟s own mind over the years about the actual possibilities and dangers of various forms of institutions. 44 Noting moments of genuine democracy in the thought of Tocqueville, Wolin writes, “His famous discussion of voluntary associations was indicative of an outlook that was sympathetic to precisely what The Federalist had distrusted, an active citizenry and local institutions by which they could govern their common affairs independent of centralized authority” (1989, 73). Wolin later praises the antifederalist vision of “the expression of diverse local narratives” (1989, 88). For Wolin‟s discussion of Tocqueville‟s interest in American institutions as vital to democratic participation, see Wolin 1989, 89-90, 190. 45 And Wolin seems to value Calvin‟s conception of the Christian institution, even with its hierarchical structure. Hauerwas notes the Wolinian nature of Calvin‟s institutionalism: “[Wolin] thinks Calvin, in contrast to Machiavelli and Hobbes, understood that the power of a community if it is not repressive requires active membership” (2005-06,

34 of individuals will necessarily become institutionalized in order to sustain itself—Weber made this point convincingly enough. And institutions depend on a certain amount of hierarchy in order to function properly. Again, this does not mean that the interests of certain individuals are arbitrarily refused voice. What it does mean is that these interests will have certain avenues by which their voices can be made known to the larger society. I cannot imagine such an institutional structure to be effective without a certain degree of specialization and hierarchy.46 Therefore, I am baffled as to why Wolin values the rejection of hierarchical forms of leadership as a characteristic of fugitive democracy.47 How can institutional participation occur without institutions that are structured in such a way as to be effective mediators of individual interests to the public realm? The only answer to this inquiry is that Wolin has given up on the idea of any sort of large-scale institutional participation. He writes, “Democracy is…the political form that is inherently distrustful of large-scale politics because such politics is inevitably accompanied by bureaucratic administration, centralization of power, the elevation of elites, the passivity of the citizenry, and the erosion of participatory politics” (1989, 200).48 When he later argues, “Today the challenge for democrats is to recover lost ground, to „popularize‟ political institutions and practices that have become severed from popular control,” he depends only on the smallest of institutions—or movements, in order to avoid the necessary dangers of institutions—rather than on the large-scale organizations that Stout sees as vital in the health of democracy, and that

13 n. 59). Another aspect of Calvin‟s understanding of institutionalization that is relevant to the current project is its religious framework. In his discussion of natural rights, Richard Tuck notes a particular Calvinist line of reasoning, which “denies that men construct political institutions for their own benefit: their political life is a direct gift from God” (1979, 43). The religious framework of the Calvinist argument for the understanding of political institutions may have greatly influenced Locke‟s ideas of political institutions, which will be discussed in chapter five. 46 Stout writes, “I am suspicious…of the overly simple contrast between hierarchical and democratic forms of sociality that Wolin is drawing here. The fugitive democrat‟s distaste for assuming the responsibilities of governance spills over into distaste for earned representative authority within democratic organizations. No wonder democracy strikes the fugitive democrat as ephemeral. It is hard to imagine groups formed on this basis accomplishing anything but Romantic expressivity” (2010, 254). 47 Wolin writes, “Institutionalization marks the attenuation of democracy: leaders begin to appear; hierarchies develop; experts of one kind or another cluster around the centers of decision; order, procedure, and precedent displace a more spontaneous politics” (1996a, 39). In this passage, Wolin values Locke‟s state of nature over his picture of political society—although he later criticizes it for its “near absolute homogeneity” (1996a, 40). However, what has happened to Wolin‟s insistence that institutionalization is necessary to ensure that private interests are made public? 48 Wolin finds the elitism of liberalism in the origin of America. He writes, “The American political system was not born a democracy, but born with bias against democracy.” And, in a discussion of the thought process of the Founding Fathers, “The people, like wayward minors, needed „guardians‟—not executors of their will but interpreters of their true interests. Accordingly, the great purpose of the system of indirectly elected politicians and officials was to legitimate a guardian class, an elite with sufficient leisure to devote itself to governing” (2008, 228, 230). In another work, he speaks of the “tensions between republicanism, with its strong historical attraction to elitism, and democracy, with its irreducibly populist strain” (1989, 5).

Wolin seems to have promoted in Politics and Vision (2008, 258).49 Stout argues, “I also worry that Wolin‟s vision may be self-defeating under current circumstances. Wolin sees ground for hope only at the local level” (2007, 17; 2010, 255, 256).50 Kateb describes Wolin‟s position: “Unless citizens participate directly, they do not live in a democracy…. [Wolin] is convinced that where there is representation, there is not and can never be a real democracy” (2001, 41). With this constraint, Stout questions where positive change in the structures of the American government will come from, and he has to admit that it will not come from Wolinian friends of democracy: “A strictly fugitive democratic politics—like any politics that has lost all hope in the representative function of government as a means for holding rulers accountable—will, I believe, only serve to reinforce the tendencies it officially opposes” (2007, 18). Wolin‟s wavering confidence in the theoretical possibility of large-scale organizations to promote democratic discourse—and even the actual possibility of small-scale organizations doing so—is once again tied to the evils of liberalism that have infected the public sphere. No matter what the size of an institution, Kateb notes, Wolin argues that there is an unavoidable “antagonism between democracy and institutionalized politics” (Wolin 1994, 38; see Kateb 2001, 48). The moments of fugitive democracy, rather than being glimpsed precisely in the active engagement of citizens in institutional participation, become apertures of genuine democracy that break into the world at times to challenge the anti-democracy of institutionalized politics. He writes, “While government is a full-time, continuous activity, demotic politics is

49 He does admit that while “democratic experience begins at the local level…a democratic citizenry should not accept city limits as its political horizon. A principal reason is that the modern citizenry has needs which exceed local resources” (2008, 291). It remains unclear how large-scale change can occur without the assistance of large- scale institutions that can effectively unite the shared interests of citizens living throughout the nation, but Wolin insists that any practice that is democratic must be “rooted locally, experienced daily, and practiced regularly” (2008, 291). Even with these qualities, however, the outlook appears bleak when Wolin declares, “Heterogeneity, diversity, and multiple selves are no match for modern power” (1996a, 44). 50 At times, Wolin even seems to have lost hope in localized institutional participation. He writes, “In most theoretical formulations, civil society comprised the family, various social relationships (e.g., friends and neighbors), churches, schools, professions and crafts, and economic organizations. These were perceived as private bodies and relationships, and they were thought to be importantly different from political institutions: they were freer, more spontaneous, less coercive, and more voluntaristic. Whatever historical truth there may have been to this conception of civil society, it was radically changed by the rationalization of society effected by late modern capitalism. Civil society now presents itself as a structure of control and discipline rather than as a paradigm of freedom and spontaneity” (1989, 27). In another essay, however, hope in local movements seems to remain: “Surprisingly, despite the attenuation of democracy at the level of national politics, there still exists a highly flourishing archaic political culture that is democratic, participatory, localist, and, overall, more egalitarian than elitist in ideology” (1989, 81).

36 inevitably episodic, born of necessity, improvisational rather than institutionalized” (2008, 255).51 In his inaugural editorial for the journal democracy, Wolin wrote, Every one of the country‟s primary institutions—the business corporation, the government bureaucracy, the trade union, the research and education industries, the mass propaganda and entertainment media, and the health and welfare system—is antidemocratic in spirit, design, and operation. Each is hierarchical in structure, authority oriented, opposed in principle to equal participation, unaccountable to the citizenry, elitist and managerial, and disposed to concentrate increasing power in the hands of the few and to reduce political life to administration [1981, 3]. Clearly, there is concern for more than just governmental institutions. Wolin seems to have lost his hope that institutions of any kind can foster the kind of active participation that he once felt they could. All institutions, even those that appear to have begun as true Wolinian institutions, have been led to the hierarchical and impersonal homogenization by the power of liberalism. Instead of calling for the reform of these institutions or even looking for new institutions that do encourage moments of genuine democracy, Wolin simply leaves institutionalized politics behind. I return to Wolin in chapter five when discussing the possibility of religious communities serving as institutional vehicles for participation in Locke‟s thought. Because I agree with Stout‟s appraisal of Wolin‟s more recent treatment of institutions, I focus on the earlier understanding of Politics and Vision. While Wolin may no longer value the role that established, hierarchical, large-scale organizations can play in participatory politics, his earlier account of genuine democracy remains convincing. When I argue, therefore, that Locke provides the possibility of viewing religious communities as Wolinian institutions, it is to this earlier account that I refer. Perhaps, by emphasizing a moment in the liberal tradition in which both small- and large-scale institutions can avoid the dangers that Wolin sees inevitable in a society influenced by liberalism, Wolin himself might rethink his extended criticism of institutionalized politics, along with his more general criticism of the liberal political tradition.

51 I must make it clear that I am not arguing that genuine democracy can be “institutionalized.” Xenos is right to note, “Democracy‟s „fugitive‟ character makes its appearance impossible to predict and its experience impossible to institutionalize” (2001, 32). What I am arguing is that Wolin at one time saw institutions as settings in which moments of fugitive democracy could appear, and I believe—with Stout—that a return to this position is vital in order to promote democratic discourse today. And again, the issue may not be chronological with Wolin as much as it is an internal conflict about the role of institutions. Immediately after defining fugitive democracy as “improvisational rather than institutionalized,” Wolin remarks, referencing a particularly democratic moment in American history, “During the years from roughly the 1760s to the Constitutional Convention of 1787 an American demos began to establish a foothold and to find institutional expression, if not full realization” (2008, 255). While democracy cannot become institutionalized—and therefore static—it is still institutional expression that assists in the formation of a demos.

4.4 Stout’s Democratic Tradition Like Wolin, Stout puts forth a view of concrete political participation that is quite similar to the vision that will be offered in this project. In Democracy and Tradition, Stout presents a political realm in which all citizens are encouraged to freely and fully participate in public discourse. For religious believers, this means an encouragement to present forms of reasoning in civic discussion that are influenced and motivated by religious beliefs and traditions. Stout‟s support for this view of the political begins with his treatment of political discourse as a practice characterized by giving and asking of reasons. Stout believes that this understanding of the political community avoids one of the criticisms that new traditionalists like MacIntyre level on liberal democracy, namely, that liberalism‟s equalizing tendency divorces individuals from tradition. Stout writes of MacIntyre, “All things liberal come in for much abuse in his writings, and he obviously has liberal democracy as well as totalitarianism in mind when he dismisses „modern politics itself‟ as something anyone „who owes allegiance to the tradition of the virtues‟ must reject” (2004, 118). Traditionalists often argue for the necessity of a shared religious tradition as “the foundation without which democratic discourse is bound to collapse…. Democratic individualism, they say, undercuts the structures of tradition and community within which alone it is possible to nurture the virtues that sustain moral education and political life. Democracy is one of the modern forces that level excellence and virtue” (2004, 10). Speaking specifically about Hauerwas, Stout writes, “In his vision—and here it is MacIntyre‟s influence that matters—liberal democracy and tradition appear as opposites, necessarily opposed to each other” (2004, 152). Recalling one of MacIntyre‟s most well-known books, Stout claims that according to the new traditionalists, “Modernity—specifically, modern democracy—is something that brings about the demise of tradition, and leaves us after virtue” (2004, 119). For Stout, however, the democracy of American politics does not lack the tradition needed to create virtuous norms. He writes, “Commitment to democracy does not entail the rejection of tradition” (2004, 152). Indeed, according to Stout, “Democracy…is a tradition. It inculcates certain habits of reasoning, certain attitudes toward deference and authority in political discussion, and love for certain goods and virtues, as well as a disposition to respond to certain types of actions, events, or persons with admiration, pity, or horror.” The tradition aspect of democracy is what allows the political realm to be constantly evolving, as the activities that constitute the political community “are initially implicit in our reasoning, rather than fully

38 explicit in the form of philosophically articulated propositions.” As a result, political practice cannot be “reduce[d]…to a determinate system of rules or principles” (2004, 5). Instead, politics is the continual practice of making political norms and expectations explicit through the process of giving and asking of reasons. It is this explicating process that Stout has in mind when he writes, “It is the task of public philosophy, as I understand it, to articulate the ethical inheritance of the people for the people while subjecting it to critical scrutiny” (2004, 5). And again, “The continuing social process of holding one another responsible is chiefly what I have in mind when I refer to the ethical life or inheritance of a people. Central to democratic thought as I understand it is the idea of a body of citizens who reason with one another…. The democratic practice of giving and asking for ethical reasons, I argue, is where the life of democracy principally resides” (2004, 6). It is through the giving and asking of reasons that democracy “becomes a tradition, like any social practice, when it manages to sustain itself across generations” (2004, 152). With this view of active political participation, Stout turns his attention to the way in which religious believers can play their role as citizens in democratic discourse. While his discussion of democracy as tradition highlights differences he has with the new traditionalists, he does not join the Rawlsian liberal in silencing—to one degree or another—the voices of religious believers speaking as religious believers in democratic discourse. Instead, he claims that Rawlsian liberals (along with the new traditionalists) are wrong to suppose that modern democracy is “an expression of secularism,” in which “the expression of religious premises or the entitlement of individuals to accept religious assumptions” is prohibited (2004, 11). Stout‟s reasons for why modern democracy should not be understood in the terms of the Rawlsian liberal story are threefold.52 First, it simply is not pragmatic to expect the Rawlsian liberal theory to be put into practice in a pluralistic society such as the United States. Stout writes, “It would be unrealistic to expect membership in religious groups to have no influence on democratic decision making and debate, for one function of religious traditions is to confer order on highly important values and concerns, some of which obviously have political relevance” (2004, 9). It is clear that Stout is not merely advocating for the presence of citizens who happen to be religious in democratic discourse. Instead, he is arguing for the inclusion of religious citizens qua religious citizens in

52 For several other arguments against the Rawlsian liberal position, see essays by Wolterstorff, Jackson, Garcia, Elshtain, Coleman, and Hollanbach in Weithman, ed. 1997.

39 the political participation of democracy. While citizens should be encouraged to give reasons for political positions that others could reasonably accept, it is simply not plausible to expect religious believers to always be able to abide by the limitations of Rawlsian liberalism (2004, 65). And if there are times when religious citizens cannot offer secular reasons for their support of political participation, this does not necessarily mean that they are “unjustified in holding the belief” or that they have broken the rules of healthy democratic discourse (2004, 176). Part of living in a pluralistic society, according to Stout, is the toleration of views that are grounded in epistemic contexts different from one‟s own, thereby resulting in beliefs justifiably held by others—according to the various epistemic contexts—that are not shared universally throughout the society (2004, 177). This plurality of contexts makes it unrealistic to expect all citizens to reason from a shared epistemic context, as Rawlsian liberals seem to demand.53 Stout presents Abraham Lincoln and Martin Luther King Jr. as two examples of citizens who probably did not abide by the Rawlsian criteria for proper political participation. That is, these thinkers did not always support their religious reasons with adequate secular reasons, as even the moderate Rawlsian liberal position requires. This fact alone leads Stout to strongly doubt the usefulness of this position for political discourse: “Something is deeply wrong here. The speeches of King and Lincoln represent high accomplishments in our public political culture. They are paradigms of discursive excellence…. It is hard to credit any theory that treats their arguments as placeholders for reasons to be named later” (2004, 70). Even more forcefully, Stout later writes of these speeches, “Any view that makes them appear marginal or something less than paradigmatic

53 Quinn notes, “If the fact that religious reasons cannot be shared by all in a religiously pluralistic society suffices to warrant any exclusion of religious reasons for advocating or supporting restrictive laws or policies, then much else ought in fairness also to be excluded on the same grounds…. Indeed, it would seem that the appeal to any comprehensive ethical theory, including all known secular ethical theories, should be disallowed on the grounds that every such theory can be reasonably rejected by some citizens of a pluralistic democracy” (1995, 39). Importantly, Stout does not promote a radical version of relativism in which no beliefs can be questioned because they are justified under their own specific epistemic contexts. Understanding the differences in contexts is only the first step in the process. Stout writes, “Democratic hopes would often be better served if we used more respectful modes of interpretation as our means of first resort. Our fellow citizens might well hold many false beliefs. We might well be justified in taking them to be in error. But in many cases we ought to be content to explain our differences with them by pointing to differences in context, allowing that they might be justified in believing what they do, and then beginning or continuing the exchange of reasons with them in a charitable and democratic spirit. If all goes well, the discussion will itself alter our respective epistemic contexts in such a way that we can overcome some of our differences, or at least learn to live with them respectfully” (2004, 178).

40 instances of „reasonableness,‟ simply because they do not conform to an abstract account of discursive propriety, deserves rejection” (2004, 81-82).54 There is, however, a second argument in Stout‟s support for religious forms of reasoning in political discourse that supplements his pragmatic claim for the unrealistic nature of silencing religious voices in public conversation. He writes, “All democratic citizens should feel free, in my view, to express whatever premises actually serve as reasons for their claims. The respect for others that civility requires is most fully displayed in the kind of exchange where each person‟s deepest commitments can be recognized for what they are and assessed accordingly” (2004, 10). That is, it is not merely “unrealistic to expect citizens to bracket such commitments when reasoning about fundamental political questions”; it is also a sign of disrespect that violates the very civility of democratic discourse (2004, 10). Continuing this emphasis on the moral requirements of respecting the rights of democratic citizens, Stout writes, “The free expression of religious premises is morally underwritten not only by the value we assign to the freedom of religion, but also by the value we assign to free expression, generally. All citizens of a constitutional democracy possess not only the right to make up their minds as they see fit but also the right to express their reasoning freely, whatever that reasoning may be” (2004, 63-64). In this way, Rawlsian liberalism attempts to counteract freedom. Its “practical expression,” according to Stout, “is, unsurprisingly, a program of social control, an attempt to enforce moral restraint on discursive exchange by counting only those who want to reason on the basis of a common set of fixed rules as reasonable. It is no wonder that the result sits uneasily with the aspirations of expressive freedom” (2004, 81). If religious citizens are not given the right to fully and freely express their religious premises in political discourse, they “will have good

54 Using these historical examples highlights another important feature of Stout‟s position, namely, his insistence that his picture of political participation is already the way in which democratic discourse happens. He writes, “I am trying to articulate a form of pluralism, one that citizens with strong religious commitments can accept and that welcomes their full participation in public life without fudging on its own premises. But I see this pluralism primarily as an existing feature of the political culture, not as a philosophical doctrine needing to be imposed on it. Our political culture is already pluralistic in the relevant sense” (2004, 296-97). This is why he later writes that “the practical question is not whether religious reasons will be expressed in public settings, but by whom, in what manner, and to what ends.” He thinks it “foolhardy to suppose that anything like the Rawlsian program of restraint or what Rorty calls the Jeffersonian compromise will succeed in a country with our religious and political history” (2004, 299). Weithman also highlights the historical use of religious forms of reasoning: “On the uncontroversial assumption that American democracy benefited from the abolitionist and civil rights movements, it seems that democracy in the United States would have been worse off had the principle of secular rationale been followed” (1997, 32).

41 reason to doubt that they are being shown the respect that all of us owe to our fellow citizens as the individuals they are” (2004, 64). The third argument that Stout gives to support full and free participation by religious citizens in the public realm is that this form of participation is vital to the health of genuine democratic discourse. Rather than ending the conversation as Rorty argued, Stout believes that the presence of religious forms of reasoning in political discussions will actually serve to strengthen the ongoing process of giving and asking of reasons (see Rorty 1994/1999). Stout writes, I would encourage religiously committed citizens to make use of their basic freedoms by expressing their premises in as much depth and detail as they see fit when trading reasons with the rest of us on issues of concern to the body politic. If they are discouraged from speaking up in this way, we will remain ignorant of the real reasons that many of our fellow citizens have for reaching some of the ethical and political conclusions they do. We will also deprive them of the central democratic good of expressing themselves to the rest of us on matters about which they care deeply. If they do not have this opportunity, we will lose the chance to learn from, and to critically examine, what they say [2004, 64]. For Stout, it is the Rawlsian liberal position that actually stops conversation by placing limitations on the participation of religious citizens (2004, 90). These limitations cause the process of giving and asking of reasons to “thin out,” because the actual premises that religious citizens may use to reach political conclusions are not made known in the course of public conversation. Stout claims, “It appears that Rawls is too caught up in theorizing about an idealized form of reasoning to notice how much work candid expression and immanent criticism—declaration and conjecture—perform in real democratic exchange” (2004, 73).55 Therefore, the Rawlsian liberal is not only being unrealistic and threatening the rights of citizens living in a democratic society; he is also undermining his own professed support of a political situation that values political discourse. Taken together, Stout‟s three arguments for the presence of religious forms of reasoning in public conversation present a vision of the democratic tradition as a tradition that encourages the motivating beliefs of all citizens to be made explicit in the constant giving and asking of reasons that marks the political. This has allowed Stout to avoid the two extremes of “an authoritarian form of traditionalism and an antireligious form of

55 Romand Coles writes, “Rather than seeking to impose a common currency that is morally coercive where none exists, Stout urges a process of piecemeal „immanent persuasion‟ in which we attempt to convince particular constituencies that their own terms ought to move them in our direction” (2005, 304).

42 liberalism” (2004, 10). His vision is marked by “a loosely structured democratic conversation in which variously situated selves tell their own stories on their own terms,” including those religiously situated selves that bring forth religious premises when presenting political positions (2004, 179). At this point, many readers of Stout may be concerned that he is leaving the door too open for all forms of religious voices in political discourse. Does full participation mean that religious citizens should be encouraged to say whatever they want in order to further their own religious beliefs in the political realm? While his argument that religion does not have to be a conversation-stopper is convincing, are there not some ways in which religion can be used that do in fact weaken continual discourse? It is one thing to say that the speeches of King and Lincoln should not be discounted in political discourse, but would Stout ever discount any form of religious discourse, or is every form of reasoning acceptable as part of the ongoing, Hegelian “dialectic of expressive freedom” (2004, 81)? Stout‟s answer to these questions is significant as it shows that he does support some limitations on the use of religion; however, these limitations are not based on the religious qua religious as would be the case for the Rawlsian liberal. Instead, the limitations are based on pragmatic and moral concerns. Both sets of concerns are evident in Stout‟s defense of the right to use religious forms of reasoning in public conversation. He notes that “having a right does not necessarily mean that one would be justified in exercising it. Clearly, there are circumstances in which it would be imprudent or disrespectful for someone to reason solely from religious premises when defending a political proposal” (2004, 64). First, the imprudence of depending solely on religious forms of reasoning in public discourse has to do with the pragmatic success of attempting to persuade others through the giving and asking of reasons. For Stout, there are times when it would be “rhetorically ineffective” to depend too much on religious premises when arguing for specific political conclusions (2004, 65). Again, this does not mean that religious premises are fundamentally at odds with political discourse. Stout‟s pragmatism is focused more on specific circumstances than on absolute claims. The second concern that is evident in the above quote is focused on the moral aspect of political discourse. In Stout‟s words, there are times when depending solely on religious premises in making political arguments would be not only ineffective but also disrespectful. He writes about the way in which religious reasoning may “cause offence” in some circumstances. Therefore, when determining when it is appropriate to make use of religious beliefs and practices

43 in one‟s political participation, “Fairness and respectful treatment of others are central moral concerns” (2004, 65). He emphasizes “the importance of virtues in guiding a citizen through the process of discursive exchange and political decision making.” Virtue is especially needed when determining when and how to use religious forms of reasoning in discourse. Stout‟s advice for the religious citizen, therefore, “is to cultivate the virtues of democratic speech, love justice, and say what you please” (2004, 85). Once again, these virtue limitations do not impose an absolute restraint on religious forms of reasoning in public discourse; instead, they are meant to assist religious citizens in their freedom to respectfully participate in political conversation.

4.5 Stout’s Practical Vision In Democracy and Tradition, Stout presents a convincing argument for the justification of religious forms of reasoning in democratic discourse. He does not, however, provide much detail about how religious citizens are to make their voices heard in the public sphere. In other words, it is one thing to say that every individual is free to use religious beliefs in the process of forming conclusions on political matters; it is another thing to give this individual the proper means to participate in political discourse. Referring to a question posed to him during a lecture, Stout provides the purpose for writing Blessed Are the Organized: Grassroots Democracy in America: “The present book is essentially my considered response to the student from Tennessee and to thousands of people like him, young and old, who want to know how the spirit of democracy might be actualized concretely under our circumstances” (2010, 282).56 Perhaps thanks to a renewed engagement with Wolin, Stout‟s advice in Blessed Are the Organized is grounded in the concept of institutional participation. Stout begins, “Many groups of different kinds are needed to achieve a genuinely inclusive republic that is free from domination” (2010, xix). In this particular work, he presents the way in which just one type of group, the broad-based citizens‟ organization, can mediate individual interests to the public sphere of political discourse. With words that could be found in Politics and Vision, Stout writes, What kind of practice is it, then, to cultivate one‟s power as a democratic citizen and use it well? It is a political practice because it attends to shared human

56 Stout admits that while his treatment of “public reasoning” in Democracy and Tradition was “abstract,” his “aim was to promote a turn away from excessive abstraction toward the examination of concrete practices and their embodiment in institutions” (2010, 314 n. 85).

arrangements in light of concerns and judgments that are not always in harmony. It is a social practice because the ends it pursues and the means it employs involve building up human relationships of certain kinds. It is an egalitarian practice in the sense that it is open to anybody who wishes to master it and in the sense that it aspires to create a society in which no one is in a position to dominate others [2010, 93]. Recalling his criticism of the shift in Wolin‟s position, however, Stout immediately adds, “A practice can be egalitarian in this sense without eradicating all forms of authority and hierarchy” (2010, 93).57 Stout contends that institutions—in the Wolinian sense—can still provide moments of genuine democratic practice, even if those institutions have a degree of elitism, as long as the elite status is “earned and accountable” (2010, 94). He insists, “No society can free itself of domination unless citizens make good use of the power at their disposal. And citizens are likely to do that only if some of them acquire the moral authority to lead, represent, and advise” (2010, 94). Echoing his earlier criticism of Wolin, he concludes, “A citizens‟ organization without relations of authority cannot perform its representative functions” (2010, 100).58 While a Stoutian institution depends on an “internal participatory process,” which is rooted in the personal and local, it can only be truly effective if it is able to “win recognition from the political establishment as a source of power and moral authority” (2010, 109, 108). Stout provides several examples of institutions that make public the shared interests of individuals. Whether in New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina or in the Valley of Texas, Stout finds organizations that comprise individuals from diverse backgrounds, many of whom stress the importance of religious forms of reasoning in their process of moral and political decision making.59 He quotes a Catholic priest as saying, “We‟re authentically Christian and authentically very spiritual. And what motivates us in the public arena is our faith” (2010, 193).

57 In this way, Stout sees himself as “extending” Wolin‟s position, “but at the expense of the „fugitive‟ democrat‟s distaste for hierarchy as such” (2010, 323 n. 125). 58 Stout knows that he is confronting a common “caricature” of democracy. With his criticism of MacIntyre and the new traditionalists in mind, he writes of the assumption that democracy requires the creation of “an undifferentiated mass”: “This is also the sense of democracy that modern social critics, of either a traditionalist or Nietzschean bent, tend to have in mind when they denounce democratic culture as a leveler of distinctions and as an enemy of the quest for excellence. This is not, however, the sense of democracy being elucidated in this book, for we have seen that grassroots democratic organizations are endeavoring to institute distinctions, to build up a structure of earned authority, and to cultivate excellence” (2010, 139). 59 Wolin also mentions Hurricane Katrina, highlighting the work of localized movements: “While the administration‟s vaunted „Homeland Security‟ agencies and highly disciplined While House floundered, there was a spontaneous outpouring of aid, financial and material, from ordinary citizens, civic and religious groups, and local governments from all parts of the nation” (2008, 288). The fugitive and small-scale nature of this democratic moment is obvious.

Rather than viewing such a statement as divisive or antidemocratic, Stout seems to value the way in which these organizations find commonality in the midst of diversity, particularly when it comes to the presence or absence of religious belief among their members. Echoing an argument from Democracy and Tradition, he notes, When citizens with religious commitments assemble peaceably, they are entitled to express those commitments publicly, both in their public actions and in the reasons they offer for their public actions. Their grievances are…sometimes born in grief and anger, passions that are connected with their deepest concerns, some of which are acquired and cultivated in religious communities and practices. If you asked these people to check their religious commitments and deepest concerns at the door, on their way into the public arena, they wouldn‟t know how to do that. The separation of church and state does not go through the heart of the believer [2010, 197]. He also makes clear that the same entitlement extends to the clergy: “The First Amendment does not prohibit pastors from engaging in politically consequential activities. They are citizens, so they must be given some room to act as such…. Whatever the proper relation of religion and politics might be, it cannot require pastors to refrain from affecting the political lives of their communities” (2010, 197-98).60 Coupled with his theoretical justification of the use of religious forms of reasoning in public discourse, Stout‟s emphasis on institutional participation provides a practical vision of the political, which both values diversity—including religious diversity—and reaches for commonality through the shared interests of citizens.

4.6 Stout’s “Disavowal” of Liberalism As mentioned above, Stout‟s vision of democratic discourse is very similar to my own presentation of political discourse in this project. The point where Stout and I would part ways comes not so much with the concrete pictures of civic conversation, but with the ways in which we attempt to ground a political vision that encourages the full participation of all citizens, including those citizens that offer religious reasons for the political decisions that they make. While I argue for the centrality of the Lockean liberal democratic tradition in grounding the

60 Referring once again to a particular priest interviewed by Stout: “Pastors like Father David are not…trying to establish their own faiths as the official religion of the state. They are not theocrats. They are not looking to disenfranchise people of other faiths or nonbelievers. But they do insist that freedom of religious expression is partly a matter of protecting the right of all citizens to bring their deepest concerns with them when they enter public debate” (2010, 202). Stout later quotes another of his guides, “I got my first look at the overall picture and unique role the church plays as a mediating institution versus just being oriented toward nurturing a person‟s spiritual life” (2010, 208). For another defense of the role of religious institutions in fostering political participation, see Hollenbach 1997.

46 vision of discourse that Stout and I both support, Stout finds it necessary to distance himself from the tradition of liberal political thought, including the thought of Locke, in order to promote free and full political participation. This becomes clear as we see that Stout‟s criticism of Rawlsian liberalism discussed above, a criticism that I find convincing, becomes a criticism of the entire liberal tradition. In this way, Stout ends up sounding just like the new traditionalists who argue that the Rawlsian liberal story offers the only version of liberal political thought. Stout‟s agreement with the new traditionalist criticism of Rawlsian liberalism is clear from the above discussion of Stout‟s reasons for why religious premises must be allowed in the discourse of a democratic society. He values the work done by the new traditionalists in unmasking the weaknesses of this form of liberalism. As we saw in the discussion of Hauerwas, MacIntyre, and Milbank, the new traditionalists believe that Rawlsian liberalism—and therefore, the liberal democratic tradition that marks American political identity—both divorces moral discourse from tradition and silences religious forms of reasoning in the name of public reason, often through an attempt to privatize religious faith. As for the first of these criticisms, Stout agrees that any form of political thought that tries to impose rules of discourse that allow only those premises that no reasonable person could reject does in fact unrealistically divorce discourse from tradition. Stout believes his own vision of democracy as tradition escapes this accurate criticism of the Rawlsian liberal. We have also seen Stout accept the second criticism made by the new traditionalists. While an emphasis on silencing religious forms of reasoning may only be applicable to the extreme forms of liberal thought, Audi‟s principles of secular rationale and secular motivation showed that even moderate forms of Rawlsian liberalism do in fact place restraints on the use of religious forms of reasoning in political decision making and public support for one‟s political positions. Stout shows his agreement with the criticisms presented by the new traditionalists by writing, “There is no need for me to mount a detailed argument against these liberal ideas here, for other writers have already done the job admirably” (2004, 2). Stout views his own task as moving beyond these negative, albeit accurate, criticisms of Rawlsian liberalism. He writes, “My own purpose is more positive. I want to make an affirmative case for seeing modern democracy differently. In the process of making it, I will not, however, be drawing mainly on liberal political philosophy from John Locke to John Rawls. My topic, stated in Rawlsian terms, is the role of free public reason in a political culture that includes

47 conflicting religious conceptions of the good” (2004, 2). In other words, Stout refuses to follow the new traditionalists into a “politically debilitating [form] of separatism and cultural alienation” (2004, 43). He later adds, “I sympathize with the traditionalist‟s distaste for the contractarian liberal‟s program of restraint. But I do not see resentment of contractarians as a reason for alienating myself from democratic hopes and freedoms” (2004, 84). This is why Stout is seeking “to persuade seriously committed religious citizens…that identifying with the civic nation in a democratic republic like ours need not conflict with their theological convictions” (2004, 297). To do this, he has to show these citizens the error in simply accepting the Rawlsian liberal version of the story of the political culture of democratic societies. For Stout, Rawlsian liberalism has “distorted” the true story of democratic culture, particularly in its vision of political discourse (2004, 77). Because of the inadequacy of the liberal story, Stout argues that “the new traditionalists are wrong to reject that culture as implicitly committed to the contractarian program of restraint…. Rejecting what contractarianism and the new traditionalism have in common will permit us, I hope, to reopen the entire question of the role of religious reasoning in public life” (2004, 77). Stout wants to find a way to think about the American political tradition that does not depend on the Rawlsian liberal depiction of democratic practice. Only by rejecting the story that both the Rawlsian liberal and the new traditionalist accept about American political identity—most notably, its insistence “that the political culture of our democracy implicitly requires the policing or self-censorship of religious expression in the political arena” (2004, 84)—does Stout believe we can find a better solution to the complex issues surrounding the relationship between religion and politics. In this way, Stout is right to both accept the new traditionalist criticism of Rawlsian liberalism and to move beyond the criticism to retelling the story of our political culture. At this point, however, it is important to get clear on exactly what Stout is rejecting as he tells his own story of democratic tradition. While I join him in rejecting the view of the political culture presented positively by the Rawlsian liberal and negatively by the new traditionalist, I believe Stout is actually taking a significant step beyond a simple rejection of Rawlsian liberalism. In the description of his purpose quoted above, note that Stout‟s self-appointed task is to rethink democracy, not liberal democracy. In order to avoid the problems associated with Rawlsian liberalism‟s conception of the relationship between politics and religion, Stout thinks it best to abandon the liberal tradition in its entirety, from Locke to Rawls, focusing instead on a

48 form of democracy that is divorced from political liberalism. This shows that Stout not only accepts the new traditionalist criticisms of Rawlsian liberalism; he also joins the new traditionalists in seeing Rawlsian liberalism as the only legitimate way of describing the liberal political tradition. While he does want to retell the story of our political culture, this can only be done by completely distancing himself from liberalism. Some readers of Stout might object to this strong reading of his rejection of liberalism by saying that he often admits that not all liberal thinkers support the liberal ideas he associates with Rawlsian liberalism. For example, he writes that only “some” secular liberals “have strongly urged people to restrain themselves from bringing their religious commitments with them into the political sphere” (2004, 63). He also refers to the liberal theories of Rawls and Rorty as “two forms of liberalism,” possibly implying that there are other forms (2004, 92).61 And later, he speaks of “„liberalism‟ in the best sense of the term” (2004, 167). Nevertheless, despite these brief concessions, it is not clear that Stout actually believes there are other options for supporters of the liberal tradition. For example, at one point Stout argues that “most modern democracies are liberal in the innocuous sense of treating individuals as (defeasibly) entitled by default to make whatever theological commitments they see fit to make and free to express those commitments in speech or in action” (2004, 99). This sentence, however, is followed by a footnote, in which Stout is quick to note, “In this context, the term „liberal‟ does not imply that the society in question is committed to a version of „liberalism,‟ which is a philosophical view” (2004, 317 n. 6). In other words, instead of using this as an opportunity to show that there actually are forms of liberalism that are liberal in Stout‟s sense, he furthers the gap between democracy and liberalism by implying that to be liberal (again, in his sense) is opposed to philosophical liberalism. Therefore, liberalism must be jettisoned if a truly democratic form of political participation is to be established in American public discourse. At another point, Stout writes, “One can reject the liberal theory without rejecting the culture” (2004, 297). While Stout‟s criticisms of liberalism are largely focused on the work of Rawls and Rorty, he most often speaks of the tradition—especially when he is encouraging its rejection—without specifying any of its particular forms.

61 In his discussion of particular broad-based citizens‟ organizations, he notes, “The prayers, liturgical celebrations, and doctrinal commitments that someone like Father Alfonso brings with him into the public square would give many liberals pause” (2010, 221). Some may insist that this makes room for a few liberals that would not struggle with the presence of these religious beliefs and practices.

The clearest example of Stout‟s abandonment of the liberal political tradition comes after he quotes a passage from MacIntyre, in which the latter labels Stout a liberal. Stout parenthetically notes, “I feel slightly uncomfortable when MacIntyre refers to me as a liberal writer” (2004, 130). Why? Because Stout believes that liberalism should be viewed “as the name for a particular kind of obsolete ideology whose critics and defenders thought there was something worth calling the liberal project and who therefore engaged in fruitless debates over whether it was a good or a bad thing.” As a result, Stout has “steered clear of the term „liberalism‟ whenever possible” (2004, 130). Instead of assisting us in locating within a tradition the vision of democratic discourse that Stout supports, liberalism becomes nothing more than a term that is “blocking the path of inquiry” (2004, 130). The “obsolete ideology” of liberalism is something that must be left behind, and the only explicit way in which Stout has talked about this ideology is through the lens of the Rawlsian liberal. He simply insists that Rawlsian liberalism, with its “notion of state neutrality and the reason-tradition dichotomy,” is not the “official mouthpiece” of the democratic tradition (2004, 3). Again, liberalism seems to be inescapably defined by Rawls, and it must therefore be divorced from the democratic tradition. This wedge that Stout drives between liberalism and democracy is evident throughout his presentation of his vision of democratic discourse.

4.7 Critique of Wolin and Stout I join both Wolin and Stout in calling for a more inclusive view of political participation, particularly when it comes to the presence of religious forms of reasoning in civic discussion. Democratic dialogue must be marked by full and free participation, and because citizens do not share identical epistemic contexts, it is inevitable that premises will be offered that are not immediately accepted by reasonable people from other epistemic backgrounds. To avoid such conflicts is not only unrealistic; it is also undemocratic in its limitations placed on the freedom of expression and freedom of religion that are central features of any democratic form of political exchange. Wolin, Stout, and I, therefore, call for full disclosure of one‟s premises used to reach political conclusions, with any limitations being based only on the virtues of being an effective citizen who treats others with the same respect due to oneself. No a priori rules that exclude particular forms of reasoning in political discourse can be promoted in a society that values democratic toleration. In this way, Wolin and Stout offer convincing criticisms of any form of

Rawlsian liberalism, even the moderate form represented by Audi, that seeks to restrict the participation of religious citizens in political discourse solely on the fact that these individuals may depend on religious premises to form their political positions. The difference between my own project and the visions of these non-liberal democrats is found in the way in which we attempt to make historical and philosophical sense of this shared understanding of full and free political participation. Wolin and Stout believe that the tradition of liberal political thought must be abandoned in order to encourage the presence of religious forms of reasoning in public discourse. That is, they think that all forms of liberalism must end up looking like Rawlsian liberalism. Therefore, only with the disposal of liberalism can genuine democracy be fostered. This argument, in my opinion, cannot be accepted for a number of reasons. First, borrowing from Stout‟s own way of thinking, it is simply unrealistic to divorce contemporary forms of Western democracy from the tradition of early modern liberalism. If it is important to value democracy as a tradition—with all the meaning that Stout gives to this concept—then it is essential to understand the historical and philosophical heritage of the democratic tradition. On this score, the Rawlsian liberal and the new traditionalist are correct: Locke and other early modern liberal thinkers were vital to the development of the democracies in the modern West. While Stout should be commended for introducing new influences to this development of the democratic tradition, such as Emerson and Whitman, it is impossible to ignore the presence of Locke and the entire tradition of liberal political thought in any full appreciation of the ongoing process of giving and asking of reasons that marks the practice of genuine democracy.62 Second, my project will make clear how wrong it is to assume that all forms of liberal political thought must find their culmination in the extreme or moderate forms of Rawlsian

62 In his book on basic equality in Locke‟s thought, Waldron writes, “I have heard people say: „Why do we need to explain or defend basic equality? Nobody denies it.‟ But even if that‟s true, it is still important for philosophers to explore the character and the grounds of propositions we take for granted” (2002, 4 n. 14). While Stout is obviously not under the assumption that all citizens accept his version of democratic discourse, and while he does offer various figures to present the “character and grounds of propositions” that he defends, Locke simply cannot be overlooked as a ground for the democratic principles that Stout himself cherishes. As John Perry writes, “The story of political liberalism in America, especially in its interaction with religious perspectives, cannot be told if Locke is absent from stage. Is he the only character? No, but without him the story is incomplete. America‟s dominant political theory is neither Rawls‟s (as Hauerwas claims) nor Hobbes‟s (as Cavanaugh fears). But neither is it Emerson‟s (as Stout hopes)” (2007, 230). I agree with Perry‟s insistence on the relevance of Locke and the tradition of political liberalism. As will become increasingly clear, however, my purpose differs from Perry‟s when he claims, “I am not arguing that Locke can help solve today‟s debates” (2007, 228).

51 liberalism.63 Such an assumption glosses over the incredible centuries of liberal thought that came before Rawls, as well as the vast differences between thinkers like Locke, Burke, Jefferson, and Rawls. The remaining chapters of this project will focus specifically on an interpretation of Locke that is far removed from the political philosophy of Rawlsian liberals. Locke‟s views on religious toleration and moral epistemology set the stage for a far greater inclusion of religious premises in the political decision making and discourse of citizens than is allowed by Rawlsian liberals. Locke also hints at the way in which religious forms of reasoning can be present in the public sphere, namely, through the institutional participation of religious communities.64 The third argument against the non-liberal democracy of Wolin and Stout is that there are aspects of the liberal political tradition that are vital for any project that seeks to defend and promote moments of genuine democracy. David Little presents this argument specifically against Stout in relation to the latter‟s criticism of the new traditionalist acceptance of the distorted picture of our political culture presented by the Rawlsian liberal: Stout is right to emphasize the complexity of the liberal tradition, although why, having made this important point, he then goes on to disavow “liberal” as a word “blocking the path of inquiry,” and, what is more, to do it as a consequence of MacIntyre‟s one sided discussion…I simply do not understand. Stout inexplicably surrenders with one hand what he has gained with the other. As I will argue, rescuing the word “liberal” is no trivial undertaking, since the idea of “liberal democracy,” properly understood, and as opposed to “illiberal democracy,” is indispensable both to the contemporary worldwide discussion of democracy, and, as a matter of fact, to much that Stout himself appears to favor about American democracy [Little 2006, 288]. Little is right to argue that Stout‟s abandonment of liberalism cannot simply be seen as a pragmatic move to distance Stout‟s democracy from the controversy surrounding the proper presentation of the liberal political tradition. Indeed, there is something at stake in retaining the liberal qualifier when trying to promote democracy. Waldron, for example, has shown the vital

63 Quinn cautions against the tendency of many citizens—which would include the new traditionalists as well as the non-liberal democrats—to “think that political liberalism is the exclusive possession of secular forces opposed to religion, even if they cannot help being aware that plenty of liberals are in fact hostile to religion” (1995, 50). 64 It is interesting that my argument against Stout‟s limited vision of the possibilities of liberalism is used by Stout himself against those with a limited vision of the possibilities of democracy. He argues that many “in the academic left” have let democracy be defined in a negative way, leading them to “break with the assumption that democracy is a good thing.” He continues, “Capital and empire will go on using the term democracy to distract attention from the realities of domination, regardless of what social critics say. Let them have the term, says the radical antidemocrat, and then let social critics demonstrate the extent to which democracy as the establishment thinks of it and domination as radicals think of it are intertwined.” Stout insists, “It should be clear from the analysis I have been offering that what radical antidemocrats call democracy and then denounce is not the same thing that grassroots democrats practice and praise” (2010, 249-50).

52 connection between the work of Locke and a basic structure of equality that is so central to the democratic project. To give just one example emphasized by Waldron, Locke‟s argument for the presence of a “modest intellectual capacity” in all humans provides the foundation for what Waldron calls a “democratic view of the intellect” (2002, 83). Forsaking liberalism endangers the loss of such important foundations of democratic thought. After all, many nations that do not uphold the liberal ideas that Stout cherishes profess their status as democratic societies, often based solely on a view of universal suffrage. While Stout would clearly want to challenge their understanding of democracy by telling a story about Emerson and Whitman, it seems much more effective to lay claim to the tradition of liberal political thought that historically and philosophically provided substance to surround the less developed notion of democracy.65 In other words, by following Stout‟s own insistence on immanent criticism, I engage in the vital task of rethinking the liberal story in such a way that grounds the possibility for the kind of political participation that Stout, Wolin, and I promote.

5. Non-Lockean Liberal Democrats The final possible response to my project that I want to consider is the one that would have the seemingly smallest initial concern with my vision of the political. I refer to the thinkers that would offer this response as non-Lockean liberal democrats. While supporting my non- Rawlsian form of liberal democracy that encourages the presence of religious forms of reasoning in the public sphere, these thinkers would doubt the possibility of grounding this form of political participation in the work of Locke. These writers, therefore, agree with the Rawlsian liberal, the new traditionalist, the major thrust of Wolin‟s discussion of Locke, and Stout by placing Locke in the Rawlsian liberal camp. While moving a step beyond the non-liberal democrats by arguing that the distorted story of liberalism offered by the Rawlsian liberal must be retold in order to

65 Again, Stout cautions antidemocrats of the danger of “the debunking of democratic reform” movements throughout history “because it leaves the present struggle against domination without an inspiring past to learn from and inherit.” For Stout and other grassroots democrats, “The application of the concept of democracy remains worth fighting over. The term has positive associations for a reason, namely because the great reform movements embodied the ideal of inclusive nondomination in political practices that achieved things of considerable importance” (2010, 250). In the same way, I want to caution Stout and the non-liberal democrats from abandoning the historical foundations to democracy that liberalism—when properly defined and interpreted—provides. Liberalism, not just democracy, “remains worth fighting over” if we seek to protect and promote the best forms of democratic discourse.

53 maintain the central concerns of liberal democracy, the non-Lockean liberal democrats think that this story cannot include the work of Locke.

5.1 Wolterstorff’s Criticism of the “Liberal Position” Perhaps the most prominent of contemporary non-Lockean liberal democrats is Wolterstorff. In an exchange with Audi, Wolterstorff puts forth a clear presentation of his perspective on liberal democracy, giving special attention to the use of religious reasons in liberal democratic discourse. He begins by emphasizing the role that individuals play in liberal democratic states: “Characteristic of liberal democracies…is that they have citizens, not merely subjects” (1997, 67).66 The role of citizen, according to Wolterstorff, carries with it certain implications for the way in which political participation ought to occur. In his view, as we will soon see, these implications have to do with the freedoms present in liberal democracies. He admits, however, that most liberal thinkers have focused more on how the fact of religious pluralism requires a certain amount of restriction when it comes to the way in which religious believers act as citizens of a liberal democracy.67 For these thinkers who support what Wolterstorff calls the “liberal position,” being a liberal citizen implies that one must refrain from the use of religious reasons in public discourse and possibly even in the process of reaching one‟s own political conclusions. He writes, A common theme in the writings of those who have theorized about liberal democracy, going back into the late seventeenth century when liberal democracies were just beginning to emerge, is that a good citizen (and functionary) of a liberal democracy will impose certain epistemological restraints on the manner in which he decides and/or debates political issues; in his deciding and/or debating, he will refrain from letting reasons of a certain sort be determinative. Specifically, a common theme has been that a good citizen of a liberal democracy will refrain from allowing religious reasons to be determinative when deciding and/or debating political issues of certain sorts—or perhaps of any sort whatsoever, unless, perchance, those religious reasons are themselves held for reasons of the acceptable sort [1997, 69]. Wolterstorff is clearly rehearsing the typical Rawlsian liberal account of the tradition of liberal political thought. Note that he is not arguing that Rawls alone invented this version of liberal

66 Unless otherwise noted, the citations throughout the discussion of Wolterstorff refer to Audi and Wolterstorff 1997. 67 As Weithman glosses the argument, “Given religious pluralism, religious reasons are reasons of a sort that we cannot reasonably expect all others to accept. Therefore, the liberalism of reasoned respect concludes, citizens should not offer one another arguments, or only arguments, that depend upon religious claims” (1997, 8).

54 thought. Instead, Wolterstorff traces it back to the late seventeenth-century theorists of the tradition, including, as we will see, Locke. Wolterstorff, however, is not satisfied with this theoretical account of the tradition of political liberalism. He immediately calls into question this entire concept of epistemological restraint by asking, “Is it indeed a requirement of being a good citizen in a liberal democracy that one‟s religion not be determinative of one‟s decisions on political issues, and/or that it not be determinative of the case one makes to others in favor of one‟s decision?” (1997, 69). While not wanting to give up the significance of being a citizen in a liberal democracy, Wolterstorff is not convinced by the story told by the Rawlsian liberal about the structural limitations imposed on political participation. He discovers other implications for the role of citizen in a liberal democracy, which focus less on restraint and more on the basic structure of equality that grounds the tradition of liberal political thought, a structure that emerged in the specific context of religious pluralism. He writes, “Liberal democracy is that mode of governance that grants to all people within the territory of its governance equal protection under law, that grants to its citizens equal freedom in law to live out their lives as they see fit, and that requires of the state that it be neutral as among all the religions and comprehensive perspectives represented in society” (1997, 70). This understanding of the foundations of liberalism leads to a supreme emphasis on the protection of equal voice in the realm of political discourse. Therefore, any discussion of discourse within a liberal democratic society must be judged by the standard of equal voice rather than by a standard of epistemological restrictions. According to Wolterstorff, it is this liberal test of equal voice where the supporter of the liberal position undermines his own tradition. While Wolterstorff acknowledges a broad range on the spectrum of the liberal position— from the more extreme versions of early Rawls to the moderate version of Audi—he is quick to note the characteristic that remains constant across the spectrum. He argues that all thinkers who support the liberal position “propose a restraint on the use of religious reasons in deciding and/or debating political issues” (1997, 75). It is precisely this restraint that causes the Rawlsian liberal to undermine the liberal attempt to defend and protect the equal voice of all citizens. After all, Wolterstorff asks, “What difference does it make what reasons citizens use in making their decisions and conducting their debates, if the positions they advocate do not violate the Idea of liberal democracy? And in particular, why should religious reasons…be singled out for

55 exclusion?” (1997, 77). Even if there were an adequately shared secular, independent source for premises to be used in political discourse, it is not clear why a form of governance that seeks to protect the equal voice of citizens above all else would make a priori restrictions on other sources of reasoning that can be used to sustain the basic “Idea of liberal democracy.” Wolterstorff argues that such restrictions, given the liberal emphasis on equality, seem “profoundly paradoxical” (1997, 77). He writes, “The restraint appears, on the face of it, to violate the equal freedom component within the Idea of liberal democracy. On the face of it, the Idea of liberal democracy implies the absence of any such restraint…. The liberal position—restraint on religious reasons—appears to be in flagrant conflict with the Idea of liberal democracy” (1997, 77). Again, Wolterstorff‟s criticism of the liberal position in many ways echoes the criticisms leveled by the new traditionalists and the non-liberal democrats. His reasoning from the equal voice due to each citizen is quite reminiscent of Stout‟s argument that respect for citizens demands a more inclusive vision of political discourse. Stout‟s other two arguments, namely, that the Rawlsian liberal is unrealistic and full participation actually strengthens democratic discourse, are also found in Wolterstorff‟s earlier work. Wolterstorff introduces these arguments by reasoning from the basic fact that religion is present in the political sphere of liberal democracies. He argues that to truly follow the tradition of liberal political thought, one must accept the presence of religious reasons in political discourse as the way in which religious citizens living in a pluralistic society make political decisions. Wolterstorff notes, “A significant part of how some citizens exercise their religion is that their decisions and debates on political issues are in good measure based on their religious convictions. Using their religious convictions in making their decisions and conducting their debates on political issues is part of what constitutes conducting their lives as they see fit” (1997, 77). This at least proves that imposing restraints on using religious reasons for private political conclusions, a position supported by the more extreme forms of Rawlsian liberalism, cannot be a plausible line of reasoning. Of course, more moderate Rawlsian liberals, such as Audi, may be able to accept that citizens make their own private political decisions on the basis of religious premises. They would not, however, follow Wolterstorff to the claim that these citizens ought to be encouraged to make these premises alone known in public discourse. Wolterstorff, like Stout, argues that this distinction between private decision making and public conversation is also unrealistic. If

56 citizens ground their own private decisions on religious premises, it is not plausible to expect them to offer entirely new forms of reasoning when trying to make their positions known to fellow citizens. Wolterstorff argues, “Most people who reasoned from their religion in making up their mind on political issues would lack the intellectual imagination required for reasoning to the same position from premises derived from the independent source” (1997, 78).68 In other words, even if Audi‟s theo-ethical equilibrium is theoretically supported by many religious believers, it is unrealistic to expect such equilibrium to be easily achieved by all citizens. Even if it were, recalling Stout‟s third argument, Wolterstorff argues that it would create a sphere of discourse marked only by deceit. He writes, “Many citizens would arrive at their views on political issues by reasoning from their religious convictions. Then, however, when they get together in discussion and debate, they conceal that these are their reasons…. It is patently unrealistic as a proposal” (1997, 78). Not only is it unrealistic to expect religious citizens to change their political arguments when entering the public sphere, this imposition would result in a transformation of the process of giving and asking of reasons in full disclosure to a process marked by concealing one‟s real reasons from one‟s fellow citizens.69 Surely such a process would only weaken the political realm of a liberal democracy. Later, using Judaism as simply one example, Wolterstorff drives home the argument by asking, Does not the presence of embodied Judaism in our midst enrich our common life? Cannot the understanding of politics by those of us who do not embrace Judaism

68 Weithman describes Wolterstorff‟s position: “Asking [religious] citizens to cooperate on the basis of their reason is to make an unfairly demanding request” (1997, 21). Another non-Lockean liberal democrat, Greenawalt, extends the argument: “Even some of those people who have the intellectual capacity to resolve issues on nonreligious grounds with sufficient effort will lack the time, inclination, or disposition to do so” (1988, 41). He later argues, “Theories that exclude many nonreligious premises as well as religious convictions do not leave ample grounds for citizens to resolve many political issues; I also claim that no adequate reason exists for preferring all nonreligious premises to religious convictions as bases for political judgments” (1988, 49). While recognizing the liberal origins of the many theories of exclusion, Greenawalt maintains that his position is one of liberal democracy: “Reliance on religious convictions is appropriate under any plausible model of liberal democracy much more often than is claimed by those who would have the good liberal citizen restrict himself in political decisions to shared nonreligious premises and common forms of reasoning” (1988, 203). When once again defending the use of religious forms of reasoning, he adds, “Any hope that all political issues can be resolved solely on the basis of commonly shared premises about values and commonly shared approaches to factual knowledge must be abandoned. To abandon this hope is to free oneself from a misguided illusion, not to forfeit any vital premise of liberal democracy” (1988, 216). Despite his defense of my form of political participation in a liberal democracy, he takes issue with Locke on several significant issues, including the role of community, which will be discussed in chapter five. 69 Greenawalt notes, “To demand that many devout Catholics, Protestants, and Jews pluck out their religious convictions is to ask them how they would think about a critical moral problem if they started from scratch, disregarding what they presently take as basic premises of moral thought. Asking that people perform this exercise is not only unrealistic in the sense of impossible; the implicit demand that people try to compartmentalize beliefs that constitute some kind of unity in their approach to life is positively objectionable” (1988, 155).

be enriched by Judaism‟s understanding of politics? But how could such enrichment ever take place if, in the public square, we do our best to silence all appeals to our diverse perspectives, regarding the felt need to appeal to them here and there as simply a lamentable deficiency in the scope and power of public reason—a deficiency whose overcoming we hope for? [1997, 111].70 For these reasons, Wolterstorff and other non-Lockean liberal democrats would join Wolin, Stout, the new traditionalists, and my own project in their criticisms of the liberal position. They would also join us in our insistence on a more inclusive perspective on the use of religious reasons in political discourse. Wolterstorff concludes, “Let citizens use whatever reasons they find appropriate—including, then, religious reasons” (1997, 112).71 Along with the non-liberal democrats and my own political vision, Wolterstorff would also insist on rethinking the tradition of our political culture so as to rescue political discourse from the distorted story of the Rawlsian liberals. He argues that “the liberal position is unacceptable in all its versions. It is unacceptable not because none of the extant versions happens to get all the details right, but unacceptable because no rationale offered for the restraint is cogent, and no independent source meets the demands” (1997, 81). The significant difference between Wolterstorff and my own project on the one hand, and the non-liberal democrats on the other, however, is that Wolterstorff joins me in truly recognizing the various strands of the liberal democratic tradition. While it is necessary to show the faults in the liberal position, Wolterstorff does not follow Wolin and Stout in abandoning the tradition of liberal political thought entirely. Instead, he is trying to show that

70 Weithman summarizes Wolterstorff‟s position: “Wolterstorff…thinks religious citizens and organizations should devote sustained attention to working out the implications of their religion for political questions. This allows those who want religiously integrated lives to make thoughtful contributions to public debate” (1997, 22). 71 As we saw with Stout, Wolterstorff is not removing all restrictions on the use of religious reasons in political discourse. He presents three restraints that remain. “In the first place, restraints are needed on the manner of discussion and debate in the public sphere…. The virtues of civility belong to the ethic of the citizen…. Second, the debates, except for extreme circumstances, are to be conducted and resolved in accord with the rules provided by the laws of the land and the provisions of the Constitution…. Third, there is a restraint on the overall goal of the debates and discussions. The goal is political justice, not the achievement of one‟s own interests” (1997, 112-13). And of course, there is the more pragmatic restraint as well. Wolterstorff writes, “Let religious people use what reasons they wish, and offer them to whomever they wish. Let non-religious people do so as well. Of course, if the religious person wants to persuade the non-religious person, or the person of another religion, of his position, he will have to do more than offer his own idiosyncratic religious reasons. But that is a requirement of strategy, not a requirement embodied in the ethic of the citizen in a liberal democracy” (1997, 164). Greenawalt also mentions reasons for restraint: “Liberal democrats should not promote illiberal outcomes or objectives; they should not try to prohibit behavior just because they believe it is wrong; they should assess programs in light of their capacities to serve secular objectives, not because they promote separable religious objectives” (1988, 203). And later, “If publicly accessible reasons decisively answer a question of fact or value, or limit the range of plausible answers, the good liberal citizen does not rely on particular religious premises to urge a political result that is at odds with the answer or range of answers that the publicly accessible reasons indicate to be sound” (1988, 207). Greenawalt adds even further limitations when discussing public discourse of citizens and legislators (1988, 215-43).

58 supporters of the liberal position are not being faithful to the foundational elements of their own professed tradition. He writes, “Let me make clear that it is not the Idea of liberal democracy that I oppose; to the contrary, I firmly embrace it. What I oppose is the liberal position: the thesis that the role of citizen in a liberal democracy includes a restraint on the use of reasons, derived from one‟s religion, for one‟s decisions and discussions on political issues” (1997, 81). In another essay, he writes, “I regard liberal democracy as…a pearl of great price—I am talking now about the political structure of liberal democracy, not about any of the various theories about that structure” (2008b, 678). He goes on to note the central convictions of political liberalism, all of which are vital to the success of democracy. Finally, he closes his work on Locke with these words: “„Liberal‟ politics has fallen on bad days recently. But to its animating vision of a society in which persons of diverse traditions live together in justice and friendship, conversing with each other and slowly altering their traditions in response to their conversation—to that, there is no viable alternative” (1996, 246). This attempt to rescue liberal democracy, while remaining firm in the criticism of the liberal position, is the central concern of my own attempt to reclaim Locke for the political participation that Wolterstorff, Wolin, Stout, and I value. In order to reclaim Locke, though, my project must take an important step beyond Wolterstorff‟s presentation of liberal democracy, as we will now see through his discussion of the role of Locke in the tradition of liberal political thought.

5.2 Wolterstorff’s Non-Lockean Liberal Story While the previous paragraphs have highlighted the remarkable similarity between my own project and the vision of liberal democratic politics espoused by Wolterstorff, one considerable difference between our two interpretations of liberal democracy remains. This difference is centered on the role that the work of Locke can play in the attempt to reclaim the tradition of liberal political thought. For Wolterstorff, Locke presents “the most influential of the traditional versions” of the liberal position, meaning that much of Locke‟s own work must be abandoned in order to reclaim the true foundations of liberal political thought (1997, 81). My own project seeks to show that this interpretation of Locke is just as distorted as the story being told by the Rawlsian liberals. Because I see a comprehensive appreciation of the work of Locke as vital to a historically and philosophically grounded position that promotes full and free political participation in a society marked by liberal democracy—a tradition undeniably

59 influenced by Locke—it is important to understand Wolterstorff‟s reasons for interpreting Locke as a supporter of the liberal position. Wolterstorff begins his discussion of Locke by claiming that the great liberal thinker did not “explicitly” make the distinction between using religious reasons in private decision making and using such reasons in public discourse. “His attention,” Wolterstorff writes, “was focused entirely on the proper basis for the formation of political convictions; it never occurred to him that anything different, or even additional, had to be said about reasons that one offers in the public space” (1997, 82). How, then, did Locke understand the use of religious reasons in reaching political conclusions in private? For Wolterstorff, the answer to this question is located entirely in Locke‟s epistemology. For Locke, according to Wolterstorff, the issue at hand was entitled belief. To be entitled to a particular belief meant that one did one‟s best at performing what Wolterstorff calls “the optimal practice of inquiry.” He continues, “Locke sometimes describes this (supposedly) optimal practice as „listening to the voice of Reason.‟ At other times he describes it as „getting to the things themselves.‟ The point of the latter formulation is that, by employing the practice, one gets to the things themselves instead of resting content with what people tell one about the things. One circumvents tradition” (1997, 84). In this reading of Locke, therefore, only when one discovers reasons for one‟s beliefs that are grounded in the independent source of reason, as opposed to traditions of all sorts, can one be entitled to hold those beliefs. This optimal practice was required not only in political matters, according to this interpretation of Locke. It was also required in matters of morality and religion, with Locke, therefore, trying to reach a rational morality and a rational religion. Wolterstorff claims, “Rather than appealing to the moral and religious traditions into which we have been inducted, it is our obligation, by employing the optimal practice, to appeal solely to the deliverances of our generic human nature applied directly to the things themselves” (1997, 85). This understanding of Locke‟s moral epistemology leads directly to Wolterstorff‟s conclusion that Locke is supporting the liberal position: “It follows that, when deciding and discussing political matters, we are not entitled to appeal to our own particular religious tradition. It would be wrong to do so” (1997, 86). The only way in which religious reasons can be used in reaching political conclusions would be if those reasons were based on beliefs that one is entitled to profess through the means of the optimal practice, that is, only if those reasons were fully rational (1997, 86). If religious

60 reasons are not based on beliefs one is entitled to hold, then they should not only be avoided in public political discussion; they should not be held at all (1997, 86). With this interpretation of Locke‟s epistemology, Wolterstorff‟s conclusion is expected: “Elegant and admirable though it be, Locke‟s version of the liberal position will not do— fundamentally because its underlying epistemology, though admirably articulated, is nonetheless untenable. Since almost no one today would contest that claim, my critique will be brief” (1997, 87). Wolterstorff offers three arguments against Locke‟s epistemology. First, he argues that Reformed epistemology offers a “decisive” attack against Locke‟s claim that one must hold religious beliefs for particular reasons in order to be entitled to them (1997, 87). Second, he notes that Locke‟s independent source—generic human reason—simply cannot give us the types of beliefs necessary to solve the moral and political issues that we face. Despite being repeatedly asked to present his own rational system of moral truths, Locke himself said that he was not able to complete the task. For Wolterstorff, “There is no evidence, in my judgment, that that concession was based on doubts about the possibility of the project. He simply thought that, elderly as he then was, he wasn‟t „up to‟ it” (1997, 88). Third, Wolterstorff argues that Locke himself contradicted the claim that we can approach moral issues as generic human beings. Our moral and religious traditions do shape the way in which we perceive our experiences in this world. These traditions, according to Wolterstorff, “become components of ourselves as belief- forming agents…. We live inside our traditions, not alongside” (1997, 89). This again shows that Locke‟s argument for generic human reason as an independent source that can be used to reach moral and political beliefs to which one is entitled is unjustified.

5.3 Critique of Wolterstorff Wolterstorff‟s vision of political participation is one that I fully endorse. I also support his attempt to ground this vision in the tradition of liberal political thought, rather than succumbing to the pressure to divorce his own views from liberalism. By doing so, Wolterstorff is offering an argument that is more soundly grounded, both historically and philosophically, in the tradition of our political culture than the arguments given by Wolin and Stout. The primary problem with Wolterstorff‟s attempt to reclaim the liberal tradition from the supporters of the liberal position, in my opinion, is that he does not reclaim Locke from the liberal position. And recognizing Locke‟s extreme significance to the liberal tradition itself, it seems odd to maintain a

61 commitment to liberalism without being able to accept Locke as a strong guide in grasping the fundamental aspects of liberal thought. In other words, Wolterstorff runs into the same problem that Stout faced. How can one emphasize the importance of the tradition of our political culture, while placing one of the most influential thinkers of this culture on the curb in one‟s own version of the story of American political identity? The thrust of the following chapters, therefore, will be to continue where Wolterstorff leaves off. Instead of reclaiming a non-Lockean form of liberal democracy, I reclaim Locke himself as fundamental in grounding the vision of political participation that I share with Stout, Wolterstorff, and others, thereby offering the position that remains most faithful, both historically and philosophically, to the tradition of our political culture. I argue that Locke does not offer the epistemological restraints that Wolterstorff presents in his discussion of Locke. Indeed, Wolterstorff falls prey to the trap that catches most interpreters of Locke: he is overly narrow and selective when approaching the corpus of Locke‟s work. Instead of focusing only on the Essay, I present a more comprehensive interpretation of Locke‟s thought that will call into question Wolterstorff‟s basic criticism of the Lockean position and will reclaim Locke as the founder of a version of liberal democracy that values the role that religious reasons can play in the political discourse of liberal democratic states.

CHAPTER TWO LOCKE‟S EARLY POLITICAL VISION: ARGUMENTS AGAINST RELIGIOUS TOLERATION

1. Introduction As discussed in the introduction to this project, many readers interested in Locke‟s political thought have a tendency to restrict themselves to the Two Treatises. They emphasize Locke‟s defense of popular consent in the foundation of government and the importance of private property. They find in this work a trend toward homogenized individuality that would preclude the type of political participation that I wish to promote. In some respects, these thinkers are correct. The Treatises do not include explicit support for viewing Locke as providing an important groundwork for a liberal inclusion of religious forms of reasoning in the public sphere. Fortunately for my project, Locke composed many works before and after the Treatises that offer a more comprehensive understanding of political life. In order to discover the implications of Locke‟s political vision for the presence of religious forms of reasoning in public discourse, I find it most helpful to begin not with the Treatises, but with his thoughts on religious toleration. There are three reasons for my choice to begin with this aspect of Locke‟s thought. First, the issue of religious toleration is the explicit focus of several of Locke‟s works that span the entirety of his career as a political thinker. In other words, Locke was concerned with religious toleration from his earliest writings in the 1660s to the famous letters on the topic in the 1680s and „90s. Despite the longevity of religious toleration as a central concern in Locke‟s political writings, some may argue that the issue is not central to what they see as his most important contribution to political thought, the Treatises. While it is true that the Treatises seem more concerned with the issues of the source of political power, limited government, and private property, one cannot convincingly argue that the issue of religious toleration is unrelated to these aspects of political thought in the mind of Locke. As will be seen, Locke‟s mature understanding of the proper function of government in relation to the rights of individual citizens was developed in the debates about religious toleration that consumed Restoration England during Locke‟s early years as a political thinker. Without

Locke‟s involvement in these debates, it can be argued that he never would have reached his position on limited government that became so influential for later liberal democracies. The second reason why I think it helpful to begin with Locke‟s views on religious toleration is because of the centrality of this issue for liberal democracy and for the political vision that is the concern of this project. As for the former, no matter how one views the relationship between religious belief and public discourse, one cannot deny that religious liberty, particularly the toleration for competing religious beliefs and practices, is one of the fundamental principles of liberal democracy.1 Turning to the primary focus of this project, one‟s position on the toleration of competing religious beliefs and practices determines whether or not one is able to consider the inclusion of competing religious arguments in the public sphere. In other words, only if one supports basic religious toleration can one begin to discuss the appropriateness of competing religious voices in political discourse. If one is opposed to religious toleration, then one is forced to promote either a vision of political discourse that is devoid of religious reasons altogether—as the more extreme Rawlsian liberals do—or a form of civic discussion that is monopolized by one particular system of religious beliefs to the absolute exclusion of all competing religious voices, a position that could not be supported by anyone wishing to qualify as a proponent of liberal democracy. With either position, the inclusion of diverse religious reasons in political discourse—the key mark of the political vision that this project defends and promotes—cannot even become a topic for discussion. For this reason, it is necessary to fully understand Locke‟s arguments concerning religious toleration, focusing especially both on the way in which he conceives of a society in which a diversity of religious groups freely believe in and practice their own distinct religious commitments, as well as the relationship of these groups to the state. Throughout this discussion, we must be constantly asking how these thoughts on religious diversity and liberty may be the first necessary condition for the possibility of a more robust view of the relationship between religion and the life of politics, a view that encourages the use of religious arguments in the public sphere. The third benefit to be gained from beginning with Locke‟s views on religious toleration is the ability to see the most anti-liberal phase of Locke‟s political thought, as well as the

1 It is of course true that there can be many degrees of toleration. Locke‟s own limitations in his toleration of Catholics and atheists will be discussed throughout the following exposition of Locke‟s writings on the subject. And while the Rawlsian liberal may wholeheartedly support the toleration of competing religious beliefs and practices, he may limit this toleration to the private lives of individuals, or else place restrictions on how these competing beliefs and practices can explicitly influence one‟s public life.

64 dramatic shift that occurred in the 1660s. As will be clear in the biographical sketch that follows, Locke‟s earliest views on the role of government were centered on the issue of religious toleration. Sounding more like Hobbes than the mature Locke remembered as the father of political liberalism, Locke‟s early political writings on religious toleration present a strong defense of the right of the civil magistrate to oblige citizens in nearly all areas of life, including religious beliefs and practices not explicitly commanded by God.2 A close reading of these early writings offers insight into the types of arguments against religious toleration and individual liberty that Locke found convincing in the early 1660s. In fact, it was these same arguments that Locke most forcefully attempted to defeat as his own political views underwent a significant change in the middle of the 1660s. Still wrestling with the issue of religious toleration, Locke soon emerged as the liberal alternative to his own earlier views that were so reminiscent of Hobbes. Beginning with religious toleration, therefore, not only sets the stage for Locke‟s later political writings and serves as the necessary first step in discussing the inclusion of competing religious voices in political discourse; it also lays the groundwork for presenting a more comprehensive vision of the entirety of Locke‟s political thought, beginning with his most anti- liberal moments in his early discussion of religious toleration.

2. The Religious “Storm” of Locke‟s Early Years It is no secret that Locke‟s Letter Concerning Toleration forever changed the landscape of religious toleration. While Locke himself refrained from following his premises to more far- reaching conclusions, his thoughts concerning those with religious beliefs that dissented from the established doctrines in his own society greatly impacted all subsequent discussions of religious freedom, including those discussions that paved the way for the religious freedom that was central in the formation and understanding of the liberty owed to citizens in the United States. While the theoretical ideal has not always emerged in the concrete practices of the American society, Locke‟s influence was vital for the way in which the ideal was constructed and the more and less successful ways in which this ideal has been continually implemented. As a result, for those willing to move beyond the Treatises in discussing Locke‟s thought on the relationship between religion and politics, engagement with his views in the Letter makes perfect sense.

2 As Ashcraft notes, “These early writings show that Locke was not always a „Lockean‟ with respect to his political theory” (1987, 5).

Nevertheless, as discussed above, this engagement would still restrict us in discovering the comprehensive vision of Locke, which is the approach of this project. In order to achieve this vision, we must engage with the entirety of Locke‟s ideas concerning religious toleration, particularly because not all of Locke‟s writings on religious toleration present the liberal position on the topic that would shape the future of liberal democratic societies. Therefore, before discussing Locke‟s mature views on religious toleration found in the Letter, it is necessary to understand the path that he took to reach these views, beginning with the events of his early life, which led to his Two Tracts on Government, written in the early 1660s. Locke was involved with the question of religious toleration from the day of his birth, on which he was christened by Dr. Samuel Crook, whom Maurice Cranston describes as “both a wayward and a wilful servant of the Church of England” (1957, 1). The waywardness of Crook was based on his standing as a Calvinist-leaning Puritan priest of the Anglican Church, a religious mixture that was quite unpopular with the hierarchy of the Church, but one that was shared by both sides of Locke‟s family (1957, 3).3 Crook‟s own bishop “was opposed to Puritans like Dr. Crook because they sought to overthrow the traditions of worship, faith and ritual in favour of the Calvinistic nostrum of sermons, personal conversion, ecclesiastical democracy and Old Testament taboo” (1957, 1). This opposition from the hierarchy of the Church against Puritans was a central, although not the only, part of the overall conflict brewing in England in the 1630s. And according to Cranston, the county in which Locke was born, Somerset, was very much divided over the religious, economic, and political conflicts of the day.4 Cranston writes that “as the country was divided, so too was Somerset, a county which,

3 Ashcraft writes, “[Locke] was brought up in a family—perhaps even in a tradition, if one includes his grandparents—with Puritan sympathies” (1986, 77). John Marshall notes Locke‟s Calvinist upbringing before discussing what this would mean for his family‟s position on religious toleration: “Like almost all of those with presbyterian sympathies up to the Restoration, his family very probably did not believe in the significant but still very limited degree of religious toleration that was supported by such sects as Independents…. Locke‟s family and their friends probably instead believed with most presbyterians that there should be one uniform church in the nation, with the devolution of some disciplinary powers from bishops to presbyters and significant revisions of the liturgy to reduce the similarities to Roman Catholic forms of worship which had been retained during the sixteenth- century English Reformation” (1994, 3). 4 Consistent with the overall thrust of this project, I believe it is important to avoid radically separating the religious from the economic and/or political aspects of the conflict that becomes the English Civil War. Nevertheless, it is possible to speak of struggles that were more political and/or economic than religious, such as the battle over Charles‟s desire to issue the Ship Money tax. For a discussion of this tax, including the significance of Charles‟s attempting to do so without summoning Parliament and the importance of this tax for the magistrates of Locke‟s county of Somerset, see Cranston 1957, 15-16. For a struggle that was more religious than political and/or economic, see Cranston‟s discussion of recreation on Sundays (1957, 10-12). While the Puritans insisted on keeping the Sabbath set apart from recreation, many in the hierarchy of the Church—including Crook and the Archbishop of

66 perhaps more than any other, was a microcosm of England. Civil War, when Locke was born, was still ten years in the future; but the forces which were sweeping Englishmen towards it were already in full tide” (1957, 3). Cranston notes Locke‟s own perspective on his early years: “I no sooner perceived myself in the world but I found myself in a storm,” a significant part of which was focused on the question of religious pluralism and toleration (1660-61/1997, 7; see Cranston 1957, 3). The storm became war in 1640 when Parliament was finally summoned, only to challenge the authority of King Charles, beginning the Civil War. Locke‟s father fought on the side of the Parliamentary Army for several years, experiencing more defeat than victory. By the time the Parliamentary Army was ultimately victorious, however, the elder Locke was no longer in active service. The next move for Locke himself was to Westminster School, where events continued to shape his developing understanding of religious pluralism and the issue of religious toleration. “The atmosphere of the school,” according to Cranston, “was decidedly Royalist,” thanks to the political leanings of its Master. This differed quite strongly from the “zealously Puritan home” in which Locke was raised. Cranston claims that “the political atmosphere of the school was both disturbing and compelling.” While it did not convert Locke to “a conventional Royalist,” it did “purge Locke of the unquestioning Puritan faith in which he had grown up.” Because of his insistence on giving reasons for one‟s convictions rather than blindly following what Locke would later call religious enthusiasm, Cranston gives credit to the Royalist Master of Westminster, Dr. Richard Busby, “for having first set Locke on the road to liberalism” (1957, 19-20).5 It was during his second year at Westminster that King Charles was beheaded near Locke‟s school. Busby made the students pray for the King‟s soul just hours before the execution (1957, 20; see also Laslett 1988, 17; Marshall 1994, 4).

Canterbury, William Laud—argued that such Puritan restrictions were unnecessary. Again, however, this seemingly religious conflict cannot be totally divorced from the political. When the Puritans in Somerset wanted to uphold Sabbatarian restrictions, they went not to the Church but to the judiciary. The latter‟s decision in agreement with the Puritans further angered the Bishop of Bath and Wells—who oversaw the churches of Somerset—because of “the usurpation by the judiciary of ecclesiastical authority” (1957, 11). This is a clear example of the intertwining nature of religion and politics in seventeenth-century England, an intertwining that not surprisingly—although not always acknowledged—is found in the works of Locke. 5 Marshall notes, “In Westminster School Locke may have begun to separate himself intellectually from his Calvinist upbringing.” Like Cranston, Marshall attributes this to Busby, who, Marshall notes, “was a staunch Anglican, proudly declaring in his will that he had always „lived in the communion of the Church of England,‟ and later boasting of the number of Restoration bishops that he had educated and for whom he had maintained Anglican devotions” (1994, 5).

After excelling in his studies, and having the right kind of political influence, Locke received a scholarship to Christ Church, Oxford in May 1652. Oxford was yet another environment embroiled in the debates over religion and politics, particularly the questions surrounding religious pluralism and toleration. Cranston writes, “Oxford had been staunchly and generously Royalist in the Civil War…. From the autumn of 1642 until the spring of 1646, Oxford was the King‟s headquarters, Christ Church housing his Court, and Merton the Queen‟s Court. Then in the summer of 1646 Oxford had fallen to the Parliamentary Army.” Quoting Mallet, Cranston continues, “„The University, its youth and treasure spent, its courts forsaken,‟ was „face to face with the authority whose power it had defied‟” (1957, 30). While many Puritans wished to shut down the universities, Parliament chose instead to introduce Puritan reform. A rigorous schedule of preaching replaced the rituals of the Church. In Locke‟s day, Cranston notes, Oxford students would have been expected to hear and remember two sermons a day (1957, 31). Marshall adds that students were also required to “give an account of these [sermons] every Sunday to a person of „known ability and piety.‟” Locke furthermore was required to pray with his tutor, Thomas Cole, every night (Marshall 1994, 6). Therefore, Locke‟s move from Westminster to Christ Church was not only a shift in academic environments; it was also a dramatic change in religious and political atmospheres. This change had direct impact on the life of Locke. Cranston notes, “It was in June 1653 that the Parliamentary Visitors instructed all college tutors to draw up lists of the undergraduates committed to their charge, and Heads to dismiss those who were not good Puritans.” Locke passed the test of faith; as Cranston notes, however, this may not be seen as “evidence of the state of his faith.” Instead, John Owen, Vice- Chancellor of Oxford, did not desire to get involved in the private religious beliefs and practices of his students. As a result, Owen “certified them all as being everything they should be” (1957, 34). As this story suggests, Owen‟s views on religious belief and practice displayed a degree of toleration that was not widely held in the Interregnum and early Restoration debates.6 In fact, Owen may have been Locke‟s first exposure to the views on religious toleration that would mark the latter‟s own mature thought. While the student did not accept the teacher‟s position at this

6 While Locke‟s childhood would have brought a degree of familiarity to the Puritan atmosphere of Oxford despite his years at Westminster, Marshall is right to note the differences between the presbyterian Puritanism of Locke‟s family and the Independent Puritanism of Owen. The latter was “much more inclined to toleration outside of a uniform national church…than to the presbyterian ideal of a national church with a uniform liturgy and effective discipline” (1994, 5).

68 point in his life, Cranston is surely correct to note that Owen‟s political philosophy “strikes the modern reader as being in many ways „Lockean.‟” Cranston continues, Though [Owen] once said that he never knew anyone “contend earnestly for a toleration of dissenters who was not one himself,” Owen did so contend. He was of Cromwell‟s Independent sect, and had nothing to gain from the toleration of others. He based his case, in the approved Calvinist way, on the Bible, and he claimed that there was no authority in its pages for the belief, which Calvinists shared with Catholics and Anglicans, that heretics should be repressed. Owen maintained that all men should be free to think and worship as they pleased so long as their faith did not lead them to disturb peace and order. The duty of the Government, he said, was to maintain order and not to impose religion [1957, 41]. Locke, for his part, was less willing to accept the beliefs and practices of the dissenters. Raised with Puritan leanings, Locke was skeptical of the dependence on tradition seen in the Royalist Anglicans. After the defeat of the Royalists and his arrival at the Puritan atmosphere at Oxford, however, Locke‟s studies at Christ Church made him take stronger notice of the dangers of enthusiasm, a trait shared, in his mind, by most Puritans and dissenters (1957, 40). While Locke maintained his skepticism of tradition for tradition‟s sake, in the days of the Commonwealth it was enthusiasm that seemed most threatening to the empirical science that was occupying Locke‟s mind at Oxford. Enthusiasts did not present rational arguments for their convictions, making them dangerous to stability. Rather than joining Owen in believing that dissenters could hold private beliefs and engage in private practices without disturbing peace and order, Locke became increasingly concerned about religious enthusiasts of all sorts (1957, 41-42). In a 1659 letter, Locke wrote from Oxford, “We are all Quakers here and there is not a man but thinks he alone hath this light within and all besides stumble in the darke” (Corr. 81, i. 122; see Cranston 1957, 43).7 Cranston comments, “In the same letter Locke wrote bitterly of „fancy‟ as „the great commander of the world‟ and of „passion‟ being everywhere mistaken for reason.”8 Continuing his description of the religious enthusiasts that dominated the offices of Oxford, Locke came to the conclusion that “since tis not agreed where and what reason is, let us content ourselves with the most beautiful and usefull opinions” (Corr. 81, i. 122; see Cranston 1957, 44).

7 When discussing letters written to or from Locke, I cite the letter number, as well as the volume and page where the letter can be found in the eight-volume Correspondence of John Locke, edited by De Beer (see Locke 1976-89). I also refer to a secondary source whenever such a work prompted my interest in a particular letter, although I follow the Correspondence when providing the text. 8 In the letter, Locke writes, “Tis Phansye that rules us all under the title of reason, this is the great guide both of the wise and the fooleish, only the former have the good lucke to light upon opinions that are most plausible or most advantageous…. Tis our passions that bruiteish part that dispose of our thoughts and actions” (Corr. 81, i. 122).

The concern only heightened when Owen was removed as Vice-Chancellor and Dean of Christ Church, in favor of more devoted Puritans, and when Cromwell died, leaving the country in a state of uncertainty. By this time, Locke‟s early skepticism of Anglican traditionalism had fully combined with his more recent distrust of religious enthusiasm. Writing of Locke‟s distrust of both sides in the religious debate of his day, Cranston notes, Letters which date from this period betray his uneasiness. Writing to his father in February 1658/9 Locke declared that the whole of mankind was untrustworthy. In another letter he confessed his complete despair of public affairs. He said he was neither frightened by the threats of danger and destruction which were made by one party nor persuaded by the promises of liberty and happiness the other side held out. In fact, he did not rely on anyone; but he added a pious declaration to the effect that he was fortified by a belief in God and in the life to come [1957, 43; see Corr. 43, i. 60-62; 59, i. 82-85]. When it became clear that war may be once again on his doorstep in 1659-60, Locke told his father that he had considered joining the fight, but, according to Cranston, “he did not know on which side to fight” (1957, 46; see Corr. 91, i. 136-37).9 His confusion, largely centered on the debates over religious beliefs and practices—and the toleration of dissenting beliefs—led to his conclusion, noted by Cranston: “Wisdom lay, Locke thought, in keeping clear of politics, and doing nothing” (1957, 46; see Corr. 91, i. 136-37). As was often the case in Locke‟s life, however, “keeping clear of politics” and “doing nothing” was not an accurate description of his actions. Consistent with later decisions, Locke engaged in the conflict of 1659-60 with a pen as his weapon of choice.10 In a letter written to

9 Cranston says the letter was written in December 1659; De Beer, however, places it c. January 9, 1660. 10 In the same letter to his father, Locke wrote, “Armes is the last and worst of refuges, and tis the great misery of this shattered and giddy nation that warrs have producd noething but warrs and the sword cut out worke for the sword” (Corr. 91, i. 136-37; see Cranston 1957, 46). Locke‟s hesitance to get involved with politics, therefore, seems mostly focused on the decision of whether or not to join the conflict through active military service. As will be seen, this hesitance did not carry over into the realm of political writing. Nevertheless, this does not mean that Locke believed political writing to be less significant, and possibly less dangerous, than physical force. In the preface to the First Tract, written just one year after this letter to his father, he remarks, “For having always professed myself an enemy to the scribbling of this age and often accused the pens of Englishmen of as much guilt as their swords, judging that the issue of blood from whence such an inundation hath flowed had scarce been opened, or at least not so long unstopped had men been more sparing of their ink, and that these furies, war, cruelty, rapine, confusing, etc., which have so wearied and wasted this poor nation have been conjured up in private studies and from thence sent abroad to disturb the quiet we enjoyed” (1660-61/1997, 5). His only consolation is that his words are meant to further the stability of society. He continues, “I hope I shall deserve no more blame than he that takes arms only to keep the peace and draws his sword in the same side with the magistrate, with a design to suppress, not begin a quarrel” (1660-61/1997, 6).

Henry Stubbe, the author of a pamphlet that defended religious toleration,11 Locke questioned Stubbe‟s insistence that the practice of toleration was practical. Specifically referring to the toleration of Catholics, Locke wrote, The only scruple I have is how the liberty you grant the Papists can consist with the security of the Nation (the end of government) since I cannot see how they can at the same time obey two different authoritys carrying a contrary intrest, espetially where that which is destructive to ours ith backd with an opinion of infalibility and holinesse supposd by them to be immediatly derivd from god founded in the scripture and their owne equally sacred tradition [Corr. 75, i. 111; see Cranston 1957, 45]. Cranston is certainly correct to note that Locke‟s position on religious toleration in 1659 was “extremely cautious” (1957, 45). While the idea of toleration was attractive, the worry over the practical possibilities that might follow its implementation as policy—possibilities, of course, which were surely shaped by the storm in which Locke found himself throughout his formative years—kept Locke from supporting the views of Owen and Stubbe.12 For this reason, Locke was pleased with the Restoration of 1660, the installment of Charles II as King of England. Cranston writes, “Locke had put all the doubts of the past behind him; in 1660 he was a whole-hearted monarchist” (1957, 57).13 Once again, Locke‟s rejoicing over the return of monarchy to England cannot be separated from the debates about religious toleration and the role of religious liberty in English civil life. The dangers of the dissenters and the supporters of religious toleration far outweighed any of Locke‟s earlier concerns about monarchical rule. Political order was vital to the survival of a nation, and this could only be achieved if the religious liberty demanded by the dissenters and Puritans was abolished by the return of the King. Throughout his early years, Locke was shaped by the religious and political debates that consumed England from the Civil War to the Interregnum to the Restoration. By 1660, many of the beliefs from his Puritan

11 Cranston notes that Stubbe‟s pamphlet “expressed views very similar to those of John Owen” (1957, 44), meaning that Locke would have been quite familiar with the general argument. J. W. Gough points out that Stubbe was not only a student at Westminster and Christ Church during Locke‟s time at these institutions; he was also a friend of Hobbes (1950, 176). Marshall adds that Stubbe based his defense of the necessity of toleration on the absence of a “shared infallible interpreter of Scripture” (1994, 5). 12 It is noteworthy that Locke‟s criticism of Stubbe was limited to the practicality of the implementation of religious toleration. His more theoretical arguments against the practice would not surface until his own writings on the subject in the early 1660s. According to Marshall, this does not necessarily mean that Locke had not already formulated these theoretical arguments. The “gently-phrased criticisms” of Stubbe, Marshall posits, may have been more the result of Stubbe‟s seniority at the college than of a general agreement about the desirability of religious toleration. Marshall adds that Locke had “a great ability to keep his own opinions secret throughout a college career spent largely in hostile intellectual environments” (1994, 7). 13 Locke was also a whole-hearted Anglican by the early 1660s. For a discussion of the forces leading Locke to full conformity with the Church of England, see Marshall 1994, 9-12.

71 upbringing had been abandoned due to his concerns about religious enthusiasm and the dangers that religious freedom held for political stability. Locke‟s convictions were finally strong enough to put his own thoughts on the matter into writing, producing two texts that appear anything but Lockean to the reader familiar only with Locke‟s mature views on political and religious thought.

3. Shelter from the Storm: Two Tracts on Government 3.1 Locke’s First Tract on Government During the year of the Restoration of Charles II, Locke had another occasion to dispute the argument for religious toleration—previously put forth by Owen and Stubbe—in a reply to a pamphlet written by Edward Bagshaw.14 What is now called Locke‟s First Tract on Government was written in September-December of 1660, with a preface added in 1661.15 In his pamphlet, The Great Question Concerning Things Indifferent in Religious Worship, Bagshaw offered familiar arguments for religious toleration. And not surprisingly, these arguments were both religious and political in nature. Locke‟s reply focuses on four lines of reasoning given by

14 I follow the new edition of Locke‟s Works in this spelling. When other writers, such as Cranston, add an “e” on the end of Bagshaw, however, I do not alter their original work. 15 In my discussion of the Two Tracts on Government, I use the text printed in Locke: Political Essays, edited by Goldie (1997). Goldie reproduces the text of the Two Tracts that is found in Abrams 1967. Abrams was the one to give these works the titles that have become standard in contemporary Locke scholarship. Before this time, the first tract was often known as “the English tract,” and is headed in MS Locke as “Question: Whether the Civil Magistrate may lawfully impose and determine the use of indifferent things in reference to Religious Worship.” In his brief remarks before the First Tract, Goldie notes that “Locke‟s colleagues urged him to publish his tract and he seriously considered doing so” (1997, 3). Gabriel Towerson wrote to Locke, “Mr. Bagshaw‟s booke is so well lik‟d…that it is probable it may passe a second impression; and you may perhaps doe God and the Church a peice of seasonable service if you would be pleas‟d to print your answer to it” (Corr. 115, i. 167; see Cranston 1957, 61). Locke even prepared the tract for publication, according to Cranston, adding the preface to the work (1957, 61; see also Goldie 1997, 3). The preface begins with Locke‟s decision to publish the tract: “This discourse which was written many months since, had not been more than written now but had still lain concealed in a secure privacy, had not importunity prevailed against my intentions, and forced it into the public” (1660-61/1997, 4). Part of Locke‟s hesitance in making the tract public was his concern that even the discussion of this sensitive topic would unsettle the peace and order just achieved by the Restoration. He worries that his own words may have the effect of “disturbing the beginnings of our happy settlement by engaging in a quarrel, and bandying a question which it would be well if it were quite forgotten, and hath been but too loudly disputed already” (1660-61/1997, 5). As it turns out, neither the reply to Bagshaw nor the Second Tract was published during Locke‟s lifetime. Cranston attributes this first to the fact that a reply to Bagshaw had already appeared before Locke‟s response was ready to be published. Second, Cranston notes that Bagshaw‟s “premature liberalism” was not as popular as Towerson believed, implying that the publication of Locke‟s remarks was no longer needed. By the time Locke finished the First Tract, Bagshaw had been expelled from Christ Church and was soon taken to prison (see Cranston 1957, 63-64). Similarly, Gough follows King in suggesting “that Locke refrained from publication when the scheme of comprehension with the Presbyterians broke down, and it became clear that the post-Restoration government was resolved to impose a rigidly Anglican uniformity” (Gough 1950, 177 n. 1).

Bagshaw, the first three of which depend explicitly on religious forms of reasoning. First, the pamphlet claimed that if Christian rulers were not allowed to impose religious beliefs and practices on Jews and Muslims—a position accepted by most citizens in seventeenth-century England—then they ought not to command such beliefs and practices for Christian dissenters. Second, Bagshaw argued that religious impositions were not consistent with the Christian message of salvation. Third, such impositions contradicted the practice of Jesus and the apostles. In all of these more explicitly religious arguments, Bagshaw followed other supporters of religious toleration in making a distinction between things commanded by God and matters “indifferent.” According to Goldie, “„Things indifferent‟ (also called „adiaphora‟) were those aspects of worship (or belief) which were held not to have been prescribed by God in Scripture, and hence could legitimately be varied or used permissively, or prescribed by the civil magistrate without injury to conscience; they stood in contrast to „things necessary‟ for salvation” (1997, 3- 4). Bagshaw favored the first of these two options concerning things indifferent, namely, that those beliefs and actions not directly commanded by God in Scripture were not of concern to the state, and should be believed or performed at an individual‟s own discretion. As Cranston summarizes, “Bagshawe argued that the state (or „civil magistrate‟) had a right to enforce whatever God commanded; but in matters where the commands of God were not specific, in matters „indifferent,‟ the civil magistrate should leave men alone to follow their own lights” (1957, 60). Finally, Bagshaw‟s fourth, and more directly political, argument was that religious impositions of things indifferent were, according to Goldie, “politically and socially imprudent” (1997, 4). Before disputing each of these arguments, Locke makes some significant general remarks on the state of political order and personal liberty. Cranston is surely correct to note the Hobbesian tone of Locke‟s political philosophy in these remarks (1957, 61). Rather than being the champion of liberalism that we most often recall, specifically from the Two Treatises and the Letters Concerning Toleration, Locke appears in his First Tract to be in perfect agreement with the anti-liberal, authoritarian sentiments of Hobbes‟s Leviathan.16 For Hobbes, natural liberty

16 According to Cranston, Locke never did acknowledge a debt to Hobbes‟s Leviathan, which was published ten years before Locke considered publishing his own anti-liberal views (see Cranston 1957, 61-62). Similarities, however, are evident. Goldie notes that Locke‟s reasoning mirrors that of Hobbes‟s, “for Leviathan was a deliberate reductio of the adiaphorist position, in that what is jure humano almost entirely occludes what is jure divino” (Goldie 1997, xviii; see also Gough 1950, 180-81). Higgins-Biddle notes the similarity in Locke‟s argument that “divisive sectarian interests,” particularly those framed in religious terms, are reasons for fear (1999a, lxxx).

73 must be limited for the sake of peace and order. Only when individuals unite as citizens of a society can the fear of death be transformed into an expectation for justice. This occurs when the members of society choose to obey the authority of a common power, which can then make laws that will restrain the “naturall Passions of men…by feare of punishment.” Without these laws, individuals are left only with the fear of death that marks the state of nature, “the miserable condition of Warre.” Hobbes continues, “The only way to erect such a Common Power…is, to conferre all their power and strength upon one Man, or upon one Assembly of men, that may reduce all their Wills, by plurality of voices, unto one Will” (see Leviathan XIII-XIV, XVI; 1651/1996, 86-100, 117-121). Locke‟s introductory remarks to the First Tract echo Hobbes‟s concern to find social and political stability through the authority of a common power. Thinking specifically of those seeking a greater degree of freedom—a shift, in Hobbes‟s terms, in the direction of the state of nature—Locke speaks of the loss of peace and order as a “scourge” that is often the result of a “plea…[for] liberty” (1660-61/1997, 6). Freedom to satisfy one‟s own desires is viewed by Locke as an unrealistic wish that cannot be realized in this world without the forfeiture of any hope for peace and justice. In words that could be easily attributed to Hobbes, Locke speaks of the “blessing” of the Restoration and the obligations of citizens: All the remedy that can be found is when the prince makes the good of the people the measure of his injunctions and the people without examining the reasons, pay a ready and entire obedience, and both of these founded on a mutual confidence each of [the] other, which is the greatest security and happiness of any people, and a blessing, if ever, to expect now, and to be found amongst those many miracles that have restored (and we hope will continue) his majesty to us [1660-61/1997, 6]. Locke‟s mature thoughts on religious toleration are nowhere to be found in this early paper.17 Instead, Locke is relieved to welcome back an authority that can bring stability to society.18 And

Nevertheless, he also seems unconvinced by the claim made by Cranston and others that passages in the Two Tracts were “cribbed” from Hobbes‟s work (1999a, lxxxiii-lxxxiv). Laslett contends, “Hobbist notions were in the air: Locke must have absorbed them, more perhaps from the attacks on them than from direct acquaintance” (1988, 21). Laslett credits Von Leyden for this position, also noting Abrams‟s claim that many lines from Locke that appear influenced by Hobbes could quite easily have been influenced by a number of other works “known to have been in Locke‟s mind” (1988, 21 n). 17 Cranston notes the radical differences, arguing that many Locke interpreters were unaware of the shift in Locke‟s thought. He argues (in 1957, before the Two Tracts appeared in print) that Locke‟s early writings on religious toleration would “astonish those who know Locke only for his mature views on Toleration and are familiar only with the story of his intellectual development put forward by previous biographers.” For example, according to Cranston, “Fox Bourne believed that Locke was a liberal in 1660 no less than in 1688.” Indeed, Cranston notes the

74 like Hobbes, Locke argues that “it is yet the unalterable condition of society and government that every particular man must unavoidably part with this right to his liberty and entrust the magistrate with as full a power over all his actions as he himself hath.”19 Social order can only exist when every individual surrenders his freedom to the magistrate, becoming obligated to submit to the commands of the ruler (1660-61/1997, 11).20 This is precisely what has happened, according to Locke, with the blessing of the Restoration. The instability of the Interregnum has been replaced with the order that is found when citizens consent to “dispose of [their] liberty and obey another” (1660-61/1997, 11).21 In fact, as mentioned earlier, it is in this reply to Bagshaw

early biographer‟s claim that by the early 1660s Locke “had already arrived at convictions in political science from which he never greatly swerved” (Bourne 1876, I: 147; see Cranston 1957, 59, where “convictions” is mistakenly copied “conclusions”). While Gough acknowledges that Locke restricted the power of government in later years, he also claims that by 1660, Locke “had already formulated some of the basic principles of his political theory” (1950, 179). Ashcraft sides with Cranston by writing, “The evidence suggests that in the early 1660s Locke was not very sure of who he was or what role he could expect to play in society” (1987, 14-15). In another work, Ashcraft notes that Locke‟s early writings “make it clear that a considerable number of what we would recognize as core elements of Locke‟s political thought are absent from any of his political writings prior to 1667” (1986, 75). My own position is somewhere between these two extremes. With Bourne and Gough, I believe that Locke‟s emphasis on government‟s role of maintaining peace and social order, as well as the limitations that follow from this purpose of the state, provides the general framework for the Two Tracts as for later works. Nevertheless, Cranston and Ashcraft are right in seeing significant shifts in the ways in which this understanding of government manifests itself in the political life of citizens, particularly with regard to the intersection of this political life with religious life. The issue of religious toleration provides as clear of a specific example as any. As Marshall notes, “In the early 1660s…Locke was an unequivocal opponent of religious toleration,” but by the 1690s, Locke was “the leading theoretician in England of religious toleration” (1994, xv). The change that Locke underwent in this specific manifestation of his more general understanding of the purpose and limitations of government cannot be denied. Therefore, while the specifics undergo drastic change, the foundational belief that the state ought to work for social stability without overstepping its divinely appointed boundaries remains constant throughout Locke‟s political career. 18 Higgins-Biddle rightly notes that Locke‟s desire for peace is the overarching concern of the First Tract, as opposed to the “complete formulation or justification of a political system.” He continues, “Locke‟s desire for obedience to the Government seems to have rested not on any ideological agreement with the political nature of the Restoration Settlement, but rather on the hope that it would bring peace in place of the recent disorders” (1999a, lxxxi). While I agree that pragmatic concerns dominate Locke‟s thought in the Two Tracts, I also believe that Locke is offering a variety of arguments based on principles that he values in Restoration theological and political thought. Ashcraft argues, “Locke‟s opposition to toleration is not merely circumstantial, but goes to the substantive core of the debate over toleration” (1986, 90 n. 65). 19 Laslett emphasizes this aspect of the Two Tracts in highlighting the shift from these works to Locke‟s mature thought: “[In the Two Tracts] we would seem to be faced with a clean break with his heritage and a vivid contrast with his final reputation…. He insists that each and every individual grants his whole liberty to the supreme legislative power, which is a necessary mark of all civil society” (1988, 19-20). 20 Locke finds this same structure of political order in various forms of government. He writes, “Nor do men, as some fondly conceive, enjoy any greater share of this freedom in a pure commonwealth, if [such is] anywhere to be found, than in an absolute monarchy, the same arbitrary power being there in the assembly (which acts like one person) as in a monarch” (1660-61/1997, 11). All that matters is that there is a magistrate to which citizens must surrender their liberty. In a footnote, Locke adds, “By magistrate I understand the supreme legislative power of any society, not considering the form of government or number of persons where it is placed” (1660-61/1997, 11 n. 4). 21 Laslett notes, “[The magistrate‟s] decisions bind the conscience of everyone, though they may not reach what he defines as his judgement and in case of conflict there is no remedy but passive obedience” (1988, 20).

75 that Locke writes of the storm of his early life, which has now been replaced by the calm of the Restoration: As for myself, there is no one [that] can have a greater respect and veneration for authority than I. I no sooner perceived myself in the world but I found myself in a storm, which has lasted almost hitherto, and therefore cannot but entertain the approaches of a calm with the greatest joy and satisfaction; and this methinks obliges me, both in duty and gratitude to be chary of such a blessing, and to do what lies in me to endeavour its continuance, by disposing men‟s minds to obedience to that government which hath brought with it the quiet and settlement which our own giddy folly had put beyond the reach, not only of our contrivance, but hopes [1660-61/1997, 7]. And once again, this discussion of political stability and authority is intertwined with the question of religious toleration. He continues, “And I would men would be persuaded to be so kind to their religion, their country and themselves as not to hazard again the substantial blessings of peace and settlement in an over-zealous contention about things, which they themselves confess to be little and at most are but indifferent” (1660-61/1997, 7).22 Locke‟s fear of religious enthusiasm that had been brewing at least since his first days at Oxford was now in full force.23 While he claims that his “love of liberty” is not less than his “submission…for authority,” Locke is convinced that “general freedom is but a general bondage,” particularly when this freedom would “turn us loose to the tyranny of a religious rage” (1660-61/1997, 7). The liberty to choose between religious matters such as “meats and habits,…places and times of worship” would result only in “hatred and quarrels amongst us” (1660-61/1997, 8). As Higgins-Biddle notes, “Experience had convinced [Locke] that order and peace could not be achieved by toleration” (1999a, lxxxi). Liberty must be constrained by the proper amount of authority. Higgins-Biddle continues, “Locke concluded that the safest means to social peace and welfare lay in the determination of indifferent practices by the civil magistrate” (1999a, lxxxii; see also Laslett 1988, 19). “All the freedom I can wish my country or myself,” Locke writes, “is to enjoy the protection of those laws which the prudence and

22 Higgins-Biddle once again makes clear the practical concern of Locke in the Two Tracts, arguing, “The authoritarian character of these two tracts is not founded upon a complete formulation or justification of a political system. Locke‟s desire for obedience to the Government seems to have rested not on any ideological agreement with the political nature of the Restoration Settlement, but rather on the hope that it would bring peace in place of the recent disorders” (1999a, lxxxi). 23 While Locke‟s opposition to religious enthusiasm was evidence of his conformity to Anglicanism, his childhood distrust of rigid traditionalism kept him from supporting the “clerical re-establishment of the Anglican church” that Marshall ascribes to Sanderson. This combination of “the hostility to the puritan case for liberty [that filled the works of those opposed to toleration]…with a formidable anticlericalism that was [Locke‟s] own personal sentiment” placed Locke as a more moderate critic of toleration (see Marshall 1994, 13).

76 providence of our ancestors established and the happy return of his majesty hath restored,” laws that demand the “acknowledgement, that we were not only the happiest state but the purest church of the latter age” (1660-61/1997, 8). The defense of these laws is the purpose for Locke‟s reply, a defense that he believes is not only vital for the political stability of Restoration England, but one that is also required by God. He argues that “obedience to the civil magistrate in all things indifferent” is an obedience that “God in his infinite wisdom hath made necessary and therefore not left free” (1660-61/1997, 9). Freedom in things indifferent not only threatens the stability of the social order; it threatens one‟s own efforts at following the command of God. Instead of showing concern with “whether the magistrate‟s crown drops down on his head immediately from heaven or be placed there by the hands of his subjects,” Locke is focused on proving that the “supreme magistrate of every nation, what way so ever created, must necessarily have an absolute and arbitrary power over all the indifferent actions of his people” (1660- 61/1997, 9). Whatever the relationship between God and the magistrate, Locke‟s practical political philosophy insists that “whilst there is society, government and order in the world, rulers still must have the power of all things indifferent” (1660-61/1997, 10). This conclusion simply follows from his earlier argument that living in an ordered society requires that one relinquish one‟s liberty, making it “lawful for the magistrate to command whatever it is lawful for any subject to do” (1660-61/1997, 12).24 If holding certain religious beliefs or engaging in particular religious practices does not violate law—and if holding contrary beliefs or engaging in contrary practices is not expressly commanded by God—then it is a magistrate‟s right to impose such indifferent beliefs and practices on his subjects.25

24 Mindful of the Hobbesian tone of Locke‟s social contract argument, Higgins-Biddle claims, “[Locke] argued that subjects were obligated to obey the magistrate‟s laws in matters indifferent because they had relinquished a part of their liberty to the magistrate by entering into society, and they were obligated by divine law to fulfil that contract” (1999a, lxxxii). 25 Again, this right of the magistrate holds whether or not one accepts that the magistrate is “immediately commissioned by God.” If he is, then “it is impossible to set any other bounds to his commands than what God himself by a superior law…hath already prescribed him, all other things having an equal indifferency being left to the free determination of his will to be enjoined or forbidden, as he shall think most conducing to the good and peace of his people.” Whereas, if the magistrate rules only by the consent of the people, then “it is evident that they have resigned up the liberty of their actions into his disposure, and so all his commands are but their own votes, and his edicts their own injunctions made by proxy which by mutual contract they are bound to obey, whence it clearly follows, that whatever any man hath the liberty of doing himself, one may consent and compact that another should enjoin him. And here I cannot but wonder how indifferent things relating to religion should be excluded more than any other, which though they relate to the worship of God are still but indifferent and a man hath as free a disposure of his liberty in these as any other civil actions till some law of God can be produced, that so annexes this freedom to every single Christian that it puts it beyond his power to part with it” (1660-61/1997, 12).

Having made these general introductory remarks about liberty and the necessity of absolute rule by the magistrate over things indifferent, Locke turns to direct engagement with Bagshaw‟s pamphlet. Locke‟s reply takes each of Bagshaw‟s four arguments in turn. He begins with the claim, quoting Bagshaw, “that because ‟tis agreed that a Christian magistrate cannot force his religion on a Jew or Mahomedan, therefore much less can he abridge his fellow Christian in things of lesser moment” (see Locke 1660-61/1997, 13).26 Locke provides two related counterarguments to this claim. First, he offers the more pragmatic argument by noting that attempting to impose religious beliefs and practices on Jews and Muslims would not assist in securing peace and social order through religious conformity, whereas these goods would follow from the imposition of matters indifferent on Christian dissenters. For Locke, devotees of other religions are not separated from the Anglican Church only by matters indifferent. Instead, Jews and Muslims are distinguished from Anglican Christianity by religious doctrines that these non- Christians believe have been made explicitly known to them by God. The inward beliefs of the essentials of a religious tradition, Locke argues, cannot be imposed by a civil magistrate. According to Higgins-Biddle, “„True religion,‟ the internal and private acts of faith and repentance, was for Locke beyond the realm of human laws, both by God‟s ordinance and by its very nature” (1999a, lxxxii). Only God, the “first author” of religion, can move in the hearts of individuals to make them accept the central message of Christianity (1660-61/1997, 13).27 For this reason, civil magistrates cannot force the religious beliefs and practices on Jews and Muslims that would be required to create religious uniformity. If they attempted to do so, it would only serve to further alienate Jews and Muslims from the authority of the civil magistrate. The same reasoning cannot be used for Christian dissenters. These citizens already accept the beliefs that can be created by God alone. That is, they hold the beliefs that God has made explicit through reason and revelation. Therefore, when the magistrate is imposing religious

26 In an addition to the Essay Concerning Toleration, which will be discussed in detail in the next chapter of this project, Locke will use Bagshaw‟s first argument in his own support of toleration. There, Locke writes that it would be “strange to conceive upon what grounds of Uniformity any different profession of Christians can be prohibited in a christian Country where the Jewish religion (which is directly opposite to the principles of Christianity) is tolerated, & would it not be irrationall where the Jewish religion is permitted, that the Christian magistrate upon pretence of his power in indifferent things, should enjoyn or forbid any thing or any way interpose in their way or manner of worship” (1667/2006, 308). 27 This is why Dunn is wrong to argue that Locke views religion “only as a coercive, never as a creative force” (1969, 18). True religion, according to Locke, has nothing to do with the magistrate‟s coercion of his subjects. Instead, it represents the height of God‟s creative force within the hearts of individuals. Only in things indifferent does Locke focus more attention on the role of religion in preserving peace and social order. And even here, the discussion remains much more positive than Dunn suggests.

78 beliefs and practices on them, he is not attempting to do what only God can do. Instead, he is making decisions that God did not make known through reason and revelation. Because God has not expressed commands on these (mostly external and secondary) matters, citizens should have no problem submitting to the impositions of the magistrate for the sake of peace and social order. Here, unlike in the case of Jews and Muslims, “severity…is able to reach the external and indifferent actions of men, and may in them be applied with success enough…. To conclude, rigour which cannot work an internal persuasion may [work] notwithstanding an outward conformity, all that is here required, and may be as necessary in the one as useless in the other” (1660-61/1997, 13, 14). Again, imposition is not done to satisfy the whims of the magistrate. It is done to keep peace and social order, something that was lost when religious liberty was taken over by religious enthusiasts that in many ways, according to Locke, created the storm of the Civil War. Locke‟s second counterargument against Bagshaw‟s first line of reasoning in support of religious toleration is also based on the critical distinction between the (mostly) inner essentials of religion and the (mostly) outer matters indifferent. Here, however, Locke is more concerned with those who would argue that individuals are initially masters over all of their religious convictions, meaning that if the magistrate does not have the power to impose all religious beliefs, he does not have the power to impose any religious beliefs. Locke again argues that people only have control over the secondary aspects of religious belief and practice. The core of religion is not something that is chosen by an individual. Rather, it is something imparted to one directly by God, “either by the wise contrivance of his providence, or a more immediate operation of his spirit shall please to dispose or enlighten” the minds of individuals (1660- 61/1997, 14). Therefore, Locke continues, “these discoveries and a consequent belief being not in their own power, ‟twould be as irrational for men to engage to be of the same religion or persuasion with their magistrate, as to promise to have the same looks or constitution…. But the liberty God hath naturally left us over our exterior, indifferent actions must and ought in all societies be resigned freely into the hands of the magistrate.” Imposing religious essentials on Jews and Muslims would not only be counterproductive; it would also be nonsensical, given the fact that individuals are never masters over these core beliefs. Only in things indifferent are individuals given initial freedom, forfeited only when desiring peace and social order. Locke concludes,

It is as certain, then, that the magistrate hath an absolute command over all the actions of men whereof they themselves are free and undetermined agents, as that beyond this he hath no authority, and therefore though he cannot enforce religion, which they never had the liberty to give up to another‟s injunctions, yet all things which they had a power to do or omit, they have made him the judge, when, where, and how far they ought to be done, and are obliged to obey [1660-61/1997, 15]. One may still ask, then, why civil magistrates do not impose obligations on the things left indifferent in the religious traditions of Jews and Muslims. Locke provides an answer to this question later in the tract. He claims that the magistrate does have authority to make impositions on things indifferent in religious traditions other than his own. The reason why the magistrate may not exercise this authority is because he may not want to validate these religions. “By taking care for their worship,” Locke writes, the magistrate may implicitly “acknowledge something good and right in it; it being irrational that the magistrate should impose (possibly he might forbid) any indifferent actions in that religion wherein he looks on the whole worship as false and idolatrous” (1660-61/1997, 48).28 Bagshaw‟s second line of support for religious toleration in matters indifferent is that “imposing things indifferent is directly contrary to Gospel precepts” (see Locke 1660-61/1997, 15). Locke admits that if this were true, it would put an end to the debate. After all, if God directly commanded that things not directly commanded were to be left to the liberty of each individual believer, then Locke‟s acceptance of the distinction between religious essentials and things indifferent would require him to support religious toleration. Locke, however, does not find such precepts in Scripture. He writes of the magistrate, “‟Tis strange that in imposing things indifferent he should sin against Gospel precepts, and yet in the whole Gospel not one precept be found that limits or directs his authority” (1660-61/1997, 15). In fact, the exact opposite seems to be the case. Locke notes, ‟Tis true…[early Christian] writings are full of arguments for liberty but it was for that liberty which was then encroached on and far different from what is here in question; ‟twas for the substantials of their profession and not against the addition of ceremonies; their oppression was from those from whom they feared the subversion of the very foundations of their religion and not too gaudy and curious a superstructure; they complained not of being burdened with too many habits,

28 Locke also notes that followers of the magistrate‟s own religion are “most likely to disturb the public peace, the state religion being usually the state trouble…. Thus are the public religions of countries apt by the badness of the professors to become troublesome to the magistrate and dangerous to the peace, if not carefully eyed and directed by a strong and steady hand, whilst underling and tolerated professions are quiet” (1660-61/1997, 48-49).

but of being stripped stark naked. They would have taken any garments so they might have been permitted with them to have put on Christ Jesus too. But an exemption from the power of the magistrate though an infidel neither the Gospel nor they ever pleaded for [1660-61/1997, 16]. While Christians were willing to die for the core beliefs of the Gospel message, they seemed to be willing to submit to pagan emperors such as Nero in things indifferent. Why, Locke asks, would modern Christians not be just as willing to submit to Christian magistrates? To further dispute this line of reasoning, Locke focuses explicitly on the passages of Scripture that Bagshaw views as providing precepts that prohibit the imposition of things indifferent by civil magistrates. The first passage is Jesus‟ saying, “Take my yoke upon you, for it is easy and my burden is light” (Matthew 11:24-30, 23:1-36; John 8:36). Locke counters that the context of this passage is that the Pharisees were demanding certain actions that were “clearly contrary to the command of God” (1660-61/1997, 17). This passage, therefore, has nothing to say regarding things indifferent. As long as “the unchangeable and necessary doctrine of the Gospel” is left intact, things indifferent can be imposed by the magistrate, according to his authority (1660-61/1997, 17). Also worth noting, according to Locke, is that Jesus still urges the Jews to obey the Pharisees in these matters, even though they contradict the clear commands of God. This is because the Pharisees “sit in Moses‟ chair.” In other words, the Pharisees ought to be obeyed, according to Jesus, because of their divinely appointed office, despite the foolishness of their orders. How much more, Locke might ask, ought Christians to obey the just commands of a Christian magistrate in things left indifferent by God? The freedom offered by Jesus is not the freedom from the laws commanded by civil magistrates. Instead, Christ‟s freedom is the inner freedom from sin. This passage speaks to “the internal work of the Gospel upon the heart, of faith and repentance, and the happiness of those to whom God revealed the Gospel…not relating at all to their outward privileges or in the least glancing at any exemption from the dominion and rule of the magistrate” (1660-61/1997, 19). The second passage that Bagshaw believes contradicts the imposition of things indifferent by the magistrate is Galatians 5:1: “Stand fast in the liberty wherewith Christ hath made you free and be not again entangled with the yoke of bondage.” Bagshaw argues that because God gave Christians freedom from the ceremonial aspects of the Mosaic Law, he has also given modern Christians liberty from the rituals of things indifferent. Locke‟s major problem with this line of reasoning is that the scriptural example does not concern things

81 indifferent. The ceremonial law was both commanded and abolished by God. As Locke writes, the obligations of this law “had their original from divine authority, but ‟tis as true that they had their end, too, from the same divine appointment…; they were a law till Christ, not after, types and promises of the messiah‟s coming and kingdom, but not to be rules of obedience under it” (1660-61/1997, 19). There was nothing indifferent about God‟s desires for this law. Therefore, this truth in Scripture bears no relevance for the issue at hand. Locke notes, “But I think it will not follow that because that law ceased which was inconsistent with the Gospel that therefore the Christian magistrate‟s authority doth too, that because a law repealed by God himself could not be urged as in force, therefore no other law can be enacted” (1660-61/1997, 20). The only thing that could force the repeal of the magistrate‟s commands in things indifferent is if these obligations were similarly inconsistent with the Gospel, something that must be proved “by some other argument than that of the ceremonial laws being antiquated” (1660-61/1997, 20). After all, Locke contends, if all law is void after the coming of Christ, the result is not Christian liberty but a dangerous form of antinomianism that would lead only to rebellion (1660-61/1997, 21). Bagshaw uses the Golden Rule as his third scriptural text. Why, he asks, would it be right for a magistrate to impose anything on a citizen‟s conscience if the magistrate would not enjoy having obligation imposed upon him? Locke‟s answer is that following this line of reasoning would once again lead to anarchy. The universal judgments of individual minds cannot be the source of civil obligations. Every imposition would be challenged by some members of society. This is why “it was requisite to settle a peace and society amongst men that they should mutually agree to give up the exercise of their native liberty to the disposure and prudence of some select person or number of men who should make laws for them” (1660- 61/1997, 22). In crafting laws, Locke writes, “The magistrate in his constitutions regards the public concernment and not private opinions which, biased by their own interest, or misled by their ignorance and indiscretion, are like to make them but ill judges of reasons of state or the equity of laws” (1660-61/1997, 21). Locke grants that the magistrate cannot impose obligations that contradict the command of God or involve the individual quest for salvation. For things indifferent, however, the magistrate must have the authority to command laws that not all citizens will follow cheerfully. If cheerful obedience is the condition for a lawful command, Locke writes, “every lawful command of the magistrate, since we are to obey them for

82 conscience sake, would be an imposing on conscience and so according to [Bagshaw‟s] way of arguing unlawful” (1660-61/1997, 23). The fourth passage disputed by Locke is Romans 15:1: “You that are strong bear with the infirmities of the weak.” Bagshaw insists that the imposition of things indifferent would lay a heavier burden on the weak. Locke argues that “bear with the infirmities” means only to “not despise.” Therefore, the scriptural injunction “is a rule to private Christians not to slight or undervalue those…who scruple at matters indifferent” (1660-61/1997, 23). This does not mean that a civil magistrate cannot impose religious obligations on his citizens. It simply means that he must “pity those whom he punishes” because they are weak in faith in not understanding the reasons for the commands of things indifferent (1660-61/1997, 23). Again, however, the weakness of individual Christians cannot determine the decisions of the magistrate. Locke explains, ‟Tis true a Christian magistrate ought to deal tenderly with weak Christians, but must not so attend the infirmities and indulge the distempers of some few dissatisfied as to neglect the peace and safety of the whole. The Christian magistrate is a brother to his fellow Christians and so may pity and bear with them but he is also their magistrate and must command and govern them [1660- 61/1997, 24]. Bagshaw‟s final text used to show that religious impositions by the magistrate are contrary to Gospel precepts is 1 Corinthians 7:23: “Decency and order when it is of constraint not of consent is nothing else but in the imposer tyranny, in the person imposed upon bondage, and makes him to be what in things appertaining to religious we are forbidden to be, „the servants of men.‟” Locke contextualizes this passage by claiming that it refers to “civil bondage,” particularly the relationships that Christians had before converting to the new religious tradition. Locke notes that Paul‟s point is that “conversion to Christianity did not dissolve any of those obligations they were tied in before but that the Gospel continued them in the same condition and under the same civil obligations it found them” (1660-61/1997, 24). The primary exception was that slaves were advised to “gain their liberty” if possible. None of this, according to Locke, had anything to do with impositions of religious matters. Christianity was not widely known or understood during this time period, making “heathen magistrates…more likely to persecute the profession than prescribe forms of worship in a religion new and opposite to his own” (1660-61/1997, 25). The Corinthians were concerned not with things indifferent to their profession of faith but with the civil bondage that they were in prior to the liberating news

83 of the Gospel. They sought understanding about what Christ‟s freedom meant for their previous obligations; they were not focused on the magistrate‟s ability to make impositions on outward expressions of worship. As with the rest of the passages presented by Bagshaw, Locke contextualizes the text in order to show its irrelevance to the modern debate over the imposition of things indifferent. The third central argument that Bagshaw uses to support religious toleration is that impositions are contrary to Christian practice. Locke‟s general answer to this argument is “that precepts are the rule of our duty and not the practice which is to be judged of by them” (1660- 61/1997, 25). In other words, instead of merely imitating every practice seen in the lives of Jesus and the apostles, the Christian duty is to accept the commands of God given in Scripture as the standards by which all practices, even those practices of the New Testament figures, are to be understood and evaluated. Again, Locke takes two of Bagshaw‟s supporting reasons in turn. First is the passage where Jesus is said to have refused to wash his hands before eating meat. Bagshaw interprets this as a practice that implies Christian freedom from human laws. Locke, however, views this practice as disputing the claims of the Pharisees who “dared to mingle their wisdom with God‟s” by altering God‟s original commands to Moses. In doing so, Jesus was saying something specific about the human attempt to challenge God, not practicing a Christian liberty from all laws that was to be imitated by his followers. Locke writes, I think it will be no very good consequence that because Christ opposed the usurpation of the Pharisees, therefore a Christian may dispute the dominion of his magistrate; that because the traditions of the elders…were unlawful in a religion tied to a certain and set form which was to receive neither alteration nor addition…, therefore all impositions are unlawful in a religion wherein almost all the outward actions are left undetermined and free; that because it was a part of the Jewish liberty not to be fettered with pharisaical traditions, therefore it is part of the Christian liberty not to submit to legal injunctions [1660-61/1997, 27]. Then, recalling an instance where Christ is more specifically dealing with the civil magistrate, Locke contends, “Christ, who here denied the obligation of forbidden traditions, did not thereby destroy either the indifference of the action or the magistrate‟s power of enjoining it, and had Caesar commanded washing of hands at any time of the day I have no reason to think that Christ would have denied him this any more than tribute” (1660-61/1997, 27). Christ does not challenge the authority of the civil magistrates. The lesson to be learned from these passages, therefore, is not that Christians are free from human laws but that “when human inventions are

84 pretended to be of divine original and imposed as such contrary to the positive commands of God…then we may lawfully reject them” (1660-61/1997, 28). Again, Locke‟s defense of the magistrate‟s authority does not speak to the essential beliefs of the Gospel. He explains, “All that God looks for in his worship…is the sacrifice of a broken and contrite heart.” This worship of God, however, can occur in “any place or posture.” Therefore, when civil magistrates “determine what shall be order and decency” in the outward expressions of worship, they are in no way threatening the fundamentals of the Christian religion (1660-61/1997, 29). Locke reiterates that “indifferent things…are not understood to be designed for atonement” (1660- 61/1997, 30). The second practice of the early church discussed by Bagshaw is the apostles‟ decision to not require Christian converts to engage in Jewish ceremonies, including the circumcision of Gentile Christians. Bagshaw concludes that these ceremonies are a “yoke upon others (and to impose in things indifferent is certainly a great one) from which either God had expressly freed us, by commanding the contrary or else tacitly freed us by not commanding them” (see Locke 1660-61/1997, 30-31). Locke notes the similarity of this text to the passage from Galatians used earlier by Bagshaw. Again, Locke argues that the Jewish ceremonies are not things indifferent, because God expressly abolished them for the lives of Christians. He does admit, however, that things indifferent may be a yoke on some believers. Although, he does not think this a reason that they would be considered unjust: “If we grant that things indifferent may be called yokes, it will follow from the metaphor that they are heavy perhaps but not unlawful, troublesome not criminal, and so are taxes and all penal laws, which if yokes are not to be put upon the necks of Christians they may upon the same score plead for forbearance” (1660-61/1997, 31). Locke reiterates his insistence that social order is the necessary good, not the desires that each citizen has for a light burden. The yoke of impositions is often necessary for the stability of society, and Locke insists that the imposition of things indifferent in matters of religion is simply one of those instances where burdens are vital for peace. Furthermore, circumcision was not the only ceremony under discussion in this passage. There were other laws, Locke points out, that were followed by the early church, not because they were necessary in themselves, but because they were necessary “for the better uniting believers” (1660-61/1997, 31). This shows that things indifferent can be imposed, as long as it is understood that they are not being imposed as direct commands of God.

The third practice of the early church discussed by Bagshaw is again similar to the case in Galatians discussed above. Paul is urging disobedience to laws imposed by false teachers. This leads Bagshaw to conclude, “When any shall take upon them to make a thing indifferent necessary, then the thing so imposed presently loses not its liberty only, but likewise its lawfulness” (see Locke 1660-61/1997, 35). Once again, Locke insists that Paul is challenging religious leaders who are trying to put forth their impositions as commands of God. This is radically different than a civil magistrate imposing things indifferent for the sake of social order. Also, if every law of a matter indifferent from the magistrate is unlawful simply because he has imposed it upon his citizens, there would be opened “a gap so wide to disobedience and disorder as will quickly ruin the best founded societies” (1660-61/1997, 35-36). Locke gives an example to prove his point, arguing that being disobedient to a law of a thing indifferent simply because it is imposed as law is as “if a child going to church of his own accord being by the way commanded by his father to go on ought straight to return back again” (1660-61/1997, 35). Limiting the magistrate to such an extent that only things directly commanded as necessary by God can be imposed as laws would have disastrous effects. “Magistracy itself,” Locke writes, “will at last be concluded anti-Christian.” As for the citizens who would be given this liberty in the face of a radically limited magistrate, Locke warns, “Do but once arm their consciences against the magistrate and their hands will not be long idle or innocent” (1660-61/1997, 36). Locke‟s fears of the practical effects of limiting the magistrate‟s power to impose things indifferent—civil and religious—lead directly to the fourth and final argument from Bagshaw that Locke attempts to refute. In Bagshaw‟s words, “My last argument against impositions shall be taken from inconveniences that attend such a practice” (see Locke 1660-61/1997, 36). Locke makes the familiar counterargument that laws cannot be based on their convenience. Many things in life are inconvenient in one way or another, but this does not mean that they are not necessary. The same is true for many of the laws imposed by a magistrate for the peace and order of society. He writes, Principles ought to be of unalterable verity and therefore are not to be established upon our uncertain and commonly partial judgement of their consequences, which are usually so many, so various and cross, that nothing then could stand firm, if every little inconvenience should shake it…. If popular arguments were proofs I know no principles could stand secure, and the Gospel itself would not be free from question, in which the heathens found inconveniences and arguments

enough to render it less plausible than their own absurdities and irrational superstitions [1660-61/1997, 36-37]. It is true, Locke admits, that the impositions of government restrict the liberties of individuals, resulting in laws that do not always have the most convenient consequences. The alternative, however, would be a state with “no peace, no security, no enjoyments, enmity with all men and safe possession of nothing, and those stinging swarms of miseries that attend anarchy and rebellion” (1660-61/1997, 37). At this point, Locke engages with each of the inconveniences that Bagshaw associates with the imposition of things indifferent. The first is a slippery slope argument, namely, if the magistrate is allowed to impose commands on things indifferent, he will never stop making the most inconvenient demands, restricting nearly every liberty enjoyed by individuals. Locke‟s tongue-in-cheek response is predictable: An inconvenience as strong against civil as ecclesiastical jurisdiction: do but once grant the magistrate a power to impose taxes and we then lie at his mercy whether he will leave us anything. Grant him a power to confine anyone, and we cannot be long secure of any liberty: who knows how soon he will make our houses our prisons. Grant him a power to forbid assemblies and conventions, and who knows how long he will allow us the company of our friends, or permit us to enjoy the conversation of our relations…. Grant once that the magistrate hath a power to command the subject to work, and limit his wages too, and who can secure us that he will not prove rather an Egyptian taskmaster than a Christian ruler, and enforce us to make brick without straw to erect monuments of his rigour and our slavery…. Would it be thought dangerous or inconvenient that anyone that should be allowed to make banks and fences against the waves for fear he should too much encroach upon and straighten the ocean? [1660-61/1997, 38]. While slippery slope arguments may be effective rhetorical devices, Locke believes that this particular slippery slope is unlikely to be realized. Rather than abusing the power given to them, just magistrates will refrain from imposing any obligations that are not necessary for the peace and safety of society. Using his own slippery slope argument, Locke argues that it is in fact citizens with complete religious liberty that pose a more serious threat to civil society. He writes of this greater inconvenience, “Grant the people once free and unlimited in the exercise of their religion and where will they stop, where will they themselves bound it, and will it not be religion to destroy all that are not in their profession?” (1660-61/1997, 40). In other words, Locke is worried more of persecution by religious believers than the imposition of things indifferent by

87 the magistrate. And his fear is not surprising given what had just happened in the Civil War and Interregnum. He continues, Though I can believe that our author would not make this large use of his liberty, yet if he thinks others would not so far improve his principles, let him look some years back [and] he will find that a liberty for tender consciences was the first inlet to all those confusions and unheard of and destructive opinions that overspread this nation. The same hearts are still in men as liable to zealous mistakes and religious furies, there wants but leave for crafty men to inspirit and fire them with such doctrines [1660-61/1997, 40]. He admits that most believers will not make the “zealous mistakes” of the enthusiasts, but he asks, “If a toleration be allowed as their right who shall hinder others who shall be ready enough to lay hold on the same plea?” (1660-61/1997, 40). Locke‟s distrust of the religious enthusiasts has not disappeared with the Restoration of the King. Violence does often wear the “vizor of religion,” but Locke‟s solution is not to grant religious liberty and toleration but to give the civil magistrate the power to make things indifferent in matters of religion uniform, thereby avoiding the persecution that results from the battles concerning the aspects of religion that are left free to individuals by God (1660-61/1997, 40-41). His argument, again, rests on the practical consequences of political policies. He agrees that it would be wonderful if the granting of religious liberty were to “promote a quiet in the world,” in which “men would suffer one another to go to heaven everyone his own way.” What is more likely, however, is that believers would be “apt to judge every other exercise of religion as an affront to theirs,” leading to violence and persecution. All the while, these zealots would “applaud themselves as good Christians, and think with Paul they do God good service.” With such likely consequences, it is the duty of the magistrate to “put a stop to the secret contrivances of deceivers,” in order to protect “the very foundations of government” (1660-61/1997, 41-42). The second inconvenience of the imposition of things indifferent that Locke disputes is that such obligations threaten not only Christian liberty but its spirituality as well. Locke again highlights the centrality of the heart in true Christian spirituality. In comparison, the outward expressions of worship that would be imposed by the magistrate matter little in the individual‟s relationship to God. He writes That an outward set form of worship should necessarily take away the spirituality of religion I cannot think, since God himself that did then demand the worship of the heart and spirit no less than now and made that the only way to please him, did once erect an outward form of worship…which could yet no way shut out or

clog the operations of his spirit where he pleased to enter and enliven any soul [1660-61/1997, 43]. Locke insists that Christian spirituality is not ultimately affected by things indifferent. That is precisely what makes these outward expressions of worship indifferent. “God may be worshipped in spirit and in truth,” Locke writes, “as well where the indifferent circumstances are limited as where they are free” (1660-61/1997, 44). The reason the magistrate is concerned with these aspects of religion is not because their imposition affects the spirituality of his citizens but because the uniformity of religious practices promotes the peace and safety of society. It simply is not true, according to Locke, that things left indifferent by God alter one‟s spiritual standing before God. Bagshaw‟s third inconvenience is that the imposition of things indifferent “supposes the same measure of faith in all” (see Locke 1660-61/1997, 46). If every Christian must worship in the same manner, there seems to be no room left for individuality and the different spiritual places in which particular Christians find themselves in their journeys of faith. Locke repeats his earlier claim that the desires of individuals, no matter how real their differences may be, ought to never be the determining factors in the decisions of the civil magistrate. Neither laws nor the absence of laws will ever reach universal acceptance in a society of diverse individuals. Therefore, the laws that are imposed on a society must be based not on the desires of individuals but on the preservation of civil peace. Locke claims, But this I dare say, that of what value soever the inward and private peace of a Christian be, it ought not to be purchased at the settled and public peace of the commonwealth, especially where it will not remove the offence and only cast the scandal on the other side and disturb the peace of the contrary persuasion, since some men will be as much offended at the magistrate‟s forbearance as others at his injunctions and be as much scandalised to see a hat on in the public worship as others a surplice [1660-61/1997, 46]. The final inconvenience brought forth by Bagshaw is that the penalties associated with impositions of things indifferent seem to suggest that these things are as important as the essentials of the religion. Locke‟s defense is to insist once again on the distinction between the fundamentals of Christianity and the outward expressions of worship that have been left indifferent by God. He notes, “If the magistrate employ his power only within those bounds that are set to his authority he doth not thereby slight or undervalue those things that are out of his reach” (1660-61/1997, 47). As for the claim that attaching severe penalties to dissenting in the

89 matters imposed by the magistrate makes these matters seem as important as the core aspects of the faith, Locke argues that the very fact that God has left the things imposed by the magistrate indifferent means that these matters are not as significant as the aspects of the faith that God reserves the right to judge in the hearts of every individual. This clear hierarchy in the spiritual significance of inner beliefs over outward practices is acknowledged by the magistrate, Locke argues, when he “reverently forbears to interpose his authority” in the essential beliefs of the faith (1660-61/1997, 47).

3.2 Locke’s Second Tract on Government While the polemic tone of the First Tract may have been seen by his colleagues as especially effective in the battle of pamphlets that surrounded the debates concerning toleration in the early 1660s, Locke may not have been satisfied to have his thoughts on the matter tied to the specific arguments of another thinker. In 1662, he wrote what is now called the Second Tract on Government.29 Written in Latin instead of English, Cranston notes that the Second Tract “dealt with the question [of religious toleration and the imposition of things indifferent] in general terms of principle and contained no reference to Bagshaw‟s pamphlet” (1957, 63). Goldie points out that Locke‟s ideas in the Second Tract are presented “in the more formal mode of an academic presentation or oration” (1997, 54).30 While the tone of the treatise is markedly different than that of the First Tract, the general themes remain the same. As in the earlier tract,

29 Once again, I use the text found in the collection of essays edited by Goldie, who reproduces Abrams‟s translation of the Second Tract, discussed by Cranston simply as the Latin treatise. Goldie notes that the tract could have been written at any point between autumn 1660 and early 1663, but most scholars think it most likely to have been written late in 1662. 30 Ashcraft describes Locke‟s position in both of these early writings as “simple and absolutist” (1987, 15). While the Second Tract is a more structured work than the First Tract, I see little about the position being presented in both writings that is simple. Locke‟s position is easily accessible, but it is also thoughtful and complex. As was clear in the above discussion of the First Tract, Locke used principles, biblical hermeneutics, and practical considerations in his point-by-point treatment of Bagshaw‟s pamphlet. As for the charge of absolutism, this also must recognize the qualifications that Locke gives in these writings. Ashcraft argues that Locke allows for “no grounds whatsoever for any dissent from or disobedience to the will of the civil magistrate on the part of the subject” (1987, 15). Elsewhere, he writes, “Locke, in the early 1660s…was willing to grant the civil magistrate absolute and arbitrary power over all actions of individuals within society” (1986, 75-76). Marshall is right to point out that Locke does not discuss the possibility that “the „harmlessness‟ of actions and beliefs…[could be used in] delegitimating magisterial imposition” (1994, 20). Nevertheless, Ashcraft appears to be overlooking the significant limitations that Locke does place on the “absolute and arbitrary power” of the magistrate. In both writings, Locke is insistent that the magistrate only has the authority to command those aspects of religious life that were not directly commanded by God. Marshall also downplays the limitations but does admit that the law of nature places “legal restraint on the magistrate” in the Two Tracts (1994, 20). Further, the magistrate is expected to make such impositions only when they are viewed as necessary for the preservation of peace in society.

Locke sounds more like Hobbes than the Locke who is remembered as the champion of liberty and religious toleration. While the majority of the treatise is written in an academic tone that appears removed from contemporary debates, the one exception is the tone of exasperation with which Locke begins his argument. In his opening paragraphs, he is quite concerned with the seemingly endless controversy concerning religious toleration and the truth of the magistrate‟s authority to impose things indifferent. He writes, “If only this truth which is now drawn into dispute and which has already been the subject of so many hot debates, and has been bandied about in such bitter party quarrels, would finally stop being challenged!.... Exhausted as we are by so bitter a clash of opinions and of arms, we ought to rest content with our liberty and quiet.” Locke once again understands the question of religious toleration to extend far beyond the debates of the early 1660s. In his mind, this issue was one of the causes of the fighting that occurred from the beginning of the Civil War through the Restoration. As a result, he realizes that no matter how academic he may attempt to be, he was “not approaching a gymnasium and a private fencing- match so much as a public arena and a field of battle, and not so much proposing a thesis as raising a war-cry” (1662/1997, 54-55). After all, the religious enthusiasts with whom he engages in this battle are, according to Locke, prepared to shake the very foundations of social order. He writes, “And certainly the overheated zeal of those who know how to arm the rash folly of the ignorant and the passionate multitude with the authority of conscience often kindles a blaze among the populace capable of consuming everything” (1662/1997, 55). Locke‟s pragmatic concerns with religious liberty and toleration that were evident in his reply to Bagshaw are once again present. The peace and social order that came with the Restoration will be easily forfeited, according to Locke, if the magistrate‟s authority is weakened. He continues, And now that almighty God has restored peace to us—which was not to be hoped for without a long chain of miracles, the discord of the immediate past making its arrival still more welcome—it is to be hoped that nobody will be so obstinate and stiff-necked as to attempt further civil changes or to disparage the magistrate‟s power in respect of indifferent things. Rather, it is to be hoped that now that that chaos has abated along with the heady ferment of passions, a more sober view will eventually recognise that civil obedience, even in the indifferent things of divine worship, is not to be counted among the least duties of the Christian religion, and that there is no other help but in eagerness to obey. And I hope that in future this controversy will excite no further conflict, unless it be a mock battle of the present sort [1662/1997, 56].

In order to assist in ending the conflict surrounding the magistrate‟s authority to impose obligations concerning those aspects of religious worship that pertain to things indifferent, Locke sets out to clearly define the three crucial terms in the debate: “magistrate,” “divine worship,” and “things indifferent.” “By „magistrate,‟” Locke writes, “we here understand one who has responsibility for the care of the community, who holds a supreme power over all others and to whom, finally, is delegated the power of constituting and abrogating laws.” The magistrate is given this authority in order “to preserve the public good and keep the people in peace and concord” (1662/1997, 56). Once again, Locke echoes Hobbes by arguing that the peace and order of political stability can only be achieved if individuals relinquish much of their natural liberty to the magistrate. As in the First Tract, Locke notes that this definition of the magistrate does not depend on any particular form of government: “Nor, above all, is it necessary in this context to review the forms of government or prescribe the numbers of the governors. It is sufficient for our purpose…that that [institution] may be called „magistrate‟ which can, of its own right, impose laws on subjects and sanction them, whether it be an assembly—as some desire—or a monarch” (1662/1997, 57; brackets added by Goldie). Locke next discusses four meanings of “divine worship.” The first meaning, given by those who equate divine worship with religion itself, refers “to the whole of that obedience which we owe to divine laws” (1662/1997, 57). This broad definition, according to Locke, is incorrect as it would lead to the conclusion “that almost all human actions turn into divine worship, and we worship God in eating, drinking and sleeping, since there can be some degree of righteousness in these actions” (1662/1997, 57). In this general sense of human activity, it is obvious that the magistrate would have authority over matters of divine worship, but there would be no ability to draw the line between the core beliefs of religion and things indifferent. A second, and more correct, meaning of “divine worship” would focus on “the actions of the inner virtues of all of which God is the object, as the love of God, reverence, fear, faith, etc.; this is that inner worship of the heart which God demands, in which the essence and soul of religion consists” (1662/1997, 57). Third, one could understand “divine worship” as referring to the “outward acts of religion” that are “everywhere ordained by God in his law, and which by holy writ we are bound to fulfil,” such as “public prayers, acts of thanksgiving, the singing of psalms, participation in the holy sacraments and the hearing of the divine word” (1662/1997, 57-58). In this sense, therefore, divine worship is expressly commanded by God. As a result, the magistrate

92 does not “possess any right over this worship since it can be altered by none but the divine Lawgiver himself” (1662/1997, 58). The final meaning of divine worship goes beyond the actions commanded by God and focuses instead on the “circumstances which always attend them, such as time, place, appearance, posture, etc.” (1662/1997, 58). Because these aspects of worship are not imposed by God, they have been “relinquished…to the discretion of the magistrate” (1662/1997, 58-59). As long as these circumstances do not threaten “the substance of religion,” they can vary depending on the customs of particular nations (1662/1997, 59). This was ordained by God so that multiple people groups might easily accept the Gospel without having to abandon their local customs. Locke writes, “Therefore God, indulging the weakness of mankind, left his worship undetermined, to be adorned with ceremonies as the judgement of men might determine in the light of custom” (1662/1997, 60). With this understanding of “divine worship,” Locke thinks it clear that the magistrate, who is in charge of providing peace and social order, has the authority to determine the circumstances of divine worship that accompany the activities commanded by God. The only exceptions would be if the impositions contradict a precept of God or if the impositions do not “serve the well-being of the community” (1662/1997, 61). In this case, while citizens are still required to exhibit passive obedience to the impositions, “the magistrate sins in commanding” unjust laws (1662/1997, 61-62).31 With the authority of the magistrate and the appropriate meaning of “divine worship” determined, Locke turns to the definition of “indifferent things.” He writes, “Now things are said to be indifferent in respect of moral good and evil, so that all things which are morally neither good nor evil are called indifferent” (1662/1997, 62). For Locke, the moral status of an action assumes “a law as a standard of good and evil, against which we ought to measure and test our life and actions” (1662/1997, 62). This law that determines the morality of actions is the moral law. The moral law, in turn, is the law that is authored by God as “a rule and pattern of living.” The divine law is further broken down into natural and positive law, depending on the method of “promulgation.” With natural law, humans gain access to moral law through “the light of reason which is natural and implanted in men.” In the case of positive law, the moral law “is made manifest in divine revelation” (1662/1997, 63). Whatever the method, the content of the moral law remains the same. For Locke, then, indifferent actions are those actions that are

31 The right to armed resistance that separates the Two Treatises from most previous discussions of political governance is here strongly condemned by Locke.

93 not determined by the moral law. He writes, “Whatever, then, this law reaches, either by prohibition or command, is always and everywhere necessarily good or evil, and all other things which are not confined with the bounds of this law are indifferent by nature and their use is free” (1662/1997, 63). The type of law that does include indifferent things is human law, which Locke defines as “that which is enacted by anyone maintaining law and command over others” (1662/1997, 63). A more restricted definition of human law, and one that is more important for Locke‟s treatise, focuses on “the public ordinances of societies enacted by the magistrate.” In this sense, the “proper matter” of human law “is indifferent things which are not comprised within the limits of higher, that is, of the divine, law, and are to that extent not already bound up and determined” (1662/1997, 64). This is not to suggest that all of the laws imposed by the magistrate concern indifferent actions. The magistrate would be expected, for example, to forbid the action of murder. In Locke‟s understanding of human law, however, forbidding murder is not actually a matter of human law. Instead, to do so, according to Locke, would be “to act superfluously.” Rather than being a new law, created by the human magistrate, the civil prohibition of murder is an attempt to enforce a law that has already been commanded by God in the moral law. In this case, the magistrate has no more authority than any other citizen. Locke notes, “For divine law possesses the same force and the same grounds for obligation whether it is made known through the mouth of the prince or through that of the subject; and neither of them commands but only teaches” (1662/1997, 68). Human laws, under Locke‟s more restricted definition that deals with the direct origin of the enacted impositions, can only refer to actions that are not part of the moral law—that is, actions that are indifferent. Locke writes of these actions, “God left many indifferent things untrammeled by his laws and handed them to his deputy the magistrate as fit material for civil government, which, as occasion should demand, could be commanded or prohibited, and by the wise regulation of which the welfare of the commonwealth could be provided for” (1662/1997, 64). Besides human law, there are two other types of law that may include indifferent things. These laws focus on actions that have not only been left indifferent by God, but have also been left indifferent by civil law. Fraternal law, or the law of charity, deals with those actions that may be commanded or forbidden “when a weak brother, holding no power over us, can in his own right tie up our liberty in indifferent things although allowed us both by God and the

94 magistrate” (1662/1997, 64). Locke uses the biblical example of eating meat that had been offered to idols. While both the moral law and the human law have left this action indifferent, the conscience of a fellow believer who is weak in the faith may impose an obligation of restraint. Again, there is nothing intrinsically—that is, morally—evil about this action. Neither is there anything about this action that threatens the peace and social order of a nation, making it a cause for concern for human law. Instead, fraternal law comes into being only under particular circumstances concerning the relationship between multiple members of a religious tradition. The final type of law that Locke discusses is monastic, or private, law. Once again, the actions that are related to this law are indifferent in reference to both divine and human law. Unlike fraternal law, however, the obligations of monastic law are not even imposed by another individual. Instead, monastic law is the law that “man imposes on himself and by a new, superinduced obligation renders necessary things hitherto indifferent and not bound by previous laws” (1662/1997, 65). Monastic laws are determined either by the conscience or the will. In the former case, one‟s mind convinces oneself that an action that has been left indifferent by both God and government is required or forbidden based on the light of reason within oneself. In the case of the will, one may impose laws on oneself concerning things indifferent by making a private vow to God or to another human being. Locke‟s example is again biblical, this time quoting Genesis 28: “And Jacob vowed a vow, saying, If God will be with me, and will keep me in this way that I go…then this stone, which I have set up for a pillar, shall be God‟s house; and of all that thou shalt give me I will surely give the tenth unto thee” (1662/1997, 66). Setting up a pillar as God‟s house was an action left indifferent by both divine and human law, and it was not imposed on Jacob by the weak conscience of another. Instead, it was a law that Jacob imposed on himself through this private vow to God. Locke draws four conclusions from his treatment of law. First, all laws are divine “in respect of their obligation” (1662/1997, 66). In other words, all obligations can be traced back to the moral law of God. Human law is obligatory, for example, only because the divine law requires individuals to obey those with civil authority. Fraternal law is obligatory because the divine law contains certain precepts about neighbor love that can be applied in the special circumstances of this type of law. Monastic law, in terms of personal conscience, is obligatory because divine law requires one to be convinced in one‟s own mind of the rightness of one‟s actions. Private laws based on vows are obligatory because of the precepts concerning

95 truthfulness and the fulfillment of one‟s promises that are given in the moral law. Second, the indifferent nature of actions is not altered by the imposition of human, fraternal, or monastic laws. Things left indifferent by the moral law will always remain indifferent in their nature. They are only changed “so far as we are concerned, „here and now,‟ and with regard to the obligation which a new and human injunction may have temporarily induced and by which we are bound to obey, to act or to abstain.” Once the law is removed due to changing circumstances, however, Locke argues that “we are restored to our former liberty, the thing itself remaining unchanged” (1662/1997, 66).32 Third, there is a clear hierarchy in the various types of laws, so that “the subordination of these laws one to another is such that an inferior law cannot in any way remove or repudiate the obligation and authority of a superior” (1662/1997, 66-67). For example, human law can never overturn the moral law, and a private vow cannot challenge the law of a magistrate. If this hierarchy is not protected, Locke argues, “all law will collapse, all authority vanish from the earth, and the seemly order of affairs being convulsed and the frame of government dissolved, each would be his own lawmaker and his own God” (1662/1997, 67). Locke‟s final conclusion from his discussion of law is that if a higher law leaves an action indifferent, the authority in relation to that action is passed down to the next level of law. Locke writes, “For where the divine law sets bounds to its action, there the authority of the magistrate

32 Later in the tract, Locke makes two technical distinctions that help clarify this second conclusion. The first is between material and formal obligation. The former is “when the thing itself which is the subject-matter of a human law obliges the conscience of itself; when, that is, it was already unquestionably necessary by virtue of the force of the divine law before the introduction of a human law.” Formal obligation occurs “when a thing otherwise indifferent is imposed on the people by the lawful power of the magistrate and obliges the conscience” (1662/1997, 76). Again, the topic at hand does not concern actions that appear in divine law. Therefore, the commands associated with these actions depend on circumstance, and the obligation to follow these commands can cease if the commands are no longer deemed beneficial by the magistrate. The second distinction made by Locke is between “liberty of the judgement” and “liberty of the will.” The former “exists when the approbation of the judgement is not necessarily required that this or that is in its own nature „necessary.‟” Liberty of the will “exists when the assent of the will is not required to this or that act; and this can be removed without infringing the liberty of the conscience” (1662/1997, 76). Locke notes that human laws that repeat commands in the moral law remove both types of liberties and require both forms of obligation. They are, however, perfectly just because of their consistence with divine law. The imposition of indifferent things, which requires only formal obligation, does not threaten the liberty of conscience. Following the magistrate‟s commands in things indifferent, Locke argues, “requires the assent of the will only” (1662/1997, 77). One must not believe that the actions commanded are necessary in themselves, but only that these actions ought to be followed because of the magistrate‟s authority over things indifferent. As Locke puts it, the commands of things indifferent are not “so much ordered because they are necessary as called necessary because they are ordered” (1662/1997, 77). Marshall writes, “An „outward conformity‟ was all that was required of members of the Church of England. Indeed, for Locke in 1660-2, as in his later works defending toleration, the understanding could not be positively influenced by coercion, since it was beyond the power of the individual to alter his mind at will” (1994, 16). According to Marshall, this liberty of judgment was what “allowed [Locke] to present the Two Tracts as animated by „no less a love of liberty‟ than reverence for authority.‟ For Locke, the understanding was „the noblest part,‟ and it ought not to be imposed upon” (1994, 17).

96 begins…. Where the edicts of the commonwealth are wanting, the [fraternal] law…will find a place; and only when all these are silent are the commands of conscience and the vow observed” (1662/1997, 67). The significance of these conclusions for the magistrate‟s authority in imposing things indifferent in matters of divine worship is clear. If those things left indifferent by God‟s moral law are under the jurisdiction of another form of law, and if it is human law that stands at the next place in the necessary hierarchy of all law, then the civil magistrate has the power to impose laws concerning these indifferent actions, and no lower law, whether fraternal or private, can challenge this power. Further, if all obligations are ultimately divine, the laws imposed by the magistrate ought to be understood as coming from God, not in the sense that these actions themselves are commanded by God, but in the sense that God has given the magistrate the authority to impose these orders on his subjects, resulting in an indirect divine obligation to follow these commands. Locke admits that this general structure of law is accepted by most people, and yet many of these people do not include matters of divine worship among the actions left indifferent by God in the moral law. This distinction between “a gown worn in the market- place and the self-same gown worn in church” is an absurdity for Locke. The magistrate‟s authority must extend to both types of indifferent things “unless God by some decree of his own has circumscribed the magistrate‟s power within narrower limits, not allowing his sanctuary to be set within the bounds of the civil jurisdiction” (1662/1997, 69). In order to show that God has given the magistrate power over all indifferent things, including matters of divine worship, Locke turns to a discussion concerning the “sources of civil power [and] the very foundations of authority” (1662/1997, 69). Anticipating the debate with Filmer and Locke‟s own position in the Two Treatises, he notes the two most commonly proposed foundations of authority. Some argue that the source of government is in the paternal servitude in which all humans are born. Others suppose that humans are born in a state of liberty and equality by means of the law of nature. Locke does not offer his own opinion on this debate at this time, stating that he does not “consider it of any relevance to our present controversy whether one or other of them be true” (1662/1997, 71). If the magistrate is “born to command,” then there seems to be such a divine imprimatur on his power that it must extend to all matters left indifferent by God. If, on the other hand, all humans are born in a state of equal freedom, Locke argues that peace and order can only be gained if “every individual surrenders the whole

97 of this natural liberty of his, however great it may be, to the legislator, granting it to him who with the authority of all (by proxy, as it were), empowered by the general consent of each, makes valid laws for them.” If this total surrender of liberty is the origin of civil government, it is clear that “whatever any individual is permitted to do that, too, the magistrate is permitted to command” (1662/1997, 70). Once again, this must include all things left indifferent by God, including matters of divine worship. Because reason does not offer any support for the claim that the magistrate has authority only over civil things indifferent, Locke turns to the possibility of a Gospel precept declaring religious things indifferent outside of the civil magistrate‟s authority. The arguments that Locke disputes are similar to those lines of support offered by Bagshaw. For example, Locke once again notes that Christian liberty is freedom from the devil and Jewish ceremonial law, not the civil law imposed by magistrates. Also, if Scripture is a “perfect rule both of life and conduct,” as some suggest, Locke repeats his earlier argument that all civil laws would be abolished, resulting in civil anarchy (1662/1997, 72-73, 77). New to the Second Tract is the claim that all external forms of worship are mere “superstitions.” Locke notes that even New Testament critics of the faith made this very claim, but just as Paul did not abandon the faith then, outward worship is not made unlawful because the consciences of some do not comprehend its significance. Locke also engages with the argument that the “magistrate is not allowed to impose ceremonies because they are stumbling-blocks,” recalling the discussion of fraternal law earlier in the tract (1662/1997, 74). Locke‟s general response is that the imposition of things indifferent rarely causes a weak Christian to stumble. Instead, those who make this argument are more likely to be merely annoyed by the magistrate‟s command, and the fact that impositions offend particular people does not affect their lawfulness. Again recalling the earlier tract, civil laws will always offend someone, which is why the commands must be based not on the consent of every individual but on the overall well being of the commonwealth. Locke writes, “It suffices for the legality and obligation of a law if in free and indifferent contexts [the magistrate] establishes whatever appears to him, as bearing responsibility for the commonwealth, to be in some way conducive to public peace and the welfare of the people” (1662/1997, 75).

4. Locke‟s Two Tracts and Liberal Democracy As mentioned at the outset of this chapter, one‟s position concerning religious toleration determines whether one can even entertain the possibility of accepting the vision of liberal democracy that this project promotes. The discussion of Locke‟s views in the Two Tracts should make it abundantly clear that the early Lockean position would be unable to support the inclusion of competing religious forms of reasoning in the political discourse of a liberal democracy. In the early years of the Restoration, Locke‟s political theory is much better suited for a Hobbesian society in which the natural liberty of individuals has been transferred to the civil authority, leaving the sovereign with a significant degree of control over every aspect of its citizens‟ lives, including religious beliefs and practices. While the minority religious traditions may be tolerated, largely because they do not pose a great threat to the stability of the social order, Locke is quick to defend the civil magistrate‟s responsibility to homogenize the majority religious tradition for the sake of peace. Diversity of religious opinion, particularly within the dominant system of belief and practice, is something that must be actively restrained by means of political rule. Again, this political vision does not lead to an extreme Rawlsian liberal position in which religious reasons must be radically divorced from the public sphere. Indeed, Locke has no problem engaging with explicitly religious forms of reasoning when debating political matters. Instead, the reason why Locke‟s early position counteracts my form of liberal democracy is that Locke‟s vision would lead to a society where one‟s religious beliefs and practices are restricted in such a way that they cannot publicly contribute to the conflict that marks the healthy liberal democratic state. In other words, Locke readily admits, in his distinction between formal and material obligation, that the civil magistrate cannot coerce the privately held beliefs of religious believers in things indifferent. Nevertheless, when any competing religious beliefs are forced to reside only in the private sphere of individual religious believers, citizens are left to voice differences of opinion on political matters apart from the private religious differences that may largely contribute to these political conclusions. As Ashcraft correctly notes, Locke‟s position in the Two Tracts is that the only aspects of religion over which the magistrate has no control, the inward beliefs of an individual, “cannot be linked to action at all” (1986, 89). As soon as one‟s religion becomes outwardly expressive, the magistrate is allowed to demand uniformity as external actions are removed from the essentials of true religion. We are left with the disingenuous citizen that Wolterstorff, Stout, and others believe is kept from becoming an

99 honest, and therefore useful, interlocutor for democratic discourse. Only when citizens are allowed the freedom to express religious beliefs and practices that may differ from those expressed by others can a society reach the point of genuine democratic discourse.33 Locke‟s views in the Two Tracts greatly limit the religious freedom that is the first necessary condition for the possibility of such discourse. Fortunately, Locke did not remain satisfied with the arguments that he found so convincing in the early 1660s. In fact, by the latter part of the same decade, Locke had made a radical shift in his political thought precisely by continuing to wrestle with the issue of religious toleration. This shift is the subject of the next chapter, in which the Locke that is remembered as the champion of political liberalism and individual freedom begins to emerge.

33 Quoting the Two Tracts, Ashcraft argues, “Since this „inner worship of the heart,‟ which is „the essence and soul of religion,‟ is „wholly silent and secret…completely hidden from the eyes and observation of men,‟ there can be no grounds for appeals to individual conscience against the commands of the magistrate” (1986, 89; see Locke 1662/1997, 57-58).

CHAPTER THREE LOCKE‟S SHIFT TO LIBERALISM: ARGUMENTS FOR RELIGIOUS TOLERATION

1. Introduction If being opposed to the toleration of religious diversity precludes one from supporting the kind of political participation that this project promotes, then the Locke of the early 1660s can clearly be no friend to my vision of liberal democracy. Therefore, if I am to succeed in presenting Locke as a significant historical figure in the development of a liberal democratic vision that supports the use of religious forms of reasoning in political discourse, then there must have been a dramatic shift in Locke‟s position on religious toleration after his early views that were discussed in the previous chapter. Not surprisingly to those who know Locke, in part, for his mature views on this matter, such a shift did in fact occur. This change in Locke‟s views happened rather suddenly in the middle years of the 1660s. By the end of the very same decade in which the Two Tracts were written, Locke had become a full-fledged supporter of a robust form of religious toleration. It is precisely through this new understanding of the issue of religious toleration that Locke‟s version of liberal political thought began to take shape. The views that he developed in the 1660s, moreover, remained constant throughout Locke‟s remaining writings on the subject, most famously in his Letter Concerning Toleration, written in 1685 and published anonymously in 1689. In this chapter, I begin with a discussion of the historical context of the shift in Locke‟s views on religious toleration, paying particular attention to Locke‟s time in Germany, as well as his relationship to Anthony Ashley Cooper—later Lord Ashley and then Earl of Shaftesbury—that began several years after the composition of the Two Tracts. Section three is devoted to Locke‟s first significant writing that presents his mature views on the subject of toleration, An Essay Concerning Toleration. Section four, then, reflects briefly on the relevant works written between the Essay and the Letter, the latter of which is the subject of section five.1 In section six, I discuss the debate with Jonas Proast that occurred after the publication of the Letter, which resulted in three additional Letters written by Locke in continued response to the various criticisms. Throughout this chapter, it will be argued that

1 Throughout this chapter, “Essay” refers to An Essay Concerning Toleration. 100

101

Locke‟s mature views on religious toleration represent the first necessary condition for the use of religious forms of reasoning in the political discourse of a liberal democracy.

2. The Context of the Shift 2.1 Observations of Religious Toleration in Germany Cranston writes, “Locke in 1660 and 1661 was…a man of the Right, an extreme authoritarian. Within a few years his political views were to be radically changed” (1957, 67). Much of this change can be best understood in light of the changes happening in Locke‟s own life in the 1660s. Rather than becoming a clergyman, the most common course of action for those in Locke‟s position at Christ Church, Locke was made the Censor of Moral Philosophy, which Cranston describes as “a disciplinary office” (1957, 78).2 When his term ended, Locke decided to take a diplomatic post that required him to travel to Germany. By November 1665, Locke was in Cleves, serving as secretary to Sir Walter Vane. While it is true that his employment in the house of Shaftesbury played a large part in causing the change in Locke‟s political vision, including his position concerning religious toleration, it is necessary to briefly mention Locke‟s time in Germany as it provides the impetus to the shift in political vision, particularly concerning the question of religious toleration, that gets nourished through his involvement with Shaftesbury in the later years of the 1660s and following decades.3 While in Germany, Locke paid special attention to the way in which religious toleration was approached in this foreign land. Speaking of Calvinists, Lutherans, and Roman Catholics, he wrote to Robert Boyle:

2 Cranston notes, “The statutes of Christ Church laid it down that fifty-five of the senior studentships should be held by men in orders or reading for orders. Only five senior studentships could be held by others—two in medicine, two in law, and one in moral philosophy” (1957, 74). Locke was not offered one of these Faculty Studentships until 1675, meaning that he was again encouraged to become a clergyman when he returned from his diplomatic post in Germany. Cranston writes that Locke was “urged…to enter holy orders, for, however debauched the dons might be, it was still considered imperative for all except a small minority of them to be clergymen. But again Locke resisted and chose instead to concentrate on medical and other scientific studies” (1957, 88). According to Milton and Milton, Locke “was strongly averse to ordination and his place at Christ Church was far from secure” (2006, 2). After meeting Ashley in the summer of 1666, Locke went to stay with his eventual patron in the autumn of that year. During this stay, Locke managed to obtain—no doubt through the assistance of Ashley—a royal command that forced Christ Church to allow Locke to continue in his studies without taking holy orders. 3 Laslett contends, “Without Shaftesbury, Locke would not have been Locke at all” (1988, 27). While Ashcraft does emphasize the relationship with Shaftesbury as essential in Locke‟s shift to liberalism (see, for example, 1986, 84), he notes that Locke‟s “empirical observation” at Cleves was “transformed…into a basic presupposition in the course of Locke‟s development of an argument favouring religious toleration” (1987, 17).

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They quietly permit one another to choose their way to heaven; for I cannot observe any quarrels or animosities amongst them upon the account of religion. This good correspondence is owing partly to the power of the magistrate, and partly to the prudence and good nature of the people, who (as I find by enquiry) entertain different opinions, without any secret hatred or rancour [Corr. 175, i. 228; see Cranston 1957, 82]. The man of science that Locke had become—partially through his relationship with Boyle and others in the scientific community—witnessed firsthand the flaws in his treatment of religious toleration in the Two Tracts. As Marshall puts it, “The methodically-minded Locke had clearly himself recognised that he had found practised what he had opposed as impracticable” (1994, 46). Contrary to Locke‟s assumptions in these earlier works, it simply was not true that diversity of religious opinions necessarily results in chaos and discord—even if those opinions are held publicly, for it is certainly the case that the religious believers to whom Locke refers were not simply Calvinists, for example, in the inner recesses of their minds; instead, these religious individuals were part of religious communities that publicly presented alternatives in many aspects of religious belief and practice. Locke even attended services in Lutheran, Calvinist, and Catholic churches. While he was not fond of the services themselves—and seemingly put off at some of the practices, including the odd occurrence of the Lutherans worshiping “with their hats on” (Corr. 177, i. 236; see Cranston 1957, 83)—Locke, to his surprise, was led to rethink his earlier position on the toleration of private and public religious diversity.

2.2 Relationship with Shaftesbury It was after this one-year post in Germany that Locke returned to Oxford and had the fortune of meeting Anthony Ashley Cooper, then first Baron Ashley, in the summer of 1666. Ashley was born in 1621 into a wealthy family. Both of his parents died by the time he was nine. During the Civil War, he served in the Royalist Army for a short period of time before joining the Parliamentary cause. According to Cranston, “Sir Anthony went over to the Puritans for the sake, he said, of freedom and the Protestant faith, having come to the conclusion that the King had no intention of preserving either” (1957, 105). Nevertheless, his Presbyterianism eventually led Cromwell‟s successors to accuse Ashley of plotting against the Puritans in an effort to restore the King. While he was acquitted of these charges, Ashley was using his political influence to usher in the Restoration. Like Locke, Ashley‟s allegiance to the Parliamentary side in the War did not endure through the years of Puritan rule. Upon the

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Restoration, Ashley was named Privy Councillor as a trusted adviser to the King. Nevertheless, when the King‟s first Minister, Clarendon, introduced a policy that required Anglican conformity in Parliament, Ashley emerged as one of the most vigorous opponents to this act. He continued his opposition to all acts of conformity that were introduced in the following decades, remaining a tireless supporter of religious toleration throughout his life.4 The initial encounter between Ashley and Locke found the latter providing the service of his newly acquired medical skills to Ashley in a time of sickness.5 It was not until the following Easter when Locke was invited to join Ashley‟s Exeter House, an invitation that Locke gladly accepted. Thus began a relationship that would prove to be one of the most significant factors in the development of Locke‟s mature political philosophy. While tutoring and medical assistance seem to be the primary reasons why Locke was welcomed to the household, it did not take long for his patron to see the other gifts that Locke brought to the table.6 After Locke was involved in an operation that saved his patron‟s life—according to Ashley‟s own beliefs described by Locke—the physician and tutor was urged to turn his talent to other areas of interest to his patron, particularly those areas dealing with political and civil life. According to the third Earl of Shaftesbury,

4 Cranston attributes Ashley‟s opposition to conformity and support of religious toleration to his financial situation: “Ashley‟s very zeal for toleration was indeed but an aspect of his interest in trade. It was not simply a case of his desiring toleration of dissenters because of his own Presbyterian views, still less a case of his having achieved a Christ-like forbearance beyond the spiritual range of the average sensual man. Ashley opposed religious persecution because religious persecution divided a nation, drove many of its most industrious citizens to emigrate, and generally impeded commercial development…. The example of Holland had taught him how trade and toleration could flourish splendidly together. He was the complete progressive capitalist in politics; he might almost have been invented by Marx” (1957, 107). To dispute Ashley‟s motives for supporting religious toleration is not a consideration of this project; however, given his lifelong struggle against religious conformity—as well as the risks that accompanied the struggle—there most certainly is room to debate Cranston‟s position. That the issue of trade was related to the debates concerning religious toleration can be seen from a speech given in the House of Commons in March 1668. According to John Milward, “Sir William Thompson moved for a toleration and liberty of conscience, because those that desired it were true worshippers of God, and that a restraint would prove destructive to trade, by driving many of them into foreign countries, and so take the trade with them” (see Milton and Milton 2006, 19). 5 See Laslett 1988, 25 for a description of both Ashley and the first encounter between Ashley and Locke. 6 Cranston notes Locke‟s “duties as [Ashley‟s] physician,” and it is certainly the case that Locke‟s medical skills were of interest to Ashley. Complicating the matter, however, Milton and Milton note, “The precise position that Locke occupied on his arrival in Ashley‟s household is not entirely certain. According to the third Earl of Shaftesbury, he acted as tutor to Ashley‟s son, who had left Oxford shortly before Locke” (2006, 3). Although it would seem that Locke had more than enough responsibilities at Exeter House, it must be remembered that within his first year with the household, he composed An Essay Concerning Toleration. In other words, despite his work for Ashley and the household, Locke was given sufficient time to pursue his own interests in medicine and political philosophy.

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After this cure Mr Lock grew so much in Esteem with my Grandfather that as great a man as he had experienc‟d him in Physick he look‟d upon this but as his least part. he encourag‟d him to turn his Thoughts another way nor wou‟d he suffer him to practice Physick except in his own Family and as a kindness to some particular Friends. he putt him upon the Study of the Religiouse and Civill affairs of the Nation with whattsoever related to the buissness of a Minister of State in which he was so successfull that my Grandfather began soon to use him as a Friend and consult with him on all occasions of that kind [see Milton and Milton 2006, 4]. One of the most important “Civill affairs” to Ashley in the 1660s was the issue of religious toleration, a cause that Ashley strongly supported.7 It is not surprising, therefore, to see Locke discussing his own support of the policy of toleration shortly after being directed by his patron to a more focused study of political matters. The influence is obvious, and yet it must not be overstated. Because Ashley held these views in the early years of the 1660s, Cranston is correct to note that “Ashley was a champion of toleration before Locke was, when Locke‟s views on toleration were indeed quite otherwise” (1957, 111). Ignoring Locke‟s comments about the situation in Germany, however, may lead many to exaggerate Ashley‟s influence on the shift in Locke‟s position on religious toleration. Cranston avoids this error when he continues, “This is not to say that Locke acquired his mature opinions on toleration from Ashley, for by the time he met Ashley Locke‟s views had come into line with his.” Nevertheless, the unique contribution that Ashley made to Locke‟s views on religious toleration was significant. “It was Ashley,” Cranston writes, “who made Locke give systematic attention to the subject and furthered his evolution as a liberal” (1957, 111).8 It is no doubt that Locke began to question the position on religious toleration put forth in the Two Tracts after his time at Cleves; he did not, however, work through his changing views in writing until he was part of the Ashley household.9 In 1667, Locke composed his Essay

7 Unlike Owen and others, Ashley remained a conforming Anglican throughout his life. While there are reports that suggest a lack of genuine commitment on his part to the beliefs of the Church, Ashley argued for the toleration of dissenting Protestants and Catholics from within the establishment. See Milton and Milton 2006, 27. 8 Cranston later notes, “It was Ashley who discovered and helped Locke to discover his own true genius. Before he went to Exeter House, Locke was a minor Oxford scholar, an ex-diplomatist of small experience, an amateur scientist, an unpublished writer and unqualified physician. In Ashley‟s home he blossomed into a philosopher, an economist and a medical virtuoso; and a part of the credit for his doing so must go to the ugly little nobleman who was his patron and host” (1957, 113). 9 Milton and Milton note that Locke‟s time in Cleves does not appear to have immediately translated into new works on the subject of religious toleration. They write, “His visit to Cleves may well have opened his eyes to the possibility of religious pluralism, but if it led to any theoretical reflections on toleration no trace of them has survived among his papers” (2006, 26).

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Concerning Toleration that brought to fruition the implications behind his observations of religious toleration in Germany. Arguing against his own earlier views throughout the Essay, Locke presents numerous arguments for the support of religious toleration that would remain constant throughout the remainder of his political writings. Cranston is right to say that while Locke‟s “renown as a theorist of toleration is based on the Letters for Toleration and other political works which he published during the reign of William III…most of the principles he set forth in those Letters were already contained in the manuscript essay of 1667” (1957, 111). To see how Locke‟s position on religious toleration endured a radical shift in the 1660s, therefore, it is necessary to explore this Essay, discovering how its arguments for toleration fit with the vision of political participation that this project endorses.

3. An Essay Concerning Toleration 3.1 The Context of the Essay Locke‟s Essay Concerning Toleration was written in the midst of ever-increasing debates about religious toleration after the Restoration. Because many viewed the Civil War as a result of religious diversity, the popular sentiment was that religious conformity was a necessary condition for the maintenance of social peace and order. After the Restoration, therefore, the vast majority of both Anglican clergy and laity were in full support of a variety of laws meant to secure order through conformity. Those who refused to support these orders were removed from their offices immediately. The Act of Uniformity of 1662 was the first major statute that outlawed religious dissent.10 According to Milton and Milton, this law “was followed by a succession of statutes intended to reduce and ultimately to eliminate dissent.” For example, “The Conventicle Act of 1664 forbade unauthorized religious meetings and laid down a graduated series of penalties culminating in transportation for seven years for persistent offenders” (2006, 12). While worship could still be done in authorized settings such as households, even these meetings were watched with a careful eye for any scent of civil rebellion. Milton and Milton are correct to note that the conformity statutes of the 1660s were “aimed at sedition, not heterodoxy” (2006, 13). That is, the Anglican hierarchy was not interested so much in saving souls from

10 In order to be a tutor at Christ Church, Milton and Milton note that “Locke would have been required to take the oath prescribed in the Act of Uniformity” (2006, 82).

106 heretical beliefs as it was in avoiding the chaos that it believed would lead to civil unrest. Milton and Milton continue, “Similar motives underlay the Five Mile Act of 1665, which forbade the clergy ejected in 1662 from coming within five miles of any corporate town or any parish where they had once been ministers unless they would swear not to take up arms against the King or attempt to alter the government in church or state” (2006, 13). As long as the threat of sedition was defeated, the leaders of church and state were satisfied. This relatively one-sided concern, however, is what allowed dissenters to exist, despite the restrictions placed on them through these many laws of conformity. Figures such as Shaftesbury could not only meet with dissenters in approved settings; they could also engage in non-violent methods of promoting other options concerning religious diversity. Official political debate in Parliament and the distribution of written materials—often in the form of pamphlets—were the primary methods used by dissenters in trying to persuade the hierarchy and the masses that conformity was not the answer to the dilemma of diversity. The same desired results of civil peace and social order could be better achieved, according to the dissenters, by two other approaches. Some supported the policy of comprehension, while others called for a more robust toleration called indulgence. Locke himself explained the distinction between these two policies many years later: The question of toleration has been taken up in parliament under a twofold title, namely Comprehension and Indulgence. The former signifies extension of the boundaries of the Church, with a view to including greater numbers by the removal of part of the ceremonies. The latter signifies toleration of those who are either unwilling or unable to unite themselves to the Church of England on the terms offered to them [Corr. 1120, iii. 583-84; see Milton and Milton 2006, 13]. Comprehension, therefore, was a policy that sought to bring larger segments of the population into the fold of Anglicanism. In other words, while dissenters were still not to be tolerated, this policy would reduce the number of dissenters by removing many of the obstacles that kept some from conforming to the Church of England. Indulgence, on the other hand, would not alter the beliefs and practices of the Anglican Church. Under this policy, dissenters would remain dissenters, but many of them would be tolerated despite not conforming to the Church of England.11

11 Milton and Milton note the problems with each of these policies: “Comprehension was only of interest to moderate Presbyterians, and even here it was difficult if not impossible to devise terms that both sides would be prepared to accept. Minor changes would have achieved very little, while substantial ones would have raised the spectre of a schism within the church, something which for many Anglicans—both clergy and laity—was even less acceptable than indulgence.” The major issues related to the policy of indulgence were “whether it was to extend to

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Despite the supporters for some version of comprehension or indulgence, the 1662 Act of Uniformity escaped any major alteration in the months following its passing.12 The next serious challenge to the Act came in 1667. By September of that year, many were expecting a new Act of Comprehension to take the place of the 1662 law. Such a bill was composed in early 1668 by Richard Baxter, Sir Matthew Hale, and John Wilkins. These same thinkers also wrote another bill that allowed those who would still dissent, despite the new efforts at comprehension, the freedom to both believe and practice their own religions. The only catch would be that such dissenters would be ineligible for public office. Once these proposed bills became known to the public, there was even greater expectation for change to the Act of Uniformity.13 The House of Commons addressed this expectation in February, concluding that no bills in opposition to the Act of Uniformity would be discussed until the King spoke on the matter.14 When the King did arrive, he declared his support for some sort of toleration for Protestant dissenters. He urged Parliament to “seriously think of some course to beget a better Union and Composure in the Minds of My Protestant Subjects in Matters of Religion; whereby they may be induced not only to submit quietly to the Government, but also chearfully give their Assistance to the Support of it” (see Milton and Milton 2006, 18). The King‟s speech was taken into consideration in the House of Commons on March 11. Some members of the House presented arguments in support of toleration. William Thompson, for example, positively related the increasing of toleration to the growth of trade (see 103 n. 4 above). Others argued for toleration on the basis of civil order. According to Milward, Edward Seymour proclaimed that “because this strict government of the Church hath not wrought the peaceable effect that was intended, therefore…we should try a more easy way, by taking the restraint off tender consciences and using lenity and giving them some indulgence; for acts of severity never gain love, and where there is not love to a government it will never by truly and

Catholics and whether it could be granted by the royal prerogative. These two issues were inextricably intertwined, since Charles II was uninterested in any indulgence that did not include Catholics, while Parliament was not prepared to enact any that did” (2006, 13-14). 12 Milton and Milton credit this to the “obdurate hostility of the House of Commons” (2006, 14). 13 Milton and Milton provide several accounts of such expectation. For example, Samuel Pepys wrote in January of 1668 that there was a “great presumption that there will be a Toleration granted”; John Birch commented in a letter to Pepys that “the King is for Toleration”; Pepys was later informed that “an Act of Comprehension is likely to pass this Parliament, for admitting of all persuasions in religion to the public observation of their perticular worship” (see Milton and Milton 2006, 17). 14 Pepys describes the Parliament‟s stern warning by writing, “And it was moved in the House that if any people had a mind to bring any new laws into the House about religion, they might come as a proposer of new laws did in Athens, with ropes about their necks” (see Milton and Milton 2006, 18).

108 cordially obeyed” (see Milton and Milton 2006, 19-20). Despite these forms of reasoning, the House ultimately voted against sending the issue back to the King. Those that were victorious in this vote relied on the argument concerning things indifferent that Locke had so forcefully made in the Two Tracts. They also echoed the early views of Locke by reminding the Commons of the violence and chaos of the Civil War, which these members believed could be traced to the lack of restraint against Puritan dissenters. Sir John Birkenhead, for example, argued, When we remember the villainies that those men committed under pretence of conscience, the younger sort of them unlearned and ignorant, and that no oath (of which they had taken many) would bind or hold the older, we may well be cautious that we be not again cheated and destroyed by indulging their conscience into a new rebellion [see Milton and Milton 2006, 19]. Despite the vote against his position, the King vowed to continue his efforts for toleration.15 For its part, Parliament would not meet again until the fall of 1669, providing ample time for the already active pamphlet debate about religious toleration to reach a new level of intensity. Both supporters and critics of toleration continued to produce tracts, pamphlets, and books to sway public opinion to their particular perspective.16 As with the debates in Parliament, the arguments in the literature were primarily political. That is, writers were concerned with whether toleration—either the more limited comprehension or the more extensive indulgence— would result in civil order or social chaos. John Corbet, a Presbyterian minister, for example, argued that a broad comprehension that left the fewest Protestants outside the Anglican Church would best secure stability. Others, such as Richard Perrinchief, believed that any amount of religious toleration would lead to disorder. With the Civil War and Interregnum in mind, he wrote, “Faction in the State being thus interwoven with Dissentions in Religion, the Toleration of one sort is the permission of another” (see Milton and Milton 2006, 23). There were also, however, arguments based on religious principles concerning human nature. For example, Owen wrote, “The sole Question is, Whether God hath Authorized, and doth warrant any man, of what

15 According to a group of Presbyterian ministers whom the King spoke to after the vote of 1668, the King vowed to “doe his utmost to get us comprehended within the Publicke Establishment.” That being said, many were already realizing that the King‟s interests went beyond the inclusion of Protestant dissenters into the Church of England. In order to accomplish his real goal—the toleration of Catholics—comprehension had to be used only as a means to an eventual indulgence, which provided toleration for all Christians (see Milton and Milton 2006, 20-21). 16 In his discussion of the Origins of Democratic Culture, David Zaret highlights the “real-world communicative developments that made it possible for Locke and subsequent philosophers to uphold democratic conceptions of political order that presuppose the existence, rationality, and normative authority of public opinion” (2000, 8). For a broader discussion of the emergence of the public sphere in relation to the political thought of Jürgen Habermas, see essays by Zaret and others in Calhoun, ed. 1992. In his “Introduction,” Calhoun stresses Habermas‟s position that Locke was the thinker “who fully freed opinion from the taint of pure prejudice” (1992, 17).

109 sort soever, to compell others to Worship and serve him, contrary to the way and manner that they are in their Consciences perswaded that he doth accept and approve” (see Milton and Milton 2006, 24). Owen, an Independent who favored indulgence, argued that religious compulsion was not a right of any human. Owen‟s belief that indulgence was the best way to secure civil peace was based on his argument from the liberty of conscience. Only if citizens were afforded the freedom to believe and practice religion without pressure to conform to a state church would they support and defend the state.

3.2 Locke’s New Position on Religious Toleration Writing the Essay in 1667, Locke was once again entering the discussion over the issue of religious toleration at a very volatile time. While the work does not specifically mention the Parliamentary debate over the proposed bills for toleration or the pamphlet debate of the 1660s, Locke‟s presence in Ashley‟s household during the composition of the Essay supports the claim that Locke was aware of these events.17 Furthermore, whether or not he drew on these events explicitly, both the arguments from political stability and those based on the principles of religious liberty and freedom of conscience that abounded in the speeches and writings of the time appear in Locke‟s work.18 Locke begins the Essay with the recognition that both those in support of and those in opposition to religious toleration have “too much enlargd their pretensions” (1667/2006, 269). While obedience and liberty are set forth as the highest ideals by the warring parties, Locke notices a lack of specificity concerning “those things which have a title to liberty…[as well as] the boundarys of imposition & obedience” (1667/2006, 269). Locke‟s position will be one that

17 While the environment of Ashley‟s household would certainly have fostered thought concerning political matters, the relationship of Ashley himself to the composition of the Essay remains unclear. Cranston and Laslett claim that the Essay was requested by Ashley. Marshall concludes that the Essay “came from encouragement or commission by Ashley” (1994, 69). Milton and Milton, however, comment, “It is not easy to say what part if any [Ashley] had in the genesis of the Essay. He may have suggested to Locke that he should write something on the subject of toleration, but in the absence of further evidence this is not something about which it is possible to be certain” (2006, 27; see also 2006, 48-49). 18 Milton and Milton claim, “All of Locke‟s arguments were designed to secure liberty of belief and worship, not liberty of conscience.” They argue that this “placed him at odds” with many other supporters of toleration (2006, 37-38). For Locke, one‟s conscience is always free from human compulsion, conscience being nothing more than personal opinion or moral belief, and the magistrate can make many laws that go against various individuals‟ consciences. In this way, Locke does not support liberty of conscience. What is important is having the freedom to make public confessions of belief and engage in public practices that are based on one‟s conscience, and that meet the conditions necessary for toleration. Rather than saying Locke did not argue for the liberty of conscience, therefore, it would be better to simply understand such liberty within Locke‟s framework of toleration.

110 recognizes the need for governmental imposition in some matters that at least indirectly relate to religion, as well as the need for individual liberty in other aspects of religious belief and practice. In contrast to the many zealous contributors to the debate over religious toleration in the 1660s, Locke‟s purpose in the Essay is to discover a middle ground between the “pretentions” of both the defenders of liberty and of obedience that will hold firm to all principles that are fundamental to civil order and prosperity. In order to find the balance between these positions, Locke argues that the entire discussion of religious toleration has to be framed within the confines of the purpose of government. He writes, “The whole trust power & authority of the magistrate is vested in him for noe other purpose, but to be made use of for the good, preservation, & peace of men in that society over which he is set, & therefor…this alone is & ought to be the standard & measure acording to which he ought to square & proportion his laws: model & frame his government” (1667/2006, 269).19 The near unlimited authority that Locke granted to the magistrate in the Two Tracts has been replaced by a government that is significantly limited by the very principles of social order.20 As he will develop further in the Two Treatises, Locke

19 Cranston notes, “Locke was an early champion of the minimal state, of what was later known—in England at any rate—as „liberalism.‟ Some of his contemporaries believed that it was part of a government‟s duty to save the souls of the citizens. Locke maintained that a government had no other duties beyond those for which governments were first instituted, namely the preservation of life, liberty and property; and he was strongly opposed to governments attempting to do anything else” (1957, 211). 20 It is important to note that the most fundamental condition for determining the magistrate‟s realm of power has not changed. Even in the Two Tracts, the magistrate was to exercise control over all matters indifferent only because Locke believed conformity in these matters was vital to the preservation of the social order. What we will see change in the Essay, therefore, is not the justification of the magistrate‟s proper use of authority, but the recognition that much less actually impacts the social order than Locke originally believed. This shift is later evident in Locke‟s notes on a work by Samuel Parker. There, Locke writes, “The end of government being publique peace tis noe question the supreme power must have an uncontroulable right to judg & ordeyne all things that may conduce to it? but yet the question will be whether Uniformity establishd by a law be (as is here supposd) a necessary means to it? i.e. whether it be at all dangerous to the magistrate that he beleiveing free will, some of his subjects should beleive predestination, or whether it be more necessary for his government to make laws for weareing surplices, then it is for wearing vests?” (1669-70/2006, 325). The continuity in Locke‟s basic position is important, both in avoiding the temptation of viewing Locke as merely a mold of Ashley‟s own political views, and in recognizing the significance of the historical context in which Locke was writing these two works, one with a clear memory of the dangers of religious dissent, and the other with a sober awareness of the dangers of compulsion in the realm of religion. In clear contrast to his fears in the Two Tracts, consider this addition to the Essay concerning the magistrate‟s attempt to prescribe particular forms of worship to those outside his religious community: “It hath been the cause of more disorders tumults & bloodshed then all other causes put together” (1675/2006, 312). Dunn, therefore, is right to note, “Instead of considering the extent of the behavioural domain over which the power may be employed (which remains identical [in the Two Tracts and the Essay]) he examines which instances of its exertion are intrinsically legitimate…. Neither the logical structure of the theory nor its implications for the legitimate behaviour of subjects has altered greatly but its practical persuasions and its moral alignment seem very different” (1969, 30). Marshall, therefore, is overstating the change in thought when he writes, “Locke had shifted from defining the power of the magistrate as an „absolute and arbitrary‟ power over all

111 notes that government is only necessary because of the inability of humans to live together in peace without the laws of an external authority. If any ordinance does not pass the test of being vital for the preservation of society and promotion of civil order, then that ordinance has no place in Locke‟s vision of limited government, for “what was the end of erecting of government, ought alone to be the measure of its proceeding” (1667/2006, 270). It is important to note that while Locke‟s argument often seems a matter of pragmatic success, it is ultimately based on principles that are given by God to magistrates and subjects alike. He writes of “the bounds that god hath set to the power of the magistrate & the obedience of the subject, both which are subjects & equally owe obedience to the great King of Kings who expects from them the performance of those dutys which are incumbent on them in their severall stations & conditions” (1667/2006, 288). The recognition of principles that go beyond concrete efficacy is vital to understanding the role of Locke in the larger purpose of this project. While I agree with Stout and others that democratic discourse can be most effective only if all citizens are allowed to present the forms of reasoning that they use to reach conclusions about matters that impact the social order, my support for such political participation is based on more than pragmatics. While it is not necessary to join Locke in situating the principles of government in the divine mind, I believe that the substance of many principles of Lockean liberalism is vital in truly defending and promoting the best form of public discourse in a liberal democratic state. Locke‟s reasoning about the purpose of laws within the civil order makes clear the central principle that is developed in the Essay. With this method of determining the legitimacy of laws in place, Locke passes over the question of whether the state‟s power comes from God or the consent of the people—as he often does—and immediately distinguishes “the opinions & actions of men…in reference to toleration” into three categories. The first category includes “all such opinions & actions as in them selves concerne not government or society at all, & such are all puerly speculative opinions, & Divine worship” (1667/2006, 271). Locke writes that such beliefs and practices “are those things alone which have an absolute & universall right to toleration” (1667/2006, 271). In contrast to the magistrate in the Two Tracts who could claim obedience in nearly all matters indifferent in the realm of religious belief and practice because of their impact on the social

indifferent matters in the Two Tracts to a jurisdiction clearly limited to securing the terrestrial „public good‟” (1994, 52). Even in the Two Tracts, the boundaries of the magistrate‟s power were determined by the “public good.”

112 order, beliefs concerning the Trinity and Christ‟s reign on earth, as well as actions concerning “the place time & manner of worshiping my god,” Locke argues, “come not within the magistrate‟s cognizance” (1667/2006, 272).21 The question of whether God has left these matters indifferent in the pages of Scripture does not even arise, because Locke now believes that these matters are indifferent not only in the relationship between God and humans, but they are also indifferent in the ordering of society.22 Of the beliefs, Locke contends that they “cannot by any means distrube the state or inconvenience my neigbour,” and the patterns of religious practice, he claims, are “wholy between god & me & of an eternall concernment above the reach & extent of polities & government which are but for my well being in this world” (1667/2006, 272). In stark contrast to Hobbes, the magistrate of the Essay is forcefully described as only an “umpire between man & man. He can right me against my neigbour but cannot defend me against my god” (1667/2006, 272).23 As a result, religious matters that can be shown to have no direct impact on the social order demand complete toleration.24 The magistrate‟s realm of power is greatly limited. While he certainly has the duty to maintain order in this world, “he hath noe thing at all to doe with my private interest in an other world…haveing noe more certain or more infallible knowledg of the way to attain [the good of another world] then I my self, where we are both equally inquirers both equally subjects” (1667/2006, 273). What is more, even if the

21 Locke would later add to the Essay an argument that the magistrate may have the authority to determine the forms of worship within his own religious community, of which he is “fitest” to be considered “lawgiver.” This role, however, would be independent from his role as leader of the civil society. Significantly, Locke presents this argument with the caveat that the magistrate‟s particular religious community, like all others, “must be understood to be only a voluntary society & dureing every members pleasure” (1675/2006, 311). The voluntary nature of religious communities will be a significant aspect in Locke‟s later writing on the subject, as well as for the overall argument of this project. 22 Locke would later argue that while such matters are considered indifferent in the relationship between God and humans by those outside the particular religious community, they are not seen as indifferent by those who believe or practice these opinions or actions. In other words, if one kneels at a particular time in the service, one truly believes that doing so is pleasing to God, whether or not one could point to a particular passage of Scripture that supports such a view. In this way, the entire category of religious matters indifferent—as far as the individual believer is concerned—is practically abolished. Locke writes that “in religious worship noething is indifferent for it being the useing of those habits gestures &c & noe other which I thinke acceptable to god in my worshiping of him, however they may be in their own nature perfectly indifferent, yet when I am worshiping my god in a way I thinke he has prescribd & will approve of I cannot alter omit or adde any circumstance in that which I thinke the true way of worship” (1667/2006, 308). And again, “For though the things in them selves are perfectly indifferent, & it may be trivial · yet, to the worshiper when he considers them as required by his god or forbidden, pleaseing or displeasing to the Invisible power he addresses to, they are by noe meanes soe” (1667/2006, 312). 23 Higgins-Biddle, commenting on Locke‟s questions concerning Parker‟s Discourse, notes that by the late 1660s, Locke “obviously believed that Hobbes had given to the magistrate complete control over all religious doctrine, and he rejected that position” (1999a, lxxxviii). 24 Dunn comments, “Only if a religious commitment constituted a direct threat to the public peace could a political authority have any right to interfere with it. Beliefs and ways of worship were intrinsically privileged from political interference” (1969, 32).

113 magistrate did attempt to force a particular path to salvation on his citizens, it could not be successful. According to Locke, one‟s salvation is too important to ever follow a path of which one is not “fully perswaded” (1667/2006, 274). The importance of the religious project is too great to be taken out of an individual‟s control.25 While this principle is found in the Two Tracts, it is greatly extended in the Essay to include the category of matters indifferent that are now seen as having no inherent effect on the civil order. If these principles based on the purpose of government and the limited power of the magistrate are not enough to convince the reader, Locke reiterates the path to salvation designed by God himself: But if god…would have men forcd to heaven, it must not be by the outward violence of the magistrate on mens bodys, but the inward constraints of his owne spirit on their minds, which are not to be wrought on by any humane compulsion, The way to salvation not being any forced exterior performance, but the voluntary & secret choise of the minde, & it cannot be supposed that god would make use of any means, which could not reach but would rather crosse the attainment of the end [1667/2006, 273].26 If any compulsion is to be present in matters relating to salvation, it is only the compulsion of the Holy Spirit on the mind of the individual. Locke argues that because these matters of religion have “noe reference at all to my governor or to my neigbour,” there is no reason why the state or one‟s fellow citizens should have any authority to attempt conformity by force to a particular set of beliefs or practices. This leads Locke to his conclusion on these matters in the first category: That in speculations & religious worship every man hath a perfect uncontrould liberty, which he may freely use without or contrary to the magistrates command, without any guilt or sin at all: provided always that it be all donne sincerely & out of conscience to god according to the best of his knowledg & perswasion [1667/2006, 275]. This basic, albeit significant, level of religious toleration is clearly a necessary condition for the type of political participation that I promote. Only if individuals maintain the liberty to hold a diversity of religious beliefs and practice a wide range of religious rituals can we even begin to discuss the possibility of bringing competing religious forms of reasoning into the

25 Describing the shift from the Two Tracts to the Essay, Biddle notes, “The major change in Locke‟s thinking between his early authoritarianism and his later policy of toleration lay in his recognition of the subjective nature of religious practice and the fallibility of human knowledge” (1977, 311-12). 26 Milton and Milton note the similarity to Luther in this very private and individualistic position concerning salvation (2006, 33). They also mention Luther‟s doctrine of the priesthood of all believers when discussing Locke‟s attack against the clergy in a later addition to the Essay (2006, 43).

114 public discourse of a liberal democracy. Some may object that Locke‟s toleration, even at this basic level, was never far-reaching enough to have any relevance to the pluralism that characterizes contemporary democracies such as the United States. While it is true that Locke‟s toleration does have its limitations, its breadth is still quite remarkable for its time. Belief in the Trinity, for example, is one of the most significant doctrines of the Christian faith. By many accounts, particularly in Locke‟s England, the denial of the Trinity would be tantamount to a denial of Christianity. For Locke to include the acceptance or denial of this doctrine on his list of speculative opinions that deserve full toleration is already moving many of the elites in his society well beyond their comfort zones.27 Locke, however, does not stop with the toleration of certain beliefs and practices that would stir controversy in the Christian community.28 He also discusses the toleration of other religious traditions alongside his comments on diverse Christian communities: if I observe the friday with the Mahumetan, or the Saturday with the Jew, or the sunday with the Christian, whether I pray with or without a forme, whether I worship God in the various & pompous ceremonies of the papists, or in the plainer way of the Calvinists. I see noe thing in any of these, if they be donne sincerely & out of conscience, that can of its self make me, either the worse subject to my prince, or worse neigbour to my fellow subject [1667/2006, 274].29

27 Marshall notes that Locke‟s level of toleration for speculative ideas even went beyond the position of Independents like Owen at the time. Marshall writes, “Most Independents from the Civil War on shared with Anglicans and presbyterians the view that the promotion and support of true religion by laws was a duty of the magistrate…. In contrast to the „Essay,‟ doctrines such as the Trinity were often explicitly included in their works as among those that had to be enforced. Their demand was for liberty for conscience, not for beliefs so obviously—to them—heretical or immoral that no conscience could be claimed for them” (1994, 59), 28 Even if Locke‟s toleration had been limited to the various Christian communities that he encountered in England, the diversity present should not be treated lightly. Contrary to the opinion of many Christians today, Wolterstorff writes that during Locke‟s time, “Nobody supposed that Protestants in their various sects were all getting at different aspects of one complex truth, let alone that Protestants and Catholics together were doing it. And even the view that the pre-Reformation Christian tradition presented a unified body of truth had fewer and fewer defenders” (1996, 2). In seventeenth-century England, therefore, the toleration of the competing Christian churches was already a significant policy to promote. 29 In a later addition to the Essay, Locke specifically discusses why the magistrate cannot impose forms of worship on the Muslim community, while also affirming the Muslim‟s place in society: “Can any one thinke it reasonable yea or practicable that a Christian Prince should direct the forme of Mahumetan Worship the whole religion being thought by him false & prophane & vice versa · & yet it is not impossible that a Christian prince should have Mahumetan Subjects who may deserve all civil freedom” (1675/2006, 311). One notices that Locke only provides examples of theistic groups. In another addition to the Essay, Locke made it clear that belief or disbelief in God was not to be understood as a speculative opinion that deserved toleration. This is the case because the belief in a deity is “the foundation of all morality & that which influences the whole life & actions of men without which a man is to be counted noe other then one of the most dangerous sorts of wild beasts & soe incapable of all societie” (1667/2006, 308). More will be said about Locke‟s proposed treatment of atheists when the Letters are discussed.

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Without direct impact on the civil order, it follows that Jews, Muslims, Catholics, and Calvinists must all be tolerated in their beliefs and practices that fall under Locke‟s first category.30 Locke describes the beliefs and practices that fall in his second category as those that “in their owne nature are neither good nor bad but yet concerne society & mens conversations one with an other, & these are all practicall opinions & actions in matters of indifferency” (1667/2006, 271). Examples that Locke provides of such actions and opinions include the times when one works and rests, the disposal of one‟s estate, and positions on divorce and polygamy. The status of “indifferency” that Locke gives to these matters still relates to the divine moral law that defines matters indifferent in the Two Tracts. That is, the matters that these second-category opinions and actions are concerned with have no inherent moral value according to God‟s revelation in Scripture and the moral law. At this point, the beliefs and practices in the second category are identical to first-category matters such as forms of worship. In order to determine which category a belief or action falls under, as well as whether second-category opinions and actions deserve toleration, two further inquiries must be made. First, one must determine if there is a possibility that opinions and actions concerning matters indifferent may impact the civil order. If they do contain this possibility, they are moved from the first category, which includes beliefs and actions concerning indifferent matters that are only between the individual and his God, to the second category where opinions and subsequent actions are about “principles…by which men thinke themselves obleigd to regulate their actions, with one an other” (1667/2006, 275). Simply having the ability to impact social relations, however, does not automatically restrict the toleration of such opinions and actions. The second question that one must ask is whether or not the impact that these opinions and actions have on the civil order is harmful. As long as these opinions and actions concerning matters indifferent that impact the civil order “doe not tend to the disturbance of the state, or doe not cause greater inconveniences, then advantages to the community,” they deserve toleration (1667/2006, 276).31 In order for the magistrate to

30 Much has been written on Locke‟s position on prohibiting Catholics from holding public office in England, given what he saw as problems with the allegiance that Catholics owe to the Pope and Catholic states. Certainly, this is one example where Locke‟s toleration was limited in particular circumstances, and it will be discussed in more detail below. Nevertheless, it must be noted that Locke did argue for the toleration of Catholic beliefs and practices at this most basic level of one‟s relationship to God. It is only when Catholics added to their religion what Locke viewed as beliefs that were harmful to the social order that they forfeited their right to toleration. 31 Later in the Essay, Locke describes the toleration of second-category opinions and actions this way: “And these have a right to toleration soe far only as they doe not interfere with the advantages of the publique or serve any way to disturbe the government” (1667/2006, 289).

116 make laws to restrict freedom in these matters indifferent, it must be shown that the laws are necessary for “the wellfare & safety of his people” (1667/2006, 276). Locke explains this principle more fully by arguing that any actions flowing from any of these opinions, as also in all other indifferent things, the magistrate has a power to command or forbid soe far as they tend to the peace, safety or security of his people, whereof though he be judg, yet he ought still to have a great care, that noe such laws be made, noe such restraints establishd, for any other reason, but because the necessity of the state, & wellfare of the people cald for them [1667/2006, 278]. And again: I thinke it will easily be granted, that the makeing of laws to any other end, but only for the security of the government & protection of the people in their lives, & libertys, i.e. the preservation of the whole, will meet with the severest doome at the great trybunall, not only because the abuse of that power & trust which is in the lawmakers hands, produces greater & more unavoidable mischeifs then any thing else to man kinde; for whose good only governments were instituted, but also, because he is not accountable to any tribunall here [1667/2006, 279]. For Locke, the only situation in which a belief or action about an indifferent matter can be subject to the authority of the magistrate is when it conflicts with the very purpose of government.32 More importantly for this project, Locke‟s creation of second-category opinions and actions at least implicitly opens the door for the presence of diverse religious forms of reasoning in public matters. It is true that he does not explicitly discuss how one arrives at opinions concerning second-category matters, but this certainly does not prima facie discount the possibility of using religious forms of reasoning in reaching such conclusions. It would not be odd for citizens in Locke‟s time—as well as our own—to form opinions about the lawfulness of

32 The way in which the magistrate can attempt to exercise his authority when such opinions and actions harm the social order is also worth noting. Locke contends that “noe man ought to be forcd to renounce his opinion, or assent to the contrary” (1667/2006, 278). Not only does such an effort conflict with one‟s “liberty of conscience,” which Locke calls “the great priviledg of the subject” (1667/2006, 280); it also is not effective, because attempting to compel citizens to conformity, Locke argues, “can only force them to be hypocrites” and can never result in “any reall effect to that purpose for which it is designd.” Such citizens are made into even greater enemies of the state, rather than entering into agreement with the magistrate (1667/2006, 278). As a result, the only penalty that can be used against those who hold opinions that inconvenience society is censorship. Locke writes, “The magistrate may prohibit the publishing of any of these opinions when they tend to the disturbance of the government because they are then under his cognizance & jurisdiction” (1667/2006, 278). When one is faced with such a prohibition, they are encouraged to stay true to the persuasion of their minds—something that ultimately cannot be avoided—and “to doe what their consciences require of them, as far as without violence they can.” Nevertheless, they “are bound at the same time quietly to submitt to the penaltys the law inflicts on such disobedience. for by this means they secure to them selves their grand concernment in an other world, & disturb not the peace of this” (1667/2006, 279).

117 divorce, for example, through the teachings of a particular religious tradition. Locke himself, in the Second Treatise, understood marriage as the “first Society” that was instituted by God‟s judgment (II.77). And even more to the point, Locke viewed the conditions for the ending of such a society—for example, the completion of rearing children—as something determined by the “Wisdom of the great Creatour” (II.80). Locke‟s own reasoning in determining the lawfulness of divorce, therefore, was based on religious belief. As a result, it would seem quite unlikely that Locke would not support the toleration of religious forms of reasoning concerning matters that affect society.33 If the first category allows people from diverse religious communities, including non-Christian communities, to hold competing beliefs and engage in competing practices that impact only their relationship with their God, then the second category seems to allow the same diversity of religious forms of reasoning in forming opinions in matters that affect social relations and the civil order. If someone believes that divorce is unlawful because of the teachings of Jesus, there is no reason, based on Locke‟s progression of thought in the Essay—as well as his own remarks later in the Treatises—to assume that such an opinion is invalid and undeserving of toleration. Again, the determining factor in the question of toleration is not the foundation on which beliefs are built, including those that affect relationships with one‟s fellow citizens; instead, the only condition that would cause a belief to forfeit its right to toleration is if it works against the peace and prosperity of one‟s society. In terms of taking the opinions based on religious forms of reasoning into the realm of political participation, it is once again true that Locke does not explicitly connect his toleration of such opinions to the realm of the political. The support of such public discourse, however, would be in accordance with the Essay. If one is against the practice of divorce for religious reasons, this is a matter of opinion, and would appear to be tolerated under Locke‟s second category. This category, however, is also about actions that would follow from opinions about matters indifferent that affect the social order. While one action that would naturally follow is the inaction of divorce on the part of the individual, another likely action would be public argument against the use of divorce in society. This type of political participation, in which religious citizens—and again, for Locke, this includes diverse groups of Christians as well as

33 This assumption about the second category is even less risky in light of the overall purpose of the Essay. As will be seen in his discussion of the third category of moral virtues and vices, Locke makes a point to say that such matters are not a major aspect of the toleration debate, even though they are a large aspect of the subject of religion. In many ways, religion is presented as the framework for this treatise on toleration, just as it served as the primary mark of distinction in the toleration debate of the 1660s.

118 non-Christian members of religious traditions—bring competing religious forms of reasoning to the public realm of discourse concerning matters related to civil welfare is precisely the participation that I endorse. With the third category of opinions and actions that may or may not be entitled to toleration, Locke moves beyond matters indifferent to actions that are “good or bad in them selves.” These are actions related to “the Dutys of the second table or trespasses against it or the morall vertues of the philosophers” (1667/2006, 280). Like the matters in the second category, third-category matters are of concern to the social order, but the proper response to such matters has not been left up to the individual. Instead, moral virtues and vices have been established by the moral law and divine revelation. Interestingly, while moral matters make up “the vigorous active parte of religion,” Locke argues, “they make but a little part of the disputes of liberty of conscience” (1667/2006, 280). In other words, Locke believes that most arguments concerning the toleration of beliefs and practices affected by religion deal with matters left indifferent by God, despite their irrelevance to the overall nature of religion when compared to moral principles. When dealing with these third-category actions, Locke takes the same approach as he did with the matters left indifferent by God in the first and second categories. That is, Locke argues that the magistrate does not have authority over moral virtues and vices as such. In order for third-category actions to become the concern of the magistrate, the same condition must be met as was required for second-category actions to lose the right to complete toleration. Locke writes, recognizing the significance of his position in his setting, “Yet give me leave to say, however strange it may seeme, that the Lawmaker hath noe thing to doe with morall virtues & vices, nor ought to injoyne the dutys of the 2d table any otherwise, then barely as they are subservient to the good & preservation of mankinde under government” (1667/2006, 281). The principles of personal liberty and limited government are again put forth as the proper foundation for the ordering of society. Only if particular moral actions are harmful to the civil order, or are harmful to society in their absence, can the magistrate make laws concerning them. And if these laws are made, Locke makes it clear that the magistrate is not doing so because forbidding vice or commanding virtue will impact one‟s relationship to God, but only because doing so produces “advantages of man with man” (1667/2006, 282). Leaving no doubt about his guiding principle,

119 he reiterates, “The good of the common wealth is the standard of all human laws” (1667/2006, 283). Finishing his discussion of the three categories of opinions and actions, Locke then discusses specific instances in which the magistrate may need to assert authority over religious communities. In his remarks, however, Locke is quick to note that religious communities are simply an example of any community that may need to be observed carefully by the magistrate. First, Locke recognizes that there may be communities with many opinions and actions that deserve toleration, but other opinions and actions that are harmful to the civil order, and therefore should not be tolerated. In this instance, Locke argues that the magistrate must determine whether or not the dangerous thoughts and practices can be separated from the community‟s essential identity. Because Locke believes this type of separation is quite difficult, especially for religious communities, he claims that such groups may forfeit their right to toleration as a whole, despite the fact that many of their opinions and actions do not present harm to the peace of society.34 The example he provides of such a group is the Roman Catholic Church. In his opinion, there is much about Catholic worship—including beliefs and practices— that deserves toleration, given the conditions that Locke has delineated in the preceding pages of the Essay. Nevertheless, because Catholics also hold doctrines that are “absolutely destructive to the society where in they live”—most importantly, what Locke calls the “blinde obedience to an infalible pope, who has the keys of their consciences tied to his girdle”—and because such doctrines cannot be easily separated from the essential identity of the community, the magistrate may be able to withhold certain degrees of toleration from this particular religious community (1667/2006, 284-85, 291).35

34 Locke‟s reasoning on the matter is most clear in the First Draft of the Essay: “I suppose that the preservation & peace of the people being the rule & standard according to which the magistrate ought to make his laws, & fashon his government, he has noething at all to doe with speculative opinions or religious worship, since in them selves they tend not at all to the disturbance of the government noe more then haveing black hair, or wearing grey cloaths. But yet if the professors of any one way of worship, should either mix with their religion other opinions by which they regulate their conversation with their neigbour…& hold those as sacred & necessary as any other part of their religion. they have noe right to toleration, because they make that a part of their religion which really is not, but is absolutely under the power of the Magistrate over which he may use his jurisdiction as he shall think fit without any injury to them at all, since he medles not with their religion but that which is puerly of a civill right” (1667/2006, 305). 35 Locke later writes, “As to the Papists, tis certaine that severall of their dangerous opinions which are absolutely destructive to all governments but the popes ought not to be tolerated in propagateing those opinions, & who soever shall spread or publish any of them the magistrate is bound to suppresse soe far as may be sufficient to restrain it” (1667/2006, 290). Locke‟s understanding of the role of infallibility in Catholicism is often at the foundation of his concerns about the Papists. As early as 1661-62, Locke wrote a short work called “Infallibility.” Emphasizing the

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The second instance in which a community‟s right to toleration may be forfeited has to do with communities that become so large and powerful that they may become a threat to the government‟s authority. In such cases, Locke writes, “The magistrate may & ought to use all ways either of polisie or power that shall be convenient, to lessen break & suppresse the party & soe prevent the mischeife” (1667/2006, 285). Once again, he specifically mentions religious communities that may be set apart only in matters of religious worship, matters that should be tolerated under the framework for toleration that Locke has presented. In this case, the group would not be acted against because of their religious worship, but simply because of the danger that accompanies powerful communities. To be even more specific, Locke discusses the Quakers who set themselves apart “by the bare keepeing on their hats” (1667/2006, 286).36 If the Quakers became numerous enough to garner the attention of the magistrate, it would not be as a result of their hats, but because of the harm that may come to the civil order from such a powerful community that just happens to be religious. In such cases, the magistrate has the authority to withhold toleration.37

diversity of opinions even within the Roman Catholic Church, as well as the clarity of Scripture in the aspects of the faith that God wanted to be clear to humans, Locke argues against the need for or possibility of an infallible human interpreter of divine revelation (1661-62/1997, 204-9). Although authorship is uncertain, a work that was found among Locke‟s papers and has often been associated with him is entitled “Queries on Catholic Infallibility,” in which the author expresses serious doubts about believing in such a doctrine; the work is published in Locke 1675/2006, 404-7. While Locke does focus on the doctrine of infallibility, Milton and Milton are correct that Locke‟s “refusal to tolerate popery was essentially political, and he did not share the belief—widespread among nonconformists, who were anxious to secure toleration for themselves—that Catholic worship, both public and private, should be prohibited as idolatrous” (2006, 40). Waldron echoes this sentiment by arguing that Locke did not oppose the toleration of “papists as such,” at least not by the 1690s. Instead, by that time, he was more open to the possibility of being able to separate the tolerable aspects of Catholicism from those beliefs that threatened the political order (2002, 222-23). 36 Locke was certainly concerned about the Quakers. In another work that may have been written by Locke, the author argues, “The Quaker‟s are a great instance, how little truth & reason operates upon mankinde, & how great force, society & conversation hath amongst those that maintaine an inviolable freindship & concerne, for all of theire way” (1675/2006, 402; for comment on Locke‟s authorship, see Milton and Milton 2006, 143-45). 37 In both of these instances in which a community forfeits its legal right to toleration, Locke urges the magistrate to use force only as a last resort. His primary reasoning on the matter is based on the same principle that he has used throughout the Essay. Use of force must be the final option, because it is least consistent with the purpose of government. Locke writes of the magistrate, “For the preservation as much as is possible of the propriety quiet & life of every individuall being his duty; he is obleigd not to disturb, or destroy some, for the quiet, or safety of the rest, till it has beene tried, whether there be not ways to save all” (1667/2006, 287). He also returns to an argument presented in the Two Tracts about the uselessness of force in trying to persuade others. In the earlier work, this uselessness was only in the fundamental doctrines of religion. In the external matters indifferent, Locke had argued that severity may be successful in bringing about conformity and peace. In the Essay, however, Locke includes far more in his argument about the uselessness of force, specifically the matters indifferent of the second category. Recalling the persecution of the Interregnum, he writes, “I desire noe body to goe farther then his owne boosome for an experiment whether ever violence gaind any thing upon his opinion, whether even arguments managd with heate doe not loose some thing of their efficacy, & have not made him the more obstinate in his opinion, soe chary is

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The fact that these instances are presented as exceptions to a general rule of toleration represents the significant shift from the Two Tracts. As mentioned earlier, however, Locke‟s principle for determining when toleration should be withheld has not changed. In both works, he argues that liberty should be maintained unless doing so threatens the stability of the social order. In the Two Tracts, Locke‟s fears led him to believe that nearly any diversity in religious matters indifferent was such a threat. Therefore, based on his guiding principle, the magistrate was to be given absolute authority over all such matters, which included all external forms of religious worship. In the Essay, the same principle is used, but Locke‟s fears of religious diversity have been somewhat subdued and, to a degree, replaced by the fears of absolute rule in government. He now argues that diversity in religious forms of worship in itself is not a threat to the peace of society, because these aspects of religion do not impact social relations. Even more significantly for this project, Locke seems to believe that opinions and actions—based on religious reasoning—concerning matters indifferent that do affect society also deserve toleration as a general rule. The burden of proof has shifted from the supporters of toleration to the defenders of government control. Only if opinions and actions that can be judged harmful to society are mixed with these earlier aspects of one‟s religion can one‟s liberty to exercise these beliefs and practices be forfeited.38 Without altering his fundamental views on the purpose of government, Locke has become an ardent defender of religious liberty and supporter of toleration. And this has happened long before the composition of the Letters. Some may argue that Locke‟s shift from the Two Tracts to the Essay is evidence of a wavering position on the issue of toleration. Perhaps Locke is simply a theorist who constantly changes his mind based on the direction of the political wind. When chaos from diversity is the fear of the day, Locke supports forced

humane nature to preserve the liberty of that part where in lyes the dignity of a man, which could it be imposd on would make him but little different from a beast. I aske those who in the late times soe firmely stood the ineffectuall persecution them selves & found how little it obteind on their opinions, & yet are now soe forward to trye it upon others, whether all the severity in the world could have drawne them one step nearer to a hearty & sincere imbraceing the opinions that were then uppermost” (1667/2006, 294). He concludes the discussion by claiming that “it is not truth that is thus carried on, but interest & dominion that is sought in makeing prosylites by compulsion” (1667/2006, 296). In a later addition to the Essay, Locke urges the clergy “to entreate convince and perswade men to the truth rather then thus solicit The magistrate to force them into theire fold · this was the way that gaind admittance for christianity and spread the religion they professe soe far into the world” (1671-72/2006, 310). 38 In a later addition to the Essay, Locke clarified his guiding principle by writing, “If all things that may occasion disorder or conspiracy in a commonwealth must not be endurd in it All discontented & active men must be removed, & whispering must be lesse tolerated then preaching as much likelier to carry on & foment a conspiracy” (1667/2006, 309). He still recognizes the possibility of religious diversity leading to threats against the government, but the same threats can come from any number of other sources. Until the threat becomes actual, no action on the part of the magistrate can be taken that would violate the toleration of Locke‟s guiding principle.

122 uniformity; when arbitrary and absolute power from the magistrate becomes the concern, Locke favors religious freedom. Because this view does have support when looking at Locke‟s development in the 1660s, it is important to turn to some of his later works on the issue, in order to show that his arguments developed in the Essay remain nearly unchanged for the rest of his life, and therefore ought to be understood not only as representing Locke‟s mature position on toleration but also as the chronological foundation to his influential political vision that emerges in the 1680s and „90s.

4. Writings on Toleration between the Essay and the Letters The issue of toleration continues to appear in Locke‟s writings in the years following the Essay.39 The earliest occurrence is in The Fundamental Constitutions of Carolina, which was composed in 1669. Locke‟s role in the composition is unclear. According to Goldie, “What probably happened was that Locke was handed a draft and asked to comment and amend” (1997, 161). Locke‟s comments must have been significant enough, however, to closely connect him with the work in the eyes of others. Locke Island was named after him, he purchased and lent many copies of the Constitutions to friends, and one of the lords proprietors of the Carolinas, referring to Locke, once mentioned “that excellent forme of Government in the composure of which you had soe great a hand” (Corr. 279, I, 395; see Goldie 1997, 161). This leads Cranston to conclude that Locke had “a considerable say in the framing of the Fundamental Constitutions” (1957, 119).40 The issue of toleration is central to the Constitutions, as it is recognized that many “heathens, Jews, and other dissenters from the purity of Christian religion” will reside within the boundaries. The liberty that is owed to these dissenters, the Constitutions declare, will be extended so that “civil peace may be maintained amidst the diversity of opinions, and our agreement and compact with all men may be duly and faithfully observed.” As a result, “Any

39 Perhaps the most exhaustive treatment of the issue of toleration during this time period in England is found in Ashcraft 1986. 40 In various letters, Locke did not list this work among those that he had authored. This omission, however, does not mean that he was not involved in its drafting. Milton and Milton argue, “If he did not mention the Fundamental Constitutions of Carolina, a work he was known to have had a hand in composing, it must surely have been because he did not consider that his contributions were such as would have entitled him to claim authorship” (2006, 114). Laslett highlights the cooperation between Locke and Shaftesbury in the writing of the Constitutions, and yet he also notes, “In 1679-80 [Locke] wrote to his French friends as if he were responsible for the work.” Nevertheless, Laslett continues, “We shall perhaps never know exactly to what extent the Constitutions represented Locke‟s or Shaftesbury‟s views of how a society newly set up in the American wilderness should be ideally constituted, or whether it was a compromise between them and the other proprietors” (1988, 29-30).

123 seven or more persons agreeing in any religion shall constitute a church or profession, to which they shall give some name to distinguish it from others” (Locke 1669/1997, 178). These many religious communities must exist in peace with one another. To protect the peace, further articles are provided. First, “No man of any other church or profession shall disturb or molest any religious assembly.” Second, “No person shall use any reproachful, reviling, or abusive language against the religion of any church or profession.” And finally, “No person whatsoever shall disturb, molest, or persecute another for his speculative opinions in religion or his way of worship” (Locke 1669/1997, 179-80). Toleration of religious beliefs and practices is once again the rule and guiding principle behind this form of government, a position that is perfectly compatible with Locke‟s position in the Essay.41 When debates on toleration once again occurred in Parliament in 1675, Locke was most likely involved in the composition of an important treatise in defense of religious liberty.42 The

41 As in one of the additions to the Essay mentioned above (see 114 n. 29 above), the toleration provided by the Constitutions does not extend to atheists. “No man shall be permitted to be a freeman of Carolina, or to have any estate or habitation within it, that does not acknowledge a God, and that God is publicly and solemnly to be worshipped” (Locke 1669/1997, 177). I return to the Constitutions when discussing religious community in chapter five. 42 This treatise, A Letter from a Person of Quality, to His Friend in the Country, has been often associated with Locke. The exact nature of his involvement in its composition, however, is far from certain. The work was written in the midst of another heated Parliamentary debate, this time over the Test Bill of 1675. Shaftesbury was a vigorous opponent of the Bill, which sought to impose an oath on all public office-holders that would protect the authority of the church and state of England. According to Milton and Milton, Shaftesbury and others believed that the Bill was “part of a long-standing conspiracy to secure absolute monarchy, divine right episcopacy, and government by a standing army” (2006, 76). Beyond making passionate speeches against the Bill during sessions of Parliament, Shaftesbury also composed—or had composed for him—a short work called Reasons against the Bill for the Test (published in Locke 1675/2006, 408-14). In order to sway public opinion, he expanded this earlier work into the Letter from a Person of Quality, printing the treatise as an anonymous pamphlet (published in Locke 1675/2006, 337-76). Because much of the material in the latter work so closely resembles the earlier Reasons, and also because other passages in the Letter from a Person of Quality show great familiarity with Shaftesbury‟s speeches in Parliament, it cannot be denied that Shaftesbury is behind the arguments given. Nevertheless, it is probable that the task of compiling the various speeches and writings into a coherent work was assigned to Locke. Later in his life, Locke vehemently denied authorship of any writing that he had not explicitly claimed as his own. Of course, this does not rule out his role as editor of a treatise such as the Letter from a Person of Quality. Another reason for why this work was attributed to Locke some years after his death and became an unquestioned composition of Locke for two centuries surrounds Locke‟s departure from England soon after the publication of the Letter from a Person of Quality. The treatise went on sale to the public during the first week of November. By November 8, it was already condemned to public burning, and a committee was formed to determine its author. Because Locke left for France on November 12—and remained there for more than three years—many have assumed that he was fleeing England to avoid being discovered as the person behind the condemned pamphlet. For more details about this and the debate over Locke‟s role in the writing of this work, see Milton and Milton 2006, 97- 118. The Letter from a Person of Quality provides a detailed history of the various debates over toleration and uniformity in seventeenth-century England. It then turns to focused attention on the Test Bill being considered. Shaftesbury‟s opposition to the Bill is praised, citing his concern that the Bill goes far beyond a justifiable limitation of the Papists to an attack on Protestant dissenters. Blaming the clergy for the introduction of the Bill, the closing words of the treatise summarize well the fears presented: “[The clergy] have truckt away the Rights and Liberties of

124 subject also appears in a short work written in 1676 known as “Toleration B.” Here, Locke rehearses many of the arguments in the Essay and introduces arguments that will be emphasized in the Letters. He comments on the position that denies toleration on the basis that religious communities have the possibility of producing “fear and violence.” He answers, “If you fear them only because they are capable of a raging fit, you may as well fear all other men, who are liable to the same distemper” (1676/1997, 247; see 121 n. 38 above). Locke also describes “the great dispute in all this diversity of opinions” as centered on the issue of “where the truth is” (1676/1997, 247). He will later argue that every magistrate in the world cannot have opposing opinions but also have the ability to impose religious beliefs and practices simply because he believes truth is on his side. In 1678, Locke briefly commented on the claim that the Jews did not practice toleration in the time of the Christian Old Testament. For Locke, the difference in their situation is that they were receiving laws directly from God. Even with this immediate revelation, however, Locke notes that while the Jews did have laws “given for excluding people” from their community, they had “none for forcing anybody in” (1678/1997, 269). In an entry in one of his commonplace books, dated 1679, Locke recounted a story about Christians from various churches receiving the sacrament in the house of an English ambassador to Constantinople. Despite coming from non-Anglican traditions, all Christians were welcome to partake of the elements. They were also given the freedom of choosing the posture in which they would like to receive the bread. Some kneeled, others stood, others sat, all in accordance with the forms of worship in their own churches. When it came time to receive the wine, they all chose to kneel with the Anglicans, being convinced that posture was a matter indifferent and ought not to separate Christians. Locke concludes the story by writing, “This way if it were a litle more practised would perhaps be found not only the most Christian but the most effectuall way to bring men to Conformity” (1679/2006, 387).43 A 1679 entry entitled “Toleratio” provides a brief summary of Locke‟s position on toleration given in the Essay. He begins with the private nature of one‟s religious beliefs, “Noe the People in this…[so] that Priest, and Prince may, like Castor and Pollux, be worshipt together as Divine in the same temple by Us poor Lay-subjects; and that sense and reason, Law, Properties, Rights, and Liberties, shall be understood as the Oracles of those Deities shall interpret, or give signification to them, and ne‟r be made use of in the world to oppose the absolute and free Will of either of them” (1675/2006, 376). 43 While Locke believes that showing toleration in matters indifferent may actually result in conformity, this end is not the justification of the allowance of religious freedom. In his “Critical Notes” against Stillingfleet, he argues that one always has the freedom to leave a particular church that does not worship in the way one judges most pleasing to God (see Locke 2002, 73-79; see also Marshall 1994, 96-110).

125 man has power to prescribe to an other what he should beleive or doe in order to the saveing his own soule, because it is only his owne private interest & concerns not another man. god has noe where given such power to any man or society, nor can man possibly be supposd to give it an other absolutely over him” (1679/2006, 388-89). Locke then reiterates the claim made in the Essay about matters indifferent in the realm of religion: “For even the circumstances of the worship of god cannot be indifferent to him that thinkes them not soe, nor can the time, habit posture &c be at pleasure used or omitted by one who thinkes either acceptable or displeaseing to the god he worships” (1679/2006, 389). He ends by once again emphasizing the voluntary nature of all religious communities, including those established in a given society: But though noe body can have a right to force men to receive such doctrins or to practise such ways of worship yet this will not hinder the power of every society or profession of religion to establish within them selves confessions of faith & rules of decency & order, which yet are not to be imposed on any one with constraint. It only forbids that men should be compeld into that communion or any one be hinderd from withdrawing from it whenever anything comes to be establishd in it which he judges contrary to the end for which he enters in to such a communion or religious society i.e. the beleiveing & owning certain truths which are taught & professed there, & the worshiping of god in a way acceptable to him [1679/2006, 389-90].44 In 1681, Locke wrote an important work entitled The Selection of Juries at a time when Shaftesbury was in prison facing charges of treason. In this work, Locke discusses the possibility of dissenters serving on public juries. He argues that because religious dissent is associated with matters “wherein wise & good men have heretofore differed,” there is no reason to conclude that dissenting Protestants are “wicked.” Indeed, despite the dissent, these citizens “cease not thereby to be free men of England but are equally with others capeable of the same priviledges & lyable to the same burthens & services & the law makes noe such destinction nor is there any reason for it” (1681/2006, 380). Also written several years before the Letters were Locke‟s Two Treatises on Government.45 In this work, Locke is concerned with the defense of the general principles that

44 Locke makes many of the same arguments, particularly about the voluntary nature of religious communities, in another entry called “Ecclesia,” dated 1682, in which he comments on Hooker‟s definition of a church. See Locke 1682/2006, 391-92. 45 There is significant debate about the precise date that Locke wrote the Treatises. Cranston argues for sometime in or near the year 1681. Ashcraft contends that the First Treatise was written in 1680-81 and the Second in 1681-82. Laslett believes Locke at least began the work as early as 1679. Most agree, however, that the work was not written after the Glorious Revolution of 1688. As Laslett notes, “Two Treatises in fact turns out to be a demand for a revolution to be brought about, not the rationalization of a revolution in need of defence” (1988, 47). The work

126 already grounded his views on toleration. In other words, while principles such as limited government and the right to liberty were used in earlier works specifically to support a policy of toleration, the Treatises focus more on the justifications for the principles themselves. For example, Locke, early in the Second Treatise, provides his definition and purpose of government: “Political Power then I take to be a Right of making Laws with Penalties of Death, and consequently all less Penalties, for the Regulating and Preserving of Property, and of employing the force of the Community, in the Execution of such Laws, and in the defence of the Common-wealth from Foreign Injury, and all this only for the Publick Good” (II.3). The final clause of this passage is nothing more than the guiding principle that shapes Locke‟s earlier writings on toleration. Reiterating the condition that must be met in order for political authority to be used properly, Locke is once again affirming what he here calls “Freedom from Absolute, Arbitrary Power” (II.23).46 “The fundamental Law of Nature,” he later writes, “[is] the preservation of Mankind” (II.135). And again, “Laws also ought to be designed for no other end ultimately but the good of the People” (II.142). Only if those with political power are acting for the purpose of preserving peace and order can their use of political and legal force be justified. This is why “the end of Law is not to abolish or restrain, but to preserve and enlarge freedom” (II.57). While the Treatises provide a much more detailed description of human nature, the origins of society and government, the importance of personal property, and other aspects of Locke‟s political vision, the foundations of his thought remain unchanged since he tackled the issue of toleration in the Essay.47 itself did not appear in print until 1689. Laslett also contends that Shaftesbury was central to the thoughts behind and objective of the work: “We owe Two Treatises to the wonderful knowledge of the state of affairs which Locke acquired from frequent discourse with the first earl of Shaftesbury; indeed the evidence suggests…that he actually wrote the book for Shaftesbury‟s purposes” (1988, 27). For exhaustive discussions of the historical context of the Treatises, see Ashcraft 1986 and 1987; Marshall 1994, 205-91. 46 Laslett makes clear why it was so important to tackle the work of Filmer in the First Treatise. Arguing for Locke‟s insistence on the natural (created) freedom and equality of individuals—a common theme in the works on toleration—Laslett writes, “It was because Sir Robert Filmer had claimed that there was to be found in Revelation a proof that God had set some men above other men…that his doctrine was so dangerous and had to be refuted” (1988, 93). 47 While the current project does not demand extensive treatment of the Treatises, the importance of this work can hardly be overstated. Laslett writes of the Treatises: “It was at once a response to a particular political situation and a statement of universal principle, made as such and still read as such. This work, the authoritative statement of Anglo-Saxon political assumptions, often regarded as one of the testaments to English historical and constitutional development, refers to England as „a neighbour kingdom,‟ and the Common Law as „the municipal law of some countries.‟ Neither Machiavelli, nor Hobbes, nor Rousseau succeeded in making the discussion of politics so completely independent of historical example, so entirely autonomous an area of discourse, yet Locke has affected the everyday activity of practising politicians more perhaps than any of them” (1988, 78). This passage must be read alongside Laslett‟s insistence that Locke did not greatly influence the Founding Fathers of America—with the

127

With the Treatises, another important aspect of Locke‟s political vision is once again brought to the fore, namely, the close connection that is always present between his political views and his religious beliefs. While this connection has been clearly evident in every one of Locke‟s writings discussed to this point, whether dealing with particular issues such as divorce or the more general framework of government or the moral law, it is worthwhile to take a moment to note the connection‟s significance, particularly because many professed ideological descendents of Locke claim that he proposed a radical separation between politics and religion. While it is true that Locke viewed religion and politics as fundamentally concerned with different ends, and while it is also true that he was very wary of the clergy‟s position within the government—two important matters to be discussed in more detail below—to claim that his thought leads to a Rawlsian liberal ban on religious forms of reasoning as fundamental to his own political decision making and discourse could not be further from the truth. Cranston recognized this blatant misinterpretation when he desired “to emphasise a fact which is often neglected in discussions of Locke‟s politics, namely, that his political theory was based…on his religious convictions.” Cranston then gives specific examples from the Treatises to support his position: It is often said that Locke took an optimistic view of mankind; but he did so only because he believed that men were God‟s workmanship. He thought a law of nature existed only because God proclaimed it. He believed that men had natural rights, not simply on the traditional Stoic grounds that the very possession of reason entitled men to such rights, but because he believed that God had given men such rights. Nature and Reason were not for Locke, as for so many other theorists, peculiar metaphysical entities with law-giving and privilege-bestowing powers of their own, even though he did sometimes write as if he thought they were; behind Nature and Reason Locke always discerned the person and voice of God [1957, 209-10]. In what Goldie calls one of Locke‟s attempts to produce “a typology of knowledge,” Locke lists ethics—which includes the law of nature, virtues, and vices—under the more general category of theology (1997, 215). As was seen in the Essay, many moral issues are simultaneously political matters that affect the social order. The moral aspect of theology, then,

exception, perhaps, of Jefferson (1988, 14 n). Recalling Wolin‟s criticism of Lockean liberalism, it is at least interesting, in light of Laslett‟s contention, that Wolin writes, “With the possible (and ambivalent) exception of Jefferson, the American republicans were steadfast critics of democracy” (2008, 155). Gough provides a competing, and less convincing, voice to Laslett‟s general claim: “Locke was not really propounding a general doctrine for common adoption. His aim was to justify recent events in England by trying to show that they were in accord with the law of nature and the rest of the widely accepted stock-in-trade of contemporary political science” (1950, 42).

128 provides the unmistakable point of intersection between religion and politics. In “Some Thoughts concerning Reading and Study for a Gentleman,” Locke argues that the “Gentleman, whose proper calling is the service of His Countrey…is most properly concerned in Moral, and Political knowledge; and thus the studies which more immediately belong to His calling, are those which treat of virtues and vices, of Civil Society, and the Arts of Government, and so will take in also Law and History” (1989, 319). In an even clearer statement, Locke writes, “True politicks I looke on as a Part of Moral Philosophie which is noething but the art of conducting men right in societie and supporting a communitie amongst its neighbours” (Corr. 2320, vi. 215; see Goldie 1997, xiii). In his treatise on education, Locke contends, “And truly, if the preservation of all Mankind, as much as in him lies, were every one‟s persuasion, as indeed it is every one‟s Duty, and the true Principle to regulate our Religion, Politicks and Morality by, the World would be much quieter, and better natur‟d than it is” (1684-85/1989, 180). The ends of civil society, as described by Locke, are dependent on a proper promotion of moral activity and punishment of immoral activity. As Laslett explains, “When we meet together to set up artificially that final judge which is lacking to us in the state of nature we create a rightful legislative authority, the nature of which is ethical” (1988, 118). While certainly wanting to limit the state‟s role in promoting religious doctrine or ritual—the first two aspects of religion—Locke recognizes, “The assistance the magistrate‟s authority can give to the true religion…is in subduing of lusts.” Continuing to emphasize the importance of religious toleration, he continues, “For if men were forced by the magistrate to live sober, honest and strict lives, whatever their religion were, would not the advantage be on the side of truth…?” (1692/2005, 468, 469). Dunn also emphasizes this connection, specifically in reference to the Letters. In these writings, Dunn argues, Locke‟s thinking “rests firmly upon a religious premise.” Dunn continues with a description of a theme in his own work: “Indeed one of the central expository points made throughout this book is the intimate dependence of an extremely high proportion of Locke‟s arguments for their very intelligibility, let alone plausibility, on a series of theological commitments” (1969, xi). Returning to the Treatises, Dunn writes, “Jesus Christ (and Saint Paul) may not appear in person in the text of the Two Treatises but their presence can hardly be missed when we come upon the normative creaturely equality of all men in virtue of their shared species-membership” (1969, 99). He eventually concludes, “Locke saw the rationality of human existence…as dependent upon the truths of religion. Theology was the key to a coherent

129 understanding of human existence” (1969, 263). Commenting on these claims, Marshall concurs, “Locke‟s theology has been accurately described by Dunn as the central axiom of his political theory” (1994, xviii). In his edited collection of Locke‟s writings on religion, Victor Nuovo writes, “Locke lived and worked during an age, the last in western European history, when religion pervaded every aspect of human life. This is true of much of what he wrote. Religion is the principal theme of some of his works, but most of his other writings, when properly contextualized, also bear upon it” (2002, xv). Nuovo admits, “Today, many of the themes treated in [Locke‟s] works would not be considered religious,” particularly those related to philosophical and political subjects. “But neither Locke, nor his friends, nor his enemies,” Nuovo continues, “ever doubted that these themes rightly fit within a particular religious frame.” Nuovo concludes, “If we are to understand Locke aright we must view all of his opinions within this frame” (2002, xv-xvi). In more recent years, the work of Waldron has also highlighted the religious foundations of Locke‟s most significant political principles, as well as the implications this has for public discourse. In his God, Locke, and Equality, Waldron argues that the notion of equality that grounds Locke‟s defense of liberty is based on his Christian beliefs. As a result, Waldron insists, “Locke is not just saying that religious argumentation about equality should be permitted in public life; he is arguing that it is indispensible” (2002, 237; see also 81-82).48 Looking ahead to the Letters, but also back to the Essay, Waldron writes this of Locke‟s support of toleration: “The main line of argument in Locke‟s case for toleration…is dominated by his sense of what God has and has not ordained; and for that the specific biblical evidence of the life and teaching of Jesus is indispensable” (2002, 211). And later, Waldron claims, “There is something distinctively Christian (maybe even distinctively Protestant) in flavor about Locke‟s insistence in the Treatises and in the Letters on Toleration that each of us—each one of us—has been sent in to the world specifically by God „by his order and about his business‟” (2002, 215; see Two Treatises II.6). While Locke does support a particular interpretation of the separation of church and state, he does not have in mind a separation of religion and politics. This is clear in his various writings on toleration, the Treatises, and all other works dealing with the political.

48 Dunn argues that Locke‟s “thinking in its entirety was shaped and dominated by a picture of the earthly setting of human life as a created order, an order designed and controlled by an omnipotent, omniscient and also, mercifully, benevolent deity: the God of the Christians.” As a result, Dunn insists that it is “certainly not right to presume…that Locke‟s Christianity can be defensibly regarded as irrelevant either to his ethics or to his political theory” (1990, 11). While Dunn is hesitant to do so, I would confidently add that the same can be said of Locke‟s epistemology.

130

Returning to the issue at hand, many other letters and entries could be discussed, but this brief look into Locke‟s writings on toleration in the nineteen years between the Essay and the Letter shows a great deal of consistency in his support for the toleration of religious diversity, especially in relation to public affairs. Locke may have changed his mind from the Two Tracts to the Essay, but the position that he developed in the latter work remained constant into the 1680s when he would compose the most often discussed of his works on toleration. Locke‟s Letter Concerning Toleration, written in Latin in 1686 and published in the same language in 1689, remains one of the most significant texts in the development of a liberal democratic view of religious toleration.

5. A Letter Concerning Toleration By 1682, the issue of toleration was still driving political movements, and it was a central issue in Shaftesbury‟s desire for revolution. Cranston writes of the time, “Parliament was silenced; the courts were perverted to the will of the King; dissenters were being persecuted;…a Papist would soon occupy the throne. Was this not, Shaftesbury asked himself, sufficient provocation?” (1957, 220). The popular support Shaftesbury needed never materialized, forcing him to flee to Holland, where he died the following January. Locke, recognized as a close ally to Shaftesbury, recognized the potential danger facing him in England.49 In August 1683, Locke decided to follow the path of Shaftesbury to Holland. Cranston notes, “Political refugees were accepted as willingly in Amsterdam as religious nonconformists” (1957, 231). The toleration in Holland provided Locke the peace and freedom to continue his political career at a safe distance from his homeland. Three years into his time away from England, Locke took time away from writing his Essay Concerning Human Understanding to pen what Cranston calls “another work, which, though short, was destined to be, in its way, hardly less influential than the Essay itself” (1957, 259). This work was Locke‟s Letter Concerning Toleration. In the work, which is often remembered as portraying Locke‟s mature position on toleration that would decisively shape the course of political liberalism and democratic forms of government, Locke mostly restates the arguments that had already been presented in the Essay Concerning Toleration of 1667 and rehearsed in the many other writings on toleration in the intervening years. The Letter begins

49 For Locke‟s active role in revolutionary politics, see Laslett 1988, 31-32; Ashcraft 1986; and Marshall 1994.

131 with the significant claim that toleration is the “chief characteristical mark of the true church” (1686/2005, 5).50 Toleration is an aspect of the charity and goodwill that true Christians must show “towards all mankind, even to those that are not christians” (1686/2005, 6). He argues, “The toleration of those that differ from others in matters of religion, is so agreeable to the gospel of Jesus Christ, and to the genuine reason of mankind, that it seems monstrous for men to be so blind, as not to perceive the necessity and advantage of it, in so clear a light” (1686/2005, 9). Rather than seeking conformity through force, Locke argues that Christians ought to use “the gospel of peace” and “the exemplary holiness of their conversation.” In this way, they would follow the path taken by “the captain of their salvation” (1686/2005, 9).51 Locke‟s argument based on proper Christian behavior paves the way for the distinction he wishes to make between the role of the church and the role of the state. He claims, “I esteem it above all things necessary to distinguish exactly the business of civil government from that of religion, and to settle the just bounds that lie between the one and the other” (1686/2005, 9). Because this is a slightly different approach to the issue than is given in the Essay—although many of the arguments are the same—and because the distinction between church and state has been interpreted in so many ways, including as promoting the radical separation of all things religious from all things political, it is worthwhile to examine the distinction itself and its purpose in Locke‟s thought. In the Letter, he begins with the nature and boundaries of the state: “The commonwealth seems to me to be a society of men constituted only for the procuring, preserving, and advancing their own civil interests” (1686/2005, 10). Civil interests, according to Locke, include one‟s life, liberty, and property. Therefore, the government‟s sole responsibility is to use its authority in order “to secure unto all…the just possession of these

50 All references to the four Letters are taken from an unabridged facsimile of the sixth volume of the tenth edition of Locke‟s Works, published in 1801 (see Locke 2005). The English edition of the work begins with a preface written by the translator, William Popple, who seems unimpressed by the many writings on toleration previously available. He writes of England in particular, “I think indeed there is no nation under heaven, in which so much has already been said upon that subject, as ours. But yet certainly there is no people that stand in more need of having something further both said and done amongst them, in this point, than we do” (1686/2005, 3). Popple was convinced that the English government remained “partial in matters of religion,” and he believed that most writings from dissenters that were meant “to vindicate their own rights and liberties” had been built “upon narrow principles, suited only to the interests of their own sects” (1686/2005, 3). According to Popple, therefore, Locke‟s purpose in the Letter is to provide more general principles both for the support of toleration and for the impartiality of the government in the area of religion. Popple also includes a plea for absolute liberty in the preface in a sentence often attributed to Locke. As Cranston notes, however, “Locke did not believe in Absolute Liberty,” if this meant liberty for atheists, Catholics, and any others who may threaten the government and/or the social order. Liberty, even in matters of religious belief and practice, did have its necessary limitations. 51 Recall Locke‟s emphasis on the use of persuasion in an addition to the Essay (see 120-21 n. 37 above).

132 things belonging to this life” (1686/2005, 10). The state clearly has no role to play in the aspects of religion that concern an existence beyond this life. Locke contends “that the whole jurisdiction of the magistrate reaches only to these civil concernments; and that all civil power, right, and dominion, is bounded and confined to the only care of promoting these things; and that it neither can nor ought in any manner to be extended to the salvation of souls” (1686/2005, 10). Locke provides three reasons for this limitation. First, besides the fact that God has nowhere entrusted souls to a civil magistrate, Locke believes that salvation is a matter far too important to ever be entrusted to another by an individual, an argument presented many times in his earlier writings on toleration. Second, “The care of souls cannot belong to the civil magistrate, because his power consists only in outward force: but true and saving religion consists in the inward persuasion of the mind” (1686/2005, 11). Again, force is the tool of the state, and sincere religious belief can never be achieved by force. To this point, the reasoning seems consistent with those who use Locke to support a radical separation of religious and political matters. Locke, however, makes a significant comment after providing this second reason for limiting the magistrate‟s authority to civil interests. He notes, It may be alleged, that the magistrate may make use of arguments, and thereby draw the heterodox into the way of truth, and procure their salvation. I grant it; but this is common to him with other men. In teaching, instructing, and redressing the erroneous by reason, he may certainly do what becomes any good man to do. Magistracy does not oblige him to put off either humanity or christianity…. Every man has commission to admonish, exhort, convince another of errour, and by reasoning to draw him into truth [1686/2005, 11-12]. While the magistrate cannot use the force that is unique to his office in order to convince people to conform to particular religious beliefs and practices, there is nothing that prohibits him from using the tools that are at the disposal of all people when trying to persuade others of truth, including the truth of religious matters. This admittedly opens the door for some difficulty in determining when the civic leader is acting with the backing of force and when he is not. At the very least, however, this comment would complicate those who use Locke to criticize any use of religious language by public officials, no matter the context. The third reason Locke gives for the necessary limiting of government as government to civil interests is that if force were able to produce genuine religious belief—something Locke has already denied—allowing the magistrate to use such force would not result in greater numbers of people finding salvation. After all, if the argument for the use of force is sound, its supporters

133 would have to acknowledge the right of every magistrate in the world to use force to create religious conformity. Because it is obvious that the leaders of the world‟s nations have a variety of competing religious beliefs, it follows that very few of these leaders would actually be leading people to the truth. Finding salvation would become nothing other than a matter of fortune. As Locke puts it, “Men would owe their eternal happiness or misery to the places of their nativity” (1686/2005, 13).52 These three reasons confirm Locke‟s initial position that “all the power of civil government relates only to men‟s civil interests, is confined to the care of the things of this world, and hath nothing to do with the world to come” (1686/2005, 13). Without other conditions being met, the only role that a magistrate can play in religious affairs is as a person, and not as a magistrate backed by the power of force. To this point, Locke has followed his earlier writings by focusing primarily on the necessary limitations that must be placed on the government. Moving beyond the Essay, Locke then turns to the equally necessary limitations for the church. While the magistrate as magistrate ought to have no concern for the salvation of souls, this ought to be the central focus of the church. “A church,” Locke writes, “[is] a voluntary society of men, joining themselves together of their own accord, in order to the public worshipping of God, in such a manner as they judge acceptable to him, and effectual to the salvation of their souls” (1686/2005, 13). The voluntary nature of the church is vital in order to allow all individuals the freedom to join a community that they believe best guides them to salvation, and to leave a community that they believe is leading them away from the ultimate religious goal. Locke supports this freedom to choose a religious community based on one‟s personal quest for salvation, even in those instances in which Locke himself disagrees with the doctrines of particular churches. An example can be found in his discussion of the authority structure of a church. Like all societies, he argues, churches need laws in order to operate. The laws that are necessary to govern a church can only come from those who are willing members of that particular community—again, a condition that Locke extends to all societies. Locke does not believe that Jesus instituted the doctrine of apostolic succession, which places authority in specific religious offices. Instead, Locke has a much more democratic view of the structure of church governing. He cites Christ‟s promise that

52 Locke later asks of those that support using force against those that do not conform to the English King‟s Christianity, “And what if in another country, to a mahometan or a pagan prince, the christian religion seem false and offensive to God; may not the christians for the same reason, and after the same manner, be extirpated there?” (1686/2005, 37).

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“whersoever two or three are gathered together in his name, he will be in the midst of them” as evidence that a proper church exists whether or not there be bishops with a heritage that can be traced to the apostles. Despite Locke‟s disagreement with the insistence on locating church authority in the tradition of apostolic succession, he recognizes the freedom that people have to join churches that do support this view. The only condition is that Locke himself must also “have liberty at the same time to join myself to that society, in which I am persuaded those things are to be found which are necessary to the salvation of my soul. In this manner ecclesiastical liberty will be preserved on all sides, and no man will have a legislator imposed upon him, but whom himself has chosen” (1686/2005, 15). Along with being a voluntary society, a church must stay focused on the end of religion and the proper means to achieving this end. True religion, Locke contends, is “not instituted in order to the erecting an external pomp, nor to the obtaining of ecclesiastical dominion, nor to the exercising of compulsive force; but to the regulating of men‟s lives according to the rules of virtue and piety” (1686/2005, 6). Later, he writes, “The end of a religious society, as has already been said, is the public worship of God, and by means thereof the acquisition of eternal life…. No force is here to be made use of, upon any occasion whatsoever: for force belongs wholly to the civil magistrate” (1686/2005, 16). The distinction Locke draws between the church and state is not the radical distinction between all things religious and all things political that many assume it to be. Instead, the separation is about the ends of the two societies and the means given to them to reach those ends. The church, unlike the state, has the ultimate goal of leading its members to salvation, and we have already seen that this cannot be achieved but by the inner persuasion of the Holy Spirit. As a result, the church is not to be concerned with dominion in this world or with the use of force in making converts. Nevertheless, just as Locke left room for public officials to contribute to religious discourse, his emphasis on the moral aspect of true religion once again opens the door for religious forms of reasoning in political discourse. This emphasis is found throughout the Letter. For example, Locke argues that any person who supports forced conformity but does not do everything in his power to attack moral vice in himself and his religious community is not a true Christian. He writes, If any one maintain that men ought to be compelled by fire and sword to profess certain doctrines, and conform to this or that exterior worship, without any regard had unto their morals…it cannot be doubted indeed, that such a one is desirous to have a numerous assembly joined in the same profession with himself; but that he

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principally intends by those means to compose a truly christian church, is altogether incredible [1686/2005, 8]. To be a true Christian—or a member of a true church—does not mean a focus on the afterlife to the exclusion of this-worldly concerns. Instead, reaching salvation is deeply intertwined with moral living. And because Locke views political philosophy as a subset of moral philosophy, this once again indicates that morality—the central focus of religion‟s quest for salvation— provides the framework for the entire political endeavor. Far from supporting the radical distinction between religion and politics that many contemporary Rawlsian liberals, new traditionalists, non-liberal democrats, and non-Lockean liberal democrats extrapolate from his work, Locke‟s discussion of the moral nature of religion presupposes an intimate relationship between the realms of religion and politics. It is only because such a relationship is assumed by Locke that he spends so much time promoting how he believes the two are supposed to relate. He contends: A good life, in which consists not the least part of religion and true piety, concerns also the civil government: and in it lies the safety both of men‟s souls and of the commonwealth. Moral actions belong therefore to the jurisdiction both of the outward and inward court; both of the civil and domestic governor; I mean, both of the magistrate and conscience. Here therefore is great danger, lest one of these jurisdictions intrench upon the other, and discord arise between the keeper of the public peace and the overseers of souls [1686/2005, 41]. For Locke, morality is the realm where religion and politics intersect. This intersection is natural, and Locke nowhere seeks to abolish it.53 Instead, recognizing the inherent difficulties in the interaction, he seeks to promote the proper manner in which religion and politics relate to each other in the discussion and determination of moral matters. He believes his presentation of the natures and purposes of the church and state gives insight to the boundaries that are necessary for healthy interaction. Continuing from the passage above, he writes, “But if what has been already said concerning the limits of both these governments be rightly considered, it will easily remove all difficulty in this matter” (1686/2005, 41). It is not the presence of religious forms of reasoning in political discourse that concerns Locke; it is the possibility that religion—often through the clergy as will be seen below—seeks to use the tool of the state, namely, force, to

53 Gough, therefore, is correct to note that neither the state nor the church “has any right to interfere in the affairs of the other for purposes which are purely the other‟s concern” (1950, 175; my emphasis). Gough is careful to qualify the type of separation that Locke proposes, which leaves the realm of moral living as the primary location of interaction between religion and politics.

136 bring about dominion in this world rather than focusing on virtuous striving for the Kingdom of God in a life to come. As long as the two realms recognize their unique ends and means to reach those ends, a healthy and, as we will see in the following chapters, vital relationship between the two can be achieved. When this connection between religion and politics is grasped, Locke‟s other writings that many interpreters believe support the complete isolation of all things religious from the political can be more properly read as quite consistent with my interpretation of his political vision. For example, in a short paper endorsed “Excommunication,” written in 1674, Locke provides the same distinction between church and state that will later shape the Letter. Again, the discussion of the purpose and limitations of the state closely follows Locke‟s position in the Essay that will be repeated in the Letter: “The End of Civill Society is Civill Peace and prosperity or the preservation of the Society and every Member theereof in a free and peaceable enjoyment of all the good things of this life that belong to each of them, but beyond the concernments of this life this society hath noething to doe at all” (1674/2006, 327). In contrast, “The end of Religious Society is attaining happinesse after this life in another world” (1674/2006, 327). In order to reach this goal, however, religious societies depend not only on proper religious belief and worship, but also on morality, “or the right management of our actions in respect of our selves and others,” which Locke later calls “the 3d & great part of Religion” (1674/2006, 328, 330). Religion, while focused on an other-worldly end, is the distinguishing feature of societies that operate in this world as segments of the larger civil society.54 Locke‟s concern in “Excommunication” is not to create an unbridgeable chasm between religion and politics, or between church and state, but to understand the way in which the unique ends of each requires unique modes of punishment. While the state can use force, the church‟s most severe punishment can only be excommunication: “Noe external punishment i.e. deprivation or diminution of the good of this life belongs to the Church” (1674/2006, 331).

54 Milton and Milton refer to this as the “chief problem” for Locke. The reason they understand the issue in this way is because they see Locke‟s purpose as attempting to create a complete separation of religion and politics. They write, “The state and the church are parallel institutions pursuing quite different goals, and Locke‟s aim was to keep them as far apart as possible” (2006, 72). Later, they contend that Locke was “determined…to draw the sharpest possible distinction between church and state” (2006, 117). While it is true that the ends of the two societies are different, and that the tools given by God to each in order to reach its end are different, it does not follow that Locke desired a separatist religious society that played no role in the life of political discourse or that he wanted public officials silenced in matters of religion. As long as religious leaders and/or civil magistrates did not attempt to use the state‟s force to achieve religious conformity, there could be a very fruitful relationship between the church and the government, a relationship that will continue to come to light in the following chapters.

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Particularly in matters of “moral transgressions,” Locke argues that “the Religious Society cannot punish because it then invades the civil Society, & wrests the Magistrates sword out of his hand” (1674/2006, 330).55 Clearly, therefore, morality is a subject of interest to both the church and the state, implying a relationship between these two institutions. The separation that Locke insists upon is simply concerned with the role that each plays in the realm of morality. The church‟s role is one of teaching and public discourse, while the state‟s role is one of enforcing laws through external punishment.56 Once Locke determines the purposes and limitations of the state and church in the Letter, he turns specifically to the issue of toleration. Extending from his discussion of excommunication, Locke claims that churches are not required to practice toleration to members who continually disregard the laws of the religious society. Excommunication is a proper punishment for such persons. Locke then states, “No private person has any right in any manner to prejudice another person in his civil enjoyments, because he is of another church or religion.” This toleration between private citizens, Locke argues, does not stop with members of competing Christian churches. It also must be shown to the “pagan,” or the member of another religious tradition. This “liberality,” Locke contends, “the Gospel enjoins, this reason directs, and this that natural fellowship we are born into requires of us. If any man err from the right way, it is his own misfortune, no injury to thee: nor therefore art thou to punish him in the things of this life, because thou supposes he will be miserable in that which is to come” (1686/2005, 17-18).57

55 Locke will later reiterate this position in the Letter: “The arms by which the members of this society [the church] are to be kept within their duty, are exhortations, admonitions, and advice. If by these means the offenders will not be reclaimed, and the erroneous convinced, there remains nothing farther to be done, but that such stubborn and obstinate persons, who give no ground to hope for their reformation, should be cast out and separated from the society. This is the last and utmost force of ecclesiastical authority: no other punishment can thereby be inflicted, than that the relation ceasing between the body and the member which is cut off, the person so condemned ceases to be a part of that church…. Excommunication neither does nor can deprive the excommunicated person of any of those civil goods that he formerly possessed” (1686/2005, 16, 17). 56 This type of separation fuels Locke‟s criticism of the clergy in many of his works. In an addition to the Essay, for example, Locke writes that many clergy have “laid claim” to the power given only to the magistrate and have “pressed as a duty on the Magistrate to punish & persecute those who they disliked & declared against” (1675/2006, 313-14). The criticism is not of religion in general, or even of its role in political discourse, but of the attempt made by the clergy to use the tool of the state in order to achieve the goal of the church. 57 It is clear throughout the Letter that religious arguments play a large role in Locke‟s support for toleration. I disagree, however, with Waldron who contends “that the main argument of the Letter does have to rest on its distinctively Christian foundations” (2002, 210). In fact, I think deciphering a “main argument” is already problematic. Locke does use arguments from Scripture about what tools God has given to humanity to spread the Gospel, and he does focus on the example set forth in the life of Christ. But his reasoning about the nature and purpose of government, the capabilities and limitations of human reason, as well as many other lines of support,

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Locke then extends this toleration between private persons to the relationship between individual churches, none of which have “any manner of jurisdiction over any other…. And therefore peace, equity, and friendship, are always mutually to be observed by particular churches, in the same manner as by private persons, without any pretence of superiority or jurisdiction over one another.” Locke emphasizes that this policy of toleration must be followed just as closely by the leaders of the religious societies as by their lay members. Even those in offices of authority must remember the differences in nature and purpose between the church and state. Locke reiterates that “the church itself if a thing absolutely separate and distinct from the commonwealth. The boundaries on both sides are fixed and immoveable…. No man therefore, with whatsoever ecclesiastical office he be dignified, can deprive another man that is not of his church and faith, either of liberty, or of any part of his worldly goods, upon the account of that difference which is between them in religion” (1686/2005, 21).58 The toleration that Locke demands between churches must be followed, he argues, “even when the civil magistrate, as it sometimes happens, comes to be of this or the other communion” (1686/2005, 18). The leaders of the state often do belong to a particular religious society; therefore, Locke extends his argument for toleration beyond the behavior of private citizens and churches to the government. Because the quest for salvation is so deeply significant to every individual, determining the proper path cannot be surrendered to another, even the leader of one‟s civil society. Locke writes: There is only one…true way to eternal happiness. But, in this great variety of ways that men follow, it is still doubted which is this right one. Now neither the care of the commonwealth, nor the right of enacting laws, does discover this way that leads to heaven more certainly to the magistrate than every private man‟s search and study discovers it unto himself…. Although the magistrate‟s opinion in religion be sound, and the way that he appoints be truly evangelical, yet if I be not thoroughly persuaded thereof in my own mind, there will be no safety for me in

have much to offer to the debate over toleration without necessarily relying on, although constantly being guided by, “Christian foundations.” 58 Again, notice that the rigid boundaries that Locke draws between church and state are ultimately concerned with the means that each use in reaching their distinct ends. He says nothing about denying religious citizens the right to use religious forms of reasoning in public discourse. Toleration simply requires that the church not use the tools of the state—force and the denial of civil interests—in order to create any degree of religious uniformity. Locke later writes of “our ecclesiastical orators”: “Let them not supply their want of reasons with the instruments of force, which belong to another jurisdiction, and do ill become a churchman‟s hands. Let them not call in the magistrate‟s authority to the aid of their eloquence, or learning; lest perhaps, whilst they pretend only love for the truth, this their intemperate zeal, breathing nothing but fire and sword, betray their ambition, and show that what they desire is temporal dominion” (1686/2005, 23).

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following it. No way whatsoever that I shall walk in against the dictates of my conscience, will ever bring me to the mansions of the blessed [1686/2005, 25, 28]. The magistrate has no “infallible judgment” in matters relating to the salvation of souls, and even if the path he supports happens to be the right path, the minds and consciences of his citizens can never be persuaded by laws and force: “In vain therefore do princes compel their subjects to come into their church-communion, under pretence of saving their souls. If they believe, they will come of their own accord; if they believe not, their coming will nothing avail them…. When all is done, they must be left to their own consciences” (1686/2005, 26, 28-29).59 By focusing on the various levels from which toleration ought to be practiced, Locke concludes, “No-body therefore, in fine, neither single persons, nor churches, nay, nor even commonwealths, have any just title to invade the civil rights and worldly goods of each other, upon pretence of religion” (1686/2005, 20). Locke‟s version of toleration, he believes, would “[free] men from all dominion over one another in matters of religion” (1686/2005, 29). In the remainder of the Letter, Locke provides more specific arguments against the state‟s interference in religious matters, along with instances in which toleration is forfeited by groups that may happen to be united because of religion. Most of the arguments for limited government appear in the Essay and/or other writings on toleration written by Locke before 1686. For example, Locke continues to promote universal toleration of speculative opinions, “because they have no manner of relation to the civil rights of the subjects.” The specific example he gives is significant in its reach beyond Christian dissenters: “If a jew does not believe the New Testament to be the word of God, he does not thereby alter any thing in men‟s civil rights. If a heathen doubt of both Testaments, he is not therefore to be punished as a pernicious citizen” (1686/2005, 40). Toleration must also be extended to all other religious beliefs and practices that do not affect the larger society (1686/2005, 30). Furthermore, even moral matters that are not left indifferent by God are not under the authority of the magistrate if they do not concern civil interests. Locke writes, “Covetousness, uncharitableness, idleness, and many other things are sins…which yet no man ever said were to be punished by the magistrate. The reason is, because they are not prejudicial to other men‟s rights, nor do they break the public peace of societies” (1686/2005, 36-37).

59 It must be remembered that Locke does believe that the magistrate as a human being can be effective in leading others to the path of salvation by using the tools given to all individuals to persuade others of religious truth, namely, teaching and exhortation.

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Locke provides four examples of situations in which societies marked by religion may lose the right to toleration. First, he argues, “No opinions contrary to human society, or to those moral rules which are necessary to the preservation of civil society, are to be tolerated by the magistrate.” Because moral virtue is so central to the nature of religion, though, Locke admits that such “examples in any church are rare” (1686/2005, 45). The second instance of a religious group forfeiting its right to toleration is when the community teaches anything that directly challenges the order and peace of society. For example, if members of a religious group refuse to accept the civil authority of anyone not part of their communion, or if they “will not own and teach the duty of tolerating all men in matters of mere religion,” they should not be tolerated by the magistrate. Third, “That church can have no right to be tolerated by the magistrate, which is constituted upon such a bottom, that all those who enter into it, do thereby ipso facto deliver themselves upon to the protection and service of another prince” (1686/2005, 46). While Catholic allegiance to the pope would be a natural target for Locke, he uses the example of a Muslim living in a society with a Christian magistrate, yet viewing himself as “bound to yield blind obedience to the mufti in Constantinople” (1686/2005, 42).60 The final belief associated with religion that must not be tolerated is atheism. Locke writes, “Those are not at all to be tolerated who deny the being of God. Promises, covenants, and oaths, which are the bonds of human society, can have no hold upon an atheist. The taking away of God, though but even in thought, dissolves all” (1686/2005, 47). Locke had already made it quite clear in the Essay that belief in God was necessary for all morality, so his refusal to grant toleration to atheists is nothing new in the Letter.61 The next familiar argument given by Locke is that all groups have the possibility of becoming threats to the government. In this, religious societies are not so unique. Locke asks,

60 Just as Catholics were not denied toleration as Catholics, the Muslim in this example does not forfeit his right to toleration solely because of his Muslim faith. Instead, it is a matter of beliefs added to the core doctrines of Islam, which would threaten the political stability of any nation ruled by a sovereign other than the Mufti in Constantinople. Waldron puts it clearly, “The example is used…to show that if someone did combine faith in Islam with political allegiance to the Mufti of Constantinople, he would put himself beyond the pale of toleration by virtue of the combination, not by virtue of his Muslim faith alone” (2002, 221). 61 Waldron contends that there may be more to Locke‟s concern with atheists than the notion that they cannot be trusted to keep their promises. He notes the connection Locke often makes between moral motivation and divine rewards and punishments. Thinking of Locke‟s rejection of Hobbes, he also suggests that “Locke‟s particular worry about atheists may have less to do with their day-to-day involvement in social and commercial life, and more with the attitude they are likely to take to the very foundations of the social order” (2002, 225). Most important to Waldron, however, is that the atheist, in Locke‟s mind, “cannot really get hold of the notion of human equality,” because of the denial “of human individuals as God‟s workmanship or God‟s property” (2002, 226).

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“Why are assemblies less sufferable in a church than in a theatre or market? Those that meet there are not either more vicious, or more turbulent, than those that meet elsewhere” (1686/2005, 50). Indeed, the only thing that may cause religious groups to be more threatening to the government is the very fact that they are not tolerated. Locke argues, “For if men enter into seditious conspiracies, it is not religion inspires them to it in their meetings, but their sufferings and oppressions that make them willing to ease themselves” (1686/2005, 49). The solution, therefore, is not greater persecution. Instead, the state ought to grant toleration for the sake of order: Take away the partiality that is used towards [dissenting religious societies] in matters of common right; change the laws, take away the penalties unto which [religious societies] are subjected, and all things will immediately become safe and peaceable: nay, those that are averse to the religion of the magistrate, will think themselves so much the more bound to maintain the peace of the commonwealth, as their condition is better in that place than elsewhere; and all the several separate congregations, like so many guardians of the public peace, will watch one another, that nothing may be innovated or changed in the form of the government: because they can hope for nothing better than what they already enjoy; that is, an equal condition with their fellow-subjects, under a just and moderate government [1686/2005, 50]. Again, toleration is not only required by principles based on the nature of religion and the purposes of government; it is also the best pragmatic means to the end of creating social order. He writes, “It is not the diversity of opinions, which cannot be avoided; but the refusal of toleration to those that are of different opinions, which might have been granted, that has produced all the bustles and wars, that have been in the christian world, upon account of religion” (1686/2005, 53). If dissenting religious societies were shown toleration by the magistrate, these societies would be more likely to support the authorities in place. For Locke, once again, this toleration of religious societies that do not seek to undermine the government should be extended not only to a variety of Christian denominations, but also to non-Christian religious communities: But those whose doctrine is peaceable, and whose manners are pure and blameless, ought to be upon equal terms with their fellow-subjects. Thus if solemn assemblies, observations of festivals, public worship, be permitted to any one sort of professors; all these things ought to be permitted to the presbyterians, independents, anabaptists, arminians, quakers, and others, with the same liberty. Nay, if we may openly speak the truth, and as becomes one man to another, neither pagan, nor mahometan, nor jew, ought to be excluded from the civil rights of the commonwealth, because of his religion [1686/2005, 52].

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Locke‟s opinion on toleration has not changed since he penned the Essay in 1667. In 1686, he still supports universal toleration for speculative opinions in matters of religion. He remains committed to the toleration of all other religious beliefs and aspects of public worship that do not directly threaten the social order. He even insists on the toleration of the moral beliefs of religion, as long as those concerned with the salvation of souls do not seek to use force, the tool of the state, in order to create converts or religious conformity. His toleration extends not only to all Protestant dissenting churches, but also to other Christian and non-Christian religious societies. While Catholics and Muslims, for example, must be observed because of aspects of their religions that may disrupt civic peace, they are still to be tolerated to the highest degree possible. The only exception to Locke‟s significant breadth of toleration is atheism, because the belief in God, for Locke, is the foundation of all morality, the latter of which is not only the central aspect of religion, but is also a cornerstone to an effective government. Locke‟s support of toleration is based on the natures and purposes of religion, human freedom, and the state. He also provides pragmatic arguments for the necessity of implementing a policy of toleration. Although the Letter does provide slightly different forms of reasoning, its basic position is identical to what Locke proposed nearly twenty years earlier in the Essay. While the Essay was not published until long after Locke‟s death, the Letter first appeared in print in 1689, just a few short years after its composition. It did not take long for critics of Locke‟s position to emerge. One such critic was Jonas Proast, whose remarks against the Letter began an exchange that resulted in three additional works on toleration written by Locke in the early 1690s. Despite the often lengthy arguments from Proast, Locke remains firm in his support for toleration, as he provides more detail to many of his central forms of reasoning presented in his earlier works on the subject.

6. Proast and the Second, Third, and Fourth Letters In 1685, one year before Locke wrote the Letter, Charles, the King of England, died, leaving the throne to his brother, James II. James, a Catholic, was in a difficult position when it came to the issue of toleration. On the one hand, those shown toleration would most likely— following Locke‟s own reasoning—be loyal to his new rule, even those Protestant dissenters who may be wary of James‟s Catholicism. On the other hand, extending toleration not only to Protestant dissenters but also to Catholics meant potentially alienating the Anglican

143 establishment and resulting in almost certain seditious plots. Just two years into his reign, James acted on the matter, offering what would seem to be a welcome gesture to all supporters of toleration. Cranston notes, “In April [1687] James II had issued his Declaration of Indulgence, which assured liberty of public worship to all denominations including Catholics and abolished the Anglican tests for admission to public offices” (1957, 284). Locke, however, did not trust the King‟s motives. Cranston continues, “Locke regarded the Declaration of Indulgence as a stratagem designed to foist a Popish rule on England, and time was to show that he was not far wrong” (1957, 284). When James was finally given a male heir—destroying the common belief that his Protestant daughter would rule upon her father‟s death—the fear of a Catholic successor fueled the English elite to organize the Glorious Revolution. William of Orange left Holland to liberate England from Catholicism on November 11, 1688, eventually reigning over the nation jointly with his wife, the Princess Mary, with whom Locke returned to England after the Revolution proved successful. While rescuing the nation from a line of Catholic rulers was perhaps the most pressing justification for the Revolution, William and Mary also had the task of establishing a policy of toleration, particularly for Protestant dissenters. This was especially expected because of William‟s own religious affiliation. Cranston writes, “William was not an Anglican. He was a Calvinist with certain leanings towards the Presbyterian Dissenters” (1957, 315). As a result, when the topic of toleration was debated in Parliament once again in 1689, William “had urged both „comprehension‟ and „indulgence,‟ the latter to include the opening of all civil offices to Protestant Dissenters” (1957, 314). With political arguments over a variety of topics dominating the scene, Locke decided for the first time to publish some of his most significant works. Among them were writings that focused on politics and the issue of toleration. The impact of the historical context on the decision by Locke to publish is not lost to Cranston, who notes: These surreptitious doings portended the coming triumph of Lockean political philosophy. When Locke and Shaftesbury had first worked out that philosophy public opinion in England had been against them. Englishmen had then a residual belief in the divine right of kings, and they had still vivid and painful memories of the rebellion against Charles I. If Locke had published his political theory in 1683, it could only have been denounced…as a gospel of treason. But in the altered situation which followed the birth of James II‟s son, the public was ready for his new ideas [1957, 302].

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Along with his Essay Concerning Human Understanding, which Locke claimed as his own, the Two Treatises and an English translation of the Letter were being prepared for anonymous publication in 1689. By this time, the Toleration Act had become law, a welcome occurrence to Locke, who wrote, “I hope that with these beginnings the foundations have been laid of that liberty and peace in which the church of Christ is one day to be established” (Corr. 1147, iii. 633; see Cranston 1957, 319). Rather than establishing toleration through comprehension, the Act focused on indulgence, assuring toleration to all Protestant dissenters who were willing to take an oath of loyalty to the state and avoid certain beliefs and practices too closely associated with Catholicism. Locke‟s Letter, therefore, was released to the public at a time when supporters of toleration were experiencing success. Those who opposed any form of toleration, however, were certainly not ready to concede the political battle. Just months after the Letter was published, it was refuted in print by Proast, an Oxford-trained member of the clergy. In his The Argument of the Letter Concerning Toleration, Briefly Consider’d and Answer’d, Proast‟s criticism of Locke‟s position is focused solely on the effects of toleration on the Christian religion. Locke had not only argued that the principles of true religion demand a policy of toleration, but also that such a policy would actually promote the growth and vitality of religious truth. While not questioning Locke‟s intentions, Proast vehemently disagrees with his conclusion: “I do not believe this Author intends any prejudice, either to Religion in general, or to the Christian Religion. But yet it seems hard to conceive how he should think to do any Service to either, by recommending and perswading such a Toleration as he here proposeth” (1690/1984, 2).62 Proast ignores many of Locke‟s most significant forms of reasoning in support of toleration, choosing to focus on the argument that religious belief can only be achieved through inward persuasion, and that force, therefore, can never be successfully used to create converts or religious conformity. While Proast agrees that force cannot be immediately responsible for altering religious convictions, he maintains that it can still provide a degree of derivative assistance in one‟s journey to salvation. He writes, If Force be used, not in stead of Reason and Arguments, i.e. not to convince by its own proper Efficacy (which it cannot do,) but onely to bring men to consider those Reasons and Arguments which are proper and sufficient to convince them,

62 All references to Proast‟s works against Locke are taken from a published version of facsimiles of copies of the original writings. Other than not duplicating the long form of the letter s, I follow the facsimiles directly. Each of Proast‟s responses is printed with original page numbers, resulting in duplicate pages in the 1984 volume. Context and year of original printing should make it clear which response is being referenced.

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but which, without being forced, they would not consider: who can deny, but that indirectly and at a distance, it does some service toward the brining men to embrace that Truth, which otherwise, either through Carelesness and Negligence they would never acquaint themselves with, or through Prejudice they would reject and condemn unheard, under the notion of Errour? [1690/1984, 5]. Proast is convinced that most people follow religion in the absence of reason. Because many people are not following what Proast believes to be the true religion, he is attempting to discover the means that must be used in order to make people consider a change in their religious perspective. If people do not make use of reason in their religious convictions, he claims, reason alone will not be effective in bringing about thoughtful consideration of the proper path to salvation. This is precisely where force can play a role, not in directly compelling people to convert to the true religion, but in compelling them to consider with reason the options that are available to them in the realm of religious belief. Proast contends, If they usually take up their Religion without examining it as they ought, and then grow so opinionative, and so stiff in their Prejudices, that neither the gentlest Admonitions, nor the most earnest Intreaties shall ever prevail with them afterwards to do it: What means is there left (besides the Grace of God)63 to reduce those of them that are got into a wrong Way, but to lay Thorns and Briars in it? that since they are deaf to all Perswasions, the uneasiness they meet with may at least put them to a stand, and encline them to lend an ear to those who tell them they have mistaken their way, and offer to shew them the right…. What humane method can be used, to bring them to…make a wiser and more rational Choice, but that of laying such Penalties upon them, as may balance the weight of those Prejudices which enclined them to prefer a false Way before the True [1690/1984, 10-11]. Proast admits that the degree of force that can be used to cause people to consider a different form of religion requires debate. He insists, however, that he would never support the examples of force that Locke decries in his Letter, which are marked by physical pain and brutality. Whatever precise penalties are chosen, Proast argues, it must be remembered that such force is never meant to cause pain or death, but is used only “for the advancing true Religion, and the Salvation of Souls…by disposing men to submit to Instruction, and to give a fair Hearing to the Reasons which are offer‟d” (1690/1984, 13).

63 Locke does not overlook this significant parenthetical. In the Second Letter, he comments on Proast‟s admission of the grace of God as another means to salvation: “And I suppose you will not deny it to be both a proper and sufficient means; and, which is more, the only means; such means as can work by itself, and without which all the force in the world can do nothing” (1690/2005, 84). In his second response, Proast insists that the grace of God is sufficient to do anything at all, but that this does not mean that God‟s grace cannot be found in human means, such as the force of the magistrate (see 1691/1984, 39-40).

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If a degree of force is justified and even necessary to cause many individuals to evaluate with reason their religious convictions, the only remaining issue concerns who has the authority to use this force. For Proast, the answer is simple: “And if there be such a Right somewhere; Where should it be, but where the Power of Compelling resides? That is principally, and in reference to the publick, in the Civil Sovereign (whom this Author calls the Civil Magistrate,) and in those who derive Authority from him” (1690/1984, 16). Proast, therefore, extends the concerns of the state far beyond the Lockean boundaries of civil interests. He writes, Doubtless Commonwealths are instituted for the attaining of all the Benefits which Political Government can yield. And therefore if the Spiritual and Eternal Interests of men may any way be procured or advanced by Political Government; the procuring and advancing those Interests must in all reason be reckon‟d among the Ends of Civil Societies, and so, consequently, fall within the compass of the Magistrate‟s Jurisdiction [1690/1984, 18-19]. The “Care of Souls” is such a significant task that it is the duty of all people in their particular situations (1690/1984, 20-21). At the most basic level, all humans as humans ought to use the tools of persuasion and argument to care for the souls of their neighbors, something with which Locke would agree.64 Beyond this level, Proast believes that the clergy have a unique role to play in the caring of souls, given their leadership within the religion. Again, while not approving of the clergy‟s tendency to usurp the authority of the state, Locke would agree that true pastors have a significant responsibility to admonish and exhort others to seek the truth. The difference between Locke and Proast in this matter is that the latter insists that the care of souls is also the duty of the magistrate as magistrate. As the leader of the civil society, the sovereign has the unique tool of “outward force” that is vital in caring for souls that have strayed from the true path to salvation.65 Once again, however, Proast does not argue that the magistrate has the right to use any degree of force whatsoever. Distancing himself from the language used by Locke to

64 Locke‟s insistence on the use of persuasion rather than force in the attempt to convince others to adopt one‟s beliefs and/or practices is consistent with the form of political participation endorsed by Stout, among others. See also Locke 1692/2005, 462-63. 65 It is significant that Proast argues for the proper use of “outward force” by the magistrate. Locke, as we have seen, did make room for the magistrate to care for souls, but this was only in his capacity as a human being, meaning that he could only make use of the tools given to all for the caring of souls, which would exclude the force that he has at his disposal as the civil leader. For Proast, it is precisely that “outward force” that is to be used by the magistrate for the caring of souls. While force cannot be the immediate cause of religious conversion, it can be used to lead individuals to the truth. Agreeing with one of Locke‟s basic principles, Proast contends that “outward Force may be so applyed as to procure the Salvation of Souls, notwithstanding that true and saving Religion consists in the inward Perswasion of the Mind, and that the Understanding cannot be compelled to the Belief of any thing by Outward Force” (1690/1984, 23-24).

147 refer to opponents of toleration, Proast refuses to say that his position gives the magistrate “an Authority to compel any one to his Religion.” Instead, the civil leader is only given “an Authority to procure all his Subjects the means of Discovering the Way of Salvation…that none remain ignorant of it, or refuse to embrace it, either for want of using those means, or by reason of any such Prejudices as may render them ineffectual” (1690/1984, 21). The force used by the magistrate, Proast believes, is given by God, but only for the purpose of educating, not compelling. Locke, of course, believed that entrusting the magistrate with any authority in matters related to the salvation of souls meant that individuals were surrendering the most significant personal task of their lives to another person. Proast believes the exact opposite. Rather than handing over the task of salvation to another, giving the magistrate the authority to force the religious education of his subjects is vital for many people to take personal responsibility for the destiny of their souls.66 In direct contrast to Locke, Proast notes that the “power of the Magistrate in reference to Religion, is ordained for the bringing men to take such care as they ought of their Salvation, that they may not blindly leave it to the choice, neither of any other Person, nor yet of their own Lusts and Passions” (1690/1984, 22). Proast‟s argument is that a policy of universal toleration for speculative opinions is what causes people to shirk the responsibility of using “Reason and sound Judgment” in religious matters (1690/1984, 22). Far from being an obstacle to the discovery of truth, as Locke contended, Proast believes that the God-given right of the magistrate to force his subjects to rationally consider religious paths will only increase the number of people who thoughtfully seek true religion, and, for Proast, this increase can only result in an increase in the number of people who actually find true religion. As he ends his reply, Proast deals with the issue of the multiplicity of religions professed by the world‟s magistrates. How can the true religion be advanced, Locke had already asked, if every magistrate in the world is given the authority to urge—if not to compel—his subjects to follow his own religion? Proast denies this reasoning. He has nowhere argued that magistrates

66 In the Second Letter, Locke notes the apparent contradiction in assuming that force is vital in making people rationally consider religion, but that the magistrate—who cannot benefit from this tool, unless he punish himself—is the one to determine who receives penalties: “For if want of molestation be the dangerous state, wherein men are likeliest to miss the right way; it must be confessed, that, of all men, the magistrate is most in danger to be in the wrong, and so the unfittest, if you take the care of men‟s souls from themselves, of all men to be intrusted with it. For he never meets with that great and only antidote of yours against errour, which you here call molestation. He never has the benefit of your sovereign remedy, punishment, to make him consider; which you think so necessary, that you look on it as a most dangerous state for men to be without it” (1690/2005, 136).

148 have the God-given right or duty to use outward force for the promotion of false religions. Only the true religion can make use of this tool of the state. He writes, “The Power I ascribe to the Magistrate, is given him, to bring men, not to his own, but to the true Religion: And though (as our Author puts us in mind) the Religion of every Prince is Orthodox to himself; yet if this Power keep within its bounds, it can serve the Interest of no other Religion but the true” (1690/1984, 25-26). It is the case, Proast admits, that every magistrate will assume his religion to be the true, but only those that actually do confess the true religion have the power to use force in matters of religion. All others that do so are “misapplying” the power given to them as magistrates. Even if this abuse of power does occur, however, Proasts maintains that the true religion will still be served, because the force that he supports is only the force to make individuals use their reason to consider the proper course to salvation. For Proast, the use of reason will guide one to Christianity, even if the magistrate is of another religion. If the magistrate is Muslim, for example, he would wrongfully use his power if he chose to force his non-Muslim subjects to consider the reasons for their beliefs, as well as the competing reasons to convert to the Muslim faith. “And if, upon such examination of the matter,” Proast writes, the non-Muslims “chance to find that the Truth does not lie on the Magistrate‟s side...they know better than they did before, where the Truth does lie” (1690/1984, 26). As long as the proper amount of force is used, there is no reason, according to Proast, to believe that the true religion will suffer. Whenever people consider matters of religion with reason instead of passion, the truth will make itself known. Toleration, on the other hand, is the perfect way to conceal the truth by allowing all individuals to remain blindly following false paths to salvation. Locke immediately answered many of the criticisms put forth by Proast with the Second Letter, dated May 27, 1690. In his response, Locke provides several lines of reasoning to defend his own position and to attack the position of Proast, often returning to Proast‟s own overarching concern of choosing the policy that best leads people to the true religion. Not surprisingly, Locke does not concede that the magistrate‟s use of force is the best way to promote Christianity. His first argument is based on the way in which the gospel message advanced in the early centuries of the faith. The early church, Locke argues, spread most rapidly at a time when “jews and pagans were tolerated, and more than tolerated by the governments of those places where it grew up” (1690/2005, 63). He cannot imagine anyone would believe that the faith is “less capable to prevail now, by its own truth and light, than it did in the first ages of the church, when

149 poor contemptible men, without authority, or the countenance of authority, had alone the care of it” (1690/2005, 63). Locke notes that the very fact that the Christian tradition “grew, and spread, and prevailed without any aid from force, or the assistance of the powers in being” has been used by many Christians as support for the truth of the faith. Following this reasoning, Locke concludes that if it be a mark of the true religion, that it will prevail by its own light and strength, but that false religions will not, but have need of force and foreign helps to support them, nothing certainly can be more for the advantage of true religion, than to take away compulsion every-where…. A religion that is of God wants not the assistance of human authority to make it prevail [1690/2005, 64]. The history of Christianity suggests that the true religion is best fostered without the reliance on any force whatsoever. Just as the church thrived while experiencing a degree of toleration from non-Christian civil leaders, so would the true religion best prosper “in any popish, mahometan, or pagan country” if toleration is the policy of the state (1690/2005, 65). Related to this argument from the early church, Locke later reiterates the fact that God has provided his followers with particular methods to spread the Christian faith, and that force is not one of those methods. He writes, “It is not for the magistrate, or any-body else, upon an imagination of its usefulness, to make use of any other means for the salvation of men‟s souls, than what the author and finisher of our faith hath directed” (1690/2005, 81). Locke then turns to the authority of Scripture on the matter, “wherein,” he writes, “are contained all the means and methods of salvation” (1690/2005, 85): When you can show any commission in scripture, for the use of force to compel men to hear, any more than to embrace, the doctrine of others that differ from them, we shall have reason to submit to it, and the magistrate have some ground to set up this new way of persecution…. “Go and teach all nations,” was a commission of our Saviour‟s: but there was not added to it, punish those that will not hear and consider what you say. No, but “if they will not receive you, shake off the dust of your feet”; leave them, and apply yourselves to some others [1690/2005, 82]. Both Scripture and tradition affirm that any degree of force is not authorized by God as a tool to be used in creating religious converts. If individuals do not choose to follow the true religion through the means appointed by God to reach this end—which Locke lists as “„exhortation in season and out of season,‟ &c. together with prayer for them, and the example of meekness and a good life” (1690/2005, 86)—they should be left free to their own eternal demise, as long as the beliefs that they hold do not threaten the social order.

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Locke‟s next contention with Proast‟s reply concerns the indirect ability of force to produce proper religious belief. Locke begins by noting that he nowhere denies that penalties could “at any time, upon any person, by any accident, be useful towards the promoting of true religion, and the salvation of souls” (1690/2005, 68). What he does deny is that the magistrate should act on something that can only be hoped to indirectly and accidentally cause a desired result. Giving an example, Locke notes, “Loss of estate and dignities may make a proud man humble…. But will you therefore infer, that the magistrate may take away a man‟s honour, or estate, or liberty, for the salvation of his soul; or torment him in this, that he may be happy in the other world?” (1690/2005, 69). Just because something may have an indirect relationship to a good end does not mean that it should be mandated by the civil authority. Locke then maintains that the justification of force in religious matters must be applied to all magistrates, not just those that are Anglican as Proast would contend. Locke writes, “If your indirect and at a distance serviceableness may authorize the magistrate to use force in religion, all the cruelties used by the heathens against christians, by papists against protestants, and all the persecuting of christians one among another are all justifiable” (1690/2005, 70). In other words, Locke is still assuming that a political principle should be universalizable. If it is believed that a Christian magistrate has the authority to use force to create religious conformity—even indirectly—Locke does not see any justification in denying this authority to magistrates of other religious traditions. And, following Proast‟s assumption that only the Church of England provides the proper path to salvation, Locke notes that there would not be “one of an hundred” magistrates promoting the right path. As a result, there would be many more magistrates using force to make their subjects—indirectly—conform to falsehood than there would be magistrates leading people to the truth (1690/2005, 76).67 Locke also does not believe a line can be drawn between moderate and severe penalties. If any form of punishment can be justified on the grounds that it may accidentally result in the consideration of religious belief, why could more severe forms of punishment not also be justified in the same manner? Further, Locke denies that even the most moderate forms of punishment can be justified in matters of religion, where no harm to the public order is being

67 Locke later writes of Proast‟s position, “Men in the wrong are to be punished: but who are in the wrong way is the question. You have no more reason to determine it against one who differs from you; than he has to conclude against you, who differ from him. No, not though you have the magistrate and the national church on your side. For if to differ from them be to be in the wrong way, you, who are in the right way in England, will be in the wrong way in France” (1690/2005, 89).

151 committed. He contends, “Any sort of punishments disproportioned to the offence, or where there is no fault at all, will always be severity, unjustifiable severity…. For where there is no fault, there can be no moderate punishment” (1690/2005, 71). Locke‟s final line of reasoning is that Proast‟s claim that force is to be used on those who do not consider is really only a “pretence to punish dissenters” (1690/2005, 130).68 Before turning to the issue of dissenters, Locke notes the difficulty—perhaps impossibility—of even being able to determine who has and who has not properly considered religious matters. Any punishment on the grounds of consideration, therefore, becomes both “unjust” and “impracticable” for Locke, and would only serve to drive people away from the true religion. He writes, “Because to punish men for that, which it is visible cannot be known whether they have performed or no, is so palpable an injustice, that it is likelier to give them an aversion to the persons, and religion that uses it, than to bring them to it” (1690/2005, 74-75, 78). Locke then moves beyond this clear problem with Proast‟s policy, and grants—for the sake of argument—that it is possible to determine whether religious believers are following their passions to the exclusion of reason or whether they have rationally considered their religious beliefs. Why, then, Locke asks, does Proast seem to assume that only dissenters would face punishment? If the use of force really is justified only on the grounds that one has not rationally examined one‟s religious convictions, then the penalties to make people consider would have to be placed not only on dissenters but on all people who have not met the condition of consideration, and Locke contends that this would have to include many members of the magistrate‟s own church. He argues, And if the punishment you think so necessary be, as you pretend, to cure the mischief you complain of, you must let it pursue and fall on the guilty, and those only, in what company soever they are; and not, as you here propose, and is the highest injustice, punish the innocent considering dissenter with the guilty; and, on the other side, let the inconsiderate guilty conformist escape with the innocent. For one may rationally presume that the national church has some, nay more in proportion, of those who little consider or concern themselves about religion, than any congregation of dissenters [1690/2005, 94].

68 The longer quote from which this phrase is taken is worth noting: “But if, in all your treatise, you can show me one place, where you say that the ignorant, the careless, the inconsiderate, the negligent in examining thoroughly the truth of their own and others religion, &c. are to be punished; I will allow your remedy for a good one. But you have not said any thing like this…. And whilst you do not, the world has reason to judge, that however want of examination be a general fault, which you with great vehemency have exaggerated; yet you use it only for a pretence to punish dissenters; and either distrust your remedy, that it will not cure this evil, or else care not to have it generally cured” (1690/2005, 130).

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If Proast really was justifying the magistrate‟s use of force in order to assist people—indirectly— to use reason and sound judgment in matters of religion, he could not reach the conclusion that he does, namely, that dissenters alone must face the authorized penalties. Instead, Locke insists, he would be left with only one of two options: “So that, upon your principles, they must all or none be punished. Choose which you please: one of them, I think, you cannot escape” (1690/2005, 91). The fact that Proast seems intent on escaping these two options, excluding all members of the national church from the possibility of punishment, shows that he is not actually concerned with leading people to be rational about their religious convictions, but rather that he is focused on finding a way to use the state‟s force to cause dissenters to conform to the Church of England. Instead of providing all people with “a fair hearing to reasons offered for the enlightening their minds,” Proast is really only concerned, Locke argues, with giving dissenters “an obedient hearing” to the reasons Proast finds convincing to conform to the magistrate‟s church (1690/2005, 97). This one-sided use of force leads only to that which Proast denies he is promoting: “plain persecution for differing in religion” (1690/2005, 97). In a moment of self- praise, Locke even comments on how his own Letter differs: “The author‟s letter pleased me, because it is equal to all mankind, is direct, and will, I think, hold every-where; which I take to be a good mark of truth” (1690/2005, 95). Proast responded to the various criticisms offered in the Second Letter with an additional treatise on toleration, dated April 20, 1691. Most of Proast‟s second response to Locke is a reiteration of the same arguments put forth in the first response, arguments that Proast felt were misrepresented in Locke‟s Second Letter. Rather than begin with an explicit defense of Locke‟s most significant criticism—namely, that Proast‟s position results only in the persecution of dissenters—Proast opens his second response by focusing on the toleration of non-Christians. He insists once again that Jews, Muslims, and pagans should not be tolerated by a Christian magistrate. These individuals must be denied “the Rights and Privileges of the Commonwealth…as a just and necessary Caution” (1691/1984, 3). Unlike the early position of Locke in the Two Tracts, Proast is not worried about the dangers of social chaos and sedition. Instead, as always, he is thinking of the health of the Christian faith. Tolerating non-Christians to the point of giving them nearly all the rights provided to Christian citizens may cause the latter to convert away from the true religion, “seeing they would lose no worldly advantage by such a change of their Religion” (1691/1984, 3). Once again, the favor of the magistrate is a vital tool

153 in drawing people to Christianity and keeping them committed to the gospel message; without it, Proast sees a threat to the stability of the faith.69 In desiring the conversion of Jews, Muslims, and pagans to the Christian faith, of course, Proast is not alone. Locke, too, wanted to see all people find what he believed to be the truth of Christianity. The difference is that Locke did not believe that withholding civil liberties from non-Christians is the best method of evangelism. Instead, Locke argued that a policy of toleration is the most effective vehicle for leading people to the truth. Making the connection between these penalties against non-Christians—for their own good—to his support for the punishment of various Christian communities, Proast writes: But as to the converting Jews, Mahumetans, and Pagans to Christianity, I fear there will be no great progress made in it, till Christians come to a better agreement and union among themselves. I am sure our Saviour pray‟d that all that should believe in him, might be one in the Father and in him (i.e. I suppose, in that holy Religion which he taught them from the Father) that the World might believe that the Father had sent him. And therefore when he comes to make inquisition, why no more Jews, Mahumetans, and Pagans have been converted to his Religion, I very much fear that a great part of the blame will be found to lie upon the Authors and Promoters of Sects and Divisions among the professors of it [1691/1984, 4].70 Using Scripture as his guide, Proast believes that the greatest degree of conversion of non- Christians to the true religion depends on Christian uniformity. In this argument, Proast seems to admit that he is indeed seeking the punishment of dissenters, as Locke suspected, in order to create the religious environment necessary for the best fulfillment of the Great Commission. Proast next turns to specific rebuttals against a few of Locke‟s many arguments. First, he insists that simply because the early Church prospered when non-Christians were tolerated does not mean that the toleration contributed to the success of Christianity (1691/1984, 5). Second, he

69 Pagans receive a special condemnation by Proast that is worth noting: “But as to Pagans particularly, I confess I am so far from thinking with our Author, that they ought not to be excluded from the Civil Rights of the Commonwealth, because of their Religion, that I cannot see how their Religion can be suffer‟d by any Commonwealth that knows and worships the onely true God, if it would be thought to retain any jealousy for his honour, or even for that of Human Nature…. [Pagans] are the greatest Dishonour conceivable to God Almighty, and to Humane Nature it self; so they are utterly incapable of any manner of excuse or extenuation; being contrary to the natural Sense and Apprehensions of Mankind, as God himself, in the Prophet, plainly intimates. For which reason at least, I think I might well be startled at the largeness of our Author‟s Toleration” (1691/1984, 3-4). 70 Proast later refers specifically to Locke when discussing these “Authors and Promoters of Sects and Divisions.” He argues that all must “take notice of the Books and Pamphlets which now fly so thick about this Kingdom, manifestly tending to the multiplying of Sects and Divisions, and even to the promoting of Scepticism in Religion among us. In which number I shall not much need your pardon, if I reckon the First, and Second Letter concerning Toleration” (1691/1984, 34-35). Locke‟s position, according to Proast, threatens the true religion through the support of competing Christian communities.

154 contends that the use of force may be something given by God to make up for the lack of miracles that accompanied the spread of the faith after the time of the Apostles (1691/1984, 6).71 Third, he thinks that the true religion has often spread with the assistance of force, and that false religions have often grown without any such assistance, proving that there is no direct correlation to the presence of worldly authority and the truthfulness of a religion (1691/1984, 6-7). Proast spends more time refuting Locke‟s assumption that authorizing the use of force by one magistrate—in England—necessarily implies the authorization of the use of force by all magistrates. Proast‟s own position, he insists, is much more context-specific. That is, he repeatedly argues that his defense of the magistrate‟s right to use force to make his subjects consider religious matters is only meant for nations—such as England—where the true religion is the state religion. Indeed, Proast even admits that Locke‟s policy of toleration may be good for the spread of the true religion in those nations where the civil leaders follow false religions. In England, however, where the true religion has been “Nationally received,” the same policy would only result in removing the Church of England‟s “present Establishment,” which could not be beneficial to the truth (1691/1984, 9). Proast makes it clear that in countries where the national religion is false, it is unjust to punish dissenters from the established faith, “because it is no fault not to be of any false Religion.” The only time when such punishment is acceptable is in nations that officially profess the true religion: “All who have sufficient means of Instruction provided for them, may justly be punish‟d for not being of the National Religion, where the true, is the National Religion: Because it is a fault in all such, not to be of that Religion.” Placing penalties on dissenters in these nations would not, according to Proast, be “immoderate,” given the fault associated with not embracing the true religion (1691/1984, 20-21). Because Proast believes that there are arguments sufficient to convince people of the true religion, dissenters are

71 Locke refutes this reasoning by pointing out that most early Christians were converted after the age of the Apostles—when miracles were prevalent—but before the time of Constantine—when force was used to assist the spread of the gospel. Therefore, Proast is wrong—using his own reasoning—to assume either immediate miracles or force is necessary for the growth of Christianity (see Locke 1692/2005, 443-44). Locke does not believe that miracles ceased with the death of the Apostles, but he still believes there are countless examples in the history of Christianity where the religion has grown despite a lack of miracles or force. He even discusses an example found in Scripture. In Paul‟s letter to Titus about the island of Crete, Locke notes, “We find nothing directed for the support and propagation of the gospel…but preaching, exhortation, reproof, &c. with the example of a good life. In all this epistle, writ on purpose to instruct the preachers of the gospel, in the means they were to use among the cretans, for their conversion, not a word about miracles, their power, or use: which one would think strange, if they were the means appointed, and necessary to make men hear and consider, and without which they would not do it. Preaching, admonition, exhortation, intreaties, instruction, by the common light of reason, were known, and natural to be used, to persuade men (1692/2005, 525; see also 457-58).

155 justifiably punished as long as they remain dissenters, for they have obviously not appropriately considered the arguments being forced upon them (1691/1984, 24). He claims: Where the National Church is the true Church of God, to which all men ought to join themselves; and sufficient Evidence is offer‟d, to convince men that it is so: there it is a Fault to be out of the National Church, because it is a Fault not to be convinced that the National Church is the true Church of God. And therefore since there men‟s not being so convinced, can onely be imputed to their not considering as they ought, the Evidence which is offer‟d to convince them; it cannot be unjust to punish them to make them so to consider it [1691/1984, 24- 25]. In this way, Proast freely admits that in a nation such as England—where the true religion is the established religion—dissenters are continually punished until they cease to be dissenters, accepting the truth. It remains the case, however, that dissenters are being punished only because they have yet to properly consider religious matters. Unlike Locke, Proast does not believe it possible that dissenters could have truly considered religion and remain dissenters from the Church of England. He contends, “No man who rejects Truth necessary to his Salvation, has consider’d already, as he ought to consider” (1691/1984, 28). In any other nation where a false religion is promoted, there could be no arguments sufficient to convince people to accept the established religion, because, according to Proast, God would not allow such arguments to exist.72 As a result, no magistrate in a nation that practices a false religion would be justified in using force to make his subjects consider arguments for falsehood. If they do so, Proast contends, “God will one day call them to an account for their neglect of their Duty, for the Dishonour they do to him, and for the Souls that perish by their fault” (1691/1984, 55). Once again, whereas Locke is seeking universal principles that are applicable in all political contexts,

72 Proast claims that only “resolute and obdurate Sinners” could be convinced by arguments to follow false religions (1691/1984, 25). This insistence on Christianity—and perhaps only Anglican Christianity—as the only rational choice in matters of religion takes Proast far beyond Locke‟s view of the relationship between the Christian faith and natural human reason. Proast later writes that “no man ever studied the true Religion with such care and diligence as he might and ought to use, and with an honest mind, but he was convinced of the truth of it” (1691/1984, 58). Locke‟s direct response to this passage is revealing: “If you will resolve it in your short circular way, and tell me such diligence as one ought to use, is such diligence as brings one to be convinced, it is a question too easy to be asked. If I should desire to know plainly what is to be understood by it, it would be a question too hard for you to answer, and therefore I shall not trouble you with demanding what this diligence which a man may and ought to use, is; nor what you mean by an honest mind” (1692/2005, 221). While Locke would agree that perfect reason will lead people to the Christian faith, he is less optimistic about the current state of human reason to assume that only the worst sinners could possibly find arguments for other religious paths to be convincing. Locke‟s position on the matter will become more apparent in the discussion of the Third Letter, as well as in the following chapters in the discussion of moral knowledge and opinion.

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Proast is satisfied with supporting different political policies in different political situations, as long as those various policies support the Christian faith.73 Throughout this second response, Proast also continues to insist that force is not “capable to convince…the Understanding,” but can nevertheless be used “to procure its Conviction” (1691/1984, 16). He later puts the distinction as one between forcing one to consider and judging: “Why, I beseech you, does any one punish another to make him consider? Is it not, that that other may judge for himself, of what he is required to consider?” (1691/1984, 75). This distinction makes certain that one‟s freedom of choosing the path to salvation is not given to another. He concludes, “The care of Souls which I assert to the Magistrate, is so far from discharging any man of the care of his own Soul, or lessening his obligation to it, that it serves to no other purpose in the world, but to bring men, who otherwise would not, to consider and do what the Interest of their Souls obliges them to” (1691/1984, 77). When he defends both the “Necessity, as well as Usefulness of [force],” he is always referring only to the task of making people consider religious arguments, and never to the impossibility of compelling religious conviction (1691/1984, 17). Locke‟s reply to Proast‟s second response, the Third Letter, is dated June 20, 1692. In this very lengthy work, Locke tediously critiques Proast‟s second response, nearly paragraph by paragraph. Once again, there is a great deal of repetition of the central arguments of Locke‟s earlier Letters. For example, Locke contends that the form of punishment Proast supports “is truly persecution” (1692/2005, 142). He fights for the category of indifferent matters in terms of outward forms of worship that God has left indifferent, and therefore up to the free choice of

73 At one point, Proast seems to be arguing that it would not serve the true religion for England to practice toleration because it is unrealistic to expect all nations to endorse Locke‟s position. In such a scenario, the true religion would be tolerating “all other Religions, whilest it self is tolerated by none.” Proast believes that this would clearly put Christianity at a disadvantage. He does, however, consider the possibility that Locke‟s version of toleration were adopted by all nations of the world. If all religions were tolerated throughout the world, it might seem that the true religion would emerge above all the rest. Proast disagrees. He writes, “Supposing your Toleration were set up all the World over: Even in that case, it is so far from being probable that the true Religion would be any way advantaged by it, that on the contrary I think there is great reason to fear, that, without God‟s extraordinary Providence, it would in a much shorter time than any one that does not well consider the matter would imagine, be most effectually extirpated by it throughout the World” (1691/1984, 9). The Providence of God, Proast insists, is now located in the support of Christian magistrates, just as it was once located in the miracles of the Apostles. Without the assistance of such magistrates, the true religion cannot prosper. He later concludes, “An universal Toleration would ruine [the true religion] both [in non-Christian nations] and every where else in the end” (1691/1984, 10).

157 every individual (1692/2005, 156).74 Locke also directly refutes many of Proast‟s arguments by taking them to their logical conclusion. For example, he argues that Proast‟s own insistence on the necessity of the use of force in bringing people to the faith—along with the insistence that only magistrates who practice the true religion can make use of force—would mean that people in nations where the true religion is not established would be left without the “necessary and competent means for promoting the honour of God in the world” (1692/2005, 163; see also 167- 68). He also contends that Proast‟s reasoning would only lead to the “outward profession” of conformity, rather than to the “knowledge, belief, or practice, of the true religion” (1692/2005, 198-99, 379; see also 384). Locke hardly considers this limited end sufficient to say that the magistrate‟s use of force is truly for the “care of souls” (1692/2005, 210; see also 351-52).75 Locke also disagrees with Proast‟s assumption that a variety of Christian communities harms the true religion. While agreeing that the Anglican Church practices the true religion, Locke believes that many other Christian societies could be doing the same. He writes, “I grant that there is but one true religion in the world, which is that whose doctrine and worship are necessary to salvation. I grant too that the true religion, necessary to salvation, is taught and professed in the church of England: and yet it will not follow from hence, that the religion of the church of England, as established by law, is the only true religion” (1692/2005, 320; see also 326-28). And later, speaking of the “sects and heresies…[that] will be the fruits of a free toleration,” Locke claims, “Differences in ways of worship, wherein there is nothing mixed inconsistant with the true religion, will not hinder men from salvation, who sincerely follow the best light they have which they are as likely to do under toleration as force” (1692/2005, 372). Unless Proast can prove “that to be a christian or a member of God‟s church, it is necessary for a dissenter to be of the church of England,” Locke insists that forcing conformity to that Church cannot be justified on the grounds of the necessity of saving souls (1692/2005, 248; see also 331).

74 Speaking of indifferent matters, Locke writes, “It is frivolous here to pretend authority. No man has or can have authority to shut any one out of the church of Christ, for that for which Christ himself will not shut him out of heaven” (1692/2005, 239; see also 261, 329-30). 75 He later argues, “If the use of force be necessary for the salvation of souls, and men‟s souls be the party you write for: you will be suspected to have betrayed your party, if your method and necessary means of salvation reach no further than to bring men to outward conformity, though to the true church; and after that abandons them to their lusts and depraved natures, destitute of the help of force; your necessary and competent means of salvation” (1692/2005, 543).

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Throughout the Letter, Locke continues his pattern of searching for general principles that can be applied to all political realities. For example, in an argument that is reminiscent of passages from the Second Treatise, Locke defends the policy of toleration based on the purposes for which humans in the state of nature enter into civil societies. He writes: The end of a commonwealth constituted can be supposed no other, than what men in the constitution of, and entering into it, proposed; and that could be nothing but protection from such injuries from other men, which they desiring to avoid, nothing but force could prevent or remedy; all things but this being as well attainable by men living in neighbourhood without the bounds of a commonwealth…. Now since no man, or society of men, can by their opinions in religion, or ways of worship, do any man who differed from them any injury, which he could not avoid or redress, if he desired it, without the help of force; the punishing any opinion in religion, or ways of worship by the force given the magistrate, could not be intended by those who constituted or entered into the commonwealth; and so could be no end of it, but quite the contrary. For force from a stronger hand to bring a man to a religion, which another thinks the true, being an injury which in the state of nature every one would avoid; protection from such injury is one of the ends of a commonwealth, and so every man has a right to toleration [1692/2005, 212]. Locke‟s consistency, not only with the First and Second Letters, but also with all of his writings on toleration and the nature of the political, dating back to the 1667 Essay, is of course significant for the purpose of this project. The focus of the current discussion of the Third Letter, however, will be on several extensions of familiar arguments that reveal new aspects of Locke‟s thought on the nature of religious belief. These extensions not only impact Locke‟s policy argument with Proast, but also provide a wonderful transition to the next chapter on Locke‟s epistemology and the relationship between faith, reason, and morality. Locke begins his treatise by arguing that Proast‟s own reasoning does not allow him to authorize the use of force against dissenters from the state religion only in England. Locke writes, “If upon your grounds the magistrate, as you pretend, be obliged to use force to bring men to the true religion, it will necessarily follow that every magistrate, who believes his religion to be true, is obliged to use force to bring men to his” (1692/2005, 143). What must be determined, therefore, is what will make a magistrate justified in believing his religion to be the true religion. For Locke, such a belief must either be based on what the magistrate can “certainly know, or else what it is sufficient for him to believe…: either his knowledge or his opinion must point out that religion to him, which he is by force to promote” (1692/2005, 143). Locke then

159 argues that the nature of religious faith rules out the possibility of having certain knowledge of the true religion: If therefore it must be either his knowledge or his persuasion that must guide the magistrate herein, and keep him within the bounds of his duty; if the magistrates of the world cannot know, certainly know, the true religion to be the true religion, but it be of a nature to exercise their faith; (for where vision, knowledge, and certainty is, there faith is done away;) then that which gives them the last determination herein, must be their own belief, their own persuasion [1692/2005, 143]. No religious believer, not even the magistrate of a nation, can have certain knowledge that his religion is the true religion. Although Locke will always maintain that there can be reasons to believe that one is following the proper path to salvation, assurance in this belief is ultimately beyond the realm of reason.76 To make his point, Locke uses the example of the Christian belief that “Jesus Christ was put to death at Jerusalem, and rose again from the dead.” He writes: Now do you or I know this? I do not ask with what assurance we believe it, for that in the highest degree not being knowledge, is not what we now inquire after. Can any magistrate demonstrate to himself, and if he can to himself, he does ill not to do it to others, not only all the articles of his church, but the fundamental ones of the christian religion? For whatever is not capable of demonstration, as such remote matters of fact are not, is not, unless it be self-evident, capable to produce knowledge, how well grounded and great soever the assurance of faith may be wherewith it is received; but faith it is still, and not knowledge; persuasion, and not certainty. This is the highest the nature of the thing will permit us to go in matters of revealed religion, which are therefore called matters of faith: a persuasion of our own minds, short of knowledge, is the last result that determines us in such truths [1692/2005, 144]. Therefore, no magistrate can justify the use of force on the basis of knowing that his religion is true. Locke admits that “well-grounded arguments” in matters of religion may yield high degrees of “probability,” but he insists on maintaining “boundaries” between knowledge and belief, meaning that the magistrate “can have no other guide but his own persuasion of what is the true religion, and must be led by that in his use of force, or else not use it at all in matters of religion” (1692/2005, 145).77 If Proast chooses the former option, Locke argues that any

76 Locke‟s perspective on the relationship between faith and reason will be discussed more thoroughly in the following two chapters. The basic position developed in the Third Letter, however, is identical to Locke‟s discussion of knowledge and religious belief in the Essay Concerning Human Understanding (written earlier) and The Reasonableness of Christianity (written later), the primary texts for chapters four and five respectively. 77 Locke later notes the danger in authorizing all magistrates to use force based on their level of confidence in the reasons and arguments that convince them of their religious beliefs: “For whoever believes any thing, takes it to be true, and as he thinks upon good grounds; and those often who believe on the weakest grounds, have the strongest

160 magistrate who believes his religion to be the true will presumably be justified in using force. As for Proast‟s argument that there could not possibly be arguments “sufficient to convince men of the truth of falsehood,” Locke disagrees. He writes, “Though there are no arguments proper and sufficient to convince men of the truth of falshood, as falshood; yet I hope you will allow that there are arguments proper and sufficient to make men receive falshoods for truths…. And those who embrace falshoods for truths, do it under the appearance of truth, misled by those arguments which make it appear so, and so convince them.”78 Because magistrates lack infallible judgment, they, too, Locke argues, can be convinced by arguments to receive a false religion as the true. If this happens, he continues, Proast must admit that these magistrates “may with force use such arguments” (1692/2005, 375-76). Providing the examples of the rulers of Denmark and Austria, Locke contends of Proast‟s reasoning: “I do not say they judge as right, but they are by as much right judges, and therefore have as much right to punish those who dissent from lutheranism and popery in those countries, as any other civil magistrate has to punish any dissenters from the national religion any-where else” (1692/2005, 221).79 Locke claims that if Christian magistrates

confidence: and thus all magistrates who believe their religion to be true, will be obliged to use force to promote it, as if it were the true” (1692/2005, 402). 78 Locke is clearly stunned by what he sees as Proast‟s claim that “no-body could have arguments proper and sufficient to convince another, but he that was of your way, or your church.” Sarcastically, he calls this proposition “a new and very extraordianry discovery” (1692/2005, 376). He later writes, “But though I pretend not to produce any reasons and arguments proper and sufficient to convince you or all men, that they ought to go to mass; yet do you think there are none proper and sufficient to convince any men? And that all the papists in the world go to mass without believing it their duty? And whosoever believes it to be his duty, does it upon reasons and arguments, proper and sufficient to convince him (though perhaps not to convince another) that it is so; or else I imagine he would never believe at all. What think you of those great numbers of Japaneses, that resisted all sorts of torments, even to death itself, for the Romish religion?” (1692/2005, 400). 79 Continuing this claim that non-Christians can find arguments sufficient to convince them of their own religious beliefs, Locke writes the following passage about Muslims and the “prejudice” of religious believers: “Do not think all the world, who are not of your church, abandon themselves to an utter carelessness of their future state. You cannot but allow there are many turks who sincerely seek truth, to whom yet you could never bring evidence sufficient to convince them of the truth of the christian religion, whilst they looked on it as a principle not to be questioned, that the Koran was of divine revelation. This possibly you will tell me is a prejudice, and so it is; but yet if this man shall tell you it is no more a prejudice in him, than it is a prejudice in any one amongst christians, who having not examined it, lays it down as an unquestionable principle of his religion, that the scripture is the word of God; what will you answer to him? And yet it would shake a great many christians in their religion if they should lay by that prejucice [sic], and suspend their judgment of it, until they had made it out to themselves with evidence sufficient to convince one who is not prejudiced in favour of it; and it would require more time, books, languages, learning and skill, than falls to most men‟s share to establish them therein; if you will not allow them, in this so distinguishing and fundamental a point, to rely on the learning, knowledge, and judgment of some persons whom they have in reverence or admiration” (1692/2005, 298; see also 334). Aware of the probable response, Locke continues, “To prevent your commenting on this, in which you have shown so much dexterity, give me leave to tell you, that for all this I do not think all religions equally true or equally certain. But this, I say, is impossible for you, or me, or any man, to know, whether another has done his duty in examining the evidence on both sides, when he embraces that side of the question, which we, perhaps upon other views, judge false: and therefore we can have no

161 have the right to use force to make their subjects consider what Proast and Locke believe to be the true religion, magistrates that follow false religions have just as much right to do so.80 Poking fun at Proast, Locke continues, “And this is as possible for [such magistrates] to do, as for a man as learned as yourself to write a book, and use such arguments, as he thinks proper and sufficient to convince men of the truth of his opinion, though it be a falsehood” (1692/2005, 184). If certain knowledge cannot be reached, then any magistrate persuaded in the truth of his own religion has a duty to follow his conscience and use force against dissenters (1692/2005, 146). Locke sees no other conclusion from Proast‟s reasoning. The very nature of religious belief, therefore, affirms Locke in his insistence on the benefit of a universal policy of toleration over what he believes could only logically result in a universal policy of justified force. He claims, “All the assistance the true religion needs from authority, is only a liberty for it to be truly taught” (1692/2005, 454). Twelve years passed before Proast chose to respond to Locke‟s lengthy Third Letter, but in 1704, “A Second Letter to the Author of the Three Letters for Toleration from the Author of the Argument of the Letter Concerning Toleration, Briefly Consider’d and Answer’d and of The Defense of It…” appeared in print. Evidently, Proast‟s silence had led some to believe that he abandoned his earlier views. He writes this third response, therefore, to “put a stop” to these accusations. He states to Locke, “I find nothing more convincing in this your long Letter, than I did in your two former” (1704/1984, 2). Besides correcting the rumors about his views, there is little new in this third response. Proast continues to insist that his position in no way gives any magistrate who practices a false religion the authority to use force to make his subjects consider

right to punish or persecute him for it. In this, whether and how far any one is faulty, must be left to the Searcher of hearts, the great and righteous Judge of all men, who knows all their circumstances, all the powers and works of their minds; where it is they sincerely follow, and by what default they at any time miss truth: and he, we are sure, will judge uprightly” (1692/2005, 299). 80 Even the use of force by Christian magistrates is dangerous given the lack of certainty in religious beliefs and practices. Locke goes so far to argue that the Anglican Church requires doctrines and practices that confuse even the most thoughtful examiners. The example he provides is significant: “The doctrine of original sin, is that which is professed and must be owned by the members of the church of England…and yet I ask you, whether this be „so obvious and exposed to all that diligently and sincerely seek the truth,‟ that one who is in the communion of the church of England, sincerely seeking the truth, may not raise to himself such difficulties, concerning the doctrine of original sin, as may puzzle him though he be a man of study…. If you grant me this…then I inquire whether it be not true, notwithstanding what you say concerning the plainness and obviousness of truths necessary to salvation, that a great part of mankind may not be able to discern between truth and falshood, in several points, which are thought so far to concern their salvation, as to be made necessary parts of the national religion” (1692/2005, 411; see also 422-23). To use force to require individuals to accept a doctrine as necessary for salvation that so many learned people have been unable to confidently profess is absurd. Without certainty, even those magistrates that practice the true religion run the risk of forcing conformity in doctrines and practices that are not essential to the faith.

162 religious matters. He is also much less willing than Locke to believe that the arguments used to convince people of false religions can be very convincing to any but the most impaired thinker. He writes, “But that any Magistrate, who upon weak and deceitful grounds believes a False Religion to be true (and he can never do it upon better grounds) is obliged to use [force] (or any other) means, to bring men to his Religion, this I flatly deny” (1704/1984, 5). Indeed, Proast rejects Locke‟s simple dichotomy between knowledge and belief, arguing for a third sort or degree of Perswasion, which though not grounded upon strict Demonstration, yet, in Firmness and Stability, does far exceed that which is built upon slight appearances of Probability; being grounded upon such clear and solid Proof, as leaves no reasonable Doubt in an attentive and unbyass‟d mind: So that it approaches very near to that which is produced by Demonstration, and is therefore, as it respects Religion, very frequently and familiarly call‟d in Scripture, not Faith, or Belief onely, but Knowledge, and in divers places, Full Assurance…. Now this kind of Perswasion, this Knowledge, this Full Assurance men may and ought to have of the True Religion: but they can never have it of a False one [1704/1984, 6].81 Proast also seems to deny the category of religious matters left indifferent by God, when he states: “For as to Ceremonies of humane Institution, confess‟d to be things in their own nature indifferent…certainly no wise man did ever think them necessary to Salvation…otherwise than as Instances of that Obedience to the Bishops and Pastours whom GOD hath set over his Church, which is necessary to Salvation” (1704/1984, 8-9). If obedience to clergy is necessary for salvation, and following the religious practices set forth by the clergy—even those left indifferent by God—is a sign of that obedience, then it would seem that these aspects of religious worship are in fact—even if indirectly—necessary for salvation. Proast then admits that magistrates practicing false religions may believe they have the duty to punish those dissenting from such falsehood. He is not, however, concerned with this pragmatic result. Such magistrates will be judged by God, and simply because the power is often abused does not mean that the power is not justified when rightly used (1704/1984, 10-13). Locke‟s unfinished reply, the Fourth Letter, is worth reading for its sarcastic jabs at Proast if for no other reason. Referring to Proast‟s method of only responding to the first few pages of the lengthy Third Letter, Locke writes:

81 He later speaks of “this perpetual advantage on the side of the True Religion, that it may and ought to be believed upon clear and solid grounds, such as will appear the more so, the more they are examin‟d; whereas no other Religion can be believed but upon such appearances onely, as will not bear a just examination” (1704/1984, 8).

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And indeed it was a noble thought, a stratagem, which I believe scarce any other but yourself would have found out in a meditation of twice twelve years; how to answer arguments without saying a word to them, or so much as reciting them; and, by examining six or seven pages in the beginning of a book, reduce to nothing above three hundred pages of it that follow. This is indeed a decisive stroke that lays all flat before you. Who can stand against such a conqueror, who, by barely attacking of one, kills an hundred? [1704/2005, 550-51]. The sarcasm continues when Locke queries Proast on the latter‟s claim that only magistrates who believe their religion to be true “upon just and sufficient grounds” may use force. Locke asks who is to be the judge of whether the grounds for belief are just and sufficient. If the magistrates themselves are to be the judges, then surely they will always conclude that their grounds for belief are just and sufficient, “since any one, who believes any religion to be true, cannot but judge the grounds, upon which he believes it to be true, are just and sufficient.” The only other option Locke considers is that Proast desires to be the judge of the grounds for belief. Locke continues, “If you say you are to be judge for the magistrates, I shall congratulate to the magistrates of the world the way you have found out for them to acquit themselves of their duty, if you will but please to publish it that they may know where to find you” (1704/2005, 555-57). In such a scenario, Locke writes of Proast, “What is it but to erect yourself into a state of infallibility above all other men of different persuasions from yours, which yet they have as good a title to as yourself?” (1704/2005, 569). Locke also dismisses the significance of Proast‟s middle way between certain knowledge and belief. For Proast, there was a type of knowledge that, while falling short of certain knowledge, was filled with so much probability and assurance that it was beyond Locke‟s limited presentation of belief. He further argued that only the Christian religion is capable of giving an individual such confidence in his religious beliefs. For Locke, this middle way is no middle way it all. As long as Proast‟s understanding of Christian belief is incapable of demonstration, it must be kept in the realm of belief. Locke even spoke of Christian belief as having the highest degree of probability, but this does not change the fact that it is still belief, and therefore carries with it the same issues of subjectivity and uncertainty that Locke has repeatedly emphasized (1704/2005, 558-59). If a magistrate can have “no demonstrative knowledge of the true religion, all that was left him to determine him in the application of force…for the promoting the true religion, was only his persuasion, belief, or assurance of the true religion, which was always his own” (1704/2005, 562). And, according to Locke, Christians

164 are not alone in claiming full assurance for their religious beliefs. Even those who follow false religions can have great levels of assurance in their convictions. Referencing “a bramin, a mahometan, a papist, lutheran, quaker, Anabaptist, presbyterian, &c.,” he states: Men in all religions have equally strong persuasions, and every one must judge for himself; nor can any one judge for another, and you least of all for the magistrate; the ground you build upon, that “firmness and stability of persuasion in the highest degree of assurance leaves no doubt, can never be had of a false religion” being false; all your talk of full assurance pointing out to the magistrate the true religion that he is obliged by force to promote, amounts to no more but his own religion, and can point out no other to him [1704/2005, 561]. As always, Locke is quick to note that he is not arguing that all religions are equally true. He is simply referring to the amount of assurance that one can have in the grounds for their belief. And if a magistrate, for example, is willing to stake his eternity on particular religious beliefs, he is obviously fully confident in the arguments that he uses to convince him of following this path to salvation, even if it is ultimately a false path (1704/2005, 562-63).82 As he later writes, “Men act by the strength of their persuasion, though they do not always place their persuasion and assent on that side on which, in reality, the strength of truth lies” (1704/2005, 564). Significantly, Locke rejects any notion that people choose false paths to salvation only by ignoring reason and arguments. He states, “It is not always from want of consideration, attention, or being unbiassed, that men with firmness of persuasion embrace, and with full assurance adhere to, the wrong side in matters of religion” (1704/2005, 570). There can be reasons and arguments that convince people of falsehood. The mission of the Christian is not to force new arguments on such people until they are convinced of what Christians believe to be the truth. Rather, the Christian is to use exhortation, admonition, and the other tools given by God to persuade others of the truth of the gospel. Such dialogue can only occur where a policy of toleration allows all people the liberty to follow their own religious path and to freely attempt to persuade others to join them.

82 Locke also mentions that all religions have had followers who willingly sacrifice their earthly lives for their religious beliefs. Speaking of martyrdom, he writes, “If that be not firm persuasion and full assurance that is stronger than the love of life, and has force enough to make a man throw himself into the arms of death, it is hard to know what is firm persuasion and full assurance. Jews and mahometans have frequently given instances of this highest degree of persuasion. And the bramins religion in the East is entertained by its followers with no less assurance of its truth, since it is not unusual for some of them to…sacrifice their lives in honour of the God they believe in” (1704/2005, 563-64).

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7. Locke‟s Mature Writings on Toleration and Liberal Democracy We ended the previous chapter by noting that Locke‟s early views on toleration, depicted most clearly in the Two Tracts, would not make him a friend to the type of liberal democracy that this project promotes. Locke‟s later views on the issue, beginning with the Essay of 1667 and continuing through minor entries in commonplace books and major works such as the Two Treatises and the Letters, provide that first necessary condition for the allowance of religious forms of reasoning in the public discourse of political participation. Once again, I am not arguing that we simply import every detail of Locke‟s position on toleration to the contemporary political context. There is much in Locke that would need to be updated and altered before working in the type of pluralistic environment that characterizes twenty-first-century America, for example. Nevertheless, there is also much in Locke‟s writings on toleration that remains vital for any liberal democratic understanding of the relationship between religion and politics. Throughout his mature political career, Locke insisted on a significant degree of separation between the church and the state. The two societies share some similarities—most importantly, the voluntary nature of each—but Locke maintains that they are seeking different ends, and have been supplied with unique means to reach those ends. As a result of these differences, Locke places limitations on each society. The state, Locke argues, is to remain focused only on the civil interests of citizens, and not on anything related to the salvation of souls. The latter is the concern of the church, which cannot make use of the means given to the state—most importantly, external force—in the attempt to persuade others to follow its path to salvation. With this separation in place, Locke has provided the first necessary condition for the vision of liberal democracy that Stout, Wolin, Wolterstorff, and others—including myself—desire. By limiting government interference in matters of religion only to those instances that can be shown to directly harm the social order, Locke has paved the way for the degree of religious liberty that can foster a diversity of competing religious communities that nevertheless live in peace within a pluralistic commonwealth. The Rawlsian liberal may interpret this separation of church and state as implying a radical separation between religion and politics. If this interpretation were correct, Locke would once again be at odds with my vision of liberal democracy. In other words, in order for Locke to support the use of competing religious forms of reasoning in public discourse, he must acknowledge an appropriate point of intersection between religion and politics, despite the

166 institutional separation he describes between the church and the state. As we have seen, he does in fact locate such a point of intersection in the realm of morality. Because moral living is deeply significant to the ends of both the polity and religious institutions, Locke recognizes the connection that will exist between the religious and political beliefs and practices of individuals. While the realm of moral living is the most obvious point of intersection for religion and politics, Locke also appeared to support the use of religious arguments in an issue such as the lawfulness of divorce—a matter left indifferent by God but of practical concern for social order—which is a prime example of the type of political participation this project encourages. If a Christian, for example, is free to make a political conclusion—and to dialogue with others about this conclusion—based on the revelation of God in Scripture, then Locke seems to be doing much more than Rawlsian liberals, new traditionalists, non-liberal democrats, and non-Lockean liberal democrats have ever discovered in his work. Because this example of the use of religious arguments in determining one‟s position on a political issue is brief and undeveloped, however, it is necessary to continue the journey in Locke‟s political philosophy to see how this example could truly be supported in his overall vision of political life. To do so, we turn to the moral epistemology found primarily in one of Locke‟s most significant philosophical writings, An Essay Concerning Human Understanding. By grasping more of Locke‟s position on the relationship between religious faith and the practical reason of political decision making, we will be able to determine if—and if so, how—Locke moves beyond the mere toleration of competing religious societies to the justification of the use of religious forms of reasoning by these societies‟ members in public political discourse.

CHAPTER FOUR ETHICS IN THE ESSAY: REASON, REVELATION, AND MORAL BELIEF

1. Introduction Locke‟s writings on the subject of religious toleration make it clear that religious forms of reasoning are present in both the political decision making of individuals—including that of Locke himself—and the public discourse about political issues. Whether moral or indifferent in nature, issues that impact the social order—such as the lawfulness of divorce—are often approached from a religious perspective. In these writings, however, Locke does not make explicit an argument for the justification of such religious reasons. In many ways, he seems to simply take it for granted that citizens living in a state that supports the toleration of competing religious beliefs and practices ought to be free to use religion as a guide in reaching conclusions concerning political matters, and that doing so is a legitimate form of involvement in civil dialogue. While many religious believers may be quite content to join Locke in this implicit acceptance of religion into the public sphere, the current project demands a more philosophically rigorous justification of religious forms of reasoning in political discourse. Fortunately, Locke provides this justification—the second necessary condition for the form of political participation that I promote—in many other writings, most notably his Essay Concerning Human Understanding and The Reasonableness of Christianity. In this chapter, the Essay will be closely examined in order to discover in Locke a defense of the legitimate expression of religious beliefs in political decision making and dialogue. While the Stoutian and Wolinian arguments from virtue will be evident, Locke‟s defense is based more on his understanding of epistemology and moral reasoning. Central to this understanding are both the theoretical capability of human reason and the limitations currently faced by human reason, the latter opening the door for the assistance of religion in the process of forming beliefs about particular issues, including those issues related to the civil order.

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2. An Essay Concerning Human Understanding Few works are more significant to the tradition of Western epistemology than Locke‟s Essay. By way of comparison, Nidditch writes, “The Essay‟s success in winning the attention of the European public from the end of the seventeenth century and through the eighteenth century and after by its account of the origin, modes, and scope of human understanding was similar to the triumph of Newton—the outcome of his Principia and Optics—concerning the physical world” (1975a, ix). And later, “Perhaps no other modern work of discursive prose has sold so well and steadily in the course of centuries” (1975a, xxxiv). Not surprisingly, therefore, few works are more often misrepresented than the Essay. Arguably the most prevalent misrepresentation is that Locke is a thoroughgoing empiricist, concerned only with sense experience as the foundation of knowledge, dismissive of opinions and beliefs that cannot be strictly verified through sensation. This misreading is often coupled with the assumption that empiricism and rationalism are mutually exclusive positions in the field of epistemology. Locke, however, clearly and significantly challenges this basic assumption. Nidditch writes, “Locke‟s Essay Concerning Human Understanding is the primary classic of systematic empiricism.” Nidditch, however, continues, “Locke‟s empiricism is realistic and rationalistic” (1975a, ix). Cranston similarly blends the two approaches to epistemology in his description of Locke: “He has indeed been called the founder of modern empiricism…. And yet his empiricism was of a peculiar kind, for he also entertained several notions which are all characteristic of rationalism—of „rationalism,‟ that is, which is by definition antithetical to empiricism” (1957, 264). Cranston later points out that while Newton and Boyle are certainly influencing Locke‟s writing of the Essay, the thought of Descartes seems to permeate the very structure of Locke‟s work. With reference to the “Cartesian mind,” Cranston writes, “Indeed, there is something alien to empiricism in Locke‟s whole aim of determining in advance the limits of human knowledge” (1957, 265). Even with the refutation of innate ideas, Cranston is correct in his claim that Locke‟s focus on the very Cartesian concept of “ideas” leads him away from simple empiricism, especially Locke‟s notion of complex ideas, which depend, in Cranston‟s words, on “the exercise of the mind‟s own powers” (1957, 266). Wolterstorff has also challenged the reading of the Essay as pure epistemological empiricism. He writes, “The traditional neo-Hegelian interpretation of Locke as an empiricist is based on emphasizing Books I and II and all but ignoring Book IV. When Book IV is given its

169 due and intended weight, it becomes clear that Locke is one of the great rationalists of the Western philosophical tradition” (1996, xv). And later, “Emphasizing Book IV of the Essay…yields a rather different picture of Locke‟s thought from that yielded by the traditional school-book practice of emphasizing Book II of the Essay. The undeniable empiricist strands in his thought will be seen to be balanced, if not outweighed, by the rationalist strands” (1996, 10). From his emphasis on Book IV, Wolterstorff also argues that rather than being primarily concerned with attaining certain knowledge, Locke was much more interested in what happens when such knowledge cannot be reached. Wolterstorff writes, “Locke is not the philosopher in the tower rendering judgments on who knows what and how, but the philosopher in the street offering advice to his anxious combative compatriots on how to overcome the cultural crisis engulfing them. Locke was as much a cultural philosopher in his epistemology as he was a social philosopher in his political theory” (1996, x). To be a cultural philosopher in seventeenth- century England, according to Wolterstorff, means that Locke was focused on the loss of a common tradition that could serve as the foundation for “moral and religious quandaries.” The question weighing on Locke‟s mind, therefore, was, “How should we form our beliefs on fundamental matters of religion and morality so as to live together in social harmony, when we can no longer appeal to a shared and unified tradition?” Wolterstorff continues, This anxious question motivated Locke‟s Essay Concerning Human Understanding. Locke does indeed offer a “theory of knowledge.” But that theory of knowledge, though important in its own right, and no doubt regarded by Locke as important in its own right, is placed in the Essay as a step on the path toward answering that other question which Locke regarded as much more important. Knowledge, said he, is “short and scanty.” How are we to pick our way when we find ourselves forced, as we all are, to leave the small clearing of knowledge and enter the twilight of belief and disbelief? [1996, x]. While knowledge is certainly an admirable goal, Locke clearly recognized the difficulties in achieving it, particularly in relation to matters concerning moral philosophy, which, as we have seen, would include many issues within the realm of political philosophy. Nidditch echoes this focus on moral matters when he writes of Locke‟s “priority of concern with conduct over scientific inquisitiveness.” The former, Nidditch argues, is found throughout the Essay despite the often “ironic masking” of the latter. Nidditch continues, “Accordingly, a philosophical inquiry into the nature and grounds of certainty was required above all to determine the application and scope of certainty in the most important cases, namely in religion and ethics”

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(1975b, xviii).1 For Locke, as we will see, many aspects of moral reasoning are not within the realm of certainty—at least not in the actual lived existence of a great majority of human beings, including Locke himself.2 The emphasis, then, is on the formation of opinions and beliefs— often pertaining to moral reasoning—that necessarily fall short of the certainty accorded to knowledge. For Locke, divine revelation is a vital source in such formation, paving the way for an argument grounded in epistemology—its capabilities and limitations—for the legitimacy of religious forms of reasoning in the public sphere of political discourse.

2.1 The Context of the Essay Locke‟s interest in the foundations and limitations of knowledge existed long before the earliest drafts of the Essay were written in 1671. His distrust of what Cranston calls “unreflective adhesion to tradition,” on the one hand, and religious enthusiasm, on the other,

1 Laslett agrees: “For though Locke wrote the Essay about how men know things, his final object, the object he had in mind when he started, was to help men to know what to do” (1988, 84). As mentioned in the Introduction, Ashcraft uses the moral emphasis to connect the Essay to Locke‟s political writings, including the Treatises: “The Essay Concerning Human Understanding, though it obviously deals with all of the subjects that fall within the compass of philosophy, is primarily a work of moral philosophy and is intended to provide its reader with the principles appropriate to „right conduct.‟ If we begin from this vantage-point, we can see that a political theory represents a guide to practical action within a larger definition of „right conduct‟ which not only establishes the moral rules governing the meaning of such action, but also provides an account of the natural powers possessed by individuals that enable them to execute such actions. In other words, what we should expect to find in the Essay is a statement of the basic presuppositions that are essential to the moral dimensions of the practical action being urged by Locke in the Two Treatises, as well as some description of the powers of human beings that enable them to perform the recommended actions” (1987, 234). 2 It is significant that Locke places himself with all other humans when discussing the limitations of natural reason and the usefulness of revelation. Wolterstorff writes, “Locke thinks that even the best philosophers have come far short of developing a complete science of morality by unaided Reason, let alone developing one which is widely intelligible and convincing. Scripture in its completeness is not just advantageous for the laboring class; it is advantageous for all human beings” (1996, 148 n. 147). Making the same argument, Ashcraft notes, “Macpherson appears to believe that Locke unquestionably accepted for himself the „rationalist ethic‟ while recommending supernatural religion as a sop to lesser minds. In light of all that Locke says concerning his own religious convictions, this is a patently ridiculous assumption…. What grounds have we for attributing to Locke a condescending attitude towards others who are in the same condition with respect to their salvation as he is?” (1987, 252). And later, with specific reference to the revelation of Christianity, “Locke is not complaining because the labouring class is unable to follow long trains of reasoning; he is defending Christianity because it has made a rational system of morality available to everyone through revelation, and this is one of its primary virtues” (1987, 256). Ashcraft further connects this discussion of rationality to political participation, arguing—against Macpherson—that Whig political figures, such as Shaftesbury, “contributed more to the integration of laborers into participation in political life than any other force in the seventeenth century, except, perhaps, the Levellers” (1986, 270 n. 173). Ashcraft also insists that Locke included the lower classes of citizens in his conception of the right of resistance in the Treatises (1986, 303-11). Marshall challenges both of Ashcraft‟s claims. First, he argues against the idea that Locke was concerned with laborers in his political vision (1994, 275-77, 298-99). Second, he argues that Locke did not stress political participation, particularly in the Treatises (1994, 216; see also Shapiro 2003, 309). Emphasizing the significance of sin, Dunn argues that Locke‟s differential “is not a class differential nor a purely intellectual differential, but rather a moral differential” (1969, 196).

171 contributed to his fascination with science during his early years at Oxford. Cranston notes, “Locke‟s mission was to investigate the foundations of empirical knowledge; and already in the middle 1650‟s he was groping towards the problems which were to be the subject of his masterpiece, the Essay Concerning Human Understanding” (1957, 40-41). As we have seen in the previous chapters on religious toleration, Locke remained focused on matters of knowledge and belief in his works of the 1660s that emphasized political and social issues. This once again highlights the dangers in separating Locke‟s thought into isolated categories, with some works being placed in the box of political philosophy and others in the box of epistemology. Locke‟s thoughts on the way in which humans reach conclusions on political, moral, social, and religious matters are all connected to his understanding of human knowledge itself. In 1671, thanks in large part to conversations that he had with friends, Locke began to put his more focused thoughts on the subject of human understanding into writing. In the published version of the Essay, Locke describes the conversations that led him to this venture: Were it fit to trouble thee with the History of this Essay, I should tell thee that five or six Friends meeting at my Chamber, and discoursing on a Subject very remote from this, found themselves quickly at a stand, by the Difficulties that rose on every side. After we had a while puzzled our selves, without coming any nearer a Resolution of those Doubts which perplexed us, it came into my Thoughts, that we took a wrong course; and that, before we set our selves upon Enquiries of that Nature, it was necessary to examine our own Abilities, and see, what Objects our Understandings were, or were not fitted to deal with. This I proposed to the Company, who all readily assented; and thereupon it was agreed, that this should be our first Enquiry. Some hasty and undigested Thoughts, on a Subject I had never before considered, which I set down against our next Meeting, gave the first entrance into this Discourse, which having been thus begun by Chance, was continued by Intreaty; written by incoherent parcels; and, after long intervals of neglect, resum‟d again, as my Humour or Occasions permitted; and at last, in a retirement, where an Attendance on my Health gave me leisure, it was brought into that order, thou now seest it [Essay, Epistle to the Reader].3 As Cranston notes, one of these friends—James Tyrell—later wrote that the discussion that led the conversation partners to such confusion was about morality and religion (1957, 141; see also Nidditch 1975b, xix). Locke, therefore, felt it vital to write a treatise on the subject of human understanding in order to more fully grasp the way in which people approach morality and religion, as well as the relationship between these two areas of thought. As he eventually writes

3 All citations from the Essay will provide book, chapter, and paragraph numbers, if applicable, followed by the page number in Locke 1975b, which reproduces the text of Locke 1975a.

172 in the Essay, “How short soever their Knowledge may come of an universal, or perfect Comprehension of whatsoever is, it yet secures their great Concernments, that they have Light enough to lead them to the Knowledge of their Maker, and the sight of their own Duties” (I.I.5, 45). “Morality,” Locke contends in the final book of the Essay, “is the proper Science, and Business of Mankind in general” (IV:XII:11, 646). The focus on religious and moral knowledge could not be more clearly stated. Locke‟s “hasty and undigested Thoughts” that continued the conversation among friends eventually became Draft A and Draft B of the Essay, both written in 1671 (see Locke 1990). As he makes clear, Locke continued to work on the Essay for many years, finding times when he was able to devote his attention to this weighty topic. One of these times came when he arrived in Holland in 1683, fleeing England during what Cranston calls “a black year” for the friends of the recently deceased Shaftesbury, who had also fled to Holland after a failed political uprising. Locke continued working on the Essay into 1685, when his name was included on a list of “alleged conspirators in Holland,” which was presented to an agent of the King of England (1957, 226, 253). As a result of the English government‟s attempt to extradite him, Locke went into even greater hiding in Cleves, soon returning to Holland, taking on the pseudonyms “Dr. van der Linden” when walking the streets of Amsterdam and “Dr. Lynne” when writing to friends in England (see Cranston 1957, 256-57). Finally, at the end of 1686, the fourth and final book of the Essay was completed. As Locke looked back on what had become a massive volume, he saw his thoughts as “scattered,” as a result of “writing in patches and at distant times” (Corr. 886, iii. 88; see Cranston 1957, 263). After two and a half years of continued revisions, Locke agreed to publish the Essay in May 1689. According to Nidditch, “Bound copies of the book were received by Locke on 3 December 1689 and copies were on sale within a week or two in London and Oxford” (1975a, xv). While Locke‟s name does not appear on the opening page of the First Edition, it is included in The Epistle Dedicatory, setting the Essay apart from nearly all of Locke‟s previous works, which were published anonymously. The printed copies of the First Edition—which Nidditch estimates at 900—had all been sold by the early part of 1693, prompting a revised Second Edition of 1694. Nidditch notes that the criticisms levied on the First Edition did not result in many alterations, claiming that Locke “tended to dismiss hostile objections as careless misunderstandings or as offshoots of a critic‟s fanciful and incoherent presuppositions” (1975a, xix). Instead, most of the changes were based

173 on Locke‟s own “independent reflections” and suggestions by friends (1975a, xix). William Molyneux, for example, found repeated claims in the Essay for the possibility of a purely rational demonstration of ethics. As a result, Molyneux encouraged Locke to produce such a demonstration—comparable to the demonstration of certainty found in mathematics.4 Along with adding his name to the title-page, Locke also provided an engraving of a portrait of himself to be used for the Second Edition, cementing his proud authorship of this work. Locke continued to work on the Essay through the Third and Fourth Editions of 1695 and 1699/1700, and he was also involved to differing degrees in the production of French and Latin translations of the work in 1700 and 1701 (1975a, xxxiv-xxxvii). In all, despite composing many other texts on a variety of subjects, Locke continued to return to his work on understanding until his death in 1704, a project that spanned more than thirty years of his life.

2.2 Knowledge and Opinion The purpose of the Essay, Locke writes, is “to enquire into the Original, Certainty, and Extent of humane knowledge; together, with the Grounds and Degrees of Belief, Opinion, and Assent” (I:I:2, 43). Shortly thereafter, he continues, “It is therefore worth while, to search out the Bounds between Opinion and Knowledge; and examine by what Measures, in things, whereof we have no certain Knowledge, we ought to regulate our Assent, and moderate our Perswasions” (I:I:3, 44). As Wolterstorff and Nidditch rightly argue, readers of the Essay must avoid the common temptation to focus only on the original and certainty of knowledge, dismissing the more significant concern about the limitations that Locke puts forth concerning the extent of such knowledge, leading to the not-fully-certain fields of belief, opinion, and assent. While there is much that Locke defends as capable of certainty, his constant recognition of and emphasis on the boundaries of knowledge cannot be overstated. Even in his opening “Epistle to the Reader,” he notes, “For though it be certain, that there is nothing in this Treatise of the Truth whereof I am not fully persuaded; yet I consider my self as liable to Mistakes, as I can think thee” (Epistle, 7). As Nidditch writes, “Locke conceded his fallibility…admitting (too

4 The passages in the Essay emphasized by Molyneux along with Locke‟s response—or lack thereof—to his friend‟s suggestion clearly have important implications for this project and will be discussed throughout the treatment of the Essay in this chapter, as well as the Reasonableness in chapter five. To provide just one example, Molyneux writes, “One Thing I must needs insist on to you, which is, that you would think of Obleidging the World, with a Treatise of Morals, drawn up according to the Hints you frequently give in Your Essay, Of their Being Demonstrable according to the Mathematical Method” (Corr. 1530, iv. 508; see Nidditch 1975a, xx).

174 much for Kantian and post-Kantian tastes) the limitations and imperfections of his subject—the natural philosophy of mind and cognition, and semantics” (1975b, xix). Locke insists that for most of our daily decisions, probability is enough. Waiting for certainty will only leave us inactive: “If we will disbelieve every thing, because we cannot certainly know all things; we shall do much-what as wisely as he, who would not use his Legs, but sit still and perish, because he had no Wings to fly” (I:I:5, 46). Later, aware of the imperfections of the current condition of humanity, Locke adds, “If we can find out those Measures, whereby a rational Creature put in that State, which Man is in, in this World, may, and ought to govern his Opinions, and Actions depending thereon, we need not be troubled, that some other things escape our Knowledge” (I:I:6, 46). It is clear that Locke‟s priority is to help humans avoid despair and inactivity as they wait for a level of certainty that is not likely, possible, or necessary. Despite a lack of certainty, Locke will insist on the possibility of actions and beliefs that are grounded in sufficient levels of probability. Before discussing this realm of belief, however, Locke devotes a considerable amount of time to the development of the realm of knowledge. Only if we understand the way in which certain knowledge is found—along with those aspects of thought and action of which we can be certain—can we begin to discuss what we find beyond the borders of such knowledge.

2.3 Innate Speculative Principles and the Foundations of Ideas Locke‟s discussion of knowledge begins with his famous denial of innate principles, first in the realm of speculative principles.5 One of the most common arguments in support of innate ideas is that of universal consent; that is, if there are ideas that are agreed upon by all humans, then this is evidence that these ideas are innate. Locke, however, denies that the existence of ideas shared by all humans would necessitate the existence of innate ideas. He writes, “This Argument, drawn from Universal Consent, has this Misfortune in it, That if it were true in matter of Fact, that there were certain Truths, wherein all Mankind agreed, it would not prove them innate, if there can be any other way shewn, how Men may come to that Universal Agreement, in the things they do consent in; which I presume may be done” (I:II:3, 49). He also challenges the

5 Marshall notes that Locke was not always an opponent of innate ideas. Just as his views on toleration were markedly different in the early years of his career, Marshall argues, “In the early 1660s Locke appears to have been a believer in innate ideas as the foundation of much of morality and religion” (1994, xv). Marshall also highlights the uniqueness of Locke‟s mature position: “For almost all of Locke‟s English contemporaries, Anglicans or dissenters…innate ideas informed men that they had to serve others and provided an influence of conscience to help to bring them to practise that duty” (1994, 292).

175 premise of this line of reasoning: “But, which is worse, this Argument of Universal Consent, which is made use of, to prove innate Principles, seems to me a Demonstration that there are none such: Because there are none to which all Mankind give an Universal Assent” (I:II:4, 49). Locke then turns to the assumed source of innate principles, “the Exercise of Reason” (I:II:14, 54). Perhaps, the supporters of innate principles would argue, those that do not recognize innate principles—thereby destroying the argument from universal consent—simply are not using their reason. In other words, if reason is used properly, then there would be universal consent of innate principles. Locke, however, insists that these supposedly innate ideas do not come into existence at the moment when reason is first used. Instead, he presents his familiar ordering that begins with sense experience: The Senses at first let in particular Ideas, and furnish the yet empty Cabinet: And the Mind by degrees growing familiar with some of them, they are lodged in the Memory, and Names got to them. Afterwards the Mind proceeding farther, abstracts them, and by Degrees learns the use of general Names. In this manner the Mind comes to be furnish‟d with Ideas and Language, the Materials about which to exercise its discursive Faculty: And the use of Reason becomes daily more visible, as these Materials, that give it Employment, increase. But though the having of general Ideas, and the use of general Words and Reason usually grow together: yet, I see not, how this any way proves them innate [I:II:15, 55]. Using the image of an empty cabinet rather than the more familiar tabula rasa, Locke argues that all ideas, whether they will eventually lead to knowledge or opinion, depend on sense experience.6 Without sense impressions, the various faculties of reason would have nothing with which to create ideas. Locke later adds a foundation of mental experience to his emphasis on sense experience: Whence has it all the materials of Reason and Knowledge? To this I answer, in one word, From Experience: In that, all our Knowledge is founded; and from that it ultimately derives it self. Our Observation employ‟d either about external, sensible Objects; or about the internal Operations of our Minds, perceived and reflected on by our selves, is that, which supplies our Understandings with all the materials of thinking. These two are the Fountains of Knowledge, from whence all the Ideas we have, or can naturally have, do spring [II:I:2, 104]. In these two sources of experience—sensation and reflection—are, Locke writes, “the only Originals, from whence all our Ideas take their beginnings” (II:I:4, 105). While even the

6 Making an important point about the tabula rasa concept, Yolton and Yolton write, “The innate principles Locke rejected were truths, and the ideas composing those truths, e.g. moral truths and logical truths…. The stereotype of Locke as believing the mind entirely empty at birth needs to be rejected and replaced by his recognition of traits, tempers, and tendencies, as well as of a large number of faculties” (1989, 163 n. 39).

176 experience of reflection depends on prior sensation (II:I:23, 117), before moving through the various faculties of the mind—perception, reflection, and so on—all simple ideas of external objects and the internal working of the human mind flow from the basic experience of existence. From these simple ideas, then, come complex ideas through the activity of the mind. Despite the greater degree of rational activity needed in the formation of complex ideas, it is still important to see their foundation in the sense impressions that begin the process of knowledge. Providing the most startling example, Locke insists that “even the Idea we have of Infinity, how remote soever it may seem to be from any Object of Sense, or Operation of our Mind, has nevertheless, as all our other Ideas, its Original there” (II:XVIII:22, 223). All speculative knowledge, therefore, is grounded in Locke‟s blending of empiricism and rationalism—the emphasis on sensation and the denial of innate speculative principles being features of the former, the emphasis on the formation of ideas from the passive and active workings of the mind being features of the latter.

2.4 Innate Practical Principles and the Demonstration of Ethics While speculative ideas clearly interest Locke, his focus quickly turns to moral issues and the possibility of innate practical principles. He begins with the obvious refutation of the argument of universal consent: “If those speculative Maxims…have not an actual universal assent from all Mankind…it is much more visible concerning practical Principles, that they come short of an universal Reception” (I:III:1, 65; see also Higgins-Biddle 1999a, xc).7 Further, he argues that there is a fundamental difference in the amount of reasoning necessary to find certainty when considering practical, as opposed to speculative, ideas: “Those speculative Maxims carry their own Evidence with them: But moral Principles require Reasoning and Discourse, and some Exercise of the Mind, to discover the certainty of their truth” (I:III:1, 65- 66). Despite the amount of work needed to find certainty in a moral maxim compared to the work required for certainty in a relatively simple speculative matter—such as “The whole is bigger than a part” (I:III:1, 66)—Locke is nevertheless convinced that certainty can be found in practical principles. He notes, “It may suffice, that these moral Rules are capable of Demonstration: and therefore it is our own faults, if we come not to a certain Knowledge of

7 See Higgins-Biddle 1999a, xcii-xciii for Locke‟s concern for the moral and political implications of an acknowledgment of innate practical principles.

177 them” (I:III:1, 66). This is only the first statement in the Essay that boldly asserts the theoretical possibility of a rational demonstration of moral principles.8 Later, he contends that certainty is more easily reached in the realm of morality than in natural philosophy, precisely because the former deals with ideas, avoiding the difficulty of knowing the thing in itself that exists outside of the human mind. He writes, For since the precise signification of the names of mixed Modes, or which is all one, the real Essence of each Species, is to be known, they being not of Nature‟s, but of Man‟s making, it is a great Negligence and Perverseness, to discourse of moral Things with Uncertainty and Obscurity, which is much more pardonable in treating of natural Substances, where doubtful Terms are hardly to be avoided…. Upon this ground it is, that I am bold to think, that Morality is capable of Demonstration, as well as Mathematicks: Since the precise real Essence of the Things moral Words stand for, may be perfectly known; and so the Congruity, or Incongruity of the Things themselves, be certainly discovered, in which consists perfect Knowledge [III:XI:15-16, 516]. While it is very difficult to be certain of the true essence of external objects, it should be easier, Locke argues, to find certainty concerning our own ideas, and the terms we use to describe these ideas, especially in the realm of moral reasoning. He continues, “A Definition is the only way, whereby the precise Meaning of moral Words can be known; and yet a way, whereby their Meaning may be known certainly” (III:XI:17, 517). Locke is quite obviously suggesting a degree of clarity in moral discourse that equals the logical clarity of mathematics. There would seemingly be no need for any other source than the human mind when reaching moral conclusions, and it would also seem that as long as people use their rational faculties, there could be agreement on moral matters. While universal consent is not automatically reached as a result of innate practical ideas, it seems to be a theoretical possibility among rational individuals.9 A second reason why Locke doubts the innateness of practical principles is that “there cannot any one moral Rule be propos’d, whereof a Man may not justly demand a Reason: which would be perfectly ridiculous and absurd, if they were innate, or so much as self-evident” (I:III:4, 68). Once again, if moral maxims were innate, this would suggest that they be not only self- evident but also obvious to any rational person. And yet, Locke observes, all moral conclusions

8 As Yolton and Yolton explain, “Sometimes the demonstrative morality suggestion is taken to be a claim for a deductive derivation of moral rules. The more likely meaning is simply the demonstration of conceptual connections between moral ideas” (1989, 20 n. 1). 9 Wolterstorff describes two ways that Locke views the process of a rational demonstration of ethics. He refers to them as “the archetypal project and the theistic project” (1996, 142-45).

178 exist in Stout‟s game of giving and asking of reasons.10 The fact that rational moral agents are justified in asking for a reason for any moral maxim refutes the possibility of these maxims being innate in the human faculty of reasoning. What is more, the reasons given for certain moral maxims may be remarkably diverse. Focusing on one specific moral issue, he writes, That Men should keep their Compacts, is certainly a great and undeniable Rule in Morality: But yet, if a Christian, who has the view of Happiness and Misery in another Life, be asked why a Man must keep his Word, he will give this as a Reason: Because God, who has the Power of eternal Life and Death, requires it of us. But if an Hobbist be asked why; he will answer: Because the Publick requires it, and the Leviathan will punish you, if you do not. And if one of the old Heathen Philosophers had been asked, he would have answer‟d: Because it was dishonest, below the Dignity of a Man, and opposite to Vertue, the highest Perfection of humane Nature, to do otherwise. Hence naturally flows the great variety of Opinions, concerning Moral Rules, which are to be found amongst Men, according to the different sorts of Happiness, they have a Prospect of, or propose to themselves [I:III:5-6, 68-69].11 Providing a variety of reasons for moral rules sheds light on the ways in which people come to form moral beliefs. Locke later notes the “great number of Opinions, which, by Men of different Countries, Educations, and Tempers, are received and embraced as first and unquestionable Principles” (I:III:21, 81). Some of these opinions have an immediate source “no better…than the Superstition of a Nurse, or the Authority of an old Woman” (I:III, 22, 81).

2.5 Divine Origin of Moral Law and the Process of Moral Reasoning Despite the recognized variety of reasons given for many moral conclusions, Locke himself is convinced that there is only one true source of all moral knowledge. Insisting on the necessity of duty in the realm of practical principles, he notes, “But what Duty is, cannot be understood without a Law; nor a Law be known, or supposed without a Law-maker, or without Reward and Punishment: So that it is impossible, that…any practical Principle should be innate; i.e. be imprinted on the Mind as a Duty, without supposing the Ideas of God, of Law, of

10 Language, not surprisingly, plays a fundamental role in this process of moral discourse. Locke writes, “GOD having designed Man for a sociable Creature, made him not only with an inclination, and under a necessity to have fellowship with those of his own kind; but furnished him also with Language, which was to be the great Instrument, and common Tye of Society” (III:I:1, 402). 11 Despite Locke‟s emphasis on happiness, it is important to note, using the words of Simmons, that Locke “is no ethical egoist” (1992, 47). In other words, Locke makes it clear that the natural law does not always cohere with immediate benefit to the agent, particularly if the agent is only thinking of herself rather than the happiness of society. Of course, obedience to the natural law will lead to eternal happiness, the most important goal for human existence.

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Obligation, of Punishment, of a Life after this, innate” (I:III:12, 74).12 Of course, Locke does not believe in the innateness of any practical principle just as he denies the innateness of the idea of God. While belief in God, according to Locke, is undeniable, it still requires the faculties of human reasoning in order to be reached. Locke acknowledges as much when he writes, “For the visible marks of extraordinary Wisdom and Power, appear so plainly in all the Works of the Creation, that a rational Creature, who will but seriously reflect on them, cannot miss the discovery of a Deity” (I:IV:9, 89). And later, “The knowledge of a GOD [is]…the most natural discovery of humane Reason” (I:IV:17, 95). In the final book of the Essay, Locke describes the idea of God that is reached through human reasoning as “an eternal, most powerful, and most knowing Being” (IV:X:6, 621), and he once again insists that “all Religion and genuine Morality depend” on God‟s existence (IV:X:7, 622). With the knowledge of God, Locke argues, comes certain knowledge of the human responsibility to God. The few divine attributes that can be discovered through the use of rational faculties necessitates the idea that individuals must live according to the will of the divine being. Locke writes, He also that hath the Idea of an intelligent, but frail and weak Being, made by and depending on another, who is eternal, omnipotent, perfectly wise and good, will as certainly know that Man is to honour, fear, and obey GOD, as that the Sun shines when he sees it. For if he hath but the Ideas of two such Beings in his mind, and will turn his Thoughts that way, and consider them, he will as certainly find that the Inferior, Finite, and Dependent, is under an Obligation to obey the Supreme and Infinite, as he is certain to find, that Three, Four, and Seven, are less than Fifteen, if he will consider, and compute those numbers; nor can he be surer in a clear Morning that the Sun is risen, if he will but open his Eyes, and turn them that way [IV:XIII:3, 651].13 While the human obligation to God is clear to any individual who uses his rational faculties properly, Locke acknowledges the possibility of missing the obvious conclusion. “But yet these

12 These ideas are central to Locke‟s plan for the education of children: “I place Vertue as the first and most necessary of those Endowments, that belong to a Man or a Gentleman; as absolutely requisite to make him valued and beloved by others, acceptable or tolerable to himself. Without that, I think, he will be happy neither in this, nor the other world. As the Foundation of this, there ought very early to be imprinted on his Mind a true Notion of God, as of the independent Supreme Being, Author and Maker of all Things, from whom we receive all our Good, who loves us, and gives us all Things…. And I think it would be better if Men generally rested in such an Idea of God, without being too Curious in their Notions about a Being, which all must acknowledge incomprehensible” (1684- 85/1989, 195). 13 In a short work written in 1676, Locke notes, “Men, by the common light of reason that is in them, know that God is the most excellent of all beings, and therefore deserves most to be honoured and beloved…. By the same light of nature we know also that we ought to do good to other men” (1676/1997, 250-51). See also “Understanding” (Locke 1677/1997, 260-65, especially 263).

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Truths,” he continues, “being never so certain, never so clear, he may be ignorant of either, or all of them, who will never take the Pains to employ his Faculties, as he should, to inform himself about them” (IV:XIII:3, 651). Interestingly, Locke connects God‟s law of morality to human nature. Lest anyone see in this “Law of Nature” an opening for the existence of innate ideas, Locke is quick to clarify: “There is a great deal of difference between an innate Law, and a Law of Nature; between something imprinted on our Minds in their very original, and something that we being ignorant of may attain to the knowledge of, by the use and due application of our natural faculties” (I:III:13, 75).14 To say that God has authored a law for human behavior does not require the innate presence of this law in the minds of all humans. Instead, it requires that God gives humans the faculties necessary to discover the natural law.15 Locke explains, A Man by the right use of his natural Abilities, may, without any innate Principles, attain the Knowledge of a God, and other things that concern him. God having endued Man with those Faculties of knowing which he hath, was no more obliged by his Goodness, to implant those innate Notions in his Mind, than that having given him Reason, Hands, and Materials, he should build him Bridges, or Houses; which some People in the World, however of good parts, do either totally want, or are but ill provided of, as well as others are wholly without Ideas of God, and Principles of Morality; or at least have but very ill ones. The reason in both cases being, That they never employ‟d their Parts, Faculties, and Powers, industriously that way, but contented themselves with the Opinions, Fashions, and Things of their Country, as they found them, without looking any farther [I:IV:12, 91-92]. Once again, however, while Locke acknowledges his belief in God as the ultimate source of morality, he insists that “several Moral Rules, may receive, from Mankind, a very general Approbation, without either knowing or admitting the true ground of Morality” (I:III:6, 69). Whether or not one recognizes God as the “true ground of Morality” is clearly an important step in reaching proper moral conclusions. In Book II of the Essay, however, Locke is still concerned with the more fundamental structure of knowledge and opinion, as well as the

14 Goldie notes, “Locke concludes that the only plausible route to moral knowledge is through reason working upon sense experience. Reason therefore does not (blasphemously) constitute the natural law, but finds it in the world around us” (1997, xxi; see Locke 1663-64/1997, 101). For another example Locke‟s refutation of innate practical principles, with specific reference to the natural law, see the third of his Essays on the Law of Nature (1663- 64/1997, 95-100). 15 In his Essays on the Law of Nature, Locke defines reason as “the discursive faculty of the mind, which advances from things known to things unknown and argues from one thing to another in a definite and fixed order of propositions. It is this reason by means of which mankind arrives at the knowledge of natural law” (1663-64/1997, 101).

181 way that human thinking leads to human acting. In other words, in all of our actions—including those in the realm of morality—what is the connection between the processes and powers of the human mind and the eventual action performed by the body? Central to the answer to this question is the concept of the will. Locke notes, “This Power which the mind has, thus to order the consideration of any Idea, or the forbearing to consider it; or to prefer the motion of any part of the body to its rest, and vice versa in any particular instance is that which we call the Will.” Subsequently, Locke continues, “The actual exercise of that power, by directing any particular action, or its forbearance is that which we call Volition or Willing” (II:XXI:5, 236). Prior to willing a particular action, however, there must be a determination of the understanding. It is in this moment of determination where freedom is found. Locke writes, “The Idea of Liberty, is the Idea of a Power in any Agent to do or forbear any particular Action, according to the determination or thought of the mind, whereby either of them is preferr‟d to the other” (II:XXI:8, 237). Once the determination is made, Locke argues, there is no freedom in the moment of willing: “That Willing, or Volition being an Action, and Freedom consisting in a power of acting, or not acting, a Man in respect of willing, or the Act of Volition, when any Action in his power is once proposed to his Thoughts, as presently to be done, cannot be free” (II:XXI:23, 245). The moment of willing, therefore, is determined, Locke contends, by the mind. While our desires may run contrary to our actions—our exercising of the power of the will—our will itself must always be in accordance with the determination of the understanding (II:XXI:30, 250). It is often tempting, Locke comments, for the will to simply follow the impulse of desire. It is the power of examination, however, that provides the ability to determine the will in a thoughtful— and moral—way. Locke describes the process of examination and the true location of freedom in the determination of action, including—as is evident in the quote below—moral action: We have a power to suspend the prosecution of this or that desire, as every one daily may Experiment in himself. This seems to me the source of all liberty; in this seems to consist that, which is (as I think improperly) call‟d Free will. For during this suspension of any desire, before the will be determined to action, and the action (which follows that determination) done, we have opportunity to examine, view, and judge of the good or evil of what we are going to do; and when, upon due Examination, we have judg‟d, we have done our duty, all that we can, or ought to do, in pursuit of our happiness; and ‟tis not a fault, but a

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perfection of our nature to desire, will and act according to the last result of a fair Examination [II:XXI:47, 263-64].16 The way to proper behavior, moral and otherwise, is through the understanding‟s fair examination of alternative courses of action. After presenting the steps in the process of moral reasoning, Locke reminds us of the diversity in the giving and asking of reasons that is found among humans. He begins with the way in which the desire for Happiness—shared by all—can be variously understood. It is easie to give an account, how it comes to pass, that though all Men desire Happiness, yet their wills carry them so contrarily, and consequently some of them to what is Evil. And to this I say, that they do not all pursue Good; but that the same thing is not good to every Man alike. This variety of pursuits shews, that every one does not place his happiness in the same thing, or chuse the same way to it [II:XXI:54, 268]. Whether by following desire instead of examination, or simply in differences in the conclusions reached by examination, the decisions concerning actions—including moral actions—are not uniform for all people, despite the uniform pursuit of happiness. The variation grows even further when discussing those who locate happiness not in this-worldly pursuits but in an afterlife. Locke notes, To him, I say, who hath a prospect of the different State of perfect Happiness or Misery, that attends all Men after this Life, depending on their Behaviour here, the measures of Good and Evil, that govern his choice, are mightily changed. For since nothing of Pleasure and Pain in this Life, can bear any proportion to endless Happiness, or exquisite Misery of an immortal Soul hereafter, Actions in his Power will have their preference, not according to the transient Pleasure, or Pain that accompanies, or follows them here; but as they serve to secure that perfect durable Happiness hereafter [II:XXI:60, 274]. Comparing immediate consequences of our actions to future outcomes is just one more cause of the diversity of moral conclusions reached by individuals, something that Locke attributes to “the weak and narrow Constitution of our Minds” (II:XXI:64, 276).

16 Locke later reiterates, “I desire it may be well consider‟d, whether the…exercise of all the liberty Men have, are capable of, or can be useful to them, and that whereon depends the turn of their actions, does not lie in this, that they can suspend their desires, and stop them from determining their wills to any action, till they have duly and fairly examin’d the good and evil of it…. For, since the will supposes knowledge to guide its choice, all that we can do, is to hold our wills undetermined, till we have examin’d the good and evil of what we desire. What follows after that, follows in a chain of Consequences linked one to another, all depending on the last determination of the Judgment, which whether it shall be upon an hasty and precipitate view, or upon a due and mature Examination, is in our power; Experience shewing us, that in most cases we are able to suspend the present satisfaction of any desire” (II:XXI:52, 267).

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The process of moral reasoning, Locke contends, is chiefly concerned with moral relations, described as “the Conformity, or Disagreement, Men‟s voluntary Actions have to a Rule, to which they are referred, and by which they are judged of.” This type of conformity, Locke argues, “deserves well to be examined, there being no part of Knowledge wherein we should be more careful to get determined Ideas, and avoid, as much as may be, Obscurity and Confusion” (II:XXVIII:4, 351). The centrality of moral reasoning is evident, as is the recognition of a degree of fallibility in the process. Determining moral value once again depends on a strong theistic framework: “Morally Good and Evil then, is only the Conformity or Disagreement of our voluntary Actions to some Law, whereby Good or Evil is drawn on us, from the Will and Power of the Law-maker” (II:XXVIII:5, 351). Locke breaks down these moral rules into three categories, with corresponding types of rewards and punishments “attending our observance, or breach of the Law, by the Decree of the Law-maker” (II:XXVIII:5, 351). The first, and foundational, category of moral rules is the divine law, “that Law which God has set to the actions of Men, whether promulgated to them by the light of Nature, or the voice of Revelation” (II:XXVIII:8, 352). All other actions must be compared back to this divine law in order to judge of their moral value.17 Interestingly, Locke here presents both the natural law and revelation as sources for moral reasoning. While the legitimacy and usefulness—perhaps practical necessity—of revelation will be discussed later, it is worth noting its presence in Locke‟s first sustained treatment of moral epistemology in the Essay. The second category of moral rules is the civil law, “the Rule set by the Commonwealth, to the Actions of those, who belong to it…to which Men refer their Actions, to judge whether they be criminal, or no” (II:XXVIII:9, 352). Locke later refers to this category as “The Law of politick Societies” (II:XXVIII:13, 357). Again, specifically civil and political duties are understood as moral relations, intimately connected to the foundational moral law of God. When determining civil innocence and guilt, and when discussing political matters that affect human relations, Locke insists that citizens are entrenched in the process of moral reasoning, eventually attempting to relate these conclusions back to the divine law—whether knowingly or not—which is discovered through the natural law and revelation.

17 In his Essays on the Law of Nature, Locke argues, “It appears to me less correctly termed by some people the dictate of reason, since reason does not so much establish and pronounce this law of nature as search for it and discover it as a law enacted by a superior power and implanted in our hearts” (1663-64/1997, 82; see also 89).

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Locke calls the final category of moral rules the law of opinion or reputation. Recognizing yet another source of moral reasoning, he writes, Vertue and Vice are Names pretended, and supposed every where to stand for actions in their own nature right and wrong: And as far as they really are so applied, they so far are co-incident with the divine Law…. But yet, whatever is pretended, this is visible, that these Names, Vertue and Vice, in the particular instances of their application, through the several Nations and Societies of Men in the World, are constantly attributed only to such actions, as in each Country and Society are in reputation or discredit [II:XXVIII:10, 353]. Locke is quick to recognize the diversity present in the assignment of virtue and vice to individuals in different parts of the world.18 This diversity once again highlights the difficulty in the process of moral reasoning. If the divine law were easily determined by all individuals in all situations, the attribution of virtue and vice would presumably be identical in all societies. Because the divine law is often hidden from view, and because it allows for diverse interpretations in many cases, the law of reputation will vary from nation to nation, and perhaps from person to person. Along with these cultural differences in the determination of virtue and vice come the linguistic differences that threaten the very understanding of moral terms used in various societies. Speaking of the ideas used in moral discourse, Locke notes, “When Men come curiously to compare [terms for these moral ideas], with those they are translated into, in other Languages, they will find very few of them exactly to correspond in the whole extent of their Significations” (III:V:8, 433). And later, In the interpretation of Laws, whether Divine, or Humane, there is no end; Comments beget Comments, and Explications make new matter for Explications: And of limiting, distinguishing, varying the signification of these moral Words, there is no end. These Ideas of Men‟s making, are, by Men still having the same Power, multiplied in infinitum. Many a Man, who was pretty well satisfied of the meaning of a Text of Scripture, or Clause in the Code, at first reading, has by consulting Commentators, quite lost the sense of it, and, by those Elucidations, given rise or increase to his Doubts, and drawn obscurity upon the place [III:IX:9, 480].

18 It must be noted that Locke is not promoting moral relativism. For him, the divine law, made known in the law of nature, is uniform, despite the diversity present in the interpretation of it. In his Essays on the Law of Nature, he writes, “It ought to be remembered that this diversity among mortals, both in their manner of life and in their opinions, does not occur because the law of nature varies among different nations, but because men are either carried off by inveterate habit and traditional examples or led aside by their passions, thus yielding to the morality of others; also they follow the herd in the manner of brute beasts, since they do not allow themselves the use of their reason, but give way to appetite” (1663-64/1997, 127). Goldie explains, “Locke was at pains to avoid the conclusion (originally sketched in its fiercest form by Thrasymachus in Plato‟s Republic) that morality is a human construct and hence relative to different times and places. The law of nature, he stressed, is perpetual, universal and visible” (1997, xxii).

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Even when individuals move beyond the sole reliance on rational demonstration to form moral beliefs—making use of multiple sources for moral reasoning—Locke expresses little confidence in an easy uniformity. Indeed, when it comes to the challenge of grasping the meaning of words that represent ideas, Locke contends, “And in Discourses of Religion, Law, and Morality, as they are matters of the highest concernment, so there will be the greatest difficulty” (III:IX:22, 489). Whether because of the reasons demanded of moral conclusions, the diversity of these reasons, the challenges in the process of the suspension of the will and fair examination, the competing views of happiness, the tendency to focus on immediacy, or the problems of translation, moral reasoning is indeed a difficult task, according to Locke. While certain knowledge is affirmed as theoretically possible, it seems unlikely—given the myriad of obstacles—that such certainty is easily reached by individuals. In the final book of the Essay, Locke turns his attention to the third purpose of the treatise, the extent of knowledge, as well as the domain in which we find ourselves when we have stepped outside of the boundaries of certainty.

2.6 Opinion and Belief in Moral Reasoning The previous two sections make clear Locke‟s affirmation of the possibility of the demonstration of ethics, leading to the certain knowledge of moral rules. It has also been clear, however, that Locke was hesitant to affirm the likelihood of such a demonstration, given the many opportunities that individuals have to stray from the path of moral knowledge. The distinction often overlooked by many interpreters of Locke—from his day to our own—is between this theoretical possibility and the actual limitations that face humans in their current condition. Locke, however, hints at this distinction even in his arguments against the notion of innate practical principles. Following immediately upon his affirmation of the possibility of demonstrating moral rules, Locke claims, “But the Ignorance wherein many Men are of them, and the slowness of assent, wherewith others receive them, are manifest Proofs, that they are not innate, and such as offer themselves to their view without searching” (I:III:1, 66). Simply because it is theoretically possible to reach certainty with practical matters does not mean that moral principles are innate, nor does it mean that such certainty is easily attained.19

19 As noted in the Introduction, Laslett, in particular, emphasizes what he sees as “inconsistency” in Locke‟s treatment of natural law in the Treatises and the Essay. On this point, he writes, “[Locke] passionately believed in the possibility of demonstrating ethics mathematically, though he was perpetually complicating everything with his anthropological relativism, noting the variety of ethical values among the world‟s peoples and hinting that virtue and

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This distinction also appears in the treatment of divine law as the ultimate source of all moral knowledge. Although moral reasoning has the possibility of rational demonstration—due, in part, to the belief in a single Author of the natural law—Locke is quick to assert the features of the actual practice of moral discourse that we experience in our current condition, most notably the fact that many individuals do not recognize God as the true source of morality, giving instead their own beliefs about the ground of all practical principles. The distinction was also evident in Locke‟s discussion of happiness as the universal motivating principles for all human actions. While all individuals seek happiness in their actions—including moral behavior—different interpretations of happiness—its ends and the proper means to be employed—create diversity in moral reasoning, once again showing the difficulty in truly attaining certain knowledge through the rational demonstration of ethics. Even the limitations of time can keep individuals from reaching moral knowledge. Locke contends, “For though his will be always determined by that, which is judg‟d good by his Understanding, yet it excuses him not: Because, by a too hasty choice of his own making, he has imposed on himself wrong measures of good and evil; which however false and fallacious, have the same influence on all his future conduct, as if they were true and right” (II:XXI:56, 271). He later stresses the reality of ignorance, inadvertency, fashion, common opinion, education, and custom as frequent obstacles in our efforts of moral reasoning (II:XXI:66, 278; II:XXI:69, 281).20 It is the existence of these many obstacles—

vice were simply customary” (1988, 82 n). As will be increasingly obvious, I do not agree with Laslett‟s conclusion that “Locke is, perhaps, the least consistent of all the great philosophers” (1988, 82). The distinction between possibility and actuality, when properly understood in its philosophical, political, and theological frameworks, allows Locke to maintain his belief in the natural law that can be discovered through the divine gift of reason alone—complete with a body of moral rules—as well as the recognition—as much theological and sociological as anthropological—that individuals lack the actual ability to attain certain knowledge of and obedience to this law, leaving humans in a state of probability and reliance on revelation, themes of both the Essay and Reasonableness. Laslett does soften his position by noting that the Treatises were written in a different style than the Essay, accounting for some differences in the discussions of morality (1988, 83, 84). And later, while recognizing the distinction, Laslett still sees more inconsistency and confusion in it than I do: “Natural law was…a part of [Locke‟s] rationalism, his conviction that the universe is to be understood rationally, even the workings of the deity, even the relations of human beings, but at all points it must be compared with, made to fit into, the observed, the empirical facts about the created world and human behaviour” (1988, 88). 20 Higgins-Biddle, thinking especially of Locke‟s Essays on the Law of Nature, writes, “Locke had no illusions that the existence of a divine lawmaker, his will, or an afterlife with rewards and punishments could be easily inferred by all people. His rejection of arguments from conscience and general consent for the existence of natural law reflects his sensitivity to the actuality of ignorance, disagreement, and disobedience in regard to such a law” (1999a, xcvi). In these Essays, Locke argues, “I admit that all people are by nature endowed with reason, and I say that natural law can be known by reason, but from this it does not necessarily follow that it is known to any and every one. For there are some who make no use of the light of reason but prefer darkness and would not wish to show themselves to themselves…. There are others, brought up in vice, who scarcely distinguish between good and evil, because a bad way of life, becoming strong by lapse of time, has established barbarous habits, and evil customs have perverted

187 leading to the limitations of human understanding—that will eventually prompt Locke to consider the usefulness of religious forms of reasoning in moral—and, by extension, political— decision making. With the clear recognition of the many obstacles in reaching knowledge—particularly concerning practical principles—Locke finally turns to the limits of knowledge in the final book of the Essay. He begins with an overview of the types of knowledge. Knowledge, Locke writes, can be intuitive, sensitive, or demonstrative. Intuitive knowledge occurs when “the Mind perceives the Agreement or Disagreement of two Ideas immediately by themselves, without the intervention of any other…. For in this, the Mind is at no pains of proving or examining, but perceives the Truth, as the Eye doth light, only by being directed toward it” (IV:II:1, 530-31). Sensitive knowledge is the perception of “the existence of particular external objects” (IV:II:14, 537-38). Unlike the immediacy of these first two types of knowledge, demonstrative knowledge requires “intermediate Ideas” in order to reach knowledge (IV:II:1, 531). While intuition must be present in the confirmation of each of these intermediate ideas, the final knowledge is only reached through a process of reasoning. Locke writes of this process, “A steddy application and pursuit is required to this Discovery: And there must be a Progression by steps and degrees, before the Mind can in this way arrive at Certainty, and come to perceive the Agreement or Repugnancy between two Ideas that need Proofs and the Use of Reason to shew it” (IV:II:4, 532). Moral knowledge, as we have seen, requires the examination of demonstration, and yet we have also seen the difficulties in reaching certain knowledge of moral rules. If we cannot reach certainty in moral reasoning, then we cannot claim to possess knowledge in this realm of thought. Locke notes, “These two, (viz.) Intuition and Demonstration, are the degrees of our Knowledge; whatever comes short of one of these, with what assurance soever embraced, is but Faith, or Opinion, but not Knowledge” (IV:II:14, 536-37). And again, Locke is quite aware of

even matters of principle. In others, again, through natural defect the acumen of the mind is too dull to be able to bring to light those secret decrees of nature” (1663-64/1997, 85). For yet another example of this distinction, see Locke‟s note, “Knowledge B” (1681/1997, 281-82). And again, the significance of education highlights the need for the training of the understanding, as Locke notes, “The right improvement, and exercise of our Reason…[is] the highest Perfection, that a Man can attain to in this Life” (1684-85/1989, 186). And later, “These are my present Thoughts concerning Learning and Accomplishments. The great Business of all is Vertue and Wisdom” (1684- 85/1989, 255). In the introduction to Some Thoughts, Yolton and Yolton note, “Education for Locke provides the character-formation necessary for becoming a person and for being a responsible citizen” (1989, 3). Once again, the connection between morality and political responsibility is paramount.

188 the current human condition, which may require the sufficiency of Faith in many matters that seem to require certainty. In a discussion about the immateriality of the soul, he writes, It is of use to us, to discern how far our Knowledge does reach; for the state we are at present in, not being that of Vision, we must, in many Things, content our selves with Faith and Probability: and in the present Question, about the immateriality of the Soul, if our Faculties cannot arrive at demonstrative Certainty, we need not think it strange. All the great Ends of Morality and Religion, are well enough secured, without philosophical Proofs of the Soul‟s Immateriality [IV:III:6, 542]. Particularly with moral and religious ideas, individuals often demand certainty where no such thing is likely to be found, given “the state we are at present in.” Continuing to walk the fine line, Locke still insists that many religious and moral ideas are theoretically capable of demonstration, and perhaps would be actually capable of demonstration “if Vices, Passions, and domineering Interest did not oppose, or menace such Endeavors” (IV:III:18, 549). He continues, The Idea of a supreme Being, infinite in Power, Goodness, and Wisdom, whose Workmanship we are, and on whom we depend; and the Idea of our selves, as understanding, rational Beings, being such as are clear in us, would, I suppose, if duly considered, and pursued, afford such Foundations of our Duty and Rules of Action, as might place Morality amongst the Sciences capable of Demonstration: wherein I doubt not, but from self-evident Propositions, by necessary Consequences, as incontestable as those in Mathematicks, the measures of right and wrong might be made out, to any one that will apply himself with the same Indifferency and Attention to the one, as he does to the other of these Sciences [IV:III:18, 549]. Readers of the Essay have all too frequently overlooked the “I suppose,” “if duly considered, and pursued,” and “might place” in a passage such as this. Locke‟s confidence in the actual attainment of certain moral knowledge through rational demonstration is shaky at best. It is no wonder that he consistently refused to comply with the wishes of his friends, such as Molyneux, that Locke himself would compose such a demonstration of ethics that seems to be hinted at in so many passages in the Essay. Locke clearly recognizes even the differences between ethics and mathematics. Ideas concerned with the former, Locke contends, are “commonly more complex than those of the Figures ordinarily considered in Mathematicks…. Their names are of more uncertain Signification, the precise Collection of simple Ideas they stand for not being so easily agreed on, and so the Sign, that is used for them in Communication always, and in Thinking often, does not steadily carry with it the same Idea” (IV:III:19, 550). Even if individuals engaged in moral reasoning “would in the same method, and with the same

189 indifferency, search after moral, as they do mathematical Truths,” Locke hedges his confidence by arguing that moral ideas would only “come nearer perfect Demonstration, than is commonly imagined” (IV:III:552). The strong assertion of the understanding‟s ability to reach knowledge is always measured by a keen awareness of the limitations imposed on the understanding by the current human condition.

2.7 Probability in Moral Reasoning Although certain knowledge may be very difficult for individuals, this does not mean that we are left with no confidence whatsoever in our moral beliefs. While built on faith and probability rather than certainty, beliefs must be held and acted upon constantly. Locke writes, How vain, I say, it is to expect Demonstration and Certainty in things not capable of it; and refuse Assent to very rational Propositions, and act contrary to very plain and clear Truths, because they cannot be made out so evident, as to surmount every the least (I will not say Reason, but) pretence of doubting. He that in the ordinary Affairs of Life, would admit of nothing but direct plain Demonstration, would be sure of nothing, in this World, but of perishing quickly [IV:XI:10, 636]. In many instances, Locke insists, “we must content our selves with the Evidence of Faith” (IV:XI:12, 637). To avoid an interpretation of irrational fideism, it is important to note that many propositions that fall short of certain knowledge remain based on reasons that act in convincing the understanding. That is, simply because the reasons cannot convince to the degree of certainty does not mean that individuals have departed the game of giving and asking of reasons. Indeed, Locke argues, “Nothing can be so dangerous, as Principles thus taken up without questioning or examination; especially if they be such as concern Morality, which influence Men‟s Lives, and give a biass to all their Actions” (IV:XII:4, 642). Rather than leaning on “blind assent,” we must follow the guidance of reason in order to “adapt our methods of Enquiry to the nature of the Ideas we examine” (IV:XII:5-7, 642-43). If moral rules often fall short of certain knowledge through a process of rational demonstration, the solution is not to “receive and swallow Principles” without any examination whatsoever (IV:XII:6, 642). Instead, reason must continue to lead us to the greatest degree of probability in the process of moral decision making. He later reiterates, “But though we have, here and there, a little of this clear Light, some Sparks of bright Knowledge: yet the greatest part of our Ideas are such, that we cannot discern their Agreement, or Disagreement, by an immediate Comparing them. And in all

190 these, we have Need of Reasoning, and must, by Discourse, and Inference, make our Discoveries” (IV:XVII:15, 683-84).21 Again, the search for probability is necessary when certain knowledge is lacking, as a result of our current condition. Locke notes, “So in the greatest part of our Concernment, [God] has afforded us only the twilight, as I may so say, of Probability, suitable, I presume, to that State of Mediocrity and Probationership, he has been pleased to place us in here.” God has done this, Locke suggests, so that “to check our over-confidence and presumption, we might by every day‟s Experience be made sensible of our short-sightedness and liableness to Error” (IV:XIV:2, 652). In order to reach probability, we must use the faculty of judgment—when concerning things—or the faculty of assent—when concerning words—“which God has given Man to supply the want of clear and certain Knowledge in Cases where that cannot be had” (IV:XIV:3, 653). Whether certain ideas are incapable of demonstration or individuals simply do not put forth the effort to reach the knowledge of demonstration, probability occurs “by the intervention of Proofs, whose connexion is not constant and immutable, or at least is not perceived to be so, but is, or appears for the most part to be so, and is enough to induce the Mind to judge the Proposition to be true, or false, rather than the contrary” (IV:XV:1, 654). Clarifying the difference between probability and knowledge further, Locke writes, Probability is likeliness to be true, the very notation of the Word signifying such a Proposition, for which there be Arguments or Proofs, to make it pass or be received for true. The entertainment the Mind gives this sort of Propositions, is called Belief, Assent, or Opinion, which is the admitting or receiving any Propositions for true, upon Arguments or Proofs that are found to perswade us to receive it as true, without certain Knowledge that it is so. And herein lies the difference between Probability and Certainty, Faith and Knowledge, that in all the parts of Knowledge, there is intuition; each immediate Idea, each step has its visible and certain connexion; in belief not so. That which makes me believe, is something extraneous to the thing I believe; something not evidently joined on both sides to, and so not manifestly shewing the Agreement, or Disagreement of those Ideas, that are under consideration [IV:XV:3, 655]. While all ideas that fall short of knowledge exist within the realm of probability, not all such ideas have the same amount of probability, Locke contends, “there being degrees herein, from the very neighbourhood of Certainty and Demonstration, quite down to Improbability and

21 Wolterstorff comments on Locke‟s insistence on using reason in the process of determining belief, “Opinion is riddled with error…. So when it comes to opinion, what is of prime importance is that we learn to conduct our understanding rightly” (1996, 9).

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Unlikeliness, even to the Confines of Impossibility; and also degrees of Assent from full Assurance and Confidence, quite down to Conjecture, Doubt, and Distrust” (IV:XV:2, 655). The degree of probability will often depend on the strength of the two grounds of probability. The first ground, Locke notes, is “the conformity of any thing with our own Knowledge, Observation, and Experience,” and the second is “the Testimony of others, vouching their Observation and Experience” (IV:XV:4, 656). Locke sadly admits of a third ground for probability, “the Opinion of others,” which is clearly not to be confused with the direct testimony of others. Despite the unreliability of others‟ opinions, Locke admits that this false ground of probability is used frequently. Once again emphasizing the weakness of the human condition, he insists, “There cannot be a more dangerous thing to rely on, nor more likely to mislead one; since there is much more Falshood and Errour amongst Men, than Truth and knowledge” (IV:XV:6, 657). Again, determining the strength of the grounds of probability for a particular proposition remains a rational exercise, despite the lack of certain knowledge. Locke writes, “Probability wanting that intuitive Evidence, which infallibly determines the Understanding, and produces certain Knowledge, the Mind if it will proceed rationally, ought to examine all the grounds of Probability, and see how they make more or less, for or against any probable Proposition.” The mind ought to engage in this examination of a Proposition “before it assents to or dissents from it, and upon a due balancing the whole, reject, or receive it, with a more or less firm assent, proportionably to the preponderancy of the greater grounds of Probability on one side or the other” (IV:XV:5, 656).22 In moral discourse, therefore, one attempts to offer reasons for one‟s moral conclusion in hopes of persuading one‟s partner in dialogue to assent to the particular proposition. This game of giving and asking of reasons, however, is not always easy. Individuals will not eagerly alter their positions, particularly those concerning moral—and political—matters. As a result, we must expect continued diversity in the midst of discourse. Locke, not surprisingly, returns to his promotion of toleration in this recognition of the diversity of moral positions.

22 Wolterstorff summarizes “Locke‟s rules for the governance of belief”: “When the truth or falsehood of some proposition is of maximal concernment to one, so that one is obligated to try to do one‟s epistemic best toward that proposition, the first thing to do is to collect satisfactory evidence concerning the truth or falsehood of the proposition. That done, one must reflect carefully on the probability of the proposition on that evidence. And finally, one is to proportion one‟s level of confidence in the proposition to its probability on one‟s (satisfactory) evidence” (1996, 84).

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Since therefore it is unavoidable to the greatest part of Men, if not all, to have several Opinions, without certain and indubitable Proofs of their Truths; and it carries too great an imputation of ignorance, lightness, or folly, for Men to quit and renounce their former Tenets, presently upon the offer of an Argument, which they cannot immediately answer, and shew the insufficiency of it: It would, methinks, become all Men to maintain Peace, and the common Offices of Humanity, and Friendship, in the diversity of Opinions, since we cannot reasonably expect, that any one should readily and obsequiously quit his own Opinions, and embrace ours with a blind resignation to an Authority, which the Understanding of Man acknowledges not. For however it may often mistake, it can own no other Guide but Reason, nor blindly submit to the Will and Dictates of another [IV:XVI:4, 659-60].23 The arguments from virtue used by Stout, Wolterstorff, and others in their support for robust political discourse and civil participation could easily be supported by Locke‟s call for humility and understanding: How can we imagine that he should renounce those Tenets, which Time and Custom have so settled in his Mind, that he thinks them self-evident, and of an unquestionable Certainty; or which he takes to be impressions he has received from GOD Himself, or from Men sent by Him? How can we expect, I say, that Opinions thus settled, should be given up to the Arguments or Authority of a Stranger, or Adversary…? We should do well to commiserate our mutual Ignorance, and endeavour to remove it in all the gentle and fair ways of Information; and not instantly treat others ill, as obstinate and perverse, because they will not renounce their own, and receive our Opinions, or at least those we would force upon them, when ‟tis more than probable, that we are no less obstinate in not embracing some of theirs. For where is the Man, that has uncontestable Evidence of the Truth of all that he holds, or of the Falshood of all he condemns; or can say, that he has examined, to the bottom, all his own, or other Men‟s Opinions? [IV:XVI:4, 660]. Locke‟s position should be familiar by now. While moral rules may be capable of demonstration, leading to certain knowledge, he seems incredibly skeptical of the possibility of actually finding an individual who has reached that level of assurance on all truths—moral and otherwise. As a result, we are in a position where the best we can do is to examine reasons for a variety of moral positions, choosing those that offer the strongest degree of probability, and then humbly entering into discourse with others about these matters in the hopes of persuasion. In this process, reason will constantly be the guide, even though certain intuition at every step must

23 Biddle highlights the importance of toleration for the Essay: “Upon this distinction between knowledge and faith, [Locke] continued to urge that toleration was required because a magistrate could not have true knowledge in the realm of religion. Since religion was properly a matter of faith, a kind of probability, he argued, no one could be rightly required to risk his eternal salvation on the probable judgment of a magistrate” (1977, 313).

193 give way to grounds of authority that cannot lead the mind to clear knowledge. The most forceful and reliant of these grounds, Locke argues, is divine revelation.

2.8 Divine Revelation, Miracles, and Moral Belief Assenting to a proposition is relatively easy when probability is based on a rather clear connection to one‟s own previous experience and observation. It is also relatively easy when there is only one, clear testimony being offered, which supports the proposition in question. It becomes much more difficult, Locke explains, “when Testimonies contradict common Experience, and the reports of History and Witnesses clash with the ordinary course of Nature, or with one another” (IV:XVI:9, 663). Because morality depends on awareness of divine law, it is not surprising that some of the most common sources for testimony related to ethics are books that claim to represent divine revelation. After all, if we have probability that God spoke a particular word concerning morality, this would be the most significant testimony of all in relating God‟s own law to humanity. The testimony of revelation, Locke notes, “carries with it Assurance beyond Doubt, Evidence beyond Exception.” Faith in revelation “absolutely determines our Minds, and as perfectly excludes all wavering as our Knowledge it self” (IV:XVI:14, 667). And later, “In all that is of Divine Revelation there is need of no other Proof but that it is an Inspiration from GOD: For he can neither deceive nor be deceived” (IV:XIX:11, 702). The warning, however, is obvious: “Only we must be sure, that it be a divine Revelation, and that we understand it right: else we shall expose our selves to all the Extravagancy of Enthusiasm, and all the Error of wrong Principles, if we have Faith and Assurance in what is not divine Revelation” (IV:XVI:14, 667). Locke‟s wariness of religious enthusiasm has clearly not subsided since his earliest writings on toleration. Not only must we be confident that the revelation is truly from God; we also must be interpreting the revelation correctly. Adding this second layer to the warning significantly opens the door for an even greater amount of discourse, not only between religious communities, but also within them. As for the first layer of the warning, however, how is it that we can be assured in the divine origin of a particular text or teaching? In Locke‟s words, “How shall it be known, that any Proposition in our Minds is a Truth infused by God; a Truth that is reveal‟d to us by him, which he declares to us, and therefore we ought to believe?” (IV:XIX:11, 702). After all, Locke

194 reminds us, there are many claims to revelation that our reason leads us to reject as such. He writes, We see, that in all Ages, Men, in whom Melancholy has mixed with Devotion, or whose conceit of themselves has raised them into an Opinion of a greater familiarity with GOD, and a nearer admittance to his Favour than is afforded to others, have often flatter‟d themselves with a perswasion of an immediate intercourse with the Deity, and frequent communications from the divine Spirit…. Their Minds being thus prepared, whatever groundless Opinion comes to settle it self strongly upon their Fancies, is an Illumination from the Spirit of GOD, and presently of divine Authority: And whatsoever odd Action they find in themselves a strong Inclination to do, that impulse is concluded to be a call or direction from Heaven, and must be obeyed; ‟tis a Commission from above, and they cannot err in executing it. This I take to be properly Enthusiasm, which though founded neither on Reason, nor Divine Revelation, but rising from the Conceits of a warmed or over-weening Brain, works yet, where it once gets footing, more powerfully on the Perswasions and Actions of Men, than either of those two, or both together [IV:XIX:5-7, 699]. Finding an exception to his earlier statement about not trusting in proofs that conflict with natural observation and experience, Locke presents miracles as the greatest source of evidence in the truth of a claim to revelation. He explains, Though the common Experience, and the ordinary Course of Things have justly a mighty Influence on the Minds of Men, to make them give or refuse Credit to any thing proposed to their Belief; yet there is one Case, wherein the strangeness of the Fact lessens not the Assent to a fair Testimony given of it. For where such supernatural Events are suitable to ends aim‟d at by him, who has the Power to change the course of Nature, there, under such Circumstances, they may be the fitter to procure Belief, by how much the more they are beyond, or contrary to ordinary Observation. This is the proper Case of Miracles, which well attested, do not only find Credit themselves; but give it also to other Truths, which need such Confirmation [IV:XVI:13, 667].24 Despite the presence of miracles as evidence for revelation, Locke has not forsaken his emphasis on rational faculties as the only true guide of moral reasoning. He later describes revelation as “another Principle of Truth, and Ground of Assent” that becomes useful “where Reason came short” (IV:XVIII:9, 695). And yet, it remains the task of reason “to judge of the Truth” of a revelation, “and of the signification of the Words, wherein it is delivered” (IV:XVIII:8, 694). And again, “Whatever GOD hath revealed, is certainly true; no Doubt can be made of it. This is

24 Locke describes the role of miracles as evidence of true revelation in his “Discourse on Miracles” (2002, 44-50).

195 the proper Object of faith; But whether it be a divine Revelation, or no, Reason must judge” (IV:XVIII:10, 695).25 As for the second layer of warning, concerning the interpretation of revelation, Locke emphasizes the key distinction between the perfection of the revelation and the imperfection of the human comprehension of it: Though every thing said in the Text be infallibly true, yet the Reader may be, nay cannot chuse but be very fallible in the understanding of it. Nor is it to be wondred, that the Will of GOD, when cloathed in Words, should be liable to that doubt and uncertainty, which unavoidably attends that sort of Conveyance, when even his Son, whilst cloathed in Flesh, was subject to all the Frailties and Inconveniencies of humane Nature, Sin excepted [III:IX:23, 490].26 While humans can never “doubt of the Being of a GOD, or of the Obedience due to Him,” many other aspects of revealed religion go far beyond these basic “Precepts of Natural Religion [which] are plain, and very intelligible to all Mankind.” These further truths of revealed religion “are liable to the common and natural obscurities and difficulties incident to Words.” As a result, Locke thinks, we would be wise “to be more careful and diligent in observing [the truths of natural religion], and less magisterial, positive, and imperious, in imposing our own sense and interpretations of [the more complex truths of revealed religion]” (III:IX:23, 490). Throughout Locke‟s treatment of revelation, he remains very clear about the proper relationship between faith and reason.27 Several points are worth noting. First, Locke writes, “The same Truths may be discovered, and conveyed down from Revelation, which are discoverable to us by Reason” (IV:XVIII:4, 690). In other words, matters of faith may simply confirm truths that we can discover without the need of revelation. Indeed, this explains most of the moral teachings of revelation discovered through faith. Second, Locke contends, “Faith can never convince us of any Thing, that contradicts our Knowledge” (IV:XVIII:5, 692). If we are certain of any proposition as a result of our own examination, nothing should convince us

25 Higgins-Biddle, in the midst of refuting the charge of deism often leveled at Locke, notes, “Although the claim that reason has the right and capacity to judge the content as well as the authenticity of revelation might appear to be the height of religious rationalism, such an interpretation would grossly belie Locke‟s intention. His whole analysis of human understanding was designed to show how little proper knowledge human beings have and how ineffectual that knowledge is in most matters of morality and religion” (1999a, xxxiii). 26 In his essay titled “Infallibility,” Locke notes, “It is obvious enough to anyone, however slightly acquainted with ecclesiastical history, that even in the Church of Rome and its infallible interpreter opinions about faith and morals and interpretations of Holy Scripture differ enormously” (1661-62/1997, 206). 27 For more on this relationship, see Locke‟s “Faith and Reason,” written in 1676 (1676/1997, 248-50). In this short work, Locke makes many of the same arguments that will be found in the Essay concerning the limitations of reason, the usefulness of faith and revelation, and the compatibility between faith and reason.

196 otherwise, and a revelation that would seem to do so is actually no revelation at all. Locke insists that human reason “can never permit the Mind to reject a greater Evidence to embrace what is less evident, nor allow it to entertain Probability in opposition to Knowledge and Certainty” (IV:XVIII:10, 695). Indeed, Locke continues, “Nothing that is contrary to, and inconsistent with the clear and self-evident Dictates of Reason, has a Right to be urged, or assented to, as a Matter of Faith.”28 Rather than defeating propositions discovered clearly through knowledge, revelation should only be used to “over-rule all our Opinions, Prejudices, and Interests” (IV:XVIII:10, 696). Third, and clearly following from the second, faith must remain in its own sphere, concerning those propositions that we cannot discover through reason alone, propositions that are not contrary to reason, but rather beyond reason, whether in its theoretical or actual capabilities. Locke explains, There being many Things, wherein we have very imperfect Notions, or none at all; and other Things, of whose past, present, or future Existence, by the natural Use of our Faculties, we can have no Knowledge at all; these, as being beyond the Discovery of our natural Faculties, and above Reason, are, when revealed, the proper Matter of Faith. These…being beyond the Discovery of Reason, are purely Matters of Faith; with which Reason has, directly, nothing to do [IV:XVIII:7, 694].29 Summarizing the relationship between reason and revelation, Locke writes, Reason is natural Revelation, whereby the eternal Father of Light, and Fountain of all Knowledge communicates to Mankind that portion of Truth, which he has laid within the reach of their natural Faculties: Revelation is natural Reason enlarged by a new set of Discoveries communicated by GOD immediately, which Reason vouches the Truth of, by the Testimony and Proofs it gives, that they come from GOD [IV:XIX:4].30

28 In his “Discourse on Miracles,” Locke argues that “no Mission can be look‟d on to be Divine, that delivers any thing derogating from the Honour of the one, only, true, invisible God, or inconsistent with natural Religion and the rules of Morality: Because God having discover‟d to Men the Unity and Majesty of his Eternal Godhead, and the truths of natural Religion and Morality by the light of Reason, he cannot be suppos‟d to back the contrary by Revelation; for that would be to destroy the evidence and use of Reason, without which Men cannot be able to distinguish Divine Revelation from Diabolical Imposture” (2002, 48). 29 J. T. Moore explains the crucial distinction between truths that are in fact above reason and truths that are in effect above reason: “A truth which is in effect „above reason‟ would be a truth which it is possible to discover by means of reason—that is, a truth which under normal circumstances and for some people (philosophers for example) should be „according to reason.‟ An obvious example of this would be moral truths” (1980, 65). 30 Locke‟s attempt to find the appropriate relationship between faith and reason dates back at least to his essay on papal infallibility, written in the early 1660s: “Great caution must be exercised, however, lest by relying too heavily on our reason we disregard our faith, or by neglecting the mysteries of the gospel embrace philosophy instead of religion. On the other hand, enthusiasm must be carefully avoided, lest, while we await the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, we honour and worship our own dreams. It is certainly true that much is contributed to the interpretation of the Holy Bible by learning, much by reason, and finally much by the Holy Spirit‟s enlightening the minds of men.”

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The purpose of revelation, Locke argues, is to confirm opinions reached through rational faculties, to form beliefs about matters that could be discovered through reason alone but have not been reached in the natural way, or to discover propositions that exist above reason. We determine the validity of a particular revelation by using our reason to judge the proofs given in support of the claim.31 Reason is never abandoned, despite the turn to revelation. Referencing the original receiver of revelation, Locke explains clearly, He therefore that will not give himself up to all the Extravagancies of Delusion and Error must bring this Guide of his Light within to the Tryal. God when he makes the Prophet does not unmake the Man. He leaves all his Faculties in their natural State, to enable him to judge of his Inspirations, whether they be of divine Original or no. When he illuminates the Mind with supernatural Light, he does not extinguish that which is natural. If he would have us assent to the Truth of any Proposition, he either evidences that Truth by the usual Methods of natural Reason, or else makes it known to be a Truth, which he would have us assent to, by his Authority, and convinces us that it is from him, by some Marks which Reason cannot be mistaken in. Reason must be our Last Judge and Guide in every Thing [IV:XIX:14, 704].32 Before concluding his discussion of revelation, Locke does let the reader know that there is at least one claim to revelation that has already passed the test of reason in the determination of

Concluding with his criticism of the papal claims—and echoing claims that will be made in the Reasonableness and the Paraphrase—Locke ends his essay: “However, the most certain interpreter of Scripture is Scripture itself, and it alone is infallible” (1661-62/1997, 209). For more on this essay, see Marshall 1994, 22-24; Biddle 1977. 31 Nuovo summarizes the position well: “A rational theologian may accept the possibility of a revelation, and, in Locke‟s case, argue the necessity of it. Yet here also, reason is instrumental. It is the only reliable means of authenticating a revelation and of interpreting its meaning, and although the content of a revelation properly consists of things above reason, that is, matters of fact that are not discoverable by rational enquiry and great mysteries about things to come, a presumed revelation that is obviously contrary to reason should be rejected” (2002, xx). 32 Wolterstorff explains, “The injunction is not to make Reason the source of all our beliefs, not even to make it the source of the basis of all our beliefs. The intuitive knowledge that one exists is not a product of the faculty of Reason, nor is the knowledge that one has such-and-such ideas. Yet these can serve in the evidential base, when we are trying our best. Reason is to be our guide” (1996, 86-87). And later, “Reason is a mode of insight. Locke thinks that for our non-immediate beliefs we must have reasons, good reasons, evidence. Reason tells us which reasons are good reasons; Reason yields insight” (1996, 90). Finally, “Locke is confident that God will play by the rules of evidence. The creating Ground of our existence may indeed break through the crust of that existence to reveal things to us. But we must insist that if It wants us to believe that It has done so, It provide us with satisfactory evidence” (1996, 121). In terms of public discourse, the overriding concern of this project, Waldron suggests that Locke‟s emphasis on the relationship between reason and “religious argumentation” frustrates the claim that the use of religion necessarily conflicts with the Rawlsian notion of public reason. Waldron writes, “Locke in general is not inhospitable to something like Rawlsian constraints of public reason. He does not believe that religious considerations should be introduced willy-nilly into public life” (2002, 237-38). Locke‟s constant fear of religious enthusiasm necessitates the use of religious forms of reasoning in such a way that discourse remains a matter of giving and asking of reasons. In a short work on inspiration, he writes, “If faith be to have this ground of inward immediate inspiration, the command of being able to render a reason of ones faith is impracticable. This takes away also all reasoning about religion, since it would be ridiculous to goe about to reason a man into a new sense which yet he has not” (2002, 39). For yet another example of Locke‟s insistence that “the last determination must be that of reason” in all things, see his short work titled “Religion” (1681/1997, 278-80).

198 valid revelation, the Christian Bible, which Locke describes as “attested Revelation” (IV:XIX:15, 704). Not surprisingly, the Bible has this authority, according to Locke, as a result of “outward Signs” that convince reason of the legitimacy of divine origin (IV:XIX:15, 705). Locke will support this claim, along with many others made throughout the Essay, as he turns to an explicit discussion of the Christian tradition in his Reasonableness of Christianity, the subject of chapter five.

3. Locke‟s Essay and Liberal Democracy In the previous two chapters, we saw Locke eventually come to support a robust vision of religious toleration. Not only did he argue that a variety of competing religious communities— with divergent beliefs and practices—should be allowed to exist; he also accepted the fact that individuals within these communities would make use of religious forms of reasoning as they reached conclusions concerning moral and political matters. In this chapter, we have seen Locke‟s defense of the justification of reaching such conclusions through the use of arguments influenced by religious sources of authority. While Locke denies the presence of innate practical ideas, his profound appreciation for the capabilities of the human mind leads him to defend the theoretical possibility of a purely rational demonstration of ethics that would achieve certain knowledge of moral rules. The optimism in this position has been emphasized by many readers of the Essay, and yet Locke resisted the encouragement to actually produce such a demonstration. We have seen that Locke‟s promotion of reason‟s ability was constantly tempered by his recognition of the limitations imposed on the mind by the current state of human existence. Many obstacles—from ignorance to hastiness to laziness—keep individuals from exercising the faculties of reason in such a way as to reach moral knowledge. As a result, moral reasoning departs the realm of knowledge, entering the field of opinion. As individuals form moral beliefs, they continue to use the faculties of reason, but they search not for certainty but for probability. In this search, they rely heavily on the legitimate grounds for probability—conformity to previous experience and the testimony of others. In discovering moral rules, the most secure testimony is that of God himself, the author of the moral law, according to Locke. As the source of ethics, God‟s revelation to humanity would be the greatest testimony as individuals engage in the giving and asking of reasons that leads to probable opinion on moral matters. In order to discover the legitimacy of a claim to revelation,

199 reason is once again used to judge the evidence. The testimonies of miracles provide strong support, and it is also necessary that all claims of revelation be either consistent with the discoveries of reason or above the realm of reason. Ultimately, there can be no conflict between reason and revelation. Locke will discuss the basic structure of moral reasoning—the mind‟s limitations and the usefulness of revelation—in more detail in The Reasonableness of Christianity, the subject of the next chapter. Also coming to light will be the way in which the individual members of a religious community engage in moral reasoning, eventually opening the door for the use of the community to enter the public sphere of discourse concerning moral and political matters.

CHAPTER FIVE MORAL REASONING IN THE REASONABLENESS: SCRIPTURE, EXAMINATION, AND INSTITUTIONS

1. Introduction In the Essay, Locke provided a general defense of the use of religious forms of reasoning in moral and political decision making. While moral rules are theoretically possible to discover through the use of reason alone, there are many obstacles that makes such a demonstration— similar to that done for mathematics—difficult for most individuals. Because moral and civil laws are ultimately grounded in the divine law, revelation from God carries significant weight in assisting reason in reaching probable moral opinion. There are, of course, dangers in turning to religion for such matters. Blindly following the claims of tradition or being swept away by religious enthusiasm can lead one to abandon reason, the only proper guide for all belief and action. Therefore, when turning to revelation, Locke insists that the claims of revelation must first be examined by reason to give it legitimacy as a source of further reasoning. While the testimony of supernatural acts, such as miracles, is helpful in such examination, it is also necessary to make sure that any truths promoted by the assumed revelation do not conflict with reason, based on previous knowledge, observation, and experience, even if some of these truths exist in a realm beyond reason. If this examination yields a sufficient degree of probability in the claim of revelation, then the teachings in question may be used in the continued process of moral and political reasoning. In this chapter, we turn to a description of a particular religious tradition, Christianity, and the way in which the teachings of Jesus are used to support ethical conclusions. As mentioned previously, we will also begin to see a possible way in which religious individuals can enter into the public sphere of discourse through the institutional voice of their religious community.

2. The Reasonableness of Christianity While we have seen the centrality of religion in many of Locke‟s writings, the Reasonableness provides a detailed look into his particular understanding of his own religious tradition, Christianity. As was noted in the discussion of toleration, religion was a central theme

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201 during Locke‟s time. Higgins-Biddle writes, “Religion in seventeenth-century England was a highly charged partisan issue. From the civil wars and the Interregnum through the restoration of the monarchy of Charles II and the episcopate of the Church of England to the „Glorious Revolution,‟ religion was a crucial factor in politics and society” (1999a, xv). With such heated discourse occurring about religious matters, it was nearly impossible to avoid choosing sides in the many battles. Higgins-Biddle continues, “Throughout the seemingly constant religious controversy most people identified themselves with a religious party, and those who did not could hardly avoid being tagged with religious labels” (1999a, xv). Locke was one such individual who did not explicitly identify with a religious party. His familiarity with and criticisms of the enthusiasts, Calvinists, Independents, Anglicans, and others have been discussed, and it should not be surprising that Locke did not choose to affiliate himself with just one sectarian group of the diverse religious culture of England. Of course, as Higgins-Biddle suggests, this did not keep others from placing Locke in a particular party. In communication with Bishop Edward Stillingfleet concerning the religious aspects of the Essay, for example, Locke wrote, “I am going, my lord, to a tribunal that has a right to judge of thoughts, and being secure that I there shall be found of no party but that of truth…I matter not much of what party any one shall, as may best serve his turn, denominate me here” (1698/1812, v. 258; see Higgins- Biddle 1999a, xv). Nevertheless, denominate him they did, and, as Higgins-Biddle notes, “most subsequent interpreters of Locke‟s religious views” have followed suit, generally placing him in the religious sects of Deism, Unitarianism, Socinianism, Hobbism, or a combination of the four…anything but an orthodox Christian (1999a, xv).1 Higgins-Biddle, however, does not believe that any of these labels actually sticks to Locke, believing that the writer did manage to steer clear of easy identification with any particular religious sect.2 A significant way in which

1 Cranston, for example, writes, “The Reasonableness of Christianity is a Unitarian or Socinian book in everything but name” (1957, 390). For several examples of criticisms brought against Locke‟s work shortly after its publication, see Nuovo, ed. 1997. Marshall contends that while Locke was quite orthodox in his Protestant beliefs in the early 1660s, he eventually shared many views with Unitarianism and Socinianism (1994, 26-27, 329-50, 389- 413, 416-27). Marshall does recognize that Locke “was to remain an Anglican communicant until the end of his life, receiving the Sacrament at home in his last months” (1994, 98). While Locke did always seem to favor a broad policy of comprehension, thereby producing a greater degree of unity, it would seem significant that Locke never left the Anglican Church if he did in fact hold beliefs that undercut the basic structure of the Church‟s teachings. 2 See Higgins-Biddle 1999a for a thorough discussion of these charges of heresy, along with Higgins-Biddle‟s conclusion that Locke, while “not „orthodox‟ by the standards” of many in seventeenth-century England, cannot be easily pinned down as a member of a particular theological party. For the many disagreements between Locke and Hobbes, particularly concerning toleration and the political implications of Christianity, see Higgins-Biddle 1999a, lxxxviii.

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Locke avoids such identification is that he simply is not concerned with “formulating precise and systematic positions on many of the doctrines that distinguished theological camps,” Higgins- Biddle explains.3 “Rather, his concern was to transcend those debates by returning to the Scriptures alone, where he found a simple gospel which he hoped would bring religious toleration and peace” (1999a, lxxiv).4 Locke‟s presentation of this simple gospel, while specifically focused on the doctrine of justification, is often overlooked by commentators on Locke‟s political vision. Nevertheless, his description of the limitations of unassisted natural reason, revelation, the person of Jesus, the formation of belief, moral obligation, and the Christian community are indispensible to the argument of this project. By seeing the specific way in which religious citizens can justifiably be influenced by religious forms of reasoning, we gain greater insight into the possible implications of Locke‟s thought for contemporary political discourse.

2.1 Context of the Reasonableness Locke wrote the Reasonableness in the winter of 1694-95. Higgins-Biddle notes that Locke‟s poor health left him feeling, in his own words, like “a prisoner within doors” (Corr. 1857, v. 285; see Higgins-Biddle 1999a, xvi). Along with his common routine, Locke chose to pass the time by focusing on the beliefs and practices of Christianity. Higgins-Biddle continues, “This issue led Locke through that winter to pore over his Bibles, collect extensive notes, and finally to write The Reasonableness of Christianity” (1999a, xvi). In his Second Vindication of the Reasonableness of Christianity, Locke describes his decision to write this text during that long winter: “The Controversy that made so much noise and heat amongst some of the dissenters, coming one day accidentally into my mind, drew me, by degrees, into a stricter and

3 For more insight on Locke‟s specific doctrinal commitments, see his Paraphrase and Notes on the Epistles of St Paul (1987). 4 With specific reference to Locke‟s belief, or lack thereof, in the Trinity—a particularly important matter for the charge of Socinianism—Higgins-Biddle writes, “[Locke‟s] views in regard to the Trinity remain unknown. Locke was not a professional theologian and had little sympathy for intricate and detailed systems of theology. Perhaps he never formulated definite conclusions about such doctrines” (1999a, lxxiii). In “Infallibility,” Locke writes that even the Trinity must be understood only by the clear words of Scripture: “Whoever attempts to explain the trinity of persons in the divine nature in words other than those in which God has revealed it brings not so much light to the Scripture as darkness.” Along with the dual nature of Christ and other attributes of God, he concludes, “Whatever it is that impedes us in these matters, it is certainly not the obscurity of the words but the magnitude of the matters themselves and the weakness of our minds” (1661-62/1997, 208). Marshall argues that it is “highly probable” that Locke‟s lack of discussion about the Trinity in the Reasonableness shows that Locke was “consciously willing to give succor to the unitarian side in the Unitarian Controversy, albeit anonymously” (1994, 413).

203 more thorough inquiry into the question about justification” (1697/1812, vii. 186-87; see Higgins-Biddle 1999a, xvi). As Higgins-Biddle explains, this controversy surrounded “the division of the recently united Nonconformist communities” (1999a, xvi). Not surprisingly, the debate that peaked Locke‟s interest was not simply about obscure doctrine; instead, it dealt with very concrete questions of moral agency and decision making.5 “What concerned the Dissenters,” Higgins-Biddle writes, “was the means by which they could preserve human freedom and responsibility while maintaining that God alone saved persons by his grace through faith” (1999a, xvii). Locke‟s focus, therefore, is not only on figuring out what the Bible says about the doctrine of justification, but also on what the Bible says about the way in which justified Christians are to live in obedience to God‟s moral law. The Reasonableness was published in 1695; however, the first edition only began the familiar process of changes that Locke would make for subsequent editions.6 Higgins-Biddle notes that the changes made to Locke‟s own copy of the first edition “include chapter-divisions, marginal subject-headings, an index, alterations in wording, changes in formal features, and significant additions to the text” (1999b, cxx). Shortly after the appearance of the first edition, John Edwards made public his own criticism of the religious views of the Reasonableness. Locke responded to the criticism, furthering the interest in his work, with his Vindication, which was published in November 1695. The second edition of the Reasonableness was likely published during the first half of 1696, and, as Higgins-Biddle notes, “The second edition was sold with copies of the Vindication” (1999b, cxxiv). As the debate with Edwards continued, Locke eventually added a Second Vindication in March 1697.7 Eventually, all three works by

5 Speaking of the Reasonableness and the Paraphrase, Marshall writes, “Concern with motivating men to be virtuous was prominent among [Locke‟s] reasons to compose these works” (1994, 319). 6 Higgins-Biddle notes the decision by Locke to publish the Reasonableness anonymously. However, Higgins- Biddle thinks reasons for this decision can only be “suggested.” He considers five such reasons: “First, it can be argued that Locke was by nature a secretive man.” Second is the “possibility that Locke feared prosecution for heresy.” Third, Locke may have wanted “to protect the Essay from prejudice aroused by his heretical theology,” or vice versa. “A fourth hypothesis…is that Locke felt the Reasonableness to be in some way contrary to his Essay.” Finally, “Both [Locke‟s] emphasis on the sufficiency of the Bible and his dislike of human traditions could logically direct him to stress the biblical authority of his message and play down his interpretive role by retaining anonymity” (1999a, xxxix-xli). 7 By 1697, the charges brought by Edwards led to the Reasonableness being “reported by the Grand Jury of Middlesex to the civil magistrate as contributing to Arianism, Socinianism, atheism, and Deism,” Higgins-Biddle notes (1999a, xlix). “Although there is no record of further judicial action,” Higgins-Biddle continues, “up to the time of Locke‟s death critics of the Reasonableness largely repeated the charges that Edwards had first raised” (1999a, xlix).

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Locke were published in French by the same person who translated the Essay. English publications continued after Locke‟s death, beginning with the version in the Works of 1714.

2.2 Authority of Scripture As mentioned, the Reasonableness emerged out of Locke‟s intense study of Scripture and theological systems. Concluding that the simplicity of the former should be followed instead of the complexity of the latter, the work is grounded in the pages of the Christian Bible for its many claims about human nature, the path to justification, and moral reasoning. Locke indicates his approach in the Preface, “The little Satisfaction and Consistency is to be found in most of the Systems of Divinity I have met with, made me betake my self to the sole Reading of the Scripture (to which they all appeal) for the understanding the Christian Religion” (1694-95/1999, 3). As in the Essay, Locke refuses to value the mere opinions of others, particularly in reaching conclusions about ethics. Instead, the clearest ground for the probability needed in the formation of moral beliefs comes from God himself, through the revelation of Scripture.8 For this reason, Locke wishes to use Scripture alone in this undertaking of determining the theological and moral teachings of Christianity. Higgins-Biddle recognizes this “aversion to authorities” in the Reasonableness, which is carried over from the Essay: “In the Reasonableness this aversion to authorities bears a special significance, for it was not to the exercises of his own sense or reason that he repaired, but to (what he considered) the infallible authority of a divinely inspired Bible” (1999a, xix).9 While the previous discussion of the Essay makes clear that no simple division can be made between revelation and reason—as the latter remains the constant guide in all reflection—it is true that Locke is primarily focused on the way in which reason can, in his words, examine Scripture in search of truth. While he will eventually discuss the limitations of unaided human reason and the usefulness of turning to revelation to form beliefs about a variety of subjects, the majority of the Reasonableness is grounded in a close reading of Scripture, particularly the Gospels‟ account of the teachings of Jesus and the later descriptions of the preaching of the Apostles.

8 In the Letter, Locke writes, “I cannot but wonder at the extravagant arrogance of those men who think that they themselves can explain things necessary to salvation more clearly than the Holy Ghost, the eternal and infinite wisdom of God” (1686/2005, 57). 9 For Locke‟s criticism of Jews, Catholics, and Muslims concerning a reliance on tradition, see his entry titled “Traditio” (1682/2006, 393). See also his treatment of tradition in his Essays on the Law of Nature (1663-64/1997, 91-93).

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2.3 Fall, Obstacles to Obedience, and the Law of Faith In order to understand the doctrine of salvation and subsequent moral agency, the subjects of the Reasonableness, Locke believes it necessary to discover that from which humans need to be saved, requiring a discussion of the doctrine of sin and its emergence into earthly existence. He notes “two Extreams” often held in the interpretation of the Fall of Adam. He writes, For whilst some Men would have all Adam‟s Posterity doomed to Eternal Infinite Punishment for the Transgression of Adam, whom Millions had never heard of, and no one had authorized to transact for him, or be his Representative; this seemed to others so little consistent with the Justice or Goodness of the Great and Infinite God, that they thought there was no Redemption necessary, and consequently that there was none, rather than admit of it upon a Supposition so derogatory to the Honour and Attributes of that Infinite Being; and so made Jesus Christ nothing but the Restorer and Preacher of pure Natural Religion; thereby doing violence to the whole tenor of the New Testament [1694-95/1999, 5]. Locke clearly wants to avoid the temptation of either of these positions. While he will continue to insist on difficulties facing humans after the Fall, he will not want to give up on the natural abilities still present for individuals, particularly through the divine gift of reason.10 He finds this middle ground, he believes, in the “plain direct meaning of the words and phrases” of Scripture, which he describes as “a Collection of Writings designed by God for the Instruction of the illiterate bulk of Mankind” (1694-95/1999, 6; see also 169-71).11 If the Bible is approached in this way, Locke believes the meaning of the Fall becomes clear. “To one that thus unbiassed reads the Scriptures,” he contends, “what Adam fell from, is visible, was the state of perfect Obedience” (1694-95/1999, 6). As a result of this Fall, Locke contends: “Adam being thus

10 While never accepting the Augustinian doctrine of original sin, Marshall notes that Locke “did come to place a heavier stress upon man‟s sinfulness” when reading Paul and composing the Paraphrases (1994, 433). 11 In a manuscript addition that cites Maimonides, Locke refers to the “most Idiotical sort of men” as the proper audience of Scripture (1694-95/1999, 8). Once again, however, it must be remembered that Locke places himself in this category of humans with obstructed capabilities of understanding. And, as we will see, even the most learned philosophers the world has ever seen were unable to demonstrate ethics through unassisted reason, showing again the breadth of those in need of revelation‟s assistance. The quote given from Maimonides is, “For this reason the law speaks according to the language of the sons of men, because it is the most commodious and easie way of initiating and teaching Children, women and the common people, who have not ability to apprehend things according to the very nature and essence of them.” Higgins-Biddle connects the issue to toleration: “Unlike Hobbes, Locke did not affirm the simplicity of that gospel so that the leaders of society could control the masses. He sought to justify a policy of toleration precisely because it required faith of everyone, leaders and followers alike. While Locke would have admitted that some persons are, by virtue of their opportunities or capacities, more rational than others, he held everyone to be on an equal basis in the concerns of morality and salvation. Such matters were, for Locke, within the province of probability and faith, not in the realm of knowledge” (1999a, cvii). For his claim that the Reasonableness provides the “cornerstone of [Locke‟s] life‟s principal effort” of toleration, see Higgins-Biddle 1999a, cxiii-cxv.

206 turned out of Paradise, and all his Posterity born out of it, the consequence of it was, that all men should die, and remain under Death for ever, and so be utterly lost” (1694-95/1999, 11).12 While this significantly alters the state of human existence, requiring the Resurrection of Jesus to return life to humanity, Locke does not believe that it necessarily leads to the punishment of “perpetual exquisite Torments” in Hell (1694-95/1999, 7-8). The “ceasing to be” of death, according to Locke‟s direct style of interpretation, means “the losing of all actions of Life and Sense” (1694- 95/1999, 8). Perhaps more significantly, Locke also rejects the notion that the consequences of the Fall include “a state of necessary sinning” (1694-95/1999, 8). He writes, “If by Death threatned to Adam were meant the Corruption of Humane Nature in his Posterity, ‟tis strange that the New Testament should not any where take notice of it, and tell us, that Corruption seized on all because of Adam‟s Transgression, as well as it tells us so of Death. But as I remember every ones sin is charged upon himself only” (1694-95/1999, 9). Later, using the teachings of Jesus, he concludes, “Here is no Condemnation of any one, for what his fore-father Adam had done…. And he tells his Disciples, that when he comes again with his Angels in the Glory of his Father, that then he will render to every one according to his works, Mat. XVI. 27” (1694-95/1999, 11). While Locke will not join others in enlarging the consequences of the Fall to eternal torments or complete corruption, he does recognize certain implications beyond the necessary death of Adam‟s offspring. He notes, “Paradise was a place of Bliss as well as Immortality…. But when Man was turned out, he was exposed to the drudgery, anxiety, and frailties of this Mortal Life” (1694-95/1999, 9). This may seem to suggest that while later humans may not be corrupt as a result of Adam‟s sin, they are being punished for the sin of Adam through the loss of immortality. Locke, however, disagrees. He claims that immortality and life without suffering are “not due to the Posterity of Adam more than to any other Creature”; as a result, lacking these gifts should not be viewed as punishment. Despite the “Frailties and ordinary Miseries” of the current human condition, such an existence remains “better than no Being,” meaning that the opportunity to live, even after the Fall, is still to be considered a gift from the gracious God, no matter what obstacles stand in the way of perfection (1694-95/1999, 10).

12 For more on Locke‟s position concerning the Fall, see MS Locke c. 27, fo. 101 (1999, 198-200). See also Locke‟s notes on “Home ante et post Lapsum,” where he discusses the way in which sin “by degrees made a distinction of conditions…which by fashion and example spread the corruption which has so prevailed over mankind” (1693/1997, 320-21).

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Locke has presented many obstacles that face humans in their current condition, but what exactly is the purpose of human existence that these obstacles keep individuals from reaching? Once again turning to Scripture, Locke claims that the divine purpose for humans is to live “in an exact Conformity to the Law of God,” which Locke later describes as a “Law of Reason, or as it is called of Nature,” echoing the presentation of God‟s moral law in the Essay (1694-95/1999, 13). Again recalling the earlier work on knowledge, Locke will even refer to the obedience to God‟s law as the “great business” of human beings (1694-95/1999, 130).13 Significantly, Locke connects the following of this law to political stability. If the law is “dispensed with in any Point,” he notes, “Government and Order are at an end” (1694-95/1999, 14).14 Using a distinction similar to the one emphasized in the Essay, Locke acknowledges a theoretical possibility of attaining righteousness through perfectly following God‟s law. He is convinced, however, of the actual impossibility of completely obeying this divine law.15 Citing familiar passages from the work of Paul, Locke notes the actual condition that faces humans: the universal presence of sin. He later contends that all individuals “being Sinners, and Transgressors of the Law, and so unjust; are all liable to Condemnation” (1694-95/1999, 134). Because of this sin, Locke claims, there can be no escape from the punishment of death without the forgiveness of sin, which can be discovered by the “Law of Faith” that is presented in the New Testament as an alternative to the “Law of Works” given to Moses (1694-95/1999, 16, 18). Before turning to the law of faith that is now needed for all humans in their pursuit of moral obedience, Locke gives a description of the law of works. While the Mosaic Law was “not given to all Mankind,” Locke insists that “under the Law of Works is comprehended also the Law of Nature, knowable by Reason, as well as the Law given by Moses” (1694-95/1999, 18). He is quick to note that not all aspects of the law given to Moses are also part of the natural

13 Elsewhere, using the same phrase, Locke notes the connection to religion, arguing that “the duty of a good life…is acknowledged to be the great business of true religion” (1688/1997, 305). Yolton and Yolton contend that for Locke, “Virtue is the health of the soul” (1989, 18). And speaking specifically of Locke‟s thoughts on education, “Education literally humanizes the child by bringing him to reason and virtue, the defining marks of man and of that community of mankind which was so important for Locke” (1989, 25). 14 Yolton and Yolton write, “A basic principle for civil society (for government) is that it must be consistent with natural law” (1989, 20). 15 Higgins-Biddle stresses the distinction in relationship to revelation: “[Locke] never relinquished his confidence that natural law could be known; to do so would not only have denied the foundations of government set forth in Two Treatises, but would also have eliminated the basis of human sinfulness upon which revelation was justified. Nor did he limit the capacity to apprehend the law of nature to any intellectual, social, or economic class, for all rational creatures had to be capable of apprehending that law in order to be judged responsible: and yet all had to fail so that the universal necessity of the Christian revelation could be justified” (1999a, cvii).

208 law. Some commands in the Old Testament, for example, were given specifically to the Jews, particularly those commands that “concerned the outward Worship, or Political Constitution of the Jews, and is called the Ceremonial and Judaical Law.” These context-specific laws are placed in opposition to the “Moral part of” the law, which, Locke argues, “being conformable to the Eternal Law of Right, is of Eternal Obligation, and therefore remains in force still under the Gospel” (1694-95/1999, 19). The moral emphasis of God‟s law of human action is clearly of utmost significance in Locke‟s treatment of the purpose of human existence. He later clarifies the universally binding nature of the moral law: “The Moral part of Moses‟s Law, or the Moral Law, (which is every where the same, the Eternal Rule of Right) obliges Christians and all men every where, and is to all men the standing Law of Works” (1694-95/1999, 20). In order to achieve righteousness by this moral law of works, Locke argues, individuals must avoid “any remission or abatement” from God‟s directives for human action (1694- 95/1999, 17). Because of the universal presence of sin, Locke clearly believes that no human is any longer capable of achieving such moral perfection through their own abilities alone.16 Speaking of all individuals after the Fall of Adam, Locke argues, “If they could have attained [righteousness] by their own Performances, there would have been no need of this Gracious Allowance” of the law of faith (1694-95/1999, 130). It is precisely because unaided human faculties are no longer actually capable of leading to the perfect fulfillment of the moral law that divine intervention becomes necessary in order to allow humans to fulfill their purpose as creatures of God. The law of faith, therefore, becomes vital in understanding the process of moral discovery. Describing the difference between the law of works and the law of faith when it comes to the capabilities of individual obedience, Locke writes, The Law of Works makes no allowance for failing on any occasion. Those that obey are Righteous, those that in any part disobey are unrighteous, and must not expect Life the Reward of Righteousness. But by the Law of Faith, Faith is allowed to supply the defect of full Obedience; and so the Believers are admitted to Life and Immortality as if they were Righteous [1694-95/1999, 19]. The goal remains the same—regaining the eternal life forfeited by Adam. The means to the goal remains the same—righteousness through obedience to God‟s eternal moral law. With the recognition of human fallibility, however, comes a path to righteousness that provides the

16 See Locke‟s use of Romans 3 in MS Locke c. 27, fo. 102, (1999, 200).

209 judgment of righteousness even when disobedience occurs. In Locke‟s words, “God Justifies a man for Believing, though by his Works he be not Just or Righteous, i.e. though he came short of Perfect Obedience to the Law of Works” (1694-95/1999, 21; see also 110). Justification occurs, Locke argues, by being as obedient to the moral law as possible, and then by assenting to certain beliefs required by God when complete conformity to the law is lacking. Locke then provides the obvious next step in the discussion: “We must therefore examine and see what God requires us to believe now under the Revelation of the Gospel” (1694-95/1999, 22). Locke takes it for granted that most individuals recognize the one God, as a result of exercising their own rational faculties in discovering the basic tenets of natural religion. Obviously, if an individual has not examined the matter closely enough to be a theist, that would be the first step in reaching the beliefs necessary for justification. Assuming one is a theist through the discovery of reason, the primary matter that will grant one the forgiveness of sins necessary for salvation concerns the person of Jesus. Locke argues, “All that was to be believed for Justification, was no more but this single Proposition; That Jesus of Nazareth was the Christ, or the Messiah” (1694-95/1999, 33).17 It is important to remember, however, that the belief alone does not guarantee justification; instead, the belief is a necessary part of the process of salvation that still rests largely on moral behavior.18 Locke immediately continues, “All, I say, that was to be believed for Justification: For…it was not all that was required to be done for Justification” (1694-95/1999, 33). Nevertheless, the belief in Jesus as the Messiah remains the proposition of faith that “distinguished Believers from Unbelievers” in the New Testament— both in the teachings of Jesus and in the preaching of the Apostles after the Resurrection and Ascension.19 It is also this belief that gives individuals the immortality lost in the Fall. Noting the conversion of the thief at the Crucifixion, Locke writes, “For as Adam, by sin, lost Paradise;

17 For a discussion of Locke‟s view of the atonement, focused on differentiating Locke‟s position from that of early Socinians, see Higgins-Biddle 1999a, lxxi-lxxii. 18 It is also important to note the distinction between what Higgins-Biddle describes as “the fundamental articles or beliefs required to make one a Christian and secondary articles or beliefs required after one became a Christian” (1999a, xliv). Higgins-Biddle explains, “When one has become a Christian…one takes on further obligations. A Christian must believe every truth of divine revelation when he comes to know it as divinely inspired” (1999a, xxiv). This clarification assists in the refutation of the charge of Socinianism brought by John Edwards and others who argued that Locke wrongly reduced Christianity to a too limited list of beliefs. Of course, while Socinianism often did focus on a short list of fundamental beliefs, Higgins-Biddle notes, many non-Socinians were making use of the “way of fundamentals,” particularly with reference to the toleration debates with which Locke was involved (1999a, lxiv; see also lxxiii). 19 Locke provides numerous examples from the preaching of the Apostles in chapter five of the Reasonableness. In chapter nine, Locke works his way through the ministry of Jesus, emphasizing countless times that the belief in Jesus as the Messiah is all that was required to be counted a believer.

210 i.e. a state of Happy Immortality; Here the believing Thief, through his Faith in Jesus the Messiah, is promised to be put in Paradise, and so re-instated in an Happy Immortality” (1694- 95/1999, 104). Locke provides what he calls “a three-fold declaration of the Messiah,” detailing the evidence that supports the claim concerning the role of Jesus for human justification. The first declaration is found in the presence of miracles. While the Essay focused on miracles as assisting the rational faculties in the determination of a valid revelation from God, the Reasonableness uses these supernatural events to support the one proposition of faith needed for justification. Citing several passages from the Gospels, Locke argues that the miracles of Jesus were performed so that individuals would recognize him as the Messiah, so that they might satisfy the law of faith, making up for any failures encountered in the effort to obey the moral law, and be rewarded with the giving of eternal life. Locke later describes the power of miracles in the determination of the probability that Jesus was the Messiah: The Evidence of our Saviour‟s Mission from Heaven is so great, in the multitude of Miracles he did before all sorts of People; that what he delivered cannot but be received as the Oracles of God, and unquestionable Verity. For the Miracles he did were so ordered by the Divine Providence and Wisdom, that they never were, nor could be denied by any of the Enemies or Opposers of Christianity [1694- 95/1999, 143].20 The second “way of declaring the Coming of the Messiah,” Locke writes, “was by Phrases and Circumlocution, that did signifie or intimate his Coming, though not in direct words pointing out the Person” (1694-95/1999, 38). The most common phrase used was “The Kingdom of God, and of Heaven,” which Locke argues clearly implied the coming of the Messiah. Therefore, whenever Jesus or others spoke of his ministry as the coming of the Kingdom of God, Locke believes that this is clear evidence of the declaration that Jesus was in fact the Messiah. The third way of declaration was “by plain and direct words…speaking out that Jesus was [the Messiah]” (1694-95/1999, 38-39).21 Locke again cites the way the Apostles preached the Gospel after the Ascension, always focused on presenting Jesus as the Messiah. Interestingly, Locke notes, Jesus himself did not declare his role as Messiah in this third way of direct statement,

20 For a discussion of Locke‟s use of miracles, see Higgins-Biddle 1999a, cix-cxii. 21 Locke later hints at a fourth way of declaring Jesus to be the Messiah when he writes that the disciples were not only convinced of Jesus‟ identity by miracles but also by “the unblameable Life he led” (1694-95/1999, 89). He also contends that the “Life, Death, Resurrection, and Ascension…were undeniable Proofs of [Jesus] being the Messiah” (1694-95/1999, 105).

211 preferring instead to rely on miracles and indirect phrases to disclose his identity. Locke explains that this path was followed so that the entire ministry of Jesus—including the many works done as evidence that he was sent by God—could be completed. If Jesus would have openly proclaimed himself the Messiah, Locke reasons, the Jewish leaders “would have disturbed his Ministry, and hindred the Work he was about” (1694-95/1999, 41).22 Because many Jews expected the Messiah to be a political leader, Jesus also would have been perceived as a threat by the Romans, despite the fact that Jesus had no intention of creating political turmoil (1694-95/1999, 44-45, 91-92). According to Locke, it was important that Pilate judge that Jesus “was an Innocent Man, sacrificed to the Envy of the Jewish nation” (1694-95/1999, 77). In order for this to happen, Jesus could not do anything that would justify the Romans in viewing him as a danger to the political order.23 Further, many of Jesus‟ Jewish followers may “have rose up in Rebellion” if Jesus had professed to be the Messiah, once again relying on a misinterpretation of the true purpose of the Messiah (1694-95/1999, 47). Locke summarizes, Who the King was of this Kingdom, [Jesus] leaves to his miracles to point out to those who would consider what he did, and make the right use of it, now; Or to witness to those who should hearken to the Apostles hereafter, when they preached it in plain words, and called upon them to believe it, after his Resurrection, when there should be no longer room for fear that it should cause any disturbance in Civil Societies and the Government of the World. But he could not declare himself to be the Messiah, without manifest danger of Tumult and Sedition. And the miracles he did, declared it so much, that he was fain often to hide himself, and withdraw from the concourse of the People [1694-95/1999, 50-51]. While the Apostles were able to preach the proposition clearly after the Ascension, Jesus spent his years of ministry focused on miracles and the proclamation of a spiritual kingdom in order to declare himself as the Messiah. Jesus “avoided saying that he was the Messiah” through the

22 Locke highlights one significant time when Jesus did openly proclaim to be the Messiah, emphasizing that it was not to a Jew but to a Samaritan: “Our Saviour, though we hear no such thing from him in Jerusalem or Judea, or to Nicodemus, yet here to this Samaritan Woman, he in plain and direct words owns and declares, that he himself, who talked with her, was the Messiah” (1694-95/1999, 53, citing John 4). Locke also notes certain exceptions to the general secrecy once Jesus is in Jerusalem for the events of his Passion (1694-95/1999, chapter 10, especially 97- 98). 23 Higgins-Biddle uses this line of reasoning to argue, “By emphasizing the innocence of Jesus from all such [political] charges, Locke characterizes Christianity as distinct and separate from political affairs” (see Locke 1694- 95/1999, 92 n. 1). The current project clearly challenges such a conclusion. While it is important to think about the possible political implications of all of Locke‟s writing, this is one such place where no simple line of connection can be made. To do so would threaten the fundamental relationship between religion, ethics, and the political that has been clearly discovered throughout Locke‟s corpus.

212 final days of his life, Locke argues, so “that to those who would consider his Life and Death after his Resurrection, he might the more clearly appear to be so” (1694-95/1999, 77; see also 97).

2.4 Repentance: Sorrow and Moral Effort Believing that Jesus is the Messiah is clearly a necessary aspect of justification. As mentioned earlier, however, it is not the only aspect of justification. Locke argues that the practice of true believers is just as central to the overall goal of justification. This practice of Christians, Locke argues, falls under the concept of repentance, which Locke says is “as absolute a Condition of the Covenant of Grace, as Faith; and as necessary to be performed as that” (1694- 95/1999, 110). Indeed, Locke writes, “These two, Faith and Repentance; i.e. believing Jesus to be the Messiah, and a good life; are the indispensible Conditions of the New Covenant to be performed by all those, who would obtain Eternal Life” (1694-95/1999, 112). What exactly does it mean, though, to lead a good life, according to Locke? He describes the practice of repentance as including two necessary steps: What this Repentance was; which the New Covenant required as one of the Conditions to be performed by all those who should receive the Benefits of that Covenant; is plain in the Scripture, to be not only a sorrow for sins past, but (what is a Natural consequence of such sorrow, if it be real) a turning from them, into a new and contrary Life [1694-95/1999, 111]. Because of the limitations facing individuals after the Fall, it is necessary for all humans to begin with the recognition of former failures in living up to God‟s commands, expressing “sorrow for what is past” (1694-95/1999, 112). The recognition of transgression, however, is not enough. While perfect conformity to God‟s law will never be reached, the goal of obedience remains a vital condition for entrance into the Kingdom of God preached by the Messiah.24 Locke writes of the law of works and the condition of humans after the Fall, The Duties enjoyned in it were Duties still. Their Obligations had never ceased; nor a wilful neglect of them was ever dispensed with. But their past Transgressions were pardoned, to those who received Jesus, the promised Messiah, for their King; And their future slips covered, if renouncing their former Iniquities, they entred into his Kingdom, and continued his Subjects, with a steady

24 In a short work, Locke argues that the revelation of Jesus “reunited these two again, religion and morality, as the inseparable parts of the worship of God” (1698/1997, 344). Elsewhere, he contends, “To a man who believes in Jesus Christ, that he is sent from God to be the saviour of the world, the first step to orthodoxy is a sincere obedience to his law” (1698/1997, 346).

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Resolution and Endeavour to obey his Laws. This Righteousness therefore, a compleat Obedience and freedom from Sin, are still sincerely to be endeavoured after. And ‟tis no where promised, That those who persist in a wilful Disobedience to his Laws, shall be received into the eternal bliss of his Kingdom, how much soever they believe in him [1694-95/1999, 130].25 That Locke does not expect Christians to actually reach perfection in following the moral law is clear when he further describes repentance as “an hearty sorrow for our past misdeeds, and a sincere Resolution and Endeavour, to the utmost of our power, to conform all our Actions to the Law of God….[for] the remainder of our Lives” (1694-95/1999, 112). The phrase “to the utmost of our power” is significant in its recognition of limitations in the human condition. These limitations are not vanquished upon the earthly entrance into the Kingdom of God. Instead, speaking of Christians, Locke insists that they “shall have that Faith taken instead of Obedience; Where Frailty and Weakness made them transgress, and sin prevailed after Conversion in those who hunger and thirst after Righteousness (or perfect Obedience)” (1694-95/1999, 119). After enacting the consequences of the sin of Adam, “[Jesus] did not expect, ‟tis true, a Perfect Obedience void of all slips and falls: He knew our Make, and the weakness of our Constitutions too well, and was sent with a Supply for that Defect” (1694-95/1999, 120). Despite the best effort, Locke insists that perfection is not something to be attained by humans. Nevertheless, this does not remove the necessity of putting forth the effort of obedience, which Locke claims is still “no less required than their believing that Jesus was the Messiah, the King and Deliverer that was promised them” (1694-95/1999, 58). Again speaking about the central proposition of faith, “When, I say, this was all they were to Preach, I must be understood, that this was the Faith they preached; But with it they joyned Obedience to the Messiah, whom they received for their King” (1694-95/1999, 60). And arguing that “Faith without Works…is not sufficient for our Justification,” he claims, “For if they believed him to be the Messiah their King, but would not obey his Laws, and would not have him to Reign over them, they were but greater Rebels; And God would not Justifie them for a Faith that did but increase their Guilt, and oppose Diametrically the Kingdom and Design of the Messiah” (1694-95/1999, 118; see also 130-31). He continues,

25 Higgins-Biddle notes, “Although [Locke‟s] notion of faith was highly intellectual, his conclusion that the essence of Christian faith lay in a few simple propositions greatly diminished the intellectual content of his position and exposed a strongly moralistic element in his theology. If Locke‟s book had been read in the context of the Dissenters‟ controversy that occasioned it, his designation of obedience as a necessary condition of salvation might have raised the cry of „Pelagianism‟ or at least „Arminianism‟” (1999a, xxv).

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Neither indeed could it be otherwise; For Life, Eternal Life being the Reward of Justice or Righteousness only, appointed by the Righteous God (who is of purer Eyes than to behold Iniquity) to those only who had no taint or infection of Sin upon them, it is impossible that he should Justifie those who had no regard to Justice at all, whatever they believed. This would have been to encourage Iniquity, contrary to the Purity of his Nature; and to have condemned that Eternal Law of Right, which is Holy, Just, and Good; Of which no one Precept or Rule is abrogated or repealed; nor indeed can be; whilst God is an Holy, Just, and Righteous God, and Man a Rational Creature. The Duties of that Law arising from the Constitution of his very Nature, are of Eternal Obligation [1694- 95/1999, 119]. Obedience to this law sums up what Locke means when discussing the need for individuals to “perform what other Conditions were required of them by the Covenant of Grace” in order to be justified (1694-95/1999, 110). It is this law, he argues, “by which all Men shall be judged at the last day” (1694-95/1999, 119). While belief makes up for a lack of perfect obedience, the role of obedience to the law of God, taught by Jesus and the Apostles, is not abandoned in Locke‟s view of salvation. Not surprisingly, of course, the law that individuals must endeavor to obey is the moral law of God: “[Jesus] preached to the People…Morality; Clearing the Precepts of the Law from the false glosses which were received in those days; And setting forth the Duties of a good Life in their full Obligation and Extent” (1694-95/1999, 58). Turning to the Sermon on the Mount, Locke lists many of the specific moral precepts—both positive and negative—taught by Jesus: He not only forbids actual Uncleanness, but all irregular desires, upon pain of Hell-fire; Causless Divorces; Swearing in Conversation, as well as Forswearing in Judgment; Revenge; Retaliation; Ostentation of Charity, of Devotion, and of Fasting; Repetitions in Prayer; Covetousness; Worldly Care, Censoriousness: And on the other side, Commands Loving our Enemies; Doing good to those that Hate us; Blessing those that Curse us; Praying for those that despightfully use us; Patience, and Meekness under Injuries; Forgiveness; Liberality; Compassion: And closes all his particular injunctions, with this general Golden Rule, Mat. VII. 12. All things whatsoever ye would have that Men should do to you, do ye even so to them [1694-95/1999, 123]. Along with many other passages throughout the Gospels, Locke details the moral teachings of Jesus, obedience to which is the proper practice of the believer. As with the rich, young ruler, the moral teachings of Jesus will determine the validity of belief. While the command to give all that he had to the poor is specific to this one man, the purpose of the command is universal: “to try whether he truly believed [Jesus] to be the Messiah” (1694-95/1999, 127-28). The belief

215 itself will not count for justification without the moral effort that follows. In describing those invited to the wedding in a parable of Jesus, Locke writes of the three possibilities of those who hear the Gospel. First, there are those who hear the Gospel but reject it. Second, referring to the wedding garment of good works that must be worn by true believers, there are those who believe Jesus is the Messiah “but were not new clad…with a true Repentance, and Amendment of Life; Nor adorned with those Vertues, which the Apostle, Col. III. requires to be put on.” Finally, there are those who both believed the central proposition of faith “and sincerely obeyed [Jesus‟] Laws.” Locke concludes, “These three sorts are plainly designed here; whereof the last only were the Blessed, who were to enjoy the Kingdom prepared for them” (1694-95/1999, 128). Obedience to the moral law—through internal attitude, the cultivation of virtue, and the practicing of good works—is a necessary condition to fulfilling the purpose of human existence, as defined by Locke. In the revelation of the New Testament, Locke insists, are found all the principles of the moral law. He writes, “There is not, I think, any of the Duties of Morality, which [Jesus] has not some where or other, by himself and his Apostles, inculcated over and over again to his Followers in express terms” (1694-95/1999, 129). Even Paul, often remembered for preaching faith in opposition to works, highlights the necessity of true repentance and the performance of good works. If Paul ever avoided an emphasis on moral obedience, Locke reasons, it was only because he was often preaching to Jews, who already “acknowledged their Obedience due to all the Precepts of the Law” (1694-95/1999, 132). “That they may not be deceived,” Locke writes, “by mistaking the Doctrine of Faith, Grace, Free-Grace, and the Pardon and Forgiveness of Sins and Salvation by [Jesus],” Scripture constantly reminds believers that every individual, “even those who have owned him, and done Miracles in his Name,” will be judged “according to what he hath DONE in the Flesh” (1694-95/1999, 133). Recounting the many teachings of Jesus concerning the final judgment—quoting at length the passage on the separation of the sheep and goats—Locke makes clear that justification can only occur through a combination of the faith that makes up for sin and the renewed effort to obey the moral law, capable of being discovered through unaided reason but most clearly gleaned from the teachings of God‟s revelation in Scripture. Locke later summarizes his familiar view of the conditions for salvation, once again highlighting the limitations of unaided human effort in living in obedience to God‟s moral law:

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God therefore, out of his Mercy to Mankind, and for the erecting of the Kingdom of his Son, and furnishing it with Subjects out of every Kindred, and Tongue, and People, and Nation, proposed to the Children of Men, that as many of them as would believe Jesus his Son (whom he sent into the World) to be the Messiah, the promised Deliverer; And would receive him for their King and Ruler; should have all their past Sins, Disobedience, and Rebellion forgiven them: And if for the future they lived in a sincere Obedience to his Law, to the utmost of their power; the sins of Humane Frailty for the time to come, as well as all those of their past Lives, should, for his Son‟s sake, because they gave themselves up to him to be his Subjects, be forgiven them: And so their Faith, which made them be baptized into his Name; (i.e. Enroll themselves in the Kingdom of Jesus the Messiah, and profess themselves his Subjects, and consequently live by the Laws of his Kingdom) should be accounted to them for Righteousness; i.e. Should supply the defects of a scanty Obedience in the sight of God; Who counting this Faith to them for Righteousness, or Compleat Obedience, did thus Justifie, or make them Just, and thereby capable of Eternal Life [1694-95/1999, 117-18].

2.5 Limitations of Unaided Reason and the Usefulness of Revelation in Moral Reasoning Staying true to his stated approach, Locke has focused almost entirely on Scripture in determining the conditions for justification. Because sin prevents all humans from attaining righteousness—the goal of existence—through complete obedience to the moral law, God supplied the law of faith as an alternative path to eternal life. The law of faith, moreover, depends on the belief in Jesus as the Messiah, as well as the sorrow for sin and the renewed effort at moral obedience that characterize the practice of repentance. In describing the virtuous qualities and moral duties required of humans, Locke looked to the teachings of Jesus and the preaching of the Apostles. What about that claim, however, from the Essay about the possibility of a demonstration of ethics through the unaided use of rational faculties? While there is no doubt that Scripture provides moral instruction, it would certainly be better to gain the certain knowledge of rational demonstration than to depend on the probability gained through a reliance on divine revelation. Locke finally turns to this issue in the penultimate chapter of the Reasonableness, providing a more detailed explanation of the general view put forth in the Essay concerning the limitations of reason and the usefulness of revelation in the process of moral reasoning.26

26 Not surprisingly, not all scholars would support the task of reading the Essay and Reasonableness together. Waldron notes, “I know we are supposed to be very careful about the continuity between the Essay and the Two Treatises, on the one hand, and the sober picture that is painted of „human reason unassisted‟ in the Reasonableness of Christianity, on the other. John Dunn says it is „historically inept to see the Essay as implying the

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In keeping with the overall purpose of the work, Locke addresses the capabilities and limitations of natural reason through a continued discussion of justification. If the law of faith is required for justification, he wonders, what is the fate of those who never hear the Gospel message? Locke contends—using Scripture as his guide—that God will judge individuals only on the basis of what is provided to them. If they hear the message of Jesus and the preaching of repentance, they are expected to fulfill the law of faith in the manner so far described. For those “to whom the Promise of the Messiah never came, and so were never in a capacity to believe or reject that Revelation,” God only expects what their natural reason can reveal to them (1694- 95/1999, 139). The expectations, however, are significant. As seen in the Essay, Locke believes that natural reason can reveal the existence of God, here described as “Good and Merciful,” the “Author and Father” of all (1694-95/1999, 139, 140). Of course, natural reason reveals much more than the mere existence of God; it also reveals the law of nature, which Locke once again describes as “the eternal, immutable Standard of Right” (1694-95/1999, 140). With knowledge of this law—the obedience to which is the path to righteousness—Locke ponders the question of why there was need for Jesus to enter the world. At the most basic level, Locke‟s answer is that the decision to send Jesus rests in the “Wisdom of God,” which humans are unable to “see” thanks to “our short views and narrow understandings” (1694-95/1999, 141). On a more practical level, however, Locke notes, “The great and many Advantages we receive by the coming of Jesus the Messiah, will shew that it was not without need, that he was sent into the World” (1694-95/1999, 142). Not surprisingly, the need for Jesus highlights the distinction between the theoretical possibility of reaching righteousness through the rational discovery of the law of nature and the actual limitations facing humans in their current condition. Locke contends, “Though the Works of Nature, in every part of them, sufficiently Evidence a Deity; Yet the World made so little use of their Reason, that they saw him not” (1694-95/1999, 143).

Reasonableness of Christianity or indeed the Reasonableness as implying the Essay.‟ The Essay was launched with an aspiration that, by the time the Reasonableness was written, Locke had come to see as impossible of fulfillment, so there is in some sense a dynamic rather than a static relation between them. Still, as Dunn also points out, Locke published editions of the Essay after as well as before writing the Reasonableness. We have seen that many of the doubts that surface finally in the Reasonableness are adumbrated in the Essay.” Waldron then notes a later passage from Dunn: “Since Locke wrote the Reasonableness at least in part after two editions of the Essay had been published and proceeded to complete two further editions of the Essay in his own lifetime, he must have regarded the implications of the two works as compatible” (Waldron 2002, 99; see Dunn 1969, 192). As will be clear throughout my discussion of the Reasonableness, I join Locke in viewing much of his treatise on Christianity as compatible with the Essay, particularly the fundamental distinction concerning the capabilities and limitations of human reason, and the subsequent usefulness of revelation, in the process of moral discovery.

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As for what kept humans from using their reason to discover the path to God, Locke mentions some of the obstacles that faced individuals prior to the revelation of Jesus. “Sense and Lust blinded their minds in some; And a careless Inadvertency in others; And fearful Apprehensions in most…gave them up into the hands of their Priests, to fill their Heads with false Notions” (1694-95/1999, 143). While not relating the obstacles directly to the sin of Adam, Locke describes the human condition before the coming of Jesus as a “state of Darkness and Ignorance of the true God” (1694-95/1999, 143). At this time, he continues, no assistance could “be had or hoped for from Reason; which could not be heard” (1694-95/1999, 143). Only the Israelites, Locke contends, held and practiced “the Belief and Worship of One God,” and they depended on revelation to reach their religious commitments. The Greek philosophers, whom Locke recognizes as the greatest thinkers of the age, were mired in superstition, keeping even those who promoted monotheism from a true worship of the one God (1694-95/1999, 144). Again, while the law of nature does provide the tools necessary for righteousness without further assistance, the obstacles to success on this path required the assistance of Jesus in order to reach the goal of human existence. It was “in this state of Darkness and Error, in reference to the True God,” Locke writes, that “our Saviour found the World” (1694-95/1999, 145). Locke continues, “But the clear Revelation he brought with him, dissipated this Darkness; made the One Invisible True God known to the World” (1694-95/1999, 145). It was not only the “Knowledge of one God; Maker of all things” that humans were lacking prior to the coming of Jesus. “A clear knowledge of their Duty,” Locke writes, was also “wanting to Mankind” (1694-95/1999, 147). Religion before Jesus, Locke contends, often sought to separate itself from moral duty. He writes, All Men indeed, under pain of displeasing the Gods, were to frequent the Temples: Every one went to their Sacrifices and Services: But the Priests made it not their business to teach them Virtue…. Lustrations and Processions were much easier than a clean Conscience, and a steady course of Virtue; And an expiatory Sacrifice, that attoned for the want of it, was much more convenient, than a strict and holy Life. No wonder then, that Religion was every where distinguished from, and preferred to Virtue [1694-95/1999, 147]. Along with missing the true God, this unwillingness to discover true morality kept natural religion, Locke argues, from being “taken care of by the force of Natural Reason” (1694- 95/1999, 148). If reason were doing all that it could to illumine natural religion, there would not only be awareness of God but also awareness of the moral duties God demands from individuals.

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Once again, apart from the Israelites who depended on revelation, it was the philosophers who were best using natural reason to discover the moral life. Although morality was “cultivated with some care, by some of the Heathen Philosophers,” the majority of people were led astray by the religious priests. He continues, “Few went to the Schools of the Philosophers, to be instructed in their Duties; And to know what was Good and Evil in the Actions” (1694-95/1999, 147). And yet even the philosophers were unable to truly delineate the demands of the moral law. In his clearest statement on reason‟s quest for moral knowledge yet, Locke concedes, “It should seem by the little that has hitherto been done in it, That ‟tis too hard a task for unassisted Reason, to establish Morality in all its parts upon its true foundations; with a clear and convincing light” (1694-95/1999, 148). Adding some familiar obstacles, Locke notes, Experience shews that the knowledge of Morality, by meer natural light, (how agreeable soever it be to it) makes but slow progress, and little advance in the World. And the reason of it is not hard to be found in Men‟s Necessities, Passions, Vices, and mistaken Interests; which turn their thoughts another way. And the designing Leaders, as well as following Herd, find it not to their purpose to imploy much of their Meditations this way. Or whatever else was the cause, ‟tis plain in fact, that humane reason unassisted, failed Men in its great and Proper business of Morality. It never from unquestionable Principles, by clear deductions, made out an entire Body of the Law of Nature” [1694-95/1999, 149- 50].27 Speaking of the “intricate deductions of Reason” necessary for the demonstration of ethics through the rational faculties alone, Locke writes, “Such trains of reasonings the greatest part of Mankind have neither leisure to weigh; nor, for want of Education and Use, skill to judge of” (1694-95/1999, 148; see also 157). Once again, Locke is not making much of an intellectually elitist statement, as he continues, “We see how unsuccessful in this, the attempts of Philosophers were before our Saviour‟s time. How short their several Systems came of the perfection of a true and compleat Morality is very visible” (1694-95/1999, 148-49).28 Despite the diligence of the

27 After citing this passage, Laslett once again stresses what he sees as inconsistency in Locke: “This scepticism about natural law and about reason itself contrasts strangely once again with the easy confidence of Two Treatises. In this mood Locke doubted the efficacy of reason not simply because it had failed to demonstrate morality, but also because men obeyed it so little. In this particular, then, the Lockeian attitude led to the doubt and self-searching of which we now have so much evidence. But elsewhere it led to the comfortable certainties of eighteenth-century thought.” Drawing “a distinction between the philosophy and the attitude of Locke” once again, in my mind, misses the benefits of reading Locke comprehensively, rather than compartmentalizing his work, as Laslett seems intent on doing (Laslett 1988, 89). 28 It is important to stress once again that the “greatest part of mankind” includes Locke himself. Ashcraft notes that believing “that Locke unquestionably accepted for himself the „rationalist ethic‟ while recommending supernatural religion as a sop to lesser minds…is a patently ridiculous assumption…. Far from providing a socially defensible

220 philosophers, the difficulties facing reason—not as a direct consequence of Adam‟s sin but perhaps as a consequence of the condition of human existence after the Fall—are too much to overcome in the effort to demonstrate ethics.29 Certain knowledge, while theoretically possible, does not seem actually likely, given the state in which humans find themselves.30 As in the Essay, Locke immediately contends that the best form of assistance for reason in the discovery of moral rules is revelation.31 He contends, “Whatsoever should thus be universally useful, as a standard to which Men should conform their Manners, must have its Authority either from Reason or Revelation” (1694-95/1999, 52). Only these sources can provide the authority necessary for ordering human agency. Because reason has been incapable of determining a comprehensive presentation of morality on its own, God chose to reveal moral truths through Scripture. Locke writes, “And ‟tis at least a surer and shorter way, to the Apprehensions of the vulgar, and mass of Mankind, that one manifestly sent from God, and coming with visible Authority from him, should as a King and Law-maker tell them their Duties; and require their Obedience; Than leave it to the long, and sometimes intricate deductions of Reason, to be made out of them” (1694-95/1999, 148).32 Locke later stresses the simplicity of the commands given in Scripture, which makes the claims of revelation more readily accessible to the masses: “All the Duties of Morality lye there clear, and plain, and easy to be understood”

assignment of a rationalistic ethic to the upper class…Locke defends, as his own position, the simplicity of Christianity” (1987, 252-53). 29 Strauss argues that the “obscurity of the natural law cannot be explained by the Fall.” Instead, quoting Locke, he says, “The diversity of men‟s opinions about the natural law is due to the fact that that law „is not easy to know.‟” I would agree that the natural law is not only clouded by vice, but I would also contend that the Fall—understood simply as the imperfect nature of embodied humans—must not be reduced to its effects on “vicious and dull-witted men.” For example, as Locke notes, the Fall could also have implications related to the amount of “leisure” time that people can spend in devotion to study (see Strauss 1958, 498). Michael Rabieh also notes the emphasis that Locke placed on knowledge of God in one‟s endeavor for knowledge of the natural law. Surely lack of clarity of knowledge of God is a consequence of the Fall in Locke‟s mind; therefore, the Fall does necessarily obscure the natural law for every individual. Rabieh continues, “Even had the ancients known „all the moral precepts of the gospel,‟ their ignorance of God as a lawmaker would have prevented them from knowing the law of nature” (1991, 945; see also Moore 1980, 62; Dunn 1969, 115; Simmons 1992, 30; and Ashcraft 1987, 37, 236, 255). 30 Marshall recognizes the distinction when he writes, “Locke had thus argued in the Reasonableness that men had lacked a certain knowledge of all of the principles of morality before Christ, but he had not depicted men as unable in theory to gain such knowledge” (1994, 439). 31 Moore continues his discussion of the moral truths that should be “according to reason,” but in effect are “above reason” by saying: “In most cases [of moral instruction], in the view of the Reasonableness reason has failed and there is thus a need for revelation and assent” (1980, 65; see also Ashcraft 1987, 252). 32 The issue of authority will be discussed further below. Simmons explains well the foundation of Locke‟s emphasis on the unique authority of God and the subsequent human obligation of obedience: “Mortal lawgivers can be powerful and impose terrible sanctions; they can also be extremely wise and virtuous. But they cannot claim to have created us or to have a creator‟s property in us. If our obligation to obey God stems from His right of creation, there will be no (possible objectionable) earthly parallel obligations” (1992, 30).

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(1694-95/1999, 158-59).33 “Another great advantage received by our Savior,” Locke argue, “is the great incouragement he brought to a virtuous and pious Life” (1694-95/1999, 160). Not only did Jesus present moral rules in a clear way; he also gave the motivation to live ethically, as a result of his teaching on an afterlife where virtue will be rewarded. The “exceeding and immortal weight of Glory” encourages moral living much better than the systems of the philosophers, which could only present “the beauty of Virtue” (1694-95/1999, 162). This hope for “another Life,” Locke argues, is the “foundation, and upon this only, Morality stands firm, and may defy all competition” (1694-95/1999, 163). The benefits of revelation in the discovery and implementation of morality extend not only to current human existence but to the ultimate, otherworldly end of human nature. The final benefit of the revelation of God through Jesus mentioned by Locke is “the promise of assistance” that Jesus offers (1694-95/1999, 163). As long as “we do what we can”—that is, put forth our utmost effort in obeying God‟s law— “[Jesus] will give us his Spirit to help us to do what, and how we should” (1694-95/1999, 163). Along with a clear presentation of the moral law and motivation to follow God‟s moral commands, the assistance that comes from the Spirit when natural abilities fail is evidence of the advantages of revelation in the process of moral reasoning and agency. Locke writes, “To a Man under the difficulties of his Nature, beset with Temptations, and hedged in with prevailing Customs; ‟tis no small encouragement to set himself seriously on the courses of Virtue, and practice of true Religion, That he is from a sure hand, and an almighty arm, promised assistance to support and carry him through” (1694-95/1999, 164). Even with the emphasis on spiritual assistance and an afterlife, it is important to remember that, for Locke, the claims made by Jesus in the revelation of Scripture do not conflict with the discoveries that are theoretically capable of being reached by reason. While Jesus chose to present morality through revelation, Locke contends, the “Law of Morality…given us in the New Testament” is “conformable to that of Reason” (1694-95/1999, 153). Referring to the shortcomings of the philosophers before the coming of Jesus, Locke notes, “And if, since that, the Christian Philosophers have much outdone them; yet we may observe, that the first knowledge of the truths they have added, are owing to Revelation: Though as soon as they are

33 As early as 1661 or 1662, Locke wrote of the clarity of moral guidance in the Scripture: “There are other things in Holy Writ, things most necessary to salvation, so clear and unambiguous that virtually nobody can doubt them, for to hear is to understand them. Such are the principal duties of a Christian man—justice, chastity, charity, and benevolence—which certainly have little need of an interpreter” (1661-62/1997, 208).

222 heard and considered, they are found to be agreeable to Reason; and such as can by no means be contradicted” (1694-95/1999, 149). Far from supporting some sort of fideism that works in opposition to reason, Locke promotes the full use of rational faculties in a game of giving and asking of reasons that may rely on certain claims made by revelation—claims that can be seen to conform with the discoveries of reason.34 After all, “Every one may observe a great many truths which he receives at first from others, and readily assents to, as consonant to reason; which he would have found it hard, and perhaps beyond his strength to have discovered himself.” He continues, “Native and Original truth, is not so easily wrought out of the Mind, as we who have it delivered, ready dug and fashon‟d into our hands, are apt to imagine” (1694-95/1999, 149). If so many of our ideas are first discovered via an external source, as Locke contends, why should revelation not be judged a proper source for certain moral ideas? At least revelation, if determined valid through the judgment of the mind, carries with it the obligation of the divine lawgiver, unlike the various systems of philosophers and religious leaders that lack such authority (1694-95/1999, 150-51).35 Many of the philosophical and political claims for human behavior before the coming of Jesus were properly guided, Locke concedes, by “Reason and her Oracles; which contain nothing but Truth.” Nevertheless, “Some parts of that Truth lye too deep for our Natural Powers easily to reach, and make plain and visible to mankind, without some Light from above to direct them” (1694-95/1999, 155). In order to provide this divine stamp on moral rules, Jesus turned to the authoritative voice of revelation, which, according to Locke, presents a more complete moral framework than any previous thinkers were able to discover: “He that shall collect all the Moral Rules of the Philosophers, and compare them with those contained in the New Testament, will find them to come short of the Morality delivered by our Saviour, and taught by his Apostles; A College made up for the most part of ignorant, but inspired Fishermen” (1694-95/1999, 150).36 There are other advantages to revelation when

34 Marshall contends that Locke presents fideism, because “most men would have to accept their morality from the Gospel” (1994, 439). If fideism implies conflict between faith and reason, or even separation of faith from reason, Marshall‟s conclusion is unconvincing, given Locke‟s continued emphasis on rational faculties throughout the Reasonableness. Dunn claims that “fideist voluntarism” is precisely the position developed in the Reasonableness, as opposed to the “rationalist position” of the Essay (1969, 188). Such a radical divide between these two works, I would argue, is untenable. 35 Locke discusses the need for authority in the task of moral obligation in “Of Ethic in General” (1686-88/1997, 297-304). 36 Noting the political implications, Laslett writes, “Although the laws of the rational heathens had enough of natural virtue to „hold societies together,‟ the holy scriptures, rationally interpreted, were to be used almost as sources of empirically verified facts for moral and political purposes” (1988, 88).

223 compared to the systems of the philosophers. Unlike many earlier thinkers, Locke argues, Jesus and the Apostles were tempted…not to mix (as we find in that of all the Sects of Philosophers, and other Religions) any Conceits; any wrong Rules; any thing tending to their own by- interest, or that of a Party; in their Morality. No tang of prepossession or phansy; No footsteps of Pride or Vanity; No touch of Ostentation or Ambition, appears to have a hand in it. It is all pure, all sincere; Nothing too much, nothing wanting: But such a compleat Rule of Life, as the wisest Men must acknowledge, tends entirely to the good of Mankind: And that all would be happy, if all would practise it [1694-95/1999, 159]. Perhaps because of this purity, Locke is convinced that many of our modern ideas about morality depend on the revelation in Scripture, even without our recognition. He claims, A great many things which we have been bred up in the belief of from our Cradles, (and are Notions grown Familiar, and as it were Natural to us, under the Gospel,) we take for unquestionable obvious Truths, and easily demonstrable; without considering how long we might have been in doubt or ignorance of them, had Revelation been silent. And many are beholden to Revelation, who do not acknowledge it [1694-95/1999, 156]. Revelation has shaped the contours of moral reasoning since the teachings of Jesus first arrived to present the rules of ethics to all individuals. As we saw in Locke‟s mature writings on toleration—and in the works of Stout and others mentioned in the opening chapter—religious forms of reasoning are already a part of the landscape of discourse. As Locke notes, this is even the case for many people who are under the mistaken belief that revelation has added nothing to the conversation.37 Scholars have often suggested that the Reasonableness serves as Locke‟s final answer to his friends, such as Molyneux, who urged him to compose a demonstration of ethics based on human reason alone.38 Instead of producing such a demonstration, Locke makes even more

37 Waldron writes, “It may seem to us now that we can make do with a purely secular notion of human equality; but as a matter of ethical history, that notion has been shaped and fashioned on the basis of religion. That is where all the hard work was done” (2002, 242). 38 While not specifically mentioning the Reasonableness, Higgins-Biddle tackles the question of why Locke did not produce a demonstration of moral maxims: “It may well have been that [Locke] was simply unable to show, even to his own satisfaction, the existence, content, and sufficient promulgation of the divine will” (1999a, xcix). And later, “Although Locke continued to affirm his confidence in the existence of natural law, his concern to emphasize the necessity of revelation may have contributed to his refusal to pursue the grounds of natural law” (1999a, c-ci). And finally, citing Locke‟s direct response to Molyneux, “It is doubtful whether Locke could have established the law of nature upon its true foundation by sense-experience and reason alone; indeed, he seems to have vacillated between holding that a rational demonstration was required and admitting that only some degree of probability was possible and necessary. However, his inability (if it existed) in this regard was shared in his own estimation by all of the greatest philosophers, and it proved the value of revelation. Without denying that a demonstration of ethics was

224 explicit the fundamental distinction concerning moral reasoning in the Essay. That is, while human reason is theoretically capable of reaching certain knowledge of moral truths through the exercise of the rational faculties, the actual limitations experienced by individuals in the current state of existence require assistance. Offering a more theological discussion of these limitations—in light of the doctrine of justification—Locke presents revelation as the most advantageous source of assistance in ethical decision making and agency. Counted as probable by the testimony of miracles, the teachings of Jesus are given the stamp of revelation by Locke, capable of providing direct access to the maxims of the natural law, as well as motivation and spiritual assistance when individuals seek to act on the beliefs received.39 Moral and political conclusions, therefore, are often invaluably indebted to the religious forms of reasoning that shed light on the proper course of human behavior, individually and collectively.

3. Institutional Participation In chapters two and three, we saw that Locke‟s shift to liberalism, particularly in reference to religious toleration, provided the first necessary condition for the political participation that this project promotes: the freedom for a diverse set of religious citizens to hold a variety of religious beliefs and to engage in a variety of religious practices. In chapter four‟s treatment of the Essay and the discussion of the Reasonableness to this point in chapter five, we have seen the second necessary condition, namely, the justification for the use of religious forms of reasoning in moral and political decision making. While this second step is especially significant in its challenge to the views of many interpreters of Locke to the present day, it remains to be seen if Locke can be used to offer insight into the third necessary condition for my form of liberal democratic discourse. That is, does Locke provide religious citizens a vehicle for expressing their own moral and political conclusions in a way that gives these conclusions possible, he declined the invitation to perform such a task on the ground that reason „may find man‟s duty clearer and easier in revelation than in herself.‟ Whether or not Locke could have demonstrated or shown the sufficient probability of natural law, as a Christian theologian faced with the threat of Deism, he was dissuaded from trying” (1999a, cvii-cviii; see Corr. 2059, v. 595). Locke further writes to Molyneux, “I thought I saw that morality might be demonstratively made out, yet whether I am able so to make it out is another question” (Corr. 1538, iv. 524; see Wolterstorff 1996, 142). For Marshall‟s connection between the demonstration of ethics and the decision to compose the Reasonableness, see 1994, 384-88. 39 Marshall summarizes the advantages of the coming of Jesus: “For Locke, Christ had brought the promise of assistance of the Holy Spirit, the reform of Mosaic worship, and the refutation of pagan polytheism. Christ had also brought information about the content of men‟s duties and the nature of their obligation, and he had brought an encouragement to be virtuous by bringing information about rewards and punishments and testimony of the existence of an afterlife” (1994, 436).

225 meaning for the larger society?40 As seen in the first chapter, Wolin and Stout convincingly look to institutions as such vehicles used to bring the voice of individuals into the public sphere of discourse. Stout presents Christian churches as examples of such institutions in his discussion of broad-based citizens‟ organizations. While Locke is not explicitly thinking in the same terms as Wolin and Stout, I believe his discussion of Christianity in the Reasonableness and his focus on religious societies in other writings open the door for this expressive function of religious communities. The role for community that I find in Locke‟s thought certainly challengers yet another criticism often brought against him, particularly by non-Lockean liberal democrats. Wolterstorff, for example, writes, “Classical liberals, such as John Locke, focused entirely on the rights of individuals in formulating their criterion of political justice.” Trying, then, to rethink liberalism without Locke, he notes, “It is charged that liberalism denies the existence of moral agents other than individuals. That‟s unfair. Liberalism does not deny the existence of non- individual moral agents; it simply doesn‟t pay any attention to them in its theory” (1997, 164).41 Greenawalt also suggests that Locke does not value the role of community, particularly the religious community: Though many of our country‟s founders were affected by the highly individualist political theory of John Locke, recent writers have emphasized the influence of the Scottish “common sense” thinkers, who offered a more social version of the development of understanding and of fruitful human interaction. From…Jamestown and Plymouth down to the present, forms of religion have flourished that stress the critical role of the church body, whether the local congregation or a much larger institutional church [1988, 22]. For Wolterstorff and Greenawalt, while liberalism provides much that is to be admired, we must not look to Locke for an appreciation of the role of institutions in the political realm. Despite this common line of reasoning, other scholars have seen a general extension beyond the individual in Locke‟s thought. Yolton and Yolton, for example, provide a helpful description of Locke‟s balance between the individual and communal: “The individualism of his philosophy is nicely balanced by his twin concepts of the community of mankind and the civil

40 As Quinn contends, using just one concrete example, “Even if reliance on religious convictions is appropriate in answering for oneself the question of abortion, it does not follow immediately that reliance on such convictions is appropriate in determining one‟s conduct in the public political forum when the question of abortion is at issue or how one is to vote on that question” (1995, 46). 41 For his more recent attempt to rethink the liberal position on rights, extending beyond the exclusive emphasis on individualism that he sees in classical liberalism, see Wolterstorff 2008a.

226 polity. The person as a moral being belongs to both communities; both communities set the standards for and preserve the values of Locke‟s morality. Locke‟s person is, in short, a socialized and Christianized individual” (1989, 1-2).42 The mention of religious belief in the context of such a balance between the individual and communal cannot be overlooked. While it is true that most of Locke‟s writings on religion are focused on individual freedom and the personal quest for justification, Locke is quite insistent that religious believers are meant to join together, finding commonality in their religious beliefs and practices.43 It is through the commonality of religious belief and practice that we can find the expressive function of the religious society for active political participation. As a result, rather than being abandoned by Wolterstorff and Greenawalt, Locke can be embraced to support the non-Lockean liberal democrat‟s appreciation for the presence of religious institutions, whose “efforts,” Greenawalt argues, “should be deemed a healthy part of a liberal democracy” (1988, 251). Locke‟s basic defense of religious community is perhaps most clearly stated in the Letter. He writes: All men know and acknowledge that God ought to be publicly worshipped. Why otherwise do they compel one another unto the public assemblies? Men therefore constituted in this liberty are to enter into some religious society, that they may meet together, not only for mutual edification, but to own to the world that they worship God, and offer unto his divine majesty such service as they themselves are not ashamed of, and such as they think not unworthy of him, nor unacceptable to him; and finally, that by the purity of doctrine, holiness of life, and decent form of worship, they may draw others unto the love of the true religion, and perform such other things in religion as cannot be done by each private man apart [1686/2005, 29]. From this description of the religious society, it becomes quite difficult to join Milton and Milton in their claim that Locke‟s “account of religion is deeply individualistic.” They explain, “His starting point was not the church as an institution but the individual believer seeking salvation in the world to come. This means that the essential relationship is between each believer and the deity he worships, not between one believer and another” (2006, 32). For Locke, salvation in a world to come is the supreme goal, and this ultimately depends upon one‟s relationship with

42 While not stressing the importance of community, see Marshall 1994, 292-326 for an emphasis on Locke‟s “social thought,” stretching beyond an exclusive concern for the individual. 43 Nuovo mentions “Locke‟s belief that [theology] is a duty to be practiced by the individual Christian, one that cannot be fulfilled by another” (2002, xxiii). Locke‟s Protestant emphasis on the ability of each Christian to come to his own conclusions about matters of faith is fundamental, and yet, as we will see below (232 n. 56), this does not limit the Christian from seeking the opinion of others in his own personal formation of belief.

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God. Nevertheless, downplaying the centrality of one‟s moral behavior in relationships with others cannot be reconciled with Locke‟s position in the Letter and elsewhere. While providing to individuals the opportunity to worship God is clearly important to Locke, belonging to a church is also about joining with others in the effort to obey God‟s law, influencing the moral and political beliefs and practices of religious citizens.44 Locke views the institution of the church as vital in the quest for moral living that marks the Christian‟s journey to salvation. The individualism and anti-institutionalism that Milton and Milton see in Locke‟s understanding of both the church and the state is deeply flawed, ignores the Calvinist appreciation for institutions that thrives in Locke‟s writings, and only results in the misguided interpretation—for example, that of Wolin cited in chapter one—of liberalism as a political theory that seeks to silence diversity with a rhetoric of individualistic homogeneity.45 In his argument with Stillingfleet, Locke writes, “Since the actions of a private solitary life cannot reach to all the instances & purposes in its full extent. therefore men find themselves obliged, when they embrace any religion, to associate, to joyn in communion with some society, wherein that religion is professed” (1681/2002, 73). The significance of religious communities is also emphasized in The Fundamental Constitutions of Carolina. Stressing many familiar themes, including toleration, the reasonableness of Christian truth, and the means of persuasion, Locke notes the importance of the formation of religious communities: But since the natives of that place, who will be concerned in our plantations, are utterly strangers to Christianity, whose idolatry, ignorance, or mistake gives us no right to expel or use them ill; and those who remove from other parts to plant there will unavoidably be of different opinions concerning matters of religion, the liberty whereof they will expect to have allowed them, and it will not be reasonable for us, on this account, to keep them out; that civil peace may be maintained amidst the diversity of opinions, and our agreement and compact with all men may be duly and faithfully observed, the violation whereof, upon what

44 In his discussion of what he calls Locke‟s “multifaceted” conception of toleration, Waldron highlights both the importance of religious institutions—even those representing non-Christians—and the religious citizen‟s involvement in “public life”: “[Locke‟s system of toleration] includes not only refraining from attempts at the forcible impositions of beliefs, but also not prohibiting speech or gatherings or organizations, and not disqualifying those of minority religions from public life” (2002, 235). I am simply making the connection that part of the way in which the individual interests of religious citizens can be mediated to the larger sphere is precisely through the institutions that provide the ground of commonality. 45 Locke does not explicitly reference Calvin in his discussion of religious institutions, and it is true that Locke often seeks to distance himself from the reformer‟s theology, particularly concerning beliefs about predestination and the path to salvation. Despite these theological differences, however, it would not be unlikely that Locke‟s appreciation for the political function of religious communities could be influenced—either directly or indirectly—by the thought of Calvin.

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pretence soever, cannot be without great offence to Almighty God, and great scandal to the true religion that we profess; and also, that heathens, Jews, and other dissenters from the purity of Christian religion may not be scared and kept at a distance from it, but, by having an opportunity of acquainting themselves with the truth and reasonableness of its doctrines, and the peaceableness and inoffensiveness of its professors, may, by good usage and persuasion, and all those convincing methods of genteleness and meekness suitable to the rules and design of the Gospel, be won over to embrace and unfeignedly receive the truth: therefore, any seven or more persons agreeing in any religion shall constitute a church or profession, to which they shall give some name to distinguish it from others [1669/1997, 178].46 Even though Locke is mostly focused on Christian churches in his writing, it must be remembered that he values the presence of various churches within the larger Christian religion. In the Third Letter, he defended “different societies or churches, under different forms” as all part of the “one and the same religion” (1692/2005, 328). Recalling Stout‟s discussion of networking churches in the formation of large-scale institutions, Locke‟s call for a variety of churches to focus on commonality rather than difference is significant. Locke‟s emphasis on religious communities, therefore, complicates any criticism of liberal political thought as exclusively individualistic. An emphasis on institutions, however, does not yet provide the third necessary condition for active political participation. For Wolin and Stout, institutions have no inherent value for the political. That is, institutions must have certain qualities in order to truly serve an expressive function in public discourse. For Locke‟s depiction of the Christian community to provide that concrete outlet for individual interests, therefore, several features must be present. First, the religious society must provide direct and personal meaning for its members‟ lives. Second, the type of meaning that is offered must be comprehensive in nature. Third, membership in the Christian community must be based on a

46 While a constitution that promotes the truth of monotheism—and perhaps even Christian monotheism—is not exactly a foreign concept, it is yet another example of a specific proposal made (perhaps) by Locke that this project does not endorse. The Constitutions provide another example when insisting, “No person above seventeen years of age shall have any benefit or protection of the law, or be capable of any place of profit or honour, who is not a member of some church or profession” (1669/1997, 179). Nevertheless, the foundational principles of religious liberty, civil discourse, and institutional membership provide strong historical precedent for the contemporary vision of political participation that this project does endorse. Locke provides more guidance for the formation of religious societies in “Pacific Christians” and “Philanthropy,” although the latter cannot be attributed to Locke with certainty (1688/1997, 304-6; 1675/2006, 401-2). In “Philanthropy,” for example, the author emphasizes the moral significance of religious institutions: “Mankinde is supported in the way‟s of Vertue, or Vice, by the Society he is of; & the Conversation he keep‟s.” Therefore, it is important for individuals “to associate our selves, with such as are lover‟s of truth, and virtue; that we may encourage, assist, and supporte each other, in the way‟s of them; and may possibly become some help in the preserving truth, Religion, & virtue amongst us” (1675/2006, 401, 402). For the question of Locke‟s role in “Philanthropy,” see Milton and Milton 2006, 143-45.

229 reasonable and voluntary decision. And fourth, there must be a basic sense of equality present in the institution in order for all members to experience the opportunity for expression. Beginning with the notion of direct and personal meaning, it will be remembered that Wolin‟s primary critique of most forms of liberalism is the tendency of liberal thinkers— following modern social science—to envision “society” as the spontaneous driving force of humanity. The danger, according to Wolin, is that “society” remains impersonal and non- institutionalized. Therefore, it can provide no assistance in generating the kind of participation that Wolin sees as essential for genuine democracy. Locke‟s treatment of Christianity clearly avoids this danger. To be a member of the Christian community is to be a part of something that is distinct from any sort of universal image of humanity, such as “society.” The authority of the Christian faith is not an impersonal universalism. Instead, the authority for the Christian community is the person of Jesus of Nazareth. One‟s beliefs about this distinct individual and his meaning for one‟s life are what makes one a member of the community. It is clear, therefore, that the meaning provided by Christianity through the authoritative teachings of Jesus is not only personal, but direct and specific. Second, does this concrete authority extend to all areas of one‟s life as a moral and political being? That is, is the Christian institution a structure that can truly provide comprehensive meaning for its members‟ lives? The answer to this question is found in Locke‟s later insistence that belief in Jesus as the Messiah is not sufficient for membership in the Christian community; obedience to the law delivered by Jesus is also a condition for remaining a member of the Church. Christianity, for Locke, is not only a system of shared beliefs concerning the person of Jesus. It is also expressed as an institution of shared practices, centered upon the authoritative teachings that Jesus gave to all those who would follow him. As seen above, Locke argues that these teachings extend to “all the Duties of Life” (1694-95/1999, 151).47 In relation to the political, whereas the philosophers were only concerned with discovering the type of virtue necessary for political stability, the moral law of Jesus extends to even greater levels of virtue that would transcend the mere subjection of citizens to rulers. In this way, the moral thought of the Christian community is not to be limited to religious duties divorced from the

47 Nuovo agrees, arguing that beyond the restoration of immortality, “The other advantage of Christianity is that it provides a more comprehensive and rigorous moral doctrine than has ever been published to mankind” (2002, xlix).

230 interests of the larger society, but extends in a comprehensive fashion to the fullness of moral issues faced by humans in all aspects of life—including but not limited to the political. Turning to the third feature of an institution that can mediate private interests to the public sphere, a central task of the Reasonableness is to present one‟s decision to join the Christian community as a reasonable choice. This does not mean, however, that the entirety of the Christian system of beliefs and practices can be discovered and chosen by reason alone. Or, as Higgins-Biddle notes, “The „reasonableness‟ of Christianity, for Locke, did not necessitate that all its doctrines be demonstrable by reason” (1999a, xxxvii).48 Instead, what Locke is trying to show is, first, that the teachings of Jesus do not contradict reason. As seen in the Essay, revelation is nothing other than “natural Reason enlarged” (IV:XIX:4).49 Nuovo is right when he argues, “By predicating reasonableness to the Gospel of Jesus Christ, Locke did not mean that it is discoverable or verifiable by reason alone. The Gospel and all that it involved, at least Locke‟s account of it, consists of truths that are above reason, whose discovery depends upon divine revelation. Rather, „reasonable‟ as Locke uses it in his title means primarily „advantageous‟” (Nuovo 1997, xvi).50 That is, while Locke is claiming that Christianity does not contradict reason, he is more concerned with showing the benefits of being a Christian than with providing arguments for the inherent rationality of the entire Christian faith. These benefits are primarily associated with the way in which Christianity offers the most complete presentation of the moral teachings of natural religion, along with the encouragement and assistance offered by Jesus and the Holy Spirit. The emphasis on the pragmatic advantages that Christianity offers for the moral and political reasoning of its members significantly connects to the politically expressive function of institutions that we see in Stout and Wolin. For Higgins-Biddle, for example, the true reasonableness of Christianity for Locke is found in the tradition‟s support of a

48 Higgins-Biddle later adds, “Locke‟s version of Christianity seemed reasonable to him largely because it was „plain and intelligible,‟ not because it was knowable or even perfectly agreeable with natural reason” (1999a, xxxviii; see also Locke 1692/2005, 444). 49 John Yolton is, therefore, correct as he writes against Strauss, “The moral law implicit in the New Testament and the moral law intuited by reason are fundamentally one and the same; they both express God‟s will. Strauss attempts to make these two laws radically distinct” (1958, 485). Yolton continues, “Reason and revelation are alternative or conjunctive paths to the laws of nature which are God‟s will. Strauss‟s attempt to drive a wedge between the law of reason and the law of God via the reason-Scripture distinction breaks down” (1958, 489). Moore contends, “That faith supplies the defect of knowledge is not at all antithetical to the Essay or other earlier works; indeed, it is clearly a logical extension of them…. Again, there is no conflict between reason and faith” (1980, 64, 66). See Kato 1981, 56 for a discussion of the historical relation of “tension and continuity” between the Essay and the Reasonableness. 50 Because I would argue that Locke views moral truths as part of the Gospel, I would not agree that all Gospel truths are above reason.

231 particular political vision founded on toleration: “In this revelation of Scripture and its way of fundamentals Locke found a means to toleration which he hoped would bring peace, and that constituted for him the true reasonableness of Christianity” (1999a, cxv). As membership in the Christian community is based on choice and the assent to specific beliefs about Jesus, it is clear that Locke views the institution not only as something that is reasonable—meaning both advantageous and not contrary to reason—but also as an institution that is based on voluntary membership.51 Again, one is a member of the institution of Christianity if one accepts a particular understanding of Jesus of Nazareth, and attempts to obey the moral commands of Jesus. Nowhere in the text does Locke offer any support for forced membership in the Christian community. Just as one could choose to assent to the moral teachings of Zeno or Confucius, one also had the free choice to take the teachings of Jesus as the full representation of the moral law of nature. Granted, Locke sees the benefits of Christianity as so overwhelming that it is hard for him to imagine why one would not assent to the obligation to obey Jesus. However, the point remains that the decision to join the institution is to be left up to each individual, precisely because each individual is capable of receiving the teachings of Jesus and recognizing the benefits of assenting to his authority and becoming one of the believers.52 Finally, how does Locke‟s account of the Christian community offer a picture of an institution that provides for the equal participation of all its members? As has already been discussed, the uniqueness that Locke finds in the teachings of Christianity is based on their ability to be received and recognized as reasonable—advantageous—by the masses of humanity.53 Higgins-Biddle, quoting phrases in the Reasonableness, writes, “„Plain and intelligible,‟ understandable to uneducated poor—this was a large part of what Locke meant by

51 This voluntary membership also follows from Locke‟s recognition of the diversity of human opinion. See Ashcraft 1987, 55 for a discussion of Locke‟s view of diversity, specifically as it relates to the development of political institutions. See Simmons 1992, 176 for an argument for the importance of voluntariness in all Lockean relationships of contract (see also the discussion in Two Treatises II.192; Locke 1681/2002, 75). 52 It is worth repeating Locke‟s definition of a church in the Letter: “A church then I take to be a voluntary society of men, joining themselves together of their own accord, in order to the public worshipping of God, in such a manner as they judge acceptable to him, and effectual to the salvation of their souls” (1686/2005, 13). 53 Despite his often negative view of Locke as the founder of liberalism—leading necessarily to Rawls—Wolin highlights the Reasonableness as a moment in Locke that appears to go against the rational elitism and impersonal individualism of liberal political thought. Wolin argues that Locke became skeptical of the ability of the majority of humans to comprehend the natural law: “The law of nature was viewed [by Locke] as a body of essential political truths discoverable by reason, yet there was the difficulty that, for the vast majority, human reason had been corrupted” (2004, 300). In the Reasonableness, Wolin argues, “The substitute for the exacting knowledge of natural law and a mathematicized morality was to be found in the Christian ethic. While the Christian ethic was not less rational than the philosophic, it had the immense advantage of being better suited to the understanding of the „vulgar‟” (2004, 300).

232 the „reasonableness‟ of Christianity” (1999a, xxi). Earlier, Higgins-Biddle notes, “In opposition to clerical dominance of religion and sophisticated theological systems, Locke‟s concern for the laity and strong individualism led him to find in the Bible a simple gospel intended for the common man and woman” (1999a, xxi).54 This depiction of the message of Christianity leaves no room for the claim that only the specialists—clergy, theologians, and so on—have the ability to comprehend Jesus‟ words, and the subsequent responsibility to make these words known to the laity.55 In this way, a basic structure of equality seems presupposed in the formation of the Christian institution. While a hierarchical structure may develop, given the ability of some to devote more time and energy to the specifics of the Christian message, no exclusionary principle could be sustained by which the voices of the masses were arbitrarily not provided outlets for expression.56 Waldron goes one step further in his God, Locke, and Equality. Rather than

54 Much has been written about Locke‟s anticlericalism, particularly his argument against the clergy‟s involvement in the political sphere. In 1676, for example, he writes, “To settle the peace of places where there are different opinions in religion, two things are to be perfectly distinguished: religion and government, and their two sorts of officers, magistrates and ministers, and their provinces, to be kept well distinct (the not doing whereof was perhaps a great cause of distraction); a magistrate only to look at the peace and security of a city, ministers only concerned with the saving of the soul, and if they were forbidden meddling with making or executing laws in their preaching, we should be perhaps much more quite” (1676/1997, 248). Taken out of context, this passage would seem to confirm the view of Locke put forward by most of my potential readers discussed in chapter one. When understood in light of history and his other writings, it becomes clear that Locke‟s concern is not with participation as such—or religion as such—but rather with the attempt made by the clergy to use the power of the state in order to coerce citizens into accepting particular religious beliefs. See, for example, Locke 1675/1997, 235; 2006, 313-14; Milton and Milton 2006, 118. Recall Locke‟s insistence throughout his mature writings on toleration that the means of the religious citizen—whether layperson or minister—is persuasion rather than force. 55 Compare this to Wolin‟s criticism of the “realists” and “neoliberals” of the Cold War of the twentieth century who, according to Wolin, promoted “a whole ideology…[of] elitism” (2008, 39). 56 In “Pacific Christians,” Locke encourages a member of a Christian community to consult “the advice and assistance of those whom he thinks best able to instruct him,” while still insisting on the individual‟s religious freedom as “no men, or society of men” have the “authority to impose their opinions or interpretations on any other, [even] the meanest Christian; since in matters of religion everyone must know and believe, and give an account for himself” (1688/1997, 305; see also Locke‟s “Error” in 1698/1997, 345-48, especially 346). Waldron comments on Locke‟s Second Treatise, “Leadership qualities…are defined with reference to the interests of all members of the group, and those interests are equally considered…. Basic equality works here, as it does in many modern arguments about merit—not by insisting on equal outcomes, but by defining the range of interests that have to be consulted and considered equally when we are deciding what is to count as merit” (2002, 135). Wolin quotes Luther as also defending basic equality in the midst of the leadership structure of the church: “We all have the same authority in regard to the word and sacraments, although no one has a right to administer them without the consent of the members of his church, or by the call of the majority” (Luther 1953, 1:318; see Wolin 1956, 31). Luther further comments, “There is no superior among Christians, but Christ Himself and Christ alone. And what kind of authority can there be where all are equal…?” (1915-32, ii. 262; see Wolin 1956, 31-32). Wolin refers to Luther‟s religious thought as demonstrating democratic epistemology (Wolin 1956, 32). I suggest this is very similar to what is happening in Locke‟s political thought. Although Wolterstorff‟s insistence on Locke‟s exclusive focus on the individual seems to move dangerously close to the new traditionalists‟ criticism of Lockean liberalism, he is right to see only a “radical rejection of unverified tradition” in Locke‟s thought (1996, 227; my emphasis). As long as tradition is not followed blindly—forsaking reason as the constant guide—then the teachings of one‟s historical community can be helpful in the process of decision making. Frank Marini writes, “Equality, as Locke saw it, was

233 focusing on the equality of the members of the Christian community, Waldron focuses on a more fundamental and universal structure of equality that grounds Locke‟s entire political philosophy.57 Based on certain theological truths, Locke saw in all human beings a “modest intellectual capacity” that results in what Waldron calls a “democratic view of the intellect” (2002, 83).58 This more universal equality becomes important when discussing how the Christian community—as a political institution—could interact with the larger society. From Locke‟s vantage point, the democratic teachings of Jesus—given additional normative weight through revelation, but still recognized by the modest, universal intellectual capacity of humans—would have no problem entering into political discourse. While grounded in theological truths, the moral teachings of Jesus are capable of being recognized as truths apart from revelation, and therefore, the Christian community would be more than able to mediate its private beliefs to the larger society in a public manner.

4. Locke‟s Reasonableness and Liberal Democracy As in the Essay, Locke makes clear in the Reasonableness that natural human reason faces obstacles in its effort to discover the moral law through the exercise of its faculties alone. And once again, divine revelation is presented as the best source of assistance, as the moral law is the work of God, and because revelation carries with it the needed authority in its clear and direct presentation of the obligations for human behavior. While focused on what must be

not the denial of differences in abilities among men or the denial of the existence or necessity of leadership” (1969, 12). 57 Ashcraft also sees a basic structure of equality, particularly in Locke‟s treatise on Christianity. Providing support for the comprehensive reading of Locke that I promote, he connects this notion of equality to the underlying structure of the Treatises: “I maintain…that Locke‟s defence of his personal belief as to what is important about Christianity is dependent upon a theological egalitarianism explicitly defended in the Reasonableness, and grounded in the very same presuppositions that form the basis for the moral assumptions that structure Locke‟s political theory in the Two Treatises” (1987, 10). 58 Waldron connects the democratic intellect to the process of moral reasoning (2002, 105). It is crucial to remember that Locke only discussed a “capacity” of intellect, not an actual manifestation of intellectual ability in all individuals. Also important is the “modest” nature of this intellectual capacity. Both of these elements are often overlooked in studies of Lockean equality and rationality. Marini, therefore, is correct when he writes, “The notion that [Locke] thought most men utilized a high degree of reason is a fundamental misconception which ignores Locke‟s comments about irrationality, stupidity, passion, and evil…. Not only personal bias, but also failure to „consult‟ reason, „want of study‟ of the Law of Nature, and lack of ability to deal with such matters, lead men to „mis-cite‟ and „misapply‟ the Law of Nature” (1969, 7, 9). Dunn also argues for a more fundamental structure of equality in Locke‟s thought, emphasizing the intellectual capacity of all humans to know moral truths and the duties that all humans owe to God (1969, 121). However, Dunn sees this equality threatened by Locke‟s discussion of revelation in the Reasonableness (1969, 188-92, 263), whereas I argue that Locke merely realized the many obstacles that exist to correctly making use of human reason.

234 believed and done for the attainment of eternal life, Locke‟s discussion of Christianity sheds further light on the formation of beliefs about moral and political matters that shape earthly existence. Because of the limitations of unaided reason, Locke defends the use of religious forms of reasoning in an individual‟s attempt to reach conclusions about their beliefs and actions in the world. Moving beyond the mere allowance of and justification for the use of religious forms of reasoning in political discourse, Locke‟s account of Christianity in the Reasonableness, along with discussions of religious societies in other writings, also suggests the possibility of viewing a community of religious citizens as an institution that can mediate private interests to the public sphere, thereby making the political participation that this project promotes possible. Echoing the emphasis on institutions that is found in the work of Wolin and Stout, Locke‟s religious society is a voluntary institution, grounded in a very personal form of authority, which provides a comprehensive structure of beliefs and practices by which its members can order all facets of their lives, including their involvement in the political realm. It has the ability to present itself in a public manner by appealing to the practical benefits that it can provide for all humans, not solely for the individuals who assent to the faith propositions of the Christian community. Finally, its inherent structure of equality—based on the democratized teachings of Jesus—stands as a condition for the possibility of giving all members a way in which to express their unique voices and interests to the larger world via the institution.59 Locke, therefore, can be used not only to defend the presence of religion in political discourse; he can also be used to discuss concrete ways in which religious citizens can participate in the public sphere.

59 It is true, of course, that religious communities can easily go astray from these fundamental aspects of the Lockean, Wolinian, or Stoutian institution. Wolin describes the change in the evangelical movement: “As with the history of democracy evangelicalism began as a protest against the domination of congregations by educated elites…. Instead a managerial elite has emerged within a religion once famous for its populism. Thus the evangelicals have followed a path strikingly similar to that of the democratic citizenry” (2008, 119). Religious communities are not to be presumed friends of democracy, any more than environmentalist, pacifist, or community organizing groups. All institutions must live up to certain conditions in order to serve as vehicles of citizenship in a liberal democracy.

CONCLUSION

In the introduction, I noted that I was not proposing that contemporary liberal democrats should simply mirror the political vision of John Locke in all its specificity. Given the context in which I write, there is much about Locke‟s position that I would not endorse. I am sure the reverse is also true. That is, given the context of seventeenth-century England, there is much about my own political vision that Locke would not endorse. He would not, for example, support my willingness to grant toleration to the speculative ideas of atheists. He would also question my lack of religious restrictions placed on holders of public office. Perhaps most relevant, he would doubt the significance and practicability of my vision for political participation. Limiting the involvement of certain individuals, and excluding others, Locke would place restrictions on the agents and the level of activity that I promote in liberal democratic discourse. Despite the difficulties in appropriating Locke in contemporary debates, I remain convinced, with Stout, that our political existence is best characterized as a tradition of practices and principles. And unlike Stout, I believe that if we are to understand the tradition of contemporary democracy, we cannot abandon the early liberal thinkers, such as Locke, who paved the way for the political existence that we now experience. In Locke, we find a crucial moment of development for some of the most foundational principles of the democratic tradition. First, Locke provides one of the most significant and lasting defenses of religious toleration that can be found in the tradition of Western political thought. While many of his specific proposals would need to be extended, the basic principles that he expounds remain the bedrock for contemporary liberal and democratic approaches to religious liberty. He insists that religious belief can never be coerced, and therefore, no attempt should be made by the magistrate to do so. He argues that diversity in religious beliefs and practices is not inherently harmful to civil society. As a result, there is no necessity to force conformity for the sake of social peace. While remaining a member of the national church throughout his life, he fought for the toleration not only of fellow Christians but also of members of other religious traditions, providing a principle of protection for religious minorities. In Locke‟s time, these positions were often seen as contentious and possibly even seditious. Today, while many of us simply take the principles of religious toleration for granted, the battle waged by Locke once again rages in our public

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236 discourse. From debates about building permits for places of religious worship and education to the presence of prayer and religious objects in public settings, toleration for religious diversity is in a fragile state. It is my hope that by appreciating Locke‟s thoughts on toleration, as well as the context in which they emerged, we may be better equipped to defend and promote the principles for religious freedom that guided Locke more than two hundred years ago and yet remain necessary for the survival of liberal democracy today. Beyond the toleration of competing religious beliefs and practices, Locke presents an argument for the justification of using these beliefs and practices in the process of reaching conclusions about political matters. Locke‟s theological framework posits a divine moral law that is meant to order human behavior, including behavior related to the political. While denying our innate knowledge of the principles of the law, Locke contends that human reason—given by God—is theoretically capable of discovering moral precepts. He values the work done by philosophers in using rational faculties to decipher the human actions that are in accordance with the natural law. Unfortunately, Locke continues, the state of human existence in which we all find ourselves limits our ability to reach certain knowledge of the moral law, or even to arrive at high levels of probability of the law through unassisted reason. Whether through laziness, lack of time, or the distraction of the passions, humans are in need of assistance in forming moral opinion and in finding the motivation to live up to the beliefs that we hold about the moral law. Instead of relying on the mere opinion of other individuals, Locke contends that the sturdiest ground for assistance in the process of forming moral beliefs can be found in the revelation of God. For Locke, God has revealed the moral law most completely in the teaching of Jesus, providing not only a framework for moral living but also the authority necessary to motivate individuals to obey their duties. And while defending the turn to revelation, Locke insists that reason must remain the guide, thereby avoiding religious enthusiasm by requiring even religious arguments to exist within the game of giving and asking of reasons. Today, we hear many arguments about the justified use of religious forms of reasoning in political decision making. By extending Locke‟s thoughts beyond the Christian tradition—something easily done when paired with his perspective on religious toleration—we once again have a historical and philosophical foundation for the presence of religion in the formation of political beliefs. Once individuals are justified in the use of religious forms of reasoning in the process of reaching conclusions on moral and political matters, the remaining question is how these

237 individuals can make their privately formed beliefs public. In other words, what is needed is a vehicle for the expression of beliefs into the public sphere of political discourse. For Wolin and Stout, that vehicle is institutional participation, which both thinkers suggest can be fostered in the context of religious community. While Locke may not reach the same conclusion as Wolin or Stout, his presentation of religious community does highlight many of the features necessary for an institution that fosters active participation. By stressing its voluntary nature, the direct, personal, and comprehensive meaning that it gives to its members, and its fundamental structure of equality, Locke presents the religious community as an institution that can play the expressive role of mediation necessary in the political vision that I endorse. Just as ever before, true democratic practice is needed today. As I have argued throughout, the best form of democracy is shaped by the principles of the version of liberal political thought that originated with Locke. While many thinkers have distorted these principles, resulting in the desire of many to abandon liberalism, and perhaps democracy with it, they remain vital in the battle for the kind of political existence that so many of us wish to see realized—even if only in fugitive moments. In order to grasp the full meaning of these principles for our lives today, we must learn to value their lineage, which cannot but include the work of John Locke. By providing a historical and philosophical grounding for these political principles that remain central to the vitality of our practice of social discourse, I hope to further the cause of active political participation that marks the best version of liberal democracy.

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BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH

Matthew R. Hagele was born in Iowa on October 19, 1981. He attended Wheaton College in Wheaton, Illinois from 2000-2004, earning a BA in World Religions and Philosophy, and graduating summa cum laude. In 2005, he completed his MA in Religion at Florida State University in Tallahassee, Florida. While completing his dissertation, he became Instructor of Religion at Kirkwood Community College in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. He received his PhD in Religion from Florida State University in 2011. His research interests include the relationship between religion and politics, comparative religious ethics, philosophy of religion, and the history of Christian thought.

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